The following post is dedicated to my Father, the best amateur linguist and etymologist I know.
It's somewhat surprising to find that a foreign language cannot express an idea. From what I have heard secondhand, Latin, for all of its precision, is unable to express numerous ideas. However, it's even more surprising to learn that one's own language lacks a particular word or term, even a language with as heavy a vocabulary as preserved in the Oxford English Dictionary. Language can tell a great deal about the culture of its speakers. According to Professor Pucci (the amazing), Hindi has an enormously rich vocabulary to describe the human body, and musculature in particular, and dance occupies a very highly-regarded place in Indian culture. Ancient Greek is full of comparative particles (men, de, alla, etc.), and the Classical Greek worldview is full of contrasts (Greeks and barbarian, mortal and immortal, truth and falsehood, etc.). According to Simon Winchester, the average Anglophone knows only about 5% of the words in the OED; Shakespeare, by contrast, knew about 10%. It therefore comes as a surprise to learn that English lacks a fair amount of words which French, a very similar language, possesses. Here are a few French words which English lacks, in alphabetical order.
Accaparer: In a financial sense, accaparer means "to monopolize." However, it can also mean "to take, to the detriment of others." In the context of history of the French Revolution I am now reading, I understand accapareur to mean something along the lines of "profiteer."
Bougie: Yesterday, Daphne showed me a candlestick shaped like a turtle; I used the word chandelle to refer to it, and she used the word bougie to describe it. Bougie is the part of the candle that surrounds the wick, which serves as fuel, and is normally made of wax or paraffin; chandelle refers to the candlestick + wick + bougie.
Guinguette: A guinguette is an outdoors bar or restaurant with a stage, which features live or recorded music, dancing, and entertainment. Seating is free, and nobody will chase you away if you just sit down with your friends, unlike certain other bars in Tours. See my post on student life for a few details about one night at the guinguette on the banks of the Loire.
Mie: This is my favorite: mie is the part of the bread which is not the crust. What we call "bread," or maybe "sandwich bread" if we're being very specific, the French call "pain de mie," to distinguish it from a regular loaf of bread, i.e. baguettes. Crust is greatly appreciated in French gastronomy, and Arthur sometimes left bits of his mie unfinished, but loved his crusts, the opposite habit of American children! If I remember right, Peppermint Patty, of Peanuts, only ate the mie of her bread.
Mitron: Another unique word to describe the wonderful world of bread. A mitron is a baker's apprentice; no other trade, as far as I know, has a specific term to refer to its apprentices. Those of you who took Combined with Mrs. P-B might remember how she quoted the mob of starving women who invaded Versailles in order to carry off the royal family. They referred to their targets, as Mrs. P-B translated, as "The baker, the baker's wife, and the apprentice." The real quote was "Le boulanger, the boulangere, et le petit mitron."
Truquer: The most common meaning of this word is "to rig [a match]," but its scope is somewhat wider. The athletes who throw the match intentionally also truquent. Furthermore, the word can be used to describe deliberate perversion of anything. For instance, Bouloisea uses the past participle to refer to a "dossier truque," which I would translate as "distorted historical record" to refer to the primary sources surrounding the fall of the Jacobins and execution of the Robespierrists (p. 213).
French also posses a version of the past tense, known as the "passe simple," aka the literary tense, used only for historical and literary writing. I have never been taught to write in the passe simple, although I recognize and understand it when I read it. However, because it is only used for literary and historical writing, I only know how to form it in the third person! For some of those who are interested, here are some very basic examples:
"Il fit beau" = "Il faisait beau" = "The weather was beautiful."
"Elle prit la cle" = "Elle a pris la cle" = "She took the key."
"Ils furent tres heureux" = "Ils etaient tres heureux" = "They were very happy."
Two quick anecdotes about making an ass out of oneself when trying to speak a foreign language (please see English As She Is Spoke for more details).
A week and a half ago, I entered a patisserie, and saw behind the counter a display of absolutely delicious-looking freshly-baked raisin rolls. I asked the boulangere for "du pain aux raisins," or "some raisin bread," indicating with my finger what I meant, in case my accent was too strong for her to understand. As she placed my prize in a waxed-paper bag, I delved in my wallet for the coins to pay her. I handed over what I believed to be the correct change, but she kept the money in her hand, and looked at me expectantly, as if I hadn't payed enough. I handed over a few more centimes, thinking that I must have misread the sign. She then told me I needed to pay a euro more! I handed over another one-euro coin, and was really amazed by the price: I regretted having wasted so much money on such small a pastry. As I walked out of the patisserie, I peeked into the waxed-paper bag, I realized my mistake -- I thought that I had asked for "du pain aux raisins," but she had heard "deux pains aux raisins," meaning "two raisin rolls!" I had bought twice as much as I had intended!
Two nights ago, there was company over when I returned to the Avertins' home (the table was packed with plates and utensils, enough for ten, I think), on account of Mme. Avertin's birthday. Daphne began to explain to me the master plan of how and when she and Arthur were going to present their grandmother with her birthday present (it was a red golf bag). She told me that with the before-dinner drinks, there would be cacahuetes. Although the word sounded vaguely familiar, I couldn't remember what it was. Misaki had no idea as to the word's meaning, so we asked Daphne to try to explain. The following is an abridged version of the conversation.
Daphne: You know, cacahuetes, like you serve for a kid's party or a birthday party.
JD: I don't understand. Are they a sort of fruit?
Daphne: No.
JD: A sort of nut?
Daphne: No.
JD: A kind of vegetable?
Daphne: No.
JD: A kind of meat?
Daphne: No, there's no meat. This is what they look like:
[Daphne sketches for Misaki and me three shapes: a rounded hourglass, a circle, and a triangle, on a slip of pink paper. We both remain stumped].
Daphne: They're, they're... they're like chips! You know, chips! At a party.
JD: Ah, so they're made out of potatoes.
Daphne: No, they're like chips, but not made out potatoes!
JD: But made of what Daphne, made of what?
Daphne [running to the kitched]: Grampa! How do you say cacahuetes in Spanish? I mean, English?
[muted conversation]
Daphne [running back]: Peanuts!
Misaki: Oh! It's "peanuts" in Japanese, too!
[JD & Misaki laugh very, very hard for several minutes. Divers alarums and excursions].
~JD
"'En divisant les biens d'emigres, on cherchait a eteindra la misere...', rappelait Couthon le 1er floreal. Le pauvre n'en profita guere" ["By dividing up emigrants' property, we intended to put an end to misery," recalled Couthon on April 10th, 1794. The poor scarcely received any benefit] (Marc Bouloisea, La Republique jacobine, p. 206).
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