Category: French (français)

Audio books

By Simon

At the moment I’m reading the novel Le Grand Meaulnes by Alain Fournier, and have been wondering how to pronounce Meaulnes, which is the name of one of the characters. I guessed it was something like /meyln/ or /meylnə/, and have now discovered that it’s pronounced more like /mœln/. I’ve also found a free audio book version of the story on the Internet Archive.

When reading texts in foreign languages I usually read them aloud to practise speaking those languages. Listening to recordings of texts as I’m reading, and repeating what I’m hearing, helps me improve my pronunciation and intonation, as well as my listening comprehension. I find this a useful way to improve my knowledge of languages, and also to enjoy stories and learn new things from factual texts.

The Audio Archive or that site contains thousands of audio books, podcasts and other recordings. Most are in English, but there quite a few in other languages, including Arabic, French, German and Spanish. A related resource is Audiocite.net, which contains numerous audio books and other recordings in French.

Cave canem!

By Simon

Carea Castellano

I received a email today asking when the Spanish word perro (dog) replaced can, a word for dog derived from the Latin canis, which appears in the name Canary Islands, (Islas Canarias in Spanish).

The Spanish word perro first appeared in the Diccionario de la Real Academia Española in 1737 [source]; was originally pejorative [source] and is possibly of onomatopoeic origin from the growling sounds made by dogs, perr perr (sounds more like a cat’s purr to me). Shepherds also used that sound to call their dogs. Another possibility is that perro comes from a pre-Roman language [source].

In Spanish the word can was used for dog until about the 14th century, after which it was gradually replaced by perro. The words for dog in most other Romance languages come from the Latin word canis: cane (Italian), chien (French), câine (Romanian), cão (Portuguese), can (Galician). One exception is Catalan, in which the word for dog is gos. [source].

The root of the Latin word canis, which appears in biological name for the subspecies of dogs: canis lupus familiaris, comes from the Proto-Indo-European base *kwon- (dog). This is also the root of the English hound (via the Proto-Germanic *khundas and the Old English hund), the English canine, the Greek κυων (kuōn), the German hund, the Irish cu and the Welsh ci [source].

The English word dog comes from the Old English docga, a word of unknown origin which was probably the name of a particular breed of dog, and had largely replaced the word hound as the general term for dog by the 16th century [source]. Hound started to be used to mean “a dog used for hunting” from the 12th century [source].

The name Islas Canarias probably comes from the Latin Insula Canaria (Island of the Dogs), which was originally just the name of Gran Canaria. It is possible that the dogs referred to were seals [source].

Hands and pockets

By Simon

In English when you know something or somewhere well, you can say that you “know it like the back of your hand” or that you “know it inside out / back to front / upside down”. If you’re talking about people, you might say “I know him/her/them like I know myself.”

Yesterday I learnt that the equivalent idiom in French is “Je le connais comme ma poche” (I know it like my pocket) or “Je le connais comme le fond de ma poche” (I know it like the bottom of my pocket).

In Spanish the equivalent is “Lo/la conozco como la palma de mi mano” (I know it like the palm of my hand), and in Turkish it also the palm of the hand that is best known: “Avcumun içi gibi biliyorum” (I know it like the palm of my hand).

The German equivalent is “Ich kenne es wie meine Westentasche” (I know it like my waistcoat pocket).

What about in other languages?

Taverns, columns and caps

By Simon

What do the words in the title of this post have in common?

Well, they all originally come from Etruscan, according to Nicholas Ostler in Ad Infinitum – A Biography of Latin and the World it Created, one of the books I’m reading at the moment.

The English word tavern dates from the late 13th century, when it meant “wine shop”, and later came to mean “public house”. It comes from the Old French taverne, (shed made of boards; booth; stall; tavern; inn), from the Latin taberna (shop, inn, tavern) – originally “hut or shed”, from Etruscan [source]. The Greek word ταβέρνα (taverna) comes the Latin [source].

Column comes from the Old French colombe (column, pillar), from the Latin columna (pillar), which the Online Etymology Dictionary says is a collateral form of columen (top, summit), from the Proto-Indo-European base *kel- (to project), but which Nicholas Ostler believes comes from Etruscan.

Cap comes from the Old English cæppe (hood, head-covering, cape), from the Late Latin cappa (a cape, hooded cloak), which is possibly a shortened from capitulare (headdress) from caput (head) [source], or from the Etruscan.

Other Latin words that are thought to come from Etruscan include voltur (vulture), ātruim (forecourt), fenestra (window), caseus (cheese), culīna (kitchen), tuba (trumpet), urna (urn), mīles (soldier), Aprīlis (April), autumnus (autumn) and laburnum (shrub).

Cat got your tongue?

By Simon

Cat, Chat

The English idiom “Has the cat got your tongue?” is used when someone remains silent in situations where they are expected to say something. It could be glossed as, “Why don’t you say anything? Your silence is suspicious.” Possible origins of this phrase are discussed on this page. The French equivalent of this idiom is “Tu as perdu ta langue ?” (Have you lost your tongue?”).

In French there is a similar idiom involving cats and tongues: donner sa langue au chat (to give one’s tongue to the cat), but this means to give up or stop guessing when you don’t know the answer to something, or don’t know what someone is asking of you.

Apparently this idiom developed from the phrase jeter sa langue au chien (to throw one’s tongue to the dog), which originated in an era when leftover food was thrown to the dogs, and meant that you no longer felt like finding an answer to a question, so you might as well throw it to the dogs. Over time the phrase became donner sa langue au chat, as cats were considered secret keepers, and you gave your tongue to the cat in the hope that it would be able to answer the question [source]. An equivalent idiom in English is “to throw in the towel” or “to throw in the sponge”, expressions which come from boxing.

Are there any similar idioms in other languages?

Pelf

By Simon

Pelf noun, money or wealth, especially if dishonestly acquired; lucre. Also a slang term for money.

Etymology: from the Old French pelfre (booty); related to the Latin pilāre (to despoil).

[Source]

I came across this word today in The Times in an article about a British supermarket starting a pawn broking service, or more specifically a gold exchange service. I hadn’t encountered it before and thought at first that it was a typo. The context is:

Most of the other alchemists promising to turn gold into cupro-nickel are doing so at a rate so miserly that even a richly embossed heirloom would barely provide a widow’s pelf.
From: The Times, 3rd January 2011

Christmas

By Simon

Nadolig Llawen
Joyeux Noël
聖誕快樂
Nollaig shona doibh
¡Feliz Navidad!
Nollick Ghennal
Bo Nadal
Nollaig chridheil
メリークリスマス
Buon Natale
Frohe Weihnachten
Bon Nadal
Veselé vánoce
and Merry Christmas!

Colds, streams and rivers

By Simon

A snow-covered Siliwen Road in Bangor

It’s rather cold here at the moment with daytime temperatures not much above freezing, and nighttime dropping to -10°C (14°F) or even -20°C (-4°F) in places. As a result, some of the snow that fell last week has frozen solid and been trampled down on pavements and ungritted back streets making them decidedly icey and slippery.

I also have a cold at the moment, so I thought I’d look into how to say “I have a cold” in a number of languages. In French it’s “Je suis enrhumé” or “I am enrhumed”. Enrhumé comes from rhume (cold), which comes from the Old French reume, from the Latin rheuma, from the Greek rheuma (stream, current, a flowing), from rhein (to flow), from the Proto-Indo-European *sreu- (to flow). The Proto-Indo-European *sreu- is also the root of the Irish sruth (stream, river), the Welsh ffrwd (stream) and the Polish strumyk (brook). [source].

The Czech word for cold rýmu appears to be spring from the same source – mám rýmu is “I have a cold” by the way – as does the English word rheumatism. You can also say jsem nachlazený for “I have a cold” in Czech, which has a similar structure to the French phrase – “I am colded” or something like that.

In Welsh you don’t have a cold but rather a cold is on you: mae annwyd arna i, and the other Celtic languages use the same structure, “Is cold on/at me”: tá slaghdán orm (Irish), tha ‘n cnatan orm (Scottish Gaelic), ta feayraght/mughane aym (Manx).

In German “I have a cold” is Ich bin erkältet (“I am becolded?”), with erkältet coming from kalt (cold).

In Mandarin Chinese you say 我感冒了 (wǒ gǎnmào le) or “I catch cold [change of state particle]”.

Frankingle & Inglefrank

By Simon

This is a sort of guest post from François Bouillon

In the novel Peter Ibbetson by Georges Du Maurier, two bilingual children invent “Frankingle”, a language with English grammar and phonetics and a French lexicon, and “Inglefrank”, a language that works on the opposite principle.

François Bouillon has written Frankingle and Inglefrank versions of two stories by Jean De La Fontaine: La Grenouille qui veut se faire aussi grosse que le Boeuf and Le Laboureur et ses Enfants which he thought you might find interesting and amusing.

His purpose in translating these fables was serious enough. The strict rule he worked by was this: respect the phonology, grammar and spelling habits of one language and adapt the nouns, verbs and qualificative adjectives of the other language to it.

La Frogue Qui Se Veut Faire Aussi Bigue Que L’oxe

Une Frogue scia un Oxe
Qui lui sima de faire saïze.
Elle, qui n’était pas bigue en tout comme un ègue,
Enviouse, s’espraide, et se souelle, et se laboure,
Pour icoualer l’animal en fatenaisse,
Sayant : » Louquez bien, ma sistre ;
Est-ce ineuf ? Tellez-moi ; n’y suis-je point encore ?
– Naie. – M’y voici donc ? – Point du tout. – M’y voilà ?
– Vous n’en guettez point nire. » La piuneuse bumpequine
Se souella si bien qu’elle bursta.

Le vueurlde est foule de piples qui ne sont pas plus houaïzes :
Tout bourgise veut builder comme les bigues lordes,
Tout esmaule prince a des ambassadeurs,
Tout marcuisse veut avoir des pages.

The Labourer and His Infants

Travail, prend pain :
It’s the fonds that manks the least.

A rich Labourer, senting his mort prochain,
Had his Infants vene to him, parled to them without tesmoins.
“Guard yourselves, he ditted to them, from vending the heritage
That our parents laissed to us:
A treasure is cashed inside it.
I do not save the indroit; but a little courage
Will make you troove it: you will vene at the boot of it.
Remow your champ as soon as oust has been faited:
Cruise, fuel, beach; do not laiss any place
Whither the main neither passes, nor repasses.”
Once the peer mort, the Fills return the champ for you,
Hither and thither, everywhere: so well that at the boot of the an
It reported more to them.
Of argent, none was cashed. But the peer was sage
To monster them, ere his mort,
That travail is a treasure.

You can find the original texts of these tales, and English translations at:
http://www.jdlf.com/lesfables/livrei/lagrenouillequiveutsefaireaussigrossequeleboeuf
http://www.jdlf.com/lesfables/livrev/lelaboureuretsesenfants
http://oaks.nvg.org/fonta1.html#frogox
http://oaks.nvg.org/fonta5.html#zeploso

Leste

By Simon

Leste adj. [lɛst(ə)] – nimble, agile, sprightly, light; risqué (joke); offhand (remark).

This is a word I discovered last night while browsing a French dictionary. It is thought to come from an old Germanic word liste. A related adverb is lestement, which means nimbly, agilely, in a sprightly manner, lightly or offhandedly.

It’s related to the Spanish word listo, which has a number of meanings, including “ready, prepared, clever, sharp-witted, able, nimble”. It’s also related to the Portuguese word lesto, which means “quick, deft, nimble, swift, fleet, light footed, rapid, ready, clever, dexterous or skillful”. Other related words include the German listig (cunning, devious, shrewd) and leicht (easily, effortlessly, gently), which is related to the English word light(ly).

Light (not heavy) comes from the Old English leoht, from Proto-Germanic *lingkhtaz, from the Proto-Indo-European *le(n)gwh- (light, easy, agile, nimble), which is the root of leste, and also of lever [Source]