Planet Word

by J. P. Davidson

  The French exported their language all over their colonies – even now we call them Francophone countries – but before they began that process they, like the British in Ireland, had to impose their language within their own borders. However, in France it was a more complicated process because there was not one version of French but two.

  Occitan was once spoken by half the population of France, as well as the people of the Occitan valleys of Italy and Monaco and the Aran valley of Catalonia in Spain. It was the language of the medieval troubadours who travelled round the courts of France and Spain, singing poems of chivalry and love.

  The name Occitan comes from langue d’oc, literally the language of oc – so-called because, up until the beginning of the seventeenth century, France was divided into two linguistic halves. The northern half, from around Lyon upwards, said oïl for ‘yes’, whereas the southern half said oc. So within France there were the langue d’oïl and the langue d’oc; the langue d’oc was quite different, a close cousin to Catalan, with stronger roots in Latin.

  The first recorded reference to the langue d’oc is in an essay written at the beginning of the fourteenth century by the Italian poet Dante. In De vulgari eloquentia he explored the historical evolution of language. He wrote (in Latin): ‘nam alii oc, alii si, alii vero dicunt oil’ (‘Some say oc, others say si, others say oïl’) (‘Some say oc, others say si, others say oïl’). The oc language was Occitan, the si language was Italian, and the oïl language was French.

  Even as Dante was writing, the status of the oc language was under threat as the French royals in the north began to spread their influence into Occitan territory. In 1539, the Edict of Villers-Cotterêts decreed that the langue d’oïl had to be used in all legal documents and laws. The aim was to stop the use of Latin; the effect was to limit the use of regional languages like Occitan.

  Outside government, the monarchy didn’t seem to be that bothered about the local languages spoken by their subjects. The French Revolution changed all that. The revolutionaries argued that kings and reactionaries preferred regional languages, as they kept the peasant masses uninformed; the Republic, ‘unie et indivisible’ (‘one and indivisible’), couldn’t be achieved if the spread of new ideas was hindered by patois – a derogatory term used for the countrified, backward languages of non-Parisian French-speakers.

  ‘Speak French Be Clean’ daubed on the wall of a school

  On 27 January 1794, Bertrand Barère, a member of the National Convention who had presided over the trial of Louis XVI, argued in favour of one national language:

  The monarchy had reasons to resemble the Tower of Babel; in democracy, leaving the citizens to ignore the national language, unable to control the power, is betraying the motherland … For a free people, the tongue must be one and the same for everyone … How much money have we not spent already for the translation of the laws of the first two national assemblies in the various dialects of France! As if it were our duty to maintain those barbaric jargons and those coarse lingos that can only serve fanatics and counter-revolutionaries now!

  A few months later, Abbé Grégoire, priest and revolutionary leader, presented his infamous ‘Report on the necessity and means to annihilate the patois and to universalize the use of the French language’. Grégoire denounced the fact that fewer than 3 million of France’s 25 million citizens spoke la langue nationale; French, he argued, must be imposed on the people of France, and all other dialects must be eradicated.

  The revolutionaries ran out of time and money before they could ‘annihilate’ local languages, but the modernizing of France during the nineteenth century did the job just as well. Boundary changes and the creation of new départements cunningly undermined regional identity; the introduction of the railways opened up isolated areas to travel and commerce and the French language; compulsory military service meant soldiers from around the country had to speak French to be understood; but, crucially, the introduction of compulsory education in the latter half of the nineteenth century sounded the death knell for Occitan and other minority languages. Hand in hand with the progressive ideas of education for all children came the tools to suppress local languages. The Occitans have a word for the policies which successive French governments used to eradicate minority languages: la vergonha – ‘the shame’.

  Primary children caught speaking Occitan or Breton or Catalan or any non-French language in class or in the playground were made to wear or carry la symbole – or la vache (‘the cow’), as pupils referred to it – during the school day. The symbole might be a wooden clog or a horseshoe or a slate with a description of the felony written on it. Offenders faced extra homework or sometimes corporal punishment at the end of the day.

  The policy was highly effective. A Breton remembers the so-called clogging:

  My grandparents speak Breton too, though not with me. As children, they used to have their fingers smacked if they happened to say a word in Breton. Back then, the French of the Republic, one and indivisible, was to be heard in all schools, and those who dared challenge this policy were humiliated by having to wear a clog around their necks or kneel down on a ruler under a sign that read: ‘It is forbidden to spit on the ground and speak Breton’. That’s the reason why some older folks won’t transmit the language to their children: it brings trouble upon yourself. (Nicolas de la Casinière, Ecoles Diwan, la bosse du breton)

  France wasn’t the only country to employ symboles in their schools. In Wales in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, schoolchildren were forced to wear a Welsh Not – a piece of wood inscribed with the letters WN – around their neck if they spoke Welsh and not English. Each morning the wooden board was hung around the neck of the first child caught speaking Welsh, who handed it to the next child who offended. The poor child wearing the board at the end of the school day was punished. In Ireland, the tally stick or bata scóir was introduced into the classroom. Each child had to wear the stick on a piece of string around their neck, and every time Irish was spoken, the teacher would add a notch. A corresponding number of whacks was dealt out to the child at the end of the day.

  A Welsh Not, hung around the neck of the first child caught speaking Welsh

  Irish tally sticks, worn around the neck and marked with a notch whenever a child spoke in Irish

  It took until the 1950s in France for the policy of language repression in primary schools to end and for the French state to recognize the right of regional languages to exist. Yet unlike Spain or Wales, for example, where Basque and Welsh have been given equal status as a national language, there are no signs that French regional languages will ever be given equal footing. In 1992, the French constitution was revised so that ‘the language of the Republic is French’. France remains one of the few European states which refuses to ratify the European charter for minority languages, giving legal status to its regional language groups.

  In 1851, at the time of the French education reforms, about 40 per cent of the country spoke the langue d’oc. Today, much less than 1 per cent are fluent speakers. Occitan can only be taught in schools as a foreign language. Its future looks bleak.

  Frédéric Mistral was dedicated to the revival of Provençal

  Mistral Revives Provençal

  As French governments sought to wipe out Occitan and other regional languages, a young poet in the south of France, Frédéric Mistral, determined to revive Provençal, a dialect of Occitan spoken in Provence. ‘Instead of setting their ambitions on the baubles of Paris or Madrid, we want our daughters to continue to speak the language of their cradle.’

  In 1854, Mistral and six friends started the Félibrige, an association dedicated to the revival of the Provençal language and customs. Mistral spent twenty years working on a dictionary of Provençal, Lou Tresor dou Félibrige, but his greatest contribution to the Provençal revival was his poetry; he published his first poem, Mireio, the story of a rich farmer’s daughter and her love for the son of a poor basketmaker, in 1859. Three other long
narrative poems followed, as well as volumes of short stories, lyrics and memoirs. In 1879, Mistral’s A Na Clemenco Isuaro was first recited in Toulouse at the Jeux Floraux, the world’s oldest literary competition. Centuries before, during the time of the troubadours, it had celebrated Occitan poetry, but after the Edict of Villers-Cotterêts in 1539, the only contributions were in French. Now, under Mistral’s urgings, Occitan was readmitted on a par with French. The competition is still held in Toulouse on 3 May each year.

  In 1904, Mistral was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature, ‘in recognition of the fresh originality and true inspiration of his poetic production, which faithfully reflects the natural scenery and native spirit of his people, and, in addition, his significant work as a Provençal philologist’. Mistral and the Yiddish author Isaac Bashevis Singer are the only two writers to have won the award in a minority language.

  Mistral was fêted as a great Provençal – and French – poet. There’s a delightful story of William ‘Buffalo Bill’ Cody arriving at Mistral’s farm near Arles one day in 1905. Mistral had visited Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show during one of its tours of the south of France. The showman apparently returned the visit and left the Nobel laureate a present – a dog which Mistral called ‘Pan Pardu’, Provençal for French toast. Stories about the two may have been fuelled by the uncanny similarity between the two goatee-sporting artistes.

  Mistral continued to lead the Félibrige movement until his death in 1914.

  Parlez-vous Franglais?

  The crusade for the supremacy of the langue d’oïl – ‘Paris French’ – over the regional patois has clearly been won. But in an ironic twist, which would no doubt have Mistral singing his Provençal songs in his grave, the official French language now finds itself in a battle against the rest of the world. French, the language of culture and diplomacy for over 200 years, is under threat as never before.

  There was a telling moment a few years ago when the then French President, Jacques Chirac, stormed out of an EU summit meeting after a French business leader addressed delegates in English. President Chirac told reporters, ‘I was profoundly shocked to see a Frenchman express himself in English at the table.’ For his part, the businessman said he chose English ‘because that is the accepted business language of Europe today’. President Chirac’s walkout (and his insistence, despite being fluent in English, of speaking French throughout a one-to-one dinner with the non-French-speaking President Bush) provides a vivid illustration of how sensitive the French – or at least the French establishment – are about the decline of the language. And it’s not a recent concern.

  On the banks of the Seine in Paris the imposing Institut de France is the home of the Académie Française. It was founded in 1635 by Cardinal Richelieu with the express purpose of keeping the French language pure. Just as Paris French, the langue d’oïl, was being imposed as a language of state within France, so the intention was that it should prevail in the diplomatic field to rival Latin as the language of Europe. Since then, this Star Chamber for words has survived everything from the Revolution to Nazi occupation. A linguistic jury is made up of forty members known as immortels (immortals) who hold office for life and are charged with establishing how French is written and spoken. The recommendations of the jury have no legal power but are taken very seriously. And the French they advocate has no truck with regional dialects such as Basque or Occitan. As Marc Fumaroli, one of the most outspoken of the immortels, explains: ‘But you know, what they, the regional languages, have lost is not too much, and in compensation they have been able to participate in one of the most wonderful conversations possible, the conversations in Paris.’ No regrets there, then. Members are tasked with working on a dictionary of the French language, known as the Dictionnaire de l’Académie française. Eight editions have been published since 1635; the first one took fifty-nine years to complete, and Academicians have been working on the ninth since 1935.

  The Académie Française regulates correct usage of the French language

  Since the end of the Second World War and the growing domination of the English language in business, diplomacy and culture, the immortels have increasingly focused on trying to prevent an influx of franglais – English terms used in French – by choosing or inventing French equivalents.

  Some recommendations have failed miserably: le weekend has never been threatened by the proposed la vacancelle; le shopping, un parking and le discount are all firmly part of French everyday speech. However, the attempt to banish the use of the word ‘email’ by proposing un courriel (from courrier électronique) has met with partial success. Courriel is used in written French, but internet users talk about mail or mel. Other loanwords like ‘walkman’ and ‘software’ have been replaced with baladeur and logiciel.

  The Academy has sometimes been criticized for being too conservative. The increase in the number of working women, for instance, has caused problems, as many of the French nouns for the professions don’t have feminine equivalents. An attempt by Lionel Jospin’s government in 1997 to refer to a female minister as Madame la ministre was torpedoed by the Academy, which insists on the traditional use of the masculine noun, le ministre, for either gender. The Toubon Law (nicknamed the ‘Loi Allgood’ – ‘tout bon’) mandates the use of the French language in official government publications, in all adverts and in all workplaces. A percentage of the songs on radio and television must be in French as well. The annual satirical award of the Prix de la Carpette (literally the Rug or Doormat Prize) goes to the person or institution that has given the best display of ‘fawning servility’ by insinuating the ‘accursed English language’ into France. It’s not sponsored by the Academy, although one of its members is on the jury. Nominees have included France Telecom for publishing titles such as Business Talk and Live-Zoom and the president of the French Football Federation for adopting the Jackson 5 hit ‘Can You Feel It’ as the anthem of the French national team.

  There are some truly awful examples of mangled franglais which make you wish the Academy had a bit more clout. People who like to stay at home are said to faire du cocooning; a failure is un looser; a makeover is un relooking; and fine cooking is le fooding; and if you dress sexily, you’ve gone for l’image total destroy.

  France isn’t ready to throw in the towel on the linguistic world stage yet. A British spectator at the 2012 Olympic Games in London may be surprised to see that all the official notices displayed around the capital will be in French as well as English. And that the announcement as the medal winners climb on to the podium will be in French first, then English. French is the first tongue of the International Olympic Committee – the founder of the modern Olympic Games was French after all, and the IOC headquarters are in French-speaking Geneva.

  It’s easy for purveyors of the English language to mock the French attempts to hold on to their own. Let’s face it, spoken English dominates the world because it’s the language of the USA. If history had been different, if the French colonials had dominated across the Atlantic, then the British would undoubtedly be fighting a similar linguistic battle themselves.

  The Survival of Basque

  In contrast to the demise of so many regional languages in France, the Basques in Spain have succeeded in preserving both their language and their culture. Decades of armed struggle by the seperatist organization ETA may have alienated large sections of the Basque population, but it has also won them rights that are the envy of the Basques over the border in France. It is possible now to go from nursery school to university in an entirely Basque medium.

  San Sebastián is one of those magical Atlantic coast cities battered by the waves and offshore winds that bring a salty taste to everything. It is a handsome city, purveyor of a fine International Film Festival and home to some ridiculously good cooking. It is the cultural centre of the Basques.

  The three-Michelin-starred chef Juan Marie Arzak runs a restaurant in the city with his daughter Elena. Juan and Elena talk passionately about their Basque i
dentity and how they celebrate it through their cooking. Whilst the DNA is Basque, it is married to an intensely modern, cosmopolitan and experimental style which is happy to infuse Persian limes with Vietnamese coffee beans to enhance a traditional Basque sauce. Not only is the food exquisite but it exemplifies the confidence they have in their own identity. They will not be subsumed, as history will testify. And their language, even more than their cuisine, is at the heart of it all.

  The language of the Basque people is related to no other language on earth. Although the Basque country straddles the border between Spain and France and is surrounded by Indo-European languages, Basque is what we call a language isolate. It was spoken in Europe long before Indo-European people began migrating across the continent and is very ancient – maybe tens of thousands of years old. Linguists have puzzled for years over the origins of Basque, suggesting that it developed with the Berbers in northern Africa or in the Caucasus or on the Iberian peninsula. Some linguists suggest it may even have evolved as far back as the Stone Age, pointing out that the Basque word for axe comes from the root word haitz, which means stone or rock. Other more wacky suggestions have made the Basques the lost thirteenth tribe of Israel or survivors of Atlantis. One theory even has Adam and Eve speaking Basque.

  The Basque language wasn’t written down until the sixteenth century. It has a fiendishly complex grammar and it looks alien, certainly to the European eye, full of zs and xs. Just counting from one to ten is a challenge: bat bi hiru lau bost sei zazpi zortzi bederatzi hamar. Its obscurity proved a rather useful secret weapon during the war in the Pacific in the Second World War. The US army bamboozled the Japanese intelligence services by sending coded messages in Basque (as well as Navajo, Iroquois and Comanche). Basque-speaking marines were used to send and receive the transmissions; the phrase to signal the beginning of the Battle of Guadalcanal in 1942 was ‘Egon arretaz x egunari’ (‘Heed the x day’).