A Certain Je Ne Sais Quoi : The Origin of Foreign Words Used in English

by Chloe Rhodes

  At first he’d seemed like the perfect man for the job, but he was exposed as a dilettante when a dog-eared copy of The Bluffer’s Guide to Antiques fell out of his briefcase.

  Diva

  goddess (Italian)

  The term now applies to any well-known female performer or prima donna and, more generally, to an acclaimed female in any sphere of endeavor. Pejoratively the word also means a person who considers herself (or by extension himself) more important than others and becomes angry or petulant when her standards or demands are not met. The literal meaning of the term is “goddess,” the feminine of the Latin word “divus,” “god.” Diva even is used as a girl’s name (“divine one” or “goddess”), which might be hard for a girl to live up to.

  Margery considered herself a diva, so when her lotus-blossom throat syrup wasn’t in the dressing room, you could hear her complaining right across the village hall.

  Dolce vita

  sweet life (Italian)

  A life of luxury and self-indulgence has been described in English as “la dolce vita” since the 1960 release of a film of that name by Federico Fellini. The film documented the opulence and materialism of modern Rome at the start of Europe’s most liberal decade and painted the city as a hub of romantic decadence. Originally the phrase was employed ironically to describe a morally flawed way of life, but in recent years its meaning has softened into something more literal, and “ah, la dolce vita” can now be heard in place of the English phrase “this is the life.”

  Mick and Lorraine arrived at the airport with three hours to spare. They wanted their two weeks of living la dolce vita to start as soon as they’d got through check-in, and they needed plenty of time to drink duty-free champagne.

  Doolally

  camp fever (Urdu, from “Deolali”)

  In 1861 the British army established a military base at Deolali, about a hundred miles north of Mumbai, that was used as a transit camp for soldiers who’d completed their tour of duty and were waiting for a boat back home or were on their way up-country. The wait often lasted for months, and in the boredom and heat many men began to behave oddly. Troops would say, “He’s got the Doolally tap,” of anyone who seemed a bit mad; “tap” translates as “fever.” We now use the phrase “gone doolally” to describe someone who is behaving strangely.

  Sorry I’m late, Margaret! I’ve gone completely doolally; I thought I’d lost my car keys and finally found them in the fruit bowl when I went to pick up an apple!

  Doppelgänger

  double goer (German)

  In psychiatry a “doppelgänger” is a delusion of a human double, but the word long predates modern psychiatric analysis. It referred originally to a ghostly phantom double, the sight of which was considered a bad omen. Romantic poet Percy Bysshe Shelley saw his in Italy in 1822, pointing solemnly out to sea. Soon afterward Shelley drowned in a sailing accident. Now the word is used for someone who looks strangely similar to yourself or another person or for your avatar in alternative-reality online games, where you can create your very own virtual doppelgänger.

  Are you sure we haven’t met before? If not, I think I’m acquainted with your doppelgänger. She was on the same cruise as us last year in the Canary Islands.

  Double entendre

  double understanding (French)

  This expression is now obsolete in France, where “double sens” or “double entente” are used in its place, but in English it retains its original definition as a phrase that has an innocent first meaning and a saucy or ironic secondary meaning. Such phrases have been a pillar of English wordplay since Shakespeare’s time, when ribald humor was the order of the day, and are still widely used in comedy today.

  I made the most embarrassing double entendre in the supermarket yesterday; the cashier handed me a grocery bag, and I asked him if he had a big one!

  Doyen/ne

  senior member of a group (French)

  This word came to French from the Latin “decanus,” which means “commander of ten men” and from which we also get the word “clean.” Though this usage has long been obsolete, the modern meaning of the most senior or eldest male member of a group is probably derived from this ancient definition. Nowadays we are more meritocratic in our use of the word, the feminine version “doyenne” is just as frequently used, and both words describe the most successful, most admired, or most influential figures in their field.

  Ladies and gentlemen, would you please welcome to the stage our star speaker, Mr. Bruce Badgett, the doyen of health care.

  Du jour

  of the day (French)

  This is used in English in two ways—in the context of a dish on a menu to mean something freshly prepared and available on that day only, such as a soup du jour, or in more recent use, to signify something that is “very now” or of the moment, with the implication that its popularity will be short lived. An extended version of the phrase—femme du jour—might also be used to describe the latest girlfriend of a man with a commitment problem.

  Monique had slept through her alarm on the morning of the Paris Fashion Show, but she thanked her lucky stars as she caught sight of the catwalk. Unbrushed bed hair was apparently the look du jour.

  Dungarees

  thick cotton cloth/overalls (Hindi)

  During the days of British colonial rule in India, sails and tents were made from a thick, hard-wearing cotton cloth called “dungri.” It was shipped from India to England in great quantities during the eighteenth century when it picked up an additional syllable and turned into “dungaree.” The durability of the fabric made it ideal for work overalls and the trousers with a bib and shoulder straps that we know as dungarees were born.

  I’m sorry, sweetie, but dungarees are not a good look for you; you need more of a hip-hop look to pull them off these days, and your style is more Bananarama.

  E

  Eau de toilette

  toilet water (French)

  Not that kind of toilet . . . in the seventeenth century a “toilette” was a cloth cover for a ladies’ dressing table, having originally meant a cloth cover as a wrapper for clothes. By extension, “toilette” came to mean the process of dressing, and later of washing, thus “eau de toilette” is a scent. It differs from perfume only in that the percentage of aromatic compounds used to make it is slightly lower, making it lighter and less expensive. We use the French term not only because it sounds less unsanitary but because during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, when infrequent bathing made perfumes most popular, France was the center of a prospering perfume and cosmetic trade.

  With the boiler still broken, Elspeth hadn’t bathed in over a week, but it was amazing what a damp cloth and a spritz of eau de toilette could do to give the impression of cleanliness.

  Éclat

  splinter, brilliance, burst (French)

  The original meaning of this word in English was “notoriety” or “scandal.” It comes from the Old French word “esclater“—“to burst out,” like a skeleton from a closet, perhaps. Now, though, it is firmly lodged in our vocabulary as a description of a scintillating performance worthy of great acclaim. Women may also recognize it from the tube of Lancôme’s “Touche Éclat” in their makeup bag, though brilliant might not be how most of us would describe even the best-concealed of under-eye shadows.

  Leonard packed his karaoke machine away with pride. He could tell from the open mouths in the audience that he’d given a performance of great éclat.

  Élan

  leap, fervor, burst (French)

  One of the French meanings of this word is synonymous with “éclat” (above)—a “burst” or “surge” (of activity). In English, however, they are often used together to convey panache and flair. But next to “élan,” éclat can seem brash and flashy, élan is éclat’s sophisticated older brother, redolent of a refined, understated elegance. It comes from the Old French “eslan,” which means “rush,” and is most commonly used in English to describe a kind of ardent vigor a
nd zeal.

  The students seemed to be waving a different banner every day but fought every battle with equal élan. They were rebels with multiple causes.

  Embonpoint

  in good condition, fleshy (French, from “en bon point”)

  This word sums up the way our ideals about body shape have changed over the centuries. Its literal translation means pleasingly plump, like the voluptuous women Rubens was painting in the early seventeenth century, which was around the time the word was first used. In women this quality of desirable fleshiness is often accompanied by a heaving bosom, and the word is still used euphemistically to refer to this most peachy part of the female body.

  The two leads were so ill-matched in physical stature that at one point the tenor nearly disappeared into the soprano’s generous embonpoint.

  En masse

  in mass (French)

  This term is so similar in French to its English translation that it seems strange that we felt the need to adopt it, but around 1800, with protest marches from the cotton spinners, the Chartists and the Anti-Corn-Law League on the horizon, the British borrowed from the French, who had already established themselves as the leading authority on civil unrest. We still use it to indicate a group moving as one, but the context is often less worthy; these days we’re more likely to head en masse to the bar after work.

  There were a few pink cheeks in the capital yesterday as four thousand nudists marched through the city en masse.

  Enfant terrible

  terrible child (French)

  Though not often used literally, this term can be applied to children who humiliate their parents by making loud, embarrassingly candid declarations in public. Usually though, it is reserved for radical, unorthodox adults, mostly in the art world, whose outrageous behavior shocks and unnerves mainstream society. The phrase was coined by Thomas Jefferson to describe the headstrong architect Pierre Charles L’Enfant, who was commissioned to build the U.S. Capitol in Washington, D.C., but was fired after eleven months for tearing down the home of the city’s commissioner to build a boulevard.

  Reuben had tried everything to get himself known as the new enfant terrible of the art world; he’d even pickled his own hand in formaldehyde, but so far no one seemed to have noticed.

  Ennui

  boredom (French)

  We claimed this word from the French in the eighteenth century when cultivated society needed a term that distinguished the listless dissatisfaction felt by the elite from the bog standard boredom of the man on the street. In 1809 it became the title of a novel by preeminent writer Maria Edgeworth in which she critiqued the lethargy of the leisured upper classes. We still use the word to describe a profound sort of boredom today.

  I don’t think I can ever turn the television on again, Lucinda; the vacuous nonsense they show these days overcomes me with ennui.

  Entre nous

  between ourselves (French)

  There is something about the French language that makes it seem just right for secrets. Perhaps it’s the relaxed Gallic attitude toward illicit liaisons or the fact that using a smattering of French while revealing some hush-hush little morsel makes us seem so French. Whatever it is, “entre nous,” which dates back to the 1680s in its homeland, has become an almost obligatory precursor to any juicy revelation. It means that what you’re about to say must stay between you and the recipient of your information.

  Marion? It’s me—Barbara. Meet me in the coffee shop at three fifteen, usual table. And come alone; I’ve got something to tell you that’s strictly entre nous.

  Erratum

  mistake (Latin)

  This comes from the Latin verb “errare,” which means to “stray” or “err,” and is used specifically in printing and, more recently, in computer programming. It refers to an error that has been formally noted by editors after the completion of the production process when the text cannot be changed. Rather than incur the expense of reprinting a whole run of books, an erratum, or a list of errata, can be printed on a separate page and bound into the book.

  It had taken Richard Pratt sixteen years to complete his memoir of Fluffy the Peruvian guinea pig, so it was with some frustration that the final page of his manuscript contained that dreaded word “erratum.”

  Ersatz

  replacement (German)

  This comes from “ersetzen,” which means to “replace,” and in Germany the term is straightforward; in sports an“Ersatzspieler” is a “substitute player.” But the word picked up some negativity on its route into English. During the First World War, when Allied blockades prevented the delivery of goods to Germany, substitutes had to be found for the basic essentials. Coffee, for instance, was made using roasted grains rather than coffee beans. The practice resumed in the Second World War, when Allied prisoners of war who were given this tasteless “Ersatzkaffee” took the word home with them for any inferior substitution or imitation.

  Pass me that glass of champagne quickly, Gloria! I think that last canapé was some kind of dreadful ersatz caviar.

  Esprit de corps

  group spirit (French)

  Used especially in reference to members of a military unit, this word conveys the pride and sense of unity that arises in teams of people who are working closely together. Camaraderie (see page 36) is a crucial ingredient in it, as is a shared sense of purpose and commitment to reaching a goal. Regrettably, in recent years the term has been appropriated by corporate team-building gurus who try to drum up this now elusive force with orienteering exercises and games of Twister.

  Okay, everybody, the aim is to hold the balloon under your chin and pass it on to the person next to you without it popping. This is really going to generate some esprit de corps. I can just feel it!

  Et cetera

  and the rest (Latin)

  This is a remarkably efficient phrase that is usually shortened to “etc.” with a period at the end. It allows the user to give the gist of her meaning without having to list every example she can think of. Usually “etc.” is used when the list of things that is too lengthy to write in full has some pattern or order, such as a group of ingredients or items you need to remember to pack for your holiday. It is also used informally in the titles of European monarchs to denote that the number of grand titles is simply too long to list.

  There will be four days of camping, so everyone needs wet weather gear: raincoat, rubber boots, etc., etc.

  Eureka

  I have found it (Greek)

  Archimedes’ famous exclamation on discovering how to measure the volume of an irregular object has been in our vocabulary for centuries as an expression of discovery. The legendary Greek scholar reportedly realized while stepping into a bath that water displacement could be used to measure the volume of an irregular object. He was so excited by his discovery that he apparently jumped straight back out of the bath and ran naked onto the streets of Syracuse.

  Eureka! That’s the turn we need ahead on the left, Jennifer. I told you I knew where we were going!

  Ex libris

  from the books of (Latin)

  This term has been used since Roman times to denote the ownership of a book. It refers to the label or mark within the cover of a book that details the library or individual that it belongs to. The earliest recorded ex libris dates from around 1400 BC and proclaims ownership by the Egyptian pharaoh Amenophis III. Paper labels or ink stamps are still used for this purpose today, though the phrase is mostly used by collectors and librarians.

  This is a lovely present, James, but are you sure you bought it? It’s just that the ex libris says it’s the property of the public library.

  Exposé