Allans, Enfants . . .

"The French language," trumpeted the "manifesto" of the privately run, six-months-old Office du Vocabulaire Francais, "is threatened." Threat: the English language. By last week, in response to the manifesto, 5,000 Frenchmen had sent in list's of objectionable neologisms that had sneaked into the language from Britain and the U.S. "The danger," the manifesto had warned, "is grave"--and 4,999 out of the 5.000 patriotically agreed.

The 4,999 were dead set against such outrages in French as bestseller, blackout, brain-trust, covergirl, fairplay, new-look, pinup, rush, starlett, surprise-party, up-to-date and weekend. Some suggested a wholesale Gallicizing of the Anglicisms so that starter would be starteur; speaker, spiqueur; dancing, dancingue; meeting, metingue, and week-end--which France once tried to convert into ouiquinde--vecande. They railed against such verbs as supervisionner, solutionner, deceptionner, kidnapper (pronounced keednappay) and knockouter. Nor did they see any excuse for le pul-over, le racing, le music-hall or le grand shelem (as in bridge).

Appeal Is Appel. One man suggested belle `a la page for pinup, vacancelle for week-end ("A delicious equivalent," said the Office). A composer wanted union de tetes for brain-trust, and an author thought couvre-feu made black-out completely superfluous. Ambassador Rene Massigli proposed attrait sensuel for sex-appeal, but Academician Fernand Gregh favored attrait physique, and the director of the Nouvelle Revue Franqaise wanted the simple sexe-appel.

As the Office sorted out its lists last week, it was actually waging only the latest of many campaigns to save the French language from corruption. The Comite d'Etude des Termes Techniques Franqais lashes out at such words as dumping, fading, and automation. One Paris police prefect became so apoplectic over O.K. that his gendarmes switched to d'acc (short for d'accord, meaning agreed). Air France is deeply troubled by such sentences as "Le booking-clerk requt la visite d'un prospect et demandait une reservation pour un inclusive tour." Nor would the airline approve were any of its planes to crasher.

Even More Dangerous. Of all purists, none has been more diligent than the language student who compiled a list of "camouflaged Anglicisms"--which are obviously even more dangerous than ordinary ones. A military offensive, he pointed out, is now majeure rather than grande. Losses are severes, and a situation that was once sans changement is now inchangee. Accidents with the transport motorise are fatals rather than mortels. Bad diplomacy that would once create frottements now produces frictions. Impressions, once produites, are now creees, and everyone is talking about something called integration. A good worker is no longer capable but efficient. Prendre contact or entrer en relations have given way to contacter. Virtually any problem can be clarifie instead of eclairci. Police no longer precedent `a an inquiry, they conduisent it, while judges decretent death penalties rather than prononcent them.

Indeed, so wholesale have been the borrowings and so effective the camouflage that even scholars accept Anglicisms without discrimination instead of without distinction. Even time has lost its old sense. Once a decade lasted just ten days. Now it goes on for ten years.

On hearing of the Office's manifesto and list of Anglicisms, London's Punch declared it pretty gauche for the French to be talking so much blague. "On the basis of this list," said Author H.F. Ellis, "a Frenchman may very well be heard to say, given the occasion, 'Le groggy manager est dans le grill-room,' or even 'Venez au bungalow de ma tante le weekend. Elle donne un up-to-date surprise party dans le jardin' . . . It is nonsense to say that these sentences do not enrich a language. They ennoble it. They give it elan, panache, a certain--how do they say?--chic."

"We are," continued Ellis, "admirably poised to strike back, if need be . . . There must be give-and-take in these matters [or] co-existence becomes impossible. If the French decide to root out 'toast' and 'rugbyman,' we can easily do without belles-lettres and pied-`a-terre. There is a lot to be said for dropping tour de force and bijou without waiting for further moves on their side . . . Away, if they insist on carrying on the war `a outrance, [with] their douceurs, their debris and their debacles and all such bourgeois bric-a-brac. It is as easy to write R.I.Y.P. as R.S.V.P. any day."

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