Why should we call a nondescript medley of dialogue and dance and song a revue, when revue in French is the exact equivalent of ‘review’ in English?  Why should we call an actress of comic characters a comedienne and an actress of tragic characters a tragedienne, when we do not call a comic actor a comedien or a tragic actor a tragedien?  Possibly it is because ‘comedian’ and ‘tragedian’ seem to be too exclusively masculine—­so that a want is felt for words to indicate a female tragedian and a female comedian.  Probably it is for the same reason that a male dancer is not termed a danseur while a female dancer is termed a danseuse.  Then there is diseuse, apparently reserved for the lady who recites verse, no name being needed apparently for the gentleman who recites verse—­at least, I am reasonably certain that I have never seen diseur applied to any male reciter.

Mise-en-scene is another of the French terms which has suffered a Channel-change.  In Paris it means the arrangement of the stage-business, whereas in London and in New York it is employed rather to indicate the elaboration of the scenery and of the spectacular accessories.  An even more extraordinary misadventure has befallen pianiste, in that it is sometimes used as if it was to be applied only to a female performer.  And this blunder is of long standing; but I remember as lately as forty years ago seeing an American advertisement of Teresa Carreno which proclaimed her to be ‘the greatest living lady pianiste’.  I have also detected evidences of a startling belief of the illiterate that artiste is the feminine of ‘artist’.  Nevertheless I found recently in a volume caricaturing the chief performers of the London music-halls a foot-note which explained that these celebrities were therein entitled artistes—­because ‘an artist creates, an artiste performs’.

Still to be analysed are premiere for ‘first performance’ or ’opening night’ and debut for ‘first appearance’; and I fear that it is beyond expectation that these alien words will speedily drop their alien accents and their alien pronunciations.  The same must be said also of denoument and of ingenue—­French words which really fill a gap in our vocabulary and which are none the less abhorrent to our speech habits.  The most that is likely to happen is that they may shed their accents and more or less approximate an English pronunciation, dee-noo-meant, perhaps, and inn-je-new, an approximation which will be sternly resisted by the literate.  I well remember one occasion when I overheard scorn poured upon a charming American actress who had happened to mention the date of her own deb-you in New York.

V