1 Understanding “Fourreau” – A Deeper Look from a New Perspective I’ve been both amused and interested by the blog buzz in the historical costuming community over the ‘fourreau’ issue. Only someone deeply absorbed in costume minutiae and fascinated by language would add to the discussion on such an obscure topic. I suppose I am that person! So, with apologies, and at the risk of beating the subject senseless, I feel compelled to provide my thoughts based on my linguistic background and my understanding of French history of the late 18th century. I’m going to set out reasons why I believe there have been misunderstandings or misinterpretations by fashion historians and researchers which have led to confusion over this unfortunate word, and try to provide some clarity. I was originally trained as a historian and linguist, am fluent in French and German, and have worked extensively with antique French fashion publications for the last two decades. From a linguistic and historical standpoint, attempting to trace the long and convoluted train of usage of the term ‘fourreau’ requires some time and patience – it’s a bit like a game of snakes and ladders, forward in some areas, sideways in others. In this paper I’ll try to explain my ideas, with the help of illustrative examples, and propose a fresh insight on the history and use of the word ‘fourreau’ and its infamous corollary, ‘en fourreau’. I’ve read the much-shared and much-discussed blogs on the subject of ‘fourrreau’ and ‘en fourreau’ by Lauren Stowell (of American Duchess), and by “Cassidy” (of A Very Beguiling Accomplishment). Both blogs are helpful starting points, but there are some stumbling points and misinterpretations that I’ll discuss further on. The blogs are available here for reference: http://blog.americanduchess.com/2018/10/the-en-fourreau-myth.html http://www.mimicofmodes.com/2013/12/the-fourreau.html Misconceptions or misinterpretations of the 18th century French language are, I believe, the source of much of the confusion, resulting in misunderstanding and misnomers by a some fashion historians and writers on the subject over the decades, including in particular the use of the phrase ‘en fourreau’. The opinions and conclusions expressed here are my own. Translations from the French throughout this article are mine. French terms are shown in italics, and my notes on illustrations or translations are in square brackets [ ]. I invite you to join me in examining this elusive subject! I believe linguistic history is a key, if not the key -- to untangling the “fourreau puzzle” and clarifying some of the apparent contradictions that have been pointed out by others. Accordingly, I’d first like to review the etymology of the word ‘fourreau’ (pronounced in French something along the lines of “foo-row”, with the accent on the last syllable, plural: ‘fourreaux’) and explain some aspects of French grammar before delving into the historical uses of these terms in costume history. I hope you’ll forgive my linguist’s geek- like deep dive into this topic. 2 One disclaimer: I have not re-examined the findings of linguists mentioned in this article in order to confirm them, but have accepted most of them as presented, trusting that the world’s greatest language experts have done the necessary research work and had good reasons to conclude as they did. Most of the findings make perfect sense from the point of view of historical linguistics, a field with which I’m reasonably familiar. I do have one significant disagreement, which forms part of the basis for my subsequent explanations, and which I’ll explain further on. The Robert1 dictionary (essentially the French equivalent of the Oxford English) explains the etymology of ‘fourreau’ as follows (my translation and notes): Fourreau: [Plural: fourreaux] – Masculine noun, derived from the 11th century French word ‘furrel’ with the same meaning, from an even older French word, fuerre, taken from the old French fôdr (meaning sheath). [According to Robert, this fôdr root is unrelated to the old Germanic homonym fôdr (meaning forage, or feed). I disagree, and will be saying more on this later]. According to the Robert, the (modern) definition is: “Enveloppe allongée, destinée à recevoir une chose de même forme pour la préserver quand on ne s’en sert pas. » [“Elongated envelope, intended to receive something of the same shape, to protect (keep) it when not in use”]. This noun is of course related to the French verb ‘fourrer’ which has three distinct but connected meanings bearing directly on the use of the noun ‘fourreau’ in French. Those three meanings of ‘fourrer’ are: (1) To line or cover with something, to protect, preserve, or embellish (e.g. ‘fourrer une médaille’ = to cover or laminate a medal with gold, silver, etc.) By extension, laminating in plastic, etc.; also lining a garment with fur in particular. (2) To place something inside something else (as in a sheath or scabbard), e.g. ‘Fourrer ses mains dans ses poches’ = to stuff one’s hands in one’s pockets). There is also the sense of disorder, as in putting something (or a number of things) in a jumble into something else – like stuffing a whole lot of belongings into a big purse. By extension a ‘fourre-tout’ is anything into which a whole lot of various things are stuffed indiscriminately. (3) (se fourrer): To put or place oneself into something (as in ‘se fourrer sous les couvertures’ = to snuggle down under the covers [of a bed]); by extension to meddle in (“stick one’s nose into”) something. Keep these three general realms of meaning in the verb ‘fourrer’ in mind as you read through the following explanations of the 18th century use of the noun ‘fourreau’ as related to fashions. I hate to argue with Robert on the etymology of the noun ‘fourreau’, but here is where the plot thickens, linguistically-speaking. I think there is evidence that both roots were involved in the evolution of these 3 words into French, in the sense that there was a bifurcation of meaning at some point (a very common phenomenon in linguistics, where one branch spawns a line of words relating to one side of the meaning, and the other a line of words with perhaps a related, but different meaning). These are very old, foundational words and as such appear to have been had, by metaphoric extension and historical shift, a number of different connotations over the centuries (or millennia). I’ll explain what I mean. The Germanic root ‘fôdr’ is the derivation of the modern German word ‘Futter’ (meaning feed or fodder, but also – by long extension of history -- lining [of a garment], in the sense of a filler or feed, i.e. to line a garment is to fill it or, metaphorically feed it, with something). This old root ‘fôdr’ (likely connected further back to the Indo-European) is also the genesis of the English word ‘fodder’, amongst others. In addition, the Encarta Concise English Dictionary2 gives the derivation of the English word ‘fur’ (as in fur coat, etc.) as “Old French: ‘forrer’ < ‘forre’ (lining)”, which in turn is noted in French dictionaries to trace back to ‘fôdr’ . It doesn’t take too much noodling to realize that, long before the Normans arrived in what is now northern France, the Germanic tribes were lining their winter skins with fur. Are you beginning to see the connection? That connection, I propose, was from the Old German ‘fôdr’, borrowed into Old French as ‘forrer’ or ‘forre’, meaning, broadly, some sort of interior layer of a garment (and thence of course to the English ‘fur’). That was one branch of meaning, which I’ll call here the first steam of meaning – something that fills or completes the inside of a garment. Incidentally, I should mention here that the modern German word for “fur” is “Pelz”, to which the English word “pelt” is related. These words have no relationship to ‘fôdr’. However, the modern French word ‘fourrage’, which is directly related to, and derived from ‘fôdr’, still means “forage” or “fodder” today. This is related to the second branch of meaning described below. Incidentally, the English word “furrow” has no connection with ‘fôdr’; it derives from a different root, old English ‘furh’, which has been traced by linguists to another (Indo-European) source. The second branch, which I’ll call the second stream of meaning, flowing from the idea of ‘fôdr’ into the French ‘forre’ and/or ‘fuerre’, meant something filling another thing closely, or “feeding into it”. This developed into ‘fourreau’ in the sense of a sheath. Indeed, the word ‘fourrer’ in modern French means to line (or embellish) a garment with fur (the original Germanic meaning!), as well as to introduce or put something closely into something else (as in the modern use: “Fourrer la main dans sa poche” [stuffing your hand in your pocket], or “Fourrer son nez dans…” (stick one’s nose into…, in the sense of insinuating oneself). From this sense of filling closely, it was a small jump to ‘fourreau’, meaning a sheath or scabbard, and all that followed from that particular image, including references to garments. It seems clear to me that these two streams of meaning produced somewhat different concepts in the linguistic imagination, which evolved from there. But their meanings aren’t entirely divorced. What they have retained in common, generally speaking, is the idea of something put closely inside another thing, whether feed to fill an animal’s stomach, a lining to fill a coat, or a sword inside a sheath. In this regard, there is still a morphological link between most of the subsequent words.