"Anthony J. Bryant" wrote:
> atterlep@... wrote:
> > I don't know a lot about French titles, but perhaps "Monsieur" is a
> > equivalent to the SCA "Lord" than the English "Lord" is (if that
> makes sense).
> Well, actually, Monsieur is a literal translation of "my lord."
> Therefor, "monsieur" is the functional equivalent of "milord"....
Well, not really. It is the equivalent of my lord. the literal being the
best meaning, in this case. To really get the feel of milord you have to
Seiur, which the alternate titles list gives for 'Sir' as I recall, is
really the best alternative for lord, in translation.
> > It seems to me that since we're using English titles, we should base
> them on the English system. I would strongly argue that the
> "translations" of titles should be based on relative rank rather than
> the words used. So
> > perhaps the appropriate French title for AoA is "Sieur."
> I think it is, isn't it? or do we use signeur?
Sieur and signeur are fairly interchangeable, really. The latter conveys
just a bit more respect, though that's custom rather than law, and is
usually applies to larger landholders (or someone you're trying to
flatter...). Great magnates were sometimes referred to as Grand
Signeurs, or great lords...
> > And yes, I realize that "Master" is completely inappropriate as a
> reserved title; I was proposing a system that compromised between the
> SCA and historical English uses.
> This is part of the problem; there are lots of possible solutions, and
> there are many different proposals.
> Outside of the official rule structure we have a chaos of conflicting
> ideas and suggestions.
And if we're going to walk in the cloud-cukoo land of actually fixing
the structure (which I say because I for expect to be a *very* old man
before any of this really changes) why not walk on the path of
righteousness, rather than on that of compromise? That way, if someone
actually listens we don't end up with yet another bad compromise....
Not ever, not once, did Sister Mary Constance, upon leaving the convent
for her fortnightly trip to the grocery, expect to find nestled firmly
in the bottom of her purl-knit tote, a small plastic package containing
a money-clip bent wide with hundreds, a ticket to Aconcagua, and a
little note with the words, "Wish you were here," written hastily in