Well, in fact, it should be nothing else than dérandomisation. En effet, the Grand Robert tells us that randomisation was introduced in French by a person named Piéron in 1957, from the English, but adds that this word comes from the same old-French root randon which led to “random”, and (in French) to randonnéee (meaning a walk, usually a long country or mountain walk). Following to the etymology of randonnée, we read:
XIIe; du v. randonner (XIIe; – 1. Randonner) tiré des expressions à randon, de randon «avec impétuosité, violence» (randon au sens de «mouvement impétueux» est encore chez La Fontaine), de l’anc. franç. randir «courir avec impétuosité», du francique *rant (Wartburg) ou d’un comp. en re- de l’anc. franç. ander, du bas lat. *ambitare «courir» (Guiraud).
the beginning of which translates to
12th Century; from the verb. randonner (12th Century, see Randonner) coming from the expressions à randon, de randon, meaning “impetuously, violently” (randon in the sense of “impetuous movement” is still in La Fontaine), ….
This is of course confirmed by the O.E.D.
It can be very rewarding to read old mathematical papers, in terms of accessing insights and ideas that may have been filtered out in later transformations of the results they contain. In my modest experience, this does not extend to notation and terminology, and it is much easier to appreciate the insights in question after translating them into modern language and formalism. This is an area where, maybe, progress is usually fairly steady. But still, there can be exceptions. I was recently rather struck, while reading the recently published collection of letters between Henri Cartan and André Weil, to discover that when they were exchanging many letters on algebraic topology just after 1945, they used the charming name cascade for what is now known as a “long exact sequence” (in homology or cohomology). I think it is too bad this didn’t become the standard name; one could have imagined that triangles
would be called “Escherian cascades”…
Incidentally, this book of letters is very interesting to read, in no small part because of the extensive notes and comments by Michèle Audin. It is published by the SMF in the same series where letters between Grothendieck and Serre were also published a few years ago.
One of the nicest things about Linux (and Open Source software in general) is that new versions often offer clear measurable improvements on the previous ones. And another is that this does not usually require abandoning whatever might have been worth keeping from other computer-ages. In particular, if one has very old software, there’s a good chance that one can still keep them working, even if they are written for a completely different operating system, through the wonders of emulation. In my case, this applies to Windows 3.1-era dictionary cdroms, and to Motorola 68000-era Mac software.
Recently, I had somewhat lapsed in performing the necessary tweaks to make these old programs work on my laptop (a decidedly modern 4-core Lenovo), but on upgrading Fedora, I decided to try again. It’s quite amazing that, through the wonders of Wine, I can enjoy again the Grand Robert de la Langue Française
(originally available for MS-DOS and Windows 3.1) as well as the American Heritage Dictionary
(though I use the O.E.D instead when I’m connected to the ETH network). The Grand Robert is the best anti-pedant tool I know against so-called défenseurs de la langue française; it usually reveals that their favorite anglicisms are perfectly French (e.g., opportunité, in the sense of “occasion, circumstance”, which goes back to 1355 in French, and is at least as French as Baudelaire…)
I’m even more impressed to be able to boot the equivalent of my old Mac SE30,
and thereby play with, or recover, the old files I used to work with during my PhD thesis and before. (In fact, the emulator boots in something like 1.5 seconds on my laptop, which is about a hundred times faster than it ever did in real life…) Afficionados will note the realistic 512 x 384 resolution of the screen.
… there came Jorge Luis Borges
as Google doodle.
By the way, people who have encountered many French mathematicians (say, in a conference) of a certain sharply defined age may have got the impression of finding themselves in a confusing self-referential Borgesian circle. The reason is that his book of short stories “Fictions” (Ficciones in Spanish) was assigned as one of the two texts during one year of the famous French classes préparatoires.
Strangely, the effect of the second book, a poetry collection of Francis Ponge, was much less obvious, though some highly refined friends of mine enjoyed it a lot; my own personal memory is restricted to the sad remark that it is rather a shame that the title of his poem La crevette dans tout ses états does not translate exactly to The startled shrimp, the (former) name of the night-club in which B. Wooster gets entangled with the awful majesty of the law in Jeeves and the Feudal Spirit.
On the other hand, the two hard drives of my computer at the time were called “Tlön” and “Uqbar”, and I dabbled in imitative short stories; I might as well put here a link to my favorite…
Considering that the last novel of Haruki Murakami
is scheduled to appear in English translation in October this year, can we deduce anything about language (or anything else) from the fact that the German translation
already appeared last year?