'Qui vive?' And is the sentry's cry,
The sleepless soldier's hand,
Are these — the painted folds that fly
And lift their emblems, printed high
On morning mist and sunset sky
The guardians of a land?
Oliver Wendell Holmes
In the days when bigwigs actually wore big wigs, French mariners would hail an unfamiliar ship with a thunderous qui vive? If the occupants of said vessel responded with ‘vive le roi Louis’, amity ensued. If, however, they wished long life to a monarch of another name, ‘twas time for a cannonade. (Please read the preceding line in your best West Country pirate voice.)
As asking a question in this manner required alertness, cohesion, and a willingness to exchange fire with those who gave the wrong answer, this choral attempt to distinguish friend from foe soon gave birth to the expression sur le qui vive (‘on the qui vive’). 1
Qui vive also served the needs of soldiers standing watch on land. Though invariably limited to solo performances (or, at most, duets), the landlubbing sentries in the service of the Sun King soon adopted this maritime interrogation, which they came to prefer to the traditional terrestrial challenge of qui va là (‘who goes there?’).
Before long, Francophone writers began to employ sur le qui vive in a more metaphorical way. Thus, in his treatise on social interaction (a kind of How to Win Friends and Influence People avant la lettre), the Jean-Baptiste Morvan de Bellegarde (1648-1734) casts shade upon those who, viewing conversation as a kind of petite guerre (‘small war’), place themselves sur les épines (‘on the thorns’) and sur le qui vive.2
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