Argot pervades the whole of French society. It may be heard everywhere,
and it is now difficult to peruse a newspaper or open a new novel
without meeting with a sprinkling of some of the jargon dialects of
the day. These take their rise in the slums, on the boulevards, in
workshops, barracks, and studios, and even in the lobbies of the
Houses of Legislature. From the beggar to the diplomatist, every class
possesses its own vernacular, borrowed more or less from its special
avocations. The language of the dangerous classes, which so often
savours of evil or bloody deeds, of human suffering, and also of the
anguish and fears of the ever-tracked and ever-watchful criminal,
though often disguised under a would-be humorous garb, cannot but be
interesting to the philosopher. “Everybody,” says Charles Nodier, “must
feel that there is more ingenuity in argot than in algebra itself,
and that this quality is due to the power it possesses of making
language figurative and graphic. With algebra, only calculations can be
achieved; with argot, however ignoble and impure its source, a nation
and society might be renovated.... Argot is generally formed with
ability because it is the outcome of the urgent necessities of a class
of men not lacking in brains.... The jargon of the lower classes, which
is due to the inventive genius of thieves, is redundant with sparkling
wit, and gives evidence of wonderfully imaginative powers.”
If criminals are odious, they are not always vulgar, and a study of
their mode of expression possesses certain features of interest. The
ordinary slang of the higher strata of French society, as compared
with that of the lower classes, being based often on mere distortion
of words or misappropriation of meaning, is in many cases vulgar and
silly; it casts a stain over a language which has already suffered
so much at the hands of the lesser stars of the Naturalistic School.
A coarse sentiment, a craving for more violent sensations, will find
expression in the jargon of the day. People are no longer content
with being astonished, they must be crushed or flattened (épatés),
or knocked over (renversés), and so forth; and the silly “on dirait
du veau,” repeated _ad nauseam_, seldom fails to raise a laugh. Our
English neighbours do not seem to be better off. “So universal,” says a
writer in _Household Words_, September 24, 1853, “has the use of slang
terms become, that in all societies they are substituted for, and have
almost usurped the place of wit. An audience will sit in a theatre and
listen to a string of brilliant witticisms with perfect immobility,
but let some fellow rush forward and roar out ‘It’s all serene,’ or
‘catch’em alive, oh!’ (this last is sure to take), pit, boxes, and
gallery roar with laughter.” It must be said, however, on the other
hand, that the slang term is often much more expressive than its
corresponding synonym in the ordinary language. Moreover, it is often
witty, and capable of suggesting a humorous idea with singular felicity.
Argot is but a bastard tongue grafted on the mother stem, and though it
is no easy matter to coin a word that shall remain and take rank among
those of any language, yet the field of argot, already so extensive,
is ever pushing back its boundaries, the additions surging in together
with new ideas, novel fashions, but especially through the necessities
of that class of people whose primary interest it is to make themselves
unintelligible to their victims, the public, and their enemies, the
police. “Argot,” again quoting Nodier’s words, “is an artificial,
unsettled tongue, without a syntax properly so called, of which the
only object is to disguise under conventional metaphors ideas which are
intended to be conveyed to adepts. Consequently its vocabulary must
needs change whenever it has become familiar to outsiders, and we find
in _Le Jargon de l’Argot Réformé_ curious traces of a like revolution.
In every country the men who speak a cant language belong to the
lowest, most contemptible stratum of society, but its study, if looked
upon as an outcome of the intellect, presents important features,
and synoptic tables of its synonyms might prove interesting to the
linguist.”
The use of argot in works of any literary pretensions is of modern
introduction. However, Villon, the famous poet of the fifteenth
century, a _vaurien_ whose misdeeds had wellnigh brought him to the
gallows, as he informs us:--
Je suis François, dont ce me poise,
Né de Paris emprès Ponthoise,
Or, d’une corde d’une toise,
Saura mon col que mon cul poise--
Villon himself has given, under the title of _Jargon ou Jobelin de
Maistre François Villon_, a series of short poems worded in the
jargon of the vagabonds and thieves his boon companions, now almost
unintelligible.
In our days Eugène Sue, Balzac, and Victor Hugo have introduced argot
in some of their works, taking, no doubt, Vidocq as an authority on
the subject; while more recently M. Jean Richepin, in his _Chanson
des Gueux_, rhymes in the lingo of roughs, bullies, vagabonds, and
thieves; and many others have followed suit. Balzac thus expresses his
admiration for argot: “People will perhaps be astonished if we venture
to assert that no tongue is more energetic, more picturesque than the
tongue of that subterranean world which since the birth of capitals
grovels in cellars, in sinks of vice, in the lowest stage floors of
societies. For is not the world a theatre? The lowest stage floor
is the ground basement under the stage of the opera house where the
machinery, the phantoms, the devils, when not in use, are stowed away.
Each word of the language recalls a brutal image, either ingenious or
terrible. In the jargon one does not sleep, ‘on pionce.’ Notice with
what energy that word expresses the uneasy slumbers of the tracked,
tired, suspicious animal called thief, which, as soon as it is in
safety, sinks down and rolls into the abysses of deep and necessary
sleep, with the powerful wings of suspicion constantly spread over
it--an awful repose, comparable to that of the wild beast, which
sleeps and snores, but whose ears nevertheless remain ever watchful.
Everything is fierce in this idiom. The initial or final syllables of
words, the words themselves, are harsh and astounding. A woman is a
_largue_. And what poetry! Straw is ‘_la plume de Beauce_.’ The word
midnight is rendered by _douze plombes crossent_. Does not that make
one shudder?”
Victor Hugo, after Balzac, has devoted a whole chapter to argot in
his _Misérables_, and both these great authors have left little to be
said on the subject. Victor Hugo, dealing with its Protean character,
writes: “Argot being the idiom of corruption, is quickly corrupted.
Besides, as it always seeks secrecy, so soon as it feels itself
understood it transforms itself.... For this reason argot is subject to
perpetual transformation--a secret and rapid work which ever goes on.
It makes more progress in ten years than the regular language in ten
centuries.”
In spite of the successive revolutions referred to, a number of old
cant words are still used in their original form. Some have been,
besides, more or less distorted by different processes, the results of
these alterations being subjected in their turn to fresh disguises. As
for slang proper, it is mostly metaphoric.
A large proportion of the vocabulary of argot is to be traced to the
early Romance idiom, or to some of our country patois, the offsprings
of the ancient Langue d’oc and Langue d’oil. Some of the terms draw
their origin from the Italian language and jargon, and were imported
by Italian quacks and sharpers. Such are lime (_shirt_), fourline
(_thief_), macaronner (_to inform against_), rabouin (_devil_), rif
(_fire_), escarpe (_thief_, _murderer_), respectively from lima,
forlano, macaronare, rabuino, ruffo, scarpa, some of which belong to
the Romany, as lima. The German schlafen has given schloffer, and the
Latin fur has provided us with the verb affurer. Several are of Greek
parentage: arton (_bread_), from the accusative αρτον; ornie (_fowl_),
from ορνις; pier (_to drink_), piolle (_tavern_), pion (_drunk_), from
πιεῖν.
The word argot itself, formerly a cant word, but which has now
gained admittance into the _Dictionnaire de l’Académie_, is but
the corruption of jargon, called by the Italians “lingua gerga,”
abbreviated into “gergo,” from which the French word sprang,--gergo
itself being derived, according to Salvini, from the Greek ἱερός
(_sacred_). Hence lingua gerga, _sacred language_, only known to the
initiated. M. Génin thus traces the origin of argot: lingua hiera,
then lingua gerga, il gergo; hence jergon or jargon, finally argot.
Other philologists have suggested that it comes from the Greek ἀργός,
idler; and this learned derivation is not improbable, as, among the
members of the “argot”--originally the corporation of pedlars and
vagabonds--were scholars like Villon (though there exists no evidence
of the word having been used in his time), and runaway priests who had,
as the French say, “thrown the cassock to the nettles.” M. Nisard,
however, rejects these derivations, and believes that argot comes from
_argutus_, pointed, cunning. It seems, in any case, an indubitable fact
that the term argot at first was applied only to the confraternity of
vagabonds or “argotiers,” and there is no evidence of its having been
used before 1698 as an appellation for their language, which till then
had been known as “jargon du matois” or “jargon de l’argot.” Grandval,
in his _Vice puni ou Cartouche_, offers the following derivation, which
must be taken for what it is worth.
Mais à propos d’argot, dit alors Limosin,
Ne m’apprendrez-vous pas, vous qui parlez latin,
D’où cette belle langue a pris son origine?
--De la ville d’Argos, et je l’ai lu dans Pline,
Répondit Balagny. Le grand Agamemnon
Fit fleurir dans Argos cet éloquent jargon.
. . . . . . . . .
--Tu dis vrai, Balagny, reprit alors Cartouche;
Mais cette langue sort d’une plus vieille souche,
Et j’ai lu quelque part, dans un certain bouquin
D’argot traduit en grec, de grec mis en latin,
Et depuis en françois, que Jason et Thésée,
Hercule, Philoctète, Admète, Hylas, Lyncée,
Castor, Pollux, Orphée et tant d’autres héros
Qui _trimèrent_ pincer la toison à Colchos,
Dans le navire _Argo_, pendant leur long voyage,
Inventèrent entre eux ce sublime langage
Afin de mieux tromper le roi Colchidien
Et que de leur projet il ne soupçonnât rien.
. . . . . . . . .
Enfin tous les doubleurs de la riche toison,
De leur navire Argo lui donnèrent le nom.
Amis, voici quelle est son étymologie.
A certain number of slang terms proceed from uniform and systematic
alterations in the body of the French word, but these methods do not
seem to have produced many expressions holding a permanent place in
the dialect. Such is the “langage en lem,” much used by butchers some
forty years ago, but now only known to a few. But a very small number
of words thus coined have passed into the main body of the lingo, as
being too lengthy, and because argot has a general tendency to brevity.
The more usual suffixes used are mar, anche, inche, in, ingue, o,
orgue, aille, ière, muche, mon, mont, oque, ègue, igue, which give such
terms as--
épicemar for épicier,
boutanche -- boutique,
aminceminche -- ami,
burlin } -- bureau,
burlingue }
camaro -- camarade,
bonorgue -- bon,
vouzaille -- vous,
mézière -- me,
petmuche -- pet,
cabermon -- cabaret,
gilmont -- gilet,
loufoque -- fou,
chamègue -- chameau,
mézigue -- me.
The army has furnished a large contingent to slang, and has
provided us with such words as colon (_colonel_); petit colon
(_lieutenant-colonel_); la femme du régiment (_big drum_); la malle
(_prison_); un bleu (_recruit_); poulet d’Inde (_steed_), and the
humorous expression, sortir sur les jambes d’un autre (_to be confined
to barracks, or to the guard-room_).
Much-maligned animals have been put into requisition, the fish tribe
serving to denominate the Paris bully, that plague of certain quarters.
With the parts of the body might be formed a complete orchestra. Thus
“guitare” stands for the head; “flûtes” for legs; “grosse caisse” for
the body; “trompette” does duty for the face, “mirliton” for the nose,
and “sifflet” for the throat.
The study of the slang jargon of a nation--a language which is not
the expression of conventional ideas, but the unvarnished and rude
expression of life in its true aspects--may give us an insight into the
foibles and predominant vices of those who use it.
Now though the French as a nation are not hard drinkers, yet we must
come to the conclusion--in the face of the many synonyms of the single
word drunk, whilst there is not one for the word sober--that Parisian
workmen have either a lively imagination, or that they would scarcely
prove eligible for recruits in the Blue Ribbon Army. Intoxication--from
a state of gentle inebriation, when one is “allumé,” or “elevated,” to
the helpless state when the “poivrot,” or “lushington,” is “asphyxié,”
or “regularly scammered,” when he can’t “see a hole in a ladder,” or
when he “laps the gutter”--has no less than eighty synonyms.
The French possess comparatively few terms for the word money; but, in
spite of the well-worn saying, “l’or est une chimère,” or the insincere
exclamation, “l’or, ce vil métal!” the argot vocabulary shows as many
as fifty-four synonyms for the “needful.” The English are still richer,
for Her Majesty’s coin is known by more than one hundred and thirty
slang words, from the humble “brown” (halfpenny) to the “long-tailed
one” (bank-note).
Though there is no evidence that the social evil has a greater hold on
Paris than on London or Berlin, yet the Parisians have no less than one
hundred and fifty distinct slang synonyms to indicate the different
varieties of “unfortunates,” many being borrowed from the names of
animals, such as “vache,” “chameau,” “biche,” &c. Some of the other
terms are highly suggestive and appropriate. So we have “omnibus,”
“fleur de macadam,” “demoiselle du bitume,” “autel de besoin,” the
dismal “pompe funèbre,” the ignoble “paillasse de corps de garde,” and
the “grenier à coups de sabre,” which reflects on the brutality of
soldiers towards the fallen ones.
For the _head_ the French jargon can boast of about fifty
representative slang terms, some of which have been borrowed from the
vegetable kingdom. Homage is rendered to its superior or governing
powers by such epithets as “boussole” and “Sorbonne,” and a compliment
is paid to its inventive genius by the term, “la boîte à surprises,”
which is, however, degraded into “la tronche” when it has rolled into
the executioner’s basket. But it is treated with still more irreverence
when deprived of its natural ornament,--so that a man with a bald pate
is described as having no more “paillasson à la porte,” or “mouron sur
la cage.” He is also said sometimes to sport a “tête de veau.”
Grim humour is displayed in the long list of metaphors to describe
death, the promoters of the slang expressions having borrowed from
the technical vocabulary of their craft. Thus soldiers describe it
as “défiler la parade,” for which English military men have the
equivalent, “to lose the number of one’s mess;” “passer l’arme à
gauche;” “descendre la garde,” after which the soldier will never be
called again on sentry duty; “recevoir son décompte,” or deferred
pay. People who are habitual sufferers from toothache have no doubt
contributed the expression, “n’avoir plus mal aux dents;” sailors,
“casser son câble” and “déralinguer;” coachmen, “casser son fouet;”
drummers, “avaler ses baguettes,” their sticks being henceforth useless
to them; billiard-players are responsible for “dévisser son billard;”
servants for “déchirer son tablier.” Then what horrible philosophy in
the expression, “mettre la table pour les asticots!”
A person of sound mind finds no place in the argot vocabulary; but
madness, from the mild state which scarcely goes beyond eccentricity
to the confirmed lunatic, has found many definitions, the single
expression “to be cracked” being represented by a number of comical
synonyms, many of them referring to the presence of some troublesome
animal in the brain, such as “un moustique dans la boîte au sel” or “un
hanneton dans le plafond.”
Courage has but one or two equivalents, but the act of the coward who
vanishes, or the thief who seeks to escape the clutches of the police,
has received due attention from the promoters of argot. Thus we have
the highly picturesque expressions, “faire patatrot,” which gives an
impression of the patter of the runaway’s feet; “se faire une paire
de mains courantes,” literally to make for oneself a pair of running
hands; “se déguiser en cerf,” to imitate that swift animal the deer;
“fusilier le plancher,” which reminds one of the quick rat-tat of feet
on the boards.
To show kindness to one, as far as I have been able to notice, is
not represented, but the act of doing bodily injury, or fighting,
has furnished the slang vocabulary with a rich contingent, the least
forcible of which is certainly not the amiable invitation expressed
in the words of the Paris rough, “viens que j’te mange le nez!” or
“numérote tes abattis que j’te démolisse!”
What ingenuity and precision of simile some of these vagaries of
language offer! The man who is annoyed, badgered, is compared to an
elephant with a small tormentor in a part of his body by which he
can be effectually driven to despair, whilst deprived of all means
of retaliation--he is then said to have “un rat dans la trompe!” He
who gets drunk carves out for himself a wooden face, and “se sculpter
une gueule de bois” certainly evokes the sight of the stolid, stupid
features of the “lushington,” with half-open mouth and lack-lustre eyes.
The career of an unlucky criminal may thus be described in his own
picturesque but awful language. The “pègre” (_thief_), or “escarpe”
(_murderer_), who has been imprudent enough to allow himself to be
“paumé marron” (_caught in the act_) whilst busy effecting a “choppin”
(_theft_), or committing the more serious offence of “faire un gas à
la dure” (_to rob with violence_), using the knife when “lavant son
linge dans la saignante” (_murdering_), or yet the summary process of
breaking into a house and killing all the inmates, “faire une maison
entière,” will probably be taken by “la rousse” (_police_), first of
all before the “quart d’œil” (_police magistrate_), from whose office
he will be conveyed to the dépôt in the “panier à salade” (_prison
van_), having perhaps in the meanwhile spent a night in the “violon”
(_cells at the police station_). In due time he will be brought into
the presence of a very inquisitive person, the “curieux,” who will
do his utmost to pump him, “entraver dans ses flanches,” or make him
reveal his accomplices, “manger le morceau,” or, again, to say all
he knows about the affair, “débiner le truc.” From two to six months
after this preliminary examination, he will be brought into the awful
presence of the “léon” (_president of assize court_), at the “carré
des gerbes,” where he sits in his red robes, administering justice.
Now, suffering from a violent attack of “fièvre” (_charge_), the
prisoner puts all his hopes in his “parrains d’altèque” (_witnesses
for the defence_), and in his “médecin” (_counsel_), who will try
whether a “purgation” (_speech for the defence_) will not cure him
of his ailment, especially should he have an attack of “redoublement
de fièvre” (_new charge_). Should the medicine be ineffectual, and
the “hésiteurs opinants” (_jurymen_) have pronounced against him,
he leaves the “planche au pain” (_bar_) to return whence he came,
to the “hôpital” (_prison_), which he will only leave when “guéri”
(_free_). But should he be “un cheval de retour” (_old offender_), he
will probably be given a free passage to go “se laver les pieds dans
le grand pré” (_be transported_) to “La Nouvelle” (_New Caledonia_),
or “Cayenne les Eaux;” or, worse still, he may be left for some time
in the “boîte au sel” (_condemned cell_) at La Roquette, attired in
a “ligotante de rifle” (_strait waistcoat_), attended by a “mouton”
(_spy_), who tries to get at his secrets, and now and then receiving
the exhortations of the “ratichon” (_priest_). At an early hour one
morning he is apprised by the “maugrée” (_director_) that he is to
suffer the penalty of the law. After “la toilette” by “Charlot”
(_cutting off the hair by the executioner_), he is assisted to the
“Abbaye de Monte-à-regret” (_guillotine_), where, after the “sanglier”
(_priest_) has given him a final embrace, the “soubrettes de Charlot”
(_executioner’s assistants_) seize him, and make him play “à la main
chaude” (_hot cockles_). Charlot pulls a string, when the criminal is
turned into “un bœuf” (_is executed_) by being made to “éternuer dans
le son” (_guillotined_). His “machabée” (_remains_) is then taken to
the “champ de navets” (_cemetery_).
For the following I am indebted to the courtesy of the Rev. J. W.
Horsley, Chaplain to H. M. Prison, Clerkenwell, who, in his highly
interesting _Prison Notes_ makes the following remarks on thieves’
slang: “It has its antiquity, as well as its vitality and power of
growth and development by constant accretion; in it are preserved
many words interesting to the student of language, and from it have
passed not a few words into the ordinary stock of the Queen’s English.
Of multifold origin, it is yet mainly derived from Romany or gipsy
talk, and thereby contains a large Eastern element, in which old
Sanscrit roots may readily be traced. Many of these words would be
unintelligible to ordinary folk, but some have passed into common
speech. For instance, the words bamboozle, daddy, pal (companion or
friend), mull (to make a mull or mess of a thing), bosh (from the
Persian), are pure gipsy words, but have found some lodging, if not
a home, in our vernacular. Then there are survivals (not always of
the fittest) from the tongue of our Teutonic ancestors, so that Dr.
Latham, the philologist, says: ‘The thieves of London’ (and he might
still more have said the professional tramps) ‘are the conservators of
Anglo-Saxonisms.’ Next, there are the cosmopolitan absorptions from
many a tongue. From the French _bouilli_ we probably get the prison
slang term ‘bull’ for a ration of meat. Chat, thieves’ slang for house,
is obviously _château_. Steel, the familiar name for Coldbath Fields
Prison, is an appropriation and abbreviation of Bastille; and he who
‘does a tray’ (serves three months’ imprisonment) therein, borrows
his word from our Gallican neighbours. So from the Italian we get
_casa_ for house, filly (_figlia_) for daughter, donny (_donna_) for
woman, and omee (_uomo_) for man. The Spanish gives us _don_, which
the universities have not despised as a useful term. From the German
we get durrynacker, for a female hawker, from _dorf_, ‘a village,’
and _nachgehen_, ‘to run after.’ From Scotland we borrow _duds_, for
clothes, and from the Hebrew _shoful_, for base coin.
“Considering that in the manufacture of the domestic and social slang
of nicknames or pet names not a little humour or wit is commonly
found, it might be imagined that thieves’ slang would be a great
treasure-house of humorous expression. That this is not the case arises
from the fact that there is very little glitter even in what they take
for gold, and that their life is mainly one of miserable anxiety,
suspicion, and fear; forced and gin-inspired is their merriment, and
dismal, for the most part, are their faces when not assuming an air
of bravado, which deceives not even their companions. Some traces of
humour are to be found in certain euphemisms, such as the delicate
expression ‘fingersmith’ as descriptive of a trade which a blunt world
might call that of a pickpocket. Or, again, to get three months’ hard
labour is more pleasantly described as getting thirteen clean shirts,
one being served out in prison each week. The tread-wheel, again, is
more politely called the everlasting staircase, or the wheel of life,
or the vertical case-grinder. Penal servitude is dignified with the
appellation of serving Her Majesty for nothing; and even an attempt
is made to lighten the horror of the climax of a criminal career by
speaking of dying in a horse’s nightcap, _i.e._, a halter.”
The English public schools, but especially the military establishments,
seem to be not unimportant manufacturing centres for slang. Only a
small proportion, however, of the expressions coined there appear
to have been adopted by the general slang-talking public, as most
are local terms, and can only be used at their own birthplace. The
same expressions in some cases have a totally different signification
according to the places where they are in vogue. Thus gentlemen cadets
at the “Shop,” _i.e._, the Royal Military Academy, will talk of the
doctor as being the “skipper,” whereas elsewhere “skipper” has the
signification of master, head of an establishment. The expression
“tosh,” meaning bath, seems to have been imported by students from
Eton, Harrow, and Charterhouse, to the “Shop,” where “to tosh” means
to bathe, to wash, but also to toss an obnoxious individual into a
cold bath, advantage being taken of his being in full uniform. Another
expression connected with the forced application of cold water at the
above establishment is termed “chamber singing” at Eton, a penalty
enforced on the new boys of singing a song in public, with the
alternative (according to the _Everyday Life in our Public Schools_
of C. E. Pascoe) of drinking a nauseous mixture of salt and beer; the
corresponding penalty on the occasion of the arrival of unfortunate
“snookers” at the R. M. Academy used to consist some few years ago of
splashing them with cold water and throwing wet sponges at their heads,
when they could not or would not contribute some ditty or other to the
musical entertainment.
“Extra” at Harrow is a punishment which consists of writing out grammar
for two and a half hours under the supervision of a master. The word
extra at the “Shop” already mentioned is corrupted into “hoxter.” The
hoxter consists in the painful ordeal of being compelled to turn out of
bed at an early hour, and march up and down with full equipment under
the watchful eye of a corporal. Again, we have here the suggestive
terms: “greasers,” for fried potatoes; “squish,” for marmalade;
“whales,” for sardines; “vaseline,” for honey; “grass,” for vegetables;
and to be “roosted” is to be placed under arrest; whilst “to q.” means
to qualify at the term examination. Here a man who is vexed or angry
“loses his shirt” or his “hair;” at Shrewsbury he is “in a swot;” and
at Winchester “front.” At the latter school a clique or party they
term a “pitch up;” the word “Johnnies” (newly joined at Sandhurst,
termed also “Johns,”) being sometimes used with a like signification by
young officers, and the inquiry may occasionally be heard, “I say, old
fellow, any more Johnnies coming?”