The publication of a dictionary of French cant and slang demands some explanation from the author. During a long course of philological studies, extending over many years, I have been in the habit of putting on record, for my own edification, a large number of those cant and slang terms and quaint expressions of which the English and French tongues furnish an abundant harvest. Whatever of this nature I heard from the lips of persons to whom they are familiar, or gleaned from the perusal of modern works and newspapers, I carefully noted down, until my note-book had assumed such dimensions that the idea of completing a collection already considerable was suggested. It was pointed out to me, as an inducement to venture on so arduous an undertaking, that it must prove, from its very nature, not only an object of curiosity and interest to the lover of philological studies and the public at large, but also one of utility to the English reader of modern French works of fiction. The fact is not to be ignored that the chief works of the so-called Naturalistic School do certainly find their way to this country, where they command a large number of readers. These productions of modern French fiction dwell with complaisance on the vices of society, dissect them patiently, often with power and talent, and too often exaggerate them. It is not within my province to pass a judgment upon their analytical study of all that is gross in human nature. But, from a philological point of view, the men and women whom they place as actors on the stage of their human comedy are interesting, whatever they may be in other respects. Some of them belong to the very dregs of society, possessing a language of their own, forcible, picturesque, and graphic. This language sometimes embodies in a single word a whole train of philosophical ideas, and is dashed with a grim humour, with a species of wit which not often misses the mark. Moreover, these labourers, roughs, street arabs, thieves, and worse than thieves—these Coupeaus, Bec-SalÉs, Mes-Bottes, Lantiers—are not the sole possessors of a vernacular which, to a certain extent, is the exponent of their idiosyncrasies. Slang has invaded all classes of society, and is often used for want of terms sufficiently strong or pointed to convey the speaker’s real feelings. It seems to be resorted to in order to make up for the shortcomings of a well-balanced and polished tongue, which will not lend itself to exaggeration and violence of utterance. Journalists, artists, politicians, men of fashion, soldiers, even women talk argot, sometimes unawares, and these as well as the lower classes are depicted in the Naturalistic novel. Now, although the study of French is daily acquiring more and more importance in England, the professors of that language do not as a rule initiate their pupils—and very naturally so—into the mysteries of the vernacular of the highest and lowest strata of society, into the cynical but pithy and humorous jargon of the voyou from the heights of Montmartre or MÉnilmontant, nor even into the lisping twaddle of the languid gommeux who lolls on the Boulevard des Italiens. Hence English readers of L’Assommoir and other similar works find themselves puzzled at every line, and turn in vain for assistance to their dictionaries. The present volume aims at filling the vacant space on the shelves of all who read for something besides the passing of an idle hour. An English slang equivalent of the English rendering has been inserted whenever that was possible, and because the meaning of a term is better conveyed by examples, as many quotations as the limits of the Dictionary would admit have been reproduced from different authors.

A few words on the manner in which the work has been compiled are due to the reader. In order to complete my own private information, specially with reference to old cant, I have drawn as freely as seemed to me legitimate on works of a similar character—Michel’s, Delvau’s, Rigaud’s, LorÉdan Larchey’s excellent Dictionnaire Historique d’Argot, Vilatte’s Parisismen, a very complete work on French argot rendered into German. But by far the most important portion of my collection has been gathered from Vidocq’s productions, Balzac’s works, The Memoirs of Monsieur Claude, formerly superintendent of the detective department in Paris, and from other works to be mentioned hereafter. To an inspector of the detective force in Paris, Monsieur Lagaillarde, I am indebted for many of the terms of the phraseology used by the worthies with whom his functions have brought him in contact.

Again, newspapers of both countries have also brought in their contingent, but the most interesting sources of information, as being the most original, have been workpeople, soldiers, pickpockets, and other malefactors having done their “time,” or likely to be “wanted” at a short notice. The members of the light-fingered gentry were not easily to be got at, as their natural suspicions precluded their realizing at once my object, and it required some diplomacy and pains to succeed in enlisting their services. In one particular instance I was deprived of my informants in a rather summary manner. Two brothers, members of a family which strongly reminded one of E. Sue’s Martials, inasmuch as the father had mounted the scaffold, the mother was in prison, and other members had met with similar accidents, had volunteered to become my collaborators, and were willing to furnish information the more valuable, it seemed to me, as coming from such distinguished individuals. Unfortunately for the Dictionary the brothers were apprehended when coming to my rendez-vous, and are now, I believe, far on their way to the penal settlement of New Caledonia.

I have to thank numerous correspondents, French and English officers, journalists, and artists, for coming to my assistance and furnishing me with valuable information. My best thanks are due also to M. Godefroy Durand for his admirable etching.

As regards the English part, I am considerably indebted to the Slang Dictionary published by Messrs. Chatto and Windus, to the History and Curious Adventures of Bampfylde-Moore Carew, King of the Mendicants, as well as to the various journals of the day, and to verbal inquiries among all classes of people.

I have not attempted, except in a few cases, to trace the origin of words, as an etymological history of cant would be the work of a lifetime.

It is somewhat difficult to know exactly where to draw the line, and to decide whether a word belongs to slang or should be rejected. I have been guided on this point by LittrÉ, and any terms mentioned by him as having passed into the language I have discarded. I have introduced a small number of what might be termed eccentricities of language, which, though not strictly slang, deserve recording on account of their quaintness. To the English reader I need not, I trust, apologize for not having recoiled, in my desire for completeness, before certain unsavoury terms, and for having thus acted upon Victor Hugo’s recommendation, “Quand la chose est, dites le mot.”