The Slang of La Courtille

 

The Italian play has apparently never been published. Legrand’s, on the contrary, has been several times; it was even reproduced in Maurice’s book, in 1859, for the greatest joy of all slang’s lovers. This language, used by thieves and described in 1690 by Furetière as “vicious and corrupted” became extremely popular following Legrand’s play. “Shall we battre l’entiphe sur le grand trimat?” asks Cartouche to his men. A note here reads: “A slang expression to say, let’s go to the highway.” Later, he asks: “What did you pincé (rob)?” These terms were colourful, as well as the nicknames of Cartouche’s men such as La Pinse (The Robber), L’Estocade (Deathblow) or Bel-Humeur (Goodmood). Yet, we were still far from the incredible nicknames of the real “Cartouchians”, as exposed in their death warrants: Chevalier le Craqueur (Esquire The Cracker), Tête de Mouton (Sheep Head), The Fat Bourguignon, alias Petit Brin d’Amour (Least Bit of Love) or Golden Thighs.

 

Legrand did not use a lot of slang in his play, but he appeared to be well informed. As underlined by Claudine Nédélec in Analyse et étude de l’argot (Grihl, 2007): “The most extraordinary part of the play writer’s project, was his visiting the famous robber Cartouche in jail, alongside the actor who was to impersonate him in the play, Jean-Baptiste Quinault.” The story was revealed by a young “Cartouchian” by the name of Balagny, just before he was himself broken on the wheel: “One day (the Lieutenant-Criminel and the King’s Prosecutor) entered my cell (...) They were with two gentlemen dressed in black, whom they introduced to me as Mr Legrand, the author of a play entitled Cartouche, and Mr Quinault, who was to play the role of my unfortunate friend (Cartouche—editor’s note).” Cartouche was sent for, then they opened a few bottles and offered some good tobacco. “They asked us to show them some of our tricks and to speak slang; we willingly complied. The two actors were taking notes as we talked (...). We had a good laugh and we spent a very good evening.” Mathieu Marais, who wrote Journal during the Régence, writes: “Everyone in Paris was surprised to hear this indecent story, which smells corruption.” As a matter of fact, justice soon heard both magistrates, as well as Legrand—one more scandal.

 

The slang is totally absent from all French literary works from 1644 to 1721. The rabble’s language was too common to suit the refined taste of the Grand Siècle. But other days, other ways: “Around 1720," explains Claudine Nédélec, "the Comédie française had to attract an audience as some new “popular” shows and plays, funny, new and innovative, were dragging them away...” As far as Legrand was concerned, slang was probably just another way to denounce false-pretences. Claudine Nédélec says it all: “The mask of a nice language sometimes covers worse things than the openly marginal slang of the thieves; language is just a mask among many others.”

 

As exposed by our little play, the Haves have hardly ever behaved better than the “Cartouchians”—most of the time, they are just a bunch of hypocritical villains who hide their wickedness under the mask of virtue. In 1721, corruption and maladministration were the order of the day, but anger was festering in the hearts of the French. When it erupted, it gave birth to the Révolution of 1789. Today, as we are experiencing the worst financial crisis ever, our gentle bankers—responsible for the said crisis—and our virtuous politicians are sending to prison the contemporary “Cartouchians”, while laughing all the way to their bank... in Panama. And Legrand’s play seems as accurate as ever. So, “is Cartouche really dead, Gentlemen?” Maybe not yet.

 

 

(c) Thibault Ehrengardt