It’s the early 20th century, and Paris is under attack. Newspapers are filled with accounts and tales of the dreaded ‘Apaches’: not Native American people but gangs of delinquent youths, prowlers, thieves, pimps and prostitutes. Little does it matter that crime is actually receding in the French capital: the press is quick to extrapolate the phenomenon. ‘We are privileged enough to have a tribe of Apaches right here in Paris,’ writes a journalist in Le Matin in December 1900: ‘They kill a man like the most genuine savage would.’ The typical Apache wears a scarf, a short jacket, a cap – and tattoos. And, in 1902, the phenomenon is about to grow even bigger: all thanks to a woman nicknamed ‘Casque d’Or’ (‘Golden Helmet’).
Amélie Élie, as she was actually called, was born in Orléans. She became a prostitute after arriving in Paris, where she later met Joseph Pleigneur, or ‘Manda’. He was incredibly skilled with knives, he became her new pimp; he was, however, unfaithful. She left him in December 1901 to get into a relationship with Leca, a well-known ‘terror’ in the Popincourt neighbourhood. A series of violent altercations and retaliations ensued between Manda’s Courtille gang and Leca’s Charonne gang. Between December and January 1902, Leca had to make two trips to the hospital. Most importantly: since their altercations ended up making one collateral death, they were both sentenced to be deported in the French penitentiary colony of Guyana. In the meantime, Casque d’or was crowned ‘queen of the Apaches’ by the press. She was painted by artist Albert Depré, invited to perform her own role in a play inspired by her life. She gained celebrity status and came to embody the role of the typical ‘Apache’ woman: a lover, an accomplice, a prostitute, a cause for fights, sometimes a violent subject as well. Her autobiography (though there probably was at least another pair of hands involved in the writing) was published by the literary review Fin de Siècle between the 5th of January and the 3rd of August 1902. It grants us an interesting perspective into the nature and role of tattooing in this Parisian delinquent subculture.
‘I don’t know why you never wanted to get a tattoo,’ wrote Casque d’Or about Manda, who ‘did not want to do like everybody else’. She implies that everyone in those groups was tattooed, or at least that it was fairly common practice. Leca’s list of drawings stands in sharp contrast with Manda’s immaculate body: a ‘bathroom on the chest’, a ‘snake […], slithering around a vase’… And in his back, ‘a whole oasis’, an impressive piece brought back from his days in the French penal military units. In this underworld, such tattoos were seen as a prestigious mark, a testimony to one’s physical and moral resistance. However, Manda does in fact bear one tattoo: the ‘Apache spot at the corner of the eye’, a means to recognise who was part of the gang. Depending on each group, it could be replaced by three or four spots between the pointer and the thumb, or any other similar symbol. These distinctive marks were easy to engrave onto oneself. There was, as well, professional tattooists available: in August 1902, Le Matin managed to interview Médéric Chanut, who was dubbed the ‘official tattooist to the Apaches’. Surprisingly, Casque d’Or did not dwell on her own tattoo. She barely mentioned it, writing, ‘I am not talking about myself, whose left arm bears a tattoo, which was actually a problem at the brothel.’ It might be explained by the fact that tattooing was fairly uncommon among women then. In 1899, prison doctors Le Blond and Lucas wrote that tattooed women were usually only encountered in the ‘lowest layers of society’. In 1896, another doctor confirmed that ‘women are not fond of tattooing’. Did Casque d’Or regret her own tattoo? It remained hidden on every single picture taken during her time under the limelight.
However, it seems like Casque d’Or and the Apaches inspired a whole generation of women. French prison registries attest to multiple women getting tattooed between their pointer and their thumb. Maybe they wanted to imitate the phenomenon they read about, maybe they wanted to show their disagreement with society… As soon as 1903, multiple tattooed women were reported on in the press. Celestine, from the ‘Little Hearts’ gang, was tattooed with a heart like the rest of them were. Newspaper Le Petit Parisien also wrote about the picturesque ‘Dotted Nana’: she owed her nickname to the multiple ‘tiny blue dots’ tattooed on her body, ‘the distinguishing mark of every self-respectful Apache’. The Parisian Apaches disappeared with the First World War. The myths that surrounded them did survive them, though. ‘Some upper-class clients actively seek out tattooed prostitutes […]. Being in close contact with an Apache woman is highly erotic to them,’ wrote Jean Lacassagne in the interwar period. No matter Casque d’Or’s own coyness regarding her tattoo: the legacy of the Apache woman long outlived her and the drawing on her body. Sources Albert Le Blond et Arthus Lucas, Du tatouage chez les prostituées, Paris, Société d’éditions scientifiques, 1899. Henry Fouquier, « Les “Apaches” », Le Matin, 12 décembre 1900. Edgard Troimaux, « Chronique des Tribunaux. Trois apaches », L’Écho de Paris, 31 mai 1902. « Le tatoueur des apaches », Le Matin, 29 août 1902. « Une fruitière assassinée », Le Petit Parisien, 11 mars 1903. Quentin Deluermoz (présenté par), Chroniques du Paris apache (1902-1905), Paris, Mercure de France, 2008. Sources des illustrations (Attention, le type de licence doit être précisé) Casque d’Or, carte postale circulée en 1902 (collection personnelle). « Les Baisers. Quant au baiser de l’apache… », A. Bergeret & cie, carte postale circulée en 1904 (Collection personnelle). « Casque d’Or en “femme du monde” », La Vie illustrée, 21 mars 1902 (Wikimedia – Domaine public). Pour aller plus loin Jean Graven, L’Argot et le tatouage des criminels, Neuchâtel, Editions de la Baconnière, 1962. Dominique Kalifa et Jean-Claude Farcy, Atlas du crime à Paris, Paris, Parigramme, 2015. Michèle Pedinielli, « Casque d’Or, légendaire “fille de joie” des Apaches », Retronews. Le site de presse de la BNF, 2021. Michelle Perrot, Les Ombres de l’Histoire. Crime et châtiment au XIXe siècle, Paris, Flammarion, 2001.
