More than 30,000 prowlers against 8,000 city policemen."
No,
I’m not referring to the Native American tribe; well not exactly, as I shall
explain in just a moment. Les Apaches (pronounced a.paj) was what can properly
be termed as a Parisian subculture; one which many people are romantically
inclined to associate with the late 1800s, the Parisian Belle Époque, but more
accurately should be associated more with the early 20th century. Be
that as it may, they were thugs, robbers, muggers, pimps, and members of street
gangs. Certainly anything but romantic. Indeed, as time went on and their ill
repute spread throughout Europe, the term “apache” came to describe any violet
street criminal.
How
the name came about is somewhat not entirely clear, but it would seem there is
a common thread in all the theories; that being, the comparison of the Parisian
thugs’ viciousness with descriptions that Parisians had heard or read,
concerning the Native American Apache Nation. As evidence, a 1904 edition of
the French magazine, Intermediary for
Researchers and Curious, gave credit to a writer named Victor Morris for
the term based on a statement made in November 1900 by a police inspector
describing a particularly horrific crime scene attributed to the criminals: “C’est un veritable truc d’Apaches!” Then
there is the tale which was told in the Le
Petit Journal in 1910 that a certain gang leader whose street name was “Terreur” (Terror) had heard that the
actions of the gangs were compared to the Apaches and was so delighted by the
comparison that he named his band of thugs “Apaches of Belleville.”
A group of Parisian Apache.
The photograph was used to advertise Apache fashions
Les
Apaches lived by their own code of honor, such as it was: they slept late,
spoke in their own patois or slang called Jare,
and even had their own special weapon, a combination of a revolver, brass knuckles
and dagger. And for their period and circumstance, they dressed extremely well.
All the while a victim was being robbed, he was just as likely to be admiring
the criminal’s shoes or clothes. A true Apache would steal, cheat, or even kill
to get his hands on a pair of shoes that would enhance his image in the eyes of
his colleagues or ladies. Although I have never seen an example of it, I am
told that the height of Apache fashion was a pair of freshly shined, pointed
yellow boots with gold buttons! Tres
gauche! Be that as it may, each Parisian gang dressed in a slightly
different fashion, often wearing something such as a red scarf as both a sign
of belonging and as a means of identification in other territories — something
that was ultimately adopted almost a century later by such American street
gangs as the “Bloods” and the “Crips” in Los Angeles, New York, and San
Francisco. Certain sartorial elements however were common to all the gangs.
They all wore a specific style of trouser, tight at the knees and flared at the
bottom, known as a Bénard, and above
that, they usually wore vests or jackets along with stripped sailor shirts and
a hat of some type, usually a flat cap. And Les Apache, being Parisian, and
Paris being the fashion capital of the world, the gangs unwittingly started a
fashion trend that spread even as far as the west coast of the United States.
An advertisement for Apache fashions from
a company in Los Angeles.
The
biggest targets of the gangsters, those who feared them the most, were the
newly emerging Parisian middle class. And well they should have, as walking
home in the evening from work, or later from some café or dance hall made them
easy prey. Why, Les Apaches even had a documented set of established tricks to
be used in mugging and for combat. The most infamous of these was the coup du pére Francois (the coup of
Father Francois — only God knows why) in which a victim was stalked by several
thugs before being garroted from the rear, with one brute assigned the task of
searching through the victim’s pockets while others served as lookouts after the
murder. They did not like to leave witnesses.
Certain
aspects of Les Apaches found their way into French and then European “pop”
culture of the time, from the “traditional” Apache horizontally striped shirt
to a violent dance. Classes were even available so that one could learn the
Apache argot or patois — the fashionable (among some) “thieves slang.”
Thus
we come to Le Dance Apache (Apache for short) or depending on where you lived,
the “Bowery Waltz,” the Apache Turn,” the “Apache Dance,” and just the “Tough
Dance.” It was a very dramatic dance, typically performed by a couple that grew
straight out of the Parisian thug subculture, by all accounts depicting a
violent, shall we say “dialogue” between an Apache pimp and his prostitute,
which included slapping, punching, and the pimp lifting and throwing the woman
to the ground, or carrying her around while she strikes out at him and perhaps
faints into unconsciousness (real or feigned). The actual popularity of the
dance can be attributed to Maurice Mouvet[1]
and Max Dearly,[2]
both dancers, who in 1908 visited numerous bars which catered to Les Apaches,
formulating the dance from the behaviors they witnessed there, giving it the
name “Apache.” Max Dearly premiered the dance later that year in Paris and Mouvet
at the Casino Kursaal at Ostend, Belgium. Shortly thereafter, Maurice Mouvet
and his partner Leona performed the dance great acclaim at Maxim’s in Paris and
Dearly and his partner impressed even bigger crowds in La Revue du Moulin at the Moulin Rouge.
Max Dearly and his parttner.
Maurice Mouvet and his partner.
Eventually
the dance found its way into early cinema, most frequently danced to “Valse des
Rayons,” also known as “Valse Chaloupée” from Jacques Offenbach’s ballet Le Papillon[3]which has from then on been the music most associated with the dance.”
Les Vampires, 1915.
Alexis and Dorrano in Dance Apache, 1934.
According
to famed ballroom dancer Irene Castle (1893 – 1969),[4]
the Apache dance was a dance “in which the male dancer tries to demolish the
female dancer, as spectacularly as possible…and usually succeeds. Popular until
the 1960s, many people felt that the dance tolerated violence against women and
it was because of this that the dance “died” in that decade amid its emerging
women’s independence. Understandable but not true. In fact, the Apache dance
was created by a woman as a statement (perhaps skewed in comparison with the
modern mindset regarding women’s rights) of independence and empowerment.
Back
in the 19th century, the lives of Parisian women, just like their
sisters in the United States, England, and throughout much of the world, were highly
restricted. A married/committed woman was considered property, and the man who
“owned” her also owned whatever possessions she had. Beyond that, many
marriages were arranged, and women were told, that under no circumstances were they
to be anything other than passive and submissive; yet, a husband could go out
at night and socialize with friends and associates while the wife stayed
home…where she belonged. Women had to stay out of the public eye unless
accompanied by a man; something which even extended to walking across a
ballroom floor.
Now
in Paris, women were allowed a brief taste of freedom from these restrictions —
but only once a year at Carnival. For only a few days, ending with Mardi Gras,
a woman could speak in an unguarded manner and exchange insults, smoke, drink,
or even travel without being accompanied by a man. She could even dress like a
man! In the 1830s, things changed slightly (I’m not sure why) but the
“freedoms” I just mentioned were extended to public dancing ant the dance
gardens of Paris, much to the credit of the lorettes and “free women” who
ventured there.
And
then there was Mistinguette, (also spelled Mistinguett) a woman of actually
dared to leave her domestic existence to become a stage entertainer around 1900,
as a singer and dancer. One of her earliest partners was Maurice Chavalier, ten
years her junior. As noted earlier, Max Dearly and Maurice Mouvet are credited
with the invention of the dance, with Mistinguette performing with Max in 1908
at the Le Revue du Moulin. Be that as
it may, in her autobiography written many years later, she claims to have
invented the dance as early as 1903. Well, maybe and maybe not and I promise to
research the matter further and to report back on my findings.
[1]Maurice Mouvet (March 17, 1889 - May 18, 1927)
was one half of the most famous and successful dance teams around the early 1910s
and lead the way for many performers that would follow, including Florence
Walton and Leonora (Leona) Hughes. Mouvet was said to have started his career
on the Vaudeville Stage as a page, then later becoming a dance performer,
getting a small glint of fame performing early dances such as waltzes,
cakewalks and mazurkas. Later, his specialty dance and attraction was the
“Argentine Tango” and the infamous Apache Dance which (with Walton) would
become one of his most successful ballroom-exhibition acts of his time, which
they performed at many rooftop theaters, dansants,
nightclubs and ballrooms in the 1910s and 20s. Mouvet is noted for creating
many dances and dance steps such as the “Junk Man Rag” (a one-step,) and the
“Brazilian Maxixe” in 1913. Mouvet is said to be the innovator of the “American
Tango” as it is danced today. Mouvet and Leona introduced his version of the
Apache at the Cafe de Paris in France about 1907, which he learned from one of
the original “Gunmen of Paris” (Apaches) and even performed it before his
majesty King Edward VII by his invitation.
[2]Max Dearly (November 22, 1874 - June 2, 1943),
born Lucien Paul Marie-Joseph Rolland, was a French dancer, stage and film
actor, producer and director.
[3]Le papillon (The
Butterfly) is a “fantastic ballet” in two acts (four scenes) of 1860, with
choreography by Marie Taglioni and music by Jacques Offenbach to a libretto by
Jules-Henri Vernoy de Saint-Georges. Le
papillon was first presented by the Paris Opera Ballet at the Salle Le
Peletier on November 26, 1860 after a performance of Lucie de Lammermoor. The
principal dancers were Emma Livry (Farfalla/the Butterfly), Louis Mérante
(Prince Djalma), Louise Marquet (Fairy Hamza), and Mme. Simon (Diamond Fairy).
The “Valse des rayons” from the second scene of
Act 1 was re-used by Offenbach in the third act ballet for Die Rheinnixen
(1864) and parts of the score were inserted in the French version of Whittington, Le Chat du diable (1893).
Marius Petipa created an expanded staging in
four acts for the Imperial Ballet with Ludwig Minkus adapting Offenbach's
score. It was first presented in January 1874 at the Imperial Bolshoi Kamenny
Theatre in Saint Petersburg with Ekaterina Vazem (Farfalla/the Butterfly), Lev
Ivanov (Prince Djalma), Pavel Gerdt (Patimate), Mathil'da Madaeva (Fairy
Hamza), and Lubov Radina (Diamond Fairy). Petipa added a variation to the Grand
pas des papillons to a waltz by Luigi Venzano especially for Ekaterina Vazem –
this variation became known as the Pas
Vazem, and was much celebrated among the balletomanes of Saint Petersburg.
Ronald Hynd prepared a production for Houston
Ballet with his own adapted scenario and the score re-orchestrated by John
Lanchbery, which premiered on 8 February 1979. It entered the repertoire of the
Sadler’s Wells Royal Ballet in Leeds on 7 February 1980. Described as Hynd’s
tribute to Emma Livry, the plot was pared down and reset in Persia with many of
the transformations and comic situations retained. But, compared to the
original 1860 material, the score is largely altered by Lanchberry who
integrates his own composition inside the main musical corpus, while changing
the numbers order and deleting a lot of the original Offenbach's score.
The original ballet was revived in a
reconstruction by Pierre Lacotte at the Rome Opera in 1982.
[4]Vernon and Irene Castle were a husband-and-wife
team of ballroom dancers and dance teachers who appeared on Broadway and in
silent films early in the early 20th century. They are credited with reviving
the popularity of modern dancing. Castle was a stage name: Vernon (2 May 1887 –
15 February 1918) was born William Vernon Blyth in Norwich, Norfolk, England.
Irene (17 April 1893 – 25 January 1969) was born Irene Foote in New Rochelle,
New York.
The couple reached the peak of their popularity
in Irving Berlin's first Broadway show, Watch Your Step (1914), in which they
refined and popularized the Foxtrot. They also helped to promote ragtime, jazz
rhythms and African-American music for dance. Irene became a fashion icon
through her appearances on stage and in early movies, and both Castles were in
demand as teachers and writers on dance.
After serving with distinction as a pilot in the
British Royal Flying Corps during World War I, Vernon died in a plane crash on
a flight training base in Texas in 1918. Irene continued to perform solo in
Broadway, vaudeville and motion picture productions over the next decade. She
remarried three times, had children and became an animal-rights activist. In
1939, her life with Vernon was dramatized in The Story of Vernon and Irene
Castle.
By
the late 1700s, Montmartre, located just outside the city limits of Paris and
separated from the city by the Wall of the Fermiers-Généraux, was in effect a
town unto itself, located on and around a high butte, the landscape dotted with
small farms, vineyards, windmills, and ramshackled homes, a fact made official
in 1790 when the National Constituent Assembly designated it as the Commune of
Montmartre with its own town hall, Georges Clemenceau[1] as
its mayor,and its own
industries: wine making, stone quarries and gypsum mines. Under the
Haussmanization[2]
(urban renewal) of Paris at the behest of Emperor Napoleon III, the wall was
torn down and January 1, 1860, it
was annexed to the city along with other communities (faubourgs)
surrounding Paris, and became part of the 18tharrondissement of Paris.[3] There was Montmartre extra muros or High Montmartre, high up and on top of the butte,
and then there was Montmartre intra muros
or “Low Montmartre), as one might expect on the lower slope and at the bottom.
Now, the population
at the time, in High Montmartre was what one might consider rather rustic and
generally friendly, made up of millers, vine-growers, laborers and men who
worked the quarries. Montmartre intra
muros however was far different — a tempestuous conglomeration of taverns
and cabarets and their proprietors, various and assorted ruffians, and the
denizens of dance halls and guinguettes;
that is; taverns with gardens where one could dance and drink to their heart’s
content (a tradition that extended as far back as 1640). Guinguettes also
served as restaurants. The origin of the term comes from guinguet,
meaning a nasty sour white light local wine that was served in such
establishments in the old days. The 1750 Dictionnaire de la langue français,
defined guinguette as a “small
cabaret in the suburbs and the surrounds of Paris, where craftsmen drink in the
summer and on Sundays and on Festival days”; however, this definition would
seem to have been concocted by the local chambre
du commerce. Once the wall was down, the journey up the butte to High
Montmartre became an easier trek for the Low Montmartrois. The rogues and
harlots headed uphill and with that also began the migration of the lorettes.
Terrace of a Cafe on Montmartre (La Guinguette) by Van Gogh (1886)
Luncheon of a Boating Party, Dejeuner de Canotiers by Renoir (1880 - 1881)
“Lorettes”
sounds like it could have been a Motown singing group from the late 1950s or
1960s but really what “lorettes” meant,
was “kept women;” “respectable mistresses,” who to some occupied a theoretical
“middle ground” of prostitution between the grande
dame of commercial sex, the courtesan, and the far more “gritty” street
prostitute, who occupied Low Montmartre. Actually they came from the
Notre-Dame-de-Lorette neighborhood (thus the name); originally a band of noisy,
vulgar women whose antics often made the bourgeoisie blush, giving Montmartre
what can only be regarded as a thoroughly scandalous reputation, beyond what it
had already achieved. Later the lorettes
would assume at least some of the trappings of refinement if not the culture
itself.
They might have been described as neither wives
nor spinsters, and according to them, neither were they prostitutes. Probably
the daughters of tradesmen and Artisans in Notre-Dame-de-Lorette, they were
most often not more than girls, or at least young women, who had struck out on
their own to live among the artists and bohemians of Montmartre and they were
not, it seems, totally unwelcome; for, the owners of newly constructed
apartments or hotels often let the girls live there free until such time as the
rooms could be rented. As things progressed, they were most often elegantly attired
and “entertained” their men (frequently upper class bourgeoisie or lower-level
aristocrats — business men, professionals or even wealthy students), often in
well decorated apartments, or at least accompanied them out, —. In this way,
they dwelled on the very edge between respectability and social stigma. In the
course of events, they lived with their men, deserted them (or were themselves
deserted) — then moved on to the next. And when the great adventure was over,
they frequently went back to their families (thus the “migration”) or drifted
downward to wretchedness and despair; often ending up in the hospital as
victims of venereal diseases, or worse, floating in the Seine.
Van Gogh knew them, Lautrec knew them, Degas knew
them, Balzac wrote about them in Grandeurs
et miséres des courtisanes, and Gavarni,[4] Guys,[5] and
others painted them.
Les Lorettes, from a series (c. 1841)
Lorettes by Gavarni (no date available)
Two Lorettes at the Theater by Constantine Guys, (no date available)
Loge by Constantin Guys (no date available)
[1]Georges Benjamin Clemenceau (September 28, 1841 – November 24, 1929) was a French statesman who led the nation in the
First World War. A leader of the Radical Party, he played a central role in
politics during the Third Republic. Clemenceau served as the Prime Minister of
France from 1906 to 1909, and again from 1917 to 1920. In favor of a total
victory over the German Empire, he militated for the restitution of
Alsace-Lorraine to France. He was one of the principal architects of the Treaty
of Versailles at the France Peace Conference of 1919. Nicknamed “Père la
Victoire” (Father Victory) or “Le Tigre” (The Tiger), he took a harsh position
against defeated Germany, though not quite as much as the President Raymond
Poincaré, and won agreement on Germany's payment of large sums for reparations.
[2]Haussmann’s renovation of Paris was a vast public
works program commissioned by Emperor Napoléon III and directed by his prefect
of the Seine, Georges-Eugène Haussmann, between 1853 and 1870. It included the
demolition of crowded and unhealthy medieval neighborhoods, the building of
wide avenues, parks and squares, the annexation of the suburbs surrounding
Paris, and the construction of new sewers, fountains and aqueducts. Haussmann's
work met with fierce opposition, and he was finally dismissed by Napoleon III
in 1870; but work on his projects continued until 1927. The street plan and
distinctive appearance of the center of Paris today is largely the result of
Haussmann's renovation.
[3]The city of Paris is divided
into twenty arrondissements municipaux, administrative districts, more
simply referred to as arrondissements. These are not to be confused with
departmental arrondissements, which subdivide the 101 French départements. The
word "arrondissement", when applied to Paris, refers almost always to
the municipal arrondissements.
[4]Paul Gavarni was the nom de plume of
Sulpice Guillaume Chevalier (January 13, 1804, Paris – November 24 1866), a
French illustrator, born in Paris.
[5]Constantin Guys,
Ernest-Adolphe-Hyacinthe-Constantin, (December 3, 1802 – December 13, 1892) was
a Dutch-born Crimean War correspondent, water color painter and illustrator for
British and French newspapers.
Way
back when I was a small boy, a 5th grader as I recall, my mother
decided that it was time for me to be exposed to the arts rather than just the
games that boys play; thus music lessons were in order as well as a change of
bedroom décor – from model airplanes to famous paintings. In actuality, the
model airplanes remained, only suspended in “flight” from the ceiling. There
were two walls that she had to “play” with, the other two being occupied by a
large picture window and a big, walk-in closet. One day she made a trip down to
the Tro Harper bookstore on Powell Street (San Franciscans from my generation
might remember that wonderful place) and returned with what she was certain
were real treasures (albeit inexpensive). On one wall, she hung large, framed
prints by Maurice Utrillo and on the other, framed prints by Vincent Van Gogh.
Now these weren’t just the paper prints we commonly see today, but prints
mounted on heavy, textured cardboard so as to give texture to the prints, as
though they actually were paintings. And for years afterward, until I left at
age eighteen, they hung there, and I looked at them, and wondered, and dreamed.
There
was Utrillo’s 1938 Montmartre,
his 1937 Lapin Agile,
his 1934 Sacre-Coeur de Montmartre and Passage Cottin,
and lastly his
1914 Street in Paris.
To the right of
those, on the next wall was my Van Gogh “collection”: Wheat Field and Cypresses (1889),
Starry
Night (1889),
Café
Terrace at Night (1888),
Irises
(1889),
and just for
good measure, upstairs, over the fireplace was Vase with Fifteen Sunflowers (1888).
Irises
I wasn’t so excited about. What young boy really is; however, especially in
summer, I used to look at Wheat Field
and could easily imagine being right there — I could smell the wheat and the
cypresses carried on a warm breeze. I used to imagine myself at one of the
tables in Café Terrace at Night, on
the Place du Forum in Arles, just watching the world go by. And Starry Night I could look at for hours —
as though in a dream courtesy of Vincent. I found myself wanting to go to the Lapin
Agile of Utrillo’s painting, and wanted to go inside, even though I had no idea
what a lapin agile was or what the
actual place was. I could imagine people walking past the wine and liquor store
in his Montmartre, wondered what the
church at the top of the butte in Sacre-Coeur
de Montmartre was like inside, and wished I could go into the boulangerie in Street in Paris — I could almost smell the bread baking.
It
was at about that same time that I became acquainted with Henri de
Toulouse-Lautrec via John Houston’s 1952 production of Moulin Rouge with José Ferrer as Lautrec. What a marvelous movie;
one in which Houston went to great lengths to match the appearance of actors
and actresses with the characters of Lautrec’s Montmartre posters and
paintings, not to mention the incredible detail paid to the interior shots of
the cabarets and bars. His characters came alive and I was enthralled by their
exoticism.
So one might say that in a sense I grew up in Montmartre,
at least the Montmartre of the time of Van Gogh, Utrillo, Degas, and so many
other artists, as well as the Montmartre of the Chat Noir, the Moulin Galette,
and the Moulin Rouge. Montmartre was art, it was music, and was home to so many
famous and some notorious folk that stirred the imagination. I went there once.
Some visitors to France prefer the Louvre, or Versailles, or the Riviera, but
not I. Montmartre was art and life at its grittiest, even then. I could almost
hear the ghosts; for it was both wonderful and ghostly all at once. Truth be
told, if I were to live in Paris, I would most certainly have to live in
Montmartre — no other place would do.
There is a lot more to Montmartre than the average person
realizes in terms of its history, art, music, and people. I made the district a
sort of hobby and have studied it off and on through the decades, and I hope
over the next few weeks to share some of what I have learned about this
wonderful, ghostly, sinister and strange place.
