The homes of Auguste Perret: Rue Franklin

I have written previously of the works of architect Auguste Perret (particularly his Mobilier National building), but not as yet of his two creations that also became his offices and homes. As these buildings are separated by 30 years (and around 500 metres!), it is also interesting to note how tastes and techniques changed in this period.

His first self-designed home, on the Rue Franklin in the 16th arrondissement, is also a building that is considered to be one of the seminal constructions of modern architecture. It was built in 1903 when Perret was only 29, and although it owes much to his upbringing and the comparitive success and wealth of his family, it also clearly showed the genius of the family's oldest son.

The Perret family, mother, father and five children, were evidently very close, choosing to live and work together throughout their lives. The father - Claude Marie Perret - was a stonemason and later a builder, and was determined to bring up his three sons to learn the trade.

Whilst working for the family firm, Auguste also continued his studies, eventually choosing to specialise in reinforced concrete (although he would never gain a full diploma in architecture). Together they were able to form a company called 'Entreprise Perret et Fils', which was capable not only of construction, but also of designing buildings and of providing the materials.

For this particular project on the Rue Franklin, the Perret family owned the land. Situated alongside the Trocadero and opposite the Eiffel tower, it was already a very desirable location, and although it was a speculative build (apart from the family apartments and offices on the ground floor), any design would probably have quickly sold in such a spot. Nevertheless, Auguste Perret - now acting as the firm's architect -, chose something radical and previously unseen.

Throughout his life, Auguste Perret would be obsessed with making buildings as organic as possible. He saw the framework of a building as being the equivalent of a human skeleton, and although the structure he produced on the Rue Franklin could have been made with wood or iron, he was determined to test a new process - reinforced concrete.

Interestingly, Auguste Perret was one of the first architects to apply the Hennebique (our friend with the 'Concrete chateau' in Bourg la Reine) system on a residential property. Nevertheless, for this first attempt, he was very unsure about how it would age over time. The building was covered in tiles, not so much for decoration, but more because Perret believed that the concrete would be damaged by the weather and start to decay (some people today may still argue that this is the best way to treat concrete!). As he said, "one must never allow into a building any element destined solely for ornament, but rather turn to ornament all the parts necessary for its support."

The ceramics of Alexandre Bigot on the facade of the building though are one of its most remarkable features today. If you manage to crouch down to almost floor level (as I did for these photos), you can see the signature tiles, but what is particularly noticeable is the graceful restraint of the work. This was the height of Art Nouveau period, but here the ceramics are almost monochrome, and in a pattern that is repeated over almost the entire building.

The family's move to this building was however not initially a happy one. Claude Marie, the father, died in 1905, leaving Auguste at the head of the family. The building though was a success, and Auguste was delighted with the results that the reinforced concrete had given. To reflect these changes, the family company became known as 'Entreprise Perret-Architectes-Constructeurs-Beton Arme', and soon flourished.

Thirty years later, the Perret offices and Auguste's family home moved 500 metres down the road to a new building, but that's another story....

This building is located at 25a Rue Franklin in the 16th arrondissement, M°Trocadero/Passy

Read more about what makes this a great building, including some of the original plans, in this PDF document.

Post Modernism

When looking at the city, I try to avoid thinking of it in terms of before and after. I prefer to concentrate on what is left standing and focus on the walls that have managed to survive the demolition teams. Sometimes though, digging around a building will turn me into an archeologist, and I'll begin to find notes and traces of a site's previous existence. When two such sites involve current incarnations as post offices, I begin thinking that I should dig deeper still.

Oscar Wilde said that "fashion is a form of ugliness so intolerable that we have to alter it every six months". Whilst architecture may have a longer life-span than this, it is clear that it is subject to the same rules as other spheres of society. The corner of the Rue de Provence and the Rue Chauchat today houses a rather attractive Post Office building, decorative in a faintly Art Deco manner. It retains original signage, and even doorways that today lead nowhere. Little though would lead you to believe that you are standing at a point in the city where a fashion was created.

This Post Office building replaced a previous structure which housed a furniture showroom and gallery run by an American named Samuel Bing. The name of this shop? "L'Art Nouveau". Bing opened his showroom in 1895, selling objects reflecting this new style, but the only trace remaining of this era is the name he gave to the budding movement. The building was rented, meaning that he could not make changes to the external decor, but in any case, within 15 years the movement had blown itself out. I'm inclined to agree with the critic Jonathan Glancey who stated that it was a style "better suited to interior decor and illustrations rather than architecture", and the building that stands there today has sufficient merits of its own to justify its place.

In the Rue de Douai, a brisk 10 minute walk away, another Post Office building but a radically different style from another era. This bureau occupies the ground floor of a curious 1970s office building, sitting beneath rows of individual office units at counterpoints.

I find the building neither attractive or ugly, but rather an interesting attempt to break up the linear restrictions of the Paris streetscape. In such a historic area as this though (just south of the Place de Clichy), the chances were that this would be a concrete footprint on top of the skeleton of some dead fashion. It was a surprise though to learn that it replaced one of the most attractive and historic cinemas in the city, "L'Artistic", a place that showed the premières of both Eisenstein's 'Battleship Potemkin' in 1926 and Jean Vigo's 'Zero de Conduite' in 1933.

As was the case with the Gaumont Palace nearby, the rise in the influence of television and other forms of leisure made the sheer number of cinemas in Paris unsustainable. There were inevitably victims such as "L'Artistic" that should perhaps have been protected, but this was not an era that favoured protection of the old. Today, my regret is that I never got to see the fantastic interiors of this building, a disappointment made all the more bitter when I have to suffer the crushing banality of the inside of a Post Office.

For how much longer though will the Post Office hold its position in the streetscape? Throughout Paris, large structures remain, a throwback to the days when as the PTT they housed both telecommunications infrastructures as well as the standard postal services. Today, the buildings dwarf the downsized structures contained within, and with technology leading us further and further away from the centralised distribution of paper, it may not be too long before these buildings go the way of architectural modes and decorative cinemas.

Hygienic Housing (Part 2)

What is the connection between the designer of the most elegant brothel in Paris and an organ player at Versailles Cathedral? The answer is Henri Sauvage and Charles Sarazin, a two-man design team who together worked on one of the most original building designs ever constructed in Paris. What is even more exceptional about their construction is that it was built as an HBM (Habitation à Bon Marché), and was created to serve the needs of the poorest members of society.

As noted previously, most of the HBM constructions in Paris were built in a ring around the city. They were generally solid, brick-built buildings, drawn to a similar plan and therefore looked largely alike. However, in smaller units where space was at a minimum, occasional more original designs managed to make it off of the drawing board, and this was certainly the case at the Rue des Amiraux, behind Montmartre.

The arrival of city authorities in the provision of social housing, and the large investments that went with this had inspired architects and designers to outdo each other with new ideas in an attempt to win the hefty contracts. The guiding principles behind the constructions, to house the working classes decently and to promote a healthy living environment and lifestyle, already gave ample inspiration to the architects, but this particular development zone, requiring a building to fill a ‘U’ shape with three facades on two different streets, was an awkward one that needed something ingenious.

Sauvage and Sarazin knew they had the solution, having already completed a similar building (Rue Vavin, 75006) which was the prototype of the construction they planned to build here. The design was in a pyramid shape, with each floor having stepping terraces and large windows that were designed to let in as much sun and air as possible. The most interesting aspect of the design was that the shape left a large internal space, an area that could be used for the encouragement of a ‘healthy lifestyle’. Sauvage wanted a cinema to fill the gap, but the city of Paris insisted on a swimming pool. The design was accepted and the building was opened in 1925.

Original designs from Henri Sauvage

The two men were intensely proud of their revolutionary design. They were so sure were they that it would be copied that they patented the design and created a company to deal with the expected flood of commands, something that never materialised. This is surprising in many ways. The building is still stunning today, dressed in pristine white tiles, with long running balconies interspersed with tall stairways and lift-shafts. Being built largely around a framework of large posts and reinforced concrete it was also a very lightweight structure which required minimal foundations, something that made it relatively cheap to build too. The Paris Metro style tiling ensures that the building is washed clean with each rainfall and it looks to be a thoroughly healthy environment, especially with the swimming pool which today is a municipal facility. It remains a mystery to this day why this was the last such building ever constructed.

The second question to answer is how the designer of a brothel could also be involved in the hygienist movement. Interesting as it may sound today, the two were in fact closely linked. Brothels were legal operations in the early decades of the 20th century, with Sauvage’s creation, Le Sphinx being given permission to open "dans un but de santé publique" (in the interests of public health). Each establishment was closely monitored, with all visitors carefully listed, and regular health checks being obligatory for all who worked inside.

Sauvage himself was a very interesting character. Initially a follower of the Art Nouveau movement and a friend of Guimard, his works were in fact precursors of the modernist movement, albeit with persistent decorative touches. He was an eclectic designer and architect, working on hotels, car parks, and part of the famous Samaritaine shop, always in changing styles that made him very difficult to classify. He died relatively young, aged 58, just two years after his most famous construction was finally terminated. Wild he may have been, but his legacy in the city is a gift of eternal elegance.

On the same theme:
- The story behind the HBMs in Paris
- An unusual school unit

An Invisible Building

Like many streets in Paris, the Rue de la Victoire has several numbers missing along its length, mostly due to the construction of newer roads that cut across the footprints of previous buildings. What is unusual in this street though is that it also seems to be missing a building too. The mysterious structure is at N°63 and is only properly visible when you are stood directly in front of it. Don't try to get too close though - it's tucked safely away behind tall, iron bars.

The disappearing trick is due to its position, set back from the street and the surrounding buildings. A courtyard in front of a building is an unusual feature in Paris where most structures are designed to tightly hug the street in which they are situated. Here the courtyard does not seem to be used for any decorative reason though, but rather as an additional layer of defence. Even the building itself offers a fortified perspective, with grey stone blocks colliding with patches of red bricks, and iron bars stretched across the ground floor windows.

Look beyond this rather austere exterior though and you’ll see several theatrical touches. Above the arches of the second floor widows, a trio of carved heads look down upon us. To either side, the walls of the neighbouring buildings have been utilised as a kind of extension of the central structure – a skeleton of what the building perhaps should have been. Finally, a large stone balcony with a pair of wide French windows behind - a veritable stage set for a pining lover. Which architect was responsible for this protective, playful mix of styles? The answer is carved on to one of the stones; P.Auscher, 1892.

Paul Auscher was a talented and eclectic architect, perhaps best known for his long collaboration with the Felix Botin chain of food stores. He created an art-nouveau masterpiece for them on the Rue de Rennes, but also a more streamlined, almost modernist structure to house members of staff on the Rue de Rambuteau. This building in the Rue de la Victoire preceeded these however. Auscher was born in 1866, meaning that he was only 26 when this building was completed. But who did he design it for, and what were his aims? Was the brief to construct a building of mystery and security? This may well have been the case if the current occupiers were also the original promoters. Number 63 Rue de la Victoire is today home to one of the oldest and most prestigious private banks in the city.

The view along the Rue de la Victoire towards the west.

The various Hottinguer banking branches can trace their origins back to a Swiss ancestor, Jean-Conrad who left Zurich in 1784 to create his empire in Paris. It was the wrong time to attempt to create anything in the city, with revolution breaking out just five years later. Hottinguer left the country, toured the world, married an American, made many contacts, and was finally ready to return in 1796. With the economy relaunched, Hottinguer made rapid advances, integrating the board of Governers of the Banque de France and being made a Baron by Napolean. Later generations of the family would also play integral roles in the creation of many large institutions, such as those which have today become the Caisse d'Epargne, Veolia, the Ottoman Bank and Axa. One such family member, the Baron Rudolph was heavily involved in the creation of the Paris - Lyon railway connection, to such an extent that he is pictured in the giant fresque at the Gare de Lyon alongside Sarah Bernhardt!

It's an interesting story, but where does this building fit into the tale? From what I am able to grasp of the complicated company history, the current inhabitants seem to be a branch that has broken away from the main group, which itself has returned to Switzerland. It would be foolhardy then to assume that they are housed in the family heritage, and yet they make much of the building in their promotional material, proudly displaying the elegant wood-panelled interior with early art-nouveau trimmings. The only way to find out is to attempt to contact them.

As regular visitors to this blog will be aware though, my attempts at communication are never a success. After sending an e-mail requesting information and getting no reply, I decide simply to phone. I explain that I would like to know what they can tell me about the building and its history, but am confronted by a wall as solid as the stones and bricks that make up the facade of their offices. "I'm sorry, but I can't give you this information. We are a private bank and the directors would not like this information to be divulged". Clearly they think I am some kind of industrial spy, trying to discover the location of the vault. Mr Auscher would surely be happy to know that the building’s defences are proving to be sufficiently strong to protect the secrets at its heart.

Beautiful Contrasts

There are many people who believe that beauty is simply the result of perfect symmetry. Psychological and sociological studies seem to suggest that we are predisposed to be more sympathetic to people with a mathematically pure facial structure, whilst physicists and chemists speak of natural symmetry dominating in other spheres. It is a sign of healthiness perhaps, or maybe just a symbol of comforting conformity.

Personally, I find uniformity of form to be oppressive and tedious. I am no fan of French manicured gardens for example, and I prefer to see organic contrasts and juxtapositions working together to enhance the beauty of each other. I stopped to admire the handsome art nouveau building in the picture above, but I was only impelled to take a photo after noticing the hairdressing salon at ground floor level. The decay of the shop-sign against the pristine building is almost a definition of charm, with the reds smeared like cheap lipstick on the pale face of duchess.

A little further along, another clash of two distinct styles; imposing masculine neo-classical solidity and feminine art-deco curves and decorative tiling. Both would be ordinary and non-descript taken in isolation, but dancing together they are Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. And in the middle, where the flesh joins, a final poignant and touching sight – a shared drainpipe!