Guilbert Père et Fils

On the facade of the Chemistry and Natural Science facility at the Ecole Normale Supérieure, two names stand out; the architects A & J Guilbert. A father and son whose work spanned the first half of the twentieth century and the many upheavals that this period brought. Their story is one of kinship and collaboration, but also one with a sad ending.

I have previously written about the work of the father, Albert-Désiré Guilbert. Born in 1866, his first major commission came at the end of the century with the construction of the Notre Dame de la Consolation church in the Rue Jean Goujon. This very classical structure was built on the site of the Bazar de la Charité charity fire as a memorial to those killed in the tragedy. The building brought him a certain renown, and he was soon commissioned to build another church on a neighbouring plot, this time the neo-byzantine Eglise Arménienne.

At the same time as these constructions were taking place, another important event in his life occurred – the birth of a son. I have no information on whether Albert-Désiré had other children or not, only that it would be with this son, Jacques, born in 1900, that he would later form a partnership.

How significant was it that Jacques should be born at the dawn of a new century? This was to be the beginning of a new age in society, art and architecture, a thoroughly modern age where children rejected the weighty inheritance of their forefathers. Jacques followed his father into the architectural trade, but in a very different register. He was one of the founders of l'Atelier du Palais de Bois a group of students who rejected traditional architectural teaching at the Ecoles de Beaux Arts, and chose instead to study under the modernist Auguste Perret.

Immediately after graduating though, Jacques made a curious choice. He began working with his father. Albert-Désiré was the Architecte en chef des bâtiments civils et palais nationaux, and had continued to build neo-classical and neo-byzantine constructions such as the Sainte Jeanne d'Arc church in Versailles. What would the two produce together? The answer was the Chemistry and Natural Science facility at the Ecole Normale Supérieure.

This, along with a similar construction at the Collège de France, would be Albert-Désiré’s last work. Was he just passing on a lifetime of experience to a very promising talent rather than any of his personal ideas and influences? The building itself, in concrete and brick, certainly owes more to the style of Perret than to his previous constructions. It was a success though and is today a listed building, perhaps principally for the wonderful moulded concrete typography on the facade.

As the father’s career ended, war broke out. This was not a time for extravagance, but rather for the practical and functional. Jacques remained close to Auguste Perret, becoming a teacher at his Atelier in 1943 and helping with the reconstruction of Le Havre at the end of the war. It was a career that looked as if it would be dedicated towards post-war reconstruction and the teaching of the new generation, but fate decided otherwise.

Biographies can be harsh recorders of facts. The lifes of Albert-Désiré and Jacques Guilbert are sometimes reduced to just two dates; birth and death. What stories are hidden behind these dates though? It is easy to imagine the joy of the father at the birth of his son, happiness that blended seamlessly with the optimism of a new century and two large commissions. We can also sadly imagine his devastation in 1948 when his descendant and architectural heir died. Fathers are not meant to bury sons, particular after the most murderous conflict in the history of the planet had ended. Simple dates tell us that Albert-Désiré lived until his 83rd year. They also tell us that he died less than a year after his son. We draw our own conclusions.

A Tale of Two Tragedies

It is the lot of all cities that occasionally tragedy will strike. Whilst some cities are prey to natural disasters, such as rising tides or thundering underground plate movements, other cities are shaken by accidents and human incompetence. When such events occur, the city stops and weeps, but the natural kinetics of human life ensure that the city always goes on. What is of interest to future generations though is how such events are recorded, commemorated and remembered.

I was inspired to write this piece after reading the fascinating series on the Watts Memorial Park in London on Caroline's Miscellany blog. London found a place to celebrate simple acts of heroism, but has there been any such place in Paris? I could not think of one until I remembered the Notre Dame de la Consolation church in the Rue Jean-Goujon (75008), a structure that was built as a permenant memorial to a terrible event that had struck on the same spot 6 years beforehand.

Beneath the dome of Albert-Désiré Guilbert's church are heroic sculptures by Horace Daillion, a date, the 4th of May 1897, and a quotation from Thessalonians ("ne vous attristez pas comme ceux qui n'ont pas d'esperance" – “Do not grieve like those who have no hope”). Inside, the temple is dimly lit and thick with silence. There are few windows to bring in air and light, only heavy, baroque sculptures, marble columns and a monumental painted ceiling. There is little sign of the tragedy in what is today a simple church which has been adopted by the Parisian Italian community. To one side though, in the murky depths of the confessional, stands an iron gateway held together by a cheap bicycle lock. Beyond this a strip of light leads the way to the true monument, a pathway in cross form telling the story of what happened on that fateful day.

This monument is only open to visitors once a month so remains an intensely private and secret space. The images and memorials contained within have so far remained frustratingly out of my reach, but the story is one that has been amply documented elsewhere. In 1897 a large wooden hanger stood where the church is situated today. It had recently been rented by an organisation called the Bazar de la Charité, a group which organised periodic charity events. On this occasion, 22 medieval style wooden boutiques had been set up along the 80 metre space, and these were looked after mostly by members of the Parisian aristocracy. Adding to the celebratory atmosphere, the event also featured a cinematography show, an early precursor to cinema, featuring films created by the Lumière brothers.

The Bazar de la Charité just before the fire

On the 4th of May, the second day of a planned five day event, the sales attracted over 1000 visitors, again mostly members of the aristocracy. It was an immense success, but people were soon complaining about the overheated atmosphere whilst the cinematographers were worried that there was not enough space for their equipment in the small area they had been given. At about four o'clock in the afternoon, their concerns were sadly proved to be accurate as the machinery caught fire and quickly spread throughout the building. The wooden structure was soon alight, and the curtains, lace and ribbons around the stalls became streaks of flame. It apparently only took 15 minutes for the entire building to be reduced to ashes. When the dust settled and all the remains had been sifted through, 130 people were found to have lost their lives.

The most famous of all the victims was the Duchess of Alençon, younger sister of the Empress of Austria, better known as Sissi. Being the most widely known to the general public, stories of her heroism were widely reported in the press. It is reported that she said "Ne vous occupez pas de moi. Je partirai la dernière" ('Don't worry about me - I'll leave last') to one lady who managed to escape, and when a nun collapsed at her feet and cried "Ô Madame, quelle mort !" ('O Madam, what a way to die'), she calmy replied "Oui, mais dans quelques minutes, pensez que nous verrons Dieu!" ('Yes, but in a few minutes we will see God'). It is then said that she quietly shielded the head of another lady to protect her eyes from the terrible sight of their final moments of life. Whether these stories are true or were simply an attempt to create a myth around the most prestigious guest at the event will never be known.

What does seem truly incredible today though is the fact that 123 of the 130 victims were women, despite there being an estimated 200 men present at the time the fire broke out. Whilst it is true that many of the ladies were stuck behind their stalls and were hampered by their bulky clothing, the fact that there were so few male victims did not go unnoticed at the time. As one female journalist, Séverine, noted in Le Journal shortly after the event, only about 10 of these men were seen to help at all. "Le reste détala, non seulement ne sauvant personne, mais encore se frayant un passage dans la chair féminine, à coups de pieds, à coups de poings, à coups de talons, à coups de canne" ('The rest ran away, not only not saving anybody, but also pushing their way past female flesh, kicking, punching, pushing with their heels and sticks'). Incredibly, other contemporary newspapers lead with images of heroic men!

Memorials to the victims of a tragedy are essential for the city's cathartic process, but would we not learn more if memorials were also built to reflect the cowardly behaviour of men?

Coming Next:
A lower class of tragedy