The aesthetic of Lisbon Writing and practices during the early 20th century Gerbert Verheij Aquesta tesi doctoral està subjecta a la llicència Reconeixement- NoComercial – CompartirIgual 4.0. Espanya de Creative Commons. Esta tesis doctoral está sujeta a la licencia Reconocimiento - NoComercial – CompartirIgual 4.0. España de Creative Commons. This doctoral thesis is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial- ShareAlike 4.0. Spain License. Programa de Doctorado Espacio Público y Regeneración Urbana: Arte, Teoría, Conservación del Patrimonio. Facultat de Belles Artes The aesthetic of Lisbon: Writing and practices during the early 20th century Gerbert Verheij Directores: Dr. Lino Cabezas, Dra. Núria Ricart Tutor: Dr. Antoni Remesar Tesis presentada para la obtención del grado de doctor Abril 2017 G. Verheij ABSTRACT This study tries to tackle the notion of “urban aesthetics” as it was articulated throughout the first three decades of the 20th century in Portuguese writing on the city, and practised in different forms of spatial production. A diffuse vocabulary – estética urbana, estética citadina, estética da cidade, das edificações, da rua… – signals a persistent understanding of the city as a work of art, both in the way it was experienced – an “urban aesthetic” – and contrived – an “urban aesthetics.” The general ambition of this study is to give visibility to and to reconstruct the conditions of legibility of this set of writings and practices which responded to the once alluring call of the aesthetic. The territory elected to trace the conceptual and practical unravelling of these ideas – so intricately linked to the particularities of place – is Lisbon. In this city, the topic becomes almost unavoidable in writings on urban presents and futures after 1900. Aesthetic arguments were consistently and insistently employed to critically describe urban beauty or, more frequently, urban ugliness, to advocate aesthetic improvement and to justify or criticize concrete ideas and projects. This phenomenon is studied against a background of intense international exchange during this formative phase of the modern planning disciplines, from Town and City Planning to Städtebau and Urbanisme. Aesthetic considerations were manifestly present, and it is argued that aesthetic discourse in Lisbon signals the reception of internationally circulating ideas, words, images and people. More precisely, this study proceeds to a kind of archaeology of the gaze and discourse of “urban aesthetics,” studying the functions it performed within different social, cultural and political contexts and the relations and tensions with relevant urban realities which pervaded it. One conclusion is that the notion of an “urban aesthetics” remained ill-defined, a common place relying on shared adversity to the modern urban landscape rather than any explicit program or solution. Subsequently, the assimilation by municipal regulation and institutions of public demands of “aesthetic supervision” is reconstructed. The four years of municipal council activity of the architect Miguel Ventura Terra, from 1908 to 1913, were crucial in this tentative articulation of actual practices of aesthetic control and urban design, even if along the subsequent decades they were never given the desired legal and institutional breath. Finally, during the 1930s the vocabulary of “urban aesthetics” was appropriated by a new generation of architects, urban planners and politicians and put at the service of the urban ideals of a dictatorial New State, signalling the persistence of aesthetic considerations in the local institution of the discipline of planning. An epilogue proposes that the viewpoint of urban aesthetics can contribute to new perspectives over the production and experience of Lisbon during the first decades of the 20 th century. Keywords: Lisbon, urban aesthetics, international planning cultures, production of public space, public art, urban design, Miguel Ventura Terra (1866-1919) – 2 – G. Verheij RESUMEN La presente investigación enfoca la noción de “estética urbana” tal como la fueron articulando las escritos sobre la ciudad y los diferentes modos de hacer cuidad durante las primeras tres décadas del siglo XX. Un copioso vocabulario – estética urbana, estética citadina, estética da cidade, das edificações, da rua… – señala un entendimiento persistente de la ciudad experimentada y deseada como obra de arte. La aspiración global de la investigación es dar visibilidad y reconstruir las condiciones de legibilidad a este conjunto de escritos y prácticas que respondían a la llamada antes atractiva del estético. Lisboa es el territorio elegido para rastrear su enredo conceptual y material. Sobre todo a partir de 1900 el tema se vuelve una parada casi obligatoria en escritos sobre el presente y futuro de la ciudad. El uso de argumentos de carácter estético para describir críticamente la belleza o, más comúnmente, la fealdad urbana, para promover mejoras estéticas o para justificar o criticar ideas y proyectos concretos era consistente e insistente. En el trasfondo se apunta el cerrado intercambio internacional durante la formación de las modernas disciplinas urbanísticas, de la Town and City Planning a la Städtebau y el Urbanisme. Dentro del horizonte disciplinar, las consideraciones estéticas tenían lugar relevante, y el desarrollo de la “estética urbana” en Lisboa es interpretado como manifestación de la recepción de ideas, palabras, imágenes y personas que circulaban internacionalmente. Asimismo, se propone una especie de arqueología de la mirada y del discurso de la “estética urbana,” estudiando las funciones que la noción ejercía en distintos contextos sociales, culturales y políticos y las relaciones y tensiones que nacían del embate con realidades urbanas relevantes. Una de las conclusiones es que la noción de “estética urbana” apenas se definía; era un lugar común que se alimentaba más de la hostilidad compartida ante el moderno paisaje urbano que de un programa o solución explícito. Por otro lado, se indaga como las exigencias de la opinión pública de “supervisión estética” eran asimiladas o no en ordenanzas e instituciones municipales o nacionales. Los cuatro años en los que el arquitecto Miguel Ventura Terra integró el ayuntamiento de la ciudad, de 1908 a 1913, resultan decisivos en el pretendido despliegue de prácticas eficaces de controlo estético y diseño urbano, incluso cuando no recibieron la deseada amplitud legal e institucional durante las dos décadas siguientes. Después de 1926 el vocabulario de la “estética urbana” fue, por ende, apropiado por una nueva generación de arquitectos, urbanistas y políticos y puesta al servicio de los ideales urbanos de la dictadura del Estado Novo, sugiriendo que motivos estéticos persistan en la constitución de la moderna disciplina urbanística. Un epílogo propone que la mirada hacia y desde la estética urbana puede contribuir a esbozar nuevas perspectivas sobre la producción y experiencia de la ciudad de Lisboa durante las primeras décadas del siglo XX. Palabras-clave: Lisboa, estética urbana, culturas urbanísticas, producción del espacio público, arte público, diseño urbano, Miguel Ventura Terra (1866-1919) – 3 – G. Verheij RESUMO Este estudo aborda a noção de “estética urbana” ou “da cidade,” tal como foi formulada durante as primeiras três décadas do século XX em escritos sobre a cidade, e praticada em diferentes formas de produção de espaço. Um profuso vocabulário – estética urbana, estética citadina, estética da cidade, das edificações, da rua… – assinala um entendimento persistente da cidade experimentada e desejada como obra de arte. A ambição global deste estudo é a de dar visibilidade a e reconstruir as condições de legibilidade deste conjunto de escritos e práticas que respondiam ao apelo outrora tentador do estético. O território elegido para rastrear a trama conceptual e prática destas ideias – tão intrincadamente ligadas às especificidades do lugar – é Lisboa. Sobretudo a partir de 1900 o tema torna-se passagem quase obrigatória em escritos sobre o presente e o futuro da cidade. Argumentos de carácter estético eram mobilizados de forma consistente e insistente para descrever criticamente a beleza e, mais comummente, a fealdade urbanas, para promover “embelezamentos” e para justificar ou criticar ideias e projectos concretos. Este fenómeno é visto contra o fundo de um denso intercâmbio internacional durante a formação das modernas disciplinas urbanísticas, da Town and City Planning à Städtebau e ao Urbanisme. Neste panorama, considerações estéticas marcavam presença, e o florescimento da “estética urbana” em Lisboa é entendida como sintoma da recepção desta circulação internacional de ideias, palavras, imagens e pessoas. Mais especificamente, este estudo propõe uma espécie de arqueologia do olhar e do discurso da “estética urbana,” estudando as funções desempenhadas por este termo em diferentes contextos sociais, culturais e políticos e as relações e tensões que nasciam do seu confronto com realidades urbanas relevantes. Uma conclusão é que a noção de “estética urbana” ficou por definir; era um lugar comum que dependia mais de uma animosidade partilhada perante a moderna paisagem urbana do que um programa ou solução explícita. De seguida, a assimilação (e não-assimilação) das exigências públicas de “supervisão estética” em regulamentos e instituições municipais ou nacionais é rastreada. Os quatro anos em que o arquitecto Miguel Ventura Terra foi vereador da cidade, entre 1908 e 1913, revelam-se cruciais nesta tentativa de articular práticas efectivas de controlo estético e desenho urbano, mesmo se durante as duas décadas subsequentes estas nunca receberam a desejada abrangência legal e institucional. A partir de 1926 o vocabulário da “estética urbana” foi apropriado por uma nova geração de arquitectos, urbanistas e políticos, e posto ao serviço dos ideais urbanos da ditadura do Estado Novo, sinalizando a persistência de motivos estéticos na constituição da moderna disciplina urbanística. Um epílogo propõe que o olhar para e desde a estética urbana pode contribuir a trazer novas perspectivas sobre a produção e experiência da cidade de Lisboa durante as primeiras décadas do século XX. Palavras-chave: Lisboa, estética urbana, culturas urbanísticas, produção de espaço público, arte pública, desenho urbano, Miguel Ventura Terra (1866-1919) – 4 – G. Verheij Table of Contents List of figures.......................................................................................................................................7 List of tables.......................................................................................................................................12 List of abbreviations..........................................................................................................................13 [epigraph]...........................................................................................................................................14 Acknowledgements............................................................................................................................15 INTRODUCTION.................................................................................................................................17 1) INTERNATIONAL PLANNING CULTURE(S)...................................................................................31 Modern planning and urban design...................................................................................................32 The metropolis, urban reform and the roots of modern planning...............................................................32 The challenges of urban design..................................................................................................................37 Institutions of planning......................................................................................................................48 From Städtebau to Town and City Planning...............................................................................................48 The birth of French Urbanisme..................................................................................................................58 a) The roots of Urbanisme...........................................................................................................................................58 b) The institution of a discipline..................................................................................................................................65 International exchange.......................................................................................................................76 The internationalization of planning cultures.............................................................................................76 Congresses, exhibitions and institutions.....................................................................................................79 Exporting expertise....................................................................................................................................88 A note on public housing, modernity and modernism.......................................................................94 Portuguese planning culture in international perspective................................................................101 A panorama of urban change...................................................................................................................101 The international circulation of professionals..........................................................................................109 Institutional realities................................................................................................................................113 [Figures]...........................................................................................................................................123 2) VIEWS OVER LISBON: ART AND THE CITY AT THE START OF THE 20TH CENTURY................144 Dreams and realities of Lisboa Nova...............................................................................................145 Lisbon and the dilemma of modernity......................................................................................................145 Reading Fialho de Almeida's “Lisboa monumental”...............................................................................150 Lights and shadows of Lisboa Nova.........................................................................................................160 Aesthetic intentions and urban realities...........................................................................................167 The problem of monumentality.................................................................................................................167 Between metropolis and monument..........................................................................................................171 The city beyond the plan..........................................................................................................................178 Framing the discourse of “urban aesthetic(s)”.................................................................................187 Aesthetic failure and public control..........................................................................................................187 The architect as expert.............................................................................................................................194 (In)definitions of “urban aesthetic(s)”.....................................................................................................199 [Figures]...........................................................................................................................................207 3) URBAN AESTHETICS IN REPUBLICAN LISBON.........................................................................235 Ventura Terra and “municipal aesthetics”........................................................................................236 Ventura Terra and Republican Lisbon......................................................................................................236 Urban policies and “municipal aesthetics”..............................................................................................241 – 5 – G. Verheij Conflicting competences. Architects, engineers and aesthetics.................................................................251 “Municipal aesthetics” in practice...................................................................................................260 Case 1: Aesthetics and public space in the Eduardo VII Park..................................................................260 Case 2: Regenerating the urban waterfront..............................................................................................269 Limits and values of “municipal aesthetics”............................................................................................279 Continuity and change from the Republic to the New State............................................................285 The limits of law and the problem of the plan..........................................................................................285 Practices of design...................................................................................................................................296 Domesticating the “urban aesthetic” during the early dictatorship.........................................................310 [Figures]...........................................................................................................................................323 EPILOGUE: AN AESTHETIC OF LISBON?......................................................................................360 CONCLUSIONS.................................................................................................................................371 APPENDICES...................................................................................................................................374 Appendix 1: Chronology of international planning institutions, 1899-1938...................................375 Appendix 2: Early planning literature..............................................................................................379 Appendix 3: Portuguese attendance at international congresses, 1898-1913..................................383 Appendix 4: National politics and municipal management, 1908-1938..........................................388 Appendix 5: Petition on the aesthetic of the capital, 1907..............................................................391 Appendix 6: Escudo exchange rate, 1908-1938...............................................................................393 Appendix 7: City survey of Lisbon, 1911........................................................................................394 Appendix 8: Municipal parks and gardens, 1910-1935...................................................................397 Appendix 9: Public art, 1911-1937..................................................................................................402 Authorship................................................................................................................................................402 Chronology..............................................................................................................................................403 Geographical distribution........................................................................................................................405 Inventory..................................................................................................................................................408 Additional note.........................................................................................................................................439 BIBLIOGRAPHY...............................................................................................................................441 ANALYTICAL INDEX.......................................................................................................................501 – 6 – G. Verheij List of figures List of figures Chapter 1 Figure 1: G. Caillebot, Rue de Paris, temps de pluie, 1877...................................................................................123 Figure 2: Berlin courtyard at the Möckernstraße (in Kreuzberg), 1904 Figure 3: G. Doré, Over London-by Rail, 1872 Figure 4: J. Riis, Bandit roost, 1888 Figure 5: Lisbon's Rossio square at the start of the 20th century............................................................................124 Figure 6: Dom Luís I Bridge in Porto Figure 7: Comparative chart of metropolitan areas Figure 8: Plates from Alphand's Promenades de Paris, 1867................................................................................125 Figure 9: Approved extension plan of Vienna, 1860.............................................................................................126 Figure 10: Closed squares from Sitte's Der Städtebau, 1889 Figure 11:Vienna's Burgtheater along the Ringstraße in the 1890s Figure 12: J. Stübben, Aesthetically pleasing and unpleasant street levels............................................................127 Figure 13: Plates from K. Henrici's winning entry for the München competition, 1893........................................128 Figure 14: O. Wagner, bird-eye perspective of a quarter in future Vienna Figure 15: C. Pissarro, Avenue de l'Opéra, soleil, matinée d'hiver, 1898..............................................................129 Figure 16: L. Bonnier, Drawings illustrating evolving regulation of upper building façades until 1902 Figure 17: E. Hénard, Discontinuous building lines Figure 18: E. Hénard, The city of the future, 1910 Figure 19: Plates from L. Jaussely's winning entry for the Barcelona competition, 1903......................................130 Figure 20: General plan of A. Bérard's winning entry for the Guayaquil competition, 1906 Figure 21: Plates from H. Prost's winning entry for the Antwerp competition, 1910 Figure 22: Plan of D.-A. Agache's entry for the Canberra competition, 1911.......................................................131 Figure 23: J.-C. N. Forestier, Plan of Parc Laribal in Barcelona Figure 24: J.-C. N. Forestier, Plan of a proposed a park-system in Rabat (Morocco) Figure 25: E. Hébrard, Plan for the reconstruction of Thessaloniki (Greece), 1918..............................................132 Figure 26: J. Gréber, Design of the Benjamin Franklin Parkway in Philadelphia Figure 27: The Thiers wall of Paris.......................................................................................................................133 Figure 28: E. Hénard, Proposal for the establishment of parks and gardens in Paris, 1904 Figure 29: Ligue pour les espaces libres, Proposal of a green-belt for Paris Figure 30: Exhibition map of La Cité Reconstituée, 1916.....................................................................................134 Figure 31: Inauguration of La Cité Reconstituée, 1916 Figure 32: The collection Urbanisme at E. Leroux in 1921 Figure 33: Subjects in La Vie Urbaine Figure 34: H. C. Andersen and E. Hébrard, Project for a World Centre of Communication, 1913........................135 Figure 35: Map of the 1913 Universal Exposition in Ghent Figure 36: Attendance at the Ghent Exposition Figure 37: The Avenue des Nations at the Ghent Exposition Figure 38: The Avenue de Tervueren in Brussels..................................................................................................136 Figure 39: Advertisement posters spoiling Paris Figure 40: E. Atget, Advertisement posters in old Paris Figure 41: The Exposition de la Reconstruction in Palace de Egmont, Brussels, 1919 Figure 42: Model of a municipal design of the future Avenida dos Aliados in Porto............................................137 Figure 43: B. Parker, First proposal for the future Avenida dos Aliados Figure 44: B. Parker, Façades of the final proposal Figure 45: B. Parker, Plan of the final proposal Figure 46: B. Parker, Sketch of a square with jacaranda planting in Jardim América, São Paulo Figure 47: J. J. P. Oud, De Kiefhoek, Rotterdam, 1925–1929...............................................................................138 – 7 – G. Verheij List of figures Figure 48: C. van Eesteren, Winning entry for the competition to redesign Unter den Linden, Berlin, 1925........138 Figure 49: P. L. Kramer, Cooperatiesstraat, Amsterdam, around 1925 Figure 50: P. L. Kramer and M. de Klerk, Cooperatiehof, Amsterdam Figure 51: M. de Klerk, Het Schip, Amsterdam, 1914-1921 Figure 52: Siedlung Lindenhof, Berlin, 1918-1921...............................................................................................139 Figure 53: Siedlung Schillerpark, Berlin, 1924-1930 Figure 54: Großsiedlung Britz, Berlin, 1925-1930 Figure 55: Weiße Stadt, Berlin, 1929-1931 Figure 56: Großsiedlung Siemensstadt (Ringsiedlung), Berlin, 1929-1931...........................................................140 Figure 57: Weißenhofsiedlung, Stuttgart, 1927 Figure 58: R. Mallet-Stevens, Model of a public park at the Art Urbain exhibition, 1923.....................................141 Figure 59: R. Mallet-Stevens, Model of a public square at the Art Urbain exhibition, 1925 Figure 60: Le Corbusier, Diorama of the Contemporary City Figure 61: Le Corbusier, Sketch of the Contemporary City Figure 62: The urbanisme stand at the Esprit Nouveau pavilion in 1925..............................................................142 Figure 63: Le Corbusier, Model of the “Plan Voisin” Figure 64: Le Corbusier, Sketch of the Radiant City Figure 65: Le Corbusier, Sketch for ribbon buildings in Rio de Janeiro, 1929 Figure 66: Le Corbusier, Sketch for ribbon buildings in Algiers, 1930 Figure 67: Le Corbusier, Model of “Plan Obus” Figure 68: Still from Fritz Lang's Metropolis (1927)............................................................................................143 Figure 69: Still from Just Imagine (1930), by David Butler Figure 70: Wertheim Department Store, Leipziger Platz, Berlin, 1920s Figure 71: Restaurant Rheingold, Potzdammer Platz, Berlin Chapter 2 Figure 72: Fialho de Almeida in his house in Cuba, 1907.....................................................................................207 Figure 73: J. R. Cristino da Silva, Construction of the Avenida da Liberdade, 1885 Figure 74: J. R. Cristino da Silva, The obelisk opening the Avenida da Liberdade, 1886 Figure 75: R. Kâmmerer, The Avenida da Liberdade in the late 19th century........................................................208 Figure 76: J. R. Cristino da Silva, Avenida da Liberdade, 1905 Figure 77: Map of the Avenida da Liberdade, 1890s.............................................................................................209 Figure 78: Design of an electrical street light Figure 79: Design of an iron bench, 1885 Figure 80: Trams at the Rossio square, 1909 Figure 81: The Avenida da Liberdade with rain....................................................................................................210 Figure 82: Popular types at the Rossio square Figure 83: Popular dancing at the Rossio square Figure 84: Washerwoman walking down the Avenida da Liberdade Figure 85: Festive illumination of the Rossio Figure 86: Strollers along the Avenida da Liberdade.............................................................................................211 Figure 87: Strollers on the Avenida on a Sunday afternoon Figure 88: “Doing the Avenida” Figures 89-101: Alonso, Illustrations for “Lisboa monumental”.....................................................................212–14 Figure 102: Successive city limits of Lisbon.........................................................................................................214 Figure 103: Changing city limits between 1952 and 1940 Figure 104: Map with municipal development schemes in 1897...........................................................................215 Figure 105: Map of streets built by the Bairro Camões Building Company, 1901 Figure 106: Map indicating street names in areas of urban expansion, 1906 Figure 107: General city plan with proposed municipal development schemes, 1904...........................................216 Figure 108: Map indicating approved and proposed improvements, 1903.............................................................217 Figure 109: Road sections for the new avenues, 1903 Figure 110: The Avenida Ressano Garcia around 1900 Figure 111: Avenida Ressano Garcia Figure 112: Praça do Marques do Pombal in 1903................................................................................................218 – 8 – G. Verheij List of figures Figure 113: Praça de Saldanha..............................................................................................................................218 Figure 114: Á. Machado, Design for a viaduct, 1906 Figure 115: Railway crossing in Entrecampos Figure 116: A. M. da Costa Campos, Design of a Museum of Sculpture..............................................................219 Figure 117: F. C. Parente, Design of a Triumphal Arch Figure 118: J. C. da Silva Fernandes, Design of a Monumental Arch Figure 119: T. Marques, Design of an Arena Figure 120: E. T. Pereira, Design of an Arts Academy Figure 121: Designs for a Drawing School, a Fine-Arts Museum and an Exhibition Palace.................................220 Figure 122: J. A. Soares, Design of a monumental Dock Figure 123: The Rue de Rivoli in Paris, 1900 Figure 124: The Palace of Electricity at the 1900 Paris Exposition Figure 125: Placement of foundation stone for the Monument to the Heroes of the Peninsular War, 1908...........221 Figure 125: Inauguration of the Monument to the Duque of Saldanha, 1909 Figure 126: Inauguration of the first Monument to Sousa Martins, 1900 Figure 127: Views of the first Monument to Sousa Martins..................................................................................222 Figure 128: A. Nunes, Model for a monument to Sousa Martins Figure 129: Costa Mota (the elder), Project for the second Monument to Sousa Martins Figure 130: Costa Mota gives the finishing touch to the allegory of the Monument.............................................223 Figure 131: Construction of the second Monument to Sousa Martins Figure 132: Teixeira Lopes, Monument to Eça de Queirós Figures 33-34: Inauguration of the Monument to Eça de Queirós, 1903 Figure 135: Á. Machado, Monument to Eduardo Coelho, 1902............................................................................224 Figure 136: Costa Mota (the elder), Monument to Pinheiro Chagas, 1908 Figure 137: Teixeira Lopes, Monument to the Viscount of Valmor Figure 138: Fernandes de Sá, Allegory of sculpture Figure 139: A. Coffino, Design of an Exhibition Palace.......................................................................................225 Figure 140: Elevator of Santa Justa Figure 141: A. Coffini; Design of a subterranean concert room Figure 142: Lithograph of the Monument to the Marquis of Sá da Bandeira........................................................226 Figure 143: Praça Dom Luís with the Monument to the Marquis of Sá da Bandeira Figure 144: Modern liner over traditional square..................................................................................................227 Figure 145: Rapid transit Figure 146: Le Corbusier, Aquitania over Parisian monuments Figure 147: Traffic chaos Figures 148–155: Alonso, Illustrations for “Lisboa no anno 2000”.......................................................................228 Figure 156: Cover of “O turno da noite”...............................................................................................................229 Figure 157: M. Machado, Fictional design for a monorail Figure 158: The docks of Lisbon..........................................................................................................................230 Figure 159: W. H. Koebel, Fishwives....................................................................................................................231 Figure 160: W. H. Koebel, Port labourers Figure 161: J. Benoliel, Panoramic views of Lisbon Figure 162: Viaduct between São Pedro de Alcântara and Campo dos Mártires da Pátria, 1888..........................232 Figure 163: Viaduct of the Rua Pascoal de Melo Figure 164: Viaduct of the Avenida Fontes Pereira de Melo Figure 165: Viaduct of the Rua Filipe Folque Figure 166: Transformation of Lisbon according to O Século Cómico..................................................................233 Figure 167: Hill-climbing trams and elevators Figure 168: Street-paving at the Calçada de São Francisco Figure 169: Silhouettes of Lisbon.........................................................................................................................234 Figure 170: F. Genzmer, Silhouttes of Berlin and Köln Figure 171: P. Montez, Historical silhouettes of Lisbon Chapter 3 Figure 172: Popular revolts in Lisbon after legislative elections, 1908.................................................................323 Figure 173: Republican meeting to demand municipal elections, 1908 Figure 174: Municipal garden-party at the Jardim da Estrela, 1911 – 9 – G. Verheij List of figures Figure 175: John Doe lost in the labyrinth of Republican promises......................................................................323 Figure 177: G. Renda, Menu for the municipal garden-party................................................................................324 Figure 176: Decorated shop windows for the International Congress of Tourism in 1911 Figure 178: J. Veloso Salgado, The city of Lisbon electing its first Republican council Figure 179: M. Ventura Terra around 1910...........................................................................................................325 Figure 180: J. Veloso Salgado, M. Ventura Terra Figure 181: M. Ventura Terra, General Development Plan for Funchal Figure 182: Holiday picture in Rome, 1911..........................................................................................................326 Figures 183–84: Announcement panels of the Lusa Agency Figure 185: Meeting room in the Town Hall of Lisbon.........................................................................................327 Figure 186: Prospective view of the Park of Liberty 1887 Figure 187: Design of the Park of Liberty, 1899 Figure 188: Painting of the future Eduardo VII Park, 1899...................................................................................328 Figure 189: Construction works Figure 190: State of the park around 1911 Figure 191: Design of the park according to changes by Ventura Terra, 1910 Figure 192: Changes between the park designs from 1899 and 1910....................................................................329 Figure 193: M. Ventura Terra, Topographical and road sections for the park, 1909 Figure 194: M. Ventura Terra, Types of fences for residences around the park, 1909 Figure 195: Design of types of fences for the residences, 1910 Figure 196: M. Ventura Terra, Model for a monumental arch, 1909.....................................................................330 Figure 197: Ceremony of the foundational stone for the Monument to the Heroes of the Revolution, 1911 Figure 198: Winning models of the 1914 Pombal competition Figure 199: Aerial views of the Pombal monument, around 1934 Figure 200: Inaugural ceremony of the construction of the Pombal monument, 1917 Figure 201: A. Prat in his atelier in Paris..............................................................................................................331 Figure 202: A. Prat with allegory to the Republic Figure 203: M. Ventura Terra, Back and front façade of A. Prat's house Figure 204: Aerial photograph of the Eduardo VII Park, early 1930s Figure 205: Aerial photograph of the Eduardo VII Park, 1950 Figure 206: A. Prat's house in 2014......................................................................................................................332 Figure 207: Sites of interventions at Lisbon's central waterfront...........................................................................333 Figure 208: Land ownership in the Cais do Sodré area in 1909 Figure 209: Aerial view of the area around 1934 Figures 210–13: M. Ventura Terra's “Lisboa futura,” 1910...................................................................................334 Figure 214: Modern and traditional port technologies..........................................................................................335 Figure 215: Revamped waterfront in Rio de Janeiro, 1908...................................................................................336 Figure 216: Lighting tests along Turin's waterfront, 1911 Figure 217: Antwerp's Zuiderterras Figure 218: Design of the Jardim Roque Gameiro, 1909......................................................................................337 Figure 219: Jardim Roque Gameiro Figures 220–24: Municipal fish market near Cais do Sodré..................................................................................338 Figures 225–27: Temporary agricultural market at Cais do Sodré........................................................................339 Figure 228: Design of the enlargement of the municipal fish market, 1914..........................................................340 Figure 229: Façade of the enlarged market Figure 230: Market along the Avenida 24 de Julho Figure 231: M. Ventura Terra, Proposal for the Rua do Arsenal............................................................................341 Figure 232: Rue de Rivoli in Paris Figure 233: Rua do Arsenal around 1910 Figure 234: Design of façade modifications in the Rua do Arsenal.......................................................................342 Figure 235: Public watch with the legal hour, 1914 Figure 236: Second improvement scheme for Casal Ventoso, July 1911...............................................................343 Figure 237: Misery in Casal Ventoso Figure 238: Rua Garrido, 1939 Figure 239: Pombaline support wall in the Rua do Carmo....................................................................................344 Figure 240: Support wall in the Rua do Carmo during the 1910s Figure 241: Á. Machado, proposed redesign of the wall, 1906 – 10 – G. Verheij List of figures Figure 242: L. Gaia, Redesign of the wall, 1912...................................................................................................344 Figure 243: A. Marques da Silva, Design of a tourist pavilion for the Rua do Carmo Figure 244: Discovering the Camões quarters.......................................................................................................345 Figure 245: B. Marques, City life in the early 1920s Figure 246: Collapsed building and popular protest, 1921 Figure 247: Mass housing for the poor, 1922 Figure 248: The Rossio around 1910....................................................................................................................346 Figure 249: Modifications according to A. J. Vieira Figure 250: Modifications according to A. Pereira Figure 251: Modifications according to the CEM Figure 252: Final project of the Rossio square Figure 253: Repaving the Rossio square, around 1920..........................................................................................347 Figure 254: Rossio square after modifications Figure 255: Prospect of social housing at Arco do Cego, 1920 Figure 256: A. C. Rocha de Vieira, Worker greeting social housing program, 1919 Figure 257: Roads and green spaces in Arco do Cego..........................................................................................348 Figure 258: Final plan of Arco do Cego, 1933 Figure 259: Construction at Arco do Cego, 1921 Figure 260: Visit of the Administrative Commission visiting Arco do Cego, 1926 Figures 261–62: Scheme for a working-class district in Penha de França.............................................................349 Figures 263–64: Scheme for an upper-class residential garden-suburb.................................................................350 Figure 265: Extension scheme of the Avenida J. A. Aguiar..................................................................................351 Figure 266: Picturesque aspects of Lisbon's gardens Figure 267: Manuel de Arriaga in his garden with children Figure 268: Design of a kiosk with public bathroom, 1913...................................................................................352 Figure 269. Kiosk at the Praça David Leandro da Silva Figure 270: The Republic as sculpture, 1910 Figure 271: B. Marques, Psychology of garden benches, 1922 Figure 272: Premises of the Exhibition of the Portuguese World, 1940................................................................353 Figure 273: Formation of troops at the Terreiro do Paço, 1926 Figure 274: J. Barradas, Milkmaid and Sailor, 1933 Figure 275: Typical Portuguese houses at the 1940 Exhibition Figure 276: J. Barradas, Fish wife and folk architecture, 1933 Figure 277: Vicente de Freitas and Mac-Bride brothers, Proposal for an urban forest, 1925.................................354 Figure 278: Departure of J.-C. N. Forester, departure from Lisbon, 1927 Figure 279: J.-C. N. Forestier, Study for a waterfront avenue, 1927......................................................................355 Figure 280: J.-C. N. Forestier, Study of the extension of the Avenida da Liberdade, 1927 Figure 281: Design of the Eduardo VII Park, late 1920s Figure 282: L. Cristino da Silva, Design of the Eduardo VII Park, 1930 Figure 283: 1948 Master Plan of Lisbon...............................................................................................................356 Figure 284: C. Telmo, Redesign of the Rossio square Figures 285–302: Examples of successful urban composition Figure 303: Watercolour exhibition of P. Montez, 1926........................................................................................357 Figure 304–6: Drawings by P. Montez of urban vistas Figure 307: O. Bünz, Townscapes, 1909...............................................................................................................358 Figure 308: Cover of Bünz 1930 Figure 309: Cover of Montez 1933 Figure 310: Cover of Montez 1935 Figure 311: “Bairro do Alvito” Figure 312: “Bairro da Encarnação” – 11 – G. Verheij List of tables List of tables Chapter 1 Table 1: Program of the first course at the ESAP....................................................................................................71 Table 2: Hierarchical course structure of the EHEU................................................................................................74 Chapter 2 Table 3: Subjects in “Lisboa Monumental”...........................................................................................................160 Table 4: Precepts of 20th century planning in contrast with characteristics of the production of public space in Lisbon...................................................................................................................................................................186 Chapter 3 Table 5: Comparison of different organizations of municipal Public Works.........................................................256 Table 6: Estimated cost of the different projects of Ventura Terra's waterfront plans............................................274 Epilogue Table 7: Contrasts associated with the contradiction between Lisbon's architecture and landscape......................365 – 12 – G. Verheij List of abbreviations List of abbreviations AECP Associação dos Engenheiros Civis Portugueses CPP Cooperativa Predial Portuguesa CIAM Congrès Internationaux de l'Architecture Moderne CLSS Collège Libre des Sciences Sociales CMAA Comissão Municipal de Arte e Arqueologia CML Câmara Municipal de Lisboa CML-AML – Arquivo Municipal de Lisboa CML-CEM – Comissão de Estética Municipal CML-RA – Repartição de Arquitectura CML-RE – Repartição de Engenharia CML-ROP – Repartição de Obras Públicas CMS Conselho de Melhoramentos Sanitários C(R)CFP Companhia (Real) dos Caminhos de Ferro Portugueses EHEU École de Hautes Études Urbaines EPL Exploração do Porto de Lisboa ESAP École Supérieure d'Art Public IFHTP International Federation for Housing and Town Planning IUC International Union of Cities RAACAP Real Associação de Arquitectos Civis e Arqueólogos Portugueses SAP Sociedade dos Arquitectos Portugueses SCCJ Sociedad Cívica la Ciudad-Járdin SFU Société Française des Urbanistes SHUR Section d'Hygiène Urbaine et Rurale SISS Société Internationale de Science Sociales SNBA Sociedade Nacional de Belas-Artes SPP Sociedade de Propaganda de Portugal – 13 – G. Verheij [epigraph] [epigraph] Una ciudad es la memoria del lugar donde uno habita o un álbum abierto donde se conservan los recuerdos de una felicidad pasada y mentirosa. – J. Vásconez, La sombra del apostador – 14 – G. Verheij Acknowledgements Acknowledgements In L'invention du quotidien Michel de Certeau discusses a saying mentioned by Immanuel Kant to explain the difference between an art or way of doing (art de faire) and science. According to this saying, knowledge (savoir) is of the order of jugglery and magical tricks, skills one acquires and accumulates, perfecting them through repetition. The scholar, like a magician, keeps them available for use at the right moment; its efficiency – the persuasiveness of erudition – depends on the opaqueness of its working. Art, on the contrary, would be like cord-dancing, a balancing act. In order to appear statical when in fact there is constant change, every next move has to be reinvented anew. The vocation of Ph.D. research is undoubtedly of the first order, concerned with the production and accumulation of knowledge and the demonstration of command of the tricks of the trade. However, in my experience it felt as often like the kind of cord-dancing act of Certeau's ways of doing, academically as much as personally. A few helping hands and listening ears made it easier to keep balance. Accordingly, I want to thank Xana for her complicity and for being my own personal, patient and critical reader, and Leonor for reminding me – insistently if needed – that there is more to life than Ph.D. I also want to thank my parents for their warm support, and all those who at one time or another asked how things were going and, occasionally, even had the patience to listen to long and probably confused attempts at explaining what I actually was doing. Much of the actual writing was done at the library of the Faculty of Library Science in Sants, Barcelona, nearby where I lived at the time. It is a peculiar, Borgesian place: the shelves of the small library, dedicated to the myriad ways and troubles of organizing books and knowledge, usefully reminding about the relativity and limits of any organization, inventory or system of knowledge, and the ultimate insufficiency of skills to comprehend it all. (If necessary, a nearby school bell would ring to add intensity to the message, followed by kids invading the courtyard and using the library's wall to play football.) Accepting these limits, there has also been much balancing between different piles of knowledge, and much discovering, and rediscovering, of urban territories as much as scholarly geographies. In this I owe much to the interdisciplinary approach of the Ph.D. program in which this study was developed, a program which at the moment of writing is unfortunately in “extinction,” as bureaucratic jargon has it. If this study takes in – as I hope it does – a principle of questioning uncertainty with regard to traditional borders between disciplines, much of this is due to the critical impulse received there. Accordingly, I want to thank my thesis directors, Lino Cabezas and Núria Ricart, for their contributions, as well as the members of the Ph.D. Monitoring Committee, especially Joana Cunha Leal and Antoni Remesar, for their insights. I also want to express my gratitude to others who guided me through the labyrinths of books and cities, especially staff at the Municipal Archive and Museum of Lisbon and the Gabinete – 15 – G. Verheij Acknowledgements de Estudos Olisiponenses, the Library of the Order of Architects (Lisbon), the Central Library of the Navy and the Municipal Museum of Peniche. Raquel Henriques da Silva helped me to obtain a copy of the 1910 plan of the Eduardo VII Park (figure 191 in this study), which I deemed lost until I saw it at an exhibition at the Museum of Lisbon curated by her and António Miranda. I want to thank Alda Terra, from the Associação Ventura Terra, for providing pictures and family stories, and Cristina Perdigão, Hélia Silva, Pedro Cerdeira, Rita Ochoa and Teresa Vasconcelos for sharing their work with me. Diana Piquer graciously helped me out with translations to Spanish, and Thomas Verheij guided me through the for me foreign country of rates of exchange. Jessica Verheij made some useful comments about my English, including the momentous recommendation to use less comma's. Finally. this research would have been impossible without a generous scholarship from the Fundação para as Ciências e Tecnologias (Portugal). – 16 – G. Verheij Introduction INTRODUCTION Lisboa tem um humór variavel, que escapa a todas as analyses, se furta a todas as definições. (C. M. Dias 1905, 74) L'historien devra donc savoir plier son propre savoir – et la forme de son récit – aux discontinuités et aux anachronismes du temps. (Didi-Huberman 2000, 102) In 1935 the architect Paulino Montez (1897-1988) published a small book entitled A estética de Lisboa: Da urbanização da cidade (The aesthetic of Lisbon: On the development of the city). It is the first monograph to apply the tenets of a new planning discipline (urbanismo) to Lisbon. In it Montez proposed an aesthetic interpretation of the city from which he deduced a set of prescriptions to be implemented trough a future general development plan. The “aesthetic” in the title was thus central, which raises a few questions: Where did this notion of an “aesthetic of the city” come from, and why did is figure so centrally in this pioneering work of modern Portuguese planning? What could it possibly mean? And what made Montez – and with him others – rely so confidently on it? These are, in a nutshell, the essential questions approached in this study. Along its pages, the language and ideas employed by Montez will be shown to built upon a persistent previous engagement of writers, architects and politicians with the problem of the “aesthetic” of the city. Though some of the ideas involved can be traced back further, after 1900 these and similar notions – estética urbana, citadina, da cidade, das edificações, da rua – become almost unavoidable in writings on the present and future of Lisbon. They were consistently and insistently employed to critically describe urban beauty or, more frequently, ugliness, to advocate aesthetic improvement and to justify or criticize concrete ideas and projects. Over time, the term was assimilated by municipal regulation and institutions, responding to public demands to exercise aesthetic supervision over the building of the city. Consequently, Montez' book linked the then emerging discipline of urban planning to a much older custom of writing about the “aesthetic” of the city and to institutional practices of aesthetic control. The present study quite obviously appropriates the title of Montez' work. With this I intend neither to celebrate nor pay tribute, but rather to highlight the difficulty of reading this and other similar writings. The aesthetic vocabulary seems deeply alien to the way we now talk and think about the urban world. While ever since F. Choay (1965) restored the intellectual credibility of what she termed “culturalism” issues such as urban heritage, the identity, perception or readability of the city, townscapes, genii loci, and much else outside of the usual – 17 – G. Verheij Introduction modernist repertoire of planning concepts have become accepted presences in academic writing, terms as “aesthetics” or “beauty,” when applied to the urban, still exceed the linguistic comfort zone. They require bracketing. As to “aesthetic,” its use seems more appropriate for brands, fashion, body-building or analogous technologies of the self than serious writing on buildings, streets or cities. To our post-modernist, post-Kantian ears it will sound at best naïve. For many of those who wrote about the cities and their problems at the start of the 20th century – in Portugal as much as elsewhere – the vocabulary of aesthetics presented much less scruples and doubts. While modernist discourse tends to relegate aesthetics to its conceptual periphery, at the time it was a kind of lingua franca which few questioned and many – “progressives” perhaps even more than “culturalists” – recognized and used (Zucconi 1992, 8). As W. Sonne (2003b) has shown, aesthetic dissatisfaction with existing cities was a common motive for a large production of impressive urban plans. And though the idea of “embellishment” or urban beauty was by itself nothing new, the consolidation of a new, promising discipline of urban planning and design provided it with fresh and ambitious prospects. Town or City Planning, Städtebau, Urbanisme and other local varieties promised – at least while the initial enthusiasm lasted – to make real the ambition of designing the modern city as a true work of art. The general ambition of this study is to give visibility to and to reconstruct the conditions of legibility of this set of writings and practices which, in Lisbon, responded to the once alluring call of the aesthetic. These writings are understood as constitutive elements of a discourse on “urban aesthetic(s)” (on this term, see p. 27 below). Discourse can be defined as a framework that embraces a particular combination of “narratives, concepts, ideologies and signifying practices, (…) relevant to a particular realm of social action.” As Barnes and Duncan note, the connotations of words and other signifiers are socially constructed and variable. A discourse frames these connotations, it positions the signifiers in relation to referents or signifieds. Though a discourse is subject to negotiation, challenge and transformation, it models what can be said, what is intelligible or relevant, what is “known” or innovative. It creates common questions and common answers. As such, it mediates relevant power relations, and is often related to institutions and institutional practices.1 (Barnes and Duncan 1992, 12) This discourse will be related to the actual production of public space in Lisbon and an international context of construction and institutionalization of the disciplines of urban planning and design. As such, this study pretends to contribute to a wider corpus of historical research done at or in connection with the Polis Research Centre of the University of Barcelona. It profited from PhD research on the historical production of public space and public art in Lisbon by S. Águas (2009), R. Ochoa (2011), I. A. Marques (2012), D. Esparza (2014), S. Barradas (2015) and especially H. Elias (2006), as well as almost two decades of articles in the Centre's publication, On The W@terfront.2 1 Closer to the subject matter at hand, N. Green's approach to the production of the idea of “nature” in 19th century France (Green 1992) has been helpful to think thought methodological approaches. 2 See http://www.raco.cat/index.php/Waterfront/index. – 18 – G. Verheij Introduction More specifically, this study dialogues with research done by A. Remesar on the historical origins of the concept of public art and the persistence of “urban decorum.”3 Remesar traces the concept of public art to the second half of the 19th century and the proliferation of public sculpture, representing the new heroes of a rising bourgeoisie – entrepreneurs, mayors, writers, doctors, journalists, those “protagonists of change” – and images of reinvented national roots. Remesar links this phenomenon to a larger program of civic “aestheticization”4 taking shape across Europe and Northern America towards the end of the century. Under the banner of art public, civic or municipal art or l'esthétique des villes attempts were made to square aesthetic, social and political ideals with the “functional” requirements of urban expansion and modernization, new values of hygienism and social justice, and a new economy of leisure. Remesar considers this common, transatlantic quest for a “better and beautiful city” as a continuing concern with the old subject of “urban decorum,”5 which he traces through the political, social, artistic and urban revolutions of the 20th century up to the present. As the present study approaches a key moment in this process – roughly between Sitte and modernism – it also ambitions to present this general outline with additional historical depth and density, using Lisbon as a case, and to propose a number of more precise hypotheses for some of the doubts and reflections formulated by A. Remesar. Historiographical contexts and critique Within Portuguese historiography the problem of the “aesthetic” of Lisbon as it was discussed at the start of the 20th century has been examined before. These approaches have, in the wake of J.-A. França's voluminous and foundational work on the history of Lisbon (1990 [1967]; 2009 [1974]; 2005 [1980]; 1992; 2008), essentially been developed within the discipline of art history. Studies by A. M. Barata, Rute Figueiredo and M. H. Lisboa (all coincidentally the result of investigation done within the master program in Art History at the Universidade Nova de Lisboa) have confronted this subject directly. M. H. Lisboa (2002, 178–93) approached the subject briefly in her study on the role of engineers in the production of architecture and urban plans between 1850 and 1930, discussing the contribution of engineers to a transformation of aesthetic criteria. Perhaps unavoidable in a first approach to a (for her) secondary subject, Lisboa's examination suffers from imprecision and lack of depth. However, her analysis usefully suggests the importance of changing patterns of taste and aesthetic conflict. 3 The following is based on two recent summaries published by A. Remesar (2016a; 2016b). 4 “Aestheticization” is here used descriptively, not derogatory. “[A]estheticizing the city is the articulation of certain measures [of control] but mainly involves the introduction of public policies, usually municipal, able to articulate and promote the improvement of the physical appearance of the city alongside the preservation of its heritage and the aesthetic education of citizens.” (Remesar 2016b, 59) 5 “Urban decorum” refers to the classical subject of how to create appropriate settings for the “good city.” In classical treatises on architecture it is usually discussed as the propriety of expressive means to expressed content, that is, as the suitability of design in terms of purpose, social status, site, context and public, usually translating into urban sceneries of order and beauty. “Decorum was [until the 19th century] a central feature of a broader idea of civic eloquence.” (Kohane and Hill 2001, 64; Gaston 2015) – 19 – G. Verheij Introduction A. M. Barata (2010, 187–95) dedicated a section of her study on the interplay between ideals, plans and urban realities in the making of Lisbon during roughly the same period to the discussion of the “aesthetic of buildings” (estética das construções) at the start of the 20th century. (A first version of this chapter appeared as an article in 2007.) Barata surveys a relevant number of sources deploring the appearance of Lisbon and its architecture, and situates them within a tradition of complaints going back to at least the 1870s. In her account, however, this discussion appears essentially as unanimous judgement, leaving Lisboa's suggestions of different aesthetic preferences unexplored. The apparent unanimity is explained by the “evident aesthetic deficit” (evidente déficite estético, p. 194) of Lisbon's modern architecture. The discussion itself appears in her account as one more episode of unfulfilled desires of urban modernity. Rute Figueiredo (2007, 235–53) approached the subject from a rather different angle: the construction of critical discourse on architecture. Within this context she provides a comprehensive discussion of what she termed a campaign in favour of the “aestheticization” of the city. Not only does she discuss relevant texts, vocabulary and actors, but she also defines this kind of discourse as an essential dimension of turn-of-the-century writing on the city. Figueiredo's is probably a definitive account of how writings on “urban aesthetic(s)” were part of a larger critical – and increasingly specialist – discourse, and from this viewpoint provides the best introduction. However, her inquiry inevitably stays within the confines of writing: the actual production of urban space provides the necessary backdrop but is not directly questioned. The problem of the “aesthetic” of Lisbon is revealed to be a discursive construction, but its actual relation to the built city remains open. Barata and Lisboa approach contemporary writings with much less sophistication than Figueiredo; they are used as essentially trustworthy testimonies of an urban reality they seek to reconstruct. The overwhelming criticism of the aesthetic quality of Lisbon is consequently taken at face-value.6 They do not put the obvious question as to what extent the “ugliness” of Lisbon was in the eye of the beholder rather than in actual buildings and spaces. In this aspect they stayed well within the research paradigm outlined by J.-A. França (Salgueiro 2012). According to França, Lisbon was, during the first decades of the 20th century, a monotonous city, lacking in art and architecture – a victim of defrauded hopes of modernization, cheap opulence and nouveau-rich opportunism. In general, the author offers two related explanations for this state of affairs: cultural stagnation and the absence of effective instruments of ordering urban growth. One representative instance: Lisboa, cidade “abandonada e suja”, com seu desleixo e seu mau gosto que A. Ferro denunciava em 1925, crescia então sem planos de conjunto – sem, ao menos, plantas totais, que não eram levantadas desde 1911! (…) A cidade satisfazia-se, entretanto, com construções de moradias e prédios de rendimento, para uma média e pequena- burguesia (…). (França 1992, 87) 6 M. H. Lisboa: “Mas a realidade lisboeta ficava muito aquém dos modelos que seguia [the “embellishment” of Paris or London], não só porque os projectos mais desenvolvidos acabavam por não ter realização (…) como ainda porque a arquitectura produzida, nas novas avenidas e bairros era, na sua grande maioria, incaracterística e monótona (...)” (M. H. Lisboa 2002, 183) – 20 – G. Verheij Introduction França's sources are essentially written testimonies of contemporaries: the kind of writings vindicating the “urban aesthetic,” interpreted as detached and trustworthy observations rather than the engaged participation in a public debate they were. The quote above also suggests that the question of an “urban aesthetic(s)” was closely linked to that of urban planning, in the generic sense of “concerted intervention by public authority in the development and subsequent use of urban land,” employing public resources and restricting individual freedom (Sutcliffe 1981a, 2). Critique of the city responded to a perceived lack of public control, visible in urban “chaos,” architectural “disorder” and territorial fragmentation, and blamed, among others, on the lack of a general development plan. Early 20th century Lisbon was and is read as an “unplanned city.” At first sight the data concurs with this idea. Since the 1870s a series of urban expansion schemes were implemented, culminating in a “General Improvement Scheme” (Plano Geral de Melhoramentos) approved in 1904. However, this was hardly a general development plan. Not only the existing city but also most of the large rural belt falling within the city's borders were left untouched, even when projected arterial roads promised to open parts of it to development. Until 1934 no effective attempts are registered to supplant the 1904 scheme, even when the latter rapidly proved insufficient to assimilate the impact of urban growth. I. Baptista (2012) has offered a strong critique of such a conceptual construction of Portugal as an “unplanned country,” with Lisbon used as a prominent example. According to her, this dominant thesis is used in Portuguese urban scholarship to organize narratives about national experiences of modernity, urban growth and social transformation and to support a perceived divergence between Portugal and the international experience. However, Baptista argues that this construction is based on “insufficient engagement within relevant research and debates in urban studies” and “empirical shortcomings.” As to the first, Baptista argues that the thesis of insufficient or failed planning relies on an idealized notion of the spatial and political order of the “EuroAmerican city model,” understood as “a proxy for modernity, development and progress.” In this it ignores decades of scholarship which have questioned the selectiveness of this narrative of modernity and the underlying views of order, expertise and the State.7 It is a fitting critique to interpretations of early 20th century Lisbon like J.-A. França's. For França and others, the administrative incapacity to correctly order and plan urban growth tends to be read as a symptom of provincialism, cultural periphery and much wider socio-cultural malaise. Lisbon's “mediocrity without remedy” was the faithful reflection of cultural stagnation and of a collective incapacity to grasp the challenges of the time; the lack of planning becomes a symptom of a Portuguese exceptionality and the not-quite-modern character of Lisbon reflects 7 “What underlies scholars’ lack-of-formal-planning argument is the very ‘modern’ but deceptive assumption that only formal, legally binding plans will induce orderly physical growth. From their point of view, the absence of plans leads to chaotic urban growth, due to discretionary decision- making and behaviour. Moreover, scholars assume that it is improbable that the desired order will be achieved unless these plans cover absolutely every inch of the territory and entail a comprehensive understanding of it. Finally, they reckon that formal planning is to be carried out by state agents willing to promote the public interest under the advice of unbiased, expert professionals.” (I. Baptista 2012, 1081) – 21 – G. Verheij Introduction the (im)possibilities of modernity in Portugal.8 A city suspended between desires of modernization and European emulation, and the failure to materialize these desires in effective modes of urban intervention … Regarding “empirical shortcomings,” there is surprisingly little research on urban development during the 1910s and 1920s, especially when contrasted with the abundance of studies related to urban policies of the late 19th century and during the subsequent New State. Significantly, the main exception is a study of the consequences of the 1904 expansion scheme during the subsequent decades (R. H. da Silva 1985). This is not unrelated to politics. The three decades in between, which roughly comprise the chronological reach of this study, are marked by a first Republican experience (1910-1926).9 The political instability of the period – these “troubled times” (tempos conturbados), as an almost unavoidable platitude in Portuguese historiography has it – tends to be used to explain away the supposed urban chaos, based on little more than the absence of a general development plan and written testimonies. This tendency is probably worsened by the fact that the historiographical narratives under discussion are mainly elaborated within the field of art history, with its traditional reliance on authorship and intentionality for interpretation. The plan-as-artwork easily occludes less readable ways of producing space. Almost naturally exceptional personal achievements and moments of strong-handed government initiative and action are privileged (f. ex. R. H. da Silva 1989; S. V. Costa 2011; see Green 1992, 12–13 for critique). The position assumed here is that the overwhelming concern with the plan fails to grasp the dynamic configuration in which it arises, and actively produces a diagnosis of cultural backwardness. It relies on a usually unstated ideal which in fact brings a double displacement to research (Ginzburg 1991, chap. 1; J. C. Leal 2014; Joyeux-Prunel 2014; Vlachou 2016): 1. geographically, this narrative of delay and deferral relies on a problematic centre- periphery model, establishing an ideal norm which corresponds to a perceived and idealized centre – Paris – to which the city must correspond in order to be “modern;” 8 “Portugal foi um dos muitos não-sítios (…) País marginal nos grandes cruzamentos do mundo, há três séculos já, ele sofreu impactes indirectos e tardios [of European culture], e o seu isolamento geopolítico não lhe permitiu constituir-se numa realidade concreta em face dos movimentos da história, servindo-se, nela, de coordenadas internas, sem eco nem relação (…) um largo buraco nacional …” (França 1992, 8) These critical remarks on Portuguese art history have profitted from a recent wave of revisionism of França's work (M. P. dos Santos 2011; 2015a; 2015b; Salgueiro 2012; J. C. Leal 2014). 9 Politically, the overthrow of the Monarchy in 1910 marked the Portuguese 20th century, usually divided in three Republican regimes: the relatively short-lived, democratic First Republic (1910- 1926); the Second Republic, corresponding to four decades of the dictatorial New State (Estado Novo, 1933-1974), which maintained the republican model; and the Third Republic, installed after the Carnation Revolution of 1974. Commemoration of the Implementation of the First Republic in 2010 has put this period again on the research agenda; a considerable and innovative bibliography has since shed new light on many aspects of it. Urban development is however not among them. A conference on Republican Lisbon, organized by the municipality, provided an excellent opportunity for such a revision, but relevant contributions did not depart from the narrative of backwardness. (CML 2010, especially J. Mangorrinha, 125–55) – 22 – G. Verheij Introduction 2. chronologically, it relies on a hidden ideology of progress, meaning the imperative of continuous improvement towards an ideal placed in the future against which historical “facts” can be measured. The paradox is that the city is studied by what it is not.10 It formulates “the modern” as an ideal, which it undoubtedly was, but neglects it as process, necessarily “impure” and “polyphonic.” (R. J. G. Ramos 2011, 16) An international perspective In this study a different approach is adopted. Similar complaints to those of Lisbon's intellectuals could be heard in Berlin, London or Paris; variants on “urban aesthetic(s)” were a standard battle-cry in favour of more comprehensive urban planning strategies (this is largely explored in chapter 1). More generally, the problem of public control over urban growth was by no means exclusively Portuguese (Sutcliffe 1981b). Consequently, discourse on “urban aesthetic(s)” is interpreted not as a symptom of delay, but as proof of how similar problems affected, or at least were understood to affect, both the time's world capitals and peripheral cities such as Lisbon – though of course it was everywhere articulated in specific ways. Consequently, the narrative of delay, denounced above, needs to be replaced by a much more sophisticated model of the international circulation and local reception of urban models, methodologies, concepts and theories than that of the imperfect assimilation of norms radiating from a centre. Within Portuguese architectural history, an alternative agenda has been proposed and theorized by P. V. de Almeida since at least the 1980s. Almeida called attention to the particularities of local time and place – what R. J. G. Ramos (2011) recently called the “weight of place” – but argued that this “critical regionalism” also demanded a “critical internationalism.” “The recognition of the potential validity of local values must be interpreted in the light of the recognition of international values.” (P. V. de Almeida 1994 and 2005, quoted by Maia et al. 2015) Following Almeida's suggestion, the problem is not only that of rethinking the way Portuguese professionals were (or were not) incorporated into this international circulation, but also what were the actual outlines of this network (on this see the comments by Saunier 1997). What counts as international “context”? Lisbon's cultural elites were decidedly Francophone, and it was French Urbanisme which formed the main reference for those potentially interested in planning. During the first half of the 20th century Urbanisme was undoubtedly the main exponent of what is usually called “formal planning,” and left a heavy mark on Portuguese planning culture.11 The first planning professionals were trained in Paris, and foreign planning consultants were typically French. However, in Portugal, as more 10 Fernando Pessoa wrote that cosmopolitanism (the imitation of elsewhere) is but the other face of traditionalism (the imitation of the past); both are “two ways of not being anything” (duas maneiras de não ser nada). (Pessoa 1980) The constant reference to a lost, idealized past or an equally idealized elsewhere is a theoretical paradox which has dominated much reflection (not only historical) on Portugal during the past century (see among many others Lourenço 1978; Gil 2004). 11 The term “planning culture” is used to indicate the professional or specialist culture forming around the discipline of planning, crystallizing in institutions, common ideas and vocabularies, and recognized professions. (Gaudin 1990; Davoudi and Pendlebury 2010) – 23 – G. Verheij Introduction generally outside of France, the specificities of Urbanism often go unrecognised.12 (Lamas 2010, 234–40) Only recently have researchers started to seriously probe the connections between local planning practices and the doctrines and institutions of Urbanisme. (Camarinhas 2011a; 2011b; André, Marat-Mendes, and Rodrigues 2012; André 2012; 2015; Marat-Mendes and Oliveira 2013) Accordingly, the first chapter of this study sets out to trace this international circulation of methods, persons, images and concepts around a new notion of planning. It relates the institutionalization of this novel discipline during the late 19th and early 20th century with new practices of urban design, and argues that a network of international exchange – made up of travel, institutions, meetings and publications – sustained this institutionalization. The existence of a national planning culture is traced against this international background, reconstructing the degree of access Portuguese professionals had to it. This chapter relies for its general structure on a broad survey of existing literature, consistently confronted with the main sources of diffusion (periodical publications, congress transactions, monographs), and on the construction of a chronology of relevant institutions and publications (summarized in Appendix 1). Research questions, methodological approach and structure If the object of “urban aesthetic(s)” was not the plan, then what was it? In 1947 the journalist Luís de Oliveira Guimarães (1900-1998) suggested that urban change during yesterday's Republic had been both pervasive and superficial. Urban growth had followed the lines of “natural” development; the “heart and soul” of the city, its essential structure, had been left untouched. What had unrecognisably changed, through the impact of new technologies, social demands and fashions, was the city's “toilette,” its “physiognomy.” (Guimarães 1947, 638) Undoubtedly, any notion of an “urban aesthetic(s)” related to this surface appearance of the city rather than its deep, fundamental structures. How to approach this “physiognomy” of the city? “Physiognomy” – a term which relates the outward appearance of things to inner characteristics – was common in the kind of writings discussing “urban aesthetic(s).” Its use can be related to the geographer's gaze over landscape. As J.-M. Besse (2000) has shown in an admirable essay, physiognomy was, at least in France, a key concept of early 20th century geography, and had to do with the ability to “read” landscape. Landscape is here understood as the “skin” of territory, as the inscription (empreint, écriture) of its own production through a combination of natural and human forces, of which only the outward aspect could be 12 A. Sutcliffe's classic study (1981b) still provides the most complete English-language introduction to the origins of Urbanisme. The methodological problems resulting from the unfamiliarity with French Urbanisme are visible, for example, in a study on the urban development of Alvalade, started in the 1940s under direction of João Guilherme Faria da Costa (1906-1971) within the wider context of the elaboration of an urban master plan, directed by Étienne de Gröer (1882- 1952). While the author calls upon multiple models and references – the traditional city, the garden-city, modernist planning, Dutch and German residential development from the 1920s – not a word is dedicated to the methodologies promoted at the Parisian Institut d'Urbanisme, where Faria da Costa had nonetheless been the first Portuguese to graduate (in 1937) and where De Gröer had been a teacher. (J. P. Costa 2010) – 24 – G. Verheij Introduction directly captured.13 It is seen as artefact rather than aesthetic projection or “way of seeing,” as often happens in art studies (K. Clark 1976; Maderuelo 1997). The point here is not so much that the geographer's gaze was applied to decipher the city, but that the object in question was the urban landscape. The idea of an urban “physiognomy” implies that the city was perceived and read, through its surface appearance, as urban landscape. The immediate object of this reading was obviously public space, which is the proper space for our immediate (psychical, perceptive) experience of the city. In practice, the city is its public space; the urban landscape (or “physiognomy”) can be understood as the immediately visible “skin” of a public space network. (Borja and Muxí 2001; Remesar 1997; Remesar, Lecea, and Grandas 2004; Ricart and Remesar 2013; Remesar and Esparza 2014; A. J. Pinto and Remesar 2015) The main object of research is consequently how discourse on “urban aesthetic(s)” related to the urban landscape and public space in Lisbon. The two chapters on Lisbon attempt to take the complexity of the production of space (see p. 27 below) into consideration, differentiating and confronting sources in order to avoid the traps and “blind-spots” of discourse (De Man 1971). Chapter 2 discusses the gaze and discourse of “urban aesthetic(s),” the functions it performed within different social, cultural and political contexts and the relations and tensions with relevant urban realities which pervaded it. Much attention is dedicated to different aesthetic options or ideals which sheltered behind the apparent consensus of this “campaign.” Chronological focus is on a period when this discourse was at its strongest in the public sphere, roughly between a first, timid mention of an “aesthetic of the street” (esthetica da rua) in 1900 until the publication in 1907 of a petition by the Portuguese Society of Architects claiming professional authority over the “aesthetic of the Capital” (estética da Capital) and defending “aesthetic censure.” At the basis of this chapter is a comprehensive survey of periodical publications, both specialist literature and the general press, complemented with a body of iconographic sources compiled from the press and the Municipal Photographic Archive. This chapter ends with a discussion of the sense (and nonsense) of the notion of “urban aesthetic(s),” arguing that rather than a concept it was a common place. Based on a shared critique of the aesthetic quality of the urban landscape, allowing different cultural and professional projects to encounter each other and join forces, it didn't formulate any explicit program or solution beyond the generic demand of more “beauty.” Chapter 3 traces how the notion of “urban aesthetic(s)” was tentatively articulated in actual practices of aesthetic control and urban design. Attention goes mainly to the little over four years of municipal activity of the architect Miguel Ventura Terra (1866-1919), elected municipal councillor in 1908. The way Ventura Terra tried, and partially succeeded, in introducing the topic of “urban aesthetic(s)” in the municipal machinery, and how associated aesthetic ideals were articulated in actual designs, is studied with care. This chapter ends with a discussion of continuities and ruptures during the following two decades, from the First Republic to the New State. A genealogy of persistent but unsuccessful Republican attempts to give larger institutional jurisdiction to legislation and institutions of aesthetic control is 13 “C'est (…) sur le plan des apparences qu'il faut se situer pour en saisir [of landscape] toute la densité épistémologique et ontologique. L'aspect des choses est une réalité géographique.” (Besse 2000, 103) – 25 – G. Verheij Introduction accompanied by a less visible renovation of practices of urban design and policies of public space and art, finally to be appropriated for new political and ideological purposes during the early New State. This chapter is based on an extensive survey of municipal minutes and publications and documentation at the municipal archive, complemented with a review of the specialized and general press, systematically during the period of main interest (1908-1913) and more punctual during the subsequent two decades. The rereading of the aesthetic motive in practices of spatial production during this period also ambitions to contribute to a rediscovery of this city-between-plans beyond the myth of a failed city. The very anachronism of the idea of an “urban aesthetic(s)” may be an advantage here: the dusty back-alleys of the past are sometimes not the worst place from which to approach historical problems, as authors as different as W. Benjamin, M. de Certeau or G. Didi- Huberman have shown. “Incluso con demasiada frecuencia, al indagar sobre lo que está en los márgenes de un problema determinado, se nos presentan las claves más fructíferas para abordar este mismo problema; sobre todo si éste se nos ofrece cargado de equívocos (…)” (Tafuri 1984, 6) An epilogue returns to Montez' work and proposes some inroads in this direction. Terminology and translations Writing a thesis in English about Portuguese affairs in a Spanish research context which brings along its own terminological tradition is by itself enough to raise some issues about vocabulary and translations. The fact that many national experiences are referenced, each bringing its own specific vocabulary; that in this formative phase of planning and urban design specialist jargon was far from fixed and the used terms were, by themselves, often used in a vague or highly personal manner; that, finally, the vocabulary of planning and urban design has changed considerably, at times beyond recognition, during the last hundred years, are sufficient reasons for some previous clarification. The term “planning” itself is an illustrative example. Today, urban planning is more readily associated with general land use, zoning, economic, population and environmental policies and transportation infrastructures than the focus on physical design with which, as Town or City Planning, it originally started.14 This responds to a split within the discipline, the origin of which can be traced to the 1920s and the appearance of forms of regional planning, but which only consolidated after World War II, when planning resolutely enters the domain of the abstract (spatial planning, Raumplanung, aménagement du territoire, ruimtelijke ordening, planificación territorial, ordenamento do território ...) to leave physical urban space covered by a shifting umbrella of terms (urban design, “new urbanism,” project urbain, projectación urbana ...). The term “urbanism,” a French invention, is no less problematic. While in Southern Europe (as urbanismo or urbanística) it often takes on a very generic sense, including a persistent link to the physical dimension of architecture, in English it rather tends to be read as the culture of city dwellers, as in L. Wirth's famous essay (1938). (Luque Valdivia 2002; Monclús and Guàrdia 2006, Introduction; Hebbert 2006) In Germanic languages, the original Städtebau or its Dutch equivalent stedenbouw still designate the practice of urban development with an accent on physical planning, and are generally distinguished from Urbanistik or urbanisme as the multidisciplinary research of the urban phenomenon. 14 The meaning and origin of disciplinary terms during the period in study are discussed in chapter 1. – 26 – G. Verheij Introduction I have chosen to maintain the term “planning” because it is very much a product of the epoch in study and captures, in a generic sense, some basic aspects at stake. Most importantly, it implies a public intervention in the development of urban land through the form of a premeditated set of articulated policies, restrictions and schemes with a view on spatial and social order (Sutcliffe 1981a). During the period in question, this development was mostly understood (and, more importantly, practised) as psychical development, and, more precisely, as design. To taken one example, the famous textbook by Raymond Unwin (1863-1940) aptly entitle Town planning in practice: An introduction to the art of designing cities and suburbs (1909), covers from the design of a square and the placement of trees to the planning of an entire city. The transversality of design linked these widely different scales together and blended them in an easily understandable image. (Bosma and Hellinga 1997, 8–11; Lamas 2010, pt. 4) Indeed, this very continuity among different scales, from urban design to architecture and urban planning, was arguably one of the defining characteristics of the early days of Town Planning. My use of the term “planning” accordingly assumes the broad scope, if not ambiguity, of its original meaning. Still, whenever it seemed useful I also refer to urban design as the actual practice of designing public spaces. Translation in general warrants additional explanation, starting with the term “urban aesthetic(s)” and variations thereupon. As mentioned earlier, this term is used to capture a number of associated movements or concepts – estética da cidade or urbana, l'esthétique des villes. As it happens, Latin languages do not differentiate between “aesthetic” (which relates to the qualities of an object) and “aesthetics” (which relates to the study of these qualities, and consequently to a gaze). Estética or esthétique can have both senses, depending on context, and both senses were essential to the kind of writings here, judging an object as much as setting up a disciplinary gaze. (This is largely discussed from p. 199 onward.) Hence the generic use of “urban aesthetic(s)” as a slightly awkward attempt to capture both meanings. Whenever only one meaning was at stake, I have used proper term, “aesthetic” or “aesthetics.” This applies a fortiori to translations; for the sake of precision, I have systematically added the original wording in italic. For the sake of fluidity of reading, in-line citations also have been translated. Whenever deemed useful, the original wording has been added in italics. As to the specialist jargon of planning, the main guidance for translations has been an International glossary published by the International Federation for Housing and Town Planning (Spiwak 1951). The main distinction to keep in mind is that between a development plan (projet d'aménagement, Bebauungsplan, plano geral), town improvement schemes (projecto de melhoramentos urbanos) and concrete designs (projecto, projet). The first is a statutory (i.e. legally approved) plan prepared by public authorities indicating land use and development; the second refers to a concrete scheme for a specific area falling under public responsibility; the last indicates the architectural design of a concrete site. Final note: the production of public space In order to outline the conceptual underpinnings of this study I want to start with a puzzling title given by A. M. Barata to a chapter of her 2010 book: “Entre a realidade e o desejo – 27 – G. Verheij Introduction Lisboa transforma-se.” With faint suggestions of a psychoanalytical dialectic, the city is defined as being suspended between desires of modernization and European emulation, and the failure to materialize these desires in the actual city, to inscribe them, through the plan, into the urban structure and fabric. The precise wording is interesting: it doesn't ascribe the value of “reality” to the changing city. The “reality” of the title can only be that of the failure of planning or the plan. It can be diagrammed thus: ------- collective desires 0 a growing city ------- the failed plan (“reality”) It is a very clarifying instance – almost a Freudian slip-of-the-tongue – of the idea discussed above of the impossibility of modernity and of the modern city itself in Lisbon, blamed on the apparently overwhelming reality of the failure to plan, to impose order. Of course, it makes more sense to give the weight of “reality” to the growing city, which was, after all, the cardinal cause why planning was needed in the first place. ------- collective desires 0 the (failed) plan ------- urban reality (of growth) This is properly the situation of frustration which is commonly described by historical discourse: the absence of the plan is held responsible for a failure to mediate between collective desires – desires of the normative kind: “progress”, “Paris”, etc. – and a changing urban reality. This diagram is, however, deeply reductive. A general development plan is by no means the only instrument to mediate between collective desires and the urban reality. There is a large arsenal of laws, regulation, ordinances, partial plans and schemes, urban infrastructures, bureaucratic procedures and other forms of public control framing the way the city is produced, some of which have a very long history. A. Remesar has proposed a much more complex understanding of the production of public space as the interaction between a “conceived city” (cidade pensada) of ideals and intentions, a “written city” of literature, plans, schemes and regulation and a “material city” of the actual occurrence of development (procedures, industry, finance). (Remesar 2005; see also Ricart and Remesar 2013, 22–23) These terms can be applied to the diagram (noting that, for Remesar, they rather stand in a triangular relationship): ------- the conceived city ↓ the written city ------- the material city The “material city” can, in my view, be seen in a broader sense as the built city: different forms of “writing” – which include graphical representations such as plans, schemes or designs – attempt to inscribe intentions and ideals into the urban fabric (for a discussion, Certeau 1990, pt. 3). On the other hand, traffic in the universe of writing is not unilateral. Collective desires are shaped by the elaboration of urban representations of the existing city. Description is an inherent part of prescription, and for the city to be planned or designed it must first be constructed as a plannable or designable object (Saraiva 2005). Hence: ------- the conceived city ↓ ↑ the written city ------- the built city – 28 – G. Verheij Introduction From a historical perspective, the “conceived city” is nothing but a retrospective and hypothetical construct, distilled from written and graphical sources. The historian has no direct access to it. Moreover, in it is very formulation it risks to suggest a kind of Zeitgeist or collective unconsciousness, plastering over the conflictuality inherent to modern society. Different ideas, conflicting writings and precarious realizations usually coexist in the construction of the city, as A. Remesar (2005, 33) remarks. At best one can unearth certain “structural logics” or dominant “aesthetic conventions” (Boyer 1996) which, however, are always articulated in writing, images and built form. The historian's archive proper is the central field (the “written city”). It is composed of sources on past urban ideals and their attempted transcription to urban reality. Still, the writing in itself makes visible as much as it conceals; as discourse, it construes rather than simply reflects a social reality, part of which is inevitably occluded in the process, and it does so from a certain position and according to certain interests. For this reason it seems useful to detail the universe of “writing” with more care, while discarding the inaccessible realm of ideals. For this, I propose to adapt H. Lefebre's triad of lived, perceived and conceived space, the “spatial triad” which forms the main epistemological pillar of the idea of a social production of space:15 conceived space representations of space perceived space lived space spatial practices representational spaces ------------------------------------------------- the built city For Lefebvre, conceived or conceptualized space includes theories of space, ideologies, utopias … It is embodied in discourse on or representations of space which can be transcribed in plans, maps, models and designs. Here belong the classical sources of the urban historian, and, with regard to the problem at hand, it is from the viewpoint of space-as-conceived that the diagnosis of the frustrated plan is made. Lived space is the space of “users” or “inhabitants,” of daily urban reality; it is experienced space. This experience is not simply passive: lived space is also appropriated space, a material substrata developed in time which gives rise to images, signs and symbols. To the historian, it transpires (though never directly) in diaries, novels, chronicles, photographs and other testimonies of daily life. Lived space does not necessarily follow the dictates of conceived space. An example from Lisbon is the building between 1890-1925 of a number of modern, cosmopolitan architectures of leisure and sociability, not along the new, modern Avenida da Liberdade, ostensibly created for this purpose, but along the narrow, historical Rua das Portas de Santo Antão nearby, from which a persisting attachment of the the city's inhabitants to a traditional geography of sociability can be deduced. (Villaverde 2006) 15 The following summary is exceedingly brief, and obviously accounts poorly for Lefebvre's complex ideas on the social production of space. See besides Lefebvre himself (1991 [1974]) also E. W. Soja (1996) and especially A. Merrifield (2006, chap. 6), S. Elden (2007) and the collection edited by K. Goonewardena et al. (2008). – 29 – G. Verheij Introduction Finally, perceived space is space in its everyday ordinariness, and is closely linked to spatial practices. Spatial practices structure lived reality, linking individual behaviour to routines, routes, networks, places... They pattern connections and interactions. As such they give a certain cohesiveness (not necessarily cohesion) to space, they normalize and reproduce it and those who are enjoined to use it; they “secrete” the space of a society, in Lefebvre's own terms (1991, 38). Especially relevant to the present inquiry is that this embraces the normalizaton of urban space and its uses, both through norms and regulations and customs, habits, common practices. A concrete example of what this might be in practice is given by J. C. Leal (2005), who, trough the analysis of ordinary building prospects in 19th century Lisbon, identifies significant divergence between an architectural norm diffused by actual building practices and the ideals proposed in discourse by a cultural elite. The “built city” can then be understood as the material substrata for the social production of space. It relates differently to the different instances of the triad of spatial production. Lived space feeds of on this physical substrata which it encounters: whatever the social meaning and cultural elaboration of a Sunday-walk there is always the basic sense of treading soil. On the other hand, spatial practices permeate built space, inscribing physical networks and social routines and thus ordering and organizing urban life. Finally, representations of space can be tentatively inscribed into space itself – that is, after all, the very point of urban planning and design. This is to say that the urban reality of the “built city” stands in no linear relationship to the different instances of Lefebvre's triad; it can not be reconstructed from any one of them. Discourse never transparently translates the city nor unequivocally inscribes itself in it. But to the extent that this “built city” survives as urban heritage, trace or ruin it has a heuristic value of its own (Sica 1981, 2:1078–92). – 30 – 1) INTERNATIONAL PLANNING CULTURE(S) This chapter relates the institutionalization of the discipline of urban planning during the late 19th and early 20th century with new practices of urban design, and outlines the network of international exchange – made up of professionals, institutions, meetings and publications – which sustained it. Initial sections place the appearance of the discipline in the wider context of urban growth and reform, discuss its relation with the renovation of ideas on urban design and survey the most influential national traditions. France, the main cultural reference for Portugal, receives special attention. A subsequent section inventories and problematizes the nodes of exchange – the institutional threads , loci of exchange and personal connections – of this international planning network, complemented by an additional note on the place of the modern in the previous account. Finally the place of Portugal within this context of circulation is discussed. The study of the reception of this international panorama is essential to trace the existence of a national planning culture. Three main sources of international contact – periodical publications, the international circulation of professionals, and institution-making – are discussed to reconstruct the degree of access Portuguese professionals had to it. In the end a hypothesis for the failure of the institution of an articulated planning culture is proposed. G. Verheij Modern planning and urban design Modern planning and urban design The metropolis, urban reform and the roots of modern planning Between 1907 and the World War I the yearly Seminar für Städtebau (City-building Seminar) at the Königlichen Technischen Hochschule in Berlin was undoubtedly one of the most dynamic places of discussion of matters of urban planning and design.16 The seminar was organized by the planners Joseph Brix (1859-1943) and Felix Genzmer (1856-1929), who in 1910 achieved first place in an international competition for a plan for Greater Berlin (Sonne 2000; Bodenschatz 2010). Most of the mayor names of German Städtebau attended, as well as politicians and public officials. Josef Stübben (1845-1936) gave an essential lecture on the relationship between the plan and building regulations, and provided comprehensive overviews of planning practices in Germany and elsewhere. The social economist Rudolf Eberstadt (1856-1922) exposed his pioneering ideas on the relation between urban development and land speculation. (Piccinato 1993; Stübben 1909) Like the prevailing planning literature of the time most of the lectures were based on exhaustive inventories of urban typologies and design solutions, from street sections to building plans, passing through housing types, towers and bridges, market squares and town halls, industrial architecture or urban waterfronts. In their accumulation of practical examples they signal hesitation about the meaning and motivations of this new discipline, but from a pragmatical perspective they provided a rich, operational source of solutions and suggestions. (Piccinato 1993, 61–62) A student at these seminars would learn from F. Genzmer about the wave-like composition of the pavement of the Rossio square in Lisbon in his inventory of pavement solutions; some years later, he would hear the Dom Luís I bridge in Porto from 1886 be denounced as a bad example of bridge design.17 (Genzmer 1910; 1913, 30; Figures 5–6) From a historical perspective, the Städtebau historian A. E. Brinckmann (1881-1958) gave considerable space to the Pombaline reconstruction of Lisbon after the 1755 earthquake in his overview of 18th century town-building. Brinckmann appreciated how it created an urban system by way of the regular street network articulating the two main squares, and emphasised the way this new urban centre mediated between the old and the new city and the river. (Brinckmann 1914, 35– 37) 16 Why German Städtebau is a good place to start a discussion of the international planning panorama in the early 20th century is be explained later. 17 According to Genzmer, the lines of the construction in combination with the high rising river banks worked restlessly, without visual unity. „Die zwischen den hochansteigenden Ufern unruhig wirkenden verschiedenartigen Linien des Bauwerkes lassen keine Einheitlichkeit aufkommen.“ (Genzmer 1913, 30) – 32 – G. Verheij The metropolis, urban reform and the roots of modern planning These are examples of the intensely international outlook of early planning culture(s) and of the international network through which “cases,” people, writings, images, techniques and methods circulated. They also illustrate how the ties of this network extended to Portugal, which appears here in a markedly international perspective. The present chapter signalizes the outlines of this international network in order to pinpoint the place Portugal occupied within this emerging international planning culture. In this sense, it is the necessary prolegomena providing the historical complement to support the claim, made in the Introduction, for an international perspective of Portuguese planning culture and practices. Much research has shown the intensity of international exchange in the formative years of the urban planning discipline, which can be dated roughly between 1889 and 1914.18 Though the machinery of contemporary planning only really emerged after the First and especially the World War II, most of the basic terminology, ideology and techniques of modern planning had been formulated by 1914. The discipline was, as Anthony Sutcliffe puts it, firmly on the scene (Sutcliffe 1980, 3). It had a name and recognized practitioners in the industrially most developed nations, though terminology varied widely along different national cultures: town and city planning, Städtebau, Stadteplanung, stedebouw, urbanisme, urbanistica … Fundamental laws in the legal framing of urban planning, formulating the basic rationale of the imposition of a public plan on privately-owned land, were adopted or in the making in the Netherlands (1901), Great Britain (1909) and France (1919). Professional institutions were created in France (1914), Great Britain (1914), the United States of America (1917) and Belgium (1919). Most German states already had adopted legislation in this sense by 1890, and by 1900 the Stadtbaurat (a civil servant charged with the supervision of city-building) had replaced or joined in most major towns the earlier Baurat (building official). A growing literature appeared from 1889 on, including specialist publications such as Garden Cities & Town Planning (1903-present), Der Städtebau (1904-1939), American City (1909-present), the Town Planning Review (1910-present), the journal of the Town Planning Institute (1914- 1923). The City Plan (1915-1918), La Vie Urbaine (1919-1977) or La Cité (1919-1935).19 18 The first to suggest the existence of an international planning society, embodied in congresses, exhibitions, correspondence, translations and friendships was the Italian historian G. Piccinato (1993); Sutcliffe (1980; 1981b) provided a first portrait of the formation of this network. Both works continue to be essential references on the subject. 19 See Appendix 1. Garden Cities & Town Planning, from 1932 on Town and Country Planning, was edited by the Garden City Association, today's Town & Country Planning Association. Der Städtebau was founded by Camillo Sitte and Theodor Goecke; after suspension in 1923-1924 it was revived by Werner Hegemann (1881-1936) and in 1930 fused with Wasmuths Monatshefte für Baukunst. American City, today American City & County, was a commercial endeavour of the American City Publishing Company (New York), focusing mainly on administrative matters. The Town Planning Reviews was created as the journal of the Department of Civic Design at Liverpool's School of Architecture, edited by Patrick Abercrombie, Charles H. Reilly and Stanley D. Adshead. The Town Planning Institute published between 1914-1923 a series called Papers and discussions, and afterwards its own Journal; today the by now Royal institute publishes The Planner. The City Plan was a shortly-lived publication of the Boston-based National Conference on City Planning (1909-1934), which also published its yearly proceedings. La Vie Urbaine was founded by Marciel Poëte (1866-1950) and Louis Bonnier (1856-1946) as the organ of the Ecole des hautes études urbaines, after 1924 the Institut d'Urbanisme of the University of Paris. La Cité: – 33 – G. Verheij The metropolis, urban reform and the roots of modern planning Before delving through the nodes and links making up this international network I will give an impressionistic outline of the urban and intellectual realities which nurtured it and of how aesthetic considerations surfaced precisely at this point. Before all, there was the structural background of seemingly unstoppable urban growth precipitated by large-scale migration, industrialization and increased productivity – a cause highlighted by the classical accounts of the birth of planning, and which reached a crucial point around the turn of the century (Benevolo 1971; Sica 1977, chap. 6; 1981; Ragon 1986). In the mid-19th century only the urban regions of London and Paris counted more than a million inhabitants; on the eve of World War I more than a dozen cities had passed the mark. Between 1890 and 1940 the giant metropolis came of age; the large metropolitan regions of the world added many millions to their inhabitants. By 1940 a staggering 11 691 000 lived in the New York Metropolitan District, 8 700 000 in Greater London, 7 358 000 in the Tokyo region and 6 598 000 in the Région Parisienne. Greater Berlin, Moscow and the Ruhr coalfield agglomeration all counted more than 4 000 000 inhabitants. Though it took more time to adapt administrative structures, by 1910 there were plans for a Greater Rome, a Greater Paris, Greater Barcelona, Greater Berlin, Chicago, Canberra, Delhi, Birmingham … (P. Hall 1984; Lenger 2013; C. Zimmermann 2012) Figure 7) The very word “metropolis” gained its current meaning in this period. During the 19th century the term began to indicate the new urban reality embodied by London, but at the start of the 20th century the word was generally used for large urban agglomerations such as Birmingham, Manchester or Cardiff. The German equivalent, Großstadt, doesn't appear in dictionaries and encyclopedias before 1880 but from there on became widely adopted to denote the realities of an urbanizing world. (Topalov et al. 2010, 550–54, 768–74) Scale makes a difference. As the pioneering planning theorist Ildefons Cerdà (1815-1876) lucidly noted early on, it made urbanization – a term of his invention20 – a distinctly different phenomenon of the age-old art of city-building. New modes of dislocation, he argued, produce new ways of being, and from the fascinating impact of steam technologies, electricity and hugely increased mobility he deduced a horizon of potentially unlimited urbanization. The outright inadequacy of existing cities to accommodate the “urban mare-magnum” of movement, people, things, interests, and infrastructures, motivated him to construct an operative science capable of analysing and giving form to a new, vigorous and radically different civilization to come. (Cerdà 1867, ed. fac. 1968, see especially “Al lector”) It is no Urbanisme, Architecture, Art Public was the organ of the Belgian Societé des urbanistes, after 1923 Societé des urbanistes et architectes modernistes, which existed until 1970. 20 Cerdà consciously created a new vocabulary, based on the Latin root “urbe” (Cerdà noted how the etymological roots of “urbe” refer to the instituting gesture of delineating space in order to create a place). With “urbanization” (urbanización) he pretended to designate his idea of the city-as- system, of its complex organization and f unctioning and constant interaction which the word “city” (ciudad), with its emphasis on material existence, does not satisfactorily capture. (Cerdà 1867, 27–33; García-Bellido 1994; 1999; Soria y Puig 1996, 79–94; for further bibliography on Cerdà’s work see among others Cerdà 1991; Busquets et al. 1992; Magrinyà and Tarragó 1994; Institut Cerdá 1996; García-Bellido 2004; Magrinyà and Marzá 2009; L’Eixample 2009; Busquets and Corominas Ayala 2010) – 34 – G. Verheij The metropolis, urban reform and the roots of modern planning coincidence that, as G. Piccinato (1993, 13) noted, the “historical city” is usually the city preceding this urban watershed . This huge urban growth brought with it tensions and ruptures, and an increasingly similar urban landscapes across the industrializing nations. Industrial capitalism was a “city-forming force” (städtebildende Kraft), as one early historiographer of German Städtebau observed (Brix 1911). “On both sides of the Atlantic a new world of coal and iron, factory towns and sprawling urban agglomerations, accumulated capital, massed wage labor, and new forms of misery was swiftly coming into being [in the late 19th century].” (Rodgers 1998, 44) Great cities, stirred by a ceaseless motion of property and populations, shifting land values, endless social contrasts, acute housing problems and pressing transportation and public health issues, were centres of productivity and wealth as much as poverty and alienation. From their inner commercial cores of banks and fashionable shopping districts, the great cities spread out through their dock districts, warehouses, and rail yards, on into a seemingly endless sea of sweatshops and small factories, corner stores and pawnshops, slums and cheap working-class housing, all in great unplanned confusion. (…) One must imagine nineteenth-century cities not as units but as a congeries of neighborhoods; to walk through them was to pass through a seemingly endless regress of social contradictions. Concentrations of enormous wealth lay hard by concentrations of abject poverty, splendid carriage parks by whiskey alleys, handsome shopping thoroughfares for the bourgeoisie by acres of pawn shops, pushcarts, and secondhand stores for the masses. (Rodgers 1998, 48) Indeed the city was one of the essential sites were the fractures of industrial capitalism were played out; a place of freedom and creativity, celebrated by poets and painters (Baudelaire, the impressionists), as much as the breeding-ground of a multitude of outcasts, surveyed and denounced by a growing literature.21 (R. M. de Azevedo 2006, chap. 2; Dennis 2008; Cohen and Frank 2013; Platt 2007; Figures 1–4) In academic and cultural circles the disappearance of traditional forms of socialization and the impact of urban mass experience were intensely debated, with attitudes shifting between repudiation and reform, doom and integration (Lees 1984). On the one hand, suspicion and disgust of the city, as in Ferdinand Tönnies’ Gemeinschaft und Gesellschaft (Community and Society, 1887). On the other, new looks towards the kind of subjects the new metropolis generates. Georg Simmel’s “Die Großstädte und das Geistesleben” (The Metropolis and Mental Life, 1903) is probably the most famous attempt of the period. Simmel tempered initial alarm about the cold rationalization of social relations the city was held to cause with the prospective of the re-composition of individuality and experience through new forms of subjectivity, born from the social division and specialization of work and consumption. For Simmel, the city was the “the crucial site of the intensification of the features of modernity 21 Andrew Mearn's The bitter cry of outcast London (1883), Charles Booth's Life and Labour of the People of London (1886-1903, see Topalov 1993), Jacob Riis' How the other half lives (1890), the Enquête sur les logements, professions, salaires et budgets (1899) by the doctors Octave du Mesnil and Mangenot and the îlots insalubres promoted by Paul Juillerat and Ambroise Rendu (Fijalkow 2004; 2006), the yearly Wohnungs-Enquête (1902-1920) published by a Berlin health insurance fund (Asmus 1982) … – 35 – G. Verheij The metropolis, urban reform and the roots of modern planning and the attendant transformation of human experience.” (Frisby 2001, 5 and in general chap. 3; Frisby 1986; Sevilla Buitrago 2004; Cacciari 1993, pt. 1) It doesn't surprise then that social reformers in Europe and the United States saw the city as an essential site of social conflict, and armed with statistics, moral certainty and philanthropic funds set out to search for practical solutions (Salais 1990; B. Zimmermann 1994; Meller 1995). “Whether for Fabians in 1890s London,22 left liberals in 1890s Frankfurt, or progressives in Cleveland and Chicago, the great cities formed key sites of social-political mobilization, experiment, and controversy.” (Rodgers 1998, 112) Amidst the progressive assumptions of the “orthodoxy of reform” which developed between the 1880s and 1914 there was a general acknowledgement of the insufficiency of the market and laissez-faire politics in solving the problems of urban growth, hence of the need of a form of public control over development, that is, of planning. (Bullock and Read 1985, 524; Hobsbawm 1987; Rodgers 1998, chap. 3; Sutcliffe 1980; 1981b) The essential rationale of urban planning is, as Sutcliffe (1981b, 185) reminds, the imposition of a public intentionality on private development, for example by limiting land uses, regulating edification or compulsory purchase of land. The conflict between private initiative and public needs, at the root of the “social question,”23 was also the main issue and obstacle in any form of public control over the city. Rodgers (1998, 48) observed that nowhere else “the clash between private property rights and public needs [was] more tangibly and urgently displayed.” The balancing of public and private rights and gains in urban management and development was a common front of early planning and social reform; early planners 22 The influential Fabian society, founded in 1884 in London, promoted reformist socialism, with a strong accent on the role of the State. It was at the roots of the foundation of the Labour Party in 1900. (Monti 1972; Bevir 2011) 23 The so-called “social question” (question sociale, sozial Frage) was at the core of 19th century progressive politics, and had its roots, in the much-quoted words of the German economist Adolph Wagner (1835-1917), in “the consciousness of a contradiction between economic development and the social idea of liberty and equality which is being realized in political life.” (Rau 1876, 361; translation in Howerth 1906, 259; on Wagner and his influence over North American reformers, see Rodgers 1998, 90–92) By 1900 the “untidy mass of anxieties” this raised were firmly placed in the public conscience (Rodgers 1998, 12). Understanding of the social question started with economics. The prolific but obscure Chicago sociologist I. W. Howert (1860-1938) put it as follows: “How are the economic institutions of society, in which so much power and privilege are concentrated, and which are essential to the well-being of all, to be organized and conducted so that their benefits may be justly shared by all members of society (…)?” (Howerth 1906, 267) Or, in Tony Judt's slightly blunter variant: “How could the virtues of economic progress be secured in light of the political and moral threat posed by the condition of the working class?” (Judt 1997, 103) For social reformers the answer was social economy, a discipline capable of organizing the gradual social improvement and moral and intellectual education of the people, “systematizing” – the term is Jules Huret's (Huret 1897, 3) – human solidarity. “Political economy was the science of the augmentation of wealth, the French economist Charles Gide wrote [in 1902]. The field of social economy, by contrast, embraced every effort (…) to temper, socialize, and mutualize the pains of the capitalist transformation. It was the science of 'practical realities and possible amelioration,' the science of 'social peace.' Social economy was, in short, the ambulance wagon of industrial capitalism.” (Rodgers 1998, 12) – 36 – G. Verheij The metropolis, urban reform and the roots of modern planning attempted to impose a “modest sort of order on the apparent chaos of the expanding cities,” without challenging private property. (Ladd 1990, 104; see also Piccinato 1993; Rodgers 1998, chap. 4) The importance of the “social question” for the emergence of the planning discipline around the turn of the century should not be underestimated. It created the essential conditions to politically contemplate general public intervention in a largely privately-owned city, as well as the conscience that urban problems were related and needed to be approached in their interlocking complexity. That the neglect by 19th century liberal policies of large parts of the new urban world had become a threat to the ruling bourgeoisie itself only helped. The undeniable role of uncontrolled urban growth in mayor sanitary problems, epidemics, environmental pollution, political turmoil and failing urban management, and the inconvenience of new urban “pathologies” (Milun 2013), visual disorder, untidiness and lowering real estate values pushed the message home. The challenges of urban design While intellectual and political concern with the fissures cutting across new metropolitan realities framed the “momentum” of planning, preceding experiences in urban design endowed it with a compelling disciplinary heritage. Indeed, as I noted earlier, the operational core of turn-of-the-century textbooks was the typological inventory of concrete cases, providing adoptable solutions and warning of errors to be avoided (Piccinato 1993, 61–62). As it happens, previous cases of planned urban transformation were in no way disconnected from the “social question.” Haussmann's ousting of the poor from the centre of Paris is well- known (Marchand 1993, 84–92, 101–2), but urban design of the 19th century contributed in a deeper sense to the problems alluded to above. The transformation of human experience brought by the metropolis was not only the product of shanty towns, commercial districts and urban miseries. Haussmann's Paris, that archetype of the modern capital, had been a testing ground for the dissolution of traditional urban form and experience (Green 1992; Benjamin 1999). L. Benevolo perceptively described how urban design, cultural transformations and subjective experience together produced a new reality of bourgeois urbanity: Haussmann cherche à donner une certaine solennité au nouvel environnement urbain en utilisant les instruments urbanistiques traditionnels: recherche de la régularité, choix d'un édifice monumental ancien ou moderne comme toile de fond de chaque nouvelle artère, obligation de conserver un traitement architectural uniforme des façades, dans les places et les rues les plus importantes (…). Mais l'extension énorme des nouveaux espaces et le trafic qui les encombre, empêchent de les percevoir comme des perspectives architecturales: les différents espaces perdent leur individualité et se fondent les uns dans les autres; les façades des maisons deviennent un arrière-plan générique, et le mobilier urbain que l'on distingue au premier plan – les réverbères, les bancs, les kiosques, les arbres – prend davantage d'importance ; le flux des piétons et des véhicules, qui change continuellement, transforme la ville en un spectacle toujours renouvelé. C'est (…) le visage de la métropole moderne où parmi des millions d'autres hommes Baudelaire se sent seul ; c'est en fait un mécanisme indifférent qui néglige des centaines de milliers d'espaces privés, où – 37 – G. Verheij The challenges of urban design peuvent se dérouler une infinité d'expériences individuelles. Les espaces privés et publics – qui jusqu'alors étaient liés et se compénétraient – s'opposent désormais dans la ville bourgeoise. (…) La dimension réduite de ces espaces [private spaces and those of collective spectacle and ceremony] est sans commune mesure avec la taille de la ville (…). De l'autre côté, “le trottoir,” la “voie publique,” où chacun se mêle nécessairement à tous les autres et n'est plus reconnu. Toutes les différences et toutes les excentricités des individus et des groupes peuvent être cultivées dans le labyrinthe des espaces privés, tandis qu'elles disparaissent dans la rue, où se croise et s'ignore une foule anonyme. La société européenne est fascinée et troublée par cet environnement nouveau, contradictoire. La technique moderne a finalement produit une nouvelle ville, mais au lieu de résoudre les vieux problèmes elle en a créé d'autres, inattendus. (Benevolo 1983, 394–95) The triumph of the city image fashioned by Haussmann and his collaborators had much to do with the way it successfully incorporated the effects of new networked infrastructures: water and sewage, gas and electricity, pavement and public lighting. (Réau et al. 1954; Londei 1982; Van Zanten 1994; Agulhon and Duby 1998) The major 19th century urban transformations which radically changed Europe's main cities – Paris, Vienna, Barcelona, Florence, London, Brussels – represented in urban space the bourgeois values of modernity, to create a city of hygiene, comfort and aesthetics in sharp contrast with the urban realities of industrial capitalism.24 (Choay 1969; T. Hall 1997; Gravagnuolo 1998) These technological networks nurtured modern life, and were essential to the new patterns of comfort demanded by a rising bourgeoisie. Circulation, sanitation and embellishment constrained the design and use of urban space and demanded increasing control over public space. As public space increasingly had to answer the demands of industrial technologies, its production and use became progressively patterned and codified through legal regulations, administrative procedures, mass-produced urban artefacts and similar design methodologies. (A. F. da Silva and Matos 2000; Tarr and Dupuy 1988; Remesar, Lecea, and Grandas 2004; Figure 8) By the late 1880s the aesthetic values behind these large operations of urban transformation embodied in Haussmann's Paris were increasingly disparaged by critics. Voices condemning the “monotony” of the characteristic straight avenues and rectilinear housing blocks could be heard in Paris, Vienna or Barcelona. The Haussmannian edifice of building by-laws was progressively dismantled between 1882 and 1893, authorizing bow-windows, protrusions, undulating façades and decorative freedom.25 Members of the Art and Craft Society in 24 This is why so much of the century's urban planning seems like insufficient rectifications of problems which largely outdo them (Benevolo 1971); why urban history, in P. Sica's wording, continually breaks apart between the tumultuous, chaotic advance of reality turning onto itself and a “spiritual itinerary” of ideas and proposals (Sica 1977, 111). 25 “L'ordonnancement rigoureux des éléments architecturaux, la hiérarchie de la décoration, de l'ensemble d'un quartier jusqu'au détail des balcons et des fenêtres, cette cohérence qui avait constitué la grandeur de l'architecture haussmannienne et assuré son succès devait conduire, à la longue, à la sclérose du style et à la monotonie des façades.” (Marchand 1993, 140) The growing role of large real estate societies in the city's construction after 1870 and its “capitalist architecture” seeking efficiency and rentability worsened a trend towards austerity and uniformity. D. J. Olson (1986, 53) also notes the ideological background: “One would not have expected any regime (…) to view with favor the Paris that had so deliberately been made the expression of the values of the discredited empire [of Napoleon III].” – 38 – G. Verheij The challenges of urban design London lectured in favour of “the application of the idea of beauty as well as of utility to the organisation and decoration of our greater cities,” and bombastically traced avenues à la Haussmann were not the solution to London's ugliness, assured W. Lethaby.26 A similar reaction occurred in Barcelona, where the inventive architects of Catalan modernisme, given free reign after the liberalization of building regulations in 1891-1892, promised to redress the perceived lack of diversity of the quarters of the city's ensanche (Guardia and Garcia Fuentes 2009). Laws should be adapted to art instead of the other way around, argued the influential architect Josep Puig i Cadafalch (1867-1956) some years later (Puig i Cadafalch 1901). In Brussels the mayor Charles Buls (1837-1914) lobbied for the preservation of old quarters in opposition to King Leopold II's grandiose architectural schemes and earlier destructions in the name of urban modernization, publishing an influential booklet on the “aesthetic of cities” (esthétique des villes). (Buls 1893; Smets 1995) In German cites the prevailing typology of the Mietskasernen (rental barracks), a by-product of the 1875 building ordinance (Baupolizei), was the detested face of urban homogeneity. (Ladd 1998, 96–110) The main site to trace this reaction to the aesthetic values of mid-century's confident urban reformers – of which the engineer, schooled in the positivist values of progress, science and enlightenment, was the principal personification (Grau 2009; M. H. Lisboa 2008) – was Vienna's Ringstraße. After an imperial decree of 1857 the city's obsolete fortification walls had been dismantled to make place for a circular boulevard, connecting the historical town to the recently incorporated suburbs. The Ringstraße – the object of a pioneering international competition in 1858 – was developed according to imperial desires of monumental prestige, strongly contrasting with the compact city core. (Fabbri 1986; Sica 1981; Breitling 1980; Collins and Collins 2006, 52–60; Figures 9, 11) In the lively culture of Vienna, the problems of the relation between the old and new city, the artistic nature of the modern city and the difficulties of adapting cities to the demands of the modern metropolis were intensely discussed. (Schorske 1980; Frisby 2010; Wurzer 1992) In this context the architect and principal of the local State School of Applied Arts (Staatsgewerbeschule) Camillo Sitte (1843-1903) published a strong critique of the Ringstraße in the form of a brief treatise on the “artistic principles” of city-building.27 In it 26 William Lethaby (1857-1931), an architect and theorist with an inclination towards the “practical aesthetic” of city-planning, contrasted, in his lecture “On beautiful cities” (Arts and Crafts Exhibition Society 1897, 45–110), the splendour of cities of the past with the “enormity” of contemporary London, a “half-hundred square miles (…) roofed over (…), intersected by the interminable avenues all asphalt, lamp-posts, pipes and wires.” (p. 99) For Lethaby, the task of translating urban ideals into “the bald prose of betterment” had to start with the recognition of present ugliness, supported by some accessible accounts of urban history and the teaching of a “tradition of citizenship,” and by giving priority to the “tidying up of necessary work” – sweeping streets, washing and whitewashing houses, improving railing and street lights – rather than wavering over the “grandeur idea of Art.” (p. 100-104; see also Purdom 1921; Lethaby 1922; Van der Plaat 2001). 27 The complete title of Sitte's work is Der Städte-Bau nach seinen künstlerischen Grundsätzen: Ein Beitrag zur Lösung moderner Fragen der Architektur und monumentalen Plastik unter besonderer Beziehung auf Wien [City Planning according to Artistic Principles: A contribution to the solution of the modern questions around Architecture and Monumental art with special reference to Vienna]. It was a best-seller, re-edited within months of its original appearance. Further editions – 39 – G. Verheij The challenges of urban design Sitte identified the artistic “failure” of the modern city with a crisis of the public square. The perceived poverty of present squares was blamed on the loss of traditional social uses; the dominant concerns of traffic and hygiene did not provide inspiration for aesthetically satisfying design solutions. It was necessary to look back to successful examples of the past to rediscover guidelines for the design of public space. (Sitte 1889; Figure 10) The interest of Sitte's undertaking lies not so much in the concrete recommendations or stylistic preferences – though they responded to changing patterns of taste and had a rich afterlife – but in the innovative morphological approach.28 Sitte approached the existing city as a repertoire of solutions: “urban facts” to be empirically observed, analysed and learnt from to reinvent a new art capable of designing public places adequate for modern civic life. Many of the prescriptions in fact focus on the creation of visual codes to make places “readable” to the embodied urban stroller, which is the subject of the book's argument: the well-mannered, slightly agoraphobic flâneur or the bourgeois tourist, preferring to muse over the “organic” development of traditional cities rather than exposing himself to metropolitan shock.29 (Lampugnani 2000, 27; Albers 2005; Choay 1977; Claessens 2002) Visual perception and analysis were consequentially at the core of Sitte's method. He relied heavily on concepts and theories of the innovative art historians of the Vienna School – A. Riegl's Kunstwollen, H. Wölfflin's principles of art history and “psychosocial” approach of architecture – and was equally attentive to the historical specificity of the object and its sensible experience. Links with more specific fields of contemporary investigation of perception and space – H. von Helmholtz, A. Schmarsow, above all H. Maertens – are obvious. (Collins and Collins 2006, 48–50; Wieczorek 1981; Ladd 1987; Moravánszky 2012) appeared in 1901, 1909, 1922… and in 2003 the ninth edition. Here I use the translation of G. R. and C. C. Collins (2006). Sitte, the son of an architect, had studied architecture at the Technische Hochschule of Vienna and took courses in archaeology, anatomy and art history at Vienna University. He started working at his father's office, until he was nominated principal of the new State School of Applied Arts in Salzburg in 1875. In 1883 he returned to Vienna to occupy the same position there. Besides occasional architectural work and, after 1889, increasing activity in urban planning (see M. Pogacnik in Bohl and Lejeune 2009), Sitte published and lectured on a wide range of subjects, reflecting his own eclectic interests from archaeology and historical monuments to artistic education, painting, anatomy and music (he was an accomplished cellist and deeply admired Richard Wagner). His complete writings have been edited by Semsroth, Mönninger and Collins in 6 volumes. (Sitte 2003–2014). There is a large and authoritative bibliography on Sitte's life, work and posterity (Collins and Collins 2006; Choay 1977; Wieczorek 1981; Zucconi 1992; Semsroth, Jormakka, and Langer 2005; Bohl and Lejeune 2009; Hanisch 2010). 28 The index of Sitte's book (in the Collins translation) tells the basic program: 1) The relationship between buildings, monuments, and their plazas; 2) That the centre of plazas be kept free; 3) That public squares should be enclosed entities; 4) The size and shape of plazas; 5) The irregularities of old plazas; 6) Plaza groupings; 7) The meagre and unimaginative character of modern city plans; 9) Modern systems; 10) Artistic limitations of modern city planning; 11) Improvements in the modern system; 12) Example of an urban arrangement according to artistic principles. On Sitte's stylistic preferences, see Á. Moravánszky and W. Sonne in Bohl and Lejeune (2009); for the persistence of much of his ideas, Duany, Plater-Zyberk and Alminana (2003). 29 According to S. Kostof, Sitte developed the idea of the stroller into a theory of urban form at human scale. “Urbanism, according to Sitte, is precisely the science of relationships. And these relationships must be determined according to how much a person walking through the city can take in at a glance.” (Kostof 1991, 83–84; see also Wieczorek 1981, 110–17; Banik-Schweitzer 1999; J.-F. Lejeune and B. Langer in Bohl and Lejeune 2009) – 40 – G. Verheij The challenges of urban design In short, Sitte outlined, even if only tentatively, a program for an historically informed, strongly empirical and visually sophisticated urban design. This was probably the reason for the book's surprising impact in the German-speaking world and beyond, despite its modest size and polemical, place-bound nature. Even if its diffusion was marked by serious misreadings the main argument – the aesthetic insufficiency of modern planning, incapable of reconciling art and the modern city – answered something “in the air.”30 The international success of Sitte's work signalled, in F. Choay's terms, a “culturalist” reaction to the “progressive”, technocratic taste of urban order of which Haussmann's Paris was the paradigm.31 (Choay 1965) In German language technocratic taste was represented by the only available general-purpose textbook for planners, R. Baumeister's Stadt-erweiterungen in technischer, baupolizeilicher und wirthschaftlicher Beziehung (City expansions from the viewpoint of technique, building control and science, 1876). In Baumeister's view, city-building was limited to the management and regulation of urban growth according to the principles of technique and progress. In one way or another Sitte's critiques and propositions were rapidly assimilated in the dynamic panorama of the emergent discipline of Städtebau – a term Sitte helped to popularize. Germany had pioneered institutionalized forms of public intervention in planning, which towards the late 1880s were becoming increasingly sophisticated (see p. 49 below). After 1890 favourable economical and political conditions, accelerating urban growth, the generalization of public transport and middle class demands all favoured a more active role in the shaping of the urban environment for public administrations. The increasingly complex problems faced by cities reinforced the role of the planner (Städtebauer, or Stadtbaurat when occupying an official position). From the late 1880s a growing body of literature codified knowledge, methodologies and vocabularies, further developed and diffused through special 30 Sitte himself put it this way in the preface of the book's third edition from 1901. “Only when everyone is already feeling and thinking more or less along the same line, and it therefore depends only on one person finally expressing the matter clearly, are such happy results possible.” (Collins and Collins 2006, 139–40). Textbooks such as those by Raymond Unwin (1909) or Werner Hegemann (1922) bear witness to the lasting impact of Sitte's work outside Germany and Austria (on Sitte’s international reception, Zucconi 1992; Bohl and Lejeune 2009). In France, the deeply problematic translation (1902) by the Swish architect Camille Martin (1877-1928) almost completely forestalled any productive impact among the Beaux-Arts circles about to formalize the discipline of urbanisme. References to Sitte's work were generally superficial, and to be found in the work of interested amateurs rather than professionals. (The distortions of this translation and the misreadings it occasioned have been exhaustively studied by Collins and Collins 2006; on C. Martin, see Brulhart 1992; on Sitte's reception in France, Gaudin 1992, 45.) 31 “Toutes ces idées [de Sitte] ou presque s'opposaient aux conceptions haussmanniennes. L'immense succès de Sitte, même mal traduit et mal compris, montre l'ampleur de la révolution intellectuelle qui marqua le tournant du siècle: le goût nouveau s'éloignait du Paris d'Haussmann.” (Marchand 1993, 171) – 41 – G. Verheij The challenges of urban design training courses and multiplying competitions and exhibitions.32 (Albers 1975; 1980; Piccinato 1993; Sutcliffe 1981b, 9–46; Ladd 1987; 1990, chaps. 1, 3; Krau 2012) Sitte's defence of the “artistic principles” of planning and urban design and his idea of the city-as-architecture were a relevant component in this panorama. Josef Stübben approvingly integrated elements of Sitte's work in his landmark Der Städtebau (1890, with updated re- editions in 1907 and 1924), the first comprehensive textbook since Baumeister's dated work.33 The dry but systematic classification of urban design solutions Stübben pioneered had in the end much in common with Sitte's innovative morphological studies. Like Sitte, Stübben considered the design of cities as a craft. If Sitte's analysis of the historical principles of the composition of urban space had posited urban design as an art, Stübben provided a highly informed gallery of commented empirical solutions forming a “standard poetics.” (Wieczorek 1981, 147–48; Ellefsen 2010, 112; Collins and Collins 2006, 45–48, 91, 97; Karnau 1992) In his textbook Stübben linked the aesthetic success of a plan to its general efficiency or appropriateness to purpose (Zweckmäßigkeit), that is, the way it responded to demands of traffic, housing and hygiene.34 In practice he circumscribed the place for artistic considerations with more precision. The place of art was principally in the “artistic, aesthetically qualified design of details” (kunstverständige, ästhetisch geschulte Durchbildung im Einzelnen): the pleasing combination of masses of building and streets, the intelligibility of the main lines of composition, the regular form of road junctions and intersections, the provision of attractive perspectives, viewpoints and landmarks. (Stübben 1890, 50) Following Sitte, squares and plazas should be properly designed and preferably closed (Stübben takes care to distinguish public squares from the purely functional open spaces necessary for traffic organization, see chap. 8 of his textbook). Monotony (Einförmigkeit) in street design was to be avoided through “reasonable variation” (angemessener Wechsel), urban greenery and other means of decoration (Schmuckmittel). Pavement, gardened areas, decorative objects (Schmuckgegenstände) and the diverse constructions required for urban life 32 The first specific discipline on Stadtebau was created by Baumeister himself in 1887, at the Technische Hochschule in Karlsruhe (Ellefsen 2010, 114), but planning-related topics were included in polytechnical teaching programs as early as the 1860s. International competitions also were important moments of learning. The first international competition for an urban expansion plan was held in Vienna in 1857, closely followed by the one organized by Barcelona's Ayuntamiento in 1859. The first German city to organize such a competition was Cologne, in 1880. Josef Stübben and the municipal architect Karl Henrici (1842-1927) obtained, among 27 entries, the first award. It was followed by others, among which the influential competitions of Vienna (1892, with a shared first prize by J. Stübben and O. Wagner) and Munich (1893, won by K. Henrici). (Breitling 1980) The 1910 Berlin competition and accompanying exhibitions, promoted by the Berlin Architecture Association, are good examples of the way competitions contributed to popularize the idea of public planning. (Hegemann 1911–1913; Sonne 2000; C. C. Collins 2005) 33 Stübben was without doubt the most respected and representative planner of his time. B. Ladd: “Stübben's prestige is not to be attributed to any creative brilliance; his gift lay rather in his ability to recognize and synthesize many needs and aspirations in a single city plan. All in all, it is not surprising that the general principles guiding Stübben's designs, gleaned from his writings and his work, were in many ways typical of the period.” (Ladd 1990, 104) 34 „Die Anforderungen der Schönheit stehen eigentlich nicht für sich selbständig da. Wie die wirkliche Schönheit sich an die Zweckmäßigkeit unmittelbar anlehnt, so ist auch beim Entwurfe des Stadtplanes die Grundförderung des Schönen durch aufmerksame Befolgung der Verkehrs-, Bebauungs- und Gesundheitsbedürfnisse erfüllt.“ (Stübben 1890, 50) – 42 – G. Verheij The challenges of urban design should be produced with artistic as much as technical attention. Technique and art were to cooperate to bring beauty to the city, and Stübben recommended that the planner learns with the past but creates for his time (Zeitgemäßes), supported by refined personal taste and artistic perception. (Stübben 1890, 51; Figure 12) Aesthetic principles were, like the demands of traffic circulation and sanitation, an inherent part of the “order” planners like Stübben wanted to instil on the chaotically growing cities of the time. The quarrels which during the 1890s opposed Sittean disciples (Karl Henrici, Cornelius Gurlitt) to “progressive” planners such as Otto Wagner or Stübben himself, usually headed under the opposition of “straight” versus “crooked” streets, in this sense only confirm that after Sitte the aesthetic dimension of planning and urban design became a weighty subject. The aesthetic gaze is as firmly present in the Sittesque preference for the closed square, the lateral monument or the concave street as in the modernist sequencing of straight streets, large, open squares and monumentalized building blocks favoured by, say, Otto Wagner.35 (Ladd 1990, 104; Frisby 2003; Schorske 1980; Collins and Collins 2006, 97–99, 345–46; Sarnitz 1993; Figures 13–14) Both sides shared a common enemy – the liberal politics of the 19th century and the fragmented urban fabric and “arbitrary” architectural languages they produced – and a conviction – that the “architecture of the city” transcended individual interests and was a public matter, to be designed and planned.36 Whether such an art should be based on principles to be deduced from the past or had to be reinvented according to new needs was another question, and how exactly this should translate into formal solutions yet another one. Put this way it is perhaps less surprising that J. Brix gave pride of place to Sitte when in 1911 he provided a historical overview of the roots of the recent discipline at the Seminar für Städtebau in Berlin. Sitte's work represented, for Brix, a turning point towards the development of the artistic side of Städtebau and the recognition of the city as a work of art, in contrast with preceding “hygienist” views. Er stellte dem Städtebau als technischem Problem die Stadt als Kunstwerk entgegen, besprach die Beziehungen zwischen Raum, Monumenten un Platzen, legte die Wirkung des Freihaltens der Mitte der Plätze und der Geschlossenheit derselben an 35 Otto Wagner (1841-1918) famously stated in his “student guide” to modern architecture: “Das Modernste des Modernen in der Baukunst sind wohl unsere heutigen Großstädte.” (O. Wagner 1895, 86) Differently from most of the Städtebau professionals, and anticipating modernist credos, Wagner's motto was that the sole starting point for artistic creation should be modern life. But his endeavour was largely formalist – M. Tafuri qualified it as “surface culture” (in Peichl 1984, 62). Wagner directly approached the problem of planning in a later work on Die Groszstadt (1911), with chapters on the townscape (Stadtbild), regulation and economy. In the first chapter he levels fierce critique at intentionally irregular solutions, picturesque effects and the quest for cosiness (Gemüt) and harmony (Einfügen) between the modern and the historical city. Though basically an abstract reflection, the illustrations are, as A. Sarnitz (1993, 101) notes, really a large collage of Wagner's own work. (Complete works in Graf 1985; for studies, Peichl 1984; Mallgrave 1993; Frisby 2001, 180–235) 36 Interestingly it was due to this critique of “liberal” city-building that in the 1930s C. Sitte and others could be appropriated by Soviet “realist” urbanism (Tazbir 2009; Reinisch 2011). – 43 – G. Verheij The challenges of urban design der Hand von Bildern, die sich von verschiedenen Sehpunkten aus bei bestehenden Stadtplätzen ergaben, dar. (Brix 1911, 28)37 By then Brix' colleagues at the Seminar had hugely increased Sitte's original choice of solutions from which to deduce the principles of aesthetic satisfaction in urban form. The expansion led some to caution about the very possibility of deducing general principles at all (f. ex. Genzmer 1909, 39; Mielke 1913, 5), but in others it fostered certainty. M. G. Zimmermann (1909, 25–26) listed a number of recommendations which, in his view, the observation of historical cities had validated: irregularity of the street plan and building alignments, gentle bends in traffic arteries, artistic design of street corners, striking enclosures of streets and squares, well-designed urban furniture agreeing with the surrounding buildings … The modern city itself brought new resources for urban variety, from lighting or busy pedestrian movement to the picturesque touch of the smoke of factories. Of course, the attempt to systematically and scientifically classify urban form based on criteria of “beauty” or “pleasure” was a potential theoretical issue. Perhaps for this reason F. Genzmer, who usually provided key lectures at the Seminar, constantly returned to the artistic pedigree of Städtebau. He attacked on two fronts. The first was that Städtebau was an art of spatial creation (Raumgestaltung) which involved artistic decisions on all levels, from the street plan to the placement of urban furniture. The main artistic problems it posed were to give form to space (Raumbildung) and to compose the different objects in space as a total work of art (Gesamtkunstwerk), attaining a harmony or “organic unity” (organische Einheit) of parts for which no object was too humble.38 The second line of argument was that urban space could be experienced and analysed as a work of art, understood as a unified whole defined by formal clarity and artistic intentionality.39 The city could be perceived as image (Bild), as silhouette or succession of planes (staffelförmiger Aufbau). More importantly, from the viewpoint of a psychology of perception urban space itself was image-forming (Bildung), 37 Later Brix adds: “[Sitte] deckte das Wesen und den Grund der Schönheit der Städtebilder auf und gab in den von ihm dargestellten Grundrissen für den Städtebau erweiterte Grundlagen und Regeln; er lehrte die Wirkung aus dem Plan heraus zu beurteilen und begründete die Notwendigkeit der Untersuchung dieser Wirkung an Hand von Raumbildern. Er zeigte uns beispielsweise die gut Wirkung der Platzbilder in den seinem Werke entnommenen.” (Brix 1911, 30) 38 “Die Vereinigung aller Teile zu einem einheitlichen Gesamtkunstwerk führt erst zu voller Harmonie, zum künstlerischen Städtebau.“ Later: “Kein Prellstein und kein Laternenpfosten ist zu gering, um ihm nicht eine gute Kunstform zu geben, worunter ich keineswegs eine äußerliche Anheftung von Ornament und Schnitzwerk, sondern eine aus Zweck und Stoff bedingte, mit Geschmack erzeugte Gestalt verstehe.“ (Genzmer 1909, 7, 59) 39 “Ebenso wie die Darstellung einer Reihe voneinander unabhängiger menschlicher Körper, auch wenn sie noch so vortrefflich wiedergegeben sind, noch kein Bild, d. h. ein Kunstwerk von einheitlicher Bildwirkung, ergibt, genügt es auch in der Städtebaukunst nicht, die verschiedenen Gegenstände, aus denen sich eine Stadt zusammensetzt, nur nebeneinander aufzustellen, sondern auch sie müssen nach einheitlichem Gedanken durch die künstlerisch ordnende Hand erst zu einem Kunstwerk gemacht werden. Von außen betrachtet kann man auch die Stadt im allgemeinen als ein Kunstwerk vollkörplicher Art auffassen. Ihre künstlerische Anordnung entsteht, wie auch bei anderen Kunstwerken, durch bestimmte gesetzmäßige Zusammenfügung der Einzelheiten, die hier namentlich unter dem Einfluß der Form des für eine Stadtanlage gegebenen Geländes steht.” (Genzmer 1909, 8) – 44 – G. Verheij The challenges of urban design triggering sensations and, ideally, aesthetic pleasure (Kunstgenuß) in the observer.40 The key terms are “Beauty” (Schonheit) and “appearance” (Erscheinung), to which a kind of (ethnic) optical unconsciousness, produced by habituation (jahrhundertelange Gewonheit) and instinctive reproduction, gave generality and duration. Brix ended his historical overview with a confident vote that the 20th century would bring a much larger technical and artistic significance to the discipline, and the note that, especially through the generalization of land use zoning (Zweckbestimmungen), the discipline's scope seemed to be enlarging towards general territorial and social organization.41 Cerdà himself had already understood the new discipline he attempted to scientifically institute as essentially an instrument of social reform (Cerdà 1867, 11–21).42 After 1900, Sitte's quest for a more beautiful and artistic city received a “social” turn within the German social and cultural reform-movement. The “architectural challenge” of the metropolis was to create clean, beautiful and healthy cities for all, as the architect, urban designer and co-founder of the Deutscher Werkbund F. Schumacher argued in 1903. Contemporary urban development prompted entirely new artistic challenges, he stated, but what this really implied was that the ambition to plan and design the entire city, rather than just delimiting and beautifying the spaces of bourgeois sociability, brought necessarily with it a social horizon.43 (Schumacher 1904; Frank 1994; Frisby 2001, 196–211) 40 Genzmer analysed the image-forming of urban space through the interplay of the ground plane (Grundfläche), vertical planes (Wandungen: architectural façades, garden enclosures, even natural vistas, compared to windows or wall paintings) and a sky plane (Decke or Luftfeld). Each plane was on its turn analysed through an ever-growing system of indicators. Thus, floor planes could be divided by size, regularity, inclination, regularity of inclination, deformations, convexity or concavity... each with different implications on the final urban image. (Genzmer 1910) 41 “Und so scheint es mir, daß wir uns inmitten einer Periode des aufstrebenden Städtebaues befinden, die sich der großen politischen, volkswirtschaftlichen und volksgesundheitlichen Bedeutung der Schaffung menschlicher Wohnungen in Siedlungen, Ortschaften und Städten bewußt ist, die die Vorzüge von Stadt und Land zu vereinigen versteht, die Stadt und Land in gesunde Wechselwirkung setzt und die die letzten Kulturerrungenschaften, sowohl in den großen Linien als auch in der weiteren Durchbildung der Unterbezirke fortschreitend bis zum Haus und in die Wohnung hinein, zum Ausdruck bringt.” (Brix 1911, 72) Zoning was largely a German invention, with roots in late 19th century building density regulations originally intended to protect bourgeois residential districts. Some – such as Frankfurt's mayor F. Adickes (1846-1915) during the 1890s – saw their potential as instruments of social reform. In the early 20th century it became part of comprehensive planning strategies, kick-started by the 1904 Munich building code. (Ladd 1990, 187–95, 210–27) Comprehensive land-use control through a zoning plan was successfully imported to the United States after the approval in 1916 of the first (German-derived) comprehensive zoning plan in New York. By 1926 at least 425 municipalities had adopted zoning ordinances. (Rodgers 1998, 184–87; Power 1989) 42 On Cerdà’s increasingly radical political attitudes, see the studies by F. Estapé (1968; 1999) and R. Grau (2009). 43 “Il fatto nuovo, determinante della discussione di Dresda 1903, è che qui, per la prima volta in Germania, cominciano a mescolarsi questione sociale e deomanda di una nuova configurazione urbana. La richiesta di Camillo Sitte per una città progettata dall'artista prende dunque un indirizzo nuovo e un contenuto diverso.” (Frank 1992, 213) – 45 – G. Verheij The challenges of urban design Spokesmen of the North-American municipal improvement movement (see p. 55 below) were less hesitant to formulate the link between utility and beauty, urban good and aesthetic pleasure. Civic or municipal art – which, said Charles Mulford Robinson (1869–1917), had always to start with a general plan of urban development and improvement – was “the making of artistic – which is to say, of aesthetically pleasant – provision for the circulation, for hygiene, and for city beauty.” (Robinson 1903, 54, 30). Spatial design tools had to be used with social responsibility; correspondences between visual, functional and social “order” were eagerly made (Albers 1980). Among the boom of planning literature during the first decades of the 20th century the composite nature of the discipline, both art and technique or science, was persistently empathised.44 Raymond Unwin wanted his 1909 textbook to contribute with “the vivifying touch of art” and a transforming “imaginative treatment” of cities to the existing “provisions for man's material needs and sanitary existence” (Unwin 1909, 4). One of the first French planning textbooks defined urbanisme as simultaneously science and art, demanding of its practitioners precise knowledge and competences but also talent and intuition (Agache, Auburtin, and Redont 1916, 5). To define the field of planning through the trinity of circulation, hygiene and aesthetics became a bit of a platitude. And even the unclassifiable Patrick Geddes (1854–1932) found in the “spontaneity and originality, invention and freedom, of the artist proper” the necessary condition for the development of the “higher” art of City Design (Geddes 1915, 200).45 For many, art was ascribed a decisive role to “elevate the city.” (Sonne 2003a, 45) The perceived need of this continuous insistence signals as much the central place the subjective, aesthetic experience of urban space came to occupy, as the suspicion that, in reality, this reconciliation between art and technique was far from settled. From the 1920s on modernist critique would not cease to point out the inconsistencies and ambiguities of this 44 Goecke and Sitte included the provision of housing, the expression of civic pride and the reconciliation of social inequalities among the aims of Städtebau in their presentation of the first number of Der Städtebau. It was the union of all the applied and visual arts (technischen und bildenden Künste) into a great, comprehensive whole, both science and art with a general social and political interest. (Goecke and Sitte 1904) But a contemporary comment by the planner Theodor Fischer tempers this declaration of disciplinary self-confidence. Fischer confessed his audience at Stuttgart's Bürgermuseum that the art of city-building (Kunst des Städtebaues) for the moment had to rely on experience and creativity rather than still shaky scientific elaborations. “So ist (…) meine Meinung von der Städtebaukunst, eben weil sie eine Kunst ist, die, dass ihre Quellen und Mittel, ihre Richtigkeiten und Irrtümer nicht mit dem Verstande erschöpft werden können.” (Fischer 1903, 4) 45 Patrick Geddes linked the need of artistic inventiveness to the social survey, within the framework of a regionalist method capable of responding to place: “(...) the lesson town planners everywhere most need [is] that town planning is not something which can be done from above, on general principles easily laid down, which can be learned in one place and imitated in another – that way Haussmannism lies. It is the development of a local life, a regional character, a civic spirit, a unique individuality, capable of course of growth and expansion, of improvement and development in many ways, of profiting too by the example and criticism of others, yet always in its own way and upon its own foundations. Thus the renewed art of Town Planning has to develop into an art yet higher, that of City Design – a veritable orchestration of all the arts, and correspondingly needing, even for its preliminary surveys, all of the social sciences.” (Geddes 1915, 205; see also Meller 1990; Chabard 2005; Canizaro 2007) – 46 – G. Verheij The challenges of urban design position, though in a sense it continued too under its surreptitious influence (Plattus 2009). But in the early heyday of planning – and Sitte helped to make this point explicit and provided some key vocabulary and methods (Zucconi 1992) – the discipline was to be formulated as an art, capable of reorganizing the fragmented city and reforming society. Roughly speaking, between Sitte and Le Corbusier's provoking “Contemporary city for three million” (see p. 96 below) few denied that the designing of cities not only could but certainly should be an artistically-informed endeavour. – 47 – G. Verheij Institutions of planning Institutions of planning From Städtebau to Town and City Planning As mentioned previously, planning as a discipline is essentially a phenomenon of the 20th century. The first recognizable disciplinary figures – institutions, professional status, specialized training programs, national legislation – can be traced to the late 19th century and are generalized throughout the main Western economies during the first decades of the 20th century. Key publications and institutions came into existence roughly between the publication of Sitte's Der Städtebau (1889) and the World War I. (Sutcliffe 1980, 3) The initial centre of this disciplinary edifice was in those areas in which the urban consequences of industrialization were most felt: Great Britain, Germany, the United States and to a lesser degree France. For a variety of reasons beyond the scope of this study, other countries with strong, pre-existing traditions of public planning – the statutory schemes of the ensanche (urban expansion, legislated in 1864, 1876 and 1892) in Spain, or the Italian piano regolatore (regulatory plan), legislated in 1865 (see Mendes 1990) – failed to take the international lead, and ended up by importing foreign experiences and expertise to modernize their planning procedures. The normativity of the countries mentioned above (rather than any perceived superiority of their practices) warrants a closer look. They set the tone; it was through the disciplinary lens developed in these countries that other experiences – such as affordable housing in Holland or Italy – were perceived, inventoried, classified and transmitted. Seen from this angle a considerable part of the roots of the modern planning discipline were German, and it was there that much of the initial groundwork for the institution and internationalization of planning was done. The impact of the “German example” provided decisive impulses in Great Britain and the United States,46 and had considerable influence across Northern Europe and Italy. Important publications such as Charles Buls' L'Esthètique des villes (1893), Raymond Unwin's Town Planning in Practice (1909) or Patrick Geddes' Cities in evolution (1915) all relied heavily on German sources. Indeed knowledge of German language was a common trait among early campaigners for comprehensive planning, from the 46 Generally speaking, in its first years the professionalizing planning network turned essentially around a German-British-American axis. This is a basic thesis of G. Piccinato (1993) and A. Sutcliffe (1981b), previously intuited by J. Mullin (1976) and confirmed by posterior research (Ladd 1990; Phillips 1996; Rodgers 1998). “By 1914 city planning was becoming recognized as a discipline and a profession (...) and Germany had emerged as its international center. (...) Various German laws provided the principal models for the 1909 Town Planning Act in Great Britain as well as the introduction of zoning laws in the United States, beginning with New York's zoning ordinance of 1916.” (Ladd 1990, 9–10) – 48 – G. Verheij From Städtebau to Town and City Planning British promoter of the “German example” Thomas Coglan Horsfall (1841-1932) and Boston's champion of a metropolitan park system Sylvester Baxter (1850-1927) to the French politician and founder of the Musée Sociale Jules Siegfried (1837-1922), the mayor – and employer of Tony Garnier – Édouard Herriot (1872-1957) from Lyon, or the Catalan Cebrià de Montoliu (1873-1923), driving force behind the Barcelona-based planning magazine Civitas.47 (Baxter 1909; Sutcliffe 1981b, 69–71, 155–56, 190; Calabi 1988; Porfyriou 1990; Harrison 1991; C. C. Collins 1992; 2005, 2009; Roca 1993; Smets 1995, 127–30; Guerrand 1998; Chabard 2005; Ellefsen 2010; Wagenaar 2011) There were good reasons to look to Germany in search for support for public planning policies. There foreign observers encountered a solidly installed discipline with visible results in municipal management. Several reasons explain this early institution of German Städtebau. First of all, there was the impact of industrialization, which after 1870 came relatively late but compensated by its brutal celerity, generating massive urban growth. It combined with a strong legacy of pre-industrial intervention by urban administrations and a lively panorama of institutions where problems of urban planning were discussed. Due to the distinctive nature of German urban government, these institutions exerted a notable influence over policy making.48 As a result, between 1868 (first planning legislation in Baden) and 1890 most of the States of Prussia approved legislation which assured public control over urban expansion, while since 1875 the German building regulations (the Baupolizei) strictly regulated urban architecture. This created the conditions and the need for an urban bureaucracy and planning institution. The early integration of planning in the education system and the existence of a growing specialized bibliography, much concerned with the scientific and historical underpinnings of the discipline, added to the German appeal.49 (Piccinato 1993; Sutcliffe 1981b, 9–46; Matzerath 1985; Ladd 1990; Ellefsen 2010) Though the cosmopolitan Josef Stübben untiringly toured the world to present the discipline,50 initially the international reputation of Städtebau was made by non-German visitors. And the early word about German municipal government was spread by social 47 T. C. Horsfall, J. Siegfried and the Musée Sociale are discussed later. C. Montoliu was the secretary of the Museo Social in Barcelona and the Catalan Sociedad Cívica la Ciudad-Jardín (Civic Society the Garden-City). Between 1914 and 1920 he edited the latter's organ, Civitas, an informed magazine on city-building (construcción cívica), in which he campaigned for comprehensive urban planning (f. ex. “Documentos Notables” 1914). In 1913 Montoliu had published an exhaustive review of the 1910 Berlin exhibition. 48 After the unification of Germany in 1871 a number of professional, public health and social reform associations were founded to coordinate or supersede bodies which had previously operated within individual states. Oddly, only in 1922 (much later than other large countries) a professional association was created, perhaps due to this dense network of existing institutions or the absence of a private market for planners (planning was largely an administrative affair). The Freie Akademie des Städtebaues (Free Academy of City-Building, today's Deutsche Akademie für Städtebau und Landesplanung) was promoted by Cornelius Gurlitt and Bruno Möhring, editors of the magazine Stadbaukunst alter und neuer Zeit (1920-1931), which initially doubled as the Akademie's unofficial organ. 49 During the 19th century planning topics were discussed in various specialist journals of architecture, building and engineering, such as the Deutsche Bauzeitung (1867-present), the Berliner Architekturwelt (1899-1919), the Zentralblatt der Bauverwaltung (1881-1931) or the Austrian Zeitschrift des österreichischen Ingenieur- und Architekten-Vereins (1849-present). (Brix 1911, 37) The first specialized magazine, Der Städtebau (1904-1942), has already been mentioned. – 49 – G. Verheij From Städtebau to Town and City Planning reformers rather than other potentially interested professionals such as architects or engineers. One of the early British calls for comprehensive planning was written by a Mancunian philanthropist who, disillusioned with the supposed capacity of art to provide social uplifting, expanded his interest to education, welfare, housing and environmental improvement. T. C. Horsfall's The improvement of the dwellings and surroundings of the people (1904) called explicitly on the “example of Germany,” and basically provided an overview of German planning, much of it based on translations from German reports and studies. In the United States one of the biggest champions of the “German example” was Frederic C. Howe (1867- 1940). Howe's “civic vision,” nourished by memories of Albert Shaw's idealized images of “municipal collectivism” and citizen welfare in European cities and a study year in Berlin, slowly took over a lawyer career. In 1905 Howe obtained support from the US Bureau of Labor for a study of municipal ownership in Europe, and during the next ten years he penned down five books and innumerable articles championing progressive urban Europe, with the “organic” and “communal” cities of Germany increasingly commended. (Sutcliffe 1981b, 69– 71; Rodgers 1998, 132–42; Shaw 1895; 1897; Howe 1905; 1907; 1913; 1915a; 1915b) Impressed with the apparently well-organized, efficient German cities, observers as Horsfall and Howe brought home the bigger, slightly idealized picture of planning and municipal initiative rather than the technical, disciplinary and bureaucratic nuances. Reports focused on the appearance of the city, the efficiency of the municipal machinery and the promotion of civic pride and community leadership. Prime examples were the capitals of the diffuse movement of social reform – Frankfurt am Main, Cologne, Dusseldorf – rather than the specialist circles of planning.51 (Ladd 1990, 7–35) With few exceptions only later, after about 1909, the technical underpinnings of German planning started to be studied with more detail in Great Britain and the United States. 50 At the 1893 International Engineering Congress of the Columbian Exposition (Stübben 1893; translated to French by C. Buls, 1895), the 1898 and 1910 Art Public congresses, the 1910 Town Planning Conference, the 1913 International Congress of Cities, in lectures in Barcelona (“Crónica” 1914, 63) or Rome (Piccinelli 1992, 32) … 51 As noted before, by the turn of the century the discipline was starting to enlarge its horizon to include social concerns. In the riveting atmosphere of social reform a number of more or less progressive organizations were intruding upon the disciplinary limits of Städtebau and successively enlarged its scope. The quest for a new culture of Volk and Heimat (people and home) for an industrialized mass society by organizations such as the Deutscher Bund Heimatschutz, the Dürerbund, the Deutscher Werkbund or the Deutsche Gartenstadt-Gesellschaft popularized the idea that art could be a means of cultural renewal (Bollerey and Hartmann 1980). Another set of organizations, loosely situated around the “social question,” promoted the reform of housing and land, issues which touched directly on central themes in urban development, such as property and land speculation. A. Sutcliffe (1981b, 35–40) singles out the Verein Reichswohnungsgesetz (Association for an Imperial Housing Law, founded 1898) led by Karl von Mangoldt and the Bund deutscher Bodenreformer (Union of German Land Reformers, founded 1898), led by Adolf Damaschke. The first association incorporated several housing, public health and land reform movements. In 1904 it became the Deutsche Verein für Wohnungsreform (German Association for Housing Reform) and organized the first housing congress in Frankfurt. The second was central to the intense debates over land reform and the relation between urban development and the inflation of land values, directly and polemically touching on planning issues (Mangoldt 1907; Eberstadt 1907). – 50 – G. Verheij From Städtebau to Town and City Planning In Great Britain awareness that various existing modes of public intervention – such as the strong slum clearance powers and solid housing reform tradition (Thompson 1899; 1903; 1907; Nettlefold 1905; 1908) – could be combined in a single strategy of urban development came around the turn of the century.52 (Sutcliffe 1981b, 47–62; Cherry 1972; 1974; 1981; Hardy 1991) German-style extension planning seemed to many a suitable response to the particular British combination of low-density urban sprawl and appalling living conditions of the working class, for which solutions of new, “organic” communities or some kind of suburban planning had already been proposed. (Howard 1898; 1902; Lawrence 1901) Within a decade the brand-new notion of “Town Planning,” developed within a lively associational culture, had not only entered the public mind, but also gave rise to institutions, publications and the 1909 Town Planning Act.53 A number of overlapping institutions, representing different interests, played a role in this rapid evolution, each trying to give its own twist to the emerging field. The National Housing Reform Council and the Garden-City Association, both opportunely re-branded in 1909 as the National Housing and Town Planning Council and the Garden Cities and Town Planning Association; the Sociological Society, where Patrick Geddes created in 1903 a Civics Committee to promote his idea of the civic survey applied to “city development” (Geddes 1904a; 1904b); the London Survey Committee; and the Royal Institute of British Architecture (RIBA) were the most relevant nodes in this web.54 (Hewitt 2011; Sutcliffe 1990) General 52 A. Sutcliffe notes the importance for this awareness of the idea, which owed much to the impact of Darwin's theories of evolution, that social well-being was largely determined by environment (f. ex. Geddes 1898). Hence the city came to be seen as a threat, as in the poverty research of Charles Booth and others (Topalov 1993). 53 In 1910 Charles Reilly characterized the situation in the recently-founded Town Planning Review: “In Germany, apart altogether from any questions of art, the value of organisaton in building development, has been understood and practised for several decades. We are ourselves only just beginning to see that for the benevolent despotism of the great landlords (…) we must substitute an organised democracy if we are to have anything but chaos. The laissez faire period of town growth corresponding to the last half of the last century has proved its wastefulness as well as its hideousness; hence our Town Planning Bills and our co-operative suburbs.” (Reilly 1910, 193) In 1904 the president of the RIBA, John Belcher, had first hinted at some kind of public planning in his annual address, possibly after reading Horsfall's work of the same year. The next year the Association acquired the French translation of Sitte's work and discussed German civic design and “city-planning.” The “planning and laying-out of streets and open spaces” was a subject of discussion at the 7th International Congress of Architects in London, with C. Buls, E. Hénard, J. Stübben, R. Unwin and Augustin Rey (1864-1934) among speakers (RIBA 1908, sec. VII). By then the term “town planning” was on the lips of most British urban reformers, while “town planner” appears to be introduced by P. Geddes in 1908. (Hawtree 1981, 65, 72–73; Jackson 1985, 101) These debates were also sustained by architectural magazines, such as The Builder (1843-1966) or the Architectural Review (1896-present). 54 The National Housing Reform Council was founded in 1900 by a group of housing reformers led by William Thompson and Henry Aldridge. Among its members were T. C. Horsfall and J. G. Nettlefold. The Garden-City Association (1899-present, now the Town & Country Planning Association) was created by Ebenezer Howard (1850-1920) after the success of his proposal of a “peaceful path to real reform” (Howard 1898). It grew rapidly into a mixture of philanthropic institution, urban development society and public pressure group. The Sociological Society was initially promoted by Geddes and his supporters. In 1930 it merged with another Gedessian creation, the Le Play House, to form the Sociological Institute, which existed until the early 1950s. – 51 – G. Verheij From Städtebau to Town and City Planning agreement over the form and appearance of the local residential area – “a habitat of cottages or small villas, set in generous gardens with additional public open space, all to be linked by modest, winding streets” (Sutcliffe 1988, 290) – gave a measure of coherence.55 In 1909 the Housing and Town Planning Act established the power of local authorities to prepare town planning schemes and compulsorily purchase land for working-class housing. Notwithstanding the modest ambitions and practical shortcomings of the Act, owing to the need to secure the support of landowners and local authorities, it signalled the beginning of a rapid phase of professionalization. (Thompson 1910; Willis 1910; Bentley and Taylor 1911; Sutcliffe 1988) Until there, the main focus of debate had been on the question of extension planning and civic design. The RIBA really got involved into lobbying for town planning after 1907, insisting on the “intimate relations” between the “artistic aspect” of planning and the “dignity of civic and national life.” (Hewitt 2011, 556) Initially architects fared best among interested professions in claiming this new field of activity. By 1909 the dominant vision of Town Planning converged on the architectural equation with civic design, with its insistence on the spatial and aesthetic dimensions of city-building. According to this “architectural ideology,” the “plain field of town planning was to be charged with the devices of civic design.” (Hawtree 1981, 73) The first steps towards professionalization and disciplinary autonomy followed this direction. The Department of Civic Design at Liverpool's School of Architecture, strongly influenced by American-style Beaux-Arts, offered the first academic program devoted to the new field. The architects involved – Charles Reilly, Stanley D. Adshead, who occupied the new chair of Civic Design, Thomas H. Mawson, professor of Landscape Architecture – made a point of insisting on the aesthetic quality of urban arrangements.56 The topic dominated, The London Survey Committee was founded in 1894 to register significant buildings and protect urban heritage. Its driving force was the Arts and Crafts architect C. R. Ashbee. The Committee also published a number of relevant studies on the historical development of London. 55 “This bucolic image was Britain’s main contribution at this time to the world planning movement and in Britain it was a persuasive symbol of the new urban order which town planning could bring about.” (Sutcliffe 1988, 290) E. Howard's original garden-city idea had by then been stretched to accommodate the garden suburb. (Sutcliffe 1981b, 76–81; Hall 1992, 39–42) 56 See Adshead's introduction to the discipline and his 16-part discussion of the “decoration and furnishing of the city,” covering everything from street lights and shelters to equestrian statues and obelisks (Adshead 1910; 1911–1914; see also Mawson 1911). The University-funded School of Architecture – the first institution in Great Britain to offer a degree in Architecture – was the result of a split in 1904 of the City of Liverpool School of Architecture and Applied Arts, founded in 1894. Under the direction of Charles Reilly (1874-1948) the School rapidly gained a national reputation, promoting what became known as the “Liverpool manner,” an architectural style consciously derived from the French Beaux-Arts tradition as seen through American eyes. The port city Liverpool traditionally had strong commercial and cultural links with the United States, and Reilly made extensive study tours through the United States, financed by Liverpool's soap magnate William H. Lever (1851-1925). The 1893 Chicago World Fair raised much interest in Liverpool's architectural circles, who recognized the cosmopolitan potential of Beaux-Arts styling to give formal unity and dignity to the urban scene. In 1907 a City Beautiful Conference was held in Liverpool, resulting in discussions on the planing and beautifying of cities and the creation of City Beautiful Society. Liverpudlian debates about planning were largely about “the appearance of architecture, and the way that it affected the appearance of the city as a whole.” (Crouch 2002, – 52 – G. Verheij From Städtebau to Town and City Planning though by no means exclusively, the 1910 Town Planning Conference, organized by the RIBA, and the Town-Planning and Housing Supplement of the Architectural Review. But more comprehensive views of town-planning were being developed and promoted within these very strong-holds of the architectural view. The Department of Civic Design published the Town Planning Review (1910-present), a quarterly edited by Patrick Abercrombie (1879- 1957). Covering a wide range of topics, in no way restricted to civic design, it rapidly became one of the foremost publications on planning and was instrumental in the discipline's internationalization. At the 1910 Town Planning Conference Geddes presented an exhibition on international planning which focused particularly on social conditions and urban development, deeply shaking common-places about the aims and possibilities of the discipline.57 Even S. D. Adshead, called to London University to direct a Department of Civic Design there, admitted in 1914 that Town Planning was “something more than a superficial garnishing of façades, a trimming of projecting corners and a straightening of tortuous ways,” and required the study of “the movements and habits of modern urban populations and endeavour” – though he couldn't avoid defining “the question as to whether a town should be planned on formal or picturesque lines” as “the most debatable and difficult problems that beset the serious Town Planner.” Town Planning, the “scope and possibilities” of which were “as yet unrealised,” was both an applied art and an applied science. (Adshead 1914, 183, 188; Sutcliffe 1981b, 171–75; Crouch 2002, 164–86) The creation of the Town Planning Institute that same year signals the growing recognition that the field was not simply part of an existing profession but something on its own – an understanding promoted by those few (Thomas Adams, R. Unwin, P. Geddes, T. H. Mawson) who had actually practised it before 1910. The Institute, advocated from the pages of the Town Planning Review, promoted Town Planning in its widest sense, beyond professional boundaries. As John Burns put it in his inaugural address, it was open to architects, surveyors, engineers, town planners, artists and idealists interested in “mutual work and joint action (…) with a common end, by the adoption of common means, and to promote thereby the artistic as well as the scientific and the engineering development of towns.” (Burns 1914, 3–4) Since 1912 the meticulous work of the London Society on a Development Plan for Greater London, 154) It was Lever, who had a personal interest in the matter due to the construction of his model village Port Sunlight (1899-1914), who funded the Department of Civic Design and the Town Planning Review, following a suggestion by Reilly. Civic design was, in Reilly's understanding, the design and development of towns as an expression of a collective civic culture. (Crouch 2002, 136, 154–58, 166–69; Sutcliffe 1981b, 171–82) 57 “It is safe to say that the modern practice of planning in this country [Great Britain] would have been a more lamentary thing if it had not been for the Edinburgh room [of the 1910 Town Planning Exhibition] and all that this implied. It was a torture chamber to those simple souls that had been ravished by the glorious perspectives or heartened by the healthy villages shown in the other and ampler galleries. Within this den sat Geddes, a most unsettling person, talking, talking, talking... about anything and everything. The visitors could criticise his show – the merest hodgepodge – picture postcards – newspaper cuttings – crude old woodcuts – strange diagrams – archaeological reconstructions; these things, they said, were unworthy of the Royal Academy – many of them not even framed – chocking want of respect; but if they chanced within the range of Geddes' talk, henceforth nothing could medicine them to that sweet sleep which yesterday they owned. There was something more in town planning than met the eye.” (Abercrombie 1933, 128–29; on Geddes, see Meller 1980) – 53 – G. Verheij From Städtebau to Town and City Planning directed by Aston Webb and Raymond Unwin, added credibility to such a comprehensive understanding (their work would be an important reference for Abercrombie's Greater London Plan from 1944). (Hawtree 1981; Cherry 1974, 56–61; Hewitt 2011, 559–62) In the process of disciplinary institution discourse on planning lost much of its pre-1909 voluntarist tones.58 In the wake of the 1909 Act specialized bibliography appeared (see Appendix 2). But the fresh notion of Town Planning remained essentially ambiguous, even more when competing definitions are contrasted with actual practise (Verenini and Oliveira 2012). By 1914 Town Planning still appeared as much a conviction – “Town Planning, we trust, will give to us what Aristotle had in his mind when he defined a city as a place where men lived a common life for a noble end” (Burns 1914, 4) – as an art or science. The general pattern of the evolution of the idea of city-planning in the United States is similar to Britain: “A number of developments in the 1890s and early 1900s converged to produce the idea of 'city planning' and a combination of events in 1909 suggested that it had come to stay.” (Sutcliffe 1981b, 88) 59 There are however a number of specificities to American City- planning. In the United States, no general legal framework existed for urban management, and the public shaping of the urban environment was essentially a local affair. This complicated the institution of urban planning and the creation of a national planning culture. There was however a native tradition of city planning which by the end of the 19th century had evolved from the strong school of landscape design led by F. L. Olmsted. In the mid-century the idea of the public park had been enthusiastically imported from Great Britain and in the process drastically transformed. From its inception, the American public park – Olmsted's Central Park provided the prototype – was imagined as a natural enclave within a hostile urban environment, a refuge of city life, but also as an instrument of practical democracy and moral improvement.60 Rapidly the public park became a standard element in urban development policies, and in the process raised issues such as land prices and the possibility of directing urban growth. The practice adopted by some cities of purchasing land in advance of suburban building outside city boundaries, or the consideration of park-systems, 58 Thus, while at first the Garden Cities and Town Planning Association promoted itself as a town planning association, during the war it pretty much returned to the topic of garden-cities. (Culpin 1913; Purdom 1913; Sutcliffe 1990) 59 The following summary relies on A. Sutcliffe (1981b), as well as the studies by J. W. Reps (1965), M. C. Boyer (1983), M. Scott (1995) and J. A. Peterson (2003). 60 Frederick Law Olmsted (1822-1903) was undoubtedly the protagonist of the formulation of the American public park. He was one of those travellers deeply impressed with European parks (Olmsted 1859; Ponte 1991, 383–84). In 1858 he and the architect Calvert Vaux (1824-1895) won the commission for New York's Central Park. Their project's innovative design included a multilevelled road system separating circulation and landscape composition and pragmatically appropriated picturesque design principles to create a clear separation between park and city. Olmsted and Vaux' art was essentially one of concealment: the idealized reconstruction of pastoral landscape was to contrast with and compensate for New York's linear geometry. But this explicit quest for physical contrast implicitly framed the park in an urban context. As R. Smithson noted, Central Park brought the literary contrast between “city” and “countryside” into the very city itself; it is simultaneously refuge and constituent part of the city, not a refusal but necessary complement. (Smithson 1996; see also Sica 1981, 2:657–69; Ábalos 2005; Fein 1968; 1972; Zaitzevsky 1982; Beveridge and Schuyler 1983; Fisher 1986; Beveridge 1995; Pettena 1996; Twombly 2010) – 54 – G. Verheij From Städtebau to Town and City Planning increasingly extended the interests of landscape design. Olmsted himself actively promoted this disciplinary inflation. He first proposed the idea of a system of parkways linking different parks in studies for Prospect Park in Brooklyn, in 1866-1868, and then implemented it in a park-system in Buffalo which articulated three parks, several parkways and a residential suburb.61 (Schuyler 1986, 77–100, 126; Dal Co 1975; Sutcliffe 1981b, 93–94; Sevilla- Buitrago 2014) Urban parks, either standalone or as system, multiplied in the 1890s and 1900s, and in the process lost some of the pastoral connotations promoted by Olmsted. By 1902 the ambitious park-system of Boston, managed by a Metropolitan Parks Commission created in 1893, comprehended some 60 km2 of land including four major parks. This extension forced landscape designers to increasingly delve into larger problems of urban planning: the articulation of metropolitan programs of land purchase, prevision of the evolution of built up areas, street and residential planning, public transportation... When landscape designers started to work on their own professional apparatus – with the creation of the American Park and Outdoor Art Association in 1897, the American Society of Landscape Architects in 1899 and a first academic training program in Harvard in 1900 – the spread of the park-system had converted the profession into potential or effective city planners. (Cranz 1982; 1991; Schuyler 1986, 138–44; Howell 2008) This tradition was joined by the civic design tenets made popular by Chicago’s World Fair of 1893 and the strong movement of “civic improvement,” in which the practical “beautification” of cities was central. Improvement societies formed of leading citizens, local architects and designers and business representatives had appeared since the mid-century, growing in number during the 1870s and 1880s to span the continent in the 1890s. After 1893 they started to federate.62 The “civic improvements” promoted in this context covered a wide range of topics, from the promotion of home flower gardening and street cleaning to the placement and design of urban furniture and the layout of parks and cultural buildings. (Manieri-Elia 1975; Sica 1981, 2:711–30; Wilson 1980; 1989; Scott 1995, 43–69) In its essence, the idea of municipal, civic or public art, as it was alternately called, was that of turning the utilitarian American city, with all its visual squalor and capital disinvestment, haphazard growth and industrial detritus, into a place of “beauty,” initially envisioned through highly idealized perceptions of “organic” and “municipalized” cities in Europe. Usually it focused on pragmatic issues, fusing the functional and the aesthetic with the markedly moralist overtones of a self-defined “crusade against ugliness.” But it also resulted in a large outpouring of city plans. Most of the local planning commissions , which by 1915 neared the hundred, came out of this atmosphere of civic initiative and local business rather than public 61 In 1870 Olmsted elucidated the idea of a park-system in a lecture on “Public parks and the enlargement of towns,” read before the American Social Science Association in Boston and published the following year. (Twombly 2010, 201–52). 62 In 1894 a number of municipal improvement societies formed the National Municipal League, which organized a yearly Conference for Good City Government and by 1895 counted some 180 branches (Sutcliffe 1981b, 102–3). In the same period a number of Municipal Art Societies were created, with memberships mainly drawn from art circles; by 1899 the movement was large enough to put up a national conference, organized by the Baltimore Municipal Art Society (Foglesong 1986, 137–38). In 1900 a National League of Improvement Associations was created, rapidly renamed as the American League for Civic Improvement (1902). – 55 – G. Verheij From Städtebau to Town and City Planning administrations. The resulting plans were consequently unofficial: propaganda exercise rather than urban blueprints.63 (Sutcliffe 1981b, 96–114; Wilson 1980, 168–76; Freestone 2011) While this entire movement and its products are easy targets for their “cosmetic” approach to urban problems,64 it was in this atmosphere that the roots of specialists institutions and publications are to be found. From the late 1890s on a growing number of cities created Municipal or Public Art Commissions, which gave local improvement societies advisory powers over the design of public structures. Another civic initiative, New York's Reform Club, chronicled the results of citizen concern in an early magazine on the subject, Municipal Afffairs (1897-1903). During the first decade of the 20th century these and other related movements started to converge, composing the setting for professional institution. In 1904 the American League for Civic Improvement fused with the American Park and Outdoor Art Association to form the American Civic Association, for which C. M. Robinson provided the gospel.65 The first National Conference on City Planning, held in Washington in 1909, created a formal meeting place for interested sectors. Though initially conceived as a follow-up to the 63 For upper-class reformers the democratization of beauty, culture and nature under their enlightened leadership was to redress the supposed demoralisation of the urban “lower classes.” A “debased Ruskinism,” A. Sutcliffe (1981b, 96–99) aptly called it, but it coupled nicely with the environmental idealism of landscape designers such as F. L. Olmsted, for whom beauty was credited with meliorative powers. And economic motives played as important a role as upper class politics and ideologies. “Beauty” and “culture” were promoted as keys to prosperity. “Beauty has always paid better than any other commodity and always will,” Chicago's Daniel H. Burnham (1846-1912) famously stated (Hines 1979, 316). In practice, local movements were mostly directed and financed by local chambers of commerce and businessmen's clubs, more interested in influencing municipal policies and promoting their cities than social reform. It is on their initiative that most of the city plans were commissioned, often to external consultants. While some of them are rightly celebrated, such as those by D. H. Burnham and associates (Washington, 1902; Cleveland, 1903; San Francisco, 1905; Chicago, 1909), many others were glossy but superficial presentations of improvement schemes, meant for political lobbying rather than municipal policies. (Sutcliffe 1981b, 114; on Burnham’s plans, Moore 1968; Hines 1979; Schaffer, Tilden, and Rocheleau 2003) 64 The term “City Beautiful” is traditionally disparaged in critical scholarship (f. ex. Mumford 1955; Jacobs 1962) because of the trend of post-1893 empty neoclassic grandeur and atavistic axiality it is held to represent. However, the term itself only appeared around 1899 (Foglesong 1986, 138) and originally did not specifically denote the monumental staging of Chicago's White City. “By 1900 the phrase 'City Beautiful' was in widespread use to describe the congeries of reforms subsumed under landscape design, municipal improvement, and civic design. Then and later its advocates used the phrase retrospectively, to include past as well as future planning schemes.” (Wilson 1980, 170–71) It was a slogan rather than a concept, practically equivalent to the idea of civic art, as in the title of C. M. Robinson's influential book (see note 65). Important lines of continuity link both terms, which rather denoted different scales: from the “dazzling vision of freshness and unity” (Wilson 1980, 170) of the City Beautiful to the placement of a fountain or some benches, of cleaning up a street and fighting advertisement. of Municipal Art. 65 C. M. Robinson, a journalist based in New York, started to study the subject of “civic art” after a commission of Harper's Magazine to write on civic improvement abroad (Sutcliffe 1981b, 103). This became a book, The improvement of towns and cities (1901), which launched him to the head of the civic reform movement. His Modern civic art, or, The city made beautiful (1903) is a standard reference. – 56 – G. Verheij From Städtebau to Town and City Planning polemical Congestion Show in New York, it rapidly became a hothouse for the discipline's professionalization (Peterson 2009). A new magazine, American City, also endeavoured to bring the subject to public attention.66 The 1909 conference exemplary shows the different ingredients which went into American City-Planning – from landscape design to Beaux-Arts academism and European examples, from civic art and its variations to social reform.67 During the following years further meetings and publications and continuous transatlantic traffic contributed to the institutional framework around city-planning.68 (Saunier 1998) By 1916 nine universities and colleges were offering city planning courses, succoured by a growing offer of specialized publications (see Appendix 2). In 1917 the American City Planning Institute was created. In the process much of the aesthetic overtones were lost; the City Beautiful suffered from competing slogans such as the City Efficient or the City Practical. But even when planning increasingly became a field of experts there was a “continuing rationale for aesthetic content in city planning,” with an ever-stronger emphasis on the nexus between “beauty” and “utility.”69 (Freestone 2011, 257) Textbooks such as those by John Nolen (1919), Frederick Noble Evans (1919) or Charles 66 The famous Congestion Show was organized by Benjamin C. Marsh in New York, after the unavoidable European study tour. (Marsh 1909; Sutcliffe 1981b, 110–14; Topalov 1990) The National Conference on City Planning yearly published its proceedings until it fused in 1934 with the American Civic Association to form the American Planning and Civic Association (in 1971 subsumed in the National Urban Coalition). It also edited a short-lived journal, The City Plan (1915-1918). 67 Among speakers at the 1909 Conference were F. L. Olmsted Jr. (on European city-planning), Frederick L. Ford, John Nolen and George B. Ford (on American city-planning), B. C. Marsh (on the economic aspects of planning) and C. M. Robinson (on the accomplishments of planning in Los Angeles and Denver). (First National Conference on City Planning 1967) 68 A second National Conference on City Planning and Congestion of Population (the only one with this full title) was held in Rochester, New York, in 1910; possibly this is the congress O. Wagner (1912) mentioned as a first motivation for his 1911 book on the metropolis. In 1911 an International Municipal Congress and Exhibition was organized by the Chicago Association of Commerce; though essentially a local event, R. Unwin spoke on “The housing motive in British Town Planning” (Bureau for Research in Municipal Government 1911). In these years also appeared the Landscape Architecture Magazine (1910-present, published by the American Society of Landscape Architects) and the National Municipal Review (1912-present, by the National Municipal League, after 1959 National Civic Review). 69 The changing mood was well captured by the German planner Werner Hegemann (1881-1936) in a 1915 report for the municipalities of Oakland and Berkeley. “There are (...) more important and more fundamental objects than esthetics in city-planning, objects that are altogether within the reach of modern civic effort (...). If civic art is the sublime flower that finally can be hoped for, the necessary roots, stems, and leaves must be found in the economic, social, hygienic and recreational life of the communities. Industry and transportation; transit and rapid-transit connections between economically and hygienically developed factories, business districts and healthful enjoyable homes; plenty of playgrounds, open air and indoor schools, and public parks are the logical objects of modern city-planning – the necessary foundation on which civic life and civic beauty must rest before anything worthy to find expression in art, radiating towards a physical and beautiful civic center, can be developed. These somewhat utilitarian objects of the new civic art are susceptible of a high grade of development unheard of in the plans for the cities of former times. City-planning is the science of investigating and achieving these results.” (Hegemann 1915, 16) Hegemann had been touring the United States as lecturer and planning consultant since 1913, when he came to the country on invitation by the People's Institute of New York. (C. C. Collins 2005, 105–14) – 57 – G. Verheij From Städtebau to Town and City Planning Marvin Fassett (1922) continued to insist on the “civic” aspects of city development, though within a much more pragmatical discourse and a focus on a “functional aesthetics” to which W. Hegemann and Elbert Peets' American Vitruvius (1922) is a definitive monument. If the institution of the planning discipline in Great Britain and the United States owed much to the “German example,” traffic was always reciprocal. A German garden-city association was created as early as 1902, and a translation of Howard's work appeared in 1907. R. Unwin's Town planning in practice, published in 1909, was translated within a year, while at the same the term planning, originally proposed as an equivalent to the German Städtebau, was reimported as Planung. (Albers 1980) Around this period, the initial consensus over the leading position of Germany in matters of urban planning started to break up. National and linguistic frontiers rapidly thickened in the run-up to World War I. While the British and American institutions of planning took off to become the main forums of disciplinary debate during the 20th century, references to the “German example” tended to become more discreet or were dropped altogether, even as many of the more progressive German planners and architects came to the United States voluntarily or enforced by persecution in the 1920s and 1930s.70 The birth of French Urbanisme a) The roots of Urbanisme German Städtebau never had a similar impact in France, where the discipline of Urbanisme, as it became called, developed from largely local traditions and maintained strong particularities in relation to Town or City-Planning, even when in constant international dialogue.71 German specialist bibliography rarely arrived directly in France, and those ideas which did often came through a British detour.72 Chronologically, the institution of planning was later than in the countries discussed above. The term urbanisme didn't come into use before 1910, and while a professional society was created in 1913, it was World War I and its large-scale destruction which provided sufficient urgency to warrant the creation of teaching institutions, institutionalized discourse and specific legislation. That the discipline's protagonists – from Léon Jaussely (1875-1932) to J.-C. N. Forestier (1861-1930) and Donat- Alfred Agache (1875-1959) – had to make their reputation abroad indicates the initial disinterest of public authorities 70 Examples are Martin Wagner (1885-1957), Alfred Kastner (1901-1975), Erwin Anton Gutkind (1886-1968), Walter Gropius (1883-1969), Ludwig Hilberseimer (1885-1967) or Hans Blumenfeld (1892-1988). (Joch 2012; 2014) 71 The main references used in this section are the studies by A. Sutcliffe (1970; 1981b), F. Choay (1983), B. Marchand (1993, 226–45), P. Gaudin (1985; 1991) and V. Claude (2006). 72 A. Sutcliffe (1981b, 190) counts only a handful of translations from the German literature: the problematic translation of C. Sitte's Der Städtebau, C. Buls' translation of J. Stübben's lecture at the 1893 Chicago congress and two more articles by Stübben which appeared in L'Art Public. Still in 1915 Stübben is the only German reference given by Agache and collaborators (1916) in an otherwise completely French-language bibliographical list. – 58 – G. Verheij The birth of French Urbanisme The discipline itself was essentially a Parisian invention.73 Against the background of a certain stagnation in Parisian urban development after the innovations introduced by Haussmann, a socially-aware minority of educated and informed intellectuals “gradually distilled the idea of planning out of various disparate and even selfish preoccupations.” (Sutcliffe 1981b, 139) Three factors can be singled out in this makeshift disciplinary genealogy: architectural practice, public debate on the “urban aesthetic” and social reform institutions. Regarding the first, debates about Haussmannian building regulations provide an obligatory starting point. The Règlements de voirie have a long history in Parisian control of public space. Haussmann reinforced and systematized building restrictions in 1859; these building by-laws and place- specific architectural prescriptions where in large part what gave the capital of the Second Empire its particular image. (Bonnier 1911; Lortsch 1913; Sabaté 1999; Figure 15) In 1905 the German planner Josef Stübben still counted at least 31 Parisian squares and streets with “architectural servitudes.”74 After early success, towards the end of the century architects had come to criticize the many restrictions they had to work with, while intellectuals deplored the infinite, “monotonous” perspectives of modern Paris. Building by-laws were alleviated in 1882 and again in 1884, authorizing advances of building façades such as oriels and the popular bow-windows, and giving more freedom in the treatment of attics and top façade windows. A new revision of building by-laws in 1902, based on a 1897 report by the municipal architect Louis Bonnier, further deconstructed Haussmannian architectural order.75 Basing its system of figurative and spatial control on proportions rather than fixed measures, the by-laws presented architects with much larger structural and decorative freedom, notably in the design of façades and departure from 73 This is not to deny the importance of municipal enterprise in cities such as Lyon or Nancy or the visionary work of, for example, a Tony Garnier (1869-1948, Prix de Rome in 1899). (See Garnier 1918; Pawlowski 1993; Dufieux 2009; Delorme 1981; Sutcliffe 1981b, 155–57.) This can be related to what F. Choay (1983) calls “urbanisme de régularisation.” the expertise developed by surveyors (géomètres) and municipal engineers, which in 1905 created the Association Générale des Ingenieurs, Architects et Hygienists Municipaux. This expertise relied on celebrated educative institutions such as the École Nationale des Ponts et Chaussées or the École Spéciale des Travaux Publics, the latter a private civil engineering school founded in 1898 by Léon Eyrolles (1861-1945) which pioneered technical instruction in planning. As will be argued along the following pages, disciplinary institution, dominated by architects, initially developed with few links to actual practice. Consequently, the influence of technical agents in the definition of Urbanisme isn't really felt until after the approval of a first general planning act in 1919. Significantly, the Association itself changed its name in 1911 to Association Générale des Hygiénistes et Techniciens Municipaux to contest the importance given to architects in urban development; its journal, La Technique Sanitaire (1906-1958), was subtitled “Revue de l'Art de l'Ingénieur et de l'Hygieniste Municipal.” (Claude 1989; 2006; Vacher 2000; 2002; Desportes and Picon 1997; Ribeill 1990; Frioux 2009; 2015) 74 Among them, the Rue de Rivoli, Place de l'Hotel de Ville, Rond Point Champs Elysées, Place d'Etoile, Avenue Bois de Boulogne, the square and streets around the Opera and the streets around Parc Monceaux. (Stübben 1915, 42) 75 A decade later, in 1909, the Under Secretary of the State Department of Fine-Arts, the painter Étienne Dujardin-Beaumetz (1852-1913), even felt the need to create a special commission to defend the maintenance of servitudes and mandatory architecture in order to protect Paris' “monumental perspectives.” The commission ultimately failed to secure control over private initiative. (Texier 2010, 28–29) – 59 – G. Verheij The birth of French Urbanisme building lines. In fact they secured the juridical conditions for the art nouveau buildings of these years, impossible under previous regulation. At the same time, by removing a fixed and easily reproducible set of buildings norms, they gave a much larger importance to the specialist – that is, the architect – capable of such a work. (Bonnier 1903; Marrey 1988, 58– 60; Sutcliffe 1970, 193–98; Figure 16) It is in dialogue with these debates that in 1903 the municipal architect Eugène Hénard (1849- 1923) started publishing his famous studies on the transformation of Paris. The first of these studies proposed discontinuous building lines (alignements brisés). It parts from a critique of Parisian public spaces (voies publiques) and their supposed monotony and tiresome repetitiveness. The relentless alignment of façades and trees, of “brick cubes” (cubes de maçonnerie) devoid of all decorative fantasy, had – wrote Hénard – disgraced the city's streets. In his arguments on the artificial, a-historical nature of straight building lines and the aesthetic superiority of the old, winding and irregular streets Hénard stroke a curious Sittean note.76 His solution, however, was not an impossible return to the past but a modern appropriation of the principle of irregularity, without sacrificing mobility and communication. (Hénard 1982, 25–28; Figure 17; for contrast, Auburtin 1923, 157–58. On Hénard, see Wolf 1968; Calabi 1972; Bruant 2010b) The objective of a suitably modernized ideal of beauty and art remained a constant in Hénard's later studies, dedicated to ever more futuristic solutions of traffic circulation. His “city of the future,” presented at the 1910 Town Planning Conference in London, is a seducing mixture of old forms and new uses (chief of which aviation), “The Cities of To- morrow will be more readily susceptible to transformation and adornment than the Cities of Yesterday: they will be built with superb towers which will attract these giant birds from every point of the horizon: and before long, perhaps, our great capital cities will raise their beacons to a higher and yet higher altitude, competing with the very clouds themselves.” (Hénard 1911, 367; Figure 18) In a lecture from 1910 on the “embellishment of cities” (l'embellissement des villes), a summary of which was published in L'Architecture, Hénard concluded that architects were the principal agents (facteurs principaux) of the “urban aesthetic” (esthétique urbaine). (Hénard 1982, 342–44) This comment was something more than professional self-promotion. By then a select group of French architects had build up an impressive international reputation as city- planners, notwithstanding the absence of opportunities and interest in France itself. French 76 Though Hénard admired Haussmann – especially his park politics (Hénard 1982, 80–82) – the critique of unchanging building prescriptions and the ligne droite is clearly directed at the street picture generalized by the Préfet and his collaborators (compare with Delfante 1997, chap. 8). Inversely, if the ghost of C. Sitte is easily detected in Hénard's initial writings, and later recognized by the architect himself as the first author to methodically study city-building and the principles of urban aesthetics, elsewhere he is dismissed for his archaeological aestheticism (Hénard 1982, 248, 342). The ambiguities perhaps had to do with Hénard's own indecision: “Le respect du passé rend très délicat, très difficile, le problème de la transformation des grandes capitales. Bon gré, mal gré, ces villes, sous peine de déchéance, doivent s'assimiler tous les progrès; elles doivent élargir et multiplier les grandes voies de communication, améliorer leurs moyens de transport, leur salubrité, leurs services généraux, etc., et, d'autre part, sous peine de perdre leur charme, leur caractère et leur beauté, elles sont tenues de ménager avec un soin jaloux les aspects consacrés, les formes acquises, les sites classés, les richesses d'art qui leur ont été léguées par les générations précédentes.” (Hénard 1982, 130) – 60 – G. Verheij The birth of French Urbanisme architects obtained a considerable slice of the international planning competitions of the 1900s and 1910s and were popular as planning consultants.77 (Figures 19–26) The international triumph can be credited to the solid training at the Parisian École des Beaux- Arts, which most of them had successfully concluded (quite a few were awarded the prestigious Prix de Rome). Architectural studies included urban composition, and to plan an entire town as a unified architectural creation was a challenge for the ambitious young architects.78 The Beaux-Arts architects were well equipped to master the compositional procedures and required scales and transform urban visions into breathtaking plans and perspectives. They appealed to bourgeois taste and promised visual control of chaotic urban growth, though implementation proved harder, and few of the schemes actually made it into urban fabric. But the subject of the “artistic” or “aesthetic” aspects of public space was by no means the exclusive domain of architects. Capitals are sites of display, and in Paris, still the undisputed capital of arts, this applied even more. The city's prestige depended on its aesthetic quality; it had the duty, one commentator argued, to distinguish itself by its superior taste of constructions, the picturesque of its districts, the perfection of its details. (“Programme” 1901; L. Vale 2006) A second lineage for French Urbanisme is the broader public discussion of the city's “aesthetic” and the social role of art in the rich milieu of Parisian architectural and art magazines. (Lemoine 1990; Julliard 1987; Frey and Fourcaut 2002) At the start of the century, writers, art historians and other interested amateurs produced an appreciable literature on the subject of the “aesthetic” of cities (l'esthétique des villes) – a term popularized by the homonymous book by C. Buls from 1893. These works – typical titles are L'Esthétique de la rue (Kahn 1901), Psychologie d'une ville (Fierens-Gevaert 1901), L'Esthétique des villes (Magne 1908) or La Voie publique et son décor (Bournon 1909), but the main writing was done in the periodical press – generally blended criticism, chronicle, “physiognomic” inventories and a measure of erudition and entertainment to approach everything from the need of urban planning to the intangible interplay of light, movement and urban life.79 Its perspective was not that of the designer or planner but of the spectator 77 L. Jaussely, Prix de Rome in 1903, winner of a 1903 competition for a plan linking Barcelona to its suburbs (see Capell 1992); André Bérard (1871-1948), first award at a 1906 competition for a city plan of Guayaquil (Equador) (Bérard 1907; Bock 1992); Henri Prost (1874-1959), Prix de Rome in 1902, first award at the 1910 Antwerp competition, afterwards active in the French Protectorate in Morocco (Frey 2010; on Prost’s colonial work B. Taylor 1982; Wright 1991; Chorfi 2003); D.-A. Agache, author of a renowned development plan for Dunkerque in 1911, obtained third place in the 1912 competition for the federal capital of Australia, Canberra (Underwood 1991; Bruant 1994; 2001; 2010a). The invitation for an official study mission through the French Protectorate in Morocco in 1913 was the start of a flourishing career as international park and later planning consultant for J.-C. N. Forestier (1861-1930) (Leclerc 1994). 78 French architects could rely on a solid tradition of urban design in which the visual experience of space and the succession of vistas through movement were readily associated with spatial composition. A. Sutcliffe suggests that, especially from 1908 on, the French architectes-urbanistes also learnt something from the American City Beautiful. (Van Zanten 1975; Sutcliffe 1981b, 154– 55, 198–99; Gaudin 1992a, 53) 79 To take one example, L'Esthétique des villes (1908) is a collection of essays by the historian Émile Magne (1877-1953), first published in the Mercure de France. The opening essay discusses at length the “décor” of public space, the “physiognomy” of which is then further explored by the – 61 – G. Verheij The birth of French Urbanisme immersed in the urban spectacle. Though usually aware of the few more specialized works available in French (Sitte, Buls, Hénard, Bonnier) it had much stronger roots in art history and art theory – among others, Jean-Marie Guyau's “sociology of art” and Hypolyte Taine's deterministic aesthetics – as well as the literature on experience of urban space, especially the already classic genre of inventorying and hence decoding modern urban space by readings its “physiognomy.”80 This was a common genre preceding and interacting with specialized literature. That it flowered especially in Paris had something to do with its fame as capital of the arts, but it is also explained by the initial absence of real development towards the institution of planning. This “amateur” literature occupies a void yet to be occupied by specialists. (Gaudin 1992a, 45–46; Smets 1995, 144) This literature on the “urban aesthetic” tended to intertwine with another vigorous debate. One answer to the pressing quest for a “new spirit” in art, able to prove that modern life could engender more than just ugliness and triviality, was to bring art to the city. (Bazalgette 1898; Lahor 1901) The question was, how? Some defended a new, democratic and radically modern art, loosely inspired by J.-F. Proudhon. (Angenot 2012) More commonly commentators discussed the social dimension of “art” within a philosophical tradition of which H. Taine is representative. In this tradition the interplay between aesthetic impulse and social character is essential. Art is understood as a reflection of society but, at the same time, one's aesthetic surroundings are held to determine or at least condition one's moral standing. (Angenot 1999; Aron 1985) The latter was of course a standard social reform argument, basically adapting the old hygienist adage that filthy hygiene meant filthy morals. In this case, an aesthetically “debased” environment was held to debase the people (the “lower classes”), exposed to the banality of the modern city without the protection of proper aesthetic education. The term “art social” appeared towards the end of the 1880s; from the pages of the socialist magazine L'Art Social (1891-1896) its promoters called for an “art for all,” able to contribute to social change. “L’œuvre de l’Art social est de faire comprendre à l’homme d’aujourd’hui d’autres formes de beauté pour le rendre apte à habiter la cité de demain,” stated one of it spokesmen (Lazare 1896, 14). That same year, Jean Lahor (a pseudonym of Henri Cazalis, 1840-1909) and Roger Marx (1859-1913) created a society, the name of which – L'Art Dans Tout – clearly states the intention to bring art everywhere. The task of reconciling art and the masses was increasingly recognized by progressive cultural circles, but in the process lost some of its more radical overtones.81 J. Lahor's slogan of “art for the people” in the absence of an art “by the people,” promoted by another creation of his, the Société d'Art Populaire et d'Hygiène (1903-?), is representative of the standard progressive attitude towards the social following essays, to end with a survey of architectural utopia. Among the subjects approached are urban movement (through a kind of ethnography of streets and their moods), processions, markets, fairs, the use of water and light, architecture and sculpture, vegetation. 80 N. Green notes how these “physiologies” of the modern city (primarily Paris) essentially understood the city as an object of consumption: it appears framed – and fragmented – by visual codes predicated upon cultural rites of (visual) consumption (the theatrical spectacle, the boulevard promenade, the desiring gaze of the consumer). Such literature of leisure and enjoyment appealed to a broad audience and nurtured the circulation of images of the metropolis. (Green 1992, 28–31) 81 An inquiry on the possibilities of a “social art,” published in 1896 in the magazine L'Enclos, shows that the idea that artists should be in harmony with their time is the common ground among the progressively-inclined. (Bruant 2008) In general, one dominant issue is the overcoming of the opposition between engineering and the fine-arts. – 62 – G. Verheij The birth of French Urbanisme possibilities of art. In practice, it shifted between the potentially contradictory pursuits of the popularisation of proper “taste” and increased aesthetic control over the urban environment.82 (Lahor 1902; 1903; Marx 1913; Bruant 2008; Froissart Pezone 2005) Finally, the institutional background to the birth of Urbanisme is the discrete façade of the Musée Social in Paris (Rue Las Cases, 5). This institution was essential for the discipline's constitution, and its heritage left a lasting mark on the practice of French planners. It was there that shortly before World War I a professional planner society was created, and for a long time its headquarters remained at the Musée. The Musée Social was created in 1894 by the social reformers Émile Cheysson (1836-1910), Jules Siegfried (1837-1922) and Charles Robert (1829-1899) with the financial support of Aldebert de Chambrun. Like the Collège Libre des Sciences Sociales (CLSS) created a year later, the Musée was organized to coordinate a program of “social sciences” modelled on the principles of Le Play.83 A Le Play- inspired section of “social economy” had made success at the 1889 International Exposition. By then, seven years after Le Play's death, his methods and objectives had been reformulated and updated by disciples – Edmond Demolins (1852-1907), Henri de Tourville (1842-1903), Paul de Rousiers (1857-1934) – who substituted the original emphasis on the traditional family for the research and propaganda of mutualism, self-help, profit-sharing, etc. J. Siegfried had been actively involved in the 1889 Exposition, and that same year created an 82 The potential contradiction of this attitude can be illustrated in attitudes towards that quintessential expression of urban modernity, the commercial poster, the first histories of which appeared in this literature. Some, related to the Belgian Œuvre de l'Art Public (see p. 81 below), relished in unseemly metaphor: the “leprosy” of modern cities, a “punch in the eye,” “poster orgies” (orgie d'affichage) violating bare, innocent stone walls … The climax was a 1912 campaign against commercial advertising led by the Société pour la Protection des Paysages de France (1901- present, since 1954 the Société pour la Protection des Paysages et de l'Esthétique de la France), of which J. Lahor was a founding member. (Rousseau 1997, 10–13; Notteboom 2009, 159–63, 195– 97; Harry 1908; Figures 39–40) Others, such as Lahor's associate R. Marx or early historians of the commercial poster, insisted instead on its potential to bring “art” and “beauty” to the street. The poster could be a first step towards the transformation of the street into a museum. (Marx 1913, 104–7; Kahn 1901, 213–17; Magne 1908, 84–87) R. Marx, while applauding the Belgian example, noted the divergence: “Puissent seulement le zèle des protecteurs de l'art public ne pas faire défaut aux maîtres de l'affiche qui ont paré les entours de notre vie.” (Marx 1913, 105) 83 Frédéric Le Play (1806-1882) was a French engineer and pioneering sociologist. In 1855 he published the 6 volumes of Les Ouvriers Européens, a survey of working class conditions in Europe which used an innovative method of empirical research based on monographs. (Pelletier 1995) In 1857 Le Play founded the Société Internationale des Études Pratiques d'Économie Sociale to promote this kind of comparative and empirical social studies, focused on Place, Family and Work. (This institution published a bulletin and after 1881 La Réforme Sociale, the title of which is taken from a work by Le Play from 1864.) Le Play was a member of the 1856 Universal Exhibition's organization and its general commissioner in 1867; he took the opportunity to showcase his proposals for a “social economy” – a term which remained current until the 1930s – to a large public. Ideologically Le Play was a notable paternalist, inspired by desires of attaining la Paix sociale without questioning elite power. Scientifically, his ideas are representative of the strong positivist vein in French social reform, in the centre of which was the idea that social problems can be resolved through the accumulation of knowledge. In practice, his project was to combine the development of empirical knowledges (through inquiries and experiment) with the promotion of practical actions for the improvement of working-class living conditions. – 63 – G. Verheij The birth of French Urbanisme affordable housing charity, the Société Française des Habitations à Bon Marché, in order to stimulate private initiative to collaborate with the improvement of working-class housing. In 1892 he deposited a bill proposing various financial incentives for the construction of affordable housing, approved in 1894 (the Loi Siegfried, after its proposer). (Sutcliffe 1981b, 146–48) The success of the Musée's organization – the meetings and the specialized sections, the well- furnished library and frequent lectures, the liberal grants for study and travel and resulting reports, the consultation services – turned the institution into the most important debating chamber for social legislation, from the regulation of labour to “social hygiene.”84 It was the pivotal point of the social reform milieu, centre of an institutional constellation which included, through institutional links or shared memberships, organizations with a more or less direct interest in the “urban question,” such as the Société Française des Habitations à Bon Marché, the Société d'Art Populaire et d'Hygiène, the Alliance d'Hygiène Sociale, the Association des Cités-Jardins de France, the Société du Nouveaux Paris and the competing Comité pour la Conservation et la Création des Espaces Libres … (for a very complete survey, see Pierret 1909).85 Initially absent was any ambition of the planning of urban growth, notwithstanding a suburban boom since the 1890s; the concerns of social reformers, hygienists and politicians didn't proceed beyond the city limits, marked by the imposing fortifications from the 1840s 84 The Musée Social functioned simultaneously as a bourgeois think-tank, a philanthropic undertaking, a social and political project and a scientific endeavour. Though it never strayed far from established interests and paternalist solutions, it provided the possibility of a common ground for disparate political positions (from social Catholicism to reformist socialism) and social issues. (Horne 2002; Chambelland 1998; Gaudin 1992b; Claude 2006, 50–51) “Le Musée social a été à la fois un carrefour et une base de lancement ou, si l'on veut, un réseau de réseaux et la matrice de nouveaux réseaux. Lieu pivot de la 'nébuleuse réformatrice' française du début du siècle, il a permis l'interconnexion et promu les convergences entre des groupes dont les origines et les inclinations étaient diverses et la rencontre rien moins que improbable. Lieu de débat scientifique sur les différentes facettes de la 'question sociale,' il a contribué au travail de segmentation méthodique de celle-ci et à la recomposition du champ réformateur en servant de point d'appui à l'invention de nouveaux domaines de réforme et de nouvelles spécialités.” (Topalov 1998, 281) 85 The Alliance d'Hygiène Sociale (1904-1937?) was created within the Musée Social after the approval of a new Public Health Law in 1902 (Loi relative a la protection de la santé publique, see Monod 1904; Murard and Zylberman 1998) to research and promote public health. At the Alliance's yearly congresses (1904-1937) and in its bulletin (1905-1920), edited by the specialist in German workers' welfare Édouard Fuster (1869-1935), housing hygiene and urban sanitation were mandatory subjects. The Association des Cités-Jardins de France (1903-?) was created by Georges Benoît-Lévy (1880-1971), “a leisured Parisian reformer who acknowledged Le Play, Ruskin, Morris and Tolstoy as his major inspirations.” (Sutcliffe 1981b, 144) After Charles Gide (1847- 1932) had introduced Benoît-Lévy to the garden-city concept in his course on social economy, the Musée Social financed a series of study trips to Great Britain and the United States which resulted in several books and the association (Benoît-Lévy 1904; 1905; 1906). The Société du Nouveau Paris (1902-?) recruited its members from socially aware art circles, with Frantz Jourdain (1847- 1935) as first president. The Comité pour la Conservation et la Creation des Espaces Libres (1902-?) was created by the retired globetrotter turned politician Gabriel Bonvalot (1853-1933), and close to the Musée. Both made a point of defending Parisian open space, an objective shared with the Garden-City movement and the Société pour la Protection des Paysages de France (see note 82), the main promoter behind a conservation law of natural sites approved in 1906. – 64 – G. Verheij The birth of French Urbanisme (the Thiers wall, see Moret 2012). It was the aspiration of pulling down these fortifications which provided the architectes-urbanistes with the impulse for institution-making. But differently from cities such as Vienna or Barcelona, debates about the fate of the military areas revolved initially about open space rather than urban expansion. b) The institution of a discipline A series of public controversies at the start of the century – the taxation of private gardens in 1900, the sale of lots on the fringes of Champ de Mars, the municipalization of the Parc de Bagatelle in 1904 (Normand 1902; Forestier 1910a, 51–52) – brought the topic of “open space” (espaces libres) to the forefront of public attention. In the wake of these controversies, the Conservateur des Promenades of the city of Paris, J.-C. N. Forestier, wrote a small book on American park-systems (1906). Even if only superficially it was the first articulated defence of comprehensive planning (programme d'ensemble). By then public attention had begun to focus on the issue of the future of the fortifications.86 E. Hénard had already caught the public imagination with a scheme of a system of parks substituting the city walls. In the ensuing years many more projects and proposals appeared, ranging from a continuous park- belt to the total parcelling of the recovered land. As City and State failed to agree on the conditions of decommissioning, the subject turned into the slightly mythical key to all the urban problems of Paris, from housing provision and social composition to public space and equipments to aesthetic dissatisfaction and urban modernization. A final agreement was arrived at in 1912, though the walls weren't dismantled until after World War I. By then the issue had brought together a disparate variety of interest, from social reformers, hygienists, local politicians and socialists to art circles, architects and promoters of playgrounds and sport-fields. (Cohen and Lortie 1994; Charvet 1994; 2005; Topalov 2001; Figures 27–28) The Musée Social actively took part in the lobbying around the fate of the fortifications, providing foreign examples and scientific arguments on the importance of open spaces to public health but also intervening directly in municipal politics – during the 1908 municipal elections the Musée campaigned for candidates in favour of the suppression of the city walls. (Claude 2006, 58; Charvet 2005, 27, 74–87) Following a somewhat fortuitous chronology, in January 1908 a study group on “urban and rural hygiene” (Section d'Hygiène Urbaine et Rurale, SHUR) was created.87 Under the direction of J. Siegried it provided a formal meeting place for representatives of the the societies gravitating around the Musée. Membership was essential Parisian, composed of urban professionals, administrators, important businessmen, 86 The city walls surrounding Paris had been controversial as soon as they were raised. Municipal schemes for their transformation in promenades had been proposed by Jean-Charles Adolphe Alphand (1817-1891) and Ernest-Gustave Bartet (1842-1886). Besides military considerations, there were many more interests, conflicts and actors mixed up in the matter: the wall guaranteed control over the city's fiscal frontiers, forming an important piece in the municipal budget, which any decommissioning had to take into consideration; it was a key piece in land speculation, artificially limiting supply; and last but not least it was a sensible issue in the relations between State and Municipality. 87 After a report by Fortuné d'Andigné (1906) the Municipal Council formally initiated negotiations with the State in December 1907. By coincidence the Musée Social had scheduled a lecture on open spaces in Paris on 14 January 1908 by G. Benoît-Lévy, recently returned from the United States with first-hand knowledge of the City Beautiful movement and American park-systems. The proposal of J. Siegfried to create the SHUR was apparently a direct result of the ensuing discussions. (Sutcliffe 1981b, 150, 198–99) – 65 – G. Verheij The birth of French Urbanisme literates, journalists and academics, who had in common previous engagement in debates on urban questions which had drawn them into the circles of the Musée Social.88 The young architect D.-A. Agache represented Leplayan thought.89 At the basis of the final agreement between the City of Paris and the State was a proposal made by the right-wing municipal councillor Louis Dausset (1866-1940) according to which the city would buy the decommissioned terrains to be parcelled and sold in its entirety; with the product the municipality would expropriate the surrounding non-building zone to turn it into parks and gardens. Critics rapidly pointed out that this apparently generous green-belt would create a barrier around the city, forestalling future urban expansion and inflating already high real estate values. A first alternative proposal of four strategically placed parks instead signed by J. Siegfried was made public in July 1908; by March 1909 this had evolved into an elaborated, 168 ha system of nine small parks and thirteen playgrounds and sport- fields, prepared by E. Hénard. But municipal authorities, persuaded by the arguments of the Ligue pour les espaces libres, l’assainissement et les sports, created in February 1909 on initiative of the Chambre de Propriétaires, favoured Dausset.90 (Hénard 1982, 333–39; Thomas 1908; Halbwachs 1908; Forestier 1910b; Cohen and Lortie 1994, 90–94; Topalov 2001; Charvet 2005, 263–69; Figure 29) The unceasing lobbying efforts against the plan Dausset by the Musée Social, though unsuccessful in the short run, did have important repercussions, planting the roots for national legislation on planning and for the first comprehensive planning efforts in the Parisian region. Siegfried's proposal was accompanied by a bill which linked the question of the fortifications to a politics of open spaces in the greater Paris area ,and proposed a commission to study a development plan for Paris. The bill didn't come through, but that same year another member of the Section, C. Beaquier (president of the Société pour la Protection des Paysages), brought forward a bill which required cities of more than 10 000 habitants to draw up extension and embellishment plans. According to A. Sutcliffe this was probably the product of informal discussions within the SHUR, where the initial scope was rapidly enlarged to the planning of open spaces, arterial networks and comprehensive development plans.91 Beaquier's bill was 88 The diversity of members indicates the will to cover all the cognitive, social and institutional needs of a new area of urban specialities. (Claude 2006, 59) Among members are previously mentioned architects (L. Bonnier, G. Benoît-Lévy, E. Hénard, Adolphe Augustin-Rey, J.-C. N Forestier), sanitary engineers (Georges Bechmann, 1848-1927), housing experts (Paul Juillerat, 1854-1935) and less easily classified “amateurs” such as the proto-planner and poet Robert de Souza (1864- 1946, see Cervera 2012). (On the SHUR, Horne 2002; Magri 1998; Bullock and Read 1985, 365– 73) 89 D.-A. Agache got involved with the sociological milieu still as a student of architecture at the École des Beaux-Arts, attending – and contributing to – the Musée Sociale, the CLSS, the Société de Sociologie and the Leplayan La Science Sociale (1886-1935). After obtaining his architectural degree in 1905 Agache joined the CLSS, where he gave a course on art criticism and social history. (Bruant 1994; 2001; 2007; 2008; 2010; Underwood 1991) 90 In reaction, the Musée Social created the Société française des espaces libres et des terrains de jeux in November 1910. (Hébrard de Villeneuve 1911) 91 Apparently it was Georges Risler (1853-1941) – a retired industrialist and housing reformer close to Siegfried – who was the main responsible for the introduction of this sudden interest in extension planning in the SHUR. President of the responsible sub-committee and after 1912 of the SHUR itself, Risler assembled a permanent exhibition of plans from around the world. Some years – 66 – G. Verheij The birth of French Urbanisme discussed and presented again in modified form by Siegfried in 1912. A report by a local government committee led by Joseph Cornudet (June 1913) proposed a final composite bill which, delayed during World War I, was approved in early 1919 (Loi Cornudet). (Sutcliffe 1981b, 151–53) Another direct outcome of the debate on the fortifications were the first proposals for comprehensive planning of the Paris region, at the origin of the 1919 competition for a plan for Greater Paris. In 1911 a Commission de l'Extension de Paris was created on initiative of Dausset, now convinced of the need of comprehensive planning.92 The commission, composed of municipal councillors, artists, architects, politicians, public officials and representatives of civic societies, only met once (on 28 February 1912), but it sponsored the publication of an important two-volume report. Published in 1913, it is commonly attributed to L. Bonnier and M. Poëte (1866-1950), the librarian of the Historical Library of Paris and author of several works on the history of Paris. The first volume, an erudite Aperçu historique, provides a general overview of the historical development of the Parisian region, including the suburbs, with the help of documentation assembled at the Musée Social (inventoried in a complementary bibliographical volume). From this historical analysis the authors identified a persistent and prejudicial politics of limiting urban growth, supporting the claim of timely anticipated expansion to form a Greater Paris.93 The second volume, Considérations techniques préliminaires, focused on the provision of open green space and circulation as starting points for such a comprehensive planning, with allusions to the examples of Berlin, London and Vienna. Though initially the reports met with resistance in the Municipal Council, they provided the documentary basis for the 1919 competition. (Casselle 2012; Marrey 1988) If the fortifications functioned as the virtual laboratory of modern French planning, the Musée Social was its birthplace. Against the background of growing interest in planning in France, the architectes-urbanistes – taking advantage of the contacts, resources and methods of the Musée – started to work on institution-making and international networking. SHUR members such as A. Rey or L. Bonnier attended the 1910 Town Planning Conference as delegates of the Musée. They even invited J. Stübben to give a lecture, which he did a few months before the outbreak of World War I. These architects had been discussing the creation of a society to represent the interests of this new science since 1911; in 1914 it was formally constituted as the Société Française des Architectes Urbanistes (after 1919 des Urbanistes, later J. Stübben, slightly puzzled by this typical French type of privately funded institution pursuing the public interest, made approving comments of the well-supplied library and the collection of plans and photographs since collected. (Risler 1911; Agache 1918, xxxii; Stübben 1915, 59; Gaudin 1991, 20–21) 92 At the same time SHUR members E. Hénard, D.-A. Agache and H. Prost worked (informally?) on a scheme for Greater Paris (1910-1912), of which little is known. W. Hegemann (1911–1913) published the plan, which is the first regional consideration of the city's future. (Cohen 2009, 278) 93 “L’agglomération parisienne déborde bien au-delà des fortifications; la banlieue qui les environne se peuple de plus en plus (...). Le plus grand Paris, son réseau de rues, de routes, de chemins de fer, de tramways, d’égouts, de canalisations d’eau, ses maisons et ses cours, ses jardins publics ne doivent pas se former au hasard, sans direction d’ensemble, sans coordination et notamment sans liaison entre les deux parties de l’agglomération, encore séparées aujourd’hui par les fortifications.” (Considérations techniques préliminaires, 1913, 45–46, quoted in Casselle 2012) – 67 – G. Verheij The birth of French Urbanisme SFU), sponsored by – and physically lodged at – the Musée Social.94 (Charvet 2005, 93–126; Claude 2006, 50–51; Sutcliffe 1981b, 155–57, 160) The institutional appearance of the term Urbanistes in the society's name is cause for surprise. In 1917 G. Risler noted how within ten years Urbanisme had changed from something virtually unknown to something almost consensual.95 In fact, there are no documented instances of occurrences of the term with the current meaning of “art, science et technique de l'aménagement des agglomérations humaines” prior to 1910.96 This very etymological novelty was probably intentional. It allowed its proponents to claim both disciplinary autonomy – a new science and art – and national specificity. Against a background of official disinterest in urban planning, the term Urbanisme stressed that it was something more than an updated version of age-old city-building procedures or, worse, imported Städtebau or Town Planning. (Lavedan 1926; Bardet 1934; Frey 1999) Regarding the latter, Risler – who in these years assumed the role of spokesperson of the profession – was quick to inform that this “absolutely special art” was essentially a French invention, disdained in France since Haussmann while other countries appropriated it and developed it further.97 So old, and yet so novel. The difference to the past was substantiated by the claim of a much more ambitious scope of application and intervention, to which the strong roots in the milieu of social reform – recognized by architectes-urbanistes when they started to establish the first outlines of the discipline's genealogy – gave a certain plausibility. From the start the discipline's guidelines gave an important place for the inquiry, monograph 94 Founding members were the architects E. Hénard (first president), D.-A. Agache (secretary- general), J. M. Auburtin, A. Bérard, E. Hébrard, L. Jaussely, A. Parenty, H. Prost and the landscape architects J.-C. N. Forestier and E. Redont. The SFU's statutory objectives were the study of planning questions (questions d'urbanisme), comprehending the collection of relevant documentation, exchange with similar foreign groups, promotion of specialist meetings and participation in national and international exhibitions, and consultancy services. Like the Musée Social it included as much the task of disciplinary training and doctrinal establishment as that of public opinion making and specialist consultancy services, maintaining a mixed nature between “societé savante” and professional society. Consequently, besides the core membership of professionals of planning and urban design (composition des plans de villes), the SFU was open to associated and corresponding members from related areas of investigation and the interested public. (SFU 2016) 95 “L'Urbanisme qui, jusqu'ici, n'était représenté dans notre pays que par une élite dont les travaux étaient immédiatement accaparés para l'étranger, va maintenant se développer en France; et l'on ne tardera pas à se rendre compte, non seulement des bienfaits matériels qu'il apportera à nos concitoyens, mais aussi de son immense portée morale et sociale.” (Agache 1918, xxxvi) 96 The paternity of the term is dubious; F. Choay (1983, 253) has unearthed a note by H. Prost from 1958 in which the latter claims shared authority, together with L. Jaussely and possibly Forestier. Jaussely knew Cerdà's Teoría General, and in 1919 linked the roots of Urbanisme to the latter's urbanización; he also mentioned the common use of the term (urbanistica?) in Italy (Jaussely 1919, 187). D.-A. Agache also claimed paternity (Underwood 1991, 133). The geographer Pierre Clerget (Clerget 1910, partly reproduced in Roncayolo and Paquot 1992, 232–39) is credited with being the first to use the term in the general sense of the historical, geographical and economical study of the urban phenomenon. L. Jaussely documented this rather obscure reference, then wrongly copied by G. Bardet and F. Choay (Frey 1999). 97 “Comment cet art si français est-il, pendant ces dernières années, tombé en désuétude dans notre pays?”Risler wondered. See his essential prefaces to the textbooks by Agache and collaborators (Agache, Auburtin, and Redont 1916; Agache 1918). – 68 – G. Verheij The birth of French Urbanisme or survey,98 which the 1919 planning act turned obligatory, putting the “social question” at its disciplinary core. The ambition of Urbanisme was not only to design a city, but to organize social life itself. (Underwood 1991) The success of the invention of Urbanisme can be measured by the swift assimilation into dictionaries.99 By the 1930s authors who poked into the term's history were surprised at its recent origins. (Frey 1999) The principal crowbar in this rapid passage from non-existence to established matter-of-fact was post-war reconstruction. The large-scale destruction wrecked upon cities and villages in Belgium and the North of France put the matter of city-building, until then vaguely admitted in official circles, as an urgent problem on the table. (Roncayolo 1983, 135–39; Bullock and Verpoest 2011; Clout 2005) The president of the SHUR, G. Risler, saw the opportunity, and started lobbying within the urban reform constellation around the Musée Social as early as November 1914 to join efforts around the promotion of planning.100 The immediate post-war gain of this lobbying was to make development plans compulsory in order to qualify for national reconstruction subsidies. In the process a discipline was instituted. A first step for disciplinary promotion was to call public and official attention to the possibilities of planned reconstruction. A planning exhibition – La Cité Reconstituée, at the Jardin des Tuileries between May and August 1916 – and a lecture series showed the French public a first comprehensive overview of the production of the architectes-urbanistes, including T. Garnier's Cité industrielle. The exhibition included models of provisional housing and an international competition for reconstruction projects, as well as P. Geddes' planning exhibit (see p. 84 below). The organization of the exhibition intensified exchange 98 See Agache and collaborators (1916), who included a practical guide for the elaboration of a program by L. Jaussely. This was as much the result of memories of the Leplayan monograph promoted by D.-A. Agache and the lessons of P. Geddes' “civic survey,” by then well-known, as of the close links to urban history through M. Poëte, who defined Urbanisme as essentially a science of observation. (Claude 2006, 82–83) 99 The Larousse encyclopedic dictionary from 1923 defined urbanisme as the science or theory of city planning (aménagement des villes). “L'urbanisme comporte tout ce qui a trait à l'aménagement et à l'embellissement des villes et même des villages. On pourrait résumer son vaste programme en trois mots: assainir, agrandir, embellir. C'est, on le voit, une question très complexe, puisqu'elle est liée non seulement à l'hygiène générale, à la salubrité publique, au confort (aération, balayage, nettoiement, évacuation des déchets de toutes sortes, approvisionnement en eau potable, etc.), mais encore à l'esthétique (monuments historiques, artistiques, sites, jardins et parcs à conserver ou à mettre en valeur, servitudes d'alignement à respecter, expansion, etc.) Elle a donc une portée morale et sociale, que les conditions de la vie moderne, le surpeuplement des villes, sont venus considérablement amplifier.” (Augé 1923, 1175) 100 Among these institutions figured a newcomer, La Renaissance des Cités (1916-?), a think-tank of artists and architects with roots in war voluntarism but in 1918-1919 restructured (with technical committees led by L. Bonnier and G. Risler) and funded by the State and the Rockefeller Foundation. According to C. Bruant (2008), during the war it functioned as a kind of popular university. Afterwards it assisted villages and cities with reconstruction. (Cart de Lafontaine 1921; Bedarida 1990, 36–37) – 69 – G. Verheij The birth of French Urbanisme and fuelled hopes of a “planning renaissance” (renaissance urbaniste).101 (Agache, Auburtin, and Redont 1916; Agache 1918, xxiii–xxvii; Gaudin 1991, 126–30; Figures 30–31) The necessary following step was the creation of an educational structure. D.-A. Agache had been teaching on planning since 1905 at the CLSS, and after 1914 at the Leplayan École Libre des Sciences Sociales and La Renaissance des Cités. The 1916 exhibition gave the necessary impulse for the creation of an institution of higher education, apparently an initiative of the participating Belgian delegation and in France initially promoted by Agache, G. Risler, L. Rosenthal and L. Bonnier. The École Supérieure d'Art Public (ESAP) officially opened on 21 March 1917, with seat at the Musée Social and classes at the Historical Library of Paris, which a month earlier had been transformed in the Institut d'Histoire, de Géographie et d'Economie Urbaines de la Ville de Paris, directed by M. Poëte. The ESAP was directed by G. Risler; L. Bonnier was director of the Pedagogical Council. The government minister Léon Bourgeois (1851-1925) was invested with honorary presidency. (Agache, Auburtin, and Redont 1916, lx–xvi; Bruant 2007; 2008; Uyttenhove 1990, 25–30; Marrey 1988, 84–85) Subject Lecturer Théorie de l'Urbanisme Léon Jaussely 1875-1932 architect Esthétique générale Léon Rosenthal 1870-1932 art historian Hygiène urbaine Paul Juillerat 1854-1935 sanitary engineer Le caractère des villes et le Régionalisme Jean Charles-Brun 1870-1946 politician Les agglomérations rurales Jacques Marcel Auburtin 1872-1926 architect Économie générale de la reconstruction Oscar de Waele ? architect (Belgium) L'hygiène et l'esthétique Hubert Marcq ? architect (Belgium) Jardins, arbres, espaces libres J.-C. N. Forestier 1861-1930 landscape architect Urbanisme législatif Raoul de Clermont 1863-1942 agronomist and lawyer Le rationalisme et l'art Paul Vorin 1881-1944 architect Les cités et faubourgs-jardins Raphaël Verwilghen 1885-1963 architect (Belgium) L'architecture régionaliste Adolphe Dervaux 1871-1948 architect Les facteurs essentiels d'une renaissance de l'art public Charles Patris 1872-1945 architect (Belgium) Les matériaux dans l'architecture Charles Plumet 1861-1928 architect 101 G. Risler affectionately recalled the “passionate hours” of determined yet cordial collaboration for the greater good (Agache 1918, xxv). The exhibition was actually a pre-war initiative of the Association Générale des Hygiénistes et Techniciens Municipaux to which the war gave a new purpose. The society organized the exhibition and published five numbers of an exhibition journal (La Cité Reconstituée, July 1916) with the support of the SFU, the Musée Social and the Comité de Patronage des Habitations à Bon Marché de la Seine, recently founded by Henri Sellier (1883– 1943). L. Gaultier (1917) edited the catalogue, which includes summaries of the lectures by L. Bonnier, D.-A. Agache, J. M. Auburtin, G. Lidy (Director of Public Works in Bourdeaux, 1858- 1917), Charles Patris (a Belgian architect, 1872-1945), Édouard Imbeaux (sanitary engineer, 1861- 1943), P. Geddes, Léon Rosenthal (art historian and critic, 1870-1932), Honoré Cornudet (politician, 1861-1938), Maurice Vignerot (agricultural engineer, 1878?-1953), Jean Charles-Brun (politican and regionalist, 1870-1946) and G. Risler. – 70 – G. Verheij The birth of French Urbanisme Subject Lecturer La ville à travers les âges Donat-Alfred Agache 1875-1959 architect Les causes et effets du régionalisme en architecture Julien Polti 1877-1956 architect Comment organiser la reconstitution des cités Henri Blanchard 1873-1929 architect L'assainissement de la cité Louis Gaultier ? engineer La construction de la voie Edgar van Volson ? architect (Belgium) La sculpture monumentale au Moyen Âge Camille Enlart 1862-1927 art historian La main-d'œuvre, les nouvelles formules du salariat Oscar de Waele ? architect (Belgium) Influence des matériaux au point de vue acoustique Wallace Clement Sabine 1868-1919 physicist (United States) Table 1: Program of the first course at the ESAP (Source: L'Art Public. Publication de l'École Supérieure d'Art Public 1:1, July 1907) The immediate aim of the school was to train professionals for reconstruction both in France and Belgium; the nominal adoption of art public (a Belgian concept which is discussed later) rather than urbanisme seems to have been a courtesy to the exiled Belgian government and participating Belgian architects. It functioned by means of heterogeneous seminars rather than a structured program (see table 1).102 But the aims were more ambitious: war was but an opportunity to push through a basis for further diffusion of Urbanisme, as L. Bonnier made clear in his inaugural lecture. (Agache 1918, xxxiii; Bonnier 1917; Marrey 1988, 45) For this, finally, Urbanisme had to be endowed with an understandable meaning. The SFU itself had provided a very generic definition in its statutes from 1914: Urbanisme was “the comprehensive study of questions relating to the construction and improvement of urban and rural settlements, as well as the development of this science.”103 Though rather vague, it already introduced a certain duplicity between technique and science. J. M. Auburtin (1991) made an attempt to explain what this actually meant in his lecture during the 1916 exhibition. 102 Observing the list of lectures (table 1) one notices a generational pattern in the speakers: the larger part of the lectures were given by architects in their early forties (though some of the Belgian architects are hard to trace); Plumet (an architect with a past in the art social movement and later chief architect of the 1925 Art Déco exhibition) and Forestier, both at 56, were the veterans; Rosenthal and Charles-Brun entered as companions of the cause. Four outside experts in their fifties (in hygiene, law, art history and acoustics) completed the panorama. The lecture on acoustics was given by W. C. Sabine, the North-American founder of architectural acoustics who happened to be teaching at the Sorbonne as a Harvard Exchange Professor and agreed to give a lecture at the ESAP. Regarding subjects, the architects without real planning experience tended to focus on the fashionable subjects of regionalism and rural architecture. 103 “(...) étude en commun des questions relatives à la construction et à l'amélioration des agglomérations urbaines et rurales ainsi que le développement de cette science.” (SFU 2016) In 1940 this had evolved to something both more specific and broader: “(…) étude des questions relatives à la création, à l'aménagement, à l'embellissement, à l'extension des agglomérations urbaines et rurales et tout ce qui intéresse le développement des plans de villes, de l'hygiène et de la circulation.” – 71 – G. Verheij The birth of French Urbanisme In his rather naïve account,104 Urbanisme was essentially a science of distribution, where the visual composition of masses nicely coincided with the distribution of social functions, activities and classes. In the same lecture series, D.-A. Agache, relying on his decade or so of teaching experience, provided something more substantial. Urbanisme was, he stated, both a science and an art: Comme science, il poursuit l'application des connaissances sociales d'aujourd'hui à l'économie des villes de demain; c'est la recherche et la coordination (…) des moyens qui tendent à faire d'une agglomération un 'tout organisé' au mieux des intérêts de la généralité et cela en tenant compte des répercussions sociales qui nous sont actuellement connues. L'Urbanisme (…) a en vue la recherche et l'organisation de tous les éléments qui entrent dans la composition d'une agglomération urbaine; il suppose l'analyse et la synthèse105 (…) Mais l'Urbanisme est aussi un art: il comporte une part d'intuition, une part d'invention. S'il n'en était pas ainsi, en effet, on serait en mesure d'améliorer, d'aménager les villes à l'aide de formules établies une fois pour toutes. Or, toutes les règles que l'observation, le raisonnement et même l'expérimentation nous fournissent sur le sujet ont besoin d'être adaptées suivant les cas et suivant les lieux (…). Il faut en tout cas qu'ils soient traduits en beauté; il faut que les nécessités concrètes motivées par l'habitation en voisinage immédiat donnent lieu à une composition heureuse: tout ceci est la part du talent personnel de l'urbaniste, tout ceci comporte un art réel. (Agache 1991; see also Agache 1923) Here Agache essentially resumed the main point of the introduction to the discipline's first practical textbook he had co-authored (Agache, Auburtin, and Redont 1916). There he insisted – against Risler, who in the preface explicitly claimed the superiority of architects in planning (p. x) – on the specificity of Urbanisme when compared to engineering and architecture. Urbanisme was, for Agache and collaborators, the coordenation of diverse values – clustered in three main groups: distribution and circulation, hygiene and sanitation, aesthetics and charm (agrément) – in a comprehensive design (conception d'ensemble, p. 5). (For a discussion, Bruant 1985) This very comprehensiveness, unrestrained by the checks and balances of practical application but infused with all the promises of social reform, was in the end an obstacle both to professional exclusivity and disciplinary autonomy. After the war architects failed to maintain the previous hegemony over the discipline's definition. The change from architectues-urbanistes to urbanistes in the SFU's name, in 1919, is symptomatic (new statues 104 According to Auburtin, the implementation of a good city scheme, if judiciously studied, would happen almost naturally, due to the soundness of its proposals – that is, he added, if inhabitants had a correct understanding of the general interest (la parfaite compréhension des intérêts généraux). Though Auburtin admitted the existence of “misguided” (malencontreux) citizens, he thought zoning would surely save the plan. (Auburtin 1991, 71–72) As discussed earlier, German planners were by then well aware that the idea of am altruistic citizenship collaborating towards the common good was not a good starting point for socially aware urban development. 105 “(…) c'est-à-dire d'une part, des enquêtes monographiques, un choix et un classement des éléments et des groupes d'éléments qui constituent la ville; d'autre part, la constitution d'une doctrine groupant les lois que l'organisation et même l'expérience ont fait découvrir et qui permettent de procéder à des aménagements urbains répondant aux besoins les plus modernes et anticipant même sur l'avenir prochain.” (Agache 1991) – 72 – G. Verheij The birth of French Urbanisme in 1921 talk about the professional interests of techniciens urbanistes). So is the refusal of the State in establishing professional precedence in the 1919 planning act (Loi Cornudet), which confided the production of municipal plans and projects to a generic “man of art” (homme de l'art). (6th article, see Claude 2006, 60) The 1919 act optimistically decreed that all mayor towns should have an urban development plan by 1922. It thus opened a potentially enormous but unregulated market for planning; within the sobering reality of limited application, the handful of elite planners clustered around the SFU only obtained a handsome but small slice of it.106 French planning practice in the wake of the 1919 act was in large part a “context without profession.” (Claude 1990b; 1990a; 2006; Saunier and Claude 1998; Bechmann 1923) When SFU members met in Strasbourg in 1923 to discuss the state of the discipline – the theme was Où en est l'Urbanisme en France et à l'Étranger – A. Dervaux (1923), in his hurried general report, had to admit that for now it was a discipline without doctrine nor established terminology, nor even a clear comprehension of its future. Indeed, Urbanisme itself seemed to be genetically programmed to avoid overt professionalization, with its tendency to coalesce, if not confuse, operational practice and theoretical elaboration.107 Another sign of the loss of architectural hegemony was the transformation of the architect- orientated ESAP to a much broader École de Hautes Études Urbaines (EHEU). As the Interallied Town Planning Conference was held in the city (June 1919) H. Sellier was working hard to transform the ESAP's shaky, volunteering wartime construction into solid, State- funded education. The EHEU inherited teaching staff and locale (Poëte's Institut at the Historical Library, of which it was institutionally part), but modernized its educational offer 106 The main criteria for statutory plans was a population above 10 000, but in fact the scope was much larger, also including the 80 municipalities of the Seine department (i.e. Greater Paris), villages with a population above 5 000 and which had grown more than 10 % during two succeeding censuses, villages with tourist relevance (seaside and health resorts, spas and other recreational villages), as well as any agglomeration with picturesque, artistic or historical relevance. Then there was still the option of voluntarily adopting the plans. Among the consequences of the 1919 act was the appearance of the first planning consultancy offices. L. Eyrolles and Georges Bechmann (1848-1927) set up an Office des Ingénieurs modelled on British and American consultancy offices in 1918; J. M. Auburtin and other prominent urbanistes created a Bureau Technique de Urbanisme. Both enterprises, a cooperative society of surveyors and a photometric company fused in 1919 to form the Union Urbaniste, in order to offer complete planning services. It was active in Paris until 1923. SFU-related architects were the usual victors of planning competitions. The first two places for the Greater Paris competition from 1919 were won by L. Jaussely and a team of SFU founding members led by D.-A. Agache; Jacques Gréber (1882- 1962) was victorious in a 1920 Lille competition. The ultimate failure of the Paris competition was predicted by the only awarded foreigner in this international competition, fourth prize Adrian Berrington (1887-1923), a former assistant of P. Geddes. (Berrington 1920; Claude 2006, 73; Vacher 2002, 50–51; Bedarida 1990, 35; Fernandez Agueda 2016; Delorme 1981) 107 Was Urbanisme about planning urban development or, in M. Poëte's definition, a “science of observation”? At this point, it was far from clear whether the many disciplines involved (history, geography, sociology, economy, laws, the arts...) should be subsidiaries to planning or that planning was but a practical application of the “science” of urbanism. L. Jaussely (1919, 181) distinguished pragmatically between a scientific and a practical Urbanisme, linked through multiple ties, but for the only reason that scientific elaboration was still in its infancy. The problem of definitions is largely discussed by J.-P. Frey (1999). – 73 – G. Verheij The birth of French Urbanisme and established a new organ, La Vie Urbaine (1919-1977).108 In 1924 this school was on its turn transformed in the influential Institut d'Urbanisme of the University of Paris, which existed until 2015. (Chevalier 2000) Grade Diplôme Urbanisme Brevet Aménagement des villes Administration municipale Certificat Évolution des villes (M. Poëte) Art urbain109 (L. Jaussely) Organisation administrative des villes (G. Jèze)110 Organisation sociale des villes (É. Fuster) Table 2: Hierarchical course structure of the EHEU, with first responsible teachers (source: Sellier 1920). The EHEU offered a pyramidal course structure based on four core areas, each conferring the grade of a certificat. The progressive completion of each subject conferred State-emitted brevets and finally a higher degree (see table 2). Its structure suggests that at the basis of planned urban development should be a keen historical grasp of urban evolution combined with urban design skills, but that Urbanisme was also based on a comprehensive understanding of the administrative and social organization of cities. (Baudouï 1990) The ESAP itself survived in another form. After 1919, D.-A. Agache, L. Rosenthal and A. Dervaux set up a new École d'Art Public at Agache's old teaching spot, the CLSS. It only functioned as a complete study program between 1921 and 1924, offering a two-year course 108 H. Sellier had been involved with disciplinary institutions as president of the Comité de Patronage des Habitations à Bon Marché de la Seine since 1916 (see notes 101 and 150). Sellier – a public servant and socialist politician – had less scruples in claiming foreign example, though by now Germany had understandably lost its appeal. In a chronicle on the school's creation (with appended official documentation) he mentioned British and North-American examples as the forefront of planning education. From the ESAP staff only the art historian C. Enlart didn't migrate to the EHEU. L. Bonnier was entrusted with a special two-year course addressed at staff from the Direction de l'Extension de Paris à la Préfecture de la Seine. La Vie Urbaine, published by E. Leroux, was edited by L. Bonnier and M. Poëte, with H. Sellier joining the editorial board after the fourth number. Though its scope was – in line with Poëte's research – considerably larger than urban development, this nonetheless occupied a significant slice of its pages (see Figure 33). (Sellier 1920; Marrey 1988, 107; Payre 2005) 109 Art urbain – “[p]artie de l'art de urbanisme qui relève de la plastique” (Spiwak 1951, 21) – was yet another terminological novelty, possibly coined by M. Poëte. In a classic work Poëte had detected a “golden age” of classical “urban art” in Paris during the 16th and 17th century. “L'art urbain a, en effet, comme toute autre forme d'art, sa période classique, qui date, en ce qui concerne les applications de cet art à Paris, de l'aurore du XVIe siècle et procède de la double inspiration italienne et antique. L'art classique, appliqué à une ville, se trouve essentiellement caractérisé, d'une part par la rue large et droite, d'autre part par les ensembles de constructions régulières et symétriques.” (Poëte 1911, 73) Linked to royal patronage – the place royal was its principal manifestation – it had survived, according to Poëte, well into contemporary times. Its use at the EHEU signals the ambition of linking new urban development with past practices of embellishment. (Gaudin 1991, 11) 110 Gaston Jèze (1869-1953), a specialist in public finance and administrative law. – 74 – G. Verheij The birth of French Urbanisme for a wider, non-specialist public with an emphasis on field studies and practical experience.111 Another sign of growing public interest was the appearance of the first editorial collection dedicated to Urbanisme, coordinated by L. Rosenthal at E. Leroux (Figure 32). 111 Teachers came from the ESAP (Charles-Brun, Polti, Gaultier, Juillerat), the SFU (René Danger) and from the larger milieu of civic societies. The school ended in 1924, when Rosenthal left for a public post in Lyon; afterwards, Agache continued, with the support of the SFU, to mount a yearly conference program until at least 1934. (Bruant 2008) – 75 – G. Verheij International exchange International exchange The internationalization of planning cultures “The task of town building is an international one,” assured Rudolf Eberstadt at the 1910 Town Planning Conference in London (Eberstadt 1911, 313). The conference itself was proof that an international network had materialized around the new discipline, linking and cross- fertilizing different national planning cultures, even if these national cultures continued to strongly mark the internationalist agenda and local practices. (W. Whyte 2011; 2012; Meller 2001). As Brian Ladd put it in his study of German town planning, “the story of planning is at once national and international as well as local.” (Ladd 1990, 2) To grasp the social history of the diffusion, recognition and oblivion, interpretations and distortions, resistance and after-effects of the idea of planning it is essential to peer behind the intellectual history of foundational ideas (Choay 1996; Hall 1988; Gravagnuolo 1998) to the nodes, links and traffic making up this network (Claude 2006). For this reason, after introducing the question why at this point there was such a strong conviction that cities could learn from each other, the following pages will focus on the material links and means of international diffusion. Why had cities so much to learn from each other? P.-Y. Saunier (2002) notes that a first condition for the international circulation of knowledge is the idea that municipal experience could be transmitted, translated and reproduced beyond the specificities of law and place. D. T. Rodgers (1998) put the same question for progressive politics at a national level, and his account of transatlantic intellectual exchange over social politics is an important contribution to understand the common frame which made this learning possible at all. The “municipal trading” of innovations in urban management (Hietala 1987) relied on this “evolving web of connections,” weaving “the interests and experiences of American and European progressives together.” (Rodgers 1998, 69) For several reasons the urban scale was particularly receptive to this exchange. Administratively, it was in this period that the main European cities took on a precise political and economic character, based on novel definition of the relation between public and private in key areas such as property and public services. Politically, the novelty and urgency of the challenges facing municipal management which required increasing specialization, and the success of the political doctrine of municipalism created room for different degrees of municipal autonomy. Then there was the normalizing effect of technology and the emulation of administrative innovations, creating a basic similarity in the modern “urban machinery” – the technologies of managing urban life, the artefacts, buildings and networks, the planning procedures. Finally, the increasingly global economy of industrial capitalism tended to install – 76 – G. Verheij The internationalization of planning cultures a common urban order beyond national and regional peculiarities.112 (Piccinato 1993, 13; Lenger 2013, 149–62; Hård and Misa 2008; Couperus, Smit, and Wolffram 2007; Vleuten and Kaijser 2006) On the other hand, the rapid progress in international organization in this period made this exchange of information materially possibly. Economic development and the progressive improvement of travel and communication combined with the expansion of the professional classes and philanthropic funding. Enlightened by fashionable internationalist ideals and a solid faith in progress, a boom of international meetings and institutions sustained a “world- wide plane of debate.”113 Travel was of course essential to these debates. They are hard to understand without considering the cosmopolitan class of “world citizens” of which urban reformers were part. This also means that this international debate developed against a material background of travelling which on itself left a large mark on cities, in infrastructures and buildings but also through its symbolic projection in guides, tours and other means of propaganda, and through the administrative infrastructure of agencies and propaganda organizations. (Sutcliffe 1981b, 163–67; Meller 1995; Dennis 2008, chap. 2; Stock and Lucas 2012; Rayward 2013; Albers 2013; Figures 34–36) Generally speaking, urban management increasingly had to respond to the same problems, and the combination of similar challenges and organizing structures, relative political autonomy and the existence of a strong framework of international communication created the conditions for exchange. In this atmosphere the international discussion of urban affairs flourished. Knowledge, methods, images and people circulated through Europe and the United States, and soon beyond, gradually weaving the different national experiences together. A. Sutcliffe distinguishes between various levels of international consciousness among the agents of this network, from the fully cosmopolitan planner to the plain xenophobe. These intermediaries brought home more or less discerning news of international developments from proliferating congresses, exhibitions and sociological tours.114 The men (and 112 “Across the older, intricately varied political and cultural checkerwork of Europe and North America began to appear, in thicker and thicker concentrations, economic institutions instantly recognizable from one end of the North Atlantic region to the other. (…) In a world of nation- states, economic forces were particularly aggressive trespassers and powerful centralizers of experience.” (Rodgers 1998, 33) Later Rodgers notes: “[The] cosmopolitan imprint hardly made politics across the nation-states the same. The convergent tendencies of social politics played themselves out against deep structural differences in state organization and an ever-present, potentially explosive, nationalism. The progressive intellectual accomplishment was more modest: by infusing the political imagination with the convergent economic forces of the ages, it drew politics across the world of iron, for the moment, into a common frame.” (Rodgers 1998, 62; see also Haupt, Müller, and Woolf 1998) 113 A. Sutcliffe (1981b, 166) registers a few impressive numbers: between 1900 and 1913 some 2271 international congresses were held, often resulting in the foundation of international organizations; in about the same period (1900-1914) over 300 NGOs were created. These congresses were often tied to international exhibitions. The main example is the Paris 1900 exposition. Among its stunning numbers (83 000 exhibitors, some 50 000 000 visitors) is the organization of 232 international congresses. After a dip at subsequent International Expositions, by 1904 the number was 125, with a sustained growth until the 258 congresses during the 1910 Brussels exposition. 114 A. Sutcliffe (1981b, 173–84) furthermore identifies three principal channels for international diffusion, which are as many explanations of the phenomenon: 1) artistic influence, through the – 77 – G. Verheij The internationalization of planning cultures occasionally women) occupying key positions in municipal administrations, international entities and interested professions can be generally tied together as belonging to the reformist, “enlightened” bourgeoisie. Information on urban planning first started to circulate internationally through the turn-of-the-century “reformist nebula” rather than the specialist sphere.115 They were guided by the middle-class ideal of reform and the firm conviction that social problems were pernicious side-effects of an otherwise triumphal march towards progress, rather than structural (class) contradictions. (Sica 1977, chap. 6; Dal Co 1975; Cacciari 1993; Hobsbawm 1987) “Men of goodwill” (hommes de bonne volonté), as Jules Romains (1885-1972) depicted them in his novel cycle with this title, united by a common faith in the possibility of harmony among men. P.-Y. Saunier has insisted on the importance of the desire of reform in the rise of the international planning network: This structural change [the proliferation of occasions and institutions dedicated to the study of the urban phenomena and their increasing organization] does not seem to be a ‘natural’ consequence of technology enlarging the space available for travel or the range of places to which information could be disseminated across the major transatlantic telephone or telegraph lines, nor to represent an ‘automatic response’ to the urbanization common to the economic spaces of the North Atlantic. Rather, this international outpouring in the early twentieth century resulted from the unceasing activity of ‘men of goodwill’ who chose the city as object of and territory for their cause, in their respective countries and internationally. (Saunier 2001, 382) The incessant brokering of passionate reformers such as P. Geddes or H. Sellier, or experts such as the transatlantic traveller W. Hegemann, were vital to the structuring of an “international sphere of the urban” and the professionalization of the planning discipline. (Saunier 2001; Meller 1995; Meller 1990; Guerrand and Moissinac 2005; Collins 2005) The histories of the historical linkage between planning and social reform in France, Great Britain or the United States tell similar stories (with the case of France illustrating how the weaker political position of social reformers contributed to less initial success in the institution of planning). This background explains certain particularities of the international debating sphere of congresses and bulletins, such as the palpable bureaucratic taste of all these (para)official institutions with their fondness of normative output, competitions, reports, bill and resolutions, as well as certain particularities of pre-war discourse on planning, such as the insistence on the reconciliation of class differences or even the strange but frequent combination of civic pride and anti-urban sentiment. In the case of Germany, a study by M. Umbach (2009) gives insight into the social and political underpinnings of the social reformist outlook. Umbach studies the office holders, experts, social activists and professionals who, recruited mainly from the middle classes, modernized the management and building of German cities during the late 19th and early 20th highly effective but unpredictable diffusion of design imaginary; 2) the diffusion of technical and institutional innovations; 3) and strategies of persuasion by appeal to supposedly advanced foreign practice and examples. The section on Institutions of Planning (p. 48 above) provides examples of all three. 115 C. Topalov (1999) coined the expression nebuleuse reformatrice to capture the constellation of institutions and individuals of a heterogeneous background (liberals, progressives, socialists, Christian democrats …) who shared the ambition to contribute to social “progress.” – 78 – G. Verheij The internationalization of planning cultures century. For the bourgeoisie, these years were the pinnacle of class confidence and social influence (whence the nostalgic etiquette of Belle Époque). Ideologically these social reformers represented the middle-ground between modernist rupture and reactionary anti- modernism, looking towards the future (mired by the glitter of progress) yet without refuting history, cosmopolitan yet insisting on a sense of place, the vernacular and local belongings.116 As B. Ladd puts it, “[a]n inseparable combination of economic, political, and moral motives impelled many influential members of the prosperous urban middle classes (...) to seek to improve society in general, and the poorer classes in particular.” City planning was a “special case” of such “bourgeois social reform” or “reform from above.” (Ladd 1990, 2) Umbach crucially defines the political workings of such practices of reform. Bourgeois power was social rather than ideological; it was a power vested in a certain way of being and doing, changing the infrastructure of social life rather than formulating new ideas. The impact of the social reformist mindset was for this reason principally felt in social, administrative and political praxis. (Umbach 2009, 1) This adds another argument to pay attention to the workings of the network – to institution-making, professionalization and networking – rather than the contents which this allowed to circulate. Congresses, exhibitions and institutions Behind the international planning milieu of the early 20th century is a material network made up of meetings, exhibitions, travel, correspondence. The most relevant national institutions in the main transatlantic economies have already been discussed, but they were increasingly complemented by international institutions and meetings, key nodes which started to tie national experiences together into an international network.117 Among these the international congress was queen. During the second half of the 19th century the congress became one of the key places of European intellectual life, reaching its acme during the Belle Époque. The congress was as much – perhaps more – about institutionalizing knowledge as debating it. It was within these mechanisms of knowledge and power, with their copious production of discourse, that disciplines were fixed and specialists ordained. (Prochasson 1989) That such gatherings attracted a would-be scientific profession such as planning holds no surprise. But matters related to urban development had been the object of international discussion for a long time. Urban sanitation had been one of the first topics of international debate, partly in reaction to the health hazards of modern urban living, stimulated by epidemics unconcerned with social class or wealth such as the cholera wave of 1848, but also in response to desires of scientific exchange and social reform.118 (Sutcliffe 1981b, 164–66) 116 At the level of architecture, prime representatives are members of the Deutscher Werkbund such as F. Schumacher or H. Muthesius. “[B]ourgeois modernism was characterized by a mode of appropriating and utilizing the past, which, whilst innovative in some ways, was also deeply grounded in the eminently bourgeois and by no means entirely pre-modern practice of historicism.” (Umbach 2009, 29, and in general chap. 2) 117 The following pages rely much on the research of an “Internationale Urbaine” by P.-Y. Saunier (1997; 1998; 2000; 2001; 2002; Saunier and Payre 1998) and recent research by S. Frioux (2009; 2015) and M. Geertse (2008; 2012; 2015; 2016), besides A. Sutcliffe's classical account (Sutcliffe 1981b). For an overview of relevant institutions see Appendix 1. 118 A first International Sanitary Congress was held in 1851, and a first International Statistical Congress (with a strong focus on demography) in 1853. The question of social reform was – 79 – G. Verheij Congresses, exhibitions and institutions From the 1850s on relevant meetings and institutions multiplied, stimulated by the International Expositions realized with increasing regularity after the success of the first one in London (1851). The International Exposition of 1867 in Paris, which included Le Play's exhibition on “social economy” (see note 83 above), raised the bar for the genre, turning what was essentially a blown-up trade fair into an aspiring showcase of all human endeavour. During the event no less than 63 international scientific meetings were held, validating the custom of tying both genres together. Afterwards Paris preserved the privilege of innovation: the idea of the Exposition as a palimpsest of the world itself reached new levels of sophistication in 1889 and was brought to full flowering in 1900. (Rasmussen 1989; Mitchell 2009; Stevens 2000) On the other hand, these Expositions were themselves occasions for urban redevelopment which allowed to put in practice fashionable solutions – Chicago's “White City” of 1893 or the international acclamation of the aesthetic principles of Art Nouveaux in 1900 are cases in point. (Freestone and Amati 2014; Chalet-Bailhache 2008; Monclús 2006) Along the years the overall issue of sanitation was subdivided in more specialized areas, regularly discussed by national and international congresses and promoted by corresponding institutions. Starting in 1876 there were biannual Congresses of Hygiene and Demography; the first of the biannual International Housing Congresses was held in 1889 during the International Exposition in Paris; in 1895 a first Congress of Housing Hygiene took place in the same city; in 1904 there was an international sequel, with J. Stübben attending.119 The International Housing Congress of 1905 (Liege) and 1910 (Vienna) were widely attended and increasingly paid attention to residential development. (Sutcliffe 1981b, 168–70) Over time more technical, specialized congresses and institutions appeared, such as the World Congresses of Roads, the first one being held in Paris in 1908.120 Architects had set up a Permanent International Committee in 1867 to organize regular International Congresses on Architecture. During the 19th century they discussed mainly questions of professional equivalence, but during the first congresses of the 20th century (1904, Madrid; 1906, London; promoted by strong international organizations such as Le Play's Association Internationale d'Économie Sociale (see note 83 above) and the Association Internationale pour le Progrès des Sciences Sociales (Brussels, 1862). 119 The first Congress of Hygiene and Demography was held in Brussels under the title International Congress of Hygiene, Safety and Social Economy; its final title was adopted in 1882 (Geneva). The topics of demography and hygiene were also discussed in other meetings (for an overview, Levy and Bunle 1954) 120 Often these meetings resulted in the creation of international bodies: an International Association against Tuberculosis in 1902, a Permanent Commission of Housing Hygiene in 1904, in Paris, an intergovernmental International Office of Public Hygiene in Rome, in 1907, a World Road Association in 1909 … The relevance of all these meetings and subjects to planning can be illustrated by the curriculum of the architect A. Rey, best-known for his winning entry for the workers' housing competition of the Rothschild Foundation in 1906. Rey was a frequent and active participant at international meetings; a short survey illustrates the circulation of professionals and the imbrication of subjects: Tuberculosis in 1905 (Paris); Architects and Housing Hygiene in 1906 (London and Geneva); Affordable Housing and Hygiene and Demography in 1907 (London and Berlin); Tuberculosis and Architecture in 1908 (Washington, Vienna); Town Planning in 1910 (London); Housing Hygiene in 1911 (Dresden); Hygiene and Demography in 1912 (Washington); Housing Hygiene in 1913 (Antwerp). (Dumont 1991, 187–88) – 80 – G. Verheij Congresses, exhibitions and institutions 1908, Vienna; 1911, Rome) planning-related topics made a rapid appearance. (Sutcliffe 1981b, 170–71) The first congress to bear a disciplinary designation was the 1910 Town Planning Conference in London. Though the RIBA promoted the congress primarily for domestic reasons (see p. 57–58 above) it was the first international meeting which could truly claim representativity, and the first occasions in which planners recognized themselves internationally as a distinct profession. The cast of speakers and public included representatives from German architectural associations (J. Stübben), soon-to-be urbanistes (E. Hénard, L. Bonnier) and delegates of the social reform milieu (G. Benoît-Lévy, R. de Souza) from France and representatives of the American Institute of Architects, the Chicago Architectural Club and the National Conference on City Planning. (RIBA 1911; Sutcliffe 1981b, 171–72; Whyte 2011; 2012) However, the first series of International Congress in which planning was a major subject were those of the Belgian Art Public movement. By the end of the century Brussels had earned a reputation as an example of “public” or “municipal art”, which owed as much the lively avant-garde art milieu as to the efforts of the city's Burgomaster Charles Buls in defending the city's heritage. The avenue de Tervueren, laid out especially for the 1897 International Exhibition to link the Parc du Cinquantanaire and the colonial exhibition, was an example quoted over and over again as a successful form of safekeeping the “aesthetic” of the city.121 (Figure 38) In 1893 a group of artists, writers, art critics, architects and educators founded L'Œuvre de l'Art appliqué à la rue et aux objets d’utilité publique, later simply called L'Œuvre de l'Art publique or L'Œuvre. Apparently the impact of C. Buls' L'esthetique des villes (1893) gave the impulse. The well-established academic painter E. Broerman122 rapidly took the lead in organization and promotion. (Smets 1995; Notteboom 2013; Abreu 2015) The assumed mission of L'Œuvre was to take art back to the street, “restoring” its social mission which – it was argued – had been lost to the pressures of modernity. “Public art,” a concept which here made its first historical appearance, started basically as a contraction of “art applied to the street and to objects of public use.” An early historian of the movement, the Belgian Hippolyte Fierens-Gevaert (1870-1926), made the link with British Arts & Crafts and its mission of renovating decorative arts, though here the focus is on the city rather than the dwelling. The idea of public art implied, in Fierens-Gevaert's analysis (1897), a new, socially constructive role for the artist. But differently from Arts & Crafts theoreticians such as J. 121 Brussels could be pointed to as example from New York (B. C. de Wolf 1900), Barcelona (Puig i Cadafalch 1901), Lisbon (O Dia 1903) and even Paris (Magne 1908, 29). (For urban development in Brussels during this period, see P. Sica 1981, 1:327–34; for the wider cultural context, Campi 1989; Région de Bruxelles-Capitale 2005; on Buls and his work, Smets 1995; Notteboom 2009, 519–51.) 122 Eugéne Broerman (1861–1932) was a renowned establishment portraitist and friend of influential politicians. For almost two decades he animated L'Œuvre de l'Art publique, which disappeared after Broerman moved to Venice in 1911. His own major work of “public art” – a series of decorative mural painting of allegories of Effort for the Council Room of Saint-Gillis, started in 1907 – was never finished. After subsequent stays in Paris and Bretagne Broerman returned to Belgium in 1925, receiving many official commissions. (Broerman 1893; Eugène Broerman 2004) – 81 – G. Verheij Congresses, exhibitions and institutions Ruskin or W. Morris, industrial and urban modernity was accepted as the necessary context. For the members of L'Œuvre, art and education had an important role to play in the social conflict brought about by industrialization and modernization. Art could be a remedy to social conflict, turning the city into a pedagogical tool.123 At the core of Art Public was then a project of aesthetic education applied to public space. Based on a perceived loss of popular aesthetic feeling, blamed on modern massification, alienation and the elite appropriation of art, public art was both to regenerate lost local identities and reconstruct socially responsive artistic practices. (Fierens-Gevaert 1897, 433) The originality of L'Œuvre was to foreground public space as the main locus of attention. Rapidly the lofty ideals of Art public were transformed in concrete initiatives, articulated with Buls' “embellishment” projects and the activity of Bruxelles-Attractions, a commercial society promoting Brussels as tourist and commercial visiting-place. Place of pride occupied the competitions among artists and decorators for signboards, flags, street lights, shop windows and façades.124 Broerman successfully promoted the organization. In 1896 a richly illustrated and widely read magazine, L'Art Public (1896-1912), made its appearance (Notteboom 2013). In 1897 the organization counted above 3000 member in Belgium; by 1900 it approached 4000. (Fierens- Gevaert 1897, 436–37; Wolf 1900) During the 1897 International Exposition in Brussels the society organized a Salon d'Art Public, showcasing the work developed and drawing public acclaim with a section of models and pictures of architectural and decorative ensembles from the past (Fierens-Gevaert 1897, 438–47). Taking advantage of the momentum and his connections, the same year Broerman created a Comité National de l'Art Public and started organizing an international congress on public art, held in September 1898 under royal patronage. Notwithstanding the jargon of national traditions and local identities, L'Œuvre had a decidedly international vocation. As Broerman proclaimed, the time was ripe for a large and conclusive international auscultation (une grande consultation internationale et 123 See Broerman's introductions and contributions to the transactions of the Public Art congresses of 1898, 1905 and 1910 and other publications (Broerman 1896; 1905; n.d.). Ideologically, L'Œuvre de l'Art publique was part of a reaction against the supposed pernicious consequences of cosmopolitan internationalism without, however, refusing the benefits of “progress.” The aim of bringing “art” to the streets played thus from the start upon the to dialectical pairing of modernization and conservatism, typical of many moderate reformists. It was about modernization without modernism; art was to reconcile or pacify the consequences of modernity rather than straining it to its utmost consequences. Hence the continuous flirting with public administration as the most efficient support of aesthetic renovation, and the growing nationalist emphasis on shared heritage and social cohesion (f. ex. Buls 1905). (Smets 1995; Notteboom 2009, 283–99) 124 This bourgeois, slightly commercial understanding of public art is the background to the rapid departure of the Art nouveaux artists led by Victor Horta, protesting about the mediocre quality of the artistic production promoted by L'Œuvre. E. Broerman's personality didn't contribute to congeniality: he was repeatedly ridiculed in the modernists' organ L'Art moderne. At stake were not only divergent tastes there but also different conceptions of the artist. H. Fierens-Gevaert put his finger on the sore spot: the idea of art promoted by L'Œuvre asked artists to abandon ideals of virtuosity and amour-propre to become humble artisans. Art public was not a movement for great artists working at the margins of popular taste but of a generalized applied art, integrating individual contributions into a collective artwork for which medieval cathedrals and urban squares functioned as examples. (Fierens-Gevaert 1897; Notteboom 2013; Smets 1995) – 82 – G. Verheij Congresses, exhibitions and institutions démonstrative) of all Europe's “pioneer aesthetes” (esthètes pionners).125 (“Le premier Congrès” 1898) In the congress' repetitions in 1900 (Paris), 1905 (Liège) and 1910 (Brussels), all coinciding with international expositions, audiences were clearly cosmopolitan. At the 1900 congress, held at the recently inaugurated Hôtel des Examens of the municipality (today part of the Saint-Germain market), there were representatives from Spain, Belgium, Luxembourg, the UK, Hungary, Holland, Germany, Sweden, the United States, Portugal, Italy, Russia, Canada, Brazil and of course France. In 1905 Argentina, Bulgaria, Chile, Colombia, Greece, Japan, Mexico, Romenia, Swiss and Uruguay could be added. However the landscape of “public art” was especially dense in the French-speaking world and the United States.126 The international promotion of the creation of “public art commissions” – a resolution adopted in the 1898 congress and reconfirmed in 1900 – had born fruit, especially in France and Italy.127 These congresses provided the first international forum which included sessions specifically dedicated to matters of planning and “urban aesthetic(s),” establishing the initial links between urban professionals. Another important genre of events in the international planning network was the exhibition, a key connection for the diffusion of design imaginary. Like the planning congress, the roots of the planning exhibition can be traced back to Le Play's “social economy” exhibits from 1867 and 1889, the first specimens of exhibitions related to environmental matters. Exhibition specialist P. Geddes (1915, 249) claimed them as the first “civic exhibitions.” The 1889 Exposition – which included a show on urban hygiene in the Hôtel de Ville with contrasting 125 Vice-presidents were J. Stübben, Bellamy Storer (1847–1922, at the time United States Envoy in Belgium), Jean Pierre Philippe Lampué (1836–1924, vice-president of Paris' Municipal Council), Caspar Purdon Clarke (1846–1911, director of the London South Kensington Museum), the Dutch architect Pierre Cuypers (1827-1921), the engineer (Guiseppe?) Lenci from Florence, and the Swedish architect Carl Möller (1857-1933). 126 The impressive list of over 150 institutions and associations – art and artist societies, academic institutions, archaeological associations, educational organizations, museums, societies of decorative and industrial arts – inscribed at the 1905 congress gives a small glimpse of this landscape. From the United States, New York's Public Art League and Municipal Art Society, the Institute of Municipal Affairs, the Reform Club, the American Institute of Social Academy, the Fairmont Park Art Association and the American Civic Association attended. Among the numerous Public art commissions and societies were those from Bordeaux, Marseilles, Madrid, Venice, Florence and Geneva. The Swish Ligue de la Beauté and Antwerp's L'Art dans la vie publique were present. Belgian participants were identified by profession rather than the organization they represented, which is the probable reason few Belgium societies were indicated. They can be assumed to have been numerous. Other attendants included G. Benoît-Levy and the German planners Theodor Goecke, Cornelius Gurlitt, J. Stübben and Siegfried Sitte (the son of C. Sitte presented a report on the placement of schools within urban development schemes). (Œuvre de l’Art Public 1905, 27–29) 127 The existence of one such a commission in Geneva had far-reaching consequences. A. Brulhart (1992) has traced C. Martin's truncated French translation of Sitte's Der Städtebau from 1902 to this commission, of which the young architect was a member. The translation – really a medievalist recreation – is behind the persistent misreadings of Sitte (Collins and Collins 2006); Brulhart shows how Martin's inventions responded to local issues (especially large demolitions envisaged by a regulatory plan) and how C. Buls and other members of L'Œuvre were directly involved. – 83 – G. Verheij Congresses, exhibitions and institutions types of workers' housing, after an idea of the hygienist Alfred Durand-Claye (1841-1888, see Rochard 1889) – provided the blueprint for the influential 1900 section on social economy, based on a thorough revision of Le Play's ideas. (“Social” 1927; Rodgers 1998, 8–20) The “urban question” remained much present during the proliferating official and unofficial International Expositions of the first decades of the new century.128 But after 1900 a number of exhibitions appeared which specialized in urban development. The format was created in Germany. Part of a “conscious policy of self-representation” to legitimize urban policies and promote them internationally (Hård and Stippak 2008, 127), it took advantage of a strong local tradition of urban hygiene exhibitions.129 In 1903, the Dresden exhibition showed an extensive collection of historical and present urban plans. An exhibition of documents and material specimens became an indispensable features of national meetings; the format was repeated in Dusseldorf and Vienna (1904), Darmstadt (1905), Stuttgart (1908) and again Dresden (1911). At the end of the decade, a series of exhibitions in Berlin (1910) and Dusseldorf (1910 and 1912) modernized the format. The transatlantic activity of W. Hegemann was crucial; his two-volume catalogue of the Berlin exhibition (1911–1913) is still required reading for the period. These exhibitions mobilized social and intellectual support for planning and started to sort out the different subjects approached by the new discipline.130 (Piccinato 1993, 55–60; C. C. Collins 2005, chap. 2; Frisby 2001, chap. 3; Frank 1992) Meanwhile P. Geddes had made his own exhibition for the 1910 London Congress, complementing a considerable show of material from the Berlin exhibition earlier that year which R. Unwin succeeded in bringing over. Geddes had been working on the idea of an encyclopedic exhibition loosely focused on the interplay between social conditions, human activity and environmental change for a long time. The development of the civic survey from 1903 was related to this project. Asked to contribute with an exhibit for the Town Planning Conference, Geddes pushed through the idea of a moveable exhibition, which afterwards went to Ghent (1913), Paris (1916), then India. (Geddes 1907; 1915; Meller 1980; 1990) Other important exhibitions were held in Leipzig (1913), Nancy (1913) and Lyon (1914). The logical consequence of this networking was an international institution. In 1911 P. Abercrombie promoted the creation of an International Federation of Town Planners in the Town Planning Review in order to coordinate the disjointed, partially overlapping activities around the new discipline. In 1913 two entities were created who could claim to answer this demand; both still exist today. 128 St. Louis (1904), Liege (1905), Milan (1906), Brussels (1910), Turin (1911) … 129 A General Exhibition of Hygiene and Life-Saving, held in Berlin in 1883, had been the high point of the German public health movement. (Ladd 1990, 73–76) 130 The Berlin exhibition included the following sections, which show the emergence of different specializations within the discipline: 1) entries to the Greater Berlin competition; 2) development plans from German and foreign cities; 3) public transportation; 4) statistics and graphics of economic, social and sanitary indicators; 5) residential development schemes; 6) parks, cemeteries, playgrounds and sport facilities; 7) urban design projects and models; 8) artistic embellishments (monuments, bridges, fountains...); 9) documentation centre, with literature for consultation or acquisition, as well as lecture series and guided tours. In 1909 W. Hegemann wrote up a five-page report entitled “ Plans for City Planning Exhibitions” for the organizers of the Boston exhibition of 1915 in which he already stressed the importance of public information and gave detailed suggestions for a show on the local problems of the city. (C. C. Collins 2005, 36–43) – 84 – G. Verheij Congresses, exhibitions and institutions The organization which most closely resembled Abercrombie's suggested federation was the International Union of Cities (IUC), founded during the First International Congress of Town Planning and City Life held in Ghent in 1913. The assembled representatives of 22 governments and 150 cities approved the proposal to create what should be a global forum to debate urban policy. It was to bring together what seemed by then to become an infinitely diversifying sequence of meetings and exhibitions under the ideological umbrella of local democracy.131 A permanent committee for future conferences, exhibition bureau and magazine (Le Mouvement Communal, 1914-?) were set up in Brussels. The outbreak of war postponed a planned San Francisco congress in 1915, and had a severe impact in the organization's functioning. It wasn't until 1924 that a second congress was held (in Amsterdam), but then the series regularly resumed, with nine more congresses until World War II. Another organization was created shortly after within the British Garden Cities Association. The International Garden Cities Association was an initiative of the architect Ewart Culpin (1877-1946), with E. Howard himself as first president (on the garden-city movement see p. 88–89 below). It was intended as the international branch of the garden-cities movement, but the war, which suspended the competing IUC, provided an opportunity for expansion which introduced a much wider scope. An International Garden Cities and Town-Planning congress – including a tour along British glories of urban design, from Letchworth to Geddes' Edinburough – had been organized in 1914. Already there the congress propounded, besides the predictable propaganda of the Garden-City ideal and the singly-family dwelling, the need for extension planning, zoning, urban land policies and affordable housing. As war broke out and an estimated 160 000 Belgian refugees arrived in Great Britain the International Garden Cities Association saw an opportunity for educational initiative, and rapidly put together a subsequent congress and exhibition exclusively dedicated to the reconstruction of Belgium. A permanent Belgium Town Planning Committee was set up under presidency of R. Unwin, which advocated the garden-city and the civic survey as keys to reconstruction.132 (Geertse 2016; Smets 1977, 90–92; Uyttenhove 1990; Hardy 1989) Initially British garden-city courting seemed successful. A group of Belgian architects, stimulated by British interest, formed a Committee of Civic Art which promoted an eclectic mixture of the Gedessian survey, civic arts and Dutch residential development (Figure 41).133 131 Behind the left-leaning IUC was the milieu of local socialist politics and the international peace movement. Thus its focus on public administration. The centre of its sphere of influence was in France, Belgium and Holland, with promoters such as H. Sellier and E. Vinck. In 1928 the IUC changed its name to the International Union of Local Authorities and became a subsidiary organization of the United Nations. (Saunier and Payre 1998; Saunier 2001) 132 One member of the Belgium Committee (the Catalan reformer C. Montoliu) considered the exhibition superior to previous exhibitions on planning due to the careful selection of plans, diagrams and urban vistas; those of garden-cities – especially Bournville, Lethworth and Hampstead – stole the show. The section of Belgian cities showed images before and after destruction. A final section recommended the civic survey. (Civis 1915) The conclusions of the Belgium Committee consisted in a plan, elaborated by Unwin, which basically proposed to reconstruct the entire country as a large garden-city. (Uyttenhove 1990) 133 The Comité Néerlando-Belge d'Art Civique was created in March 1915 as a sub-commission of the IUC. Founding members were the socialist politician Émile Vinck (1870-1950), the pacifist bibliographer Paul Otlet (1868-1944) and the garden designer Louis van der Swaelmen (1883- 1929), all Belgian exiles in Holland. The famous Dutch architect Hendrik Petrus Berlage (1856- 1934) accepted presidency, but the Committee's main animator was Van der Swaelmen. Having – 85 – G. Verheij Congresses, exhibitions and institutions But in the end the destroyed towns were for the larger part rebuilt with minor adjustments to modernity, or else created from scratch in “traditional” style.134 As to planning, Paris lured, and while French architects had conceded during the war the use of the Belgian concept of Art Public their Belgium counterparts followed French terminology when in 1919 they created the Société Belge des Urbanistes.135 The impact of war went well beyond increased employment opportunities. Behind the rapid transformation of institutional realities in Belgium and France (see p. 69–71 above) was a new political reality, born from the ruins of World War I. One of the novelties of the war had been the huge scale of social mobilization. Entire societies were put under State control in order to sustain war efforts. Against this background, administrative intervention in urban development lost much of its apparent radicalism. “La grande leçon de la guerre a été le besoin de préparation et de prévoyance,” one external observer put it delicately (Ford 1920, 187). The planning of metropolitan regions became an accepted objective.136 Many of the learnt the trade of garden design with his father, Van der Swaelmen got involved in planning shortly before the war as a member of a study commission of a plan for Greater Brussels. During the war he started to work on an ambitious Enciclopedie des Villes et de l'Art Civique, stimulated by the idea of the civic survey. In 1916 he published Préliminaires d'art civique, intended as an introduction to the encyclopedia and its application to Belgian reconstruction. The work includes an adaptation of the civic survey as systematized by H. V. Lanchester and an index of the encyclopedia. (Van der Swaelmen 1916; De Ridder 1920; Stynen 1979; Smets 1977, 94–97; Notteboom 2009, 531–59) Though Van der Swaelmen amassed a large collection of material on international planning, the work was never finished. After the war the collected documents were kept at the library of the Institut d'Histoire, de Géographie et d'Economie Urbaines in Paris (Jaussely 1919, 185). 134 A law, based on the British Town Planning Act from 1909 and the Dutch Woningwet (Housing Act) from 1901, was adopted by the exiled Belgian government in October 1915 as a direct result of that year's congressional conclusions. This law compelled towns in the destroyed territories to elaborate general development plans, tacitly ignoring pre-war property rights and vested interests. (Smets 1977, 92–94) When, two years later, the Union des Villes et des Communes Belges organized a competition for three reconstruction plans for damaged villages (Couillet, Jemappes and Willebroek), its preferred model was the garden-city (Hennaut 1994). However, within the confusing unravelling of Belgian exile politics, in the end reconstruction was framed by another act from 1919, inspired on contemporary French legislation, while the “radical” 1915 act was quietly ignored. The option of modernizing renewal lost ground to reconstitution and new “traditional” suburbs. (Smets 1987; Vandeweghe 2011; Grulois 2011; Hennaut and Liesens 1994; Lambrichs 2001) 135 The society is somewhat unusual among its international counterparts, as it dedicated itself to the promotion of architectural modernism rather than institutional planning; it produced a vanguard magazine dedicated to urbanisme, architecture and art public (La Cité, 1919-1935), appended “Architectes Modernistes” to its name in 1923 and got involved in the CIAM after 1928. (Smets 1977, 98–102) 136 Holland pioneered concrete regional planning procedures, a central subject at the 1924 international planning congress in Amsterdam (Bosma 1990; Wagenaar 2011). In New York a team led by Thomas Adams (1871-1940) was working on a monumental regional study since 1921 with funding by the Russell Sage Foundation (Regional Survey 1927–1929). A Greater London Regional Planning Committee was created in 1927, with R. Unwin as technical advisor; its work is the background for P. Abercrombie's Greater London Plan from 1944 and the New Towns Act from – 86 – G. Verheij Congresses, exhibitions and institutions juridical obstacles and moral scruples about the privileges of property, which only a few years ago had seemed insurmountable, were now contemplated with less animosity. It may not surprise then that in the wake of war urban planning was the object of progressive institutional, juridical and disciplinary definition. (Hardy 1989; Meller 2001, chap. 2; Auster 1989) At the same time the war had disrupted and in the process realigned the spheres of influence and political alliances supporting international exchange. Unsurprisingly Germany lost part of its exemplary role for Western Europe. Internationalist efforts didn't stop however. After the war the International Garden Cities Association, which in 1926 settled its name as the International Federation for Housing and Town Planning (IFHTP), continued its conference series with almost yearly editions until 1931, maturing into “one of the largest transnational planning platforms in the first half of the 1920s.” (Geertse 2015, 2) The Federation counted with a large, actively participating membership from most European countries, North- America and Australasia, and while the IUC tended to attract civil servants and municipal administrators, due to its interest in social conditions and urban development, professionals planners clustered around the IFHTP. Both organizations were key players in the rapid international institutionalization of the discipline.137 The topic of housing functioned as a leverage to increasing institutionalization of planning tout court, as the combined pressures of pre-existing shortage, war consequences, economic crisis and evermore expanding urbanization put it decidedly on the front-line of urban policies (see p. 94 below). Though the main political marshalling was done on a national level, a “networked transnational planning society, embedded in international associations, institutions, publications, and events,” with its own rhythms, ritual, issues and ambitions, was vital to align and systematize these different experiences. (Geertse 2015, 1; Saunier 2001; 2002; Ward 2002) The expert networks and commanding international organizations were simultaneously global debating chambers for the exchange and discussion of specialist practices, the stage of an emergent design culture and the political arena of often conflict-ridden dialogue and lobbying between professionals and public officials. This international network formed a world where elected politicians, scholars, amateurs, technical experts and all those for whom the city was a favoured object of curiosity and reforming zeal met and mingled, forming a complex reality further muddled by the prodigal variety of discussed subjects. The urban comprehended both leisure and work, urban 1946 (Miller 1989; Auster 1989). In France, after the forgotten 1919 competition Paris was again the object of a regional plan by H. Prost, in a chronology which goes from the creation of a governmental Committee of Planning and General Organisation of the Paris Region in 1928 to approval in 1939 – and revision ordered already in 1944 (Sutcliffe 1970, 222–23; Delorme 1981). 137 Another important organization was the Congrès Internationaux des Habitations à Bon Marché, a socialist-tinted organization dedicated to the promotion of collective, state-sponsored social housing. It was active from before World War I to 1925-1926, when it transferred its activity to the housing section of the IFHTP. Due to conflict with the more liberal-minded IFHTP, which privileged cooperative housing and voluntary action over State intervention, in 1929 most of the former members of the Congrès Internationaux left to establish their own Internationaler Verband für das Wohnungswesen (1929), with its seat in Frankfurt. After 1933 this organization was effectively kidnapped by the Nazis, who use it to gain a position in the IFHTP. Karl Strölin (1890- 1963), lord mayor of Stuttgart and prominent Nazi member, became the Federation's president, and during the war turned it into an extension of Nazi propaganda. (Geertse 2015, 3) – 87 – G. Verheij Congresses, exhibitions and institutions development and municipal administration, local democracy and affordable housing, urban design and regional planning. As M. Geertse notes, it was here that in the end the definitions of what planning and the city meant were crafted. What was at stake was the demarcation of objects, methods, tools and competences; transnational expert networks were places of symbolic power, “an environment where ways of judging, apprehending and acting on the city were defined, where expertise and professional legitimacies were created, where knowledge and disciplines were constructed, and where the profiles of politicians responsible for urban issues were modified.” (Geertse 2015, 1) Exporting expertise Expert networks and formal institutions were not the only channels of diffusion. This sections discusses a number of cases of the exportation of models and expertise to give a more complex account of the inner workings of international circulation. Some aspects of international influences have already been mentioned. Since the second half of the late 19th century Paris had been a model across the world, and would remain so well into the 20th century, but around the turn of the century a vigorous competitor appeared. The garden-city – an invention of Ebenezer Howard which he successfully turned into operative model and business venture – had an enormous impact in the international planning panorama, and its diffusion was intimately linked to the latter's consolidation.138 It went much beyond the initial promises of combining rural living and urban convenience to solve the overcrowded slums and the rural exodus. The Garden City Association was founded in 1899; including several influential associates, it was able to leverage the funding needed to start building the Letchworth Garden City within five years. The Hampstead Garden Suburb, a private philanthropic enterprise intended as a model housing development, was started in 1906. The designs by Raymond Unwin and Barry Parker (1867-1947) turned Howard's abstract model into a full-blown scheme, including cutting-edge ingredients of the time: rudimentary zoning distinctions, a civic centre, a miniature park-system including green-belt, and some picturesque twists of their own. (P. Hall 1992, 39–42; Gravagnuolo 1998, 117–23; Sutcliffe 1990) Meanwhile the garden-city gospel spread rapidly. In 1902 a garden-city association was formed in Germany, with France following within a year.139 Similar associations appeared 138 On Howard, his work and time, see the 1965 re-edition of his work (Howard 1965), as well as the studies by S. Buder (1990) and D. Hardy (2000; 2010). For general studies on the garden-city and its international diffusion, see the classical works by C. Doglio (1985) and W. L. Creese (1996) as well as the collections edited by G. Tagliaventi (1994), S. V. Ward (1992), and K. C. Parsons and D. Schuyler (2002), the monumental work by Stern, Fishman and Tilove (2013) and B. Gravagnuolo's useful overview (Gravagnuolo 1998, chap. 2). 139 The Deutsche Gartenstadtgesellschaft (1902-1937) was founded in the German milieu of social reform rather than professional practice, where its impact was diminished. The early assimilation of the garden-city may have had something to do with local precedents (Fritsch 1896; Salomon 1913), but can also be linked to the reception of Arts & Crafts ideas on housing reform and craftsmanship. (Bollerey and Hartmann 1980; Schubert 1985; Fehl and Rodriguez-Lores 1993; Ciré 2000; Harris 2012) The Association des Cités-Jardins de France (1903-?) was founded by G. Benoît-Lévy after a study trip to Letchworth (see note 85 above). Benoît-Levy's publications and – 88 – G. Verheij Exporting expertise briefly in Belgium, Holland ant the United States during the following years, and somewhat later in Spain (1912), Norway (1913) and even Japan (before 1918). In Italy the garden-city was widely discussed in publications and a magazine, Le case popolari e la città giardino (1909-1910). The British Garden City Association organized international congresses since 1904, and in 1913 an International Garden Cities Association was created. Before increasing international attention Letchworth and Hampstead were successfully promoted as urban models for the 20th century. Simultaneously the original ideas and ideals were watered down to a generic city-image of suburban low densities infused with greenery and public spaces.140 The influence of the garden-city ranges from socialist housing compounds in inter-war France to German national-socialist rural settlements, from Belgian garden-suburbs to wealthy residential suburbs across the American continent, from Dutch extension planning and Mumfordian regional planning to postwar New Towns and Villes Nouvelles, all the way up to recent calls for renewed garden-city politics in the United Kingdom and France. (Geertse 2008; Guerrand 2001; Devereux 2013; Selvafolta 2001 Gravagnuolo 1998, chap. 2; Mullin 1982; van Rooijen 1990; Rego 2015; Stephenson 2002; Christensen 1986; Hardy 1991; TCPA 2011; 2014; Les Cahiers 165, April 2013) Less usually the garden-city model was directly exported. The British Empire provided a global stock of potential clients, and British town planning and garden cities principles can be traced back along its former global geography.141 (Home 1990) Another line of garden-city exportation moved through Portugal's second city, Porto, traditionally dominated by British interests, to end in the peaceful atmosphere of a Brazilian garden suburb. In Porto, discussions over the project for a modern avenue with Town Hall to be built in the city's historical centre resulted in the hiring of Barry Parker (Unwin's associate) as foreign expert. The avenue, a project of the municipal Department of Public Works, was deemed unsatisfactory and Parker managed to get a contract for a new scheme.142 During the summer activity – in which he appropriated the formal elements without the social theory – inspired the construction of several garden-cities related to mining and railway companies, and was at the roots of H. Sellier's promotion of cités-jardins in the Parisian regin during the 1920s and 1930s. (Magri 1998; Guelton 2008) 140 “Hay que reafirmar, sin embargo, que la idea de ciudad-jardín, pese a servir en esta fase [start of the 20th century], en los diversos países, de estrella polar de las rutas de pensamiento que persiguen una proyectación urbana innovadora, pierde bien pronto los requisitos de fidelidad al modelo howardiano para convertirse en una referencia más bien amplia al principio de una equilibrada programación de núcleos suburbanos y de pequeñas ciudades-satélite ricas en espacios verdes y en equipamientos colectivos.” (Gravagnuolo 1998, 125) 141 In at least one Brazilian case garden-city principles could be traced back in the purely commercial, often ephemeral settlements of enterprising British capital. (Rego 2011) 142 On the process of Parker's contracting and his proposals see the studies by M. Miller (2004; 2012) and especially Ricardo Figueiredo (2013, 105–23). Parker published a leaflet translated to Portuguese comparing the original proposal and his owns ideas (Parker 1915). The architect was contracted in the unclear aftermath of a proposed competition for a comprehensive Improvement and Extension Plan for the city in 1914, according to the principles of the “modern art of city- building.” Following Figueiredo, “nos finais de 1914 e já consolidada a Administração local Republicana, o então vereador do Pelouro de Obras, Elísio de Melo (…) lança um concurso público para o ‘Plano de Melhoramentos e Ampliação da Cidade do Porto’, que se pretendia 'elaborado em conformidade com os princípios da moderna arte de construção das cidades, tendo- – 89 – G. Verheij Exporting expertise of 1915 Parker worked on his proposal, which essentially transformed the short avenue into a sequence of articulated, semi-closed spaces, carefully orchestrated to visually frame the Town Hall. Sittesque concerns – the impression of closure and protections, the different perspectives of architectural focal points, the emphasis of architectural design of urban space – are strongly present.143 (Figures 42–45) Though his plans were partially executed, later modifications profoundly changed Parker's intentions. The ruralizing adaptation of the city's sever neoclassical architecture didn't meet the expectations of municipal officials and technicians. Instead of the desired monumental square, capable of competing with Lisbon's Praça do Comércio, they were given a sophisticated but slightly provincial town square.144 The architectural refinement – the shaded colonnades and porticoes, the white plastered walls, the subtle classical references – were dropped and the square ended being built up in old-fashioned Beaux-Arts style. The Town Hall itself was awarded to the municipal architect António Correia da Silva (1880-1963) after a competition in 1916. Back in Great Britain, Parker published his scheme extensively and enlarged it to include the entire historical centre, perhaps in an unfruitful bid for future commissions. Afterwards Parker got involved in the construction of an upper-class garden-suburb in São Paulo called “Jardin América.” Unwin was commissioned to design a garden-suburb in 1916 in an attempt to lure British capital into investing in suburban development. The initiative was of São Paulo's Director of Public Works, V. Silva Freire, who was implementing a development plan with the assistance of the French consulting architect Joseph-Antoine Bouvard (1840- 1920).145 In 1917 it was Parker who travelled to Brazil to finish the project, staying two years to supervise construction, design additional houses and a park and provide planning advice. (Miller 2012; Janjulio 2012; Figure 46) se em vista as circunstâncias locais' e cujas propostas seriam apreciadas 'em mérito absoluto e relativo, sob o quíntuplo ponto de vista higiénico, técnico, artístico, económico e social por uma comissão idónea (...) da qual fará parte, se esta comissão executiva o tiver por bem, um profissional estrangeiro de nome consagrado nesta arte' como refere a Acta da sessão de 31 de Dezembro da Comissão Executiva da Câmara Municipal do Porto.” (Ricardo Figueiredo 2013, 105–6) Unfortunately Figueiredo offers little help in understanding what became of the competition. 143 On the reading of Sitte by Unwin and Parker, which focused on the concepts of closure and the street picture, see M. Swenarton (1992). 144 The matter is largely discussed within the city's Commission of Municipal Aesthetics. The influential, Paris-trained architect José Marques da Silva (1869-1947) criticised Parker's “medieval” proposal for ignoring local aesthetic patterns and the “grandeur of [contemporary] manners” (grandeza dos nossos costumes). (Comissão de Estética da Cidade do Porto 1913–1917, session of 15 December 1915) 145 Victor da Silva Freire (1869-1951), born in Lisbon and trained at the École Nationale des Ponts et Chaussées, had worked throughout Europe before moving to Brazil in 1895. He maintained contact with Europe, aware of innovations in city planning. In a 1911 report for São Paulo's development plan Freire quoted an eclectic bibliography to support his proposals, including references to C. Sitte and J. Stübben, but characteristically through French translations. Further references where the work of C. Buls and E. Hénard, J.-A. Bouvard's work in Buenos Aires, and, curiously, C. M. Robinson. He is also said to have visited Letchworth and Hampstead Garden Suburb. (Simões Junior 2008; Miller 2012) – 90 – G. Verheij Exporting expertise It is a long way from E. Howard's autonomous, collectively-owned, social transformative Garden City to B. Parker's sophisticated residential quarter, which seamlessly blended his experience of British garden suburbs with tropical references to provide a comfortable living environment for São Paulo's upper classes. Parker's passage through Brazil hints at the complexity of the exportation of urban models, incessantly appropriated, re-interpreted, filtered and re-elaborated beyond recognition. Behind the notion of cultural influence are complex networks of circulation and transference (G. Dantas et al. 2004). The attention to the personal and material links behind the idea of influence also helps to explain why, for example, the Spanish linear city (ciudad lineal) didn't obtain recognition and influence similar to the garden-city. The lack of viable channels of international circulation is as important an explanation as other local and global factors. Though contemporary of Howard's Garden City – indeed a bit earlier, as its inventor Arturo Soria y Mata (1844-1920) endlessly claimed – and also poured into real built form,146 it was virtually unknown outside Spain until Hilarión González del Castillo (1869-1941) started to promote the model at Europe's professional meetings, first in Ghent (1913). As a result, the French garden-city promoter G. Benoît-Lévy got increasingly interested in the linear city, and even created a short-lived Association Internationale des Cités Linéaires (1929-1933). (González del Castillo 1919; Sambricio 1991; 1992; Guelton 2008) Traces of the linear city are present in several avant-garde proposals – Le Corbusier (Frampton 1987), the British MARS group (Gold 1995), Soviet inter-war planning (Kotkin 1996, 232–38) … – as well as postwar modernist plans. (G. R. Collins 1959) In the emerging market of planning ideas, active lobbying and promotion was needed to call international attention. When looking to the panorama of the exportation of expertise a more comprehensive picture arises than that given by the often vague notion of cultural influence. Thus a sustained impact of ideas of Germanic Städtebau in the United States can be traced throughout the emigration of German and Austrian architects and planners during the 1920s and the 1930s. In South America, strong expatriate communities are behind Städtebau influences in cities such as Porto Alegre or countries as Chile and Colombia, where the Austrian Karl Brunner produced plans for Santiago de Chile and Bogotá in the 1930s and 1940s and contributed much to the consolidation of the planning discipline. Brunner wrote the first South American textbook on the subject. (Joch 2012; Lersch 2014; Lersch and Souza 2015; Brunner 1939; Hofer 2009; for an overview, Almandoz 2010) Inverse influences across the Atlantic Ocean are less frequent. Notwithstanding the institutional density and availability of resources around North-American city planning from 1909 on (see earlier), until the 1930s – Le Corbusier's Quand les cathédrales étaient blanches (1937) signals perhaps a turning point – few European planners assumed there was actually anything to be learnt in the United States beyond the much-admired idea of metropolitan park- systems. Seen from Europe, incipient planning procedures and civic campaigns were 146 Soria y Mata started to elaborate his ideas of social reform through a spatial configuration based on transportation infrastructures in the early 1880s. During the 1890s he founded a building society, the Compañía Madrileña de Urbanización, to construct a practical example of some 50 km of linear city around Madrid. In the end only 5 km were built. In this context also appeared La Ciudad Lineal (1897-1932), the first periodical publication exclusively dedicated to planning matters, though its focus on its founder's model as the cure to all evils and its limited circulation restricted its impact. From the late 1900s on the engineer Carlos Carvajal (1872-1950) also made linear proposals in Chile, modelled on Soria y Mata's work. (Soria y Mata 1968) – 91 – G. Verheij Exporting expertise overshadowed by the mythical images of the skyscraper and the vigour of technical innovation. (Sutcliffe 1981b, 197–98) The transatlantic planner W. Hegemann is a noteworthy exception.147 A rare exception of American planning consultancy in Europe confirms the point. Dispatched during World War I to Europe in military service, the American planner G. B. Ford148 worked first as a housing and sanitation expert for the Red Cross, but was, as many of his French colleagues, lured into the prospects of reconstruction. However, notwithstanding contacts established with the Musée Social during his Parisian student years, it was only through an irresistible offer of lavish North-American philanthropic funding (provided by Boston magnate Edward A. Filene) that he was able to force himself upon La Renaissance des Cités as a planning consultant. Ford became the organization's official planning expert, inspecting reconstruction work in North France between February 1919 and May 1920. (Bedarida 1990) He also produced a reconstruction plan for Rheims (Holliday 1921) and wrote several articles, a useful overview of war destruction and reconstruction efforts in France (1919) and a hurried textbook for E. Laroux' collection, with the Unwinian title L'Urbanisme en pratique (1920). It were above all the French urbanistes who excelled in the art of getting international commissions. That it was essentially outside French that practical experience was first acquired has already been mentioned (see p. 61 above). Besides the success at international competitions, French architects seem to have explored the nation's colonial possessions with more success than their British counterparts. (Abu-Lughod 1980; B. Taylor 1982; Wright and Rabinow 1982) The Musée Social, for its part, successfully exported its organizational model. Social Museums were established after its example at Harvard University (1903-1930s?) and in Budapest (1902-1926), Barcelona (1909-1919), Milan (1910-1925) and Buenos Aires (1911-1923). (Harvard University Library 2016; Turda 2015, 192; Rovira Roses, n.d.; Dogliani 1998; Novick 1998) However, French urbanistes owed their ascendency essentially to personal connections and prestige. This is shown by one of the most successful cases of the exportation of expertise. Across the South American continent local elites and petty dictators cultivated persistent reserves of fascination with Paris. During the first decades of the 20th century the consecutive centennial independence celebrations of the former colonies provided welcome pretexts for large projects. Between the two World Wars, many cities turned to French expertise to contribute or coordinate development plans.149 Lectures were given in the continent's capitals 147 Amerikanische Architektur & Stadtbaukunst (1925), based on the English catalogue Hegemann edited for the International Cities and Town Planning Exhibition held in 1923 in Sweden, is the final fruit of an engagement which started in the late 1900s. (Hegemann 1923; 1925; C. C. Collins 2005) 148 George Burdett Ford (1879-1930) was trained as an architect at Harvard and the MIT and studied at the École des Beaux-Arts in Paris between 1904 and 1907. On his return to the United States he rapidly rose in New York's nascent planning milieu. Besides a flourishing career as planner he was linked to the National Conference on City Planning, assisted B. C. Marsh with the technical aspects of his 1909 textbook and in 1917 edited an exhaustive survey of city planning in the United States for the Committee of Town Planning of the American Institute of Architects. (Ford 1917) 149 Thus J.-C. N. Forestier, probably on account of his work in Barcelona and Seville, designed urban schemes for Buenos Aires (1923-1925) and Havana (1925-1930); D.-A. Agache made a scheme for Rio de Janeiro (1926-1930) and other minor cities in Brazil; H. Prost coordinated a development – 92 – G. Verheij Exporting expertise by L. Jaussely in 1926, Le Corbusier in 1929 and reinforced concrete expert Auguste Perret (1874-1954) in 1936. (Almandoz 2003) Local planning professionals also relied heavily on French examples, either through Parisian training, by attending European congresses or using French sources. The Brazilian planners Freire (see note 145) and Saturnino de Brito (1864-1929) were well aware of European innovations, essentially grasped through a French perspective. Brito was involved in the exhibition La Cité Reconstituée and contributed with a book on urban hygiene in planning. (Brito 1916; Andrade 1996; Silva Leme 2005) The lists of South American students at the EHEU/Institut d'Urbanisme includes, besides Paolera and Vautier, the Uruguayan Mauricio Cravotto (1893-1962), the Argentinian Ernesto de Estrada (1909-1998) and the Mexican Mario Pani (1911-1993). According to B. Marrey (1988, 107), in the early 1920s about three quarters of the students of the EHEU/Institut d'Urbanisme were foreigners, a large part of which from South America. South Americans, especially Brazilians, were also well represented at the École de l'Art Public at the CLSS. (Bruant 2008) The reception of French Urbanisme in South America shows how the roots of French influence were mostly based on personal connections and prestige; only later on was it given institutional form, mainly through educational institutes. This contrasts with the institutional density of the planning milieu explored previously. Until a certain point two overlapping, at times colluding, but in the end distinct transatlantic professional networks developed, which are at the root of a geography of two distinct planning traditions, which can be represented by Anglo-Saxon planning and French Urbanism. (Monclús and Guàrdia 2006, Introduction) What the short detour through the New World shows is that the largely informal network around French Urbanisme was no less effective than the institutions, publications and international meetings of the expert network in the global North. plan for Caracas (1937-1939). (Leclerc 1994; Adagio and Viv 1986; Segre 1982; Underwood 1991; F. D. Moreira 2011; Carollo 2002; Carmo 2010) Buenos Aires provides a paradigmatic study case on South American use of French expertise. Since the late 19th century the French landscape architect Jules Charles Thays (1849-1934) had been working there on the city's park- system. In 1907 J.-A. Bouvard was invited to modernize the city's urban fabric, in preparation of the upcoming independence celebrations; he proposed a plan based on diagonal avenues, circular squares and abundant green spaces. (It was on account of Bouvard's work in Buenos Aires that he was invited to work in São Paulo between 1911 and 1914.) During the 1920s no less than three French luminaries were brought in to opine over the city's future. In 1923 a Comisión de Estética Edilicia, created that year to turn Bouvard's proposals into something more viable, contracted J.-C. N. Forestier to contribute with proposals for several public spaces and a park-system. Among the commission's member was yet another French architect, René Karman (1875-1951), who had emigrated to Buenos Aires in 1913, as well as Ernesto E. Vautier (1899-1989), who had just spent some years studying in Paris. Afterwards Léon Jaussely (1926) and Le Corbusier (1929) were invited for conferences. When in 1931 W. Hegemann was brought in for conferences and proposals the invitation still came through a former student of the Parisian Institut d'Urbanisme, Carlos María della Paolera (1890-1960). The latter elaborated a final development plan in 1934 and after World War II founded a first higher education course in Urbanismo at the city's School of Architecture. M. Poëte and G. Bardet were brought in for seminars. (Gutiérrez 2007; Adagio and Viv 1986; Bechini 2015) – 93 – G. Verheij A note on public housing, modernity and modernism A note on public housing, modernity and modernism Earlier I noted that one of the consequences of the war effort in 1914-1918 had been a much more confident view of State intervention in social organization, and that the planning of cities and even entire regions was a salient aspect of this attitude (see p. 86 above). The domain were this was most radically visible was in that of public housing. In the years before the ware there had been an increasing awareness of the centrality of housing to urban development. However, save for certain circumscribed exceptions such as British municipal housing, the public construction of houses and residential areas – not to speak of direct subsidizing of housing construction – remained beyond the limits of orthodox views on public duties. Housing was the solid domain of private initiative, and relevant reflection and legislation focused on the promotion of privately-produced affordable housing through fiscal exemptions and other financial advantages, or through self-help tactics such as saving and building cooperatives. (Folin 1985; Topalov 1985; Bullock and Read 1985) After the war this radically changed. Increased pressures over the housing market combined with economic hardship and explicit or implicit war promises of social improvement to draw virtually all of Europe nation's into public housing policies, realized with varying degrees of success by national or municipal governments. The British “Homes for Heroes” campaign, fruit of a revision of the 1909 Town Planning Act to include the provision of financial subsidies for municipal housing in response to social pressures after the ordeal of war, is perhaps the most explicit example. In Belgium a Société Nationale des Habitations à Bon Marché, created in 1919 to coordinate and support subsidized affordable housing cooperatives, oversaw the construction of several tens of thousands of housing units. In France H. Sellier took the lead in publicly-financed house-building, promoting during the 1920s and 1930s the construction of some 30 cités-jardins in the Greater Paris region.150 Even in the United States timid attempts at State-built social housing were made. (Lebas, Magri, and Topalov 1991; Swenarton 1981; Smets 1977, 100–124; Hennaut 1994; Topalov 1990; Roncayolo 1983, 140–55; Magri 1990; Dumont 1991) Most impressive, however, were the social housing achievements in Holland, Germany and Austria. In Holland a pioneering Housing Act (the 1901 Woningwet) had framed public intervention in the housing market long before the war, providing “the opportunity to build large numbers of dwellings within the framework of extension plans.” (Bosma 1990, 128) By 1914 the architect, planner and theorist H. P. Berlage – who drew up extension plans for 150 Both the Belgium Société and Sellier's Office Public d'Habitations à Bon Marché were in fact pre- war initiatives. The first was proposed in 1914, months before the war, by a commission which had studied the subject since 1912. In France, an act approved in 1912 had created the ground for the creation of affordable housing agencies; the Office of the Parisian region was created in 1913. Sellier became its administrator in 1916, constituted a working group of architects and implemented a policy of land acquisition for future development. In 1919, coinciding with the approval of the Loi Cornudet and the first national housing congresses, Sellier's agency made its program public. (Burlen 1987; Guerrand and Moissinac 2005) – 94 – G. Verheij A note on public housing, modernity and modernism Amsterdam (1903, 1915), The Hague (1908), Utrecht (1920, 1924) and Groningen (1928- 1932) – had formulated a comprehensive approach to town planning which, leaning heavily on German theorists, established the principle of integrating plan and building. During the 1920s architects such as the uncompromising modernists of De Stijl – J. J. P. Oud (1890- 1963), Cornelis van Eesteren (1897-1988) – or the eclectic members of the Amsterdam School – Michel de Klerk (1884-1923), Pieter Lodewijk Kramer (1881-1961) – had the opportunity to experiment with new urban forms in large housing compounds. (Wagenaar 2011, 217–31; Van der Valk 2013; Casciato, Panzini, and Polano 1980; Figures 47–51) The results were adopted as examples throughout Europe, including by progressive architects in Spain (i.e. Rubió i Tudurí 1921) and (later) Portugal (Amaral 1943). In the Republic of Austria and Weimar Germany, the victory of social-democrats after the collapse of the Austro-Hungarian and German empires turned housing into a top priority. In “Red Vienna” a social-democrat city council implemented a comprehensive policy to build Siedlungen (garden-city-like suburbs) and Gemeinde-Höfe (communal courtyards). (Blau 1998) But the cities with the largest production of public housing in the whole of Europe were (in this order) Berlin and Frankfurt. In the Weimar Republic progressive housing policies at municipal level, based on national legislation approved in 1918, and the existence of effective cooperatives, often in public hands, combined to promote a large number of social housing projects and related infrastructures such as public parks.151 A group of young architects, aware of recent developments in Holland and Russia, took the opportunity to create a large number of modern housing settlements. These housing complexes provided concrete occasions for rational city-building. During the 1920s and early 1930s Weimar social housing was pretty much the avant-garde of planning practice. (Tafuri 1972, chap. 7; 1984, 237–391; Michelis 1985; Ladd 1990, chap. 5; Figures 52–56) But all over Europe the construction of public housing was shifting the delicate pre-war balance between private initiative and public intervention, providing laboratories for innovative ideas in architecture and urban design. I have insisted a bit on the actual production of social housing in the 1920s and 1930s because it introduces the topic of modernism within the context of planning. For the classical modernist canon does not give such an important place to these housing experiments. Rather it focuses on the uncompromising discourse of Bauhaus and CIAM theorists, usually averse of the “traditional,” dense and multifunctional city. The Bauhaus – located in provincial Weimar, later Dessau, rather than one of German's metropolis – is typical in that it left an urban legacy untainted by practical realization. (Eckardt 2011; Short 2011; Figure 57) While the CIAM decidedly put housing at the core of the “urban question,” the housing solutions 151 In Berlin Martin Wagner was responsible for urban development as Oberbaurat between 1926 and 1933. A former student of G. Simmel and H. Muthesius, Wagner had written a doctoral thesis on open space theories (1915). (On Wagner, see Scarpa 1985; Frisby 2001, 264–302; for housing development in Berlin and its context, Richard 1991; Bätzner 2000; Bodenschatz 2010; Whyte and Frisby 2012; Federal Republic of Germany 2008.) Among Wagner's own writings, Das neue Berlin (1929), written together with the architectural critic Adolf Behne (1885-1948), is of special interest. In Frankfurt the most important actor was Ernst May (1886-1970), responsible for the planning of “New Frankfurt” between 1925 and 1930. (Henderson 2010; Eckardt 2011; Borngraeber 1985; Venier 1985) For a useful state of the art of ideas on housing at the start of the 1920s, see F. Schumacher (1919). – 95 – G. Verheij A note on public housing, modernity and modernism which had actually been constructed in Europe at the end of the 1930s point to a plurality of possibilities in which the Modern Movement was but one tendency among others. Rather than “Cartesian skyscrapers” preference seemed to go to urban settings composed of rows of apartment buildings, liberally furnished with semi-public green spaces, in which a sense of place and time was often deliberately emphasized. There is continuity as much as innovation (first of all in the scale and scope of public intervention), signalling the variety of modern experiences in which, say, Le Corbusier had a place but which was by no means “lecorbusien.” (Misa 2008; Sonne 2009; Remesar and Ríos 2015; Remesar 2015) Taking into account actual planning practices (which reformed rather than revolutionized the urban fabric) tends to muddle the heroic tale which modernist historiography fashioned for itself.152 It is henceforth useful to poke a little around in the origins of the myths of modern planning. If modernist planning as propounded by the Athens Charter153 can be given a foundational moment that would be 1922. That year Le Corbusier – he had only recently adopted his nom de plume – was invited to participate in the section on art urbain of the Salon d'Automne. Asked, according to Le Corbusier's own account, to draw up a piece of urban furniture, he delivered instead a proposal for the radical reform of the idea of the modern city.154 His generic “Contemporary city for three million” was presented on a large 152 The reading I propose here is framed by revisions of the notion of modernism as it has been put into place by a “militant” modernist historiography in line with the classical works by Hitchock and Johnson (1932), N. Pevsner (1936) and S. Giedion (1941). For planning the main reference is the work of Leonardo Benevolo (1971 [1963]). This historiography arguably proposed a selective reading of the origins of modernism which, after World War II, became hegemonic (Tournikiotis 2001). I here assume that “modernism” during the 1920s and 1930s must, instead, be understood as a far larger phenomenon of which the “Modern Movement” or the “International Style” (terms popularized by Pevsner and Hitchcock and Johnson, respectively) were but a part. My perspective on this matter is much informed by research done within the Southern Modernisms research project (J. C. Leal, Maia, and Farré Torras 2015; “Modernismos Do Sul” 2016). 153 The Athens Charter (Le Groupe CIAM-France 1943) is usually held to be the gospel of modernist planning. While purportedly accommodating the conclusions of the 4th Congrès international d'architecture moderne (CIAM), held in 1933 in Athens and aboard the SS Patris II, Le Corbusier (1887-1965) is known to have adapted them to his own ideas, giving them a slightly more unanimous and controversial air than they had at the time. Indeed, some participants even denied there had ever been unanimous conclusions. (Gold 1998; Mumford 2000) As is well-known the Athens Charter proposed a doctrine for post-war planning based on four core functions of the modern city (dwelling, working, recreation and circulation), which was enthusiastically adopted by a new generation of planners after World War II. In general, modernist planning relies on a deterministic understanding of the relations between technique, form and ideology and the supposed universality of the solutions of “modern architecture.” This universality was supported by the argument of the universalizing urban condition, the malaise of which was to be solved by resorting to supposedly scientific, objective criteria (hygiene, nature, light, cleanliness) and universal patterns of taste (geometric forms, primary colours, “harmony,” a kind of aesthetic Esperanto). For discussions, see among others M. C. Boyer (1996), T. J. Misa (2008), J. Brites (2009; 2016) and F. Eckardt (2011). 154 The Salon de Automne was an annual art exhibition held in Paris since 1903 as an alternative to the conservative Paris Salon. In 1922 the sculptor Marcel Temporal (1881-1964) organized a section on “urban art” (art urbain), which he promoted as a new “collective discipline” to put the arts at the service of the needs of modern life (Temporal 1923; Barré-Despond 1988, 134–38). The term art urbain was then popular to designate the artistic side of planning and urban design (see – 96 – G. Verheij A note on public housing, modernity and modernism painted diorama of 16,25 x 5,25 m2. Lines of orthogonal, perfectly symmetric skyscrapers were distributed with both logic and a feeling for mathematical harmony in this “Cartesian” city. (Rinuy 2005) In contrast with the stark, almost inhumane landscape of the diorama, accompanying drawings provided lyrical notes of settings of quietude, breathing space and nature. But whether bucolic or destitute, there was no question the proposal departed radically from any existing notion of “urban art.”155 (Figures 58--60) The exhibition settled Le Corbusier's reputation as an expert on matters of urban planning, and for a moment he even approached mainstream Urbanisme. He became a member of the technical committee of La Renassaince des Cités (1922-1923) and talked at the Strasbourg conference of the SFU, where he predicated cities needed to be destroyed in order to survive, a controversial lecture which signalled the end of his involvement with the urbanistes. Le Corbusier fine-tuned his ideas during the following years in lectures, writing and exhibitions, and in 1925 again succeeded in raising a scandal. At the Art Deco exhibition in Paris, in an annex of the Esprit Nouveau pavilion, he presented his Plan Voisin. A second diorama, facing the 1922 generic city, applied the scheme to Paris, proposing the wholesale destruction of the city's centre. (Le Corbusier 1925b; Benton 2009, 96, 105–15; Smet 2005; Figures 62–63) Further planning studies followed (Le Corbusier 1995, I, 98-121), and while Le Corbusier did not get the chance to put his ideas to the test of practice by the end of the decade his note 109 above). Temporal's invitation is provokingly reproduced in Le Corbusiers Œuvre Complète: “L'art urbain c'est la boutique, l'enseigne en fer forgé, la porte de la maison, la fontaine dans la rue, tout ce que nos yeux voient de la chaussée, etc. Faites-nous donc une belle fontaine ou quelque chose de semblable!” (Le Corbusier 1995, I: 34) Comments by Temporal himself indicate indeed that cooperation between both artists was not as “disciplined” as he had hoped (1923, 5). On the exhibition context of 1922, see J. Mañero Rodicio (2011, 328), P. Joly (1987, 27–29) and S. Nivet (2011, 28–35). The art urbain section existed at least until 1928, occupying from 1923 on the prominent Rotonde Alexandre III of the Grand Palais with proposals for the design of urban squares and even parks. One of the sequels was the creation of a Groupe d'Art Urbain, by Francis Jourdain (1876-1958). Regarding the significance of his participation for Le Corbusier himself, in retrospective it seems to have been a turning-point. Le Corbusier was at this time only beginning to make himself known; until this moment he hadn't reached much beyond the readership of L'Esprit Nouveau, the avant-garde art magazine he directed with his close friend Amédée Ozenfant (1886- 1966) since 1920. While failing as an industrial architect and entrepreneur it was in 1922 that he initiated his fertile partnership with his cousin Pierre Jeanneret (1896-1967) and started to get himself a reputation as a modernist architect. (On the work and life of Le Corbusier, see among the vast bibliography Moos 1979; Curtis 2015 [1986]; Baker 1996; Frampton 2001; Moos and Rüegg 2002; Weber 2008; and especially Le Corbusier 2008; specifically on planning, Joly 1987; Benton 1987; Petrilli 2006; Le Corbusier's own bibliography on planning is also vast, for this period see Le Corbusier 1925b; 1930; 1933; 1937; 1941b. On L'Esprit Nouveau see Eliel 2001.) 155 It is recalled mainstream planning conceptions in France and elsewhere included more or less important places for “embellishments”, urban or civic art, in line with an ornamental conception of urban design established in the 18th century (Remesar 2016b). The 1922 proposal for a contemporary city is a major piece in Le Corbusier's attack on ornament, building up towards the 1925 Art Deco exhibition. In the 1920s theorists took up pre-war critiques of ornamental “excess” (A. Loos, H. Muthesius, O. Wagner) with far more ferocity. “What had begun as merely a call to bring decorative excesses back into order, a primarily moralistic critique, was now elevated into a matter of architectural principle.” (Wolfe 2011, chap. “Style;” see also Le Corbusier 1925a; Benton 1975; Mañero Rodicio 2011) – 97 – G. Verheij A note on public housing, modernity and modernism reputation as the quintessential modernist architect and planning expert was firmly established. Especially after 1928 – the year he promoted the first CIAM, after his failed bid at the League of Nations headquarters competition – Le Corbusier travelled and lectured intensively: Moscow in 1928, South America in 1929, North Africa in 1931... He definitely had entered the big transatlantic exchange of ideas. (Bacon 2001) Around this time the architect abandoned his purist devotion, rediscovering vernacular architecture, natural materials and landscape. The idea of the “green city” seems to have arisen during his work in the USSR, but the South American lecture tour of 1929 also proved decisive. The resulting book (Le Corbusier 1930) testifies to the impact on Le Corbusier's thinking of the interplay between landscape and settlement in Buenos Aires, Rio de Janeiro and São Paulo. One consequence was to reframe his original 1922 ideas as the much more bucolic Ville radieuse (Radiant city), abandoning centralization in favour of linear organization and a public space at human scale. Guided by the trinity of space, sun and greenery, his often abstract scheme of the purist years morphed into free-form “ribbon developments”, centred on high office towers radiating out into “a zigzag pattern of housing blocks spaced far apart in open parkland.” (Le Corbusier 2008, 223) These ideas were developed in tandem with a series of provocative and mostly unsolicited schemes, some of them developed with great detail, others little more than ideas improvised on the spot while lecturing.156 Though these schemes still demanded the large-scale destruction of historical fabric, there is now a notable interplay with the geography of sites and available waterfronts. (Frampton 1987; Cohen 1992, 126–63; Benton 2009, 115–16, 134–88; Figures 65–67) Though none of this was executed, Le Corbusier new ideas on planning were widely spread by publications, further lectures, controversies and his contribution to the 1937 International Exposition in Paris. In the Temps Nouveaux Pavilion he again created a stir with his proposals to apply Radiant principles to the capital. Among these plans – again received with both admiration and outrage – he presented a project for Îlot insalubre no. 6 as a practical example of slum reconstruction and first step towards the execution of his Plan de Paris 1937.157 There are reasons to assume that the World War II years were instrumental in the final formulation of Le Corbusier's planning principles. One the one hand, amidst some 156 Elsewhere T. Benton (1987) argues that Le Corbusier's urban projects before World War II were essentially occasions for investigation and self-advertising, rather than real proposals for urban development. 157 Le Corbusier had frustratingly attempted to turn the entire 1937 exposition into a CIAM showcase of his planning and housing principles. (Udovicki-Selb 1997) The schemes for the “cities of tomorrow” occupy pride of place in the third volume of Le Corbusier's Oeuvres Complètes, published in 1938. The exhibition material for the 1937 Exposition was published as a book the following year. Some of the material on the Radiant City was first published in the right-wing avant-garde journals Plans (1930-1932) and Prelude (1932-1936), linked to the National Syndicalist movement, which Le Corbusier co-edited for some time. In this context Le Corbusier also ventured into regional planning, applying his radiant principles to the rural world with a resulting Radiant Farm (Ferme Radieuse) and cooperative village. (Le Corbusier 1938; 1945; 1995, II: 186–91, III: 104–16, 158–69; on Le Corbusier's involvement with the cooperativist and syndicalist movement, see Affron and Antliff 1997; Pitte 2002; and Jarcy's recent and controversial Le Corbusier: Un fascisme français.) – 98 – G. Verheij A note on public housing, modernity and modernism unfortunate political toying the architect found himself in favourable conditions for further research; on the other, war destruction provided both the urgency and possibilities for radical ideas such as Le Corbusier's. Destin de Paris (1941), Le maison des hommes (1942) and especially Sur les 4 routes (1941) summarized, developed and deepened the ideas and proposals on planning into a form fit for postwar reconstruction. During the same period Le Corbusier also edited the Athens Charter (1943), resuming his postwar program. In these writings Urbanisme was presented as the necessary “collectivist” dimension of modern architecture and consequently the rightful domain of the CIAM and modernism, brushing aside a disciplinary tradition which pre-dated the first CIAM in 1928 with more than a decade. Structured by transportation (the four paths of Sur les 4 routes: streets, railways, water and air), the key concept was that of the plan. Indeed, amidst the defence of modernity and technology, of the greening of cities and their human scale, what stands out is what M. Tafuri has called the “ideology of the plan.” The plan had of course been paramount since the “Purist” schemes of the 1920s. In Précisions (1930) Le Corbusier defined planning (and architecture) as ordering, as the projection of “willpower” onto reality with the aid of technology. The plan was from the start summoned against the “chaos” of the modern city, conceived, as early as 1925, as the “seizure” (mainmise) of nature by men, as a human act of spatial ordering against nature. (Le Corbusier 1925b, epigraph) Such a plan, capable of saving the city, relied on expertise and authority. Against the prevailing “weakness, abdication, and illusion” the plan was to exercise its beneficent but despotic work.158 Le Corbusier is indeed the prototype of the architect as social ideologue, persuading (modernizing) the public and rationalizing everyday life by way of forms. (Tafuri 1976; 1984; 1998, 25–28) In retrospective, Le Corbusier's urban visions of the 1920s and 1930s, with all their conceited appeal to creative destruction, present an undeniable kinship with the popular genre of metropolitan utopia, though usually presenting a slightly less darker preview of tomorrow's cities.159 (Figures 68–69) From this vantage point they seem to hover intriguingly between an 158 “The result is that the city is walking on crutches. That it runs into more and more dead ends; that nothing is ever ready; that nothing ever fits. Feverish haste, precipitate action, incoherence, cacophony, submergence: our will is enslaved by the rush of events, all order swallowed up. The human idol you are yearning after could not stem this tide. Only a fact can do it. A PLAN. A suitable, long-pondered plan firmly founded on the realities of the age, created with passion and imagination, a work of human divination: man is a being capable of organization.” (Le Corbusier 1930, from the 1964 translation, p. 153) The quote is of course also the product of frustration with the slow negotiations of politics and of the hopes deposited in a strong leadership which, in the end, proved equally disappointing. 159 Perhaps the popularity of the utopian genre had something to do with the interplay between what appeared to be at hand and yet remained so far away from everyday urban realities. (Nouvelles 2001; Eaton 2001; Coleman 2005; Goodman 2008; Gravagnuolo 1998, chap. 4; Tafuri 1976, among others) More generally, the conditions for Le Corbusier's “city of tomorrow” were not in place. In the end it stumbled over the same obstacle as most well-intentioned attempts at better cities during this period: private land ownership. Indeed, there was only one place were the kind of planning policies he promoted could be implemented. The socialization of soil in the USSR in 1917 opened up spaces for planning at a scale unknown in Europe or North-America, while at the same time it forestalled any pretension of disciplinary autonomy, and avant-garde planning policies were indeed implemented during the 1920s. (Tafuri 1984, 188–209; Kopp 1967; Cohen 1987) – 99 – G. Verheij A note on public housing, modernity and modernism ideology of function and technology and the age-old idea of the city as a unified work of art.160 The virtues and vices of Le Corbusier's principles only became apparent after World War II, as they became widely adopted by a new generation of architects and planners.161 Regarding his and the CIAM's position in the planning panorama before the war, the chronology outlined until here allows for some considerations. During the 1920s and 1930s Le Corbusier was hardly – if at all – involved in actual planning projects. His proposals were generally unsolicited and in part polemical in nature. If the kind of modernism proposed by Le Corbusier and the CIAM had a huge impact on public opinion, it was negligible on actual planning policies and mainstream professional debates. Modernists remained in this period minor players within an already established disciplinary panorama.162 (Riboldazzi 2012; Geertse 2015) Against a background of crisis in the Western world (the 1929 crash, the rise of fascism) the attraction exercised by the USSR over avant-garde architects and planners is understandable, and an astounding number of them had their “Russian experience,” mostly between 1928 and 1937: from Walter Gropius, Ludwig Hilberseimer, Peter Behrens, Martin Wagner, Bruno Taut, Hans Poelzig and Erich Mendelsohn to Le Corbusier, Victor Bourgeois and even Frank Loyd Wright (in 1937). The “May Brigade” of Ernst May and the “Red Brigade” of Hannes Meyer have over time acquired an almost mythical status. For a survey, see R. Wolf (2011). For reports from visiting architects and planners, among them B. Taut, E. May and M. Wager, see Lissitzky (1970). 160 It is interesting to attend to Le Corbusier's early work on proportions and the importance given, for example in Vers une architecture, to “regulating lines” (tracés regulateurs) to grant harmony and proportion to forms in space. These ideas seem to have been much influenced by the studies, sketches and measurements of buildings during his youth travels and particularly his discovery of the work of German historians and architects on harmonic proportions in Städtebau. Le Corbusier's supposed “aestheticism” was, rightly or wrongly, the object of critique as early as 1922. (Cohen 2008; Frampton 2001, 46–47; Benton 1987) 161 The architect himself finally got a chance to put them to test in Chandigarh, after unexecuted development projects for Saint-Dié, Marseille and Bogotá. 162 Indeed, after 1932 the SFU started to compete with the modernists, having its own Salon des Urbanistes at the Grand Palais from 1932 until at least 1944 and publishing a new magazine, Urbanisme (1932-present). Gaston Bardet (1907-1989), who after the World War II became pretty much the discipline's spokesperson, was a known and vocal opponent of Le Corbusier. (Choay 1983, 239–71; Frey 1999; 2001; Bullock 2010) – 100 – G. Verheij Portuguese planning culture in international perspective Portuguese planning culture in international perspective A panorama of urban change In January 1913 the daily A Capital published a series of “Letters from Berlin” from the journalist Hermano Neves (1884-1929), who during his youth had studied Medicine in Germany. The main subject was the extremely rapid urban transformation of the city, which in 1910 counted over 4 million inhabitants, only surpassed by New York and London. The city Neves had seen taking shape during his student years now had its own original and ever- renewing physiognomy. In a few years absence the city had changed completely; its night-life could now compete, and perhaps even beat, that of Paris. “Berlim dá-me a impressão de uma voragem que tudo absorve e que não chega a encher-se nunca.” (Neves 1913a; 1913d; 1913e; on Berlin, Whyte and Frisby 2012) In his letters Neves pursues the “spirit” dominating this movement of urban renewal, and especially the “modern current in the art of building,” so visible in Berlin. In residential architecture he detects a switch from the huge, endlessly repeated tenement buildings disguised in tiring classical style of a decade ago to a modern, simple functionalism centred on economy, comfort, light and cleanliness.163 Neves opposed the simple but harmonious lines of these residential constructions, with their preferences for balconies and recesses and the “indifferent shade of concrete,” to the “dull, monotonous banality” (banalidade charra e monotona) of Lisbon's buildings. “Não se encontram, portanto, fachadas verdes ou paredes escarlates, como é vulgar toparmos em Lisboa, apezar de todos os protestos da esthetica e do bom gosto.” (Neves 1913a) The other side of urban renewal was the modernism of the “bizarre and unknown art” of the modern consumer city. The impressive façades of gigantic warehouses and coffee-houses, symbols of urban modernity, disguised richly decorated interiors (Figures 70–71). Buildings as these, explained Neves, embodied the demands of sophistication and luxury of modern urban life. They were the most conspicuous feature of the modern metropolis, which demanded an effort of visitors unaccustomed to such splendour and luxuriousness to “appropriately orientate the faculties of appreciation.” (orientar convenientemente as faculdades de apreciação). (Neves 1913a; see also Shiner 2003) 163 The references to people and exhibitions Neves gives indicate this movement of reform was that promoted by the Deutscher Werkbund. Among others he mentions the painter and designer Otto Eckmann (1865–1902) and the architects Peter Behrens (1868-1940), Joseph Maria Olbrich (1867–1908) and Richard Riemerschmid (1868–1957) as leaders of the movement, and notes the importance of the Vienna Museum of Applied Arts, the exhibitions of the Darmstadt art colony, the 1906 Arts & Crafts Exhibition in Dresden and the 1908 Exhibition of Applied Arts in München. (Neves 1913c; Burckhardt 1980; Schwartz 1996) Significantly Neves constantly mentions the German term Zweckmäßigkeit (efficiency or functionality) to define the movement. – 101 – G. Verheij A panorama of urban change Notwithstanding the emphasis on purpose and efficiency in Neves' explanation of Berlin's new architecture he hardly gave a correct account of the motivations behind these notions.164 But they provided newspaper readers with a basic idea of urban transformation in Berlin, a city which tended to fall outside of the common Portuguese stock of strongly Francophone cultural reference. Through articles like these, newspaper readers easily had access to a certain international “common sense” on urban renewal and architectural innovation. Indeed in a democratizing public sphere, urban change and challenges were a common subject in Portuguese and foreign newspapers, and generally interested the dominant bourgeois classes. (Sardica 2012; Freestone and Gibson 2006) Another non-specialized source for international information about issues related with the “urban question” – the quest for a modern “style,” new needs in architecture, the application of art to daily life … – was provided by general literature from abroad, specially France.165 International travel, for which increasing opportunities existed from the late 19th century on, certainly played a relevant role in the diffusion of information. The challenges of the modern city occupied an important role in international exhibitions, important vehicles of information in pre-war Europe. (A. C. de Matos, Ribeiro, and Bernardo 2009; Rodgers 1998, 9–32; S. Barradas 2015, 54–80, 128–30; on Portuguese participation in international exhibitions, see J. Figueiredo 1901; Custódio 1998; Souto 2010) But of course the urban transformation of Europe's capitals could readily be experienced first-hand in the cities themselves. The demands and impact of urban transformations were hard to miss in most major cities, and in this sense easy accessible to the urban layman. To take one example, Brito Camacho vividly described the changing outlook of modern Madrid and Barcelona in his Impressões de 164 In an interview the German philosopher Max Dessoir (1867-1947) explained to Neves the aesthetic contrast between sober functionality and exuberant consumer architecture as the products of Wilhelm II's conservative taste and the influence of “Jewish capital” (sic). But Dessoir correctly noted how these modern art currents were a logical consequence of the complexity of modern urban life, strictly related to purpose and need. (Neves 1913b) Though Dessoir is better known as one of Freud's associates and the popularizer of the term “parapsychology” he was also teacher of Aesthetics and Philosophy at Berlin University. Neves knew him personally, as he had taught the well-travelled philosopher Portuguese during a stay in the country. 165 To take one example to which I will come back later, the library of the writer Fialho de Almeida included, on his death in 1911, French-language works on urban and social hygiene (Arnould 1889; Duclaux 1902), parks and gardens (Lefèvre 1871), workers housing (Raffalovich 1887) and the “social question” (Huret 1897), and different flavours of aesthetic approaches to the city (Bazalgette 1898; Fierens-Gevaert 1901; 1903; Kahn 1901; Couÿba 1902; Sizeranne 1904). Almeida also possessed copies of the lawyer and social reformer Ernest Tarbouriech's 1902 utopia of a “scientific city” and the Belgian poet Émile Verhaeren's famous 1895 essay on the “tentacular city.” (Biblioteca Nacional de Lisboa 1914) – 102 – G. Verheij A panorama of urban change viagem (1902).166 It was certainly this mixture of newspaper reports, hearsay and first-hand experience, rather than detailed knowledge of, say, Ildefons Cerdà's Teoría General de la Urbanización (1867), which were behind contemporary references to Barcelona's urban expansion (among other cities). (H. de Vasconcelos 1903; Barata 2010, 191) Of course, most travelling didn't make it into a travelogue, and information circulated as much through café talks and meetings as newspapers, books or magazines. The inventory of written references to urban change in other countries is for this reason a poor instrument in fixing what was known or unknown. It was by no means necessary to have access to specialized literature to be aware of the challenges rapid urban change posed to the organization of urban life, including city-building, and to new techniques being toyed with in other cities. Alfredo Correia mentioned, for example, artistic servitudes in Brussels as an example of municipal concern with urban aesthetics.167 Decades earlier Fialho de Almeida (1857-1911) had already informed his readers about French municipal and civic bodies engaging with urban problems such as housing and working conditions, sanitary regulation or food policies, which he presciently defined by a general tendency to planning. (F. de Almeida 1937, 3:113–15) Whether by first hand experience, hearsay or reading, Portuguese commentators had at their disposal a well-supplied stock of international urban references – Paris, of course, but also Vienna, Barcelona, Brussels, Berlin, and later Rio de Janeiro and Buenos Aires, Milan and Cologne, Hamburg and Amsterdam... (f. ex. F. M. de P. Botelho 1907, 15; A. Mesquita 1903, 74) – to constantly contrast with Lisbon.168 Paris occupied pride of place in this constellation 166 The writer and politician Manuel de Brito Camacho (1862-1934) constantly contrasts the cities and the vertigo they produce with the tranquillity of Lisbon, but everything is described with a kind of easy-going familiarity. “É muito agradavel, a physionomia geral de Madrid, com as suas construcções grandiosas sem serem brutaes, pois em todas ellas, pode dizer-se, ha o cunho do bom gosto, a preoccupação d’arte que falta, em grega, nos predios de Lisboa, quasi todos similhando commodas de um tamanho descommunal, cheias de roupa em meio uso.” And later: “Tudo aqui [in Barcelona] tem um accentuado cunho de grandeza (…). As ruas são verdadeiras avenidas e cada um d’ellas, as principaes, estonteia pelo luxo das edificações – palacios soberbos em que a phantasia se antepoz aos preceitos da arte clássica. (...) Quem está habituado á pacatez de Lisboa (…) sente vertigens no meio d’esta multidão compacta, que rolla de calle em calle.” (Camacho 1902, 7, 30, 32) Compare this, for example, with the awe and amazement of the descriptions of North-American cities by Alfredo de Mesquita (1871-1931) some years later (A. de Mesquita 1917). 167 “Estamos, é certo, bem longe dos progressos que se tem manifestado nas capitaes de outros paizes, onde, n’algumas, até se presecreve para determinadas avenidas, a altura proporcionada para as casas das mesmas, nao se permittindo que junto a uma casa só de um só pavimento se edifique outra de muitos andares. Em Bruxellas existe uma avenida onde todos os proprietarios foram obrigados a estabelecer jardins em frente das suas casas, apresentando por isso um aspecto muito interessante.” (A. Correia 1911) Though this reference comes from the architectural magazine Architectura Portugueza, the unknown author (on a one-time appearance) doesn't seem to have had any special architectural qualification; rather he was one of the many slightly unwilling lay persons persuaded to fill in the magazine's pages (see p. 106 below). 168 One commentator ironically noted in 1899: “Segundo o systema de confrontos adoptado n’esta linda terra de amores plantados á beira mar, diz-se, por ahi, que a Avenida está para Lisboa como a Castellana para Madrid, o Prater para Vienna, a Porta Venezia para Milão e não sabemos se como o Bois para Paris e o Hyde-Park para Londres. (…) É verdadeiramente captivante o enthusiasmo – 103 – G. Verheij A panorama of urban change of shining examples. The “myth of Paris” was particularly strong in Lisbon, with its overtly Francophone culture. (López Suárez 2012; Machado 1984) The cultured classes were supposed to be aware of Parisian news, not to say gossip,169 and those with the possibilities regularly sojourned in the French capital. It is important to have in mind this background of a generalized circulation of urban images and a notion of the complexity of studies of reception when leafing through the period's specialized press in search for international linkages. Several preliminary facts impose themselves. No handsome surveys of planning innovations across Europe or the United States can be found. There is not even evidence of the circulation of relevant monographs. Events which, with the hindsight of historical retrospective, seem essential (garden-cities, town planning conferences, the exhibitions of the early 1910s) are often completely ignored. Worse: until the 1920s it is not possible even for extremely indulgent eyes to intuit any conscious notion of planning, city-building or urbanism in Portugal's specialized press. Yet the foreign example is all over, appearing at times with odd contemporaneity. Take for example a short aside by Melo de Matos on the benefits of American-style “civic schools” (escolas de civismo), which in fact echoed trans-Atlantic debates on the introduction of the “civic improvement” campaign into national curricula, as promoted by the National Municipal League. (Mattos 1907a; Sullivan 1918; Dunn 1922) The “urban question” occupied minds and pages, and few disagreed that public intervention in the processes of urban development was not only welcome but vital. A handful of examples shows how relevant information arrived in Portugal's sphere of publications yet had, in that same sphere, a limited reception. In 1909-1910, crucial years in the international constitution of planning disciplines, A Construcção Moderna published translations of communications by A. Rey at the 1909 congress of the Alliance d'Hygiène Sociale, and by C. Carvajal at the I Scientific Pan-American Congress on the Linear City. Rey, the French specialist in urban hygiene and former architect of the Rothschild Foundation, mainly discussed urban sanitary problems, but included a defence of extension planning. The argument of Carvajal's communication was about the linear city as a solution to housing shortage, but the translated section focused on linear theory and the “fundamental rules” in city-building, including a competent explanation of Soria y Mata's ideas. Undoubtedly advanced planning ideas made their way into Portuguese publications, yet there is no evidence at all of even a superficial engagement with them. In a similar instance, a notice on the 1910 Town Planning Conference bears witness to its reception, but the confusing account suggests the author understood very little of the scope of the conference program.170 com que muitos veem apregoar as bellezas d’essa grande arteria, e como, ao fazerem o reclamo da capital, a põem á frente do estado maior das nossas preciosidades.” (C. de M. Cabral 1899; on the comparison of cities, Frisby 2001, chap. 4) 169 “… nós que tanto gostamos de imitar o que se faz lá fóra a ponto de raro lermos livros portugueses, mas nao desconhecermos a ultima nouvelle à la main do Echo de Paris e a derradeira bisbilhotice do Figaro …” (Mattos 1909c) The same author complained elsewhere that even the literature of neighbouring Spain had to arrive through French translations (his example was the work of Francisco Pí y Margall). (Mattos 1907b) 170 Among participants singled out – C. M. Robinson, R. Unwin and, intriguingly, the art historian Gerard Baldwin Brown (1849-1932) – only that of E. Hènard seems known to the anonymous author. (“Conferencia” 1910) Of course, what this indicates is essentially that French references – 104 – G. Verheij A panorama of urban change A certain superficiality regarding the knowledge of these foreign references among contemporaries can be deduced. But the sequence of coincidences and misreadings which everywhere make up much of the theoretical roots of the planning disciplines in these years – eclectic bricolage rather than unitary theory – should guard for too severe a judgement. What matters is not so much whether someone accomplished (or just attempted) the labour of conscientious and solid theory-building, but if, how and what for they were mobilized in planning-related discourse. Knowledge is to be measured by its efficacy as much as its accuracy. To these methodological dubieties some Portuguese specificities must be added. One has to do with the extent to which the local landscape of specialized periodical publications can be held to represent architectural and planning culture(s). Relevant discussions were mainly conducted in construction and architecture-related magazines. The first of this kind was A Construcção (1893-1899), published by the Association of Civil Construction Contractors (constructores civis mestres de obras, 1890-1933). Though focusing on building techniques, its ambition was to modernize the construction sector and promote architecture, including embryonic critique of architecture and its urban setting.171 Its mission was continued by A Construcção Moderna (1900-1919), a magazine founded by the civil contractor Eduardo Augusto Nunes Colares (1850-1928) and directed at construction professionals in general; the same Colares created in 1908 Architectura Portugueza (1908- 1958), a monthly publication in crown-size format, the first of its kind in Portugal. Though other publications are relevant sources, they either only occasionally visited relevant subject matter or were the official organs of professional societies with limited impact outside the profession.172 The 542 published numbers of A Construcção Moderna are pretty much the archive of early 20th century architecture and technical know-how the magazine wanted to be. Publishing a cover project in each number – mostly by architects but including all agents of the time's eclectic landscape of architectural design (private contractors, engineers, construction superintendents …) – it provides a representative overview of early 20th century Portuguese architecture. Probably modelled after the French La Construction Moderne (1885-present), it were closer to the heart than British and others. 171 “A Construção pode ser tomada como acto inaugural de uma relação, nem sempre fácil, entre a crítica e a arquitectura. Tratou-se, acima de tudo, de um primeiro esforço de mediação com o público, permitindo o desfile de reflexões essencialmente fundadas num saber técnico e numa prática profissional.” (Rute Figueiredo 2007, 33) 172 A Construcção Moderna fused in 1911 with the short-lived Artes do Metal (1910), and until 1914 bore the title A Construcção Moderna e as Artes do Metal, afterwards to return to the orthographically updated A Construção Moderna. A Architectura Portugueza, Arquitectura Portuguesa after 1914, fused in 1935 with another magazine to become Arquitectura Portuguesa, Cerâmica e Edificação. Other publications which dedicated above-average attention to planning- related matters were essentially parochial, related to interested professions or organs of societies, and will be discussed later. The most relevant are the Revista de Obras Públicas e Minas (1870- 1926), organ of the Association of Engineers, and the Anuário (1905-1911) of the Sociedade de Arquitectos Portugueses (Portuguese Society of Architects, SAP); the bulletins of the Association of Public Work Superintendents (conductores de obras públicas, 1897-1913) and the Royal Association of Portuguese Civil Architects and Archaeologists (RACAAP; the bulletin was published with interruptions between 1866 and 1909) can also be mentioned. – 105 – G. Verheij A panorama of urban change performed a vital function in the transmission and popularisation of new building procedures, modern programs and typologies and general notions of aesthetics and art history. The journal ecumenically embraced architecture, engineering and anything related to building, from residential villa projects and novel typologies (sanatoriums, theatres) to discussions of North- American skyscrapers or ideas for dovecotes; from building legislation and calculations of structural loads to applications of electricity; from architectural history to furniture and applied arts; from campaigns in favour of a national “style” to affordable housing and hydraulic policies. Among these subjects, the urban setting of architecture and the image of the city were oft-frequented, especially during the second half of the 1900s.173 In contrast with the undisciplined eclecticism of A Construcção Moderna the first numbers of Architectura Portugueza promised a much stronger architectural specificity. The lavish crown- size format and high-quality illustrations went in the first year accompanied by promising articles of leading intellectuals and architects (José Pessanha, Gabriel Pereira, Adães Bermudes, Abel Botelho, José de Figueiredo). The eminent art critic Ramalho Ortigão (1836- 1915) conceded in 1908 a “preface” for the first number, in which he outlined a modern program for architectural practice and critique. Ortigão insisted much on the need for new aesthetic forms, and indeed the magazine initially described its subject matter as “ancient and modern architectural art” (arte architectural antiga e moderna). But while the monthly publication of projects was maintained, the willingness of authors versed in matters of architecture seems to have dissipated quickly. After the first year the latter were progressively substituted for more or less unwilling laypersons opining – or excusing for the lack of opinion – on published projects. During the 1910s the magazine becomes something of a glossy 173 Purporting to overcome the split between art and technique (or architecture and engineering), direction was – like its Spanish counterpart, La Construcción Moderna (1903-1936), or the Italian L'Architettura Italiana (1905-1934) – divided between an architect, Rosendo Carvalheira (1864- 1919), and an engineer, José Maria de Melo de Matos (1856-1915) – initially direction was attributed to an anonymous “group of building contractors” but after 1903 both appear on the cover as technical directors. Collaborators included, besides architects, engineers and other construction professionals, archaeologists, art critics, artists and journalists. However, many of the articles appeared anonymous and thus make it difficult to reconstruct actual authorship. The magazine's existence was – at least according to its editors – one of constant struggle and self-denial, in a culture affected by indifference. Nonetheless, as the magazine was reaching its heyday in 1905 it had a circulation of 5000 copies. Its readership certainly comprised a considerable part of the petty contractors and builders, responsible for much of actual building and design. For these, A Construcção Moderna provided models, updated know-how and flashes of contemporary events. The journal received, published translations from and in some cases provided subscriptions for, among others, the Parisian Annales des conducteurs and Le Bâtiment, Barcelona's Arquitectura y Construccion and Revista Tecnologico Industrial, as well as Resumen de Arquitectura, La Construction Lyonnaise, L'Edilizia Moderna, L'architettura italiana and The Illustrated Carpenter and Builder and main organs of architects and engineers. (Rute Figueiredo 2007; P. S. Nunes 2000a; 2000b; 2011; M. D. Mesquita 1999; 2002; 2008; 2011b, 2011c; M. D. Mesquita and Serrano 2007; on both editors, Mendes 2000; M. D. Mesquita 2011a) – 106 – G. Verheij A panorama of urban change extension of A Construcção Moderna.174 Formally focusing on architecture, relevant topics for the present study generally only appeared in asides. Taken together, the “public sphere” of architectural publications was in the end composed of two titles edited by the same small team. In both publications, the vast majority of text is signed or can be attributed to Nunes Colares and, above all, Melo de Matos, undoubtedly the heart and soul of A Construcção Moderna.175 Limited means, limited contact with existing planning practice, even more limited collaboration: a “small world” (meio pequeno) indeed.176 Consequentially, the editorial policies of both magazines are representative of this two-men project rather than a “national culture” of architecture and planning. Melo de Matos still awaits a dedicated biographer. P. S. Nunes was the first to re-evaluate this until then almost forgotten figure in his study on A Construcção Moderna. (P. S. Nunes 2000a; for summaries, P. S. Nunes 2000b; 2011) Afterwards others – Rute Figueiredo, M. D. Mesquita177 – added arguments to the reading of this engineer as a central figure in architectural and urban discourse during the early 20th century. From the start of his career the engineer complemented his practical activity in different branches of public works across the country with publication in periodical magazines and monographs. At first his writing versed technical and scientific subjects related to his areas of expertise, but it was increasingly enriched by the ambition of popularising “useful knowledge” in writing and conferences. A Construcção Moderna became his prime vehicle for this eclectic endeavour. His editorial and authorial activity in this journal bears witness to an “updated familiarity” with international debates on architecture, construction and engineering, according him an “exceptional profile,” ascribed by Rute Figuiredo (2007, 195, 229) to the engineer's “operative capacity,” technical knowledge and embryonic engagement with sociology. Regarding Melo de Matos' contribution to a national planning culture, P. S. Nunes identified in the engineer's commitment to redress the aesthetic insufficiency of an expanding and renovating Lisbon a modern notion of planning: 174 Many of the texts were provided by Nunes de Colares and Melo de Matos and often published in both magazines. One suspects that besides the obvious pseudonyms (Ignotus, João Ninguém) other more convincing names similarly were but cover screens for authorial poverty, given the biographical void hiding behind some of the supposed collaborators. After Melo de Matos' death in 1915 the magazine seems for some time to have been produced almost single-handedly by Nunes Colares. 175 Nominally technical director, Melo de Matos was in fact principal author of A Construcção Moderna: a large part of signed articles bear his name or initials, and many of the anonymous or pseudonymous writing can be attributed to him. The one hand which according to an editorial from 1908 had been too often responsible for entire numbers of the journal was certainly Melo de Mato's (“Nove annos” 1908). 176 “É claro que nao estamos em França, Inglaterra, Allemanha, etc., centros bastante vastos, onde ha muitos artistas... O nosso meio é pequeno e como tal temos de gravitar em volta de elle (...)” (“Casa de Abilio Marçal” 1903) 177 The most complete bibliography is M. D. Mesquita's (2011a). José Maria Melo de Matos (1856- 1915) had studied civil engineering in Porto and Belgium. He then entered public service as an engineer of the Ministry of Public Works, working on railway construction and hydraulic engineering across the country. In 1912 he became director of the Industrial Property Department in Lisbon, yet only survived three more years to enjoy this comfortable position. – 107 – G. Verheij A panorama of urban change No seu exercício sobre Lisboa, Mello de Mattos adianta-se ao tempo revelando a actualidade do seu conceito de cidade. Quando considera que falta à cidade uma “vista perspectiva, que é producto da phantasia artistica dos architectos,” e quando propõe uma metodologia de intervenção, um modo de 'fazer cidade' ou uma 'cultura de cidade', o engenheiro dá provas de conhecer as experiências europeias, de Haussmann a Cerdá, pretendendo tão só que o desenvolvimento de Lisboa não aconteça por acaso, que seja provido de regra e ordem (…). [Melo de Matos] avança os primeiros passos do moderno urbanismo nacional. (P. S. Nunes 2000a, 149)178 This reading is far too enthusiastic. At no point does Melo de Matos give evidence of knowing I. Cerdà, and the little he says about Haussmann was well within the range of common knowledge at the time.179 While Melo de Matos' writings on technical domains (with subjects ranging from dune protection and fish farming to hydraulic energy and electrical applications) show solid expertise, in the case of urban renovation and planning the foreign references he resorted to were much more eclectic. Some, such as the references to Haussmann, were household examples, published in any general magazine; others – the texts on linear cities, skyscrapers or rational city-building he enthusiastically translated (see earlier and Rute Figueiredo 2007, 259–62) – came from specialized journals but, as far as planning is concerned, did not lead to a specific engagement with urban form. (His thorough engagement with affordable housing focused on financial and juridical schemes rather than prescriptions of design, see p. 115 below.) In short, Melo de Matos occupied, with regards to planning, the position of the amateur in the sense M. Smets uses the term: passionate yet not professional.180 M. D. Mesquita's statistical study of articles published by the engineer in A Construcção Moderna agrees with this reading: while absent in his technical articles and bibliographical reviews (though the topic “hygiene and sanitation” occupies a high place), “planning and architecture” (urbanismo e arquitectura) is the main subject of his critical articles. (M. D. Mesquita 2011a, 258–61)181 Melo de Matos' combative positivism – balancing Comte with Poincaré182 – owed more to the “practical utopian” mindset of 19th century engineers and their reliance on pragmatic rationalism than to any special qualification for architectural and urban critic. (M. H. Lisboa 2002) Yet the absence of formal qualifications was something he shared with many of his foreign counterparts, who often converged towards a shared notion of planning through the 178 The expressions “cultura de cidade” (urban culture) and “fazer cidade” (city-building) are not quotes from Matos. 179 Or not even that. In one case the renovation conducted by Hausseman (sic) is presented as the mere construction of avenues trough the poor districts to enrich speculators. His main failure: not to have endowed the city with one single “grandiose perspective” (perspectiva grandiosa), as Napoleon I had done at the Place de l'Étoile … (Mattos 1913a) 180 Writing about C. Buls and his “enlightened dilettantism,” M. Smets notes that the French term amateur means both a person who is not a specialist and someone passionate about a variety of subjects. (Smets 1995, 144) 181 This study only includes signed articles and notices; the many anonymous and pseudonymous contributions, of which a significant part were certainly written by Melo de Matos, are necessarily left out. 182 From A. Comte, the combative positivism; from H. Poincaré, the systematic doubt. Other ideological and literary influences were F. Le Play, J. Ruskin, the Portuguese politician Anselmo de Andrade – his A Terra (1898) is often quoted –, É. Reclus, H. Taine and Paul de Rousiers. – 108 – G. Verheij A panorama of urban change acknowledgement that only comprehensive approaches to urban development could effectively address individual issues. In this sense, the very heterogeneity of topics discussed by Melo de Matos approximates him to contemporary movements such as the Francophone Art public or American civic art. And like these, Melo de Matos' unsystematic reflections are not easily turned into coherent doctrine. Still a difference remains: Melo de Matos' reflection on the urban problems of this time, singular among his contemporaries, was essentially a one- man project, prone to fragmentation, undefended against biographical incidents.183 The international circulation of professionals A large part of public reflection on the need for modern planning procedures was thus essentially a one or at best two-men's project. I will come back to this, but for now it is important to note the absence in both magazines of writing architects and other urban professionals, with a few exceptions proving the rule. This abstention is one factor in explaining the failure of architectural critique as outlined by Ortigão in the first number of Architectura Portugueza. When Portuguese architects ventured on theoretical or critical reflection they usually preferred their associative journal rather than these more accessible magazines.184 With regards to questions of planning they tended to seclude themselves from the public sphere. (R. Figueiredo 2007, 35–41, 168, 177, 228–30; Nunes 2000, vii, 22) Similarly, the urban professionals who were in fact responsible for the planning of urban extensions in Lisbon – the engineers at the municipal Department of Public Works – hardly engaged in theoretical elaboration at all, reserving their sparse reflections for unpublished reports and occasional newspaper interviews.185 To trace the existence of a planning culture among relevant professions and institutional entities requires consequently other approaches than the analysis of text. One way of access is to reconstitute their circulation through international congresses, which may not constitute a proof of understanding but does indicate personal contact. A survey ranging from the 1898 Art public congress up to the 1913 International City Congress in Ghent shows a consistent 183 Later other authors with converging interests (J. Lino de Carvalho, F. M. Botelho) will be presented, yet none of them could claim the combination of persistence and publicity which made Melo de Matos' reflection so relevant. 184 Before creating Architectura Portugueza Colares had unsuccessfully approached the SAP to propose a joint venture (E. Gomes 1907, 11; Rute Figueiredo 2007, 214–17). Behind the polite refusal, justified by doubts over the practical possibilities of cooperation, was probably also divergence over Colares' editorial policy. A Construcção Moderna, as after 1908 Architectura Portugueza, accepted architectural projects by non-architects – the engineers, contractors and superintendents who in fact did the bulk of designing – at at time the SAP was lobbying for legal restrictions of architectural practice to formally-trained professionals (Costa Campos 1907; “A Nossa Autonomia” 1907). The architects themselves never refrained from taking advantage of both magazines to publish their projects, though only exceptionally participating through writing. 185 Systematic surveys of documentation in Lisbon's municipal archive will probably allow for a much more comprehensive understanding of the ideas of these professionals. But until a usable and complete inventory of archival documentation is implemented it must rely on whatever the idiosyncrasies of partial inventories and the memory of archivists, or else sheer luck, put into one's hands. – 109 – G. Verheij The international circulation of professionals Portuguese attendance (see Appendix 3); though tending to be passive, it gives a measure of the existence of networks of circulation. The municipality of Lisbon was represented at several meetings, though without clear pattern. Most probably participation depended on the availability of funding or volunteering representatives (financial resources, in the end) rather than the will to and awareness of international exchange. At least since the 1880s there was a more or less continuous exchange of information with other municipalities, and references to Paris and other cities are constant in municipal documentation; official participation at the International Expositions of 1889, 1898 and 1900 was but the tip of the iceberg. (Cunff 2000, 141–42) The municipal architect Pedro d'Ávila, though not officially representing the city, attended the first Congresses of Public Art and those of Architecture.186 At the latter, Lisbon was represented officially or unofficially (through participating municipal architects) at every edition. The director of the National Library, Xavier da Cunha, was present at the Congress of Public Art in 1898 and 1905, and in the latter case officially represented the city. The municipal council itself was well-represented at the 1907 Housing Congress in Berlin (Silva Carvalho, Sabino Coelho). M. Ventura Terra, municipal councillor between 1908 and 1913, represented the city at the Congress of Architects in 1911, and intended to attend the Town Planning Conference in 1910. The municipality was however crucially absent at the 1913 Congress of Cities in Ghent, in contrast with Porto, represented by the municipal engineer J. G. R. Pacheco.187 Considering congressional attendance by profession, two large strands were potentially bringing Portuguese professionals into contact with new ideas related to the planning of the urban environment. One can be roughly defined with the label of hygienism, summing doctors, engineers and scholars; the other was the royal yet onerous road of architecture. At first sight, the timid presence of engineers might surprise. Portuguese engineers could claim long-standing practice in the planning of urban development, going back to a tradition of colonial settlement in Brazil and elsewhere by military engineers. This tradition was sufficiently established in the mid-18th century to nurture the exemplary reconstruction of Lisbon after the earthquake from 1755. (França 1987 [1965]; Correia 1997; Araújo 1998) Closer to hand, it were Paris-trained engineers such as Frederico Ressano Garcia (1847-1909) in Lisbon who modernized municipal planning procedures. Generally speaking, during the 19th century the cosmopolitan engineers formed one of the most identifiable forces of 186 P. d'Ávila (1832?-1904) was an engineer-architect of Goan roots (for his biography, see Souto 2005; 2006). On his death R. Carvalheira highlighted Ávila's contribution to the promotion and internationalization of the embryonic discipline of architecture: “[Pedro d'Ávila foi], a seu modo, um fervoroso paladino d'essa nobra causa [the defence of architectural dignity], conseguindo, por vezes, que no estrangeiro, e por occasião dos varios congressos internacionaes de architectos a que assistiu, se radicasse a illusão de que em Portugal a architectura e os architectos eram como em toda a parte, um corpo regularmente constituido e reconhecido com acção independente e livre, e não uma organisação embryonaria de vagas aspirações, ainda assim suffocadas e enclausuradas no estupido preconceito de dependencias deprimentes.” (Carvalheira 1905, 36) 187 Joaquim Gaudêncio Rodrigues Pacheco (1875-?) directed the municipal Department of Public Works of Porto since 1909. The international outlook of Porto's municipality at this time resulted in the contracting of Barry Parker to design a new civic centre and the construction of a series of “worker's colonies” (colónias operárias) after modern urban design principles (see p. 89–90 above and Gonçalves and Ramos 2016). – 110 – G. Verheij The international circulation of professionals modernization in Portugal.188 (Brito, Heitor, and Rollo 2002; Heitor, Brito, and Rollo 2004; M. Macedo 2012) Notwithstanding this internationalist edge, the activity and publications of engineers of this period give few evidence of approaches to the international nodes where the planning discipline emerged. Attention continued focused on those classical topics of 19th century urban reform: the essentially technological solutions to sanitation, public health and circulation – issues which, on the other hand, remained to be satisfyingly solved at the start of the 20th century. (M. H. Lisboa 2002) Another line of argumentation reinforces this reading. The participation of a few engineers but above all medically-trained hygienists at the Congresses of Hygiene and Demography suggests the existence of shared interest and available resources. This contrasts with weak or no attendance at the Congresses of Housing and Housing Hygiene.189 Generally speaking, embryonic concern with urban hygiene tended to focus on prophylaxis and changing habits rather than the built environment.190 In short, the interests of engineers went, in the international landscape in which the planning discipline was taking shape, mainly to sanitation and hygiene. This was in reality nothing uncommon. As has been discussed earlier, the construction of a planning discipline in, say, Great Britain or France owed in its early phase little to engineers and surveyors; it were social reformers and architects who gave the decisive push. This is understandable, as the new planning profession as understood after Sitte was developed much in opposition to the kind of classic engineer approach which continued to dominate Portuguese engineers. New, “post- Sittean” understandings of urban planning barely infiltrated mainstream engineer outlooks; it was rather dissatisfaction with engineer-led urban development, based on notions of hygiene and circulation, from which embryonic notions of modern planning emerged. 188 In 1881 around 11% of Portuguese engineers affiliated to the National Association of Civil Engineers (Associação dos Engenheiros Civis Portugueses, AECP) were trained abroad, either on own expenses or more commonly with grants from the Ministry of Public Works. The large majority went to France, preferably the Parisian École des Ponts et Chaussées. (A. C. de Matos and Diogo 2006) Another proof of internationalism was the enthusiastic participation of the AECP, represented by the engineer J. V. Mendes Guerreiro, at the 1893 Chicago Exhibition (though their voluminous contribution didn't arrive on time for exhibition). (A. L. de Carvalho 1895; Calado 2003, 3: 263–64) 189 Significantly, in one of the most popular editions of the Housing Congress (1907) none of the inscribed Portuguese actually had been able or interested to go to Geneva, as one of them, Melo de Matos, denounced, blaming official disinterest. (“Congresso” 1906) 190 For public health reform in general, see the collected papers by Luís Graça at ensp.unl.pt/luis.graca/textos_papers.html (especially Graça 1999). To give one example, the medical specialists behind the campaign against tuberculosis tended to insist on prophylaxis, popular education and treatment rather than the improvement of environmental living conditions. Occasional advocacy of slum clearance and the construction of new, hygienic housing quarters at the National Congresses against Tuberculosis from the 1900s met with the moralizing critique that before anything else popular habits needed to be changed. (I. C. Vieira 2011, 273) No productive links with the work of, for example, the housing reformer Augusto Pinto de Miranda Montenegro (1829-1908) were established (see note 201 below). In contrast the French Alliance d'Hygiène Sociale (see note 85 above) devoted large attention to the promotion of decent, affordable housing (see for ex. Alliance d’Hygiène Sociale 1911). – 111 – G. Verheij The international circulation of professionals The account of architectural attendance is similarly fraught with hesitance. While at first the municipal architect P. d'Ávila is a rather lone presence at the Congresses of Public Art and Architecture, after 1904 a number of architects enthusiastically participated in the International Congresses of Architects. These architects, often trained in Paris, had a decidedly cosmopolitan outlook. (R. H. da Silva 2006; R. J. G. Ramos 2013). However, they didn't venture into meetings more directly related with planning. After Ávila's death in 1904 Portuguese representation at the Congresses of Public Art was limited to two librarians representing the city of Lisbon and the University of Coimbra in 1905, which made perhaps sense given the thematic focus on education. The exceptional entrusting of national representation of the architectural class to the British architect John Bercher at the London Town Planning Conference was a clear sign of disinterest. The focus on professional meetings of Portuguese architects had everything to do with their unstable social standing. Until the last years of the 19th century an autonomous notion of architecture can hardly be said to have existed in Portugal. (Rute Figueiredo 2007, pt. 1, chap. 4). This had started to change due to the activity of a group of young, cosmopolitan architects, which by 1902 had grown sufficiently large to constitute a professional association.191 Their initial concern – as manifested in the yearbook of the Society of Architects, Anuario (1905- 1911) – was the promotion and qualification of the architectural profession and the accession to the booming market of the modern city, of which qualified architects obtained only a minimum share. (J. L. Monteiro 1906; J. de Figueiredo 1906). Their focus was mostly on the exercise of architecture itself (f. ex. through the publication of a scale of fees in 1906 and the repeated defence of architectural specificity), international networking, the production of a domestic mythology and a handful of potentially lucrative areas of activity (affordable housing, restoration of monuments, public endorsement and support); possibly the planning of urban environments didn't seem too realistic a bet to provide the discipline with status and jobs.192 Yet through established contacts with foreign architects, international meetings and exhibitions, and international publications such as those received by the Society of Architects,193 Portuguese architects had access to international developments related to 191 The SAP existed until 1933, when it was dissolved to make place for the Estado Novo National Syndicate of Architects. Executive chairs of the society were M. Ventura Terra (1903-1905), A. Bermudes (1905-1906, 1911-1913), J. A. Soares (1905-1909, 1910-1911, 1917-1918), F. C. Parente (1909-1910, 1913-1915, 1918-1919, 1920-1921), Leonel Gaia (1915-1917), A. Moreira Rato (1919-1920. 1921-1924), A. do Couto (1924-1925, 1930-1931), J. L. Carvalho (1925-1926), A. Marques da Silva (1926-1930) and T. Lacerda Marques (1932-1933). (On the society's history, see A. I. Ribeiro 1993; Rute Figueiredo 2007, pt. 2, chap. 1.2.1) 192 Later I will argue that it was through this concern with securing a slice of metropolitan architecture for themselves that architects ended up by engaging in the promotion of public control over the built environment. The inventory of dominant society concerns is based on the reports on international congresses (Bermudes 1905; J. A. Soares 1906; A. d'A. Machado 1908b), obituaries of “founding fathers” (Carvalheira 1905a; 1905b), studies on affordable housing and hygiene (J. L. de Carvalho 1905; 1906; 1907; 1908; 1911) or building legislation (A. d'A. Machado 1905; 1906; 1907; 1908a), and claims of architecture as the exclusive attribution of the architect, both in the private and the public sector (Parente 1905; SAP 1905; 1906a; 1906b; 1907; 1911). 193 In 1905 the SAP received the Bulletin de la Société des architectes diplômés par le gouvernement (1895-1935), the Bulletin of the American Institute of Architects (1900-1912), the Moniteur des Beaux Arts et de la Construction (1899-1926) and L'Architecture (either the monthly bulletin – 112 – G. Verheij The international circulation of professionals planning. Theirs was a cosmopolitan trade. (Rute Figueiredo 2007, 195–96) In 1904 they heard H. P. Berlage in Madrid, who was then working on his extension plan for Amsterdam (though it doesn't seem they were actually discussed at the congress). In 1906 at least one young architect – the future director of the municipal Department of Architecture José Alexandre Soares (1873-1930) – attended the session on the layout of streets and open spaces (J. A. Soares 1906); in other sessions participating architects could hear O. Wagner, Gaston Trélat, W. R. Lethaby and L. Bonnier. The 1908 Vienna congress was presided by O. Wagner, possibly already working on his Vienna extension plan. In 1911, the topic was explicitly discussed in Rome. Like the engineers, architects entered the international planning networks yet did not usually venture beyond its outer shells. Institutional realities A resume of the previous pages would be that: 1) urban planning was not a collective interest of potentially responsive professions, but 2) professionals had access to the relevant information. This explain that, when interest hit, involved professionals could parade a basic, pragmatic grasp of what was happening.194 It also gives ground for a basic answer to the question why one-man projects like Melo de Matos' didn't evolve into, nor could rely on, larger, lasting institutional programs. Potentially interested professionals had to rely on personal enthusiasm and investment, with the accompanying fragilities.195 The absence of a strong institutional reality in which a notion of planning could crystallize is all the more important as I showed earlier how it was crucial in the rapid institution of planning disciplines in Great Britain or France. In both cases the existence of a favourable context in which the idea of planning could be cultivated from a set of heterogeneous, at times improbable elements was as important as the production of solid theoretical elaborations. French architects had practised urbanisme well before inventing the term, and the first French textbooks on the subject only started to appear after a professional society had been created and war destruction provided the urgency. In Great Britain practice similarly preceded reflection; only after the appearance of specific legislation, meetings and entities did practitioners such as R. Unwin, T. H. Mawson or P. Geddes start to confide their craft to all-purpose textbooks. In general, the work of theoretical reflection and disciplinary definition only really started after professional markets were created. publsihed between 1894-1922 or the homonymous weekly journal of the Société Centrale des Architectes Français, 1888-1939). (J. L. de Carvalho 1905b) 194 Confirming cases are the inner-city renovation in Porto involving Barry Parker or M. Ventura Terra's work in Lisbon (see chapter 3). 195 This fragility is behind the series of limitations and coincidences which prevented deeper engagement with the international network. A significant case is of course the combination of personal enthusiasm and institutional marginality Melo de Matos had to make his project with; writing with the engineer M. Roldan y Pego one of the few Portuguese reports for a relevant international congress he didn't have the means to go to Brussels to present it (Roldan y Pego and Mattos 1910; Esparza 2014, 347). Examples of unfortunate coincidences are the fact that revolutionary participation prevented M. Ventura Terra from attending the 1910 Town Planning Conference or that a growing interest in incipient notions of planning by the architect Alfredo Maria da Costa Campos (1863-1911) was cut short by his early death. – 113 – G. Verheij Institutional realities Outside of the international centres of disciplinary construction, Barcelona provides a similar example of the importance of dedicated institutions for the cultivation of updated planning discourse. Since the 1880s ambitions of cosmopolitan modernity were remaking the city into a bourgeois centre of leisure. The concern with monumentalization through public art and urban compositions was validated at a metropolitan scale by L. Jaussely's winning entry to the 1903 competition for a scheme for a Greater Barcelona.196 Local architects in search of a “national” Catalan style also proved receptive to the arguments on visuality espoused by the likes of C. Buls, C. Sitte, K. Henrici and J. Stübben, to which ongoing territorial modernization gave a decisively urban twist.197 Yet it was an institution closely modelled after the French Musée Social and a law-trained librarian who provided a decisive push towards internationalization. The Museo Social was created in 1909; within this institution philanthropists, social reformers and landowners created in 1912 a garden-city society (Sociedad Cívica la Ciudad- Járdin, SCCJ). The Museo's librarian, the polyglot Cebrià de Montoliu, was appointed secretary.198 Montoliu understood his mission well beyond the nominal affiliation to the garden-city ideal, at a time when the international garden-city movement itself ambitioned to play a key role within the emergent planning discipline. From 1912 on Montoliu visited the main events and exhibitions across Europe, bringing back reports, ideas, documentation and 196 Cosmopolitan ambitions are signalled by the 1888 International Exposition, for which the former citadel was transformed in an urban park (rather than the industrial port area envisioned by I. Cerdà's mid-century extension plan). The idea of a Greater Barcelona, Capital of the South (capital del mig-dia), was promoted, among others, by the architect and politician J. Puig i Cadafalch. The 1903 competition was a result of the incorporation of neighbouring villages in 1897 (Les Corts, Gràcia, Sant Andreu de Palomar, Sant Gervasi de Cassoles, Sant Martí de Provençals and Sants; Horta was incorporated in 1904), increasing the city’s inhabitants to a little over half a million inhabitants. L. Jaussely's scheme was developed into a full-blown development plan until 1917. (Busquets 1992; Hereu i Payet 1988; Garcia i Espuche et al. 1991; Julián 1988; Josep Puig i Cadafalch 1989; Torres i Capell 1987; Inicis 1985) 197 At the start of the century the Catalan push towards independence, promoted by the Lliga Regionalista and then the semi-autonomous regional Mancomunitat (1914-1923), provided political relevance and investment to the ideal of urban modernization, linked to policies of territorial planning. (Riquer 1987; Ribas i Piera 2004) On the reception of German sources among Catalan architects, see V. Pérez Escolano (1992) and J. Ganau Casas (1997, 420–30). Pérez Escolano identifies C. Sitte's doctrine of the city as a work of art as an important element in urban ideals in early 20th century Spain, and notes the leading role of Barcelona in the assimilation of new ideas on planning. 198 On the Museo Social, dissolved in 1919, see M. A. Rovira Roses (n.d.) and, for a summary, J. A. Benavent Oltra (2008). F. Roca was the first to study Montoliu and the SCCJ (Roca 1971; 1977; 1979; 1988; 1992; for an overview, Roca 1993, including the excellent biography by J. Castellanos; for further bibliography, see Masjuan 2000; Castrillo Romón 2001; Pié Ninot 2007; Cortès Martí 2012). Montoliu's report on the 1910 Berlin Exhibition (1913a; see also Montoliu, n.d.) was probably instrumental in the creation of the SCCJ. Montoliu had started publishing in 1901 with a translation of selected fragments of Ruskin (1901; 1903). Though he continued to translate and comment English and American classics (Emerson 1904; Shakespeare 1907; Whitman 1909; Montoliu 1913b) Montoliu also endeavoured on a Ruskinian study of “institutions of social culture” (1903), which definitively places him in the international milieu of social reform. A 1916 report on Taylorism attests to a continuing interest in the subject alongside his activity at the SCCJ (Montoliu 1916). – 114 – G. Verheij Institutional realities contacts. Activity of the SCCJ included the compilation of relevant documentation, resulting in a well-furnished planning exhibition in 1916 (“Catálogo” 1916). Its lecture cycles brought, among others, G. Benoît-Levy, W. Thompson, H. Aldridge (in 1912) and R. Unwin (1914) to Barcelona. In the society's magazine, Civitas (1914-1924), Montoliu competently defended more comprehensive notions of urban planning policies (including landscape protection, municipal housing policies, public green space) and provided excellent coverage of related international debates. SCCJ lobbying was crucial for the creation of the municipal Instituto de Habitación Popular (1915-1917), a pioneering yet ultimately fraught attempt to implement policies of pre-emptive land acquisition to provide the basis for planned housing policies.199 Having in mind the information compiled thus far, there is ground to assume that, in the case of Portugal, what was vitally lacking was not information but the institutional structure capable of systematizing it, of promoting its application with sufficient resources to raise the subject above the status of one-man projects and pragmatic practice. Three approaches to institutional realities in Lisbon concur to the argument that institution-making was an important stumbling block for any attempt to articulate more solid perspectives on urban planning. In all of the cases Melo de Matos played significant roles, giving further arguments to his importance with regards to the roots of planning. The first is that of affordable housing. The typical problems related to housing of the “less affluent” – overcrowded centres and uncontrollable growth at the fringes, speculation and increasing housing costs, degradation of housing offer and sub-standard living conditions – also affected the main cities of Portugal. As elsewhere, 19th century “embellishments” tended to aggravate housing conditions for the poorest, easily evicted, grinding the contrasts of a segregated city. While health hazards and social danger forced the issue to a capital place in upper-classes' social conscience,200 early sanitary laws and regulations were limited in scope and application. Increasing population growth in the 1880s added urgency. Foreign experiences (British Building Societies, French cités ouvrières) were publicized in the general press and the first monographs on the housing question appeared. (Santa Rita 1891; Bermudes 1897; Bastos 1898) Yet successive bills proposing public regulation and promotion of affordable housing were not approved. (Fuschini 1884; J. C. da Matta 1909; Teixeira 1992; F. L. de Matos 1994; N. T. Pereira 1994; M. H. Lisboa 2002, 105, 174–75; Morgado Tomás 2006; Rute Figueiredo 2007, 63–76) Only at the start of the 20th century did public authorities start to invest more attention to the problem. 1901 Public Health regulation (Regulamento Geral dos Serviços de Saúde e Beneficência Pública) introduced the concept of building inspection and envisioned the possibility of slum clearance; posterior regulation of building sanitation (Regulamento de Salubridade das Edificações Urbanas, 1903) enlarged sanitary restrictions over private 199 The Institute was dissolved amidst a corruption scandal which seem to have originated within the SCCJ itself. Essential sources were published in Civitas (Puig i Cadafalch 1915; “El Instituto Barcelonés” 1919; for the wider context, PMH 1999; Sagarra i Trias 2003). This episode is usually indicated as an important reason for Montoliu's emigration to the United States in 1920, where he died in unclear circumstances in 1923. 200 In the case of Porto, the popularisation of fearsome images of degraded popular living conditions has been identified with a ideologically situated discourse of public authorities and social elites. (G. M. Pereira 1996, 162) – 115 – G. Verheij Institutional realities constructions. A survey of housing conditions in Lisbon, conducted by the Council of Sanitary Improvements (Conselho dos Melhoramentos Sanitários, CMS) of the Ministry of Public Works, created in the wake of the 1901 Public Health Act, brought to light a sobering image of metropolitan misery.201 Hygienists depicted a city which cared more about “ostentatious streets” (ruas espectaculosas) and “magnificent works” (obras magníficas) than hygiene and public health (Gazeta dos Caminhos de Ferro 1903). The “physical and moral corruption” hidden in decaying mansions subdivided in ever-smaller rooms or in the courtyards of solid bourgeois rental buildings was – the president of the CMS stated in an interview – above all a social problem. (O Dia 1906) This question deeply interested Melo de Matos, who published a large number of articles on international developments, Portuguese realities and concrete financial solutions in the pages of A Construcção Moderna. In general, he espoused a housing solution based on decentralization, cheap transportation and long-term loans at low interest rate rather than any spatial model, beyond a generic preference for single-family dwellings surrounded by gardens. (Mattos 1903a; 1905a; 1905b; Rute Figueiredo 2007, 284–86) Like most of his pre- war British and French counterparts, moral ideas about self-help and property ownership ruled out any form of direct public subsidizing of housing construction.202 It was along these lines – the creation of a series of fiscal incentives, the delimitation of criteria for eligible constructions, and the creation of supervisory institutions – that Affordable Housing Bills were presented in 1904 and 1908, yet not approved. In reality, by 1909 nothing had been done to take on housing shortage either by the State or municipal authorities, concluded J. Caeiro da Matta in a study of that year. (F. L. de Matos 1994, 683) Until 1918 workers' housing in Lisbon remained the domain of unregulated private enterprise, with occasional cases of philanthropic initiative by industrials or civic charity. An alternative was the popular housing cooperative, a solution preferred by Melo de Matos. The engineer made substantial studies on viable financial schemes for building cooperatives which were to open up home ownership for the less affluent, and tried to put them into practice in a cooperative he co-founded in 1905 201 Until the surveys conducted by the CMS the reality of popular housing was mostly a matter of speculation. The most reliable numbers from the 1890s were the product of a re-interpretation of industrial surveys (Santa Rita 1891). The surveys in Lisbon, executed in 1902 and 1905, were an initiative of the president of the Council, the engineer A. P. de M. Montenegro – his death in 1908 was the probable cause of their interruption. These surveys studied the sanitary conditions of the city's “pátios” (see note 204), concluding in 1902 that out of 102 pátios (housing 4294 inhabitants in 1106 dwellings) only 32 (housing 918) were inhabitable and in 1905 that no more than 31 out of 131 passed the sanitary mark. Melo de Matos pointed out that, for a solid policy of stimulating affordable housing, much more comprehensive surveys needed to be carried out, for which he presented a Leplayan program in 1905. (CMS 1903; 1905; Montenegro 1903; 1905; 1906; Mattos 1903a; 1905a; 1905b; 1906c; N. T. Pereira 1994; Rute Figueiredo 2007, 68–70, 265–86; Ascensão 2013, M. H. Lisboa 2002, 175–78) 202 It seems Melo de Matos' interest in affordable housing was first raised by the 1902 Düsseldorf congress on the topic; the translation and discussion of the congressional reports certainly provided him with a well-furnished stock of international examples. In 1903 he started to publicize the results of his own studies, coherently developed over the following years in conferences and writing. (Rute Figueiredo 2007, 276–86) – 116 – G. Verheij Institutional realities (Cooperativa Predial Portuguesa, CCP).203 Meanwhile pátios and vilas continued the most palpable expression of Lisbon's low-cost housing.204 In this landscape architects were virtually absent. With the possible exception of the eclectic architect M. J. Norte Jr., there is no practical engagement of Lisbon's architects with affordable housing until after World War I.205 Indeed, the priority of upholding professional prerogatives led the architects to collectively boycott a competition for different typologies of affordable housing organized by the CCP, on the ground that the program included articles which infringed upon “the dignity of artists.” (Ribeiro 1993, I, 66) The self-made architect Rafael Duarte de Melo (he had no formal training) instead designed several models (published in A Construcção Moderna, n. 184, 1905). Theoretically, affordable housing gave the architecture an entirely new frame of reference, a “social mission” which potentially led to a deeper engagement with the urban question. João Lino de Carvalho (1859-1926) – the librarian of the Society of Architects who attended the Paris Congress of Housing Hygiene in 1904 – said as much in 1908.206 Yet for the time being this remained a purely abstract statement. While elsewhere the design of housing complexes provided an inroad to urban design and planning – the Rothschild competition from 1905 (Dumont 1991, 31–37), the results of which were published in A Construcção Moderna in August and September 1906, proves as much, and Porto could showcase some pioneering 203 The activity of housing cooperatives such as these is extremely under-documented. Melo de Matos was a member of the Technical Council of the CCP together with the engineers Justino Teixeira (1835-1923) and Pedro Augusto Arnaut de Menezes and the public work superintendent António Maria Paixão. At the start of 1910 the CPP counted 734 members and had built nine buildings; it continued to exist at least until the 1950s, but it never reached the desired scale. Membership numbers drawn from available management reports – 254 in 1937, 402 in 1952 – suggest stagnation. (CPP 1907; 1911; Mattos 1910; between 1905 and 1910 A Construcção Moderna regularly informed about activity of the CPP.) 204 The term “pátios” (courtyards) comprehends a series of more or less improvised cheap housing solutions in the courtyards of rental buildings, decaying mansions and abandoned convents. The “vilas” constitute another popular solution of the time. The term covers a range of typologies of small housing complexes scattered throughout the city, oscillating between plain improvisation and quality design. Built wherever land was cheap, they were generally separated from public roads, and maintained a specious rural taste. According to an inventory, the first were built in the area of Graça in the 1880s, but they really spread over town in the early 20th century, with a large concentration in the period from 1908-1912. (Guia 1987; Leite 1991; N. T. Pereira and Buarque 1995; Antunes 2002; S. C. I. Pinto 2008) 205 Manuel Joaquim Norte Jr. (1878-1962) is commonly credited with the design of the “Bairro da Estrela d'Ouro” (1907-1909) in Graça for the Galician industrial Agapito Serra Fernandes (?- 1939), though there is only documentary evidence for his authorship of a cinema which was part of it and Fernandes' own residence. (Catarina Oliveira 2015; Folgado and Oliveira 2015) 206 “... pois que na actualidade harmonizar a arte e a higiene com a economia é de facto o mais interessante problema que se impõe ao arquiteto.” (J. L. de Carvalho 1908, 25; on the author, Rute Figueiredo 2007, 268–75; M. H. Lisboa 2002, 113) A few years earlier another unidentified commentator already had formulated the architect's role in similar terms: “O papel do architecto é procurar os meios de remediar, tanto quanto possivel, os inconvenientes resultantes da agglormeração das habitações.” (E.T. 1900) – 117 – G. Verheij Institutional realities experiences207 – in practice housing continued to be envisioned as a financial, fiscal and juridical matter rather than as a problem of design. Another potential area of relevance for the promotion of urban development was that of tourism. As will be discussed later, the “tourist gaze” was essential for the visual construction of the city. (Urry 1991; Rute Figueiredo 2007, 233–34) Tourism was a remarkable “agent of progress,” the architect Adães Bermudes (1864-1948) wrote in 1912, demanding efforts towards the mise-en-valor of the country's attractions, Lisbon included.208 This required study, art and vision. (Bermudes 1912a; 1912b; Cunha 2011) On the other hand, visual (and visualizing) discourse on the city rapidly passed from description to prescription, and public campaigns in favour of urban modernization and “embellishments” potentially entered the field of urban development209 (Ward 1998; Notteboom 2007) More generally, tourist resorts were traditionally loci for innovative urban developments. (Briz 2003; Lobo 2013) B. Parker excepted, it was for tourist-related urban development that the first foreign (French) planners were brought in, and during the 1930s the development of the “Costa do Sol” (Sun Coast) and other tourist areas was an important laboratory for Portuguese planning practices.210 (Agache 1936; Cadavez 2012; Lobo 2013) In February 1906 a civic society was created with the purpose of promoting national and international tourism in Portugal. The Sociedade de Propaganda de Portugal (Society of Propaganda of Portugal, SPP), promoted by Leonildo de Mendonça e Costa (1840-1923) after the example of foreign touring clubs and local development societies, brought together businessmen, investors, journalists, politicians, engineers and representatives of the 207 In Porto the daily O Commercio do Porto initiated a first experience with affordable housing, funded by public subscriptions, in Monte Pedral (Porto). J. Marques da Silva designed 26 dwellings of Mulhousian inspiration, of which 14 units were built between 1899 and 1905. In 1906 the complex was municipalized. Later on four little-studied “worker's colonies” (colónias operárias) built in the same city between 1914 and 1917 were the first cases of direct municipal construction. (Gonçalves and Ramos 2016; Gonçalves 2016; Ricardo Figueiredo 2010) 208 Tourists – “em regra, um cavalheiro distincto, illustrado e rico que procura gozar a vida, instruir- se, e variar de sensações agradaveis,” according to Bermudes' psychological outline – and other international visitors could be agents of “international sympathies;” tourism was one way of entering the “concert of nations.” (Bermudes 1912a; 1912b) Any dock – even that of Alcântara – was enough to contain the entire world, the poet Fernando Pessoa assured some years later (M. V. Cabral 2000, 112). Pessoa counted an English language tourist guide among his many failed editorial projects; it wasn't published until 1997 (Pessoa 1997). 209 The construction of this “tourist gaze” over the city can be traced through publications such as the monthly bulletin (1907-1920) of the Sociedade de Propaganda de Portugal, the Gazeta dos Caminhos de Ferro (1881-1971) or later the Revista do Turismo (1916-1924). As will be discussed later, it similarly infiltrated illustrated magazines such as Occidente (1878-1914), Serões (1901- 1911) or Illustração Portugueza (1903-1993). 210 Already in the early 1910s Henri Martinet (1867-1936), who participated in the 1911 Congress of Tourism in Lisbon, was contracted by the the tourist entrepreneur Fausto de Figueiredo to work on resort development in Estoril. Henri Martinet, a landscape designer and architect of luxury hotels, had also elaborated urban plans for resort villages (Touquet-Paris-Plage, Hendaye-Plage). The final project was officially presented in 1914, but shortly after construction started (16 January 1916) Figueiredo's company went bankrupt and Martinet was fired. (Paulino 2012, 60–62, 192–94; A. Carvalho and Henriques 2011, 15, 37–39, 41–45, 56) – 118 – G. Verheij Institutional realities embryonic tourist sector. The society's statutes defined its mission as the attraction of foreign visitors – through the compilation and publication of attractions and useful information, international propaganda, and the promotion of quality standards in the tourist sector – but also the much more ambitious aim of “intellectual, moral and material development” of the country and the promotion of patriotism (Cerdeira 2014b, partially resumed in 2014a). At first, sub-commissions proliferated; among them, the Commission of Monuments, presided by Melo de Matos, is of special interest.211 Nominally dedicated to monuments, within the far- ranging definition of the society's mission the subjects under discussion ranged, besides old and new monuments, from musical heritage to art historical studies, but essentially focused on the development of Lisbon.212 This liberal understanding was defined by Melo de Matos in an outline of the commission's general objectives. Among the defence and promotion of built heritage, public architecture and a national style in architecture,213 concern with urban development was expressed in essentially aesthetic terms. Art was to complement the appeal of Lisbon's natural setting. (Mattos 1907a, 146) In 1907 the SPP itself sponsored the publication of a study by another engineer, Francisco de Paula Botelho (1841-1940), based on initial ideas published in February 1906 in the daily Diário de Notícias. Though the work's title proposed a “general plan” for “urgent improvements” in Lisbon and Porto, the larger part of the book is occupied by urban and social critique (“social psychology” the author called it). In F. P. Botelho's view there was little that was not awkward, miserable, defective or haphazard; no “general lines,” no “aesthetic” but the gifts of nature.214 Yet reconstruction of the plan (the original map, which could be examined at the SPP headquarters, seems to have been lost) suggests the actual proposals didn't match the prodigal condemnation of the existing city. Basically it was a road 211 The commission was clearly dominated by civil and military engineers. Members with a training in engineering were Joaquim de Pina Callado (civil servant, 1854-1922), Henrique de Vasconcelos (writer, 1876-1924), José Vieira Guimarães (physician and historian, 1864-1939), Manuel Roldan y Pego (civil servant), Simão Valdez Trigueiros de Martel (civil servant, 1879-1946), António Leotte Tavares, José de Mello Manuel da Camara Leme, Raúl Viana Costa (statistician), Artur Henriques de Sousa Bual (engineer, 1872-1921), Herculano Galhardo (military engineer, 1868- 1944) and João Teodoro Ferreira Pinto Basto (industrial, 1870-1953). Further members were Rosendo Carvalheira (architect, 1863-1919), Tomás Costa (sculptor, 1861-1932), Arnaldo da Fonseca (possibly the photographer, 1868-1936?), the painter Alfredo Roque Gameiro (1864- 1935) and the writer Alfredo de Mesquita (1871-1931). Also included were representatives of the AECP and the SAP (Costa Campos, F.C. Parente e A. Bermudes) and of the construction companies Cardoso d'Argent and Moreira de Sá e Malavez – the last a pioneer in construction in concrete. (“Propaganda” 1907; Rute Figueiredo 2007, 239–46; Cerdeira 2014b, 60–70; Tavares 2006) 212 To take an example, among the subjects discussed during a meeting in February 1907 were a municipal project for a new avenue, the impact of building regulations on architectural aesthetics, and the promotion of the “aesthetic” of Lisbon (esthesia da capital). (“Sociedade de Propaganda” 1907, 178) 213 Melo de Matos envisioned an architecture in harmony with “the glorious traditions of Portugal,” the climate and social life. (The subject of a national style for residential architecture was much debated at the time, see I. Ribeiro 1994; R. H. da Silva 1997; Rute Figueiredo 2007, part II, ch. 4; J. Leal 2009; Toussaint 2012, 145–96.) 214 “Enfim, (...) tudo acanhado, tudo mesquinho, tudo a esmo e mais ou menos claudicante e avêsso por vezes; sem linhas geraes, – sem esthetica, – senão a que a prodiga naturesa nos empresta, nos concede em fartas e omnipotentes messes.” (F. M. de P. Botelho 1907, 32) – 119 – G. Verheij Institutional realities system composed of two main diagonal avenues crossing at Largo do Rato, accompanied by a number of frequently unspecified radial and transversal avenues, with viaducts and tunnels to overcome geographical obstacles. (Barata 2010, 213–20) Though it is difficult to assess F. P. Botelho's actual grasp of contemporary planning ideas behind the flamboyant oratory, there are some reasons to consider he knew what he was saying when he defined the prevision or planning of urban improvements as a contemporary duty (imposição de nossos dias). (F. M. de P. Botelho 1907, 15) For one, the essence of his analysis of Lisbon is quite perceptive, relying on a diagnostics of urban fragmentation which posed the dissonance, discontinuity and detachment of discrete neighbourhoods as the central problem.215 On the other hand, a later publication proves he accompanied international (essentially French) developments.216 Botelho's practical focus was on road links, but what springs to the eye is how the entire discourse is framed in aesthetic terms. Based on largely developed ideas of environmental determinism, Lisbon should be transformed into a “city of perspectives,” with panoramic avenues and gardens, aristocratic quarters, grand plazas and elegant parks (f. ex. F. M. de P. Botelho 1907, 62). Indeed in 1912 F. P. Botelho defined the urban development plan (um plano de melhoramentos e aformoseamtnos de uma cidade) as essentially a work of art, sanctioned by the psychological influence of art; the engineers traditionally charged with urban development are in Sittean manner denounced for their lack of a sufficiently complex psychology, “nurtured by Art” (aquecida ao sabor da Arte). (F. M. de P. Botelho 1912, 8, 35) Though Melo de Matos inspired himself in F. P. Botelho's proposal in a posterior plea for the clearance of decaying historical quarters, and an important text by another Botelho (Abel) might have been a riposte to the engineers, there is little evidence of any really lasting impact of the proposals of the latter (Mattos 1908b, 146; A. Botelho 1908; Rute Figueiredo 2007, 262–65). Indeed, when F. P. Botelho published his 1912 comments political investment and ensuing professionalization already had redefined the sphere of action of the SPP with more precision, reducing the eclectic scope of initial activities.217 The Commission of Monuments seemed to have disbanded, in part on account of weariness with Melo de Matos' exacting 215 “... o effeito capital ou a doença de Lisboa, é a desharmonia, desconnexão e distancia dos seus bairros.” (F. M. de P. Botelho 1907, 40) Earlier Botelho defined Lisbon as an oversized urban patchwork: “da planta actual, se pode dizer que Lisboa é uma verdadeira capa de mendigo, feita de retalhos.” What was lacking was a degree of urban coherence, of “binding affinity” (affinidade de ligação). (idem, 25–26) 216 Among quoted references are E. Magne's L'esthétique des villes (1908), plans by L. Jaussely (Barcelona), A. Bérard (Guayaquil) and J.-A. Bouvard (São Paulo) and the recently created Commission de l'Extension de Paris. (F. M. de P. Botelho 1912, 19) The book itself, intended as a commentary on legislative proposals to open competitions for development plans for Lisbon and Porto, is rather confusing, full of personal attacks and accusations of incompetence. But Botelho's proposal of mixed planning commissions of different urban professionals, with artists and other “aesthetes” in advisory role, was clearly inspired on the Parisian example. (idem, 43–44) 217 After a SPP-promoted International Tourism Congress in Lisbon in 1911 a State Department of Tourism was created which took over part of the responsibilities of the civic society. (Cerdeira 2014a; Cunha 2011) – 120 – G. Verheij Institutional realities enthusiasm.218 Though after-effects can be traced in public opinion, no lasting institutional structure capable of deeper investment in planning was created. A third area in which relevant institutional traces can be found is that of sociologically- inspired social reform. The decisive role of Social Museums in Paris and Barcelona has been discussed before. In Portugal an attempt was made to create a local branch of another Leplayan institution, the Société Internationale de Science Sociales (SISS, 1904-1945), created after the death of H. de Tourville to continue his research and ideas. It is usually linked to ambitions of social reform of the young king Manuel II, who followed his father Carlos I after the latter's assassination in Febrary 1908. In June 1908 a commission composed of Albert Dauprat (1847-1921), Joseph Durieu (1873-1950) and A.-D. Agache visited the country to promote the constitution of a national society. J. Durieu gave a series of conferences at the Society of Geography on social science methods, followed by case studies ranging from Arab nomads to contemporary France and Portugal. Local members were recruited in Lisbon by the engineer José Matos Braamcamp (1868-1953) and in Coimbra by João Serra e Silva (1868-1956), a professor in “social hygiene” and social science pioneer at the Faculty of Medicine (with syphilis, alcoholism and tuberculosis as specialities). Members of the Lisbon group included the engineer José Fernando de Souza (president of the SPP), the municipal engineer Ressano Garcia, the politician José Relvas and the historian and future mayor Anselmo Braamcamp Freire. (“La science sociale” 1908; new members were announced in the Bulletin of the SISS, see numbers 49–52, 1908; for studies of this episode, M. B. da Cruz 1983; Hespana 1996, 3–5; F. Ágoas 2013, 266; A. M. de C. Martins 2014) Agache is reported to have studied Portuguese architecture for an international comparative inquiry for the recently founded Les Documents du Progrès (1907-1932), apparently never published. He visited the Jerónimos Monastery and Palácio da Pena in Sintra, examined vernacular architecture (casas de estylo português) and is even rumoured to have been in the Madeira archipelago. Melo de Matos met him personally and knew about his work at the time, enthusiastically mentioning the course Agache was giving at the CLSS (“La critique d'art renouvelée par la science sociale”), though he confused it with a forthcoming book. It promised to exercise a similar influence as H. Taine's art philosophy, he told readership of A Construcção Moderna. (Mattos 1908g; “Congresso” 1909) It was probable that contact with these disciples of Le Play led Melo de Matos to attempt embryonic sociological approaches to the urban problems of Lisbon. (Rute Figueiredo 2007, 278–80) Melo de Matos answered his invitation to the new sociological society with a public letter, recalling his dispersed readings of Paul de Rousiers and E. Demolins and his wish to further explore the ideas of Le Play. (Mattos 1908g) Agache might also have had contact with Portuguese architects such as M. Ventura Terra or J. Marques da Silva (both about to take on municipal responsibilities in planning in Lisbon and Porto), as they shared an apprenticeship with Victor Laloux. 218 After 1910 no further notices on the commission's activity were found. A posthumous commentator of Melo de Matos' participation in the weekly meetings wrote: “tanto esforço nela exibia, tão numerosas ideias apresentava, tanto forçava a nota da actividade, da acção enérgica, do trabalho persistente, que os demais vogais se sentiam fatigados.” (Collares 1910; Costa 1915, quoted in Cerdeira 2014b, 66) – 121 – G. Verheij Institutional realities In Coimbra, where there had been previous engagement with Leplayan social science by university professors related to social Catholicism, there was also a favourable reception. Certainly as a consequence the sociologist Léon Poinsard was invited in 1909 to give a series of conferences at the University, taking advantage to conduct research of this terra incognita of the social sciences. It resulted in a book, aptly named Le Portugal inconnu, published in 1910 and translated to Portuguese in 1912. The study included detailed descriptions of working-class living conditions in Lisbon, as after the SISS-promoted “social method” it was conducted by means of a series of study cases of representative social types.219 (Poinsard 1910; 1912) But these promising contacts were again followed by sobering realities. After the initial interest, the Lisbon group seems to have quietly disbanded. The SISS retained a considerable Portuguese membership (20 members in 1912, more than any other European country outside of France)220 but it didn't include any of the initial members which can be related to the urban question. L. Poinsard himself fittingly provided the sociological explanation for the failure of urban social reform to take off in Portugal: social disinterest and fear of investment of elites, and the fragility, if not absence, of social institutions mediating between the State and individual. These causes give a more precise character to generic explanations for the absence of any serious institutional investment in the promotion of public control over urban development, such as low degrees of industrialization, urbanization, population growth and other indicators of an urban economy. Previously I showed how internationally the notion of planning crafted at the start of the 20th century was not a mere response to social and urban pressures. It was constructed discursively and embodied in institutions and practices. Such an institutional culture crucially lacked in Portugal. Poinsard's study suggests that in the end this had to do with the fragile statues of local middle-classes, who elsewhere provided the critical mass behind social reform movements. The architect A. Bermudes had arrived at a similar conclusion a few years earlier. In a harsh critique of political oblivion towards the “social question” – taking silence for consent – he noted that personal efforts were not enough to unveil the “mute aspirations of a silenced nation” (as aspirações mudas da nação muda). Education, public debate and social solidarity – those hallmarks of the middle classes – were imperative for the necessary social redemption. (Poinsard 1910, 33–35, 387; Bermudes 1907) 219 In the case of Lisbon the case studies were provided by J. M. Braamcamp. The comprehend a mason, a carpenter, a plumber, a potter, a glover, a shoemaker and a textile worker. (Poinsard 1910, 251–317) 220 See the membership list in n. 89-90 (January-February 1912) of the Bulletin of the SISS. – 122 – G. Verheij [Figures] [Figures] Images from the metropolis – 123 – Figure 4: Jacob Riis, Bandit roost (59 Mulberry Street in New York City), 1888. (Wikimedia Commons) Figure 1: Gustave Caillebot, Rue de Paris, temps de pluie, 1877. Oil on canvas, 212,2 x 276,2 cm. (Wikimedia Commons) Figure 2: Berlin courtyard at the Möckernstraße (in Kreuzberg), from the 1904 Berliner Wohnungs-Enquête. (In Wikipedia) Figure 3: Gustav Doré, 'Over London-by Rail', engraving from his London: A pilgrimage, 1872. (London, Science Museum) G. Verheij [Figures] – 124 – Figure 5: Lisbon's Rossio square at the start of the 20th century. (C. Chusseau-Flaviens / Wikimedia Commons) The wave-like pattern of the Rossio square merited a mention by F. Genzmer (1910). W. Hegemann also included a picture of it in his American Vitruvius (1922). Figure 6: A reproduction of the Dom Luís I Bridge in Porto from F. Genzmer's Brücken in Stadt und Land. (In Genzmer 1913) Figure 7: Chart comparing size, growth and traffic in eight large metropolitan areas (London, New York, Paris, Berlin, Chicago, Philadelphia, Boston), from W. Hegemann's monumental Berlin catalogue. (In Hegemann 1911– 1913, vol. 1) G. Verheij [Figures] – 125 – Figure 8: Plates from Alphand's Promenades de Paris with a plan and perspective of the Avenue Foch and examples of street lights, street sections and plans and sewers. (In Alphand 1867) Alphand's luxury album was a key element in the promotion and diffusion of a modern urban image, but it also happened through the purchase of urban furniture or even the circulation of commercial catalogues. (Remesar, Lecea, and Grandas 2004; S. Barradas 2013) G. Verheij [Figures] – 126 – Figure 11: Vienna's Burgtheater along the Ringstraße in the 1890s. Coloured photograph. (Wikimedia Commons) Figure 10: Compilation of closed squares of the kind defended by C. Sitte, published in his Der Städtebau. (In Sitte 1889) Figure 9: Approved extension plan of Vienna, 1860. Coloured wood engraving. (Wikimedia Commons) G. Verheij [Figures] – 127 – Figure 12: Sections and plans of aesthetically pleasing and unpleasant street levels, from Stübben's Der Städtebau. (In Stübben 1890) J. Stübben described with some detail how moving over a convex street surface (a hump) causes people, buildings and vehicles to appear as if raising from the ground. He recommended to avoid (literally “disguise”, dem Auge zu entziehen) such a situation by changing the street's direction, adding a bifurcation or breaking visual continuity, for example through decorative greenery (Schmuckanlangen). (Stübben 1890, 77–80) The visual impact of street design is here an overriding concern. Also note how the technique of longitudinal profiling is combined with the representation of the eye and visual rays in order to scientifically support claims about subjective vision. This was an approach explored around these years by the theorist of vision Hermann Maertens (1885; 1890; see also Ladd 1987; Moravánszky 2012). G. Verheij [Figures] – 128 – Figure 13: Plates from K. Henrici's winning entry for the München competition. (In (Henrici 1893) Karl Henrici (1842-1927) included to general acclaim a series of elaborated previews of the proposed mise-en-scène of monuments (note the lines of sight in the upper maps). This self-proclaimed disciple of Sitte promoted a highly personal interpretation of the Viennese's work, reading Der Städtebau as a defence of a nationalist, organic urban picturesque. Supposedly Sittean principles such as the intentionally curved street are really Henrici's inventions. (Fehl 1992) Figure 14: Otto Wagner, bird-eye perspective of a quarter in an imagined future Vienna. (In O. Wagner 1911) G. Verheij [Figures] – 129 – Figure 15: Camille Pissarro, Avenue de l'Opéra, soleil, matinée d'hiver, 1898. Oil on canvas, 73 × 92 cm. (Wikimedia Commons) Haussmann's urbanscape attracted painters. Here is the Avenue de l'Opéra as seen by Pissarro on a sunny winter morning. Figure 17: E. Hénard, Illustration of a proposal for discontinuous building lines. (In Hénard 1982) Here Hénard rearranged the classical ingredients of the Haussmannian avenue in a radically anti-Haussmannian, picturesque way. Figure 18: E. Hénard, Illustration of the city of the future, 1910. (In Hénard 1911) Note the interplay between existing urban forms and imagined future fluxes. Figure 16: L. Bonnier, Drawings illustrating evolving regulation of upper building façades in Paris until 1902. (© Fonds Louis Bonnier, SIAF/Cité de l'architecture et du patrimoine/Archives d'architecture du XXe siècle) G. Verheij [Figures] – 130 – Figure 20: General plan of A. Bérard's winning entry for the 1906 Guayaquil competition. (In Bérard 1907) Figure 21: Plates from H. Prost's winning entry for the 1910 Antwerp competition. (© Fonds Henri Prost, SIAF/Cité de l'architecture et du patrimoine/Archives d'architecture du XXe siècle) Figure 19: Plates 8 (building zones) and 25 (perspective of the new city centre) of L. Jaussely's winning entry for the 1903 Barcelona competition. (Barcelona, Arxiu Històric de la Ciutat) G. Verheij [Figures] – 131 – Figure 23: J.-C. N. Forestier, Plan of Parc Laribal, Barcelona. (Arxiu Històric de la Ciutat de Barcelona, (In Leclerc 1994) Figure 24: J.-C. N. Forestier, Plan of a proposed a park-system in Rabat (Morocco). (In Forestier 1997) Figure 22: Plan number II (Enumeration of the public buildings) of D.-A. Agache's entry for the 1911 Canberra competition. (© Commonwealth of Australia / National Archives of Australia / CC BY 3.0 AU) G. Verheij [Figures] – 132 – Figure 26: J. Gréber, Design of the Benjamin Franklin Parkway, in Philadelphia. (In Fairmount Park Art Association 1919) J. Gréber had emigrated to the United States in 1913. In this design he combines memories of the Champs-Elysées with the typical American invention of the parkway. Figure 25: E. Hébrard, Plan for the reconstruction of Thessaloniki (Greece), 1918. (Wikimedia Commons) After a large fire destroyed the city Hébrard was commissioned to design a new, European-style centre, including civic square and monumental axis. G. Verheij [Figures] – 133 – Figure 27: The Thiers wall of Paris. (In Capizzi 2012) Legend: 1) Thiers wall (1840-1845); 2) suburbs annexed in 1860; 3) pre-1860 city limits; 4) non-building zone (non aedificandi) of 250m around the Thiers wall. Figure 28: E. Hénard, Proposal for the establishment of parks and gardens in Paris, 1904. (In Hénard 1982) Figure 29: Ligue pour les espaces libres, Proposal of a green-belt for Paris. (In Bullock and Read 1985) G. Verheij [Figures] – 134 – Figure 30: Exhibition map of “La Cité Reconstituée.” (In La Cité Reconstitutuée 1916) Figure 31: Inauguration of the exhibition La Cité Reconstituée, at the Jardin des Tuileries. 24 May 1916. (B ibliothèque nationale de France) Proportion of articles in "La Vie Urbaine" divided by topic Periods: 1919-1929 (inner circle) and 1930-1939 (outer circle) Urbanisme / planning Geography History Hygiene Housing Education Administration, law, management Figure 33: Relative proportions of subjects in La Vie Urbaine in its first (1919-1929, 171 articles) and second (1930-1939, 148 articles) series. Chart based on data by A. Fijalkow (http://sociologie.celeonet.fr/?page=2, last access 30 August 2016) Figure 32: Editorial offer of the collection Urbanisme of the editor Ernest Leroux in 1921. (Site Léon Rosenthal, Université de Bourgogne) G. Verheij [Figures] – 135 – Figure 35: General plan of the Universal Exposition of Ghent, 1913, (Bibliothèque nationale de France) The First International Congress of Cities, dedicated to city-building and municipal management, was held during the Ghent Exposition. Representatives of 22 governments and 150 cities attended, besides hundreds of architects, planners, politicians and scientists (W- Whyte 2014). On the occasion the prominent International Union of Cities was founded. The exhibition, with participants from 26 countries, attracted over 3,5 million visitors and occupied 130 ha. Figure 36: Cosmopolitan attendance in front of the Congo pavilion of the Ghent Exposition. (A. Scheers / Wikimedia Commons) Figure 34: H. C. Andersen and E. Hébrard, Frontispiece and plan of a project for a World Centre of Communication. (In Andersen and Hébrard 1913) The slightly obsessive proposal of a World Capital of Peace by the Beaux-Arts sculptor Hendrik Cristian Andersen (1872-1940) and architect Ernest Hébrard (1875-1933) is illustrative of the idealist pulse present in the early international planning panorama. Figure 37: The Avenue des Nations at the Ghent Exposition. (Bibliothèque Nationale de France) G. Verheij [Figures] – 136 – Figure 38: The Avenue de Tervueren in Brussels, early 20th century. (Collection Carlier Claude) Figure 39: Advertisement posters spoiling Paris, according to L'Ami des monuments et des arts (vol. 19, 1905, 384). Figure 40: E. Atget, Advertisement posters in old Paris, Rue Saint-Jacques around 1900. (Image reproduced from http://servatius.blogspot.pt/2011_09_01_archiv e.html) Figure 41: Views of the Exposition de la Reconstruction in Palace de Egmont, Brussels, 1919. (La Cité, 1: 3–4, Oct. 1919) Van der Swaelmen's contacts and work on a “Civic Encyclopedia” allowed him to put together a short-notice planning exhibition (sponsored by the Union des Villes et Communes Belges), including the entries for the Paris competition that year. Later the exhibition travelled to Antwerp, Liege and Bruges. (Smets 1977, 101; Stynen 1979, 30–33) G. Verheij [Figures] – 137 – Figure 42: Porto, Department of Public Works, Model of a proposed design of the future Avenida dos Aliados. (Illustração Portuguesa, 29 March 1915) Figure 43: B. Parker, Section drawing of the first proposal for the future Avenida dos Aliados. (In Ricardo Figueiredo 2013) Figure 44: B. Parker, Main and lateral façades of the final proposal for the future Avenida dos Aliados. (In Ricardo Figueiredo 2013) Figure 45: B. Parker, Plan of the final proposal for the future Avenida dos Aliados. (In Ricardo Figueiredo 2013) Figure 46: B. Parker, Sketch of a square with jacaranda planting in Jardim América, São Paulo. (In Rego 2015) G. Verheij [Figures] – 138 – Figure 47: J. J. P. Oud, De Kiefhoek, Rotterdam, 1925–1929. (In Federal Republic of Germany 2008) Figure 48: C. van Eesteren, Winning entry for the competition to redesign Unter den Linden, Berlin, 1925. (In C. C. Collins 2009) Figure 49: P. L. Kramer, Cooperatiesstraat (Cooperation Street), Amsterdam, around 1925. (In Federal Republic of Germany 2008) Figure 50: P. L. Kramer and M. de Klerk, Cooperatiehof (Cooperation Court), with public library and monument. (Image: Author 2014) Figure 51: M. de Klerk, Het Schip (The Ship), 1914- 1921. (Images: Author 2014) This building was part of a complex designed for the cooperative “Eigen Haard” in Amsterdam's Spaarndammerbuurt. G. Verheij [Figures] – 139 – Figure 54: Großsiedlung Britz, Berlin, 1925-1930 (recent aerial view, tenant gardens and red front by B. Taut). (In Federal Republic of Germany 2008) This complex of 1963 housing units, with its central horseshoe shape, was the first large housing estate in Germany after World War I. Designs were made by Taut, Wagner and Migge. Figure 53: Siedlung Schillerpark, Berlin, 1924-1930. (In Federal Republic of Germany 2008) One of the first urban residential projects in Berlin after World War I, this was a model of new social housing, made according to designs by B. Taut. The settlement was named after the first public park built in Berlin. Figure 52: Siedlung Lindenhof, Berlin, 1918-1921 (aerial view from 1924). (Reproduced from http://www.gewosued.net/index.php?id=21) Developed under direction of M. Wagner, the Lindenhof – loosely inspired by garden-city ideas – was intended as a settlement model. Bruno Taut (1880–1938) and Leberecht Migge (1881–1935) were also involved. Figure 55: Weiße Stadt, Berlin, 1929-1931 (bridge house by Salvisberg, garden by Lesser). (In Federal Republic of Germany 2008) This housing estate of 1286 flats with ribbon buildings and abundant green space was developed by the Swedish architect Otto Rudolf Salvisberg (1882-1940) and implemented under direction of Wagner. The buildings were designed by Salvisberg, Bruno Ahrends (1878-1948) and Wilhelm Büning (1881-1958); gardens were designed by Ludwig Lesser (1896-1957). The project attempted to mix uses and balance public and private indoor and outdoor spaces according to socially orientated design principles. G. Verheij [Figures] – 140 – Figure 56: Großsiedlung Siemensstadt, Berlin, 1929-1931 (buildings by Scharoun, Gropius and Haring and a garden by Migge). (In Federal Republic of Germany 2008) This spacious housing estate, dotted by green spaces, was designed by Hans Scharoun (1893-1972) and implemented under direction of Wagner. Each building was designed by a different architect (Gropius, Hugo Häring, Otto Bartning, Fred Forbat, Paul Rudolf Henning and Scharoun himself); green spaces were designed by Migge. Figure 57: Weißenhofsiedlung, Stuttgart, 1927 (clay model and view of the building by Le Corbusier and Pierre Jeanneret, on the right). (Reproduced from The Charnel-House) Built for the Deutscher Werkbund exhibition that year, the Weißenhofsiedlung was an international showcase of modern architecture. The project was led by Mies van der Rohe (1886-1969), who selected the participating architects, among whom Le Corbusier, Bruno Taut, J.J.P. Oud, L. Hilberseimer, Victor Bourgeois (1897-1962) and P. Behrens. It was the closest modernists got at this time to city-building, but the development scheme itself was hardly innovative. G. Verheij [Figures] – 141 – Figure 58: R. Mallet-Stevens, Drawing of a life-model of a public park at the Art Urbain section of the Salon d'Automne, 1923. (In Temporal 1923) Figure 61: Le Corbusier, Diorama of the Contemporary City, shown at the Art Urbain section of the Salon d'Automne in 1922. (© Fondation Le Corbusier – ADAGP) (Fondation Le Corbusier Figure 60: Le Corbusier, Sketch of the Contemporary City. (© Fondation Le Corbusier – ADAGP) Figure 59: R. Mallet-Stevens, Life-size model for a public square surrounded by shops, exhibited at the Art Urbain section of the Salon d'Automne in 1925. (© Collection Les Arts Décoratifs, Paris) G. Verheij [Figures] – 142 – Figure 62: View of the urbanisme stand of the Esprit Nouveau pavilion at the 1925 Art Déco exhibition. (In Le Corbusier 1995, I, 108) Figure 63: Le Corbusier, Model of the “Plan Voisin.” (© Fondation Le Corbusier – ADAGP) Figure 65: Le Corbusier, Sketch of the Radiant City. (In Le Corbusier 1930) Figure 66: Le Corbusier, sketch of a ribbon building for Algiers, 1930. (© Fondation Le Corbusier – ADAGP) Figure 67: Le Corbusier, Model of “Plan Obus,” a proposal for Algiers unsuccessfully promoted during the 1930s. (© Fondation Le Corbusier – ADAGP) Figure 64: Le Corbusier, Sketch for ribbon buildings-cum- highways in Rio de Janeiro, 1929. (© Fondation Le Corbusier – ADAGP) G. Verheij [Figures] – 143 – Figure 68: Still from Fritz Lang's Metropolis (1927). Figure 69: Still from the science-fiction film Just Imagine (1930), directed by David Butler. Figure 70: Wertheim Department Store at the Leipziger Platz, Berlin, 1920s. (Waldemar Titzenthaler / Wikimedia Commons) Figure 71: Weinhaus Rheingold at the Potzdammer Platz, Berlin. (Wikimedia Commons) The Rheingold Restaurant (Bruno Schmitz, 1907) with a capacity of 4000 and the Wertheim Store (Alfred Messel, 1896) were given as examples of urban modernity by H. Neves. 2) VIEWS OVER LISBON: ART AND THE CITY AT THE START OF THE 20T H CENTURY In a first section I confront the realities and aspirations of urban modernization in turn-of-the-century Lisbon, focusing on the new middle and high class residential districts of Lisboa Nova (New Lisbon). Against a background of a porous urban modernity, dreams of a “monumental Lisbon” clashed with these new quarters, fruit of a logic of urban development ratified by a 1904 “General Improvement Scheme.” Pitted against the aesthetic values of current urban modernization, intellectual elites campaigned for more monumentality and urban “beauty.” A second section attempts to chart the aesthetic intentions circulating through Lisbon's public sphere beyond the problematic of planning. The confrontation between desires of monumentality and practices of monumentalization reveal a situation of frustration and signal the end of a certain aesthetic consensus about the city's modernization. But these images of monumentality were haunted by emergent metropolitan realities, pointing towards other aesthetic propositions. Port development and growing tourism suggest that the city's historical relation with the river and its geographical specificities, practically ignored both by the 1904 expansion plan and the larger part of the beauty-pursuing intellectuals, continued relevant. A last section discusses the kind of discourse which tried to account for the conflicting images in and about the modern city. A consistent pattern of aesthetic dissatisfaction followed by calls for public regulation is detected. In this setting, the architect appeared as the expert capable of saving the city from towering ugliness. The promotion of this role was one way of distinguishing a profession in crisis, resulting in official appeals for commissions of “aesthetic censure.” Yet the notion of an “urban aesthetic(s)” remained vague. It relied on undertheorized aesthetic assumptions to conceal aesthetic conflict rather than debating competing options. G. Verheij Dreams and realities of Lisboa Nova Dreams and realities of Lisboa Nova Lisbon and the dilemma of modernity In 1900 the socialist journalist and agitator Angelina Vidal, in a work on the past and present of Lisbon, aptly defined progress as “a kind of steam-powered interest rate.”221 Urban modernization, she seems to suggest, was a kind of mixture of technology and capital steam- rolling all memories of the past. While Vidal applauds the air and light which invaded dusty alleys and courtyards, straightening out a hidden city immersed in misery, in her writing there is at the same time a hardly repressed melancholy about everything lost. She proposed the creation of an archive composed of photographs of demolished urban heritage as a possible base for historical reconstitution, but the solution hardly sounded convincing.222 At the root of Vidal's melancholy is a feeling of the muteness of the past, for which technological reproduction was only a meagre simulacrum. She seems a little like a terrestrial version of Benjamin's angel of history, blown forward by the faith of progress she professes while trying not to look to much at the debris of lost memories mounting up behind. (Benjamin 2003) There is something unsettling about this images of relentless urban renovation set in the seemingly quiet, almost provincial streets of 1900 Lisbon. But the tension between the impact of urban modernity and the persistence of the past is a constant trait in contemporary descriptions of the city. In the following pages I discuss the kind of images observers of the city came up with, and how they constantly send back to this tension of conflicting temporalities in the becoming of the modern city. Our main guide is the writer Fialho de Almeida (1857-1911), certainly the most gifted chronicler of turn-of-the-century Lisbon.223 221 “O progresso é luxuoso, estrondeante, vertiginosamente irriquieto, mas é frio, methodico, uma especie de razão de juros movida a vapor.” (A. Vidal 1900, 176) 222 This was a commonly proposed solution at the time, given large airing at the Congress of Public Art held in Paris that year. The congress was accompanied by a well-received exhibition of models showing the changes affecting monuments and urban sites. (Normand 1900; see also “Le Congrès d’Art Public” 1900; “Les maquettes” 1900; “Programme” 1901) In Lisbon, the town councillor José Ignácio Dias da Silva made a similar proposal (A. de Mesquita 1903, 86–87). By then a large photographic survey of the city, conducted by the municipal employees José Candidno d'Assumpção e Souza (1856-1923) and Arthur Júlio Machado (1867-1947), was already in execution. Between 1898 and 1908 they produced some 3800 glass negatives which are at the origin of the actual photographic collection of the Municipal Archive. 223 Though Fialho de Almeida was one of the most influential writers of his time, his art was one of biting sarcasm, “unfit for ladies” as he like to note. His literary personage was contradictory, vindictive, ever on the loosing side, and generally difficult to sympathize with, according to early biographers. (A. Barradas and Saavedra 1917; Pimpão 1945) After a certain marginalization of his work during the second half of the past century, more recently a large bibliography bears witness to renewed interest. (Franco 2002; 2011; L. V. da Costa 2004; Mateus 2008; R. Sousa 2015; regarding Almeida's gaze over Lisbon, see E. Cabral 2015; Rosa 2013 is rather useless) rather – 145 – G. Verheij Lisbon and the dilemma of modernity Almeida might not have had the literary quality of, say, Eça de Queiros, but he captured the raw surface of the city's banal everyday life much closer than the latter's detached outsiders' view. He had a gift for taking the city's pulse; from his attentive observations a multifaceted image of Lisbon emerges, and especially of its contradictory and conflictual relation with modernity. (C. Reis 1995; Figure 72) The city Almeida describes is one of oppositions and contradictions: between old and new, bourgeois grandeur and proletarian miseries, picturesque ruins and straight, tree-lined, asphalted streets. Old Lisbon was irregular and picturesque, an odd series of taciturn neighbourhoods made up of a confusion of façades, roofs, balconies, towers, ruined palaces, hidden wine cellars, and occasional greenery popping up between it. Modernity brought to this a “fever of grandeur” (febre de grandezas), a desire for new streets, new fashions, new styles. Almeida dated the origin of this new thirst of the modern to roughly 1890, in the wake of the construction of the first modern avenue. The Avenida da Liberdade – a 90 meter-wide Parisian-styled boulevard – was inaugurated in 1886, opening the city inherited from Pombaline reconstruction to the late-nineteenth century dynamics of urban expansion and real estate development. (F. de Almeida 1890a, 16, 18; see also 1892; 1900) One area in which Almeida detected the signs of this crave for modern life was residential architecture. Models imported from Paris started substituting the traditional, cumbersome houses of old. By 1890 they could be seen along the news squares and avenues, “cheerful, clean, and freshly painted” (alegres, nitidos, acabados de pintar). But he also read it in the appearance and uses of public space. When the poet Antero de Quental wrote his “Macadam Poems (Poemas do Macadam) in the 1860s his macadam roads were essentially a literary motive appropriated from Baudelaire; The city he sung was not so much a real place but a symbol of corruption and decadence. The poems almost by necessity had to be written in Paris. But around 1890 Fialho de Almeida had Lisbon's own “tall and flexible women” walk the solid, asphalted sidewalks of “our beautiful town” (os asphaltos da nossa bela cidade).224 (F. de Almeida 1890a, 18, 27; Quental 1875; Sequeira 1993; see also C. M. Dias 1905, 70– 74; Pais 1986) The use of public space related closely to new materials and technologies. Modernity was in part about the way the city showed itself off, about a new “aesthetic regime” of the city. New urban habits, and the identities they purported to express, relied on a regime of visibility; urban space was to be exhibited and consumed. (Villaverde 2007, 40; T. J. Clark 1999) Almeida linked this to general changes in society's relation with art. Art, through the effects of reproduction, became widely present, especially in decoration but also in a more general fruition of “high art” – Fialho de Almeida talks about a true “art rage” (furia d'arte). (F. de Almeida 1890a, 23–27) The combined processes of increasing public control over urban space and the normalization of the urban landscape – captured in the aesthetic ideal of useless. 224 Macadam was a technology of road construction invented by the Scottish engineer John Loudon MacAdam around 1820. It was widely used until the introduction of asphalt concrete in the 20th century. Macadam was introduced in Lisbon during the 1840s. By 1870 the city counted with some 188 978 m2 of macadam roads. Natural asphalt or bitumen had become popular as a road topping during the 1830s and was first experimented in Lisbon in the early 1840s. As macadam is prone to provoke dust with increasing use, especially in dry climates, asphalt came to be used more frequently from the 1870s on, starting with the sidewalks of emblematic public spaces. (Sisti 2006, 119, 131) – 146 – G. Verheij Lisbon and the dilemma of modernity “embellishment” – sustained this new aesthetic regime of the city. Urban growth and new technologies – from asphalt to the ordering of urban green and the mass production of Paris- inspired urban furniture – produced the substrata of a modern public space, the social stage for new patterns of experience, habits and customs – what Siemel in 1903 analysed as the metropolitan way of life.225 (Figures 73–80) In the same year Almeida sung the novelties of urban modernity he wrote another text in which the narrator accompanied, from the vantage point of the Graça belvedere, the city throughout a moonless night.226 (F. de Almeida 1890a, 209–25) At dark the city revealed it’s funeral face, crudely illuminated by the gas lights and shop windows whose beams of light suddenly detached passers-by from the darkness. Along the hours the narrator follows the changing movements of the crowd, which filled the streets like a river, waning and waxing, with its vortices, sudden standstills and whirlpools, as if the streets commanded collective emotions. The old and the new city are described as two organisms feeding upon each other, a tragic city of darkness creeping up the hills and a luminous, bourgeois city described as a scaly, phosphorescent monster, animated by an arterial system drawn in gas lights and fuelled by the open case of light of the Rossio, pumping movement and life through it’s channels. (This arterial system was complemented by a nervous system distributing misery and pain, converging on the hospitals surrounding the centre.) The streets propel noise and gas lights, seemingly ramifying it’s ways from the heart until both noise and light buried themselves in the dark tissues of the old phantom city, absorbed into it’s memories of unfathomable pasts.227 Rather than both cities simply complementing each other, each is inscribed into the other and could burst forth like a flame at any moment, as Almeida described in 1892: De subito, das negridões dos bairros quietos, uma Lisbôa differente irrompe em sobresaltos, dos abysmos das ruas, dos lagos de sombra das praças, e das crateras 225 The legal status of the streets as public space was for the first time defined in 1864; increasing public control over urban space was accompanied by technological standards, such as the normalization of design typologies of urban furniture in 1886. A telling example of the impact of these combined procedures on the urban landscape are the about 780 pieces of iron-wrought urban furniture placed throughout Lisbon between 1856-1920. (S. Barradas 2015; on these and other typologies of urban furniture and techniques, see P. B. Braga 1993; 1995; 2001; 2004; Sisti 2006; S. Barradas, Águas, and Isidoro 2007; S. Barradas 2010; 2013; Remesar and Esparza 2014; Esparza 2014, chap. 8; on the concept of “embellishment,” see Harouel 1993; Á. F. da Silva and Matos 2000; M. H. Lisboa 2002, 178–93; Remesar, Lecea, and Grandas 2004; Á. F. da Silva and Sousa 2009; Calmeiro 2013) 226 According to Fialho de Almeida – who seemed naturally attracted to the obscure, the uncanny and the unsavoury – such a night was the best condition for observation. His explicit literary model of the nocturnal stroller was Edgar Allen Poe's “man in the crowd”: “porque é elle que na chateza honesta da cidade, ainda alimenta no peito a verde chamma macabra do phantastico, que Edgar Poe tanto se compraz em vêr bruxulear, como uma flôr de civilisação, podre e funerea, á superficie das grandes degringolades sociaes.” (F. de Almeida 1890a, 214; on the revealing qualities of the night see also p. 253 and Pimentel 1900, 44–59; J. Soares 1909–1910) 227 “Vista do cimo dos montes, a essa hora, a cidade perdeu completamente a configuração burgueza que havia á luz do sol, para tornar-se n’uma idefinida necropole de assustadoras perspectivas …” (F. de Almeida 1890a, 208) – 147 – G. Verheij Lisbon and the dilemma of modernity extinctas dos outeiros; uma Lisbôa outra e toda ella latente de tragedias, convulsa apesar da paresia exterior que a cadaverisa, afflicta, mau grado a impassival mordaça de pavor que lhe estrangula os haustos, e cada vez mais inquietante, cada vez mais espectral, á proporção que a hora marcha, e o vento cospe aos tectos vagalhões de nevoas prenhes d’agua. (…) a cidade como que fica á mercê dos sonhos tragicos, as ruas são maiores, as casas mais lugubres, as arvores colossaes de desespero (…) (F. de Almeida 1892, 7–8) This irruption was the other of the bourgeois modern city, object of its fears and fuel of its desires of urban transformation. It was the generally ignored but suddenly erupting presence of the miserable, the poor, the wretched – cadaverous, pale, vicious, threatening. Both visions – the progressive, sun-lit bourgeois modern city and the undefined necropolis, brutal and irrational – can be charted over the tension between past and present I opened this section with. Lisbon, as it appears from Almeida's account, was a city torn apart between the impact of a simultaneously superficial and pervasive modernity and the vigorous persistence of past legacies. The past and the unsavoury are the continuously reappearing repressed of the ideology of bourgeois Progress – its “others.” Perhaps it was precisely because the past refused to be conveniently plastered away behind the carefully orchestrated interplay of straight boulevards, regulated building façades and architectural compositions – precisely because the blaze of Progress was hardly strong enough to bedazzle the old and new ruins piling up under its perhaps not so confident feet – that this basic dilemma of modernity (Boyer 1996) was so visible. In this sense, Villaverde (2007, 21) argues that the kind of urban expansion put into practice in Lisbon introduced a “dual urban environment” which opposed the “modern city” to the “historical city”. Differently from urban modernization in Paris, the existing city centre was hardly touched. Its role was on the contrary reinforced by the creation of new spaces of leisure (department stores, film theatres, offices). Modernity thus started to permeate rather than supplant old practices and uses. This particular porous nature of Lisbon's urban modernity accounts for much of the tensions which appear time again in Almeida's chronicling of Lisbon's urban life. (Figures 81–88) F. de Almeida put his fingers on the sore spots and hidden miseries of the crumbling ideology of the bourgeois city, in which order was believed to suitably solve social issues. But he remained one step from providing a different imaginary, capable of embracing the contradictions which modern urban development so abundantly provided. Perhaps for this reason the Lisbon he attempted to give literary form to in order to grasp the changes it was going through suggests so much the idea of a non-city, the impossibility of a city: Almeida summarized this in 1906 as Lisbon of the rich being ugly, and of the poor heart-breaking. This was clearly the view he entertained during the last years of his life, disillusioned with political developments; it appeared more clearly in Ramalho Ortigão, one of Almeida's literary models and an inveterate monarchist. Returning from voluntary exile after the Republican revolution of 1910, Ortigão found that Lisbon had been infiltrated with chaos and an overwhelming lack of taste, which he blamed on the shortcomings of general education and the undesirable turmoil brought by democracy. Lisbon, he wrote, is the strangest, the – 148 – G. Verheij Lisbon and the dilemma of modernity most elusive and hostile, of cities.228 (J. C. Leal 2008; F. de Almeida 1906, 504; 1912; Revez 2011; Ortigão 1916, 257–75) In a sense F. de Almeida, R. Ortigão or A. Vidal remained trapped in the dead-end which Choay's two models of “progressive” and “culturalist” attitudes towards the city so aptly capture. Both attitudes, as Choay noted, are essentially normative ideal types calling upon either tradition or modernity as a utopian element to deny the city as it actually exists. (Choay 1965, especially p. 26; see also Choay 1996; this is discussed with more detail in Verheij 2015, 102–5) For a more productive account of turn-of-the-century Lisbon less normative – and less moralizing – perspectives are needed. It was curiously an aged researcher of the historical districts of the city who, in Portugal, for the first time proposed something able to surpass this contradiction. As J. C. Leal (2006) has argued, Júlio de Castilho was the first to gain conscience of the composite character of the city, opening ways to supplant the dominating opposition between “progress” and “past.”229 Castilho, in Leal's account, was able to envisage the historical districts as having a future and the right to co-exist in the modern city. In his work there is a nascent idea of urban heritage which went beyond passive melancholy, musealization or archivalization (and beyond the bourgeois stereotypes of vice and crime), as something living, to be preserved. Scholars have shown that such kind of composite images are indeed particularly suitable to picture the urban processes changing Lisbon at the time. The peculiar way in which modernity was articulated with pre-existences has been described by terms of coexistence, perseverance of traditional social and physical forms, scales and rhythms, the overlapping of new and old, a hybridization or porosity of past and present. Due, among others, to insufficient public capacities and resources, urban growth was irregular, intermittent, discontinuous. The city grew by ways of assemblage, addition, agglomeration, superimposition. Rather than orderly adding urbanized areas to the existing city, it resulted in a patchwork of different kind of urban and rural tissues, composing what V. M. Ferreira called – appropriating a metaphor from Fialho de Almeida – a territory after the image of an oil stain (mancha d'oleo).230 (R. H. da Silva 1985; 1989; Villaverde 2006; 2007; R. J. G. Ramos 2011; V. M. Ferreira 1986, 104) 228 As argued in the Introduction, this idea of Lisbon as an “impossible city” has, following J.-A. França, been taken up by a relevant part of Portuguese art history, which links it to judgements of cultural periphery and backwardness. Paradoxically, such views rely precisely on constant comparison with an “elsewhere” (say, Paris, or, in Ortigão's case, Lake Geneva): the thesis of cultural periphery is grounded on the very circulation of ideas and images which it denies. In order to solve this contradiction, subscribers of such ideas need to posture as the enlightened exception. 229 Júlio de Castilho (1840-1919), the son of a famous poet who dedicated the larger part of this time and fortune to the study of Lisbon's historical districts. He is the undisputed founding father of “olisipography,” a still lively field of urban studies dedicated to Lisbon. (Calado 2013; Salvado 2014) 230 V. M. Ferreira (1986; 1987) detects, in the period between roughly the 1880s and 1930s, two contradictory but complementary movements making up a metropolitan organization based on the interaction between centre and periphery. On the one hand, urban centralization, to which the new tension between historical and modern centralities gives form; on the other, metropolitan exteriorization, that is, the linking and articulation of the city with its suburbs. A double relation which organizes the articulation between built space and empty land after the image of discontinuous urban growth and an urban-rural continuum. – 149 – G. Verheij Lisbon and the dilemma of modernity A “tentacular city” in the making which, as the abundant production of conflicting descriptions, metaphors and images suggests, proved difficult to grasp for its contemporaries.231 Aesthetic experience of the modern city was as pervasive as it was elusive. Reading Fialho de Almeida's “Lisboa monumental” How to articulate the seductions of modern public space and the wish-images of the modern city with the uncoordinated coexistence of a dissimilar urban-rural patchwork and an acute notion of the incongruity between modern habits, needs and desires on time-honoured mores and practices? How to deal with the immense accumulation of difference – of conflicting temporalities and spatialities – brought about by the modern city? How to bring about some degree of imaginary or factual control? Generally speaking, an important response to the proliferation of clashing images of the modern city was that of proposing the city-as-image, to promote some degree of visual and urban coherence by means of urban models. Fialho de Almeida himself proposed something along this line in 1906, at the time when ephemeral hopes of “regeneration” of the body politic of a moribund Monarchy also promised a stronger grip over the consequences of precipitating urban growth.232 In “Lisboa 231 The conflict can be illustrated by a satirical dialogue written by Alfredo Pimentel (1849-1925), in which two monologuing commentators convincingly argue that Lisbon is respectively a sad and happy city, suggesting sadness and happiness are but two aspects of a multifarious urban reality. (Pimentel 1900, 7–19) A. de Mesquita compiled a sample of urban visions in 1903 with a similar idea in mind: “De poucas cidades se tem dito tanto bem e tanto mal como de Lisboa. Ha tanto exagero no dizer que Lisboa é uma mayonnaise cozinhada com os sobejos das outras capitaes, como no dizer que ella excede todo o pittoresco, tão diverso, de Madrid e Amsterdam, por exemplo.” (A. Mesquita 1903, ix) Though disguised as a kind of literary survey of urban visions, the often uncredited montage of descriptions by other authors stages a bewildering choir of contradicting voices, of which it is befittingly impossible to establish any final, coherent image of Lisbon. The image of the “tentacular city,” used by the geographer Luís Schwalbach in a classical study on urban development in Lisbon (1950), was first coined by the Belgian poet É. Verhaeren in 1895 (Verhaeren 1908; Abercrombie 1912). It frequently surfaced in contemporary descriptions of the city, relying on direct observation of the sprawling suburbs rather than Schwalbach's social science methods: “Como nodoa de oleo, em panno fino, Lisboa alastra, constantemente, febrilmente (…), invadindo montes, (…) arrazando, com os seus tentaculos de polvo gigante, os casaes tranquillos.” (M. Mesquita 1906, 492) 232 Houses rose like mushrooms, and rental buildings were manufactured at industrial pace, wrote Carlos Malheiro Dias (1875-1941) two years earlier (C. M. Dias 1905, 276). According to a municipal memo, annual building permissions steadily rose from nearby 250 in 1901-1903 to around 350 in 1908. (CML-RA 1911e; see also Á. F. da Silva 1996) Rute Figueiredo (2007, 233) has noted the complex interplay of political context, municipal reform, urban policies and civic expectations underlying Almeida's essay. Regarding the political moment, in May 1906 king Carlos I had asked João Franco (1855-1929) to form government. Franco appeared to many as the leader able to solve the social and economic problems (popular revolts, strikes, political turmoil) which had led to the fall of a series of governments. Franco's promises of liberal reform, deepened democracy and public accountability fostered largely shared hopes and expectations of an end to political instability and stronger public policies. Fialho de Almeida was among his enthusiastic supporters. As Franco answered increasing political and social protest with repression and de facto dictatorial government, initially favourable public opinion turned hostile. His government fell after – 150 – G. Verheij Reading Fialho de Almeida's “Lisboa monumental” monumental”, an essay published in two parts in the illustrated weekly A Illustração Portuguesa, Almeida exposed his ideas on the present and future of Lisbon. Though its original outlet was addressed at the cultured recreation of a bourgeois readership, the text had a much larger impact at its time, fixing a series of common places about the city which were to inform urban debate during the following years. Among the boom of urban dreams and demands of the first decade of the 20th century (see p. 167 below), “Lisboa monumental” stood out by the way it focused these floating images and collective desires – sieved through the writer's corrosive pen, with no punch-line left unused – into a set of powerful, easily digestible literary and graphic images. (Figures 89–101) For the historian, it has the added interest that is a very complete inventory of the urban issues stirring public opinion around these years. Thus the text has become an unavoidable reference for the discussion of the urban “state of the art” during the 1900s.233 Most visibly, and in line with the title's promise, Almeida proposed a monumental Lisbon, which occupies the larger proportion of the first part of the essay (see Table 3, p. 160). A tour through this Belle Époque urban fantasy starts at the circular square finishing the Avenida da Liberdade, which had received the name of that other city-builder, the Marquis of Pombal. In contrast with the present circle of nondescript houses “without beauty nor order” (uma circunferencia de casas sem beleza symetrica, nem ordem), Almeida described how it could have been if it had been integrally planned (planear de um jacto), aided by all available arts (todas as artes aristocraticas do seculo). It should have been the hearth and symbol of a “new civic life,” the impressive architectural setting for a reformed, corporatist and socialized city. (p. 400 / 13)234 the murder of the king in January 1908, in a context of deep social tension blamed on Franco's politics. (M. V. Cabral 1988, 123–43; R. Ramos 2001a; 2001b; Sardica 1994) 233 References to the text appear again and again, at times in unexpected places: it is for example the only written reference in the much-read city guide by A. Cunnick Inchbold (1907, 39–40). The text's impressive history of re-editions also bears witness to its perceived relevance. “Lisboa monumental” was reprinted in the volume Barbear, pentear (1911, 88–144), re-edited several times (1916, 1920, 1923, 1960) and included in Almeida's Obra completa (1991-1992 and 2006). The text itself was reprinted in a deluxe edition from 1957 by the Municipality of Lisbonon occasion of Almeida's birth centenary and again in 2001 by the editor Frenesi; it also accompanied two studies by the architect Manuel Graça Dias (2001; 2011). It is certainly Almeida's most- printed text, and possibly his most-read. But even while it is an unavoidable reference scholars seem to approach it with a bit of embarrassment. With few exceptions it is dismissed as a misplaced monumentalist fantasy of, in França's words, “doubtful taste” (1990, 2:128); a neatly- written but confused accumulation of issues as urgent as they were misunderstood. Besides França's short but fundamental remarks, see Rute Figueiredo's similarly brief but essential study (2007, 235–36) and the extensive though historically problematic discussions in the studies by M. G. Dias mentioned earlier (recently summarized in Dias 2015). In these accounts, social housing or the development of the urban economy get unduly mixed up with the fanciful visions of monumentality. The basic historiographical judgement is then that Almeida's “Lisboa monumental” is symptomatic of a fundamentally misplaced understanding of urban modernity by the author and, by extension, an era. J. F. Pereira (2007, 304–5), discussing specifically the place of sculpture in Almeida's text, offers a different view. 234 These and the following quotes from “Lisboa monumental” are indicated by the page numbers from the original 1906 edition and the reprint in M. G. Dias (2011). Almeida dreamed about a new “corporatist,” “collectivist” and “socialist” Lisbon, of which the Praça de Pombal would be the – 151 – G. Verheij Reading Fialho de Almeida's “Lisboa monumental” In Almeida's vision, symmetrically opposed civic Palaces, with their solemn colonnades, delicate towers, and sculptural decoration, are joined by matching buildings for exhibitions, meetings, conferences, concerts and other social activities, and private mansions in a similar style. Everything is joined by a large arcade with impressive staircases, while a richly ornamented iron fence gives access to a park. On the left and the right avenues framed by covered portals or commemorative statues slowly ascended, providing for corresponding perspectives. (p. 400 / 14) Similar visions of opulence and refined cosmopolitanism are dedicated to the main sites of bourgeois living and leisure: luxury avenues and impressive streets, artfully designed squares and careful compositions of disciplined architecture, triumphal arcs and galleries of statues, pleasing cafés with striking perspectives over the city, marble balustrades along the river with giant statues and large, bronze street lamps, whimsical viaducts linking the city's hills, and finally a large casino substituting the remnants of the city's medieval castle. Voluptuously surveying the city, the casino would enliven Lisbon's provincial nights with roulette, women, summer spectacles, music shows, masquerades, restaurants and sports – all those “pleasures and vices wealthy and cultured people have for pastime” (os attrativos e vicios que a gente culta e rica tem por passatempo, p. 405 / 29). Almeida assured that “two or three promenades” and some squares and parks arranged along the monumental, architectural line he proposed – along with a little bit of cleaning and civic pride – would have Lisbon enter the international league of “vertiginous cities,” capable of attracting foreign visitors.235 However, a large part of the essay escapes the declared focus on monumentality and its focus on cosmopolitan tourism. Characteristically, Almeida gets sidetracked in such topics as the creation of a National Library at the Royal Palace of Ajuda or the recovery of a “national architecture” for popular housing. While the essay's first part is mostly dedicated to his visions of monumentality, the second part considerably enlarges the scope by means of a large detour through the city's suburbs (see Table 3, p. 160).236 Such topics as industrial and commercial development, with large attention to the possibilities of the Tagus' south bank; the city's relation with nature, proposing forest policies in the suburbs, the promotion of productive agriculture and the creation of large popular parks; or finally the large attention dedicated to workers' housing and popular living conditions, display a much more comprehensive understanding of the modern city and its problems. centre (p. 399–400 / 13–14). The reference is to the ideas around the then prevalent “orthodoxy of reform” (Bullock and Read 1985, 524; see also Lees 1984) – the “social economy” of housing cooperatives, consumer societies, charity organisations, mutuals, etc. (Gide 1905) – rather than communist socialism. Hence the dedication of the city's principal square to civic societies. 235 “… com dois ou tres corsos, praças, parques, ageitados mais ou menos á traça monumental, architectural, que deixo dita; com um municipio menos sujo e habitantes mais ciosos do lustre da sua cidade, Lisboa entraria de vez no armorial das capitaes vertiginosas onde deliciosamente a vida se grelha no estonteio das quotidianas sensações, e só então haveria motivos para chamar o estrangeiro e reclamar as scintilações do bello sol (…) e do bello clima …” (p. 405 / 30–31) 236 At one point it is almost as if Almeida apologizes for escaping the limits of his topic. “Revenho á Lisboa luxuosa, capitalista, official, monumental, a que propriamente estes artigos restringem o assumpto da Lisboa nova, e retomo, se o leitor dá licença, a jeremiada no ponto em que a deixei, chorando, algumas paginas atraz ….” (p. 505 / 57) – 152 – G. Verheij Reading Fialho de Almeida's “Lisboa monumental” Disguised as a blueprint for a new, suitably monumental Lisbon, it doesn't need much analysis to note that this text doesn't actually put much effort in the coherency and viability of the urban development it proposes. But behind the façade of comprehensive but uncommitted day-dreaming there is actually an uncompromising reading of the contemporary city. Most famously there is Almeida's all-out condemnation of the popular districts inhabited by the poor, especially the historical districts around the Castle. The 1755 earthquake had accelerated the exodus of aristocracy of the city's birthplace, leaving it in slow decay to the poor and rural immigrants. (M. M. E. Dias and Matos 2001) In his text Almeida brushed aside any concern with urban heritage as perverse archaeologicism and instead played out all the bourgeois fears of contagion and moral corruption. Metaphors sprout like poisonous flowers: “dunghills of people, destroying the youth and strength of the popular classes,” “abject strongholds of ruthless tuberculosis,” the “anti-hygienic inexcusableness of this sordid ghetto swarmed by a rabble of greenish, bony people, looking as if resurrected from a couple of months of subterranean decomposition.”237 In his defence of the demolition or at least large-scale clearance of “infected areas” – both the historical districts and recent workers' housing, “suffocating quagmires without beauty nor grace” (poçanheiras asfixicas, sem beleza nem graça, p. 503 / 52) – Almeida's description of popular living conditions at times simply seems to be carried away. As if he were Edgar Allan Poe's “man in the crowd” disguised as an exalted Portuguese hygieniest, Almeida delights in describing malignant filth and contagious “waste of life” infiltrating family homes through badly-closing windows, dust and vapours, contaminated air and mud stuck to shoes of unsuspecting inhabitants.238 But his visions of a monumentalized city centre also relied upon a critical reading of the existing centre, especially the new districts North. At the centre of “Lisboa monumental” is a critique of the modern residential architecture giving form to Lisboa Nova (New Lisbon). Unfavourably compared with the “modern taste” (gosto moderno) of the “art of building” (arte de construir) in Spain, little of the aesthetic validity of the new districts is left standing. Poor Lisbon, victim of “untold crimes of beauty” (crimes insolvaveis de belleza), barbarisms and atrocities, “horrible crimes of good taste” (d'órriveis crimes de bom gosto). Its recent 237 “... a derrocada ou, pelo menos, a larga desbridação dos bairros infectos d'Alfama, Castello, Mouraria, Alcantara e outros muitos onde a população trabalhadora se comprime, e mais ou menos são montureiras de gente, destruidoras da mocidade e vigor da raça popular. Ao derribar alguns d'estes reductos infames da tuberculose implacavel, não devem os municipios dar ouvidos á archeologia piegas (…). A verdade é que (…) nada o caduco burgo da Lisboa priméva se póde dizer ostente que, a troco da salubridade dos moradores, valha a pena manter e respeitar. São recordações que maiormente não fazem falta á physionomia historica da terra, e d'onde se sai enojado da porcaria das ruas e das lojas, da insulsez architectonica dos predios, da irremissibilidade anti-hygienica enfim d'aquelle immundo gueto onde pulula uma ralé de gente verde, ossosa, e que parece exhumada depois de alguns mezes de podridão subterranea.” (p. 503 / 48–50) 238 “Casas estreitas, mal repartidas, decrepitas, ruas tortuosas onde escassea a luz e o ar, canos insufficientes que estagnam debaixo dos predios, por tempo indefinido, as immundicias e reziduos da vida – lixos, dejectos, que agora sahem pelos barris e canos d'esgoto, e logo tornam pela janella, em poeiras e exhalações do solo e do ar contaminados, ou sob a fórma de lamas, pela porta, agarrados aos pés dos moradores...” Demolition followed by the total sealing of a soil infected by centuries is the only solution to close these “sinister foci of complex pathological processes” (sinistros fócos da pathogenia complexa). (p. 503 / 52-53) – 153 – G. Verheij Reading Fialho de Almeida's “Lisboa monumental” architecture is judged little more than a “donkey's blow to good taste” (escoicinhar de burros no bom gosto), a monument to local backwardness to be execrated by posterity. A city made of “incompatible pieces tied together” (bocados contradictorios e amarranados), “strained and twisted streets” (ruas angostas e torcidas), corral-like squares and box-like buildings, “monotonous and crippled constructions” (construcções aleijadas e monotonas) shaming the intelligent and scaring the tourist. (p. 398–99, 508–9 / 9, 12–13, 67–70) This “unbelievable appearance of sordidness and poverty” (inacreditavel aspecto de pelintrice e pobreza), notwithstanding the richness of materials. the solidity of the city's building system and the skill of local craftsmanship, was, according to Almeida, the product of the free interplay between the “hazards of land purchase, the selfishness of landowners, the muley dullness of practitioners, the pedantry of engineers and the lethargy of the Municipality” (ao acaso da compra de terras, ao egoismo dos senhorios, á matitez asnal dos praticões, á pesporrencia do engenheiro e lethargia do municipio). (p. 505, 509 / 57, 69–70) If earlier Almeida seemed to identify with Edgar Allan Poe's “man in the crowd”, here he is closer to another literary prototype: that of a Ruskinian afternoon stroller grumbling about the decadence of architectural taste. The last passages are more in line with the kind of writing on the city analysed in the previous section. All the contradictions of the modern city – the old and the new, bourgeois progress and social misery, conspicuous leisure and hidden suffering, gas lights and dark alleys – are there, skilfully masked by the tropes of satire, fantasy and metaphor.239 As an urban model the text continually pulls its own legs, dodging the implicit normative demands towards the problems it pinpoints through literary skill rather than the proposal of real alternatives. As if the loyalty to the complexities of modern urban life – which, as I noted earlier, Almeida essentially grasped by means of irreconcilable and even desperate contradictions – trumped any possibility for the compromises of choice.240 What then, in the end, did Almeida want? It is curious how most commentators have overlooked that what the writer explicitly proposed is not a model but the “propaganda of beauty” and the regulation of the “urban aesthetic” (esthetica urbana). A large part of the Lisbon he fancied was not a city which should be but rather a city which could have been, had there been any kind of public control over its appearance. He was not prescribing architectural 239 M. G. Dias (2011, 125) correctly makes the point that to bypass the literary dimension of “Lisboa monumental” is to take out an essential aspect of it. The pursuit of the pleasure of reading structurally organizes the text, if necessary at the cost of coherency and realism. To pin down a “real city” as measured against an “ideal norm” (França 1990, 2:128; Rute Figueiredo 2007, 235) in order to sift out “valid” urban proposals from among the baroque flowers of Almeida's prose bypasses how a text constructs and frames, as much as distorts and conceals, realities it purportedly reproduces. “Lisboa monumental” actively produced ways the city was seen, apprehended, and criticized, instituting – or at least recasting – a discourse as much as a gaze. 240 In this reading I differ from Rute Figueiredo (2007, 235), for whom “Lisboa monumental” proposes a vision bound up with the Republican mindset of the time, which she suggests was too engaged a perspective. Instead there is in Almeida's text a continuous will to have it both ways, escaping, for example in the long passages on forestation or workers' housing, the explicit quest for baroque monumentality. The apparent homogeneity of Almeida's city is but a product of his literary skill seemingly joining the disparate. – 154 – G. Verheij Reading Fialho de Almeida's “Lisboa monumental” ensembles for the Praça de Saldanha or the Avenida Ressano Garcia but describing how they could have been if their buildings had been integrated in an architectural whole. For him, the problem of the city as it actually existed was the “ruinous” liberty given to those who didn't know how to use it: uncouth councils and committees, nouveaux riches and upstarts, petty developers doing quick copies from French architectural magazines. Town councils and municipal officials couldn't be trusted to have the necessary culture and “artist's love” (amor de artistas) for the city. The recurring solution is the creation of expert councils of artists and others “of proven taste” (de gosto provado).241 (p. 398-99, 401, 508 / 8, 12, 16–17, 66–68) This commission would judge and if necessary veto building projects from the viewpoint of beauty and architectural unity. Each building should be integrated in the scenic, panoramic unity (todo scenico, perspectival) of the continuity of a street, the angle of a square, the masses of greenery of a park. Streets – entire quarters – could have been designed together, “calculating beforehand the scenographic magnificence or elegance of its architectural effect” (calculando d'antemão o efeito architectonico sob os aspectos da magnificencia ou graça scenographicas). It would promote the “monumentalization of the street and aesthetic correction” of the city (monumentalisação da rua e corregimento esthetico da terra) by means of a “general plan” (plano geral), joining the efforts of developers and architects towards the “progressive, comprehensive solution” (gradual, integral resolução) of the aesthetic question. (p. 399, 505, 508 / 12, 57, 66–67) Edificio algum, por modesto que fósse o seu destino, a camara devia deixar erguer como peça architectonica isolada; nenhuma rua ou praça nova deveriam traçar d'acaso, fóra da sua integração n'um todo uno, (…) dando (…) ás novas construcções, scenographias de linhas largas, perspectivaes, projecções estructuraes de massas d'arte, que de fundo scenico servissem a esta vida moderna, tão chata, fria, triste … (p. 508 / 67–68) Almeida's discussion of public sculpture resulted in the same demand of aesthetic supervision (p. 508–9 / 68–69). If doubts remain, the topic of aesthetic control is given priority in the essay's final conclusions. Three out of four outline the tasks of the proposed commission (each contrasted with yet another diatribe on the architectural state of Lisbon to stress its urgency). Deve um conselho technico, tendo por vogaes consultores todas as pessoas de provado gosto e cultura artistica do reino, intervir na escolha e adopção do typo arqchitectonico de todas as construcções a fazer nas ruas de Lisboa e cidades mais importantes do paiz, sujeitando-se os proprietarios a respeitar escrupulosamente o criterio e disposições d'esse conselho (…). Esse conselho não auctorisaria projecto algum de rua, de que conjunctamente, em bloco, não erguesse planta e alçado architectonico, creando o todo sob pontos de vista que – mesmo não sendo de riqueza 241 “Comissão technica attinente ao inquerito das construções sob o ponto de vista da beleza, da architectura da casa considerada em si ou no conjuncto perspectival da rua, praça, quarteirão, bairro ou macisso maior de monte, vale ou promontorio (a subordinação do elemento residencia, enfim, n'um todo monumental, decorativo) onde é que existe? Ou quem deu aqui por ella alguma vez?” (p. 399 / 12) Almeida states that no-one – the Town Council, artistic and literary societies, isolated dreamers like himself – had ever given a thought about such an institutional defence of urban beauty (p. 399 / 10). This assertion will be scrutinized later. – 155 – G. Verheij Reading Fialho de Almeida's “Lisboa monumental” – guardassem ao menos elegancia artistica, de sorte a formar uma peça graciosa e de scenographia homogenea (…). Se em vez de rua, fôr o traçado d'um bairro, deve o conselho attender á configuração e sita do terreno, partido scenographico a tirar, destaque de massas estructuraes, perspectivas, silhuetas pittorescas, em guiza de praças e ruas obedecerem a uma idéia de conjunto (praças angulares ou squares nos cantos do terreno, a que venham ruas radiando em estrella d'um mirab ou rotunda centro, etc.) (…). (p. 509 / 69–70) The topic of aesthetic regulation was not new in Almeida's work. As most of the topics he approached in “Lisboa monumental” they had been present in his previous writing. (F. de Almeida 1927–1937, 3:113–15; 6:215–22, 291–97; 1890b, 101–11; 1900, 194–201) As early as 1893, on occasion of the death of Rosa Araújo, the mayor who had promoted the construction of the Avenida da Liberdade, Almeida reflected on the virtues and insufficiencies of the recent modernization of the capital . His view was that the lofty ideals of Araújo had not gained an architectural body; the reconstruction of Lisbon had been circumscribed to demolition, the layout of streets and the planting of trees, without transforming the city's system of building. Subsequently he launched strong critiques at the architectural quality of modern Lisbon.242 In contrast with the “cheerful” buildings from 1890 (see p. 146 above) Almeida now talked about “cupboard buildings with corner windows and unglazed cornices (…), unpolished mansions eructing upon the street, tall and dull with their gloomy roofs, stable ox-eyes, skinny balconies, and rental boardings smelling of stingy landlords.”243 A city of “square banality” (recta banalidade) and “brusque monumentalism” (monumental repentino). (F. de Almeida 1927–1937, 6:215–22) Fialho de Almeida blamed this on the lack of a “man of taste” – a probable reference to the municipal engineer responsible for the municipal extension schemes, Ressano Garcia. Such a “man of taste” would have been able to guide the process of modern urbanization beyond the “mere” concerns of circulation, hygiene and real estate towards the city's architectural reconstruction. It had been, Almeida insisted, a lost opportunity for urban composition, for the imposition of a coordinated scheme of artistic styles. (F. de Almeida 1927–1937, 6:220– 21) In 1900 Almeida noted similarly that, unlike earlier Pombaline architecture, there had been no attempt in recent urban development at framing individual architecture within an harmonious whole, of integrating its “external shape” (vulto externo) into a townscape. The problem, in the end, was that of the aesthetic control over the “complex stage setting” (scenographia complexa) of the street. What was lacking was a “scenographic perspective” (perspective scenographica) of urban voids and volumes: the architectural composition of squares, the 242 It was most probably Almeida who introduced certain metaphors which would become common place, such as aleijões (deformity) for buildings or caixoteiros (box-builders) for their makers. He shared this contempt for the prevailing architecture with other intellectual heavy-weights (Ramalho Ortigão, Oliveira Martins …) (França 1990, 2:16–18). 243 “... predios marcenarios, os predios commodas, com janellas de bico e platibandas de louça para vidrar (…), casarões saloios que arrotam sobre a via, chatos e altissimos, com seus telhados opacos, lucarnas de celeiro, magras varandas, e divisorias d’aluguer cheirando a sovinice dos senhorios.” (F. de Almeida 1927–1937, 6:221–22) – 156 – G. Verheij Reading Fialho de Almeida's “Lisboa monumental” landscaping of districts, hills, valleys and inclinations (composição architectonica de praças, calculo de mancha paysagista de bairros, montes, vales e declives). And beyond the responsibility of land owners, architects and developers, blame was againput on public authorities, unable to provide a general “aesthetic scheme” (linha estética). (F. de Almeida 1900, 197–99) The same “aestheticizing” view of urban development was undoubtedly at work in “Lisboa monumental.” But this desire of dramatizing the urban “physiognomy” should not be understood as mere aestheticisim. Almeida qualified the proposed “propaganda of beauty” as “one of the noble ways of loving one's homeland” (uma das maneiras nobres d'amar a patria, p. 398 / 9). The use of monumentality to stage political and ideological contents is obvious, but beyond the avowed wish of urban theatricality – the ambition of staging History and Politics – the patriotic relevance of urban beauty had everything to do with a certain understanding of the social place of art. Almeida held the clear conviction that the setting of the urban environment had a direct relation with social progress. One the one hand, he understood art as an expression of a society's cultural development – hence the insistence on the tourist perspective from which to read, out of the current state of the arts, the social and mental possibilities of the Nation (p. 397 / 8). But, inversely, art was also understood to influence social morals and popular taste. Demeaning or uplifting aesthetic experiences were, in line with positivist thinking, thought to have corresponding moral consequences. (Rute Figueiredo 2007, 235–36; J. C. Pereira 2011, 64–82) Architecture – ubiquitous, inescapable and lasting – was deemed especially fit to chart the national ethos, and regrettably revealed to be “piggish, disorientated, imbecile” (o genio porcáz, desorientado, idiota). The “mediocrity of intellectuals, the fustiness of the rich, the stupidity and inertia of rulers” (a mediocreira dos intellectuaes, a inprogresividade dos ricos, a ignorancia e a inação dos dirigentes) were leaving its trace in the city's architecture; being built to last, modern Lisbon was thus to inscribe its pernicious aesthetic and moral influence in the urban fabric, contributing to the country's perennial backwardness. (p. 397–99 / 8, 13) The solution was to diffuse “beauty” throughout the city, solving both the aesthetic flaws of modern Lisbon and, by its beneficial influence on popular morals, conflictive social issues. The aesthetic understanding of the “social question” (most obvious in Almeida's discussion of workers' housing) went hand in hand with the social understanding of aesthetics. This is the basic reason Fialho de Almeida's “socialist-cooperativist-collectivist” city is necessarily monumental, and includes a place for the rich. “Art” – by means of urban design – was to solve the contradiction between (in Almeida's terms) the luxury city of capitalism and the collectivist city of work. One option to perform such a politics of “urban aesthetic(s)” would be aesthetic education. It is indeed with this subject that the essay starts and ends, especially with regards to directing students of Architecture towards socially useful work and the search for a “national style.” (p. 396–98, 509 / 5–9. 70–71) But, considering the space dedicated to it, for Almeida such a “propaganda of beauty” in practice meant policing the city's appearance rather than educating the public.244 244 As M. G. Dias (2011, 17, 74) notes, the equation of aesthetic models with social happiness was in fact a common feature of contemporary planning models: a properly designed city was held to – 157 – G. Verheij Reading Fialho de Almeida's “Lisboa monumental” Earlier I insisted a bit on the persistence of the “aesthetic question” and the details of vocabulary. This is important as it helps to situate the text in the international production of writing on the city and its planning. The weight of satire and the playful contradictions of “Lisboa monumental” make it difficult to pinpoint its genre. The title and the accompanying illustrations, made by the principal illustrator of Illustração Portugueza, Alonso,245 focus attention on its utopian aspect, suggesting a (superficial) kinship with contemporary urban models such as the Garden-city or the City Beautiful. (M. G. Dias 2011) But earlier I already argued that Almeida proposed prescriptions rather than a model. A closer look at the images of “Lisboa monumental” reveals indeed that, powerful as they are, they have an ambiguous relationship to the text. While mostly being quite literal interpretations of certain passages they also appear strangely distant from it. If the text borders the limits of the possible, the illustrations clearly enter fantasy. They frame the most graphical of the writer's ideas within a general atmosphere of fairy tales and stretch them beyond constructive possibilities.246 Differently from contemporary urban models (Howard's Garden-City, Soria y Mata's Linear City, Burnham's City Beautiful), in which text and illustrations complement each other, in “Lisboa monumental” the images stand in tension with the text. What then is the discursive context of “Lisboa monumental”? Considering the vocabulary used by Almeida I think it should rather be confronted with the kind of Parisian literature produced by literates and historians addressing, in essays and chronicles, the “aesthetic” of cities (l'esthétique des villes, see p. 61 above). Gustave Kahn's L'esthétique de la rue (1901), Fierens-Gevaert's Psychologie d'une ville (1901) or Sizeranne's Les questions estéthiques contemporaines (1904) were some of the works Almeida had access to.247 As discussed earlier, in the French-speaking world (Portugal's cultural reference) this “amateur literature” was, at the start of the century, a kind of writing thriving in an area of public interest where specialized texts were still a rarity. Almeida's writing shared many of its features: the “psychological” approach to public space, the attentiveness to the city's “physiognomy,” the promote social improvements. 245 A pseudonym of Joaquim Guilherme Santos Silva (1871-1948), a prolific illustrator and cartoonist. 246 At times the images even contradict the text, for example in Almeida's insistence on the city's topography and the way the images of the Eduardo VII Park, the Botanical Garden or the São Jorge Castle totally ignore it. This mismatch between text and images may have to do with the bourgeois readership of the magazine. More generally, in this pioneering stage of Portuguese illustrated publications the relations between image and text was a field of much experiment, as yet without fixed rules on their mutual relationship. (Barreto and Mónica 1983, 5–6; in general Costa and Serén 2004) Another point to note is that Fialho de Almeida's direct involvement in the conception of the images should not be taken as a given, as it was certainly the result of a freelance commission; Almeida didn't usually write for Illustração Portugueza. 247 These works were part of Almeida's library, according to an inventory made after his death (Biblioteca Nacional de Lisboa 1914). Tough the 1914 inventory should be used with care as an entrance to Almeida's actual reading it is an extremely valuable document to assess his cultural references. There isn't a trace of the kind of specialist literature on urban models then appearing (as discussed earlier, there is no evidence of its circulation in Portugal). Regarding specialized works on urban questions, there is a relevant bibliography on housing and hygiene (Arnould 1889; Raffalovich 1887; Huret 1897; Duclaux 1902) and “sociological” discussions of art and aesthetics (Guyau 1884; 1887; Bazalgette 1898; Couÿba 1902; Dubufe 1908). – 158 – G. Verheij Reading Fialho de Almeida's “Lisboa monumental” interpretation of public space as an “urban décor,” the concern with the social impact of the “urban aesthetic” (based on a mixture of environmental determinism and sociological readings of art promoted by the likes of Jean-Marie Guyau or Hypolyte Taine) … Almeida had in common with a work like G. Kahn's L'esthétique de la rue an architectural critique based on a reading of its impact on public space, a vocabulary which leans heavily on theatrical terms and the ambition of an “art of the street” (Kahn 1901, 291–306).248 When seen against the background of this literature, one begins to understand to what extent “Lisboa monumental” fed on ideas, images and desires circulating internationally. Almeida's gaze over the city is as much a gaze launched from Lisbon itself as from Western modernity – of which Paris was, in Benjamin's expression, still capital (Benjamin 1999, 3–26).249 It was rooted both in the particular way modernity displayed itself in Lisbon and in international ideas and vocabularies arriving essentially through Paris. Subject Topics Pages Architectural culture Comparison between architectural entries at the Fine-Arts Academy exhibition and the SNBA exhibition. Social relevance and irrelevance of architectural projects. Promotion of the social usefulness of the architectural profession. p. 396–98 / 5–9 Need to steer architectural education towards residential architecture and the search for a national style. p. 509 / 70– 71 Aesthetic control Need of an artistic council approving architectural projects. p. 398 / 8 Lack of public defence of and administrative control over urban beauty. Aesthetic crimes resulting from lack of oversight. Need of a technical commission controlling architectural beauty. p. 398–399 / 10–12 Need of a council of artistic experts. The visually planned city vs aesthetic laissez-faire. Lack of quality of public sculpture. Conclusions: need for artistic expertise and artistic planning. p. 508–9 / 66–70 Critique of modern private architecture Comparison of new districts in Lisbon and Porto with Spain. p. 398 / 9–10 Bad aesthetic quality of Lisboa Nova. p. 505 / 57 248 “Lisboa monumental” differs however from this literature by its extensive use of satire and invective. The kind of works mentioned here usually conduct their literary studies on the “nature” of streets and the “aesthetic” of the city with penetrating seriousness. Perhaps in Lisbon the cracks of modernity and its ideology of progress were too visible for such confident stances, grounded on the analytical powers of the eye and the comforting authority of “good taste.” 249 As argued previously, texts and images conveying contemporary urban transformations and ideals circulated widely through newspapers and other publications, as well as accounts from travellers. In the case of Fialho de Almeida this supplanted direct experience. Though at the time of writing “Lisboa monumental” he had extensively travelled Galizia, with visits to Salamanca and Valladolid, he hadn't been as yet to, say, Madrid or Barcelona, which gave a much stronger taste of the impact of urban change. Only in 1910 did he venture beyond the Pyrenees during a long travel through France, Swiss, Germany, Belgium and Holland. – 159 – G. Verheij Reading Fialho de Almeida's “Lisboa monumental” Subject Topics Pages Monumental Lisbon Visions of a monumental Lisbon: Praça de Pombal, connection between the Avenida da Liberdade and the Botanical Garden, Praça Saldanha, Avenida Ressano Garcia / Campo Grande, Avenida da Índia, Avenida da Liberdade, Praça do Comércio, viaduct between S. Pedro d'Alcântara and Graça or the Castle, Palácio da Alcaçova. p. 399–405 / 13–31 Industrial and commercial development Question of the placement of the Customs and a new railway-station. Need to develop the South Bank. p. 497–500 / 33–40 Relation with nature Forestation of the South Bank. Need and possibilities of agricultural and forestation promotion of Lisbon's suburbs. p. 500 / 40– 44 Public buildings Completion and destiny of the Royal Palace of Ajuda, creation of a public park, creation of a public library and art collection in the palace. p. 501–2 / 44–48 Critique of external architecture of public and religious buildings. Cathedral. Pantheon. Medical School. p. 505–8 / 57–66 Workers' housing and popular living conditions Need for public parks and sport fields. Demolition of “infected” districts. Bad quality of recent workers' housing, their demolition or re-qualification. Critique of popular districts. Reconstruction of “infected” districts. Visions of new workers' housing. p. 502–5 / 48–56 Table 3: Subjects in “Lisboa Monumental” (page numbers refer to Almeida 1906 and the reprint in M. G. Dias 2011) Lights and shadows of Lisboa Nova As a critic of urban modernization Almeida is a representative example of a larger body of complaints about the city's appearance which go back to the 1870s but reached a high point during the mid-1900s. (Barata 2007; 2010, 187–95; Rute Figueiredo 2007, 235–53) The aesthetic dissatisfaction with modern Lisbon expressed by these complaints tended, like Almeida's, to insist on some kind of public control over the city's appearance. The kind of discourse these writings configured is discussed later; for now I want to discuss how they related to existing urban development policies and forms of public control over urban growth, and why these failed to satisfy such demands.250 Generally there were two available options for public control over privately-led urban development: development plans and building by-laws. (Piccinato 1993, 69–72) The third option of direct construction by public authority was at this time only considered for municipal or State property, providing few opportunities for comprehensive urban design.251 250 For background on urban growth and development policies in Lisbon during the period under discussion, see V. M. Ferreia (1987), T. Rodrigues (1995) and M. Pinheiro, Baptista and Vaz (2001). 251 Some cases are studied in later chapters. – 160 – G. Verheij Lights and shadows of Lisboa Nova The first comprehensive development plan of Lisbon and reformed building by-laws had been approved in 1903 and 1904, but rather then setting out new directions they were the consummation and end-piece of a logic of development set in place in the 1870s. (R. H. da Silva 1989; M. H. Lisboa 2002, 113–17; Barata 2010, 195–207) The notion of a development plan, understood as a set of documents outlining policies and proposals for the development and use of a city in order to guide and shape public decision- making and the granting of building permissions, appears since the 1850s in the guise of Town Improvement Schemes (Planos Gerais de Melhoramentos). Initially the successive attempts at producing such a plan failed. P.-J. Pézerat, the city’s first municipal engineer, listed the main reasons in 1865: insufficient technical competence and resources at municipal level, the dispersion of planning responsibilities between State and municipality and poor legislation on expropriation. Pézerat's successor, Ressano Garcia, introduced technical expertise, municipal reform after Haussmannian lines, and a sequence of urban extension schemes structured by modern avenues.252 (Figures 102–11) Financially, Ressano Garcia's schemes relied on a Local Act from 1888 authorizing the expropriation of by-zones in limited areas.253 According to these partial development schemes the areas along the Avenida da Liberdade and in Picoas were developed during the following decades. However, they coexisted with other forms of privately-led development as, in the absence of a general development plan, local authorities had no powers to deny building permissions but for reasons of hygiene or safety as sanctioned by building by-laws. In addition, cases of clandestine development were not uncommon, and the municipality often proved unable to keep building activity in check, lacking the capacity or determination for policing urban growth. (R. H. da Silva 1985; 1989, 252 Pierre-Joseph Pézerat (1801-1872), a French engineer who had been the personal architect of Pedro I of Brazil, was the first occupant of the post of municipal engineer, created in 1852 together with a Technical Department (Repartição Técnica). Pézerat's 1865 memoir on urban improvements profited from the insights of a previous study of municipal administration in Paris. Attempts at creating comprehensive improvement schemes were made in 1864-1868 and again in 1876-1881. Ressano Garcia followed Pézerat in 1874 as chief municipal engineer by way of public competition. Ressano Garcia was trained at the Parisian École Impériale des Ponts et Chaussées from 1866 to 1869, crucial years in Haussmann's urban modernization program. The imprint of Haussmannian images of urban modernity on Ressano Garcia's development schemes is well documented; however, as R. H. da Silva has stressed, their main value is in the way how they articulate up-to-date knowledge of international practices with local specificities and pre- existences. (R. H. da Silva 1985; 1989; Á. F. da Silva and Matos 2000; M. H. Lisboa 2002, 102– 17; Paixão 2007; Barata 2010, 49–67) 253 The 1888 Local Act (Carta de lei de 9 de Agosto de 1888) permitted expropriation of by-zones (or excess condemnation), that is, the compulsory purchase of additional strips of land up to 50 meters along public roads, in the area of Picoas. Through resale part of the increment in value of property due to development could thus be used to liquidate public investment. Throughout this study I use the term expropriation rather than the British 'compulsory purchase' or American 'eminent domain.' The problem of existing legislation on expropriation was that it only allowed the compulsory purchase of land deemed of public interest against a fair price. Originally introduced for railways and other large infrastructures it proved insufficient in urban contexts due to speculative logics. The intention of development through the layout of roads immediately raised land prices, making the purchase of the necessary land prohibitive. (R. H. da Silva 1989, 27–29; M. H. Lisboa 2002, 117–25; Barata 2010, 34–46) – 161 – G. Verheij Lights and shadows of Lisboa Nova 29–34; Barata 2010, 194–95, 198–201, 231–33) As a result, stretches of often badly articulated private developments accounted for other directions of urban expansion (Almirante Reis, around Campo de Ourique, Graça …), within the logic of discontinuous urban growth mentioned earlier. A 1901 municipal reform clarified responsibilities over matters of urban development, defining it as a municipal affair (though retaining strict State supervisory powers). The municipal technical services, charged with public works, were refashioned as the Department of Public Works (Repartição de Obras Públicas), with the immediate elaboration of a general plan among its responsibilities. The resulting “General Improvement Scheme” (Plano geral de melhoramentos) was prudently approved by Government in November 1904, in the hope of more favourable financial times (and discreetly refusing to generalize the expropriation of by- zones from 1888 to the entire city). It was accompanied by a new set of building by-laws, approved by the Municipal Council in 1903. (CML 1903b; CML-ROP 1903; Barata 2007, 132; 2010, 34–44, 194–96; M. H. Lisboa 2002, 113–17; Figures 107–8) Theoretically, these instruments could have provided the legal basis for a more comprehensive public control over the growth of the city. But in practice the statutory plan from 1904 had a much more limited scope than its title promised, as Ressano Garcia himself recognized in the accompanying memoir. The focus was on the Northern area defined by the development projects of the previous decades, i.e. Lisboa Nova, merging existing municipal projects and adding an ambitious green framing to the high-class residential areas. Ressano Garcia added to a long-promised park crowing the Avenida da Liberdade an additional 320 ha forest to serve the new residential districts. The other main novelty was a series of avenues articulating the city with its suburbs (Benfica, Luz, Carnide, Lumiar, Telheiras, Charneca, Alcântara), though without any attempt at ordering the urban growth they were likely to provoke. Other relevant areas of urban growth, especially the riverside, were simply ignored. (“Memória,” in CML-ROP 1903; Oliveira and Pinho 2008, 86–88) Ressano Garcia called upon meagre municipal resources coupled with the urgency of a general instrument of public control over private initiative to justify the limits of the plan. He pointed specifically to the urgency of anticipating private initiative in a particularly attractive area for real estate interest, Campo Grande, where he located the new park. But whether on purpose or forced by circumstances, fact is that the 1904 scheme ended up by ratifying and legally protecting (as statutory plan) the area of the New Avenues (Avenidas Novas), rather than proposing a new approach to booming urban growth. It is suggestive that the proposed green spaces also seem to function as a barrier, as if closing in the high-class residential area and safekeeping its decorum from the disturbing surrounding realities of unplanned development. (Barata 2010, 197–202) Consequently, if on the one hand the 1904 scheme indicates the presence of what, according to Piccinato (1993), was the basic drive of planning during this period – the balancing and ordering of urban growth, limiting the “abuses” of private initiative by maintaining public grip over the process – on the other this intention only manifested itself in a limited area of publicly promoted urbanization. In the larger Lisbon area municipal administrations were timid in their attempts at controlling private development, at best safekeeping some areas for the future construction of arterial roads. This contrasted with the much stricter limitations in – 162 – G. Verheij Lights and shadows of Lisboa Nova the area around the new avenues. The scheme thus ratified discontinuous growth and the patchwork of public control and private initiative. But even in these publicly controlled areas concerns of public control remain limited to the classical topics of late 19th century planning: circulation, hygiene and comfort, green spaces. The reformed building by-laws are significant in this aspect, being elaborated within the context of legislation on public health rather than urban development. (CML 1903b; Villaverde 1997, 149; Barata 2007, 132; 2010, 194–95; H. M. C. Andrade 2011, 51–54; J. F. Alves and Carneiro 2014; S. M. G. Pinto 2015) Furthermore, while the projects merged in the 1903 scheme traced avenues and streets with their corresponding technological grids (gas, water, sewage) and normalized street picture (trees, benches, a hierarchy of cross sections), and divided the remaining land in buildable lots, nothing was considered regarding, among others, emerging social concerns such as affordable housing, hierarchies of use or the distribution of public equipments, which by then had entered public concerns. While some of these topics – notably the lack of schools and other equipments, the de facto neglect of the need for affordable housing, or the permissiveness if not promotion of land speculation – were noted by perspicacious critics, it was the issue of the city's image, and more specifically of the aesthetic quality of its architecture, which ended up by dominating public reactions. (R. H. da Silva 1985, 20; 1987, 56; Actas 1908, 457) In order to understand this, some background is required. Researchers have readily noted how late 19th century urban extension in Lisbon was motivated by aesthetic aspirations and social desires as much as concerns with traffic, hygiene and urban growth. The care put into the normalizing of the street picture and the notable impositions of design (symmetry, regularity) in the layout of streets suggest the aesthetic program of Ressano Garcia was to reproduce the kind of visually ordered townscape made famous by Paris during the Second Empire. This desire of visual order (rather than baroque urban compositions) was firmly grounded in bourgeois aspirations. (França 1990, 2:11–22; R. H. da Silva 1989; Morais and Roseta 2006; Barata 2010, 133–53; J. C. Leal 2008) As I previously suggested, in practice Ressano Garcia's mode of development was one of limited expansions of ordered urban fabric answering pressures of land speculation by creating lucrative lots for middle and high class residential development. It functioned like the kind of public-private partnerships typically of 19th century liberalism, in which heavy public investment (construction of streets and technological networks) created the conditions for lucrative capital investment. Haussmannian reform in Paris had worked this way. A combination of large-scale real estate operations and strict architectural control (by-laws and architectural servitudes) provided the characteristically uniform architectural façades punctured by differentiated urban ensembles. (Roncayolo 1983, 102–14; Van Zanten 1994; 2010; Réau et al. 1954; Moncan and Heurteux 2002; Londei 1982) Á. F. da Silva (1996) has shown that the specific economic and historical conditions in which the new Lisbon districts were built had impeded such large-scale real estate operations. They were mainly developed by small landowners and petty investors placing their capital in rental apartments as a savings strategy. The resulting piecemeal development had resulted in an equally fragmented panorama of (residential) architecture, for which the rudimentary building by-laws proved insufficient to guarantee architectural unity. (R. H. da Silva 1987; Figures – 163 – G. Verheij Lights and shadows of Lisboa Nova 112–13) This is the background to the recurring accusations of greed and speculation and their negative impact on architectural quality. A casa de aluguer vae banalisando todas as grandes arteiras e fazendo d'essa grandiosa cidade, digna de occupar os talentos dos grandes architectos, uma feira de especulação, onde a ganancia assentou arraiaes e arovorou a sua bandeira. (C. M. Dias 1905, 276) The historical particularities around the presentation of the 1904 plan shed further light on why it was precisely the aesthetic quality of the city which came to dominate public debate. The inauguration of the last of the main avenues of Lisboa Nova, named after Ressano Garcia himself (after 1910 Avenida da República), at the start of 1903, kicked of a campaign of newspaper articles and interviews in which the intention to prepare public opinion for the new plan is obvious. In O Dia Ressano Garcia's right hand, António Maria d'Avelar (1854-1912), argued that the “splendid arterial road” showed the virtues of 1888 expropriation legislation, and he compared urban modernization in Lisbon with that of Brussels.254 Later that month Ressano Garcia himself was interviewed and presented his idea of a large park finishing the newly built area. He linked his extension schemes with the improvement of public taste (o gosto apura-se; já por ahi vemos muitas boas casas). (O Dia 1903a, b; Barata 2010, 291–92) The park itself was presented early February in Novidades, and both modern Lisbon and Ressano Garcia's ideas were described in very favourable terms. A capital possue essenciais condições de expansão; a população augmenta; a riqueza particular, conciliando-se patrioticamente com a iniciativa official, procura dar emprego aos capitaes, – e d'esta sorte se explica a febre edificadora que nos últimos annos transformou Lisboa, tornando-a mais alegre, mais ligeira, mais colorida e aberta ao ar … (Novidades 1903a) Though the anonymous journalist showed some scepticism with regard to financial possibilities, the park was presented as the logical conclusion of the new districts, a necessary “ornament” (adorno) to the modern city in order to be attractive for inhabitants and visitors. A week later a large map of the entire scheme was published on the front page, with an extensive description of the logic of circulation and the way it linked to the two parks servicing the new districts. (Novidades 1903b) Shortly after Ressano Garcia contrasted these publicly controlled development schemes favourably with the unplanned growth of private initiative, unburdened with concern about “aesthetics, circulation and others.” His particular example were the Castelinhos quarters, but he surely also had in mind the proposal for a new, private development at the very spot where he imagined the large park.255 He launched direct attacks at the Municipal Council which, 254 Curiously, a decade earlier C. Buls (1893, 16) – arguing against these kind of urban modernization programs – had made the inverse comparison, comparing Brussels to Lisbon on account of the possibilities offered by irregular topography. 255 There are reasons to assume that Ressano Garcia's concern with private initiative was directly linked with proposals from 1902 for private development – the Bairro Europa – in an area he had dedicated to an large public park. This particular development proposal also seems to loom behind resistance from the municipal council to Ressano Garcia's scheme and suggestions of involved real estate interests. (Barata 2010, 198–202; CML-ROP 1902b) – 164 – G. Verheij Lights and shadows of Lisboa Nova against technical assessment, had granted development capacities to private individuals without safekeeping integration with the public road network. (Novidades 1903c) Later that month Henrique de Vasconcelos wrote an editorial in aid of Ressano Garcia. But he did so by launching a campaign in favour of the city's “aesthetic,” generalizing the engineer's complaint about private developer's disdain for aesthetics to the larger part of the city's recent architecture. (Vasconcelos 1903) Subtly the topic of public control versus private initiative, which worried the municipal engineer, was changed to that of the plan versus architecture, and its preferred locus the very avenues which Ressano Garcia was so proud of. Vasconcelos contrasted Ressano Garcia's “stupendous plan” (plano stupendo) with the results it produced due to “lousy collaborators” (pessimos collaboradores) – architects without fantasy, capricious developers, vulgar builders. Once the new avenues and streets were delivered, they were left to “the vicious inventiveness of developers and builders without taste nor science, oblivious to all laws of aesthetic” (á criminosa invenção dos mestres e dos constructores sem gosto, sem sciencia, atropellando todas as leis da esthetica). Lisboa Nova was turning into an architectural “museum of the grotesque,” a collection of undersized mansions without beauty, elegance nor comfort, huge aimless cages, turret-shaped apartment buildings and massive rental barracks, drowning the few handsome homes of modern making in mediocrity. Vasconcelos' campaign proved successful, and similar distress abounded in subsequent months, turning into a platitude of public opinion. A small selection: … o mau gosto dos nossos proprietarios, ajudado da ignorancia dos mestres de obra ou da phantasia ainda peior de alguns dos variados pseudo-architectos. (J. de Figueiredo 1903) … a architecture preferida para as novas construções continua a ser a da caserna, feia e monotona. (Jornal do Commercio, 12 August 1903) Os abundantes dinheiros da Africa e do Brasil consomem-se na construcção de horrendos predios de aluguer, que compromettem a belleza das novas avenidas de Lisboa. (C. M. Dias 1905, 244) If only a month before Vasconcelos' battle-cry Ressano Garcia had been quoted on the improvement of public taste and the numerous decent homes (muitas boas casas, see above) filling his new avenues, now journalists, writers and historians in defence of the city's “aestheticization” agreed that Lisboa Nova had turned out to be an aesthetic failure. Petty developers' middle-class taste and the absence of “artistic feeling” of the cheap constructors working for them were blamed for the aesthetic débâcle, while architects hurried to declare their innocence, claiming they hardly played any role in this panorama.256 If we take Ressano Garcia on his word and, even if only for the sake of argument, give some credit to middle-class opinions on aesthetic matters, what starts to emerge here is a conflict of taste. It is suggestive to place Almeida's 1893 comments on the lack of a “man of taste” (see 256 The municipal architect José Luís Monteiro (1848-1942) denounced in 1906 that, in the midst of a building boom, none of the about 30 architects working in Lisbon was able to make a living from residential architecture. Perhaps Monteiro was slightly exaggerating, but the economic insertion of architects in this period remains a little studied subject. (R. J. G. Ramos 2011) – 165 – G. Verheij Lights and shadows of Lisboa Nova p. 156 above) in the city's urban development in this context.257 Following Leal (2008), there are good arguments to differentiate between the kind of aesthetic aspirations underlying late 19th century urban modernization and the monumental, scenographic images which an intellectual elite (writers, journalists, architects) proposed as alternative, either explicitly (such as Almeida's “Lisboa monumental”) or implicitly by the judgement of aesthetic failure of the existing city. This is important to note, as it takes the topic of the aesthetic failure out of the realm of undisputed truths and places it in the changing dynamics of history and class interests.258 257 Another ironic comment appearing early 1903 is similarly suggestive. “Escasso lhe tem sido [to the city] o tempo para levantar essa casaria inesthetica com que vae definindo as ruas de varios conselheiros dos bairros excentricos, n'uma grande harmonia suggestiva entre a mercê burocratica e o predio de rendimento.” (Serões 1903, 305) Ressano Garcia was one of the State councillors whose name was given to an urban avenue. 258 This means that the “ideal norm” which, according to J.-A. França, Almeida's “Lisboa monumental” put in place in fact foreclosed the possibility of taking Lisboa Nova aesthetically serioua. As the topic of architectural failure dominated public debate, art historical accounts have tended to uncritically reproduce this aesthetic judgement. Typically they tend to ignore the larger part of anonymous residential architecture to focus instead on a few “qualitative exceptions.” Rather than asking who deemed the city a failure, for what reasons, and why this came to dominate public discourse (as I will do later), it relies – mostly implicitly – on a dichotomy between an enlightened, cultured elite and an anonymous, tasteless mass of “others.” The latter provide, it seems, the “limits of taste” or “aesthetic conjuncture” framing this elite, and are subsequently blamed for these and other failures, rather than, say, economic, legal or technological restraints. (França 1990, 2:15–18, 126, 128, 132) – 166 – G. Verheij Aesthetic intentions and urban realities Aesthetic intentions and urban realities The problem of monumentality Monumental, scenographic aspirations, of the kind promoted by Fialho de Almeida, are the most visible motivation of writing on turn-of-the-century Lisbon.259 They were supported by the increasing circulation of architectural images through the public sphere. The appearance of specialized publications publishing architectural projects (A Construcção Moderna since 1900, the Annuario of the architects' society since 1905, Architectura Portugueza since 1908), the generalization of illustrated publications and the inclusion of architecture in the annual Fine-Arts exhibition all contributed to give a much larger visibility to Architecture and its practitioners. Architecture was finely becoming accepted as a Fine art, while the architectural profession itself was being updated through the (limited) modernization of formal training and State-sponsored studies in Paris. (M. D. Mesquita 2011; Lisboa 2007; Figures 114–22) Let's have a closer look at two studies by J. A. Soares, at the time studying in Paris with a State-funded fellowship. The first is one of two studies elaborated as a final projects in Public Architecture, which under the terms of the fellowship students had to send to Portugal for evaluation. Both were exhibited at the 1902 Fine-arts exhibition and published in A Construcção Moderna (3: 48 and 53, 16 January and 10 March 1902). Soares designed a monumental port section closing a main avenue (“Caes, embarcadouro e desembarcadouro, servindo de testa a uma avenida principal,” according to the magazine, see Figure 122) – a subject which, though imposed by the Parisian academical jury, could imply a special interest for a city as Lisbon, investing in its port (see p. 178 below). The avenue finishes with an obelisk followed by a set of curved stairs bordered by greenery, ending in a platform supported by arcades with lateral stairs to the quays which somehow summons the original stairs at the Praça do Comércio in a more monumental fashion.260 The following year A Construcção Moderna publishes another project by Soares for a public square, exhibited at the 1903 Fine-Arts exhibition and accompanied by enthusiastic comments. A pseudonymous commentator, most probably Melo de Matos, highlighted the “excellent” distribution of buildings and the ornamentation, sober yet prosperous and tasteful. 259 Though most common, certain alternatives – otherwise as distinct as Júlio Castilho's pioneering defence of urban heritage (J. C. Leal 2006) and Ramalho's ideals of homely cosiness (R. H. da Silva 1989, 23) – can be unearthed. 260 According to A Construcção Moderna the other study, of which no image was reproduced, depicted a public hall for festivities and games (Palacio de festas e jogos publicos), a building which was lacking in Lisbon. A Construcção Moderna suggested it could be placed in Campo Grande, anticipating perhaps Ressano Garcia's ideas of a large public park there. The design included a large salon for events and a column-lined promenade with race- and sport-tracks, greenhouses, bandstands, cafés, concert halls, theatres... Decoratively placed at the background was a pleasure lake. – 167 – G. Verheij The problem of monumentality It would be suitable for any new square in Lisbon. Though the study didn't answer previous demands for some kind of urban design made in the same magazine, it confirmed, according to the commentator, the possibility that Architecture students devote themselves to works of practical application rather than fanciful impossibilities.261 (Metopa & Tryglypho 1903; Mattos 1903c) What these and other images have in common is a Beaux-arts monumentalism enthusiastically consumed by academic architects and a strongly Francophone public opinion: large avenues, scores of scenographically staged residential buildings, strategically placed squares focusing perspective axes developing over distance... They picture the cultural or ideological horizon of the “dreamt city.” I recall the gap between aesthetic desires and urban realities detected previously. Again, images such as those discussed above had little to do with the architectural regularity and formal control dear to Haussmann, and which presumably was also Ressano Garcia's ideal. Instead of classical order they summon fancy dream images. They are closer to the premises of the 1900 Universal Exhibition than to the Rue de Rivoli (Figures 123–24). In this the patterns of elite taste in Portugal closely accompanied those of Parisian architects and intellectuals. As discussed earlier, by the end of the nineteenth century there was a certain dissatisfaction with the strict building codes behind Paris' unified street pictures, resulting in the progressive dismantling of Haussmannian building by-laws (see p. 59 above). A paradox shows itself here. I recall that dissatisfaction with modern Lisbon resulted, among architects and intellectuals, in the demand of larger formal control over the city's appearance. In Paris, on the contrary, the tendency was towards the easing of existing forms of aesthetic control. Indeed, in Bonnier's 1897 comparative inquiry on building by-laws in Europe Lisbon figured as an example of municipal liberalism in the design of façades. (Marrey 1988, 58–60) This suggests that a reinforcement of the formal control of private architecture, an art Haussmann had perfected, was not really a solution for the problem of monumentality felt in Lisbon. Rather, as suggested by the success of the 1900 International Exposition, investment should be in public space, in line with new patterns of public sociability. Unpredictably, the realities of monumentalization of public space in Lisbon were not up to the aspirations of “Lisboa monumental.” According to the cosmopolitan patterns of taste inspiring the new districts it could be expected they would be prime objects of monumentalization, independently of the quality of its architecture. However, that didn't happen. The circular squares marking inflection points along the axis of expansion were the 261 “O resultado de esta orientaçao nos estudos [towards impossible or exceptional projects rather than typologies of immediate usefulness] é que as mais das vezes o constructor nao se importa com o que cérca o edificio que vae fazer e assim vemos como que um feitio de chamariz em grande numero de edificaçoes que parece que o que pretendem é que se olhe só para ellas. Com isto nada tem que lucrar a arte e muito menos a esthetica de Lisboa chegando a ter-se duvidas sobre se ha ou nao vantagens em sujeitar os projectos de edificaçao á sancçao da Camara Municipal, porque tao depressa se nos deparam nas novas ruas edificaçoes verdadeiramente artisticas como outras deploraelmente estylisadas em fabrica de guano ou em armazens de vinhos e outros generos de exportaçao.” (Metopa & Tryglypho 1903, 117) Melo de Matos anticipated here several of the proposals Almeida developed in his 1906 “Lisboa monumental,” among them the promotion of the production of socially useful projects among students of Architecture or the idea of urban design (o estudo de conjunto das edificações nas novas ruas de Lisboa). – 168 – G. Verheij The problem of monumentality obvious points for sculptural monuments, focusing the perspectives of the avenues.262 But only one of the three monuments which were logically asked for arrived in due time and without controversies. At the Praça Duque de Saldanha a monument to the statesman of the same name was inaugurated in 1909 with royal pomp and circumstance. The statue was the result of a competition won by the sculptor Tomás Costa and the architect Miguel Ventura Terra. Though competitions for the two remaining squares were organized in 1908 (Monument to the Heroes of the Peninsular War) and 1911-1912 (Monument to the Marquis de Pombal), due to different vicissitudes they were only delivered in the early 1930s and gave cause to much controversy, among others about the stylistic solutions finally adopted. The monument to the Duque of Saldanha, with its rather modest size in relation to the square and incongruous architectural background, hardly satisfied aspirations of monumentality. (J. R. de Carvalho and Câmara 2005, 106–9, 180–81; Mega 2006; Figures 113, 125–26) More generally, with regard to public statuary the turn of the century saw a series of false starts. During the 19th century public monuments had either celebrated national heroes and events or political big-shots. The latest of these was a monument to Afonso de Albuquerque, viceroy of India in the 16th century, in Belém. Financed by a bequest of the historian Simão José da Luz Soriano, the project by Costa Mota (the elder)263 instituted a typology of column with statue which proved to be popular, notwithstanding the slow pace of the monument's execution (1892-1902). Before 1900 no statue to that quintessential hero of the century – those “Great Men” of bourgeois society: scientists, philosophers, writers … – had been raised. (L. A. Matos 2007, 50–64; França 1990, 2:205–14; Michalski 1998, chap. 1) What should have been the first of a gallery of secular heroes – a monument to the doctor and philanthropist Sousa Martins, inaugurated with royal pomp in 1900 at a prime site of urban development – proved a fiasco. A commission of doctors awarded the rich dandy sculptor Queiroz de Ribeiro, recently returned from Paris, the first award in a competition held in 1898, against the opinion of a commission of artists and art teachers. Within months the statue had come to be considered the very symptom of the aesthetic and moral shortcomings of Lisbon's society. It was demolished in 1902 and replaced by another work by Costa Mota (the elder), inaugurated in 1906. Predictably it followed the Afonso de Albuquerque typology of a statue on a column.264 (Figures 127–32) A 1903 monument to Eça de Queirós – unusual for its intimate scale and placing, and like the Sousa Martins monument including a nude female allegory – was the object of similar critiques, though luckily it has remained in its place, being arguably one of the best works of the decade. After the inauguration a petty scandal followed, centred mainly on the “immoral” use of the nude (probably also one of the unacknowledged ingredients in the Sousa Martins controversy). Ramalho Ortigão, art critic and close friend of Eça de Queiroz, who had spoken 262 J. M. Fernandes (1989) has noted how the circular squares answer aesthetic requirements much more than functional demands of traffic distribution. 263 António Augusto da Costa Mota (1862-1930), not to be confused with his nephew (1877-1956) of the same name, a sculptor as well. (Belo 2003) 264 The most complete study of the monuments' rise and fall is by Rita Mega. On Aleixo Queiroz de Ribeiro (1868-1917), see M. de Queiros' fictionalised but informative biography. The enigma of the work and its demolition is, in my view, not exhausted by both authors. Sources in contemporary press suggest reasons of public morality played a strong role. (Mega 2005; Queiros 2008; Brasil-Portugal 1900, 1901; Occidente 1901, 1902; L. de M. Carvalho 1900; Almeida 1900, 109–29; “A Academia” 1903; “Monumento” 1903; O Dia 1903e) – 169 – G. Verheij The problem of monumentality at the inauguration, attempted to tackle the matter. In his discussion of the “interesting question of Public Statuary” (Estatuaria Publica) Ortigão defined what appeared to him to be the “established orthodoxy” on the matter. On the one hand, there should be a strict public control over the placing of statues; on the other, only consensual “great men” of the past had a right at such honours. Ortigão – a man of conservative tastes – ridiculed this view, contrasting it with customs in classical antiquity and the Renaissance. The only valid criteria for sculpture, public or not, was aesthetic relevance and, according to Ortigão, beauty could not be regularized.265 (R. H. da Silva 2005; Occidente 1903; Arroyo 1903; 1904; A. Botelho 1904; M. de S. Pinto 1904; Conde d’Arnoso et al. 1904; Ortigão 1903; Figures 133–35) But Ortigão's was an isolated view. Most defended precisely such a policy of public art. Considerable energy was put into dreaming about a public gallery of statues of patriotic officers, civic “Great Men”, national heroes, or just works of great beauty. The Commission of Monuments, created within the SPP in 1907 (see p. 119 above), adopted the idea of policing public art as an official policy proposal. Members of the commission argued that public authorities had a duty to address the issue of public monuments, being final responsible for the validity of statuary honours in public spaces. The failure of public monuments in Lisbon was blamed on the absence of a proper State department. (C. S. 1907; E.R.M. 1907) According to these and other authors (f. ex. Aça 1907, 196) the city's waterfront was to be turned into a breeding ground for monuments to the glory of colonial heroes;266 urban squares should be dedicated to the memory and celebration of those transcending death, in well- merited splendour of marble and bronze. But contemporary realities of public art were rather different. During the first decade of the 20th century a series of small-scale monuments, often accompanied by popular images (literary characters, popular types), were placed, often in gardened areas. Against the sublime visions entertained in writing these works brought a kind of good-humoured cosiness to Lisbon's public spaces. (Figures 136–39) That is, amidst critique on the city's appearance and a boom of impossible monumental images we have these slightly modest operations of monumentalization by means of public sculpture: a situation prone to frustration.267 This language of desire and frustration aptly describes the gap which, for artists and intellectuals, separated dreams of monumentality and images of urban splendour from the pragmatic realities of the bourgeois city. It is almost as if these frustrated aspirations and ideals burst into the public sphere in the form of urban fictions and architectural impossibilities, with a utopian dimension increasingly distanced from possibilities of real 265 Ramalho Ortigão entertained himself by picturing a whole bureaucracy dedicated to regulating, inventorying, systematizing, supervising and policing worthy celebrities and decent statuary. “E assim, annualmente, por bienios ou por trienios, segundo possa ser, se irão a pouco e pouco povoando, pacata, comedida e regularmente de imagens indiscutidamente venerandas todas as nossas praças, ruas, travessas e bêcos.” (Ortigão 1903, 331) 266 This had been proposed by Fialho de Almeida (1906). Almeida's ideas about public art were rather contradictory. Though he repeatedly defended the creation of public galleries of Great Men at the same time he launched acid critiques at the statues “tainting” (negrejar) the city's squares and the “bronze dolls” “staining” (enodar) their marble socles. (F. de Almeida 1890, 101, 105) 267 In architecture it was similarly the pragmatic monumentality of engineers rather than the grandiose Palaces and Pantheons fancied by architects which framed the modern city. (Figures 140–42) – 170 – G. Verheij The problem of monumentality transformation. But it is in this gap between reality and aspirations, as I will show later, that the call for larger public control over the city's appearance gained substance. For now, all this reinforces the argument that the “artistic failure” of Lisboa Nova was in reality not a problem of incomplete execution (as Fialho de Almeida, among many others, suggested), but rather one based on different aesthetic ideals, on changing patterns of taste. These desires of monumentality – be it in the form of urban fictions, dreams of monumental sculpture or architectural chimeras – reveal an aesthetic discomfort with an urban model which, after some initial resistance, had been the norm for about three decades without much challenge. Again, the dreams of a monumental city are not the “ideal norm” against which to measure the real city (a relation of unattained dream and frustrated reality), but instead desires of a different city than the one coming into existing. They anticipate or clear the ground for what Á. F. da Silva and Matos (2000) have defined as the end to a certain “aesthetic consensus” operating in Lisbon until about 1908 (when Ventura Terra enters the town council, see chapter 3). A consensus about the imposition of (visual) order on urban space, best understood in line with J. C. Leal's identification of bourgeois disciplinary order and the essential classicist aesthetic assumptions underlying late 19th century urban transformations, in contradiction with the desires of a certain elite of a more baroque imaginary. (J. C. Leal 2008) Between metropolis and monument It is dangerous to remain trapped in the impasses of discourse and the circulation of images. Here I want to put the images of monumentality considered previously in tension with another series of images focusing on the city as Metropolis. Because visions of an industrious, metropolitan Lisbon, so absent in this account until here, in fact haunted monumental imagery. While the new districts at least provided the spots for carefully staged monuments, elsewhere it was much more difficult to ignore this growing, noisy, smoky industrializing city. An intruiging engraving of the monument to the marquis of Sá da Bandeira, installed in a square with garden facing the river in 1884, is illustrative of this stalemate. (Figure 143) The picture intriguingly captures the ambivalent relation between industry and monument, and makes it clear that the problem of monumentality and public art could not be disconnected from nascent metropolitan issues. The place of art in this city was in no way as clear as the dichotomy between the monumentality and ugliness would lead to think. The engraving is but a very graphic depiction of how a whole new gamut of modern urban sociabilities which started to disrupt the well-ordered bourgeois city Lisboa Nova was supposed to be. The end of the Monarchy and implementation of the Republic in 1910 was in this sense only the most visible political expression of a new urban constituency, in which such typical urban phenomena as the growing visibility of the urban poor, the impact of the new velocities made possible by mechanical transport, or increasing global connectedness relentlessly changed the city. Industry, modern mass culture and the democratization of urban space left its mark in public space, through posters,268 cinema or tourism. (Samara and 268 An anonymous commentator wrote in 1917: “Nos últimos tempos as paredes e as esquinas da capital têm-se coberto com uma variegada e alegre floração de cartazes ilustrados, alguns de – 171 – G. Verheij Between metropolis and monument Baptista 2010; Acciaiuoli 2013; A. C. de Matos, Ribeiro, and Bernardo 2009; Cunha 2011; Cerdeira 2014; F. Vidal 2014; B. Monteiro and Pereira 2013, chap. 5; Figures 145–47) So perhaps the demand for monumentality was not only a reaction against “bad” architecture and petty monuments, but more generally against this messy but fascinating metropolitan urbanity which also in Lisbon started to be visible. I recall how, in Fialho de Almeida's writings, Lisbon is constantly depicted through the literary strategy of antagonism between two irreconcilable towns. Monumentality was the device to bridge this contradiction, staging the city as a unified artwork. But the seeming detour in “Lisboa monumental” through metropolitan realities – industry, suburban land development and workers' housing – showed how this tale of two towns was really a simplification of the urban complexity of turn-of-the- century Lisbon. (See p. 147 and 152 above.) Almost as if an aside Almeida imagined, in the second part of his essay, an industrial Lisbon stretching along the river through cheerful and affordable working-class housing, prosperous industrial areas with modern port facilities and suburban public parks and playgrounds, supported by improved public transport. This clearly surpassed the issue of monumentality, and was in fact a response to existing urban dynamics and realities. Industry, with its factories, transport infrastructures and working-class housing, had been settling along the river towards the North (Alcântara, Belém) and the South (Braço de Prata, Marvila, Beato).269 Easy access to transportation, the construction of rail-roads – reaching Santa Apolónia from the North in 1865 and Cais do Sodré from Cascais in 1894 – and cheap soil attracted industry to the riverside, increasingly dedicated to port facilities. (F. de Almeida 1906, 497–500; V. M. Ferreira 1987, 90–93; M. J. M. Rodrigues 1978; Paulino 2012; Custódio 1994; F. Vidal 2003; J. P. Costa 2007; Alcântara 2016) This industrial landscape was explored with much more detail just a few months earlier in another urban fiction, published in the same magazine (Illustração Portugueza) and illustrated by the same Alonso. “Lisboa no anno 2000” (Lisbon in the year 2000) is a four-part essay written by the engineer Melo de Matos, the eclectic animator of the technical journal A Construcção Moderna (1900-1919) and probably one of the most productive commentators of architecture, construction and planning in Portugal before the First World War (see p. 107 above). The text is Melo de Matos' only try at fiction. In it he imagines Lisbon as maritime meeting point of the world, recovering its historical status of world port in modern industrial- financial fashion. The Tagus bay is described full of ships and vessels from all over the world, from huge transatlantic ocean liners to the odd presence of revived traditional types of sailing-ships. Packet boats from Africa, Java, New Guinea, Australia and the Far East abound, reminding the city's colonial past.270 (Mattos 1906a; Figures 149–56) grande interêsse e merecimento. Esta aliânça da arte com as manifestações da vida quotidiana (…) reveste por vêses um vigor, uma expontaneidade e engenhosidade que nem sempre se encontram nas composições mais desinteressadas da arte pura. Seja como fôr o cartaz e o anúncio artístico distráem agradávelmente o nosso espírito e merecem alguma coisa mais que um romântico desdêm.” (L.C. 1917) 269 Another important axis of industrial development went from the Alcântara valley up through Benfica and all the way to Venda Nova and Porcalhota (after 1907 Amadora). (Cravo 2013) 270 “Do mar lhes viera a riqueza, pelo mar conquistaram outra vez e definitivamente de esta feita o logar a que tinham direito como nação gloriosa de industriaes, de agricultores e de nautas.” (Mattos 1906a, 133; on Lisbon's colonial past see R. Araújo 1990; Moita, Serrão and Pereira in Moita 1994) – 172 – G. Verheij Between metropolis and monument The engineer put high hopes on the possibilities brought by the future Panama channel, which in his Lisbon of 2000 had brought increased commerce with America, especially the United States and Argentina. The text's main focus is on the future of the port, which the engineer imagined full of activity. It includes descriptions of futuristic transatlantic liners, unsuspecting applications of electricity and telecommunication, clever logistic solutions of the enormous affluence of ships, within an industrialized and productive landscape described (and pictured) with bewildering details.271 The literary genre of “Lisboa no ano 2000” is easy to grasp: the science-fiction of the period, from Jules Vernes to H.G. Wells. More direct antecedents are Moilin's Paris en l’an 2000 (1869) and especially Edward Bellamy's Looking backward (1888).272 But if the text has traditionally been interpreted as pure science-fiction, others have noted how it deals with urgent issues of its time. Matos' text was explicitly intended as a practical utopia, as the establishment of a forward-looking horizon. Rather than ignoring problems related to the city's growth they are at the very centre of the text, though understanding urban growth much more comprehensively then just residential expansion. (Mattos 1906a, 129; 1909; Rute Figueiredo 2007, 253–49; M. G. Dias 2001, 11–21; França 1990, 2:130; Barata 2010, 124–27; M. H. Lisboa 2002, 191, 151) The city looming behind this enthusiastic high-tech pampering is of a metropolitan scale, structured by networks of transportation, communication and electricity, and intimately linked to the river.273 Urban development extends towards the sea; to the West, until the Sintra area, intense agricultural use of soil is cheered up by picturesque houses and meandering streets. Port facilities – docks, wharfs, railway services, depots, jetties, aerial lifts – extend from beyond Belém to Cabo Ruivo (Oriente). The organization of the port of Alcântara is described with some detail; Belém is transformed in an impressive commercial district, extending all the way to Caselas. Aerial lifts provide easy access to the river, while regular train services and a suspension railway, passing in front of the Praça do Comércio by means of a viaduct, transport goods and passengers through the city. Though emphasis is on international commerce and export, there are industrial areas in Alfama, around the Alcântara 271 Among some of the text's surprising features are minute accounts of completely analogue video calls and ubiquitous virtual money (p. 189–92). The text is organized in four parts: 1) on the role of Lisbon in international transatlantic traffic and on connections; 2) on the organization of the port and its articulation with the city; 3) on its architecture and commerce; 4) on the link with the south bank through a tunnel. A promised fifth part on a modern railway-station on the river's south bank was never published. 272 Bellamy's work was highly influential, resulting in the creation of a great number of Bellamy Societies or “Nationalist Clubs” across the United States. (William Morris wrote his New from nowhere from 1890 partly in response to it.) In Looking backward, Bellamy looked to his own present from an imagined Boston in 2000, contrasting contemporary problems with a utopia close to something like a Garden-City Beautiful. (Relph 1987, 11–24) In Portugal the writer, jurist and philologist Cândido de Figueiredo (1846-1925) had published a serial novel with the title Lisboa no ano três mil (1892). This work was however pure satire of the present, with no utopian mindset whatsoever; the narrator, transported to the future by hypnosis, finds himself in the ruins of Lisbon in the year 3000, setting out to archaeologically reconstruct a past which happens to be the writer's own. 273 Regarding the metropolitan scale of Melo de Matos' city, it is worth to note that in his other writings and public activity he insistently defended a combination of increased access to public transportation and the promotion – never direct construction – of affordable housing as a solution to the housing question. (Rute Figueiredo 2007, 276–86) – 173 – G. Verheij Between metropolis and monument valley and on the river's South Bank, linked to the city by a rail-road tunnel (with shipyards and the Navy Armoury around Almada and fish processing industries in Trafaria). The city itself is one which never sleeps. At night, ever-present electrical lighting allows continuous work at the docks, while also giving the city a festive appearance. The activity and a variety of monuments – impressive headquarters of shipping companies, financial institutions, stock markets, astonishing railway stations, model factories and commercial facilities, and striking constructions such a kind of Eiffel tower but higher (350 meter), provided with spotlights, elevators and an elegant restaurant274 – attract visitors from all over the world. (The text opens precisely with a description of the transatlantic liner Gil Eannes, full of tourists come to admire this futuristic city.) This is very different city from Fialho de Almeida's monumental Lisbon. There the focus was on luxury, entertainment and leisure for those with money and time to waste, in a centre cleared of the poor, conveniently dispatched to the suburbs as honest, satisfied workers. For Matos efficiency and productivity, hardly mentioned by Almeida but for the theatrical effect of factories on the other side of the river, was central. Surprisingly there is a solid technical reality underlying Melo de Matos' fiction. Many of the technological references which strike the contemporary commentator as fanciful can be traced back to technical notices published in A Construcção Moderna. The inventions Melo de Matos tossed off were, with more or less imagination, at the horizon of this time.275 What is fictional is the montage of these reality applied to Lisbon. Like the ocean liner pasted over Lisbon's historical centre (see Figure 145) “Lisboa no anno 2000” foregrounds the shock between distinct temporalities and scales. (The illustrations intriguingly capture this coexistence of old and new in their own retro-futuristic way.) Melo de Matos was president of the Commission of Monuments of the national Society of Propaganda, which we saw earlier concur in defence of monumentality (see p. 170 above). For this reason it is interesting to see how he tackled the problem of monumentality in his future Lisbon, and to assess in general what place is dedicated to aesthetics. Notwithstanding the focus on ultimate efficiency provided by technology, the text includes a series of surprisingly detailed formal descriptions of buildings. Indeed, art, bonded with nature, was inseparable from the urban transformation accompanying this fictional development. “À belleza com que a enfeitara o céu azul de Portugal, juntava-se agora a arte com que o homem soubera completar as magnificencias da natureza.” (Mattos 1906a, 133) Though the already mentioned Eiffel-like tower or the suspended railway infrastructure are examples of futuristic technological architecture, the buildings described with most detail – financial and regulatory institutions, a transport hub, corporate headquarters – are of a more eclectic nature. The main transport hub, Lisboa Mar, situated at the former Navy Armoury, is described as of an “uncommonly original” (singularmente original) architecture, singled out 274 Previously Melo de Matos had argued that the Eiffel Tower was a first example of a “new style,” supported by historical and technological necessity. (Mattos 1900, no. 5) 275 Thus, that most fantastic feature of Matos' fiction, the precise description of the building of a tunnel under the Tagus and of the physical sensations as one enters it, is heavily based on reports on the Severn tunnel in the UK and the Simplon tunnel in Italy which had appeared in A Construcção Moderna. Other technical descriptions can similarly be traced back to notices in this magazine. (Mattos 1906a, 249–52; “Passagem” 1905; “Exposição” 1905) – 174 – G. Verheij Between metropolis and monument by the opulence of its building materials, the refinement of its architectural line, the multicoloured decoration of glazed tiles (azulejos) and glass and a monumental watchtower with four clock-faces. In down-town Lisbon(Baixa), the financial hearth, powerful banking institutions “rival in architectural splendour” (rivalisando em sumptuosidade architectonica), together with insurance companies, cooperatives, the stock exchange and commercial court. The appearance and materials of each building translate its function. One bank, dedicated to agricultural credit, displays a solid architecture reminding “landed property, Virgilian bucolicism and modern transformations of agriculture due to chemistry, mechanics and meteorology.” A frieze of azulejos depicts stylized fruits, windows micik the typical barn- openings of the Alentejo, medallions and high-reliefs portray scientists and their contributions to agriculture. A sculpture group shows Ceres and Modern Science intimately embraced, surrounded by laboratory tools, mechanical reapers, farm animals and enormous haystacks. An industrial credit bank showcases a façade entirely of steal and glass, though also with a “lovely faïence decoration” (linda ornamentação de faiança) chronicling the history of mechanics, from the pyramid to electricity. It is topped by a huge statue of Modern Science, represented by a winged guardian spirit with its right foot over a wheel spreading bursts of steam. In its left hand, a little above its head, it carries an electrical light, while its right hand holds a battery from which electrodes gently spread around the figure's chest, powering the light and several machines – textile machines, steam turbines, locomotives, drills – scattered around the feet.276 Yet another building, housing a building cooperative, is a showcase of architectural and engineering know-how and harmony. The façade is dominated by a large, multicoloured, three-story high Tudor window, and crowned with a pediment representing the cooperation of the constructive arts (geometry, mathematics, applied mechanics, the fine arts, physics and chemistry...) under the guidance of Abundance pouring forth wealth and well-being. The headquarters of an agricultural insurance company displayed azulejo panels showing rural disasters dominated by Providence. (Mattos 1906a, 220–23) These buildings are described within the general frameworks of a stylistic rhetoric. The rethorical character of Melo de Matos' future architecture is stated clearly in a passage about the central transport hub: “Todo o edificio dizia que o relogio era a razão de ser d'aquella obra, como que o coração e o cerebro ao mesmo tempo d'aquelle monumento. A ornamentação polychromica da estação dava bem a entender com os seus azulejos e os crystaes dos hangares que era apenas vestibulo da cidade (…)” (my emphasis) Similarly, in the financial quarters the “multicoloured marbles, glazed windows and gilded iron balustrades” (marmores de variegadas côres, as janellas envidraçadas, os doirados dos gradeamentos de ferro) of the banking institutions indicated unmistakably that their business was “the handling and conquest of gold” (o manejo e a conquista do oiro). Clearly, for Melo de Matos the architecture and art of future Lisbon was one that spoke. (Mattos 1906a, 220– 21) 276 The depiction of such an industrial imaginary might have been inspired by Catalan industrial architecture. In 1902, Heiden (a possible pseudonym of Melo de Matos) enthusiastically discussed the ornamentation and use of colour in a short article on the Central Catalana de Electricidad (1897), a power plant in Barcelona designed by the architect Pere Falqués (1850-1916). Ornaments alluding to voltaic piles, magnet wire and Gramme dynamos proved, according to the author, that the forms of industrial machinery and scientific equipments could be adapted to industrial architecture. (Heiden 1902) – 175 – G. Verheij Between metropolis and monument The expressiveness of style was a recurrent topic in Melo de Matos' writings. In a 1900 discussion of an article on North-American high office-buildings the engineer had revealed an essentially classical understanding of style. The author of the article in discussion, Barr Ferree, had concluded that style – that “greatest bugbear of the modern architect” – and the historical conscience provided by ornament had proved inadequate for the new conditions posed by high buildings. Neither could style be of help, nor was faith to be put in a “style of our own.” At best, it could be a “matter of detail”, a character given to ornament to endow a building with personality. But the limitations imposed by technology, economy and demand had made it impossible “to make a high building an example or an illustration of any of the historical styles.” (Ferree 1894, 316; Mattos 1900) Melo de Matos responded with a defence of classical harmony and symmetry supported by Viollet-le-Duc's ideas on the correspondence between form and structure. He explicitly established an analogy between form and idea. Right lines express decidedness, curves the will to enjoy and hesitance; horizontal lines evoke stability and permanence, vertical lines bold thoughts, impulses and aspirations. He concluded that only straight, vertical lines and right angles could translate the instability and uncertainty as well as the audacity and aspirations of modern capitalism. (Mattos 1900, no. 11) It is through such an allegorical expressiveness, assisted by all the arts, that Matos' futuristic architecture is imbued with the past. There is a constant allusion to history, incorporated through style, toponomy, literary reference and memorial. (Characteristically, the most modern of transatlantic liners receives de name of Gil Eannes, the 15th century explorer who first rounded Cape Bojador.) National building traditions (the azulejos, regional building styles) are integrated, and there is much place left for urban heritage.277 (Mattos 1906a, 223, 188, 132) In Choay's terms, that most progressive of urban fictions turns out to be deeply culturalist. “Uma cidade sublimada por uma concepção restauradora dos valores históricos de Lisboa que, de certa forma, se ancorava a um espírito utópico e visionário.” (P. S. Nunes 2000a, 153) What to make of this future so solidly rooted in the past, of this architecture which seems so stuck to issues long since left behind? Are these instances of stylistic eloquence but suitably electrified variations on those fashionable images of monumentality discussed earlier? There is something of an engineer's mentality in the way Matos works out the future from elements at hand. Melo de Matos takes up an attitude, widespread in his time, of looking backwards, eagerly recollecting the glorious ages of past, but in order to face the future. As Rute Figueiredo (2007, 254) notes, the presence of the past through the mechanism of style provides the city of the future with a “mythical-historical genealogy.” To take one example, the openly historicist headquarters of the shipping companies (bello palacio de estylo manuelino) on the riverside, with a statue of Vasco da Gama in front, was a way of anchoring the imagined future splendour in the sediment of time, rather than indulgement in the heroic 277 Notably Pombaline architecture, the appearance of which is carefully preserved. Similarly, while the Belém area is totally changed to house the city's centre of international trade, the waterfront is cleared of industrial facilities (especially the Gasometer near the Belém tower) to enhance existing historical monuments. (See also Mattos 1906d; “Propaganda” 1907) – 176 – G. Verheij Between metropolis and monument feats of national history. The mindset is allegorical rather than historicist: historical styles are deployed montage-like to remind past glories and relate the modern port to a history of discoveries. (Mattos 1906a, 129; Rute Figueiredo 2007, 77–112; Hamilton 1996) To put the question in these terms is to suggest that the aesthetic features of Melo de Matos' future Lisbon were more than attractive trappings for a funcionalist program, capitulations to dominant taste in a context in which the aesthetic dimension of the city was so hotly debated. Art and architecture were deployed as mechanisms to enhance – to ennoble, to make visible and eloquent – urban development and new technological functionalities, in this case of the port for which, after a period of decadence, hopes of resurgence existed. These kind of ideas are very much the contrary of modernist convictions, and the architectural predictions of “Lisboa no anno 2000” are of the least accurate. But indeed Melo de Matos' architectural options were very different from the ensuing International Modernism. His understanding of modernization was based on regional difference rather than the modernist ideal of universality. A future like the one he invented needed to be build on geographical and historical specificities. For Matos architectural form, in order to arrive at an emancipated, national and modern style, needed to be based on the legacy of past eras as much as the conditions commanded by modern building materials and construction methods. (Mattos 1906e, 94; 1913b) The constant citations of architectural history and allegories of national splendour are the other side of the nationalist insistence on technological self- sufficiency – the national paternity of all the more or less fantastic technological inventions – in “Lisboa no anno 2000.” Differently from Almeida, art didn't mean, in Melo de Matos' view, a global, monumental image after which to rewrite the entire city as a unitary, closed artwork. Art was not to be created at the expense of efficiency, hygiene or economy,278 but put at the service of a productive, functioning city, diffused through the metropolis in order to put it into value and provide it with the substance of memory. In an admittedly rudimentary sense art appears here as a key element in urban regeneration, able to put into value urban change. During the following years Melo de Matos tried to give more pragmatic outlines to his suggestions, either through the magazine A Construcção Moderna or as chairman of the Commission of Monuments. Here it becomes clear that Melo de Matos' understanding of aesthetics in the city was infused with a faith in the moral influence of art along similar positivist lines previously found in Fialho de Almeida. His calls for urban transformation were supported by constant references to the harmful influence of bad-quality urban environments. Ugliness “sullies morally” (conspurca moralmente) and asked for moral as much as material cleansing. To bring art to the street was essentially a way of popular education (methodo educativo do povo). (P. S. Nunes 2000, 67, 141–54; Mattos 1906d, 95; 1908b, 147; E.R.M. 1907, 202) From the insistence on urban order and decorum to the promotion of the improvement of the city's waterfront, art was to function as a lever of urban and social regeneration. (“Propaganda” 1907; Mattos 1907a) At the horizon is the idea of an applied aesthetics, of a public art reconciling hygiene, aesthetics and economy along the lines of age-old ideas on urban decorum thrown into the modern Metropolis. In a certain sense, the idea of the 278 Melo de Matos frequently criticized short-sighted investment in monumentality and urban spectacle at the expense of affordable housing, public health and basic urban decorum (see among others 1904; 1908d; 1908–1909) – 177 – G. Verheij Between metropolis and monument metropolis appeared as something able to encompass all these fissures between impossible dreams of monumentality, speculative urban growth and the impact of (industrial) modernity. Perhaps for this reason Melo de Matos' utopia seems so much closer to our memories of the 20th century city (see Figures 157–58) than Almeida's propositions, even if, contrary to the latter's impact on public opinion, it was quickly forgotten.279 If Almeida put his writing pen on something central in the collective desires of the city (or at least of its elites), Melo de Matos gave visibility to something essential about the urban realities beyond these desires. The city beyond the plan Lets follow Melo de Matos' thread and have a look at the difference of Lisbon, centred on the port and the potential of the relation between the city and the river. Since the mid-19th century – in the context of an engineer-dominated politics of “national regeneration” in which the reaffirmation of Portugal as a maritime nation was a key element – there was the idea of launching Lisbon as an international transport hub, linked to the international rail network and with a modernized port for transatlantic commerce and passenger traffic.280 In parallel to the construction of railways281 studies for improvement of the port followed each other during the subsequent decades. During the 1880s execution of the first section of the port, between Santa Apolónia and Santo Amaro, was contracted to Hersent, with a construction period of ten years.282 Political controversy, growing conflict between the contractor and the State and official inquiries resulted in delays, only solved in 1894 by resort to an arbitrary tribunal. A new contract was signed with delivery scheduled for May 1907. By then it was clear that further work would be needed after 1907. In 1905 a Commission, created to study modes of administration and exploration, presented a report. 279 “Lisboa no anno 2000” wasn't re-edited until the fateful year of 2000 drew near. Since then it has received more attention. (Mattos 1998; 2014; M. G. Dias 2001; Barreiros 2013) 280 This synthesis relies heavily on A. Prata (2011, 60–68), whose information comes mainly from Adolfo Loureiro's monumental study (1904–1910). The impact of the unprecedented investments in urban territory and the mobilization of political and financial capacities on the development of the city should not be underestimated; more directly, the construction of the port provided impetus and funds for the realization of territorial studies, foreign study visits and the acquisition of technical know-how which more or less directly benefited contemporary urban development projects. (MOPTC 1991; M. H. Lisboa 2002, 136–39; J. P. Costa 2007, 86–186; Paulino 2012; M. Pinheiro 2001; G. Gomes 2009; Durão 2012) 281 The first railway section between Lisbon and Carregado was opened in 1856. By 1863 connections to important productive areas (Ribatejo, Alentejo, Setúbal area) and Spain were finished. The connection between Lisbon and Porto was ready in 1877, and during the 1870s and 1880s railways servicing the North and West of Portugal were built. The main suburban railways servicing Lisbon were finished between 1887-1891. (H. S. Pereira 2011) 282 A commission constituted in 1883 presented a report synthesizing conclusions, resulting in an international competition for the construction of the port in 1886. As no proposal was deemed satisfactory a special State department (Direcção Especial) was created to study the proposals and create a definitive plan. This plan was approved after improvements by the engineers A. Loureiro and João Joaquim de Mattos (1886). It organized the port's construction in four sections: 1) between Santa Apolónia and Santo Amaro; 2) beyond Santo Amaro; 3) beyond Santa Apolónia; 4) other side of the river. This project was contracted to Hildenert Hersent, a well-known port engineer responsible for port constructions in Antwerp, Philippeville, Saignon and other cities. – 178 – G. Verheij The city beyond the plan Though undecided between private or state exploration, the commission insisted on the port's autonomy and inventoried necessary works (warehouses, machinery, dredging services, a pier in Santos, improvements at the Alcântara docks). (“O Porto de Lisboa” 1905) Port development was accompanied by much public debate and the circulation of a true mythology about the meaning of Lisbon as port of Europe (cais da Europa). In the early 1900s this mythology circulated widely through public media, reinforced by the 1903 International Maritime Congress held in Lisbon. Behind it was the conviction that improvement of the port had the potential to restore the country's former maritime glory, especially kept alive within the progressive circles of engineers. These engineers were largely represented in the SPP, which initially devoted much attention to the port. Among its first achievements were successful demands for smoother customs and disembarkation procedures and other improvements of the port. (Barata 2010; Prata 2011; Cunha 2011; Mattos 1903b, d; Congrès 1904; M. H. Lisboa 2002; Cerdeira 2014) In A Construcção Moderna Melo de Matos dedicated a lot of attention to the topic, frequently quoting the geographer E. Reclus' definition of Portugal as a country of transition like no other. Especially in 1904 and 1905 many articles appeared on ports, maritime commerce and hydraulic policies. The Simplon exhibition in Milan in 1906 and preparations for a large exposition in Rio de Janeiro in 1908 gave further fuel to expectations over waterfront development. (Mattos 1903b; Reclus 1875, 955; “Exposição” 1905; “A exposição de Milão” 1906; A. V. de Araújo 1908; Noronha 1908; Júdice 1908) The future of the port stirred public imagination and provided a natural passageway between specialist publications and the general press. A good example is the exchange between Melo de Matos and António Zeferino Cândido (1848-1921), editor of A Epoca (1902-1909), in July 1908. Cândido wrote a large editorial on the promising possibilities of modernization. Though the direct motive was proposed legislation on affordable housing the real focus of the editorial was on port development. The waterfront was both link and border, maritime boundary and urban façade, prime attraction and cause of repulsion. The moment was ripe to deal with the present state of “confusion and misery,” with lacking services, facilities, tidiness and organization. Melo de Matos responded with a series of open letters published in A Época and A Construcção Moderna, comparing local idleness with French and German investments in port facilities and arguing that the time was right to launch Lisbon as international transportation hub. (Cândido 1908; “Pela Nossa Cidade” 1908; Mattos 1908b, c, e; Collares 1908) Then as now, waterfront development was for many an occasion to provide Lisbon with a vision looking towards the future (among others Aça 1907; F. M. de P. Botelho 1907; Mattos 1906b; 1908c; Ill. Port. 1908) and it is therefore no coincidence that both Melo de Matos and, less explicitly, Fialho de Almeida gave it much attention. Against this background, Almeida's fiction, published half a year after Melo de Matos' in the same magazine, appears much like a more bourgeois riposte to the engineer's blend of infrastructural innovation and economic development. The dissemination of discourse on the value of the port naturally intersected with a growing conscience of the image of the city and its international projection. W. H. Koebel, a professional travel writer who toured the city with support from the SPP, noted the pervasive – 179 – G. Verheij The city beyond the plan presence of tourists, and his travelogue (1909) suggests indeed that, at least to the British audience, Lisbon was well-known.283 Around 1905 tourists started to be able to directly disembark in Lisbon itself, instead of Belém as had been usual. (Quillardet 1905, 177) During the following years, especially the early 1910s, tourist concerns increasingly started to play upon public discourse and political decision-making. (Cerdeira 2014) The increased visibility of tourists brought with it a “tourist gaze,” which seemingly melted with other factors contributing to call attention to the “external question,” such as international competition between cities or propaganda strategies around a “national image.” (Urry 1991; R. Figueiredo 2007, 233–34; Vidal 2014) Through the eyes of the tourist, imagined or real, it was possible to rediscover the city. A report of an imaginary guided visit to an American tourist, in the same year of 1905, illustrates this: Iriamos esperar-te a um dos caes acostaveis da margem do Tejo (…) e, com um compendio de historia debaixo do braço e os olhos bem abertos, deslisariamos, por uma bella manha de sol, de rua em eura, de avenida em avenida, a ver Lisboa. (…) Verias os velhos bairros – paginas vivas de recuados tempos – onde ficaram monumentos e restos dos barbaros dominadores. Contemplarias vastos panoramas pittorescos dos altos (…). Pelos arruamentos amplos da parte norte e pelos bairros novos cheios de luz andarias enlavado. (Brasil-Portugal 1905; see Figure 159) One visitor described with feeling how the city extended gently and unperturbed (molle et nonchalante) over the hills along the river, forming a natural, irregular amphitheatre. The author sensed an essentially bourgeois, slightly rustic tranquillity,284 and devoted much attention to the height differences and the elevators. She considered the innumerable viewpoints (hauteurs, terrasses, plates-formes, balcons, sommets), from which the river appeared in unending variety, as the principal asset of Lisbon, due to their beauty and poetry. Other attractive aspects were the many fountains, the typical pavement, the small squares scattered throughout the city, each with their own identity, and the originality of the city's streets, with their lively colours and azulejo façades. (Quillardet 1905, 177–80, 185) This set of themes still today describe a good part of Lisbon's tourist appeal. When compared with the essentially negative visions of many local commentators, such as Fialho de Almeida and others quoted earlier, what is striking is how they base their inverse conclusions on much the same features of the urban landscape. The variety (or disorder) of the urban fabric, the surprising encounters with the past (or anachronism), the lively (or vulgar) colours of the azulejos, the slightly provincial tranquillity, the lack of readily perceived urban order and easily graspable urban vistas … To add just one more example, W. H. Koebel continuously 283 For example: “So far as the notable buildings and public places of the capital are concerned, these are already too well known to be dealt with seriatim and at length here.” In general, Koebel noted how the city was positively responding to its cosmopolitan calling, even if in its own particular way: “It is the claim of the Portuguese that Lisbon forms the natural quay of Europe for all the South American and African traffic. Its strategic position and the facilities it now offers are certainly not to be denied. Yet even in the present circumstances the most enthusiastic patriot of the land need have no cause for complaint, seeing that the Tagus year by year is being filled with liners.” (Koebel 1909, 8, 30) 284 “Lisbonne a l'aspect calme d'un grand village,” and later, “Lisbonne, avec son air tranquille, est bourgeois. C'est le ton d'une bourgeouisie aisée qui domine.” (Quillardet 1905, 197, 203) – 180 – G. Verheij The city beyond the plan returned to the fascinating mixture of “national traits” with the “more conventional ethics of cosmopolitanism.” (Koebel 1909, 19; Figures 160–61) The “tourist gaze” had the potential to disrupt an intellectual tradition which derided some of the city's features which today we take as fundamental and granted of Lisbon's identity. During the following years it is not unusual to find invitations to and the results of explorations of a changing city in the general press (among others M. Mesquita 1906; V. Ribeiro 1907; Reys 1908; Sampaio 1908). To take one example, in 1911 Illustração Portugueza published a series of impressive urban vistas by Joshua Benoliel (1873-1932). The accompanying text noted how some of the published views were shown to every tourist but often unknown to many of the city's inhabitants. Publications such as these contributed to a public conscience of the particularities of the city, those aspects which made it different in comparison to other cities (see also Castilho 1904, 341). The city's viewpoints were of course one of these. “Lisboa tem panoramas encantadores como poucas cidades os possuem.” Other typical aspects of the city can be observed glancing over Benoliel's pictures. There are the bright houses picturesquely piling up against hills, marked by churches and pinnacles, a variety of gardens, the sky and glances of the river and the south bank. As the text notes, the conspicuous relief features (accidentes de terreno) present the spectator of this colourful city (Lisboa garrida) with plenty of visual surprises. Indeed, the first of particularities to be mentioned about Lisbon is the interplay between city and natural environment, the way urban fabric relates to geography, with the river in front of it as an imposing finishing touch.285 (Ill. Port. 1911, 358, 361; Figure 162; on the relationship of Lisbon and the Tagus, see among others AAP 1988; M. G. Martins 1994; P. Brandão and Jorge 1996) The port of Lisbon was not only the main entrance for tourists, but also an important factor in the relation between the city and its geography, and consequently an attraction on itself. Lisboa! Que espectuacul se póde comparar ao deslumbrante scenario do seu porto, quando o Tejo immensio e magestoso refulge sob um diluvio de sol. (Bermudes 1912b) The enthusiastic wording of the architect A. Bermudes repeated what was by then a common place both of locals and visitors. An inspired description of a view over the river was an obligatory element of any travelogue, and as a literary trope in fact went back to the 19th century and beyond. (Barata 2010, 70–72; J. Brandão 2013; Lourenço 1995) It often opposed the blessings of nature with the failure of man-made art. An example can be found in Reclus' Geographie Universelle: Si Lisbonne est relativement pauvre en monuments curieux, elle possède en compensation d'inestimables privilèges donnés par la nature; peu de villes ont été mieux dotées que ne l'a été la célèbre cité. De même que les conditions du sol et du climat expliquent en grande partie les destinées du Portugal, de même l'histoire de Lisbonne se lit dans les traits du milieu géographique. (Reclus 1875, 955–56) By the turn of the century, this opposition between man-made environment and “nature” had become especially visible on the waterfront. Both local commentators and tourists noted it. (F. ex. J. da Câmara 1901; H. de Vasconcelos 1903; A. de Mesquita 1903, 71; M. E. da Silva 285 On the relationship of Lisbon and the Tagus, see among others publications by the Associação dos Arquitectos Portugueses (1988), Sociedade Lisboa 94 (1994) and P. Brandão and F. Jorge (1996). – 181 – G. Verheij The city beyond the plan 1958, 1:121–27; C. M. Dias 1907, 271; F. M. de P. Botelho 1907, 9–10, 29, 33–34; Christino da Silva 1923, 17–20; Quillardet 1905, 179; Koebel 1909, 113) Thus the desideratum of port development also became charged with aesthetic impulses. The very engineers promoting port development insisted on the “aesthetic duty” of watching over the beauty of the river's estuary. Though the “loss of poetry” of the old riverside was inevitable in face of the economic interests at stake, its exploitation should take into account matters of taste and beauty, “in order not to discredit Portugal before foreigners” (sem que nos desacredite perante os estrangeiros). (Mattos 1906b; “Porto de Lisboa” 1906, 275) Again, one of the main points of critique was about architecture. Awaiting final decisions on a series of key infrastructures and properties, a series of temporary structures had been built on the waterfront, especially in the area of Cais do Sodré.286 The problematic aesthetic quality of these constructions in an emblematic area of the city was disparaged by many, along the already-mentioned argument of nature's blessings versus human-made ugliness. Parecia que methodicamente se tinha procurado tornar feio e até mesmo detestavel, o que naturalmente deveria ser bonito, e que artisticamente poderia ser delicioso, se o bom senso alliado a um pouco de bom gosto procurassem aproveitar das bellezas com que tão prodigamente a natureza dotou as margens do Tejo. (“Porto de Lisboa” 1906, 275) Furthermore, use of the waterfront for transport infrastructures, industry and commerce had come to occupy most of the riverbank, creating a barrier between the river and the city. [C]onstituindo a principal beleza e riqueza da cidade, todos procuram occultar [the river], quando era natural e de bom gosto, que no delineamento de ruas, na collocação de edificios, quer publicos quer particulares, nao se interceptassem por completo as vistas do formoso rio ou de alguns dos principaes accidentes das suas margens. (“Melhoramentos” 1906, 253) This brings us to a paradox in the history of modern urban planning in Lisbon. As seen earlier, official municipal planning policies since the 1870s invested heavily inland. The ordered, regular grid of avenues structured by the formal axes of main avenues favoured by Ressano Garcia demanded, for economic and aesthetic reasons, flat expanses of land, which were only available along the valleys going North. Even there they required considerable investment in bridges and viaducts to mask heigh differences (Figures 164–66). But in doing so these schemes tended to severe a long-standing link of the city with the river, an option 286 Behind the architectural and urban indefinition of the area were the many conflicting interests involved, from landowners, port constructors, large railway companies, financial interests and commerce to the State and the municipality. The major point of conflict was the distribution of terrains. The construction of the port and railway implied large landfills creating a huge area of new urban soil at prime location. In order to attract interest in these construction works investors and building companies were offered rights of sale or lease of the newly-gained land. In the case of the Cascais railway, this resulted in competing claims of land ownership and prolonged negotiations between the operating company (Companhia Real dos Caminhos de Ferro Portugueses), the State (especially the Navy Department) and municipality, and after 1907 the newly created Port Authority. (Paulino 2012; M. G. Martins 1994; Prata 2011; G. Gomes 2009) – 182 – G. Verheij The city beyond the plan many authors have defined as the start of a structural “turning of the back” to the river. (Barata 2010, 69–70) It is important to note that this was a tendency promoted by official planning policies but which, at the start of the century, was by no means the dominant urban tendency. A considerable part of the city's new population continued to settle along the river, especially around the industrial areas towards Marvila and Alcântara. This doesn't surprise, as a large part of population growth was proletarian, unable to afford the quality housing of the new quarters of Lisboa Nova. F. M. Flores (1994, 50) makes the useful point that urban growth does not necessary coincide with levels of development, and shows how in Lisbon population growth in the first decades of the 20th century did not follow patterns of formal extension as defined by municipal plans. Indeed, he argues that urban growth developed primarily in defiance of such instruments of control. P. V. Gomes (1988) related this tendency of planning policies to desires of baroque monumentality, common to the main schemes and proposals of urban renovation from the late 19th century to the mid-20th century. All pursued large avenues bordered by lavish architecture and interspersed by public sculpture, monumental squares and parks, dreaming about imposing perspectives and visual effects. The schemes of Ressano Garcia as much as Alonso's illustrations or the imaginary monumental projects of the young architects in the early 1900s have this in common with posterior dreams of an “Imperial Lisbon” and the urban ideas of modern architects during the early New State dictatorship.287 The desire to “design the monumentality of large vistas” (traçar a monumentalidade das grandes perspectivas) required large, open expanses, in defiance of the actual undulating and irregular geography of the city. The paradox of modern planning in Lisbon is this historical obsession with a monumentality in spite of the city's urban nature. Lisboa não é de facto uma cidade que se ajuste à tradição clássica de Versalhes, Richelieu ou Nancy, à tradição Haussmaniana de Paris, às rectilinearidades ou horizontalidades do Corbusier (…). A topografia das colinas lisboetas opõe-se teimosamente às uniformidades do desenho e dos desígnios rectilíneos. (…) A verdadeira tradição urbanística da capital liga-se, pelo contrário, à skyline barroca ou medieval, a uma geometria toda aleatória e atmosférica que as torres seiscentistas e setecentistas modulam (…) (P. V. Gomes 1988, 135) The endless critiques of the lack of monumentality and urban “chaos” of Lisbon have everything to do with this unpredictable variety of the city's topography.288 The city's nature appears, from the perspective of planning and urban design, as a kind of “scandal,” unacknowledged but persistently discarded in schemes and proposals. This is, according to Gomes, why the history of urban planning in Lisbon is so much a history of frustration and “postponed” monumentality. 287 “De Ressano Garcia a Miguel Pais, de Paulino Montês, Diogo de Maecdo e Cristino a Duarte Pacheco (…), a ideia para Lisboa baseou-se nas grandes avenidas ladeadas de prédios sumptuosos e recheadas de estátuas, entremeadas de praças monumentais e parques, seguindo grandes eixos perspécticos e nobres.” (P. V. Gomes 1988, 135; see also Lôbo 1995; V. M. Ferreira 1987) 288 “Lisboa suscita quase que automaticamente a ideia de caos da tradição novecentista – que os nossos “críticos” e arquitectos dos anos 20 e 30 tantas vezes enfadadamente referiram.” (P. V. Gomes 1988, 135) – 183 – G. Verheij The city beyond the plan The paradox is masterly captured by a 1919 satire published in the comical supplement of the daily O Século (O Seculo Comico 1919c). It proposed alternative “improvements” of the city, at a time this had again become a topic of public debate. To solve for once the problem of traffic, the satirist proposed to situate all buildings around a huge circular square, giving free space for unrestrained circulation. Only roads going up would be permitted. Garbage and car accidents were prohibited. Accordingly, the city's name would be changed to “Lismelhor” or even “Lisótima.”289 The small cartoon completing the satire (Figure 167) is like a reduction of Gomes' paradox to its bare bones. It is of course everything Lisbon is not. But in its very absurdness it is an illuminating comment on the urban fantasies of the early 20th century. It suggests that at the root of much of the ideas and ideals of planning in Lisbon there was an unacknowledged disregard for the existing city. This is again the idea of Lisbon as an impossible city, ironically mimicked by the satirist: “[A Lisboa] que habitamos está, como se reconheceu, antiquada e completamente impropria para as exigencias modernas.” (O Seculo Comico 1919c) Having in mind this paradox, a minor but persistent topic in discourse on the city's “aesthetic improvement” becomes visible: the call to take into account the feature of landscape, vistas and topography in urban planning and design. This challenge is repeatedly alluded to by Fialho de Almeida.290 It is a constant presence in outlines for aesthetic regulation or a competent artists' commission during 1906-1908. (“Porto de Lisboa” 1906, 277; Parente 1906, 5; Mattos 1907a, 146, 179; F. M. de P. Botelho 1907, 32–34) As N. Collares (1909, 47) put it, an appropriate “art of the city” would limit itself to “intelligently assist nature, instead of vandalising her” (favorecer intelligentemente a natureza, em vez de a vandalisar). Notwithstanding the recurrent mention of the city's landscape and “panoramic conditions” it remained an under-theorized issue. An illuminating exception is a little essay entitled “Apologia da curva” (Apology of the Curve) by the writer Abel Botelho (1854-1917), published in 1908 in one of the first numbers of the architectural magazine A Architectura Portugueza. In the essay Botelho first noted the growth of public interest in the city's aesthetic enhancement, especially of its architecture. But from there the writer departed from common discourse to discuss the aesthetics of planning policies themselves. He identified a municipal “obsession” with straight streets – the proliferation of unjustified copies of the Avenida da Liberdade, the brutal imposition of a “ruthless grid” (esquadria implacavel) over the “voluptuous hilliness” (voluptuoso colleamento de collinas) of Lisbon – and an abuse of straight lines, going against the grain of place and tradition. O planeamento e a immediata execuçao de novas Avenidas passou a ser uma tola obsessao edilica, uma febre de concepçoes sem nexo e de mutilaçoes a êsmo, uma mania tao arbitraria como pueril, artisticamente uma monstruosidade, financeiramente um desperdicio. Desatou-se, por toda a parte a decretar á tóa alinhamentos, a rasgar, a 289 A wordplay on Lis-boa (boa meaning good). Melhor is better, and óptima is best. 290 An example: “[À Câmara Municipal] cumpria zelar pela vestidura architectonica da terra, provendo á linha estética, referente não só a cada casa e sua integração na fileira doutras, como tambem á perspectiva scenographica de massas extensas (composição architectonica de praças, calculo de mancha paysagista de bairros, montes, vales e declives), por fórma a, nos grandes conjunctos, produzir a cada passo silhuetas d'arte, imponencias panoramicas ligando-se por unisonos de graça e suprezas de harmonia (…)” (F. de Almeida 1900, 199) – 184 – G. Verheij The city beyond the plan cavar, a subverter, a aterrar n’uma furia doida, e por via de regra em briga com as mesmas condiçoes orographicas, com a encantadora feiçao tradicional, com as necessidades de natural expansao e os magnificos horisontes panoramicos da cidade. (A. Botelho 1908, 19) Botelho argued that the straight avenue was the hallmark (apanágio) of plain cities, senselessly imported for reasons of fashion. It didn't have place in a city endowed with a multiplicity of aspects, picturesque transitions and a sweeping variety of extensive panoramas. No more of these “trivial and stiff alignments which can be embraced at once, swept by monotony and tapered by perspective” (esses triviaes e duros alinhamentos, que se abrangem d’uma vez, que a monotonia varre e que a perspectiva afunila). Rather, arterial roads laid over the “gentle relieve” (relevo suave) and “whimsical profile” (caprichoso recorte) of the city's hills like veins over bones (arterias epidermicas). Examples of such panoramic avenues could wind from Penha da França to Graça and the S. Jorge Castle, or from S. Roque to the prison above the Eduardo VII Park, passing through Campolide. Taking up a proposal of another cosmopolitan literate, he imagined them with only one side built in order to better enjoy the views. Similar attentive urban layout would be able to secure and magnify the “exceptional conditions of natural beauty” of Lisbon, which are its true richness and distinction. (A. Botelho 1908, 20; M. T. Gomes 1904, xvi–xix) In short, for Botelho, resorting to a strikingly Sittean argument of rationality,291 city-building practices should start from local conditions: the curved topography and inescapable presence of panoramic vistas, gifted by “Nature.” How does such a naturalistic or picturesque planning aesthetic relate to actual city-building practices? The interplay between the generalization inherent to planning and the particularity of place is primarily played out at the level of public space. It is there that the balancing act between procedures of normalization and the singularization of public space in answer to the specificities of site becomes fully visible. The deployment of urban technologies like pavement, elevators and tramways shows how, in the case of Lisbon, typically normalizing technologies characteristically accommodate variance and flexibility.292 Lisbon is full of such 291 “A feiçao esthetica das cidades tem de ser, primeiro que tudo, racional” (A. Botelho 1908, 20). Botelho's arguments readily recall the Sittean tradition and its (supposed) preference for curves. More specifically, it brings to mind debates on the relative virtues of crooked and straight streets which stirred German architectural circles in the 1890s, opposing the planners Karl Henrici and Otto Wagner. (Collins and Collins 2006; Frisby 2003) There is no way to tell whether Botelho was aware of Sitte's work, which he could have known trough the French translation from 1902. Knowledge of German architectural debates from a decade earlier is highly improbable, but Sittean-like critiques of “utilitarian” straight lines and monotonous urban grids were hardly uncommon at the time. Botelho's own exploration of the dichotomy between curved and straight lines points toward literary inspiration rather than a real engagement with planning debates. He pasts it over the opposition between the artificial and the natural. Nature's preference for curved lines is related to beauty, leisure and dreaming (é o devaneio, é o sonho, é o prazer), while the straight line is an invention for the pragmatic exploitation of time. 292 The characteristic black-and-white mosaics of the city's pavements – calçada portuguesa – are a telling example. Introduced during the 1840s, the procedure was generalized from the 1870s on, but the increasing standardization of methods and materials was accompanied by the growing custom to individualize the ornamental drawings applied to the pavement, contributing to the city's – 185 – G. Verheij The city beyond the plan small-scale creative design solutions responding to topological resistance. (Figures 168–69) The production of public space, from this point of view, cannot be thought but against the resistance of landscape. The city beyond official planning policies is this city made of public spaces, of discrete sites (cidade de “sítios”), as Teixeira Gomes (1904, xvi) put it. Hence the insufficiency in the case of Lisbon of thinking the production of urban space exclusively from the dominant precepts of 20th century urban planning (see Table 4). The tension between the spatialization of planning and the weight of place and local particularities, which the debate about the city's “aesthetic” also makes visible, is an inherent aspect of such a production, productive rather than restrictive, and compels the observer to look beyond official planning policies to the realities of public space. the generality of the plan ⇔ the singularity of public space urban homogenisation (normalization) ⇔ topographical differentiation order and perspective ⇔ specificity and the picturesque technological erasure and levelling ⇔ the persistence of the past space ⇔ place293 Table 4: Precepts of 20th century planning in contrast with characteristics of the production of public space in Lisbon. identity. (Esparza 2014, chap. 8; on the city’s elevators, J. M. H. F. Costa 2008) 293 The tension between space and place relies on readings of H. Lefebvre (1991), E. Relph (1976) and Y.-F. Tuan (1977). – 186 – G. Verheij Framing the discourse of “urban aesthetic(s)” Framing the discourse of “urban aesthetic(s)” Aesthetic failure and public control In 1906 Fialho de Almeida ended his tale of the monumental Lisbon that could have been with the imperative demand for artistic supervision over urban development or, more precisely, the “urban aesthetic.” The apex of Almeida's “propaganda of beauty” was a policing entity, combining public law enforcement and the enlightened taste of cultural elites. Expert committees were to guarantee, through the exercise of aesthetic censorship, the visual unity of the urban scene. Almeida presented the idea as a novelty, yet he himself had published it as early as 1893 (see 1927–1937, 6:100–101). The truth is that by 1906 the suggestion of a commission or council of experts and the notion of an “urban aesthetic” had already caused a considerable amount of ink to flow. In 1896 the critic Ramalho Ortigão had identified the “aesthetic of cities” (esthetica das cidades) as one area in which the failure (decapitação official) of artistic education was most visible. (Ortigão 1896, 112) In 1901 João da Câmara (1852-1908) – a playwright of noble descent trained as public work superintendent (conductor de obras públicas) – wrote in his editorial column in O Occidente that it was altogether useless to talk about the “character” of Lisbon's streets ever since the the “modest” Pombaline style of post- 1755 reconstruction294 had been abandoned: they had since fallen victim to “the pretence of chic” and to the impudent effrontery (desfaçatez) with which anyone's bad taste (máo gosto) was allowed to guide housing front “embellishment.” The larger public, he sentenced, had yet to grasp the gravity of urban beauty.295 (J. da Câmara 1901) In the same vein Manuel Emídio da Silva (L. Mano) wrote in the Diário de Notícias that, due to lack of municipal regulation, the “aesthetic of streets” had been dead letter ever since the time of the Marquis de Pombal. (M. E. da Silva 1958, 1:28–34) The architect Costa Campos concluded after a walk through the suburbs that there was an urgent need for “orientation” and “criteria” to provide the disheartening spectacle – the architecture is described as random piles of erratic matter, full 294 The architecture of Lisbon's rebuilt centre after it was destroyed by an earthquake in 1755, called after the Marquis de Pombal, head of government at the time who personally oversaw reconstruction (see França 1987). Favourable comments about the particular, homogeneous style of the Baixa abounded in this “campaign” in favour of urban harmony and aesthetic regulation, even if usually the praise was tempered by some reserved adjective (modesto, autoritário, monótono … ). At least it had a “virile” personality and a “minimum of architecture” (minimo d'architecture), judged F. de Almeida (1900, 197). By contrast, a critic of Pombaline politics and architecture hinted that aesthetics could not be legislated (Falcao 1902, 59–63). 295 A beauty, Câmara added, which was distinctive of a particular place, and not copied from other cities, latitudes or customs. – 187 – G. Verheij Aesthetic failure and public control of topsy-turvy bric-a-brac, stylistic incongruence and haphazard knick-knack – with a modicum of “unity” and “general lines.”296 Public debate over the city's extension in 1903 had added momentum, and at the same time started to swift prescribed recipes from the general education of public taste to regulation and control. The aestheticizing terms in which H. de Vasconcelos reframed Ressano Garcia's ideas for the city's extension have already been commented upon (see p. 165 above). Vasconcelos also blamed the “ugliness” of Lisbon on the absence of legal dispositions, mentioning Paris, Barcelona and Bilbao as models to follow. By March ensuing endorsements had cohered, according to O Dia, into a true campaign against the architectural character of recent buildings. Present “architectural banality” was blamed on “slavish copying” (copia servil) and “vulgar imitation” (decalque grosseiro) of the worst of foreign creations. This “absurd cosmopolitanism” (cosmpolitanismo banal e absurdo) was wiping out the “beautifully picturesque and national appearance” (lindo aspecto pittoresco e nacional) of popular architecture.297 (O Dia 1903c) O Dia proceeded with a series of interviews with qualified critics, with the idea of giving a sample of what might be expected from expert commissions. João da Câmara was the first testimony: he insisted on the link between the loss of national character and increasing ugliness, and blamed it on cheap private contractors and the failure of supervision. He was followed by the architect M. Ventura Terra, who disagreed about the need of a “traditional character” for residential architecture but concurred with the need of artist involvement in municipal supervision to obviate urban ugliness (inesthesia). (O Dia 1903c, d) The art critic José de Figueiredo specified the problem as one of restricting private initiative through regulation. In erudite language he alleged that the excessive contrast between consecutive buildings resulted in “the illogical and inaesthetic sensation of successive plaçages.”298 In an article published days later J. de Figueiredo repeated the need to restrain the destructive combination of the bad taste of property owners, the ignorance of private contractors and, still worse, the fantasy of wannabe architects. Only legal enforcement would be effective in such a context of deep-seated ignorance and generalized perversion of taste. The responsible commission, for which he proposed names,299 would be charged with the examination of projected building façades but also judge on other key elements of the “urban aesthetic” (esthetica das cidades): the choice, arrangement and trimming of trees, the placement of monuments and fountains, the coordination of festivities, the supervision of posters … (J. de Figueiredo 1903) 296 “Aqui e ali verdadeiros montões de materiaes dispostos a esmo de feitios caprichosos, cheios de anachronismos como basares de bric-á-brac sem orientação nem criterio, n’um pelemele de arrebiques sem unidade com as linhas geraes.” (Costa Campos 1901b) 297 The tumult around the “urban aesthetic” was inextricably linked with the contemporary campaign in favour of a national style in residential architecture. (See Rute Figueiredo 2007, chap. 4) 298 “(...) o demasiado contraste que, em casas componentes do mesmo quarteirão, teria o inconveniente de dar a idéa illogica e inesthetica de sucessivos placages.” (O Dia 1903f) The latter French term either must be read as plaçage – the extralegal yet recognized system of mixed marriages in former French and Spanish colonies during the 18th century – or placages – the more obvious yet less logical term for coats of veneer. 299 The architects J. L. Monteiro, M. Ventura Terra, A. Bermudes, J. A. Soares and Raúl Lino (1879- 1974), the critic R. Ortigão and the artists Rafael Bordalo Pinheiro (1846-1905), José Simões de Almeida (probably the older, 1844-1926) and Columbano Bordalo Pinheiro (1857-1929). – 188 – G. Verheij Aesthetic failure and public control For the moment none such commission was created, but the first edition of a new municipal award of architecture later that year kept the topic alive (see p. 195 below). Amidst complaints, glimpses of “aesthetic regeneration” and occasional desperation, the discourse of “urban aesthetic(s)” hardened into a solid and inescapable common place in writing on the city. By 1908 it was possibly to foretell an impending passage from propaganda to execution. (Among others, H. L. de Mendonça 1904; Carvalheira 1905c; J. da Câmara 1905; Aça 1907, 41–48; Cândido 1908) Though there was a strong local tradition of complaining about the “urban aesthetic,” the particular twist it received during the first years of the 20th century is best understood against the background of international, particularly French, writing on this topic. Indeed, the first comprehensive formulation of the above tenets was published as early as 1900, in direct dialogue with the Belgian-French Public Art movement and literature on the esthétique des villes. In December that year A Construcção Moderna published a short anonymous notice on the Public Art Congress in Paris, which might have been written by P. d'Ávila, the only architect to attend.300 In the notice “public art” is defined as “art in the street, that is, art which all can see” (como o seu titulo indica, da arte na rua, isto é, à vista de todo o mundo), following the French attempt towards simplification in the running-up to the congress. More importantly, it competently summed up the congressional conclusion, including the call for public intervention in matters of “public art,” the creation of public art commissions and the revision of building regulations attending to local topography and customs.301 (“A Arte Publica” 1900; on L'Œuvre de l'Art Public, see p. 81 above; on esthétique des villes, see p. 61) Apparently by sheer coincidence, the same issue of A Construcção Moderna included the first part of an essay on the “aesthetic of the street” (esthetica da rua), signed by a pseudonymous architect.302 (Portal 1900) It anticipated all the main tenets of later engagement with “urban aesthetic(s),” and for this reason will be analysed with some detail. Like others, the author identified a serious neglect of the aesthetic or decorative dimension (á sua principal parte decorativa, á sua esthetica) in recent urban modernization. Subsequently aesthetic 300 One feels the lack of a comprehensive survey of the reception of the 1900 International Exposition and related congressional meetings. Regarding the subject matter at hand, the Paris Exposition provided the direct inspiration for a municipal proposal of an annual festival. In the large preamble the author identified a collective desire of emulation of other European cities, sustained by often first-hand knowledge of urban modernization around Europe, justifying the festival on, among others, educative and aesthetic grounds. (J. I. D. da Silva 1900) Elsewhere Fialho de Almeida seems to refer to the exhibition of models which was part of the Public Art Congress with a readiness which, if correct, would imply his readership was supposed to be perfectly aware of what he was talking about. (F. de Almeida 1900, 201) 301 Other highlighted conclusions were stricter public control over urban development and conversely larger freedom to architects; the use of public spaces as museum to promote a collective sense of beauty; regulation of advertisement; and reinforcement of public green spaces. In contrast with C. Normand's unofficial compte rendu (Normand 1900) there is notably less concern with heritage preservation. 302 Apparently a coincidence, for the author only mentions the congress in the second part of the essay, published in a later number (hoje, conhecedores das sabias e utilissimas disposições tomadas pelo Congresso...). But he certainly responded to the same kind of discourse: the very title recalls G. Kahn's L'estétique de la rue, published as a book in 1901. – 189 – G. Verheij Aesthetic failure and public control supervision is defined as a duty of public authorities on aesthetic as well as economic, moral and social grounds. The main instrument he proposed to counter the unfortunate consequences of aesthetic neglect is the inclusion of aesthetic criteria in municipal building regulations. Limiting public intervention to mere sanitation is deemed absurd (um contracenso).303 In the second part of the essay knowledge of the conclusions of the Public Art Congress seems to have fortified the moral certainty of the author. Language changed from meandering vagueness to plain belligerency and militant vocabulary: attacks (atentados), crimes, art assaults (lesa-arte), repression, abuses, severe penalties... One senses the prelude of a movement. From the essay four points can be distilled which define the coordinates within which the discourse of “urban aesthetic(s)” developed later on. 1. The public stake in the “urban aesthetic.” While the statement of municipal responsibilities in the aesthetic dimension of the city is generic, this implicitly translated as a public interest in the appearance of public space (ruas e praças).304 The “aesthetic” of the street is defined as a public good in which there is, like in public health, a public stake, and consequently a public right to limit individual liberties. The main object of this argument were architectural façades, a major and inescapable component in the visual definition of public space. According to the contemporary understanding of the social influence of aesthetics, façades not only affected the aesthetic satisfaction of the passer-by but also collective “artistic progress.” 2. The focus on urban decorum. The utopia behind the “urban aesthetic” was not exactly the city-as-a-work of art but rather a minute aesthetics of “good taste” for everyday use, chiefly translated into architectural precepts but also into a simple bucket of water and a sledgehammer. (“Não são muito grandes as nossas exigencias e a despeza é irrisoria: uns simples baldes d’agua e um martello redemptor.”) The ideal was that of disciplinary action and pervasive regulation rather than expensive renovations or sumptuous parks, civic art rather than the City Beautiful.305 303 The baroque taste of the prose in which these arguments were unwounded asks for reproduction: “Impunha-se da maxima conveniencia e absoluta necessidade que ás posturas municipaes existentes, relativas a este assumpto, se juntasse qualquer cousa que obstasse á falta d’arte de que a maioria dos edificios ultimamente construidos é tão fertil, resultando um aspecto assás pobre nos locaes onde se encontram situados. É inadmissivel, é mesmo um contracenso, que a municipalidade, directa responsavel pelo embellezamento da cidade, só intervenha, quando haja alguma construcção a erigir, na parte que diz respeito propriamente á hygiene da habitação, que decerto merece todas as attenções, mas que não obsta a vistas mais largas. Se esta lhe merece, como é justo, todo o escrupulo de fiscalisação, a parte esthetica das fachadas, não póde ser despresada, porque d’ella depende indiscutivelmente a boa harmonia e sumptuosidade das ruas e praças como tambem representa um factor importante para a historia do grau de adiantamento artistico em que nos encontramos.” (Portal 1900) 304 Posterior authors explicitly stated the public interest in the appearance of public space (f. ex. H. L. de Mendonça 1904; Bermudes 1908). The “role of arbitrator or regulator” of “aesthetic cases” (casos estheticos) belonged to municipal management, wrote J. de Figueiredo (1908a). 305 “Comprehende-se que não exigimos que leis promulgadas imponham riqueza e abundancia de decoração nas frentes dos edificios; isso não só seria uma loucura e falta de conhecimento do preço – 190 – G. Verheij Aesthetic failure and public control 3. The centrality of “good taste.” The moral stakes placed on these ideas were high, as by now will be clear. Portal promised his modest proposal could cause a revolution in popular taste. The question remains who were exactly the possessors of this “good taste,” so obvious that it hardly warranted elaboration yet apparently so rare in the society at large. Who was the revolution's avant-guard? If doubts remain about the cultural elitism behind the embryonic campaign, the following sentence should do with them: É um assumpto306 votado durante muitos annos á completa discripção indigena, que desconhecedora dos mais insignificantes rudimentos d’arte, pela mesquinha educação que recebe, tem elevado a sua phantasia inventiva a um quasi estado selvagem, merecedor d’attilada repressão. (Portal 1900) 4. The need for aesthetic regulation and repression. The perceived gravity of the situation – an entire population apparently dispossessed of artistic feeling – was the probable cause that the law is called upon from the start; education might just not do it. The stringency with which champions of the “urban aesthetic” demanded intervention of the State is only paralleled with the total absence of any response of the latter. Portal – in 1900 still an isolated voice – appealed to “instant laws” (leis urgentes) and the “energetic and immediate” intervention of unspecified “technical entities” to create a first barrier to contain the invasion of Lisbon by “art crimes” and vandalism (um dique que sustenha a corrent de lesa-arte). Though there is no documentary evidence of any further engagement with this essay, the “campaign” outlined here unceasingly echoed these points throughout the 1900s, rarely departing from the characteristic mixture of the aesthetic gaze with moral indignation, criminalizing discourse and calls for legislation. One of the reasons that the idea of an “urban aesthetic” gained weight and public relevance between 1900 and 1908 was that it could be mobilized in a variety of related debates and controversies. One such context had to do with the unravelling attempts at institutional settlement discussed earlier; even if they didn't result in any solid structure to process new notions of planning they left lasting traces in public discourse. The combined efforts of the SPP, Melo de Matos and others such as F. M. P. Botelho in favour of a more attractive city reached its zenith in 1907- actual das construcções, como tambem semelhante solução se tornaria monotona e pouco artistica a nosso vêr. Desejamos boas proporções das suas diversas partes, ponto essencial d’uma boa composição; comprehensão exacta do que é esta parte do edificio; emprego simples e sincero das fórmas architectonicas; sua collocação artistica; composições modestas, mas atrahentes, emfim tudo que denote bom gosto e engenho, que, aformoseando a cidade atteste a nossa capacidade artistica. Existe, é triste dizel-o, uma noção errada do que seja a riqueza d’uma fachada; julga-se, em geral, que só a grande abundancia de decorações a torna magestosa, mas quando seja conhecido que a sua principal riqueza provêm da boa proporção das varias partes que a compõem, haverá então a comprehensão do que seja o verdadeiro alçado d’um edificio sob o ponto de vista artistico, produzindo naturalmente uma revolução de gosto que sustará decerto o descalabro em que no momento presente este ramo d’arte se encontra.” (Portal 1900) 306 The author refers to the proposals of the Public Art Congress published in A Construcção Moderna. – 191 – G. Verheij Aesthetic failure and public control 1908. Melo de Matos's writings provide something of a enumeration of existing suggestions for urban improvement. Among a new Palace of Justice, central Post Office, Public Library, National Archive, Academy of Fine Arts, Art Museum, high schools and Armoury were also the generic “aesthetic enhancement” of the urban waterfront, the regulation of private architecture, the limitation of land uses and imposition of artistic servitudes on urban prime sites, and the public promotion of good examples, invigorated by the authority of foreign standards.307 In the run-up to the municipal elections of 1908 Matos translated this to a list of suggestions for the new municipal council. The proposals ranged from the minute details of urban decorum to structural planning policies: the cleaning of streets, façades and air shafts; pavement repair and tree planting; the creation of sanitary registers and improved slum clearance legislation; convincing solutions for sewage, waste treatment and water supply; the creation of kindergartens and the expansion of municipal schools; dealing with transportation monopolies and food cartels; the promotion of “historical” reconstructions of urban attractions and of international tourism; the encouragement of suburban growth to lower population densities in the centre … (Mattos 1908h) Proposals for the transformation of the remnants of the city's castle (S. Jorge) in a luxury hotel, not unlike what Fialho de Almeida had imagined two years before, thickened the air of plausibility around the hypothesis of urban transformation, even as they remained mere paper dreams. (Carvalheira 1908; E. M. C. Mendes 2000, 169–77) Then there was the promise of an affordable housing act, proposed in 1908 (see p. 116 above). At least one overhasty commentator saw in it a first sign of a new age of urban modernization and embellishment.308 Political conditions authorized some hope that the “social question,” which A. Bermudes still in 1907 had found not to officially exist, might soon be officially acknowledged. The dramatic opening act of the year – the king's murder on 1 February 1908 by radical Republicans – had brought consternation but also promises of change to the stalled machinery of Monarchic politics. One of the responses of the young heir was to promote sociological inquiries of the country's predicaments and needs; though the results didn't arrive in time – in October 1910 Republicans overthrew the Monarchy, and initiatives such as the housing act didn't pass 307 This is a summary of a long and comprehensive list of necessary improvements presented in 1907 to the Commission of Monuments. The urban waterfront, the “ignoble” occupation of which destroyed “one of the finest views which human eyes are allowed to enjoy” (um dos mais bellos panoramas de que é licito gozar a olhos humanos), was to be enhanced by gardens, squares, promenades, public art and “aesthetic principles.” Architectural regulation was presented as the subordination of buildings to a “general line” (linha geral) in order to attain the necessary “aesthetic effect” (effeito esthetico). The “unpleasant” (desagradavel) results of unworthy occupations of important arterial roads – the slaughterhouse along the Avenida Fontes Pereira de Melo, agriculture, garages and garden walls at the Rotunda da Avenida da Liberdade – was to make place for combined “aesthetic efforts” (esforços estheticos), through the imposition of artistic servitudes which also considered the actual building in height. (Mattos 1907) 155-156, 170-171, 179 308 “Os bairros infectos e a mansarda onde apodrecem corpos humanos, physica e moralmente, parecem ter os seus dias contados. É triumphante a ideia da construcção de casas e bairros de proletarios; vae seu caminho a grandiosa ideia do embelezamento material da cidade, afeiçoando-a á recepcção do estrangeiro.” (Cândido 1908) – 192 – G. Verheij Aesthetic failure and public control established interests – the realization of long-delayed municipal elections later that year would be an occasion of change. Another issue stirring public opinion was a controversy over the credentials of private contractors and building safety regulations. A scandal ensued after the municipal director of public works, Ressano Garcia, unsuccessfully attempted to tighten supervision, anticipating a long-due revision of building safety regulations.309 Beyond the persuasive signs of municipal corruption there was the question of the quality of constructions. Melo de Matos published a “comical” piece by Henrique das Neves (1841-1915) chronicling a result of the unfortunate combination of unscrupulous contractors and failing supervision (succumbing foundations, rampant infiltration, cheap repairs, etc.). Melo de Matos added a number of much more gloomy comments on building practice in Portugal,310 and the architects A. Bermudes and Costa Campos joined the tragic chorus. The latter drew the outlines of a rusted, broken machinery of urban development, hidden behind the thin disguise of “cute painting and cheap stucco-work” (bonitas pinturas e estuques cheios de riquiquis), run by an unholy trinity of greedy property owners, incompetent contractors and failing supervision. (“Uma casa” 1907; Costa Campos 1907b) Through a comparative study of European safety regulations, A. Bermudes (1907) arrived at the conclusion that Lisbon was built with total impunity. The collapse of a recently-built theatre (Rua D. Amélia, actual Avenida Almirante Reis) in 1908 elevated the issue from abstract possibility to actually-occurring disaster. Melo de Matos put the issue as follows: “Incontestavelmente em Lisboa está-se construindo mal (…). O prurido de fazer originalidade, a mania de traçar linhas que se imaginam artisticas levam nao poucos constructores a fazer architectura de scenario, esquecendo-se inteiramente (…) que a architectura carece absolutamente do calculo e da geometria e que sem esses dois auxiliares nao há monumento admissivelmente esthetico.” (Mattos 1908–1909, 147) 309 Besides formally qualified designers (engineers, architects, building superintendents), unqualified yet “able foremen” (mestres-de-obras) were, if previous experience could be proven, legally allowed to take on responsibility of building projects. In Lisbon this ability needed to be certified before the municipal Department of Public Works by an attestation of competence signed by a competent professional. In 1907, as rumours over the end of this provision spread and last-minute requirements flooded the department, Ressano Garcia rejected a number of them on suspicion of fraud. The refused individuals were – by force of arguments and, many suspected, other less legitimate means – able to convince the Administrative Commission of their right; the ensuing conflict ended with the dismissal of Ressano Garcia, later reappointed. (Questão dos mestres de obras: documentos 1907; Andrade 2011, 49–52) 310 Desert prophets, H. das Neves (1907) aptly defined them. Neither Melo de Matos nor Costa Campos put much faith in their proposed recipe of increased regulation and accountancy. Melo de Matos, a member of the commission charged with revising safety regulations, knew a thing or two about the real possibilities of reform. Indeed, the commission's proposal, which restricted the activity of unqualified contractors, wasn't approved until 1909 and then suspended. Only in 1924 was the responsibility for building projects by a qualified technician made mandatory. (“Segurança dos Operarios” 1907; Mattos 1909a, d; H. M. C. Andrade 2011, 51–52) – 193 – G. Verheij Aesthetic failure and public control A final flow of tributary discourse to the receptive estuary of “urban aesthetic(s)” was less expressive yet in my view not less important. Occasional yet knowledgeable references to the French law on affordable housing approved in May 1906 and the proposals made by members of the Musée Social (especially J. Siegfried) on the future of Paris' fortifications leave little doubt that at least the circle of engineers around A Construcção Moderna and the SPP were aware about these developments, which were decisive in the formation of French Urbanisme.311 From the collected written references no decisive account of the reception of these debates can be reconstructed, yet it is very probably they were discussed during the meetings of the SPP's Commission of Monuments. More generally, they seem to have introduced concerns with the provision of green space in the city. (“Uma lei” 1907; A.B. 1908; M.R. 1908; “Habitações” 1908; Carvalheira 1908, 274; “As fortificações” 1908; Mattos 1908e; 1909c) The architect as expert In the calls for aesthetic control the architect seems to appear naturally as the suitable expert of choice. However, at the time it was not that obvious to pick precisely this profession. In 1895 A. Bermudes had identified a severe crisis in architecture, which had much to do with the practical absence of architects from the city's construction sector, and this during a serious building boom.312 Bermudes, a young and ambitious architect recently returned from Paris, blamed cultural backwardness, yet the fact is that the lesser status of the profession – which translated into the consistent subordination of architects to engineers in municipal and State departments313 – was not only the fruit of sheer ignorance. There was ground for reasonable doubt over the technical preparation of locally-trained architects, as the Society of Architects itself admitted. (SAP 1908; M. H. Lisboa 2002; 2007). And indeed, change did not come from the local Academies of Fine-Arts (Lisbon, Porto) but from the hearth of academic architecture itself. Paris instilled the young and cosmopolitan architects who successfully accomplished studies there (Bermudes, Ventura Terra, Marques da Silva …) with the ambition of similar status and prestige as their French counterparts. The creation of the Society of Portuguese Architects (1902) gave these architects a recognizable front and a position from which to lobby collectively for social appreciation. As has been hinted at earlier, their main concern was the promotion and qualification of the 311 Melo de Matos even makes a curious reference to J.-C. N. Forestier, who appears as a representative of the Touring Club of France defending the impregnation of pavements with tar and bitumen as a solution against excessive dust. (Mattos 1908h, 68) 312 “... a indifferença transcendente, a que é votada a architectura em Portugal, é uma prova tristissima, mas eloquente, do profundo atrazo em que o paiz se encontra.” (Bermudes 1895, 34; see Rute Figueiredo 2007, 39–41, 132–34, 198–202) 313 Reforms of State entities responsible for public works in the Lisbon region in 1898 (Direcção- Geral de Obras Públicas e Minas) and 1901 (Direcção de Obras Públicas do Distrito de Lisboa) subordinated employed architects (R. Carvalheira, Leonel Gaia, J. Lino de Carvalho) to superintending engineers. The responsible municipal department (Repartição Técnica, created in 1852, reorganized as Serviço Geral de Obras in 1891 and Repartição de Obras Públicas in 1901) was consistently directed by an engineer, until a reform split it between a department of architecture and engineering in 1911. (J. de Figueiredo 1906; Costa Campos 1908; M. H. Lisboa 2002, 87, 91–98) – 194 – G. Verheij The architect as expert profession, the construction of a discipline and the accession to a share in the market of the booming city. (Rute Figueiredo 2007, 35–41) Architects' “moral interests” (interesses moraes) and “indisputable right” (incontestavel direito) at disciplinary definition and social recognition were quickly linked to the perceived need of general architectural regeneration. (“Sociedade dos Architectos” 1903) More generally, the formulation of architectural merit had its own particularities. The creation of the Valmor award, a yearly municipal award for architecture financed by the legacy of Faustino de Queiroz Guedes (1837-1898), viscount of Valmor,314 gives a hint about what was considered to be the discipline's particularly distinguishing mark within the varied landscape of practising designers. Being signed by a qualified architect was an essential condition for participation, but the main object was defined as the originality, suitability and formal coherence of the façade within its urban context. The conditions emphasised that participating projects should be made according to a “style worthy of a civilized city” (cidade civilisada): classical, Greek or Roman, Romanesque or Gothic, Renaissance or vernacular.315 Expertise in “style” and “aesthetics” appears here as the differentiating trait of architects. Significantly, architects themselves consistently argued against the detachment of architectural training from the Academy of Fine-Arts – as had happened during the 19th century in Spain or France – with arguments about the artistic specificity of the discipline. (M. H. Lisboa 2007, 90–92) On the other hand, the award, directly inspired by French example,316 made it clear that it was from Paris that architectural prestige had to be brought in. It does not surprise that the remainder of the Valmor bequest went to the funding of scholarships for architectural studies in the French capital. This overt reliance of the al discipline on French Beaux-Arts might seem to collide with criticisms of the unwarranted imitation of Parisian architecture by “wannabe architects” (see p. 188 above). Their combination required the sophisticating of positions.: true cosmopolitanism had to be distinguished from “slavish copying.” The topic was confronted in A Construcção Moderna when, in 1902, the French government bestowed the title of Knight of the Legion of Honour on J. L. Monteiro, municipal architect of Lisbon. The anonymous commentator placed the “vicious” relationship with Paris at the centre of the architectural problem. On the one hand, the bulk of unqualified architectural design was largely a matter of simple imitation instead of true emulation; but the perverse consequence was that social acknowledgement had also become a question of mere importation instead of real recognition of merit.317 314 This first Valmor Award was given in 1902 to a building by Nicola Bigaglia (1841-1908). (Bairrada 1988; CML 2004) The award was received with hopes for changing “aesthetic orientation” of the city (orientação esthetica da cidade), but at the rate of a prized building a year it needed a measure of goodwill to be able to expect radical transformation of an urban landscape of “depressing banality (…) terrifying even to the lowest of expectations in matters of fine-arts.” (… triste banalidade … que aterrorisa os menos exigentes em assumptos de bellas artes.) (C. 1903) 315 For a discussion of the then-current notion of “style,” see Rute Figueiredo (2007, pt. I) and J.-C. Vigato (1985). 316 The award was directly inspired by the similar award in Paris, instituted in 1898 after a successful façade competition in the Rue de Réaumur the year before. (“Documents” 1901; J. L. Monteiro 1905; Marchand 1993, 169) – 195 – G. Verheij The architect as expert Monteiro himself made a more pertinent assessment of the impasse of professional affirmation some years later. For him the central problem was market corruption through the unfair competition of unqualified agents. Without a receptive public – be it the State, public opinion or the private market – there could be no real architecture, A. Bermudes wrote two years later in a mocking allegory on the improbable conditions of existence of Portuguese architecture. This provided the final piece to close the argument. Obviously, at this time it wasn't on technical, much less economical grounds that architects could successfully compete in this market. The necessary distinction had to be made on aesthetic lines; the niche to accommodate these professionals was that of aesthetic competence. Architects were “workers of the ideal” (operários do ideal), rather than mere servants of economical exploitation.318 (J. L. Monteiro 1906; Bermudes 1908; “José Luiz Monteiro” 1902) Almost naturally these arguments were incorporated in the discourse of “urban aesthetic(s).” If the modern city was aesthetically failing, and technicians without proper schooling in the “laws of Beauty” were amongst those to blame, the architect now could be profiled as the city's saviour of choice. (Rute Figueiredo 2007, 207–13) The two roads available for champions of “urban aesthetic(s)” have been mentioned before: artistic education and aesthetic supervision. These were generally perceived as being correlative rather than alternative. To take one representative example, Costa Campos found the two principal causes of the aesthetic failure of recent architecture in Lisbon diagnosed in 1901 to be deficient artistic education and the freedom the resulting lack of aesthetic consciousness was allowed to express itself with in architecture. But he added that, given the shortcomings of local private initiative, solutions could only be expected from the strong hand of the State. Education would be the result of proper guidance and restraint, first of all through the legislation of the “aesthetic of streets” (esthetica de ruas). (Costa Campos 1901a; 1904) The alternative option of popular pedagogy was in fact contemplated within the SAP. A. Bermudes proposed in 1906 the creation of an independent school for construction workers. Costa Campos developed the idea in an article which advocated thorough reform of professional and elementary education but also included a perceptive analysis of the flaws of present learning practices and concrete suggestions for free evening classes. He insisted on 317 “O eterno lá fóra que entre nós creou fóros de consagração, para justificar tudo o que de ruim por imitação estupida, produzimos cá dentro, nunca nos serviu para nos impellir a pensarmos como lá fóra se faz, em fazermos do movimento artistico nacional, uma desvanecedora causa de honra e brio portuguez.” (“José Luiz Monteiro” 1902) 318 This does not mean that architects did not consider the importance of technical competence in their profession. On the contrary: one of the first acts of the SAP was to negotiate access of architectural students to a course on sanitary engineering. Year after year the Society lobbied for the inclusion of more technical disciplines in architectural training, and the society itself also provided means for education (the Anuario, the associative library, tours with lectures). But the strategies of professional promotion in the public sphere insisted predominantly on the aesthetic dimension of building; they attempted to displace the question of building rather than to dispute the competence of engineers. (J. de Figueiredo 1906; 1908b; “A Nossa Autonomia” 1907; Viterbo 1907; Pessanha 1907) Of course, this position is the precise opposite of the claims of Modernism: Le Corbusier famously defined the architect as engineer of machines for living, and architecture itself as a technique for modern living and working. – 196 – G. Verheij The architect as expert the importance of workers' education for architects, as the first were the performers of the latter’s' projects.319 Yet nothing of this came about; in 1911 the situation was pretty much the same. (J. L. de Carvalho 1906; Costa Campos 1906; 1911) The inherent contingency in the passage from word to deed may be blamed, but very likely most of the author's Beaux-Arts colleagues were not readily seduced by such visions of Arts and Crafts-like cooperation with artisan workers.320 More generally, the very terms in which the problem of popular taste was formulated tended to forestall the very possibility of voluntary education. Bermudes himself violently denunciated the “absolute ignorance” of the common citizen about artistic value, which required urgent supervision of national “artistic hygiene.” In practice, artistic education functioned rather like a rhetoric device, the necessary preamble to arrive at the exercise of artistic censure.321 Indeed, aesthetic control could – according to the prevailing deterministic theories on environmental influence – be presented as the most efficient of educational measures. The model was that of the enlightened intellectual rather than the emancipating educator. (J. da Câmara 1905; Rute Figueiredo 2007, 246–48) In retrospective useful corollaries incentives can be discerned behind all this insistence on laws, censure and “aesthetic policing” (fiscalização esthetica). (Carvalheira 1905c) The discourse of “urban aesthetic(s)” provided architects with the arguments to present the aesthetic quality of individual buildings as a public rather than a merely private concern. At the moment this was a welcome inroad on social relevance. It involved alluring prospects for a discipline still in crisis: legal protection of the profession,322 the creation of a market for “correct” architecture, public jobs at the envisioned entities of supervision, policing and advice … At the very least, the issue contributed to the public visibility and professional identity of architects. In this sense, the aesthetic disqualification of the a large part of the existing city was vital for the possibilities of professional affirmation of the architectural 319 In the heath of argument Costa Campos turned the usual argument of the exemplary role of social elites upside down, proposing aesthetic reform from below. “Feito isto, educando artisticamente os que executam, os que trabalham, começando pelas classes menos aristocraticas da sociedade, os seus reflexos devem-se fazer sentir n'outras classes que hoje aparentando uma pseudo educação artistica, são bem os culpados do estado de atrazo em que se encontram os primeiros e por isso mesmo, bem mais perigosos do que estes.” (Costa Campos 1906, 55; R. Figueiredo 2007, 209–11) 320 R. Ortigão had proposed something similar a decade before. (Rute Figueiredo 2007, 57–62) 321 That this idea of artistic education was essentially an elitist chimera is also suggested by the fact that the topic was quietly abandoned by the architects when the political conditions for its realization came about (during the I Republic). Of course matters are more complicated, but it is symptomatic that erstwhile champions of popular aesthetic education such as Fialho de Almeida or Ramalho Ortigão spent their last years complaining how popular taste had fallen in the hands of the common people. 322 In reality, architects had to wait until 1925 to see their demand of legal protection of the title of architect to those qualified by an Academy of Fine-Arts confirmed by the letter of law. (Decreto 10 663, Diário do Governo, s. I, 31 March 1925) – 197 – G. Verheij The architect as expert class.323 The more dominant building practices were defined as an aesthetic problem, the more “qualified” architecture could be promoted as the solution. After all these clarifications, it should cause little surprise that the Society of Architects did indeed threw its weight behind the issue. The issue first entered the associative agenda in 1906, under presidency of Francisco Carlos Parente (1872-1924). That year a study was conducted on efficient measures able to impede future construction “without even rudimentary aesthetic principles, completely devoid of the smallest particle of good taste,” which had turned Lisbon – “so conspicuously endowed by nature” – in “the most anti- aesthetic and badly cared of capitals in the civilised world.”324 The conclusion of “extensive study” (aturado estudo) was that the most adequate solution would be the creation of a municipal artist commission with the power to approve or reject architectural projects on aesthetic grounds. (Parente 1906a, 1; 1906b, 4–5) The results of another study were probably not unrelated. In 1906 Alfredo d'Ascenção Machado (1857-1926) examined existing building regulation to conclude it had little to say about the aesthetic dimension of architectural projects. Furthermore the topic was one on which the SAP could agree with the Commission of Monuments of the SPP, in which it was well represented. (E. Gomes 1907) The main result of this activity was the issuance that year of a formal petition to the municipality, in which the case for a municipal artist commission was made with conviction. Under the title “The aesthetic of the capital” (A esthetica da capital) the architects called for regulation of the “aesthetic of building” in order to counter the “criminal freedom” of owners and constructors “suffocating” the city with banal constructions “devoid of the most elementary conditions of beauty.” The document, signed by that year's president, J. A. Soares, is interesting in the way it systematized all the elements of the discourse of “urban aesthetic(s)” in a formal dissertation: from the definition of the street as public space (logradouro dos municipes) and the ensuing moral ground for “artistic censorship” of architectural façades to the authority of foreign examples, the demands of cultural progress and last but not least the pernicious influence of bad architecture on popular taste.325 (SAP 1907a) . 323 But if the notion of “urban aesthetic(s)” was instrumental in the quest for a reconstituted place of architecture in the modern city, there are reasons to think that this engagement also contributed to rethink the nature of architecture itself. It pushed home the message that architecture in a classical sense – architecture-as-monument, capable of controlling the urban environment – had fallen victim to the effects of modern urban growth. The effects of perceived urban banality on the discrete architectural object destroyed any pretension of architectural self-sufficiency. Essential elements of that most modern of architectural utopias – to take total control of the city itself – are anticipated here. 324 “... medidas que possam evitar a continuação do que se passa na cidade de Lisboa com referencia á construcção de edificios sem os mais rudimentares principios de esthetica, isentos por completo da mais infima particula de bom gosto, e que teem convertido a capital do paiz, tão ostensivamente dotada pela natureza, na mais anti-esthetica e mal cuidada das capitaes do mundo civilisado.” (Parente 1906b, 4) 325 The petition is reproduced in Appendix 5 and also discussed by Rute Figueiredo (2007, 246–53; see also Verheij 2015). – 198 – G. Verheij The architect as expert The joined effort of the SPP and the SAP in defence of the “aesthetic of building” (esthetica das construcções) ended prematurely. In 1908 delegates from the SAP collaborated with other members of the Commission of Monuments in the elaboration of a proposal for adequate legislation (projecto de lei sobre a esthetica da cidade), yet the SPP dropped the proposal for unspecified reasons. The SAP decided to take over the mission of convincing public authorities of the need to create municipal commission to defend the “aesthetic interests” (interesses estheticos) of the country's mayor cities, though apparently the entire subject was postponed by lack of time and then forgotten.326 (“Conselho Director” 1908, 4; Marques da Silva 1911, 8–9) But on municipal level the activity of the SAP did bear fruit, not so much on account of the force of the arguments expounded in the representation but because the municipal elections in 1908 placed one of their own in the right position to elevate “urban aesthetic(s)” to municipal concern. (In)definitions of “urban aesthetic(s)” The campaign outlined in the previous pages has received previous attention from historians. A. Barata (2007; 2010, 187–95) showed how its roots went back to the very starting point of urban modernization in Lisbon in the 1870s,327 yet in her account the outlines of the “movement” remain obscure. More crucially, the pervasive yet troubling term “aesthetic” is not discussed. In the end, it appears as but one more episode of unfulfilled desires, without possibility of articulation with urban realities. Rute Figueiredo (2007, 235–53) provided a more comprehensive discussion of what she termed a campaign of “aestheticization” of the city, discussing vocabulary and actors.328 But her focus on discourse tends to leave out blank spots and contradictions which, in my view, are essential to understand it. The “movement” hardly had the systematic, coherent character existing analysis would like to endow it with. Contradictions, inconsistencies and arbitrariness abound, and individual or group trajectories collide or separate as often as they converge. In this sense there is a symptomatic difficulty to grasp the uneven constellation of this “movement” or “campaign” in its totality, with its at times unnerving mixture of grand utopia, apparent banalities, modest solutions and bewildering details. There was as much – perhaps even more – wish-thinking and chatter as politics. Without a solid notion of amateur interest – that mix of passion, “good will” and varying degrees of studied reflection – it is difficult to make much of it. Discourse only gains 326 A probable reason the SPP relinquished the elaborated bill was the conflict which by then had ensued between its direction and the architect Ventura Terra, meanwhile municipal councillor, in which “urban aesthetic(s)” was central. A proposal made years later by the then deputy Abel Botelho might be related to this aborted attempt at national legislation. This is discussed in chapter 3. 327 M. H. Lisboa (2002, 188–89) unearthed a series of proposals for regulation and commissions going back even further, to 1860. 328 Rute Figueiredo (2007) identifies three interconnected “layers” or dimensions of turn-of-the- century discourse on the city: “aestheticization,” functional organization and the social dimension of the “urban question.” Her account is further enriched by other studies on architectural culture (P. V. de Almeida and Fernandes 1986; A. I. Ribeiro 1993; Diogo 1994; P. S. Nunes 2000a; 2000b; M. H. Lisboa 2002; Calado 2003; M. D. Mesquita 2011b; 2011a; OA Sul 2015). The sectoral perspectives of most of these studies (often made from within the architectural discipline) tend to take the period's aesthetic judgements for granted. – 199 – G. Verheij (In)definitions of “urban aesthetic(s)” meaning when embedded in practices and institutions. What crucially lacks in available studies, beyond an analysis of avowed intentions and their ultimate failure, is an account of the functions this discourse exercised within the urban realities of the time. I recall how at the centre of criticism of the “urban aesthetic” was the perceived failure of 19 th century urban development. Frustration with the modern city expressed itself most visibly in architectural critique but in fact implied a wider aesthetic horizon of urban expectations. The latter weren't met by the municipal planning policies for which the development plan and building by-laws from 1903-1904 provided the crowning achievement (see p. 160–166 above). Against this background, the discourse of “urban aesthetic(s)” can be located on the gap between the impossible wish images of urban monumentality and the fragmented, conflicting and changing urban realities of the metropolis (see p. 171–178 above). Rather than a set of objective, trouble-free judgements on the aesthetic quality of the city, it addressed and negotiated the ambiguities and contradictions of modern Lisbon. One logical consequence is that the object in case – the aesthetically failing city – needed a gaze to construct it as such; the “urban aesthetic” required an “urban aesthetics.” (Figures 170–72) The option to consistently translate the terminological variety surveyed thus far by the term “urban aesthetic(s)” recognizes, on the one hand, the key role of Fialho de Almeida's “Lisboa monumental” (where he used the term estética urbana) in the propagation of this discourse, and on the other the links to contemporary and posterior discourse on the topic, from the French Esthetique des villes to German Städtebaukunst. I use this term to cover the practices and discourse which pose the city as an aesthetic problem, including the repertoire of control measures to overcome the faults detected by such an aesthetic gaze. (For scholarly use of aesthetic vocabulary see Punter 1986; Ladd 1987; Bento 2009; García-Doménech 2015; 2016) It is however a retrospective construct. In the literature where the idea of an “urban aesthetic(s)” gained currency there is hardly any attempt to define what it might actually mean. It appeared in a bewildering variety of combinations, annotated throughout these pages: estética da cidade or citadina, estética urbana, estética das edificações, da rua, dos arruamentos … Still stranger are the different inclinations, at times awkward or even grammatically doubtful. Besides the aesthetic of objects or aesthetic objects, there are appearances of in-aesthetic or even anti-aesthetic objects. Some authors discussed the aesthesia of cities or buildings. In one characteristic case M. Ventura Terra complained about the inaesthesia of cities (O Dia 1903d). Obviously, with this he didn't mean to designate some deplorable lack of the capacity to have feelings on the city's part but rather the absence of aesthetic quality – its not “being aesthetic.” The quest for terminological clarification within this literature is unrewarding. The title of an anthology of newspaper articles published between 1911 and 1914 by the archaeologist João Ribeiro Cristino da Silva (1858-1948), Estética citadina (1923), promises a definition. Indeed, in the preface Cristino da Silva mused about an “urban art” (arte citadina), an “art of the city” contributing to its beauty. Lisboa bela. But the articles themselves are mainly historical ruminations about picturesque sites and old monuments, which was clearly not the main focus of complainers about the “urban aesthetic” during the 1900s. In 1935 Paulino Montez was more specific in his pioneering study. One of the aims of urban planning was, according to Montez, to care for the “urban aesthetic” (estética da cidade), meaning to endow – 200 – G. Verheij (In)definitions of “urban aesthetic(s)” it with a “healthy aesthetic” (sâ estética). The link between aesthetics and beauty – also present in Cristino da Silva – is here made explicit. A “healthy aesthetic” is the result of the “global spirit” of the urban plan, of “the agreement or harmony of its design and appearance with the particulars of the city and the shared needs and aspirations of its inhabitants.” (do acôrdo ou harmonia do traçado e da expressão com as características da urbe, com as necessidades e aspirações mais comuns dos habitantes.) (Montez 1935, 57) It is of course easy to play jokes on the aesthetic certainties of these “pre-modernists” and their concept of beauty as a simple “bureaucracy of the emotions.” (C. Einstein, apud Didi- Huberman 2000, 168) But I think that to take the discourse of “urban aesthetic(s)” seriously as an historical phenomenon requires more than that. The identity between beauty and “the aesthetic” mentioned above is a defining feature in all the often careless discursive instances surveyed previously. “The aesthetic” is consequently understood as a distinguishing quality of an object. The term is unproblematically used in the sense of “being beautiful,” ignoring post- Kantian formulations of the aesthetic as a quality of perception.329 While this overlap between the aesthetic and beauty is particularly problematic to our modern – post-modern? – ears it was a main tenet of classical aesthetics, in which the objectivity of aesthetic judgement is guaranteed by the aesthetic cannon. It should be recalled that the period in question is still on the other side of the modernist divide and its radical questioning of aesthetic certainties, the tearing apart of any stable aesthetic cannon and the evacuation of beauty from art practices. Beauty, art and aesthetics were still comfortably linked, even if the foundations of this hallowed alliance were already giving way. Researchers have noted a notably strong persistence of classical tenets such as the universality of beauty in Portuguese aesthetic theories of the time .(J. C. Pereira 2011; J. F. Pereira 2006; 2007) More generally, Latin languages such as Portuguese do not distinguish between “aesthetic” (i.e. the sensitive qualities of an object) and “aesthetics” (i.e. the philosophical branch or science which studies them). Both are estética. Thus both senses – the aesthetic quality of an object and the studied capacity to recognize (and reproduce) it – easily conflate, facilitating the virtual identity between object and gaze characteristic of classical aesthetics. Costa Campos again provided useful comment. In 1902 he wrote a short dissertation on aesthetics, published in A Construcção Moderna. The exceptionality of philosophical reflection from within architecture makes this text of special interest. In it the architect 329 Indeed a rare but characteristic Kantian remark by Melo de Matos seizes on the universality rather than the subjectivity of Kant's aesthetic judgement. “Considero como fim esthetico a realização das condições do bello, e como Kant, direi que o bello é o objecto de uma satisfação desinteressada, universal e necessaria.” (Mattos 1907a, 146) In his Critique of Judgment (1790) Kant himself made an enlightening comment on the kind of logic discussed in this section: “… when [a man] puts a thing on a pedestal and calls it beautiful, he demands the same delight from others. He judges not merely for himself, but for all men, and then speaks of beauty as if it were a property of things. Thus he says that the thing is beautiful; and it is not as if he counts on others agreeing with him in his judgment of liking owing to his having found them in such agreement on a number of occasions, but he demands this agreement of them. He blames them if they judge differently, and denies them taste, which he still requires of them as something they ought to have; and to this extent it is not open to men to say: Every one has his own taste. This would be equivalent to saying that there is no such thing as taste, i.e. no aesthetic judgment capable of making a rightful claim upon the assent of all men.” (In Zangwill 2014) – 201 – G. Verheij (In)definitions of “urban aesthetic(s)” defined different levels of the aesthetic edifice. Materially, aesthetics is defined as good taste, the sources of which were, according to the author, intuition and spontaneity, in exceptional cases natural genius. Analytically it was the study of art. Art is defined in patently classical terms by the harmonious relationship between parts and whole, in such a way that a “perfect complexity” (perfeita complexibilidade) affects the senses. Its study would lead to the systematic recognition of and subjection to the rules and principles of Beauty – the academic precepts of harmony, symmetry, proportion, etc.330 Philosophically, the aesthetic is defined as the analogy between genius and reality, that is, the perfect coincidence between the artist's wish and the material product (i.e. the work of art). This analogy is Beauty. (Costa Campos 1902) Art was then the “social form” of Beauty, as another commentator had it. (Veiga 1903) This classical view in no way entered in conflict with fashionable sociological theories of art, based on H. Taine and others. Art was the best means to appreciate the “state of civilization” of a people, Costa Campos added elsewhere, yet the best way to artistically educate was by the presentation of true Art. (Costa Campos 1905) These “art sociological” views have been discussed before; I only recall that they considered art both as a social reflection and a force of social change. “A Arte vae evolucionando sempre na ordem directa do aperfeiçoamento e da illustração dos povos.” (Lemos 1906, 1) “Urban aesthetic(s)” was but one specific domain in which these ideas blossomed. The unquestioned universality of beauty provided a solid measure stick for national progress, rather than putting complex questions about the social sources of judgements of taste. At the root of this moralizing view was, again, another classical tenet: the precedence of the ethic over the aesthetic. Something is beautiful because it is good (i.e. harmonious, complete). In line with this, morals could be formulated as a mere branch of aesthetics – une dépendance de l'Esthétique, as A. Gide (1911, 58) famously put it. But beyond these certainly thriving aestheticisms (l'art pour l'art, British Aestheticism), what was at stake was the interplay between art and morals, theorised from A. Comte and H. Taine to L. Tolstoy. The widespread argument that “beauty” improved morals implied a pedagogical understanding of aesthetics, based on an ethics of the common good. (See f. ex. R. Proença 1910; 1910--1911; and in general Eaton 2001, 81–94) In this sense, I think the proper philosophical framework to understand the discourse of “urban aesthetic(s)” is provided by Friedrich Schiller rather than Immanuel Kant. Kant famously distinguished between the faculties of reason, sentiment and aesthetic judgement. The latter had a crucial intermediary role, bringing together the otherwise separated worlds of feeling and reason. Schiller re-elaborated Kant's theory with some decisive twists. He turned the faculties of reason and feeling into formal and sensible “drives.” The gap between both is bridged by the “play drive.” And art was, for Schiller, basically play. Consequently, the essential terms to understand art were not taste and judgement but imagination and aesthetic “common sense.” In practice Schiller took the work of mediating between feeling and reason from the Kantian sphere of detached disinterest to that of participatory play through art. As a consequence it was the artwork rather than aesthetic judgement which guaranteed harmony between reason and sentiment. Schiller's aesthetic is for this reason neither objective (as in classicism) nor subjective (as in Kantian aesthetics) but participative, centring on the artwork 330 “O que todos teem são os seus instinctos naturaes a chamal-os para essas manifestações de belleza que lhes afecta os sentidos e que n'uma proporção relativa da educação artistica podem determinar a evolução completa do seu modo de ser!” (Costa Campos 1902) – 202 – G. Verheij (In)definitions of “urban aesthetic(s)” rather than the artist or spectator. This opened a philosophical inroad on a pedagogy centred on beauty. Schiller himself explicitly formulated aesthetics as a factor of social reform. Aesthetic education was held to be able to build a new, emancipated society. (Schiller 2004; Berleant 2015; Read 1943) While in turn-of-the-century Portugal there is little direct engagement with Schillerian aesthetics, his ideas on aesthetic education arrived indirectly through his profound influence on German pedagogical reformers of the 19th century (Pestalozzi, Herbart, Fröbel). In Portugal (as elsewhere) these were important references for the renovation of pedagogical models, in which art occupied a central role.331 (Snell in Schiller 2004, 17–18; Barreto 2004; Pintassilgo 1998, chap. 6; Pintassilgo and Fernandes 2009) Within such views – as in debates about the industrial arts – there was little space for Kantian disinterestedness. The resulting edifice of theoretical assumptions can be summarized in three points, which taken together are – notwithstanding a certain incompatibility – illuminating of certain aspects of the discourse of “urban aesthetic(s)” mentioned earlier.332 1. An (apparently) solid (yet unspecified) aesthetic cannon, assumed to be grounded in nature and human psychology (i.e. aesthetic judgement is spontaneous and intuitive). 2. Aesthetics as a matter of transforming experience rather than detached observation. 3. The possibility of developing general taste through artistic education. The second point was what had taken the problem of architecture out of the placid haven of Fine-Arts into the unrelenting realities of the turn-of-the-century city. In a fortunate coincidence, specialized architectural criticism itself started pretty much with a stroll. In 1894 the magazine A Construcção published a series of critical notes on the new architecture along the Avenida da Liberdade in which the stroll appeared as the linking element between 331 The possibilities of aesthetic education for social change were much discussed among intellectuals, artists and pedagogues during the 1910s, both in the context of educational reform – for example the movement favour of “Art in School” (Diário da Câmara dos Deputados, 28 March 1913; Lino 1916; C. M. 1916; F. P. P. Ferreira 1916–1917; ) for background M. C. Proença 2010) – as more generally with regard to the ideological services art could deliver to consolidate the young Republic. The latter were outlined by Abel Botelho during a parliamentary debate : “Sr. Presidente, nós estamos aqui empenhados em remodelar, em criar uma sociedade nova, não é verdade? Pois para esse effeito havemos de servir-nos, acima de tudo, de factores de ordem moral. Apurar, dignificar a sensibilidade, ao mesmo passo que se illumina o espirito. O mundo, meus senhores, governa-se mais por sentimentos do que por ideias. Se nós analysarmos, se inquirirmos bem no fundo a essencia de todas as grandes criações do homem, as religiões, as moraes, as sciencias, as artes, as politicas, lá encontraremos irreductivelmente, carinhosamente aninhada sempre, a scentelha divina da emoção. Ansiamos por um ideal. Partimos da dor para a alegria. E é a arte que em nossa alma filtra, como a essencia mais subtil, essa porção de ideal capaz de commover os homens e de melhorar a vida.” (Diário da Assembleia Nacional Constituinte, 27 July 1911; see also Diário da Câmara dos Deputados, 14 November 1912) 332 These three assumptions are admittedly difficult to harmonize, as they tend to contradict each other. But the point here is not to propose a definitive philosophical elaboration but to pinpoint the theoretical assumptions behind the discourse under study. What joined them was their conjugation in practical discourse rather than philosophical deduction. – 203 – G. Verheij (In)definitions of “urban aesthetic(s)” “theory” and “practice” (Theoria e pratica: Um passeio pela Avenida). Rute Figueiredo (2007, 45–50) has argued that these articles form an inaugural act of modern critical discourse in architecture. The stroll was indeed one way to verify the absence of academic Beaux-Arts patterns in urban realities. During the 1900s it became a standard element of the aesthetic discourse on the city (f. ex. Costa Campos 1901a; S. Tavares 1904; M. Mesquita 1906; V. Ribeiro 1906; Reys 1908). It provided the occasion, unifying literary motive and argument of authority, claiming lived experience and inviting readers to repeat the experience if doubts they had.333 Over time, the stroll hardened into one of the more solid common places of the entire discourse, at times substituting the entire critical exercise. Thus a harsh judgement on recent “architectural deformities” (aleijões architectonicos) in a 1911 issue from Architectura Portugueza is not supported by any concrete or abstract example but the mere invitation to a stroll (A. Moreira 1911). To place aesthetics in the realm of ubiquitous, involuntary and transforming experience rather than the willed yet disinterested confrontation with a separate realm of “Art” meant that such an aesthetic experience of the city could be generalized to the entire urban population. And if the majority of “common people” didn't complain more about the mind-numbing ugliness of the urban environment, it was because they were already “debased” by it. The city's buildings were not just ugly or tasteless, but “living and tangible documents of the ignorance of all social classes in matters of art and taste” (documentos vivos e palpaveis da ignorancia de todas as classes da nossa populão em materia de arte e de gosto.) (J. L. Monteiro 1906, 19) Yet on the other hand, the fact that “the aesthetic” was posed as a problem was already a symptom of the impact of modernity and its characteristic acceleration of the circulation of images. The particular features of the discourse in which this impact was developed owes much to the distinctive “porosity” of this modernity in Lisbon, where strong persistences and partial modernization gave peculiar visibility to the clash between different temporalities and visual regimes (see p. 145–150). The first of the quoted theoretical assumptions – the objectivity of aesthetic judgement – was what made it possible not to plunge head-on in this problematic modernity, in contrast with, say, G. Siemel or Cubist painters. Rather than posing the question of a new, “modern” aesthetics capable of deploying, or at least accommodating, the shocks engendered by the experience of modernity, the assumption of an unchanging aesthetic cannon allowed to write 333 The motive of the stroll could rely on a certain tradition in the time's naturalistic literature – A. de Mesquita's compilation of writing on Lisbon from 1903 provides a representative sample. In 19th century Lisbon urban modernity itself – from the Passeio Público to the Avenida da Liberdade – appears curiously related to the act of strolling. (J. C. Machado 1874; J. Dantas 1937; R. H. da Silva 1989) The reliance on the stroll and other empirically-grounded verbs (watching, walking, seeing) indicates, for sure, a fragility in critical discourse, evident when contrasted with occasional more sophisticated descriptions of architectural observation (J. de Figueiredo 1908a). But they attest to a bodily dimension of the experience of the city which links it to (post-)Sittean discourse. (Wieczorek 1981, 110–17; Kostof 1991, 83–84; Lejeune 2009) Of course, the embodied visual experience of the modern city is, from E. A. Poe's man in the crowd and C. Baudelaire's flaneur to surrealist and situationist detours, constitutive of modernity itself. (There is a varied literature on this subject, see Frisby 2001, chap 1; Maderuelo 2008, chaps. 7, 11; E. Roca, Aquilué, and Gomes 2015; Rio 2016, but also such classical works as Lynch 1960; Certeau 2002; or Careri 2002) – 204 – G. Verheij (In)definitions of “urban aesthetic(s)” them off as the “unaesthetic.” The supposed objectivity of aesthetic judgement recast the problems of the city as problems of taste, pitted against the tasteless yet never defined. The semblance of a “movement” or “campaign” in favour of urban aestheticization rested in the end entirely on this assumed certainty of what “good taste” in urban environment meant. This is a capital point to understand the mixture of vagueness and enthusiasm of most of its champions. It was not a debate organized around competing urban models or aesthetic options, but a refusal of the actually existing city. It was a discourse with a negative object – that what the city was not – and consequently an empty gaze.334 The implicit aesthetic prescriptions remained undefined; at heart, the “urban aesthetic(s)” proposed an empty normativity. This is why the endless litany over the aesthetic deficits of urban modernity on the basis of an undefined taste was a way not to engage with it. Perhaps it also explains why there is no conceptual evolution. All the main elements are unfolded as early as 1900 (see p. 189 above); afterwards they were not so much developed but rather systematized and memorized into a ready-to-use kit of rethorical resources for urban criticism. These two arguments introduce a final question related to the third assumption. If “the aesthetic” was an objective quality, the recognition of which depended on “good taste,” who were the people who judged themselves in the possession of this capacity, and what was the catch? The architect A. Bermudes defined his aestheticizing colleagues as an “intellectual minority (estricta minoria de intelectuais) (“Sociedade de Propaganda” 1907), and in the end it was indeed a circumscribed group of intellectuals, writers, journalists, architects, artists, historians and engineers with a shared membership of bourgeois cultural elites. Among these, different motivations for engagement with “urban aesthetic(s)” can be found. 1. Architects criticized the lack of public control over the appearance of the city in order to promote their professional identity and employment opportunities. 2. Journalists and writers used it to organize their production of literary images of the city, in the form of critiques of the present and dreams for tomorrow. 3. Authors related to commercial and tourist interests defended investment in a city of leisure, consumption and commerce to increase its (international) attractiveness. 4. Researchers – historians, incipient anthropologists – mobilized the term to research and promote urban heritage. (J. C. Leal 2006; J. Leal 2000) 5. Finally, there was a general use linked to the promotion of the “moralization” of the popular classes by the promotion of the aesthetic dimension of public space. 334 Even if aesthetically divergent ideals for the city can be detected (such as those discussed in the section “Aesthetic intentions”) these hardly translated into direct, written engagement. One of the few exceptions – the debates on a vernacular housing style – proves the point. The question faced by participants in this debate was 1) whether a national style in residential construction existed (as opposed to a a heterogeneous set of regional styles) and 2) if, in any case, it made sense to reproduce this type (or types) for modern living. (J. C. Leal 2006) This basically bypassed the actual aesthetic conflict being played out in the time's architecture between an urban architecture of cosmopolitan inspiration and the innovative reinterpretation of vernacular values (P. V. de Almeida 1986). The actual production of the city was a major blind point in the larger discourse of “urban aesthetic(s).” – 205 – G. Verheij (In)definitions of “urban aesthetic(s)” This means that behind the apparent legibility of a unitary movement co-existed a number of disparate intentions, programs and expectations. The very vagueness of the notion of an “urban aesthetic(s)” seems to have allowed individuals with different background and motives to share an urban program – even if in the end this program remained empty. As the aesthetic measure stick was never defined, progressive and conservative commentators joined in on a common diagnosis even if for diametrically opposed reasons. There is consequently no way to situate the idea of “urban aesthetic(s)” along a Choayan line of culturalists and progressives. Both sides could agree, even if one did so out of fear for the consequences of the aesthetic levelling of international cosmopolitanism and the other out of fatigue with persistent cultural provincialism. The seeming consensus of the discourse of “urban aesthetic(s)” was virtual. Different actors could defend different causes with a common language, shielded by the apparent neutrality of judgements of taste. A common place where causes could confluence to assume the idea of a common interest – even if over time the contradictions between these different programs would grow visible.335 Common place then, rather than concept. This conclusion is one way to account for the combination of the conceptual emptiness and the social productivity of “urban aesthetic(s).” It was a tacit agreement serving as argument of authority, rather than a conceptual tool for the production of knowledge. 335 Already in 1913 Júlio Dantas noted that, if it was obvious that Lisbon needed urban improvements, it wouldn't be easy to reach a consensus. “Ha, manifestamente, correntes opostas. Uns, sonhando uma Cosmópolis de amplas avenidas geometricas, cortadas n'um jorro de ar e de sol, sobre as ruinas do burgo, da Alfama e da Mouraria, entendem que se deve abater, demolir, arrazar tudo quanto fôr velho; outros, invocando o exemplo da antiga Paris, da antiga Bruges, da antiga Londres, teem a opinião que os bairros historicos devem conservar-se, com os seus cruzeiros, os seus resaltos, as suas rótulas, os seus telhados flamengos, os seus panéis de azulejo, as suas vielas de palmo.” Dantas correctly predicted that in the end the reconciliation of modern and archaeological criteria would result in the most convenient of solutions: to leave the city as is. (J. Dantas 1913) – 206 – G. Verheij [Figures] [Figures] The production of public space during the late 19th century (Avenida da Liberdade) – 207 – Figure 73: J. R. Cristino da Silva, Engraving of the state of construction works at the northern section of the Avenida da Liberdade. (In Occidente, 1 July 1885) Figure 74: J. R. Cristino da Silva, Engraving of the obelisk opening the Avenida da Liberdade on the south. (In Occidente, 1 May 1886) Figure 72: Fialho de Almeida in his house in Cuba (Portugal), at the age of 50. (In Sampaio 1907) According to Almeida himself the street was his office, and vagrancy an inherent part of his working process. G. Verheij [Figures] – 208 – Figure 75: R. Kâmmerer, Avenida da Liberdade, late 19th century. Chromolitograph. (Lisbon, Museum of Lisbon / Câmara Municipal de Lisboa – EGEAC) M. Villaverde (2007, 175) noted how the Avenida da Liberdade inherited forms (trees, ornamental lakes, fountains) and practices (strolling, passing by carriage) from the earlier Passeio Público (Public Walk). Figure 76: J. R. Cristino da Silva, Avenida da Liberdade, 1905. Chromolithograph. (Lisbon, National Library) G. Verheij [Figures] – 209 – Figure 77: CML-AML, Map of the Avenida da Liberdade with indication of tree pits and benches, 1890s. 180 x 25 cm. (Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSB/UROB-PU/09/00340]) Figure 78: CML-AML, Design of an electrical street light for the Avenida da Liberdade, undated. (Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSB/UROB- PU/11/642]) Figure 79: CML-Repartição Técnica, Design of a iron bench for the Avenida da Liberdade, signed by F. Ressano Garcia, 15 December 1885. 30,9 x 75 cm. (Lisbon, Municipal Archive, PT/AMLSB/CMLSB/UROB-E/23/1531 ]) Figure 80: Trams at the Rossio square, 1909. (Joshua Benoliel / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/JBN/001273]) The building at the background is the 1890 railway station in neo-Gothic, by J. L. Monteiro. G. Verheij [Figures] Uses of the city's public space – 210 – Figure 81: Julio Fortes, The Avenida da Liberdade with rain. (In Boletim Fotografico, 4: 4, June 1903) Figure 84: Washerwoman walking along the Avenida da Liberdade, around 1906. (Augusto Bobone / Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/BOB/000087]) Early 20th century Lisbon is often depicted as quiet, at times lazy, even (or especially) in its modern places (Villaverde 2007, 135–36). Figure 82: Popular types at the Rossio square. (In Illustração Portugueza, 3: 118, 5 February 1906) Figure 83: Popular dancing at the Rossio square. (In Illustração Portugueza, 1: 32, 13 June 1904) Figure 85: Festive illumination of the Rossio during a civic holiday, 1903. (In Illustração Portugueza, s. II, 382, 16 June 1913) G. Verheij [Figures] – 211 – Figure 86: Strollers along the Avenida da Liberdade. (In Illustração Portugueza, 1: 4, 30 November 1903) Figure 88: “Doing the Avenida” (fazendo a Avenida). Strollers performing the social custom of a Sunday walk along the Avenida da Liberdade. (In Serões, 17, January-February 1903) Figure 87: Strollers and their observers on a Sunday afternoon. (In Illustração Portugueza, s. II, 352, 18 November 1912) Local costume dictated a Sunday stroll along the Avenida da Liberdade. Differently from the social segregation implicit in many European sites of bourgeois leisure around the turn of the century, the Avenida da Liberdade typically was full of opportunities for social mixing and stratification (Villaverde 2007, 235). G. Verheij [Figures] “Lisboa monumental” imagined by Fialho de Almeida and Alonso Figures 89–101 reproduced from Almeida (1906) – 212 – Figure 89: Alonso, Access to the Eduardo VII Park. Figure 91: Alonso, Access to the Botanical Garden. Figure 90: Alonso, Monumental arch in Campo Grande. Figure 94: Alonso, Exhibition palace at the Eduardo VII Park. Figure 92: Alonso, Casino at the S. Jorge Castle. Figure 93: Alonso, Viaduct over the Avenida da Liberdade. G. Verheij [Figures] – 213 – Figure 95: Alonso, Monumental dock at the Praça do Comércio. Figure 97: Alonso, Avenida de Ceuta lined with statues facing the river. Figure 96: Alonso, Bridge over the river. Figure 98: Alonso, New Navy Armoury on the South Bank of the Tagus. G. Verheij [Figures] – 214 – Figure 99: Alonso, Modern workers' housing. Figure 100: Alonso, Kindergarten. Figure 101: Alonso, Playground. Figure 103: J. Vieira da Silva, Changing city limits between 1852 and 1940. (In A. V. da Silva 1968) The city's population had been growing at slow but steady rates since the mid-19th century, with a marked increase from the 1880s on. At the same time the city's area had been successively enlarged (responding more to fiscal criteria – the raising of taxes over imported goods – than effective urban growth). Especially important was the enlargement of the city's area in 1885–86, which added a considerable area of mostly rural land, slightly reduced in 1895. (A. V. da Silva 1968, 52–53, 81–100) Figure 102: Successive city limits of Lisbon (1147, 1375, 1864 and 1903) projected on a 1913 city map. (In F. 1913) G. Verheij [Figures] Building Lisboa Nova – 215 – Figure 105: CML, Serviço Geral de Obras, Map indicating streets built by the Bairro Camões Building Company (in red), 1901. 46 x 67 cm. (Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSB/UROB- PU/09/00551]) The streets of the privately-developed Bairro Camões are slightly skewed in relation to the grid of the municipal streets around the Avenida da Liberdade (bottom).\ Figure 106: CML-ROP, Map indicating street names in areas of urban expansion, 1906. (Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSB/UROB-PU/09/01926]) Figure 104: CML, Serviço Geral de Obras, Map indicating municipal development schemes, 1897. 54 x 78 cm. (Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSB/UROB-PU/11/506]) G. Verheij [Figures] – 216 – Figure 107: CML-ROP, General city plan with proposed development schemes, signed by F. Ressano Garcia, 1903. 64 x 62 cm. (Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSB/UROB-PU/11/393]) Proposed interventions of the General Development Plan approved in 1904 are in red. G. Verheij [Figures] – 217 – Figure 110: Coloured postcard of the Avenida Ressano Garcia (today da República), around 1900. (Arquivo Mariana Tavares Dias) Figure 108: CML-ROP, Map signed by F. Ressano Garcia indicating approved and proposed improvements, 1903. (Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSB/UROB-PU/09/01254]) This is the second map of the project of the General Development Plan approved in 1904. It maps part of the existing city and the new residential districts. New proposals, indicated in red, are the large park North (on the right), subsidiary green spaces (Campo Pequeno, minor changes to Campo Grande), and avenues linking this area with future arterial roads. Figure 109: CML-ROP, Road sections for the new avenues, 1903. (Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSB/UROB- PU/10/084/01]) Figure 111: Avenida Ressano Garcia, undated. (Joshua Benoliel / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/JBN/001293]) G. Verheij [Figures] – 218 – Figure 112: Praça do Marquês do Pombal. (In Brasil-Portugal, 96, 16 January 1903) Figure 113: Praça de Saldanha, undated. (Joshua Benoliel / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/JBN/001263]) The variety of architectural languages and typologies of the buildings bordering the large circular squares puncturing inflections along the main axis of development of Lisboa Nova especially irritated commentators, who judged this obstructed the implicit monumental vocation of these sites. Figure 114: Álvaro Machado, Design for a viaduct over the Avenida Ressano Garcia (later da República), 1906. (In O Occidente, 29: 996, 30 August 1906) Machado's design was much praised. Fialho de Almeida had reproductions accompany his “Lisboa monumental,” published months later. The viaduct was to substitute a more prosaic solution which however remained in place until 1950 (see fig. 115 on the right). Figure 115: Railway crossing in Entrecampos, at the end of the Avenida da República (formerly Ressano Garcia), 1944. (Eduardo Portugal / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/EDP/000612]) Note how lateral openings provide passage while the main road is blocked. This was in fact a temporary construction; the construction of a final viaduct – similar to Machado's but with less sculptural elaboration – was a point of conflict between the municipality and railway companies. (CML-ROP 1906b; Actas 1909, 258; 1910, 760; 1911, 88, 437, 453; Actas da Comissão Executiva 1914, 2, 14, 51–52, 181, 267, 615, etc.) G. Verheij [Figures] Monumental designs Following French academic methods, architecture students were required to produce imaginary designs following a given typology. Most of the images reproduced below were the product of this custom. Young architects used them for purposes of exhibition and self-promotion. Fialho de Almeida denounced their uselessness, but Alonso's images show clear kinship. It is curious to note that while such images impressed the public, in actual municipal design practices this kind of spatial rendering only started to be used from the 1920s on; plans and sections seem to have been considered sufficient for deciding and planning urban design. – 219 – Figure 119: Tertuliano Marques, Design of an Arena. (Architectural supplement of the Annuario da Sociedade de Architectos Portuguezes, 4, 1908) Figure 116: A. M. da Costa Campos, Design of a Museum of Sculpture. (In A Construcção Moderna, 2: 39, 1 September 1901) Figure 117: F. C. Parente, Design of a Triumphal Arch. (In A Construcção Moderna, 2: 39, 1 September 1901) Figure 118: José Casimiro da Silva Fernandes, Design of a Monumental Arch. (In A Construcção Moderna, 3: 65, 10 July 1902) The temporary construction, including panoramic restaurant, was to crown the Avenida da Liberdade during a a fair which in the end wasn't realized. Figure 120: Eurico Theophilo Pereira, Design of an Arts Academy. (In A Construcção Moderna, 8: 225, 10 June 1907) G. Verheij [Figures] – 220 – Figure 121: Designs for a drawing school by J. Coelho, a Fine- Arts Museum by D. Vieira and an Exhibition Palace by Nogueira Jr. (Architectural supplement of the Annuario da Sociedade de Architectos Portuguezes, 5–6, 1911) Figure 123: Coloured postcard of the Rue de Rivoli in Paris, 1900. (Wikimedia Commons) Figure 124: Paladce of Electricity at the Paris Exposition of 1900. (Wikimedia Commons) Figure 122: J. A. Soares, Design of a monumental Dock. (Architectural supplement of the Annuario da Sociedade de Architectos Portuguezes, 4, 1908) G. Verheij [Figures] Monuments and their problems – 221 – Figure 125: Ceremony of the foundation stone of the Monument to the Heroes of the Peninsular War, 15 September 1908. (Alberto Carlos Lima / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/LIM/000362]) Figure 126: Inauguration of the Monument to the Duque of Saldanha, 13 February 1909. (Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/SEX/000167]) Figure 127: Inauguration of the first Monument to Sousa Martins, 1900 (José Artur Leitão Bárcia / Lisbon, Municipal Archive, [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/BAR/001201]) G. Verheij [Figures] – 222 – Figure 128: Views from different angles of the first monument to Sousa Martins, undated. (Lisbon, Municipal Archive, [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/003/FAN/002952, PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/003/FAN/002951, PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/003/FAN/001796]) Figure 129: Alberto Nunes, Model of a monument to Sousa Martins (second prize at the public competition), 1898. (In O Occidente, 24: 824, 20 November 1901) Figure 130: Costa Mota (the elder), Project for a second Monument to Sousa Martins. (In O Occidente, 25: 846, 30 June 1902) This project was based on Costa Mota's winning entry to the first public competition in1898. G. Verheij [Figures] – 223 – Figure 131: Costa Mota (the elder) giving the finishing touch to the allegory of the second Monument to Sousa Martins. (In Illustração Portugueza, 1: 12, 25 January 1904) Figure 132: Construction of the second Monument to Sousa Martins, around 1907. (José Artur Leitão Bárcia / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/BAR/000116]) Figure 134: Inauguration of the Monument to Eça de Queirós, 1903. (Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/PEL/005/S04094]) Figure 133: A. Teixeira Lopes, Monument to Eça de Queirós. (In Serões, 4: 23, February 1903) The marble sculpture is actually in the gardens of the Palácio Pimenta / Museum of Lisbon. In 2001 it was substituted by a replica in bronze due to successive acts of vandalism. Figure 135: Inauguration of the Monument to Eça de Queirós as seen through the eyes of the illustrator of Illustração Portugueza. (In Illustração Portugueaza, 1: 2, 16 November 1903) G. Verheij [Figures] – 224 – Figure 136: Álvaro Machado, Drawing of a Monument to the newspaper magnate Eduardo Coelho, 1902. (Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/LSM/00080 2]) The monument was inaugurated in the gardens of São Pedro de Alcântara on 29 December 1904. Costa Mota (the elder) made the portrait and the figure of the ardina (newspaper boy). Figure 137: Inauguration of the Monument to the writer Manuel Pinheiro Chagas by Costa Mota (the elder), Avenida da Liberdade, 13 November 1908. (Joshua Benoliel / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/JBN/00 0553]) The female figure represents a popular personage from one of Chagas' theatre plays. Figure 138: A. Teixeira Lopes, Portrait bust of the Viscount of Valmor, 1904. (Paulo Guedes / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/PAG/000132]) Figure 139: Fernandes de Sá, Allegory of sculpture for the mausoleum of the Viscount of Valmor. (In Illustração Portugueza, 20: 90, 24 July 1905) G. Verheij [Figures] Alternative monumentalities – 225 – Figure 141: Elevator of Santa Justa, undated. (Paulo Guedes / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/PAG/00 0257]) The elevator, inaugurated in 1902, was built by the engineer Raoul Mesnier du Ponsard (1848-1914) to link Lisbon's down-town with the Largo do Carmo. Figure 140: A. Coffino, Design of an Exhibition Palace. (In A Construcção Moderna, 8: 243, 10 December 1907) Figure 142: A. Coffini, Section of a proposed subterranean concert room beneath the Rossio square. (In A Construcção Moderna, 13: 404, 20 October 1913) Coffini, a constructor and architect (apparently without formal qualifications), published a series of proposals to shelter modern bourgeois leisure in cast iron. G. Verheij [Figures] – 226 – Figure 143: Praça Dom Luís and the Monument to the Marquis of Sá da Bandeira, undated. Chromolithograph, 34,7 x 58,5 cm. (Lisbon, National Library) The lithograph was a gift to subscribers of the novel Coroa de Espinhos, a translation of a work by the Valencia-born writer and professional conspirator Luis de Val (1867-1930) edited by the elusive Bibliotheca Social Operaria. It should probably be dated in the late 1900s or early 1910s. Much of the appeal of the image resides in its ambiguity: is it a graphic sublimation of a situation of contradiction, staging power and industry as harmonious whole? Or rather a statement of working-class power and an aesthetics of industry and work which creeps up behind the idyllic bourgeois city of leisure? Figure 144: Praça Dom Luís and Monument to the Marquis of Sá da Bandeira, undated. (Paulo Guedes / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/PAG/000524]) G. Verheij [Figures] Metropolis – 227 – Figure 146: Manuel Gustavo Bordalo Pinheiro, Illustration of rapid transit. (In J. Dantas 1913) Figure 147: Illustration of traffic chaos. (In A Capital, 6 September 1910) At the end of the 1900s complaints about dangerous driving increased, but in 1910 the maximum velocity allowed for private cars was, according to a newspaper, 10 km/h (trams were allowed a staggering 20 km/h and horse-drawn cars 15 km/h). (A Capital 1910b) In 1914 new traffic ordinances were discussed in which the speed limit within the city would be elevated to 20 km /h (Actas 1914, 229). Figure 145: The outline of a modern liner drawn over a photograph of the Rossio square at the same scale, illustrating an article about the new liner service between Lisbon and Rio de Janeiro. (In Illustração Portugueza, s. II, 102, 3 February 1908) The image visualises the shock between the old city and modern technology, and strangely recalls Le Corbusier's famous illustration from some 13 years later (see below). Figure 148: Le Corbusier, Montage of the outline of the liner Aquitania and images of Parisian monuments. (In L'Esprit Nouveau, 8 June 1921 / Le Corbusier 1923) G. Verheij [Figures] Figures 149–156 reproduced from Mattos (1906a) – 228 – Figure 149: Alonso, Title illustration. Figure 150: Alonso, Traditional and modern means of transport in the port of Lisbon. Figure 151: Alonso, Monumental watchtower. Figure 152: Alonso, Iron tower with spotlights, elevators and restaurant, recalling the Eiffel Tower. Figure 153: Alonso, Suspended railway in the port of Lisbon (notice the cosmopolitan attendance). Figure 154: Alonso, Tunnel to the other side of the river. Figure 156: Alonso, Modern railway station. Figure 155: Alonso, Industry at the South Bank. G. Verheij [Figures] – 229 – Figure 157: “Lisboa no anno 2000” continues to inspire writers and artists. A short story by João Barreiros based on Melo de Matos' essay inspired an anthology (Barreiros 2000; 2013). Figure 158: Marta Machado, Fictional design for a monorail inspired by Melo de Matos' essay. (In M. Machado 2013) G. Verheij [Figures] – 230 – Figure 159: Views of the docks of Lisbon and city map. (In Brasil-Portugal, 164, 16 November 1905) Port development attracted public attention but also returned the gaze, contributed to a larger visibility of the city itself. G. Verheij [Figures] – 231 – Figure 160: W. H. Koebel, Fishwives. (In Koebel 1909) Figure 161: W. H. Koebel, Port labourers. (In Koebel 1909) Figure 162: Joshua Benoliel, Panoramic views of Lisbon. (In Illustração Portugueza, s. II, 291, 18 September 1911) G. Verheij [Figures] Levelling Lisboa Nova 1)In order to satisfy the regularity of design and intentions of rectilinearity several options were available besides the move to available flat land, which marks planning policies from Ressano Garcia to the Estado Novo. Technical solutions – levelling, tunnels, viaducts, fake walls – could be used to smooth over topographical irregularities (M. H. Lisboa 2002, 141–49). In other cases, the denial of actual topography relied on sheer force of imagination (see f. ex. Figures 92, 282). – 232 – Figure 166: CML-Direcção de Serviços de Urbanização e Obras, Section of a viaduct of the Rua Filipe Folque over the Rua São Sebastião da Pedreira, by J. Faria da Costa, undated. (Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSB/UROB- PU/10/080]) Figure 165: Viaduct of the Avenida Fontes Pereira de Melo over the Rua Santa Marta, 1910s. (Alberto Carlos Lima / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/LIM/000902]) Figure 163: Rua de Arroios, with the viaduct of the Rua Pascoal de Melo in the background, 1967. (Augusto de Jesus Fernandes / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/AJF/ 002761]) Figure 164: CML-Repartição Técnica, Cross section and plan of an unbuilt viaduct between S. Pedro de Alcântara and Campo dos Mártires da Pátria, 1888. (Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSB/UROB-E/23/0175]) G. Verheij [Figures] Through hills and slopes – 233 – Figure 168: Hill-climbing trams and elevators. (In Illustração Portugueza, s: II, 155, 8 February 1909) The apparently impossible manoeuvres of these mechanical means of transportation winding along streets, alleys and slopes surprised visitors (f. ex. Koebel 1909, 66–68); more practical and flexible – and probably less costly – than sprawling viaducts and tunnels, their use generalized during the 1900s, and both were rapidly assimilated into the urban landscape. Figure 169: Street-paving at the Calçada de São Francisco. (Judah Benoliel / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/JBN/004128]) Challenging geographical conditions demanded the adaptation of typically normalizing technologies such as paving, turning them into hallmarks of the city. The flexible mosaic technique called calçada portuguesa allowed for adapting uses and individualized designs. The advantages of this technique for paving irregular street levels and its relevance for an aesthetic urban identity were early perceived. (Esparza 2014, chap. 8; G. Pereira 1895; 1900; Roldan y Pego and Mattos 1910) Figure 167: The transformation of Lisbon. (In O Século Cómico, 22 September 1919) G. Verheij [Figures] The aesthetic gaze, or the city as image – 234 – Figure 170: Silhouettes of Lisbon. (In Illustração Portuguesa, s. II, 787, 19 March 1921) Figure 171: F. Genzmer, Silhouettes of Berlin and Köln. (In Genzmer 1909) Urban silhouettes could be as much a simple artistic curiosity as serious matter of urban design. Figure 172: P. Montez, Historical silhouettes of Lisbon. (In Montez 1935) 3) URBAN AESTHETICS IN REPUBLICAN LISBON The election of Ventura Terra into a Republican municipal council in 1908 opened the way for the practical deployment of “urban aesthetic(s),” within a larger reorientation of urban policies. The creation of a Commission of Municipal Aesthetics was the most visible product of this aesthetic investment. The changes which Ventura Terra brought to the municipal machinery resulted in a conflict with the director of Public Works, providing the direct motive for a reform of the relevant municipal department in 1911 which separated architecture from engineering. As the real outlines of the activities of the Commission of Municipal Aesthetics are difficult to reconstruct, the possibilities of the avowed mission of taking art to the streets are studied through Ventura Terra's design proposals for an urban park and a renovated waterfront. The presence of aesthetic premises is in both cases related to an embryonic notion of a modern public space. Subsequently I trace the limits of the surfacing practice of “urban aesthetic(s)” to conclude with a more nuanced account of its limitations and virtues. Continuities and change at the level of institutional organization and regulation and in the practice of urban design and public space policies are surveyed during the remainder of the First Republic. Finally I argue that the New State appropriated Republican ideas on “urban aesthetic(s)” and adapted them to its own political and ideological needs. G. Verheij Ventura Terra and “municipal aesthetics” Ventura Terra and “municipal aesthetics” Ventura Terra and Republican Lisbon Municipal elections in late 1908 brought an overwhelming victory to the Republican Party, who won all the seats in Lisbon. One of the elected councillors was the architect Miguel Ventura Terra, who brought with him the program of aesthetic regulation as defined by the Society of Architects in 1907 (see p. 198 above). Before delving into the historical convolutions of the ensuing process it is important to situate Republican municipal politics. Republican ideals had risen since the late 19th century, taking advantage of political instability and economic crisis to present itself as the option of regeneration. The utopian horizon of Republicanism was that of a solid national community founded upon equality, reason, patriotism, independence and participation: the perfect Polis.336 Towards the end of the century it had become the first mass political party in Portugal. In Lisbon it built up an urban audience of workers, shopkeepers, traders, doctors and employees. (D. Alves 2012) In the unstable political climate following the king's murder (1 February 1908) the government elected after the fall of J. Franco (see note 232 above) decided to realize municipal elections. Amidst conspiracies, secret meetings and repression the gesture was meant as a sign of goodwill to regain some of the public confidence lost with Franco's dictatorial measures, one of which had been the substitution of elected municipal councils by appointed administrative commissions in May 1907. Already in the legislative elections in April, realized amidst popular revolts in Lisbon with several deaths, the Republican party had obtained an important victory, electing several members of Parliament (Ill. Port. 1908b). In the municipal elections of 1 November it was the obvious winner, gaining Lisbon and other municipalities, especially in the south of the country. From here on the republicans obtained a series of political victories, paving the way for the Republic revolution of 5 October 1910. (Figures 173–74, 179) One of the councillors entering the municipality was the prestigious architect Miguel Ventura Terra (Figures 180–1). Born in a modest family in Seixal, in Northern Portugal, Ventura Terra had studied architecture in Porto, after which he gained a scholarship to study in Paris. He apprenticed with Victor Laloux, author of the Gare d'Orsay. On his return after graduation in 1894 he was tasked with the reconstruction of National Parliament, destroyed by a fire. The 336 Republican ideals are best captured in the oft-quoted words of the poet Antero de Quental (1842- 1891): “A República é, no estado, liberdade; nas consciencias, moralidade; na industria, producção; no trabalho, segurança; na nação força e independencia. Para todos, riqueza; para todos, egualdade; para todos, luz.” (Quental 1870; Serrão 1980; on Republicanism and the First Republic in general, F. Catroga 2000; 2010; R. Ramos 2001; A. Reis 2002; Rosas and Rollo 2009) – 236 – G. Verheij Ventura Terra and Republican Lisbon prestigious job, finished with skill, was the start of a successful career as private professional, public expert and associative figurehead.337 It is important to note that Ventura Terra entered the municipality as a politician, not a technician. He was a fervent Republican, Freemason since the late 1890s and active in the profession's promotion. The Municipal Council itself was composed of a representative though heterogeneous sample of Republican interests.338 Other members were the teacher and journalist Agostinho José Fortes (1869-1940); José Veríssimo de Almeida (1834-1915) and José Miranda do Vale (1877-1966), both professors at the Institute of Agronomy and Veterinary; Tomás Cabreira (1865-1918), a versatile engineer339 who taught at the Polytechnic School; José Soares da Cunha e Costa (1868-1928), a famous lawyer, journalist and omnivorous lecturer, who by 1913 had turned into a declared monarchist; the merchant, high- ranking Freemason and former president of Lisbon's Commercial Association Luís Filipe da Mata (1853-1924); the attorney Augusto José Vieira (1864-1942); the businessman Francisco Grandela (1852-1934), owner of the celebrated Grandela Department Store; Tomé José de Barros Queirós (1872-1926), a self-made capitalist who maintained links to his clerk roots; and last but not least Anselmo Braamcamp Freire (1849-1921), a rich and erudite landowner of noble lineage turned Republican politician during Franco's dictatorship, who was elected president of the council.340 The Monarchic Government never confirmed Braamcamp Freire in his post; until October 1910 Lisbon did it without official president. The refusal was symptomatic of perhaps predictable State animosity towards the Republican municipal council, who on its turn seized available opportunities to provoke. The municipal decision to name a street after Francesc Ferrer i Guàrdia (1859-1909), the Catalan pedagogue executed in Barcelona in 1909, was overturned by the State on the ground that it was an undue “act of appreciation, critique or censorship” of foreign political decisions. (Actas 1909, 637–38, 791–93) The municipal decision to restrain festive lighting and flagging of the Town Hall to the 1st of January, opening of Parliament, Anniversary of the Head of State and 1st of December (when independence of Spain in 1640 is celebrated) as part of a program of economic restraint omitted royal solemnities, traditionally moments of municipal festivity. The lacuna came to 337 Ventura Terra was, among others, member of the Commission of National Monuments and first chair of the Society of Architects. He is generally held to have been instrumental in the modernization of architectural production in Portugal. (On the architect and his work, see A. I. Ribeiro 2006; Xardoné, Costa, and Rufino 2009) 338 Absent were workers, ineligible at the time due to voting restrictions. Organized labour interests initially supported the Republican Party, seduced by its social promises, yet after 1910 rapidly entered in conflict with its bourgeois options. 339 T. Cabreira published scholarly work on a variety of subjects (from chemistry to political economy and agrarian education, including a short detour through art history) and founded the Popular University of Lisbon and the Republican Group of Social Studies. Additionally he was a catholic Freemason. (A. B. Nunes 2008) 340 For complete biographies, see F. M. Veiga (2009; on Braamcamp Freire, see also T. P. da Silva (2010). The complete list of elected councillors: Francisco Grandela, Ventura Terra, Tomás Cabreira, Veríssimo de Almeida, José Miranda do Vale, Luís Filipe da Mata, Cardoso de Oliveira, Carlos Ferreira Alves, Cunha e Costa and Augusto José Vieira; substitutes members: Barros Queirós, Afonso de Lemos, Agostinho José Fortes, Nunes Loureiro, Dias Ferreira, Aurélio da Costa Ferreira, Pimentel Leão, Alberto Marques, Inácio Costa, Ramos Simões and Manuel Caetano Alves. – 237 – G. Verheij Ventura Terra and Republican Lisbon light shortly before the constitutional oath in Parliament of the Crown Prince (Afonso, brother of Carlos I), on 18 April 1910. On the last minute the municipal council was ordered to festively illuminate the Towh Hall; Braamcamp Freire refused for lack of budget; in response firemen were sent in to force the festive appearance, resulting in municipal outcry. (Actas 1910, 187–95) But the council did not embroil itself in the corruption scandals and conflicts of interests as some of the previous Monarchic councils, who had signed a number of agreements at the cost of municipal interests. On the contrary, it was able to balance the problematic municipal finances, undermined by the financial hole left by flawed financial calculations over the development of Lisboa Nova (specifically the Picoas area).341 It did not fear to challenge powerful vested interests, from monopoly companies to the State itself, justifying to its constituency the hopes of national “moralization” deposited in the Republican movement. The Republic, officially proclaimed from Lisbon's Town Hall on 5 October 1910 after a the revolutionary overthrow of Monarchy, didn't exactly bring what the municipal council had hoped for. In January 1913 its members demitted collectively. The official justification was the fulfilment of the four mandated years, while elections were being postponed until a new Administrative Code was approved. But along the collective “exhaustion” of these intensive, unpaid and in part unrewarded years, continuing tensions with the State and still solidly- vested interests also seem to have played a role. During the following pages there will be several occasions to note the perceived indifference of the State to the capital's interests. In November 1911, the municipal council stated this feeling explicitly in a message of gratitude addressed to the Republic's new president, Manuel de Arriaga (1840-1917), who had paid tribute to the role of the municipality in the Revolution during the previous October commemoration. According to the message, the municipal council had been the “avant-garde” of the “Republican army” (avançadas do exercito republicano), giving a foretaste of what Republican administration would look like. Yet once installed the Republic had brought “painful disappointment” (penoso dissabor). Nothing but kind words (algumas boas palavras) were returned. Hardly any of the prerogatives, benefits and services which, according to the council, had been unrighteously subtracted from municipal hands during the Monarchy had been restored. (Actas 1911, 687–88) Uneasy relations with the new State were joined by a series of more general conflicts which agitated the city during the Republic.342 Strikes (most importantly in the port and public transportation) compounded with the lack of real progress in municipal relations with monopoly companies, with a crisis around a new fish market – including Town Hall invasion by angry fishwives – as the finishing touch.343 The municipal council insisted the collective 341 Barros Queirós sorted out the financial confusion – hidden through a construct of parallel accounts – in a detailed report, including the insinuation that this was a purpose-made financial bomb bequeathed by previous Monarchic councils. (Actas 1909, 534–36, 590–612, 726) 342 During the first years of the Republic there were as much expectations of much-needed change as uncertainty about the roads and priorities to take. Around 1913 growing criticism could be heard over the failure to define new priorities. A series of failed attempts to restore the Monarchy, with invasions in the North during 1911 and 1912, added to political uncertainty. 343 The crisis was the result of one of the many class conflicts which until 1910 had been suppressed but then erupted into the public sphere with force and complexity. In this case the conflict opposed fish street sellers (the famous peixeiras), middlemen (represented in the Associação de Classe dos Vendedores) and fishing companies, a number of whom had formed a commercial company – 238 – G. Verheij Ventura Terra and Republican Lisbon resignation had nothing to do with this, but the last months of its activity – with mounting criticism in the press344 (f. ex. B. Simões 1912b; Benarus 1912; Brun 1913a, b, c) – were far from comfortable. The episode of the fish market interfered directly with one of the main urban projects of the municipal council, elaborated by Ventura Terra. The transformation of the existing market near Cais do Sodré into a modern fish and vegetable market was a key piece in a larger policy geared towards waterfront regeneration. The backlash of the fish crisis was one factor in its posterior suspension. (This is discussed with detail later on.) In this sense the conflict was a clear symptom of the failure of the council's project of a “Republican city.” The invasion of the seat of municipal power by angry fishwives (which folklore already then considered true representatives of the Lisbon people) capsized Republican ideals of rational democratic decision-making and consensus and undermined the political fiction of popular legitimacy, which nurtured the council's action hitherto. It showed graphically that the time's social- political dynamics were overhauling the ideological framework of turn-of-the-century social reformism, which was what linked these municipal “men of goodwill” together – as if a small foretaste of later catastrophes which definitely emptied these ideals of their political potential. (Figures 175–76) Yet for a few years these ideals guided municipal action, and it is important to have them present. The Republican program for Lisbon was outlined in the first council session in 1908 in the form of a statement of intentions, as – the councillors readily recognized the fact – the necessary political and financial conditions for their realization were not yet in place. Luís Filipe da Mata exposed the general program, centred on the improvement of living conditions of the “poor classes” and “the people” and Republican ideals of emancipation and democratization. Included were youth holiday colonies, collective bathhouses, public gardens, more schools and markets, civic festivals, affordable housing, the creation of “People's Houses” (Casas do Povo, a kind of neighbourhood civic centres), exhibitions, and revisions of municipal taxes, by-laws and services. (Actas 1908, 387–400) (Sociedade Comercial de Pescarias), who created their own selling point in Santos. Bypassed middlemen complained about undue and unsavoury practices, yet when the municipal council decided to provisionally close the commercial fish market in Santos, which had not been licensed as such, angry fish sellers invaded the Town Hall. At least one source suggests this was the real reason for the council's dismissal. (For the building-up of the conflict, A Capital, issues from 18 February and 31 March 1911 and 27 April1 1912; on the conflict itself, Ill. Port. 1912; Occidente 1913a) 344 Critics even included one of the council's own. The department store magnate Grandela gave a highly critical interview on the activity of the municipal council, accusing it of “aristocratism” and loosing their and his time with trivialities. Councillors acridly responded that Grandela's lost time couldn't have been much, as he had only been present in 14 out of 185 council sessions. From Grandela's own comments one deduces that for him the council's refusal to lower the cost of luxury dog permits had been a major disappointment. (O Século 1912b; Actas 1912, 341–45) Grandela's municipal activity, even if minor, resulted in a study to transform the (then unpaved) Praça do Comércio with “elegant grass beds” and paths (but no trees). A preliminary draft was made but put aside on suggestion of the Commission of Municipal Aesthetics. (Actas 1911, 611; 1912, 293; 1913, 694, 759) – 239 – G. Verheij Ventura Terra and Republican Lisbon Though the situation of working classes occupied a relevant place, the program – characteristically urban in nature – essentially translated the ambitions and aspirations of commerce, the liberal professions and petty-bourgeoisie. Politically, the council's aspirations were those of municipal autonomy and democratization, held to guarantee prosperity and emancipation. (Actas 1908, 391–393) One of the most despised aspects of late-Monarchic municipal politics was what Republicans termed the “custodial regime” (regime de tutela): the direct supervision by the State of a large part of municipal decisions. The Republican council denounced it as an “impertinent fiction” (ficção impertinente). (Actas 1909, 590–612) It was largely discussed – and condemned – at the first Municipalist Congress in 1909,345 an initiative of one of the council's members, Agostinho Fortes, who contributed with an historical analysis of municipal politics. Another member, Cunha e Costa, defended municipal autonomy, administrative decentralization and direct democracy. (Congresso Municipalista 1909) The Republican Party had articulated a program of administrative decentralization since 1891, defending a federalist solution (that is, legitimizing power bottom-up, from municipality through district to State). But though municipal autonomy was inscribed in the Republican constitution of 1911 it never translated into adequate legislation.346 In the practical power relations between State and local administrations the generalized “custodial regime” was abolished (though remaining an option in emergency situations such as municipal insolvency), but the State remained the final guarantee of local power. (Serra 1996; Catroga 2004) The Monarchic “obstructionist regime” (regime de empata) survived in the new Republic, Ventura Terra denounced in 1913. (Garção 1913) Economically, the Republican councillors promoted a combination of economic liberalism and social justice, visible, for example, in the attempts to remove administrative limitations on the sale of basic necessities such as bread or meat which had created de facto monopolies. Very important for their urban program was the investment in tourism. The main dynamics in favour of tourist promotion developed before the council's election, but it supported relevant initiatives such as the 4th International Congress of Tourism in May 1911. Ventura Terra represented the council in the congress' Executive Commission; the municipality itself contributed with a reception in the Town Hall and a garden-party at the Jardim da Estrela.347 More generally the congress provided a motive to dress up the city and share reflection on 345 A second and last edition was held in Porto in 1910. There the main subject of discussion was the need for new national legislation on expropriation. 346 In fact the municipal organization approved by a new Administrative Code in 1913 (lei 88) went against the ideal written into the Constitution from 1911. While the latter's fourth title posited the basis for financial and political administrative autonomy, the Administrative Code sanctioned centralization. J. B. Serra (1996) has suggested that the reason for the final option for a unitary rather than federalist State was due to the perceived demands of realpolitik. Local autonomy may have seemed politically untimely when anti-Republican ideals were still strong in rural areas, and financially dangerous, as according to long-standing custom local administrations were seen as a potential source of national budget imbalances. 347 On the relation between tourist promotion and urban development, see p. 118 above. The 1911 Tourism Congress functioned a bit like a minor version of the national or international exhibition. Indeed the municipal cartographer Júlio António Vieira da Silva Pinto (1860-?) proposed to include a comparative exhibition of city plans in the congress' program. (Actas 1911, 18–19) Such shows were by then a standard feature of city-related international meetings. Though approved, no further references could be found on whether it was realized. – 240 – G. Verheij Ventura Terra and Republican Lisbon relevant urban subjects such as urban heritage. (Actas 1911, 221; Ill. Port. 1911a; Prudencio 1911; E. Costa 1911; Cerdeira 2014b, 99–102; Figures 175, 177–78) Regarding the “civic” intentions, these were discussed with detail in relation to the public festivities commemorating the 1910 Revolution. According to the councillors, the latter should be a display and engine of national and civic “resurgence” rather than a mere political celebration. Augusto Vieira proposed something akin to an International Exhibition (examples of which he quoted abundantly) to stimulate national (and colonial) culture, promote national industries and attract foreigners. Loureiro added a typically Republican pedagogical edge through competitions and recitals. In the end municipal participation turned out to be more modest, and focused on another classical tool of Republican pedagogy: art. A competition for a Republican bust, memorials and the foundation stone for a future Monument to the Republic were joined by the decoration of the itinerary of a civic parade. (Actas 1911, 338–39, 519) The focus on aesthetics rather than ceremony or, in other terms, the staging of symbols rather than “the people” themselves had something to do with meagre municipal finances. Yet it was the symbolic side of it which dominated the ideas of the main ideologue of a municipal commemorative policy, Agostinho Fortes. From the start he defended a program along the lines proposed by Téofilo Braga in 1884, which consisted basically in a pragmatic appropriation of Comte's civic religion. Fortes predictably focused on a cult of “Great Men,” immortalized through monuments and toponymy.348 (Actas 1908, 356– 57) Urban policies and “municipal aesthetics” For the purpose of this study the most important point of the municipal program was far much concrete. Among the intentions unfolded by Mata one explicitly formulated a change of focus in urban development policies, held to have been excessively centred on Lisboa Nova. Other areas of the city were to be cared for, and most of all the central waterfront.349 Ventura Terra added a four-point amendment which developed this generic statement into a concrete program (Actas 1908, 397–99): 1. To study the possibilities of the Municipality to intervene in the aesthetics of future buildings (esthetica das futuras edificações), especially when they affect important streets, avenues or squares. 348 The municipal council approved Fortes' suggestions for the promotion of monuments to Alexandre Herculano and José Felix Henriques Nogueira, on ground of their defence of municipal autonomy, and contributed to a monument to the writer Camillo Castelo Branco. None of these materialized. Monuments, commemorative plaques, public tributes and toponymy make up the larger share of Fortes' municipal activity. Among these the council favoured the economical yet lasting act of street naming, though it must be noted that they responded to the flood of suggestions for new names after the 1910 Revolution with the decision only to substitute explicitly royal or religious names and impose a minimum decease limit of 10 years to qualify for public tribute. (Actas 1911, 468) 349 “Que independentemente do aformoseamento do bairro novo entre a Avenida da Liberdade e Campo Grande, se cuide com todo o desvelo dos outros bairros e sitios da Cidade e nomeadamente de toda a faixa denominada Aterro, que se estende pelas margens do Tejo.” (Actas 1908, 397–98) – 241 – G. Verheij Urban policies and “municipal aesthetics” 2. To review the project for the Eduardo VII Park, included in Ressano Garcia’s extension plans but endlessly postponed for lack of funds, and for this reason pretty much the image of the city's frustrated desires of modernity. 3. To study the enlargement of the Rua do Arsenal, a major traffic bottleneck, by means of a large arcade for pedestrian traffic. 4. To start working on a general development plan for the city, refocusing municipal policies towards the waterfront and including the creation north of the city of major public parks. As will be argued in this chapter, Ventura Terra's municipal activity consisted essentially in the development of these points. The virtue of the program itself was not so much in its originality as in the way it pragmatically grasped widely shared aspirations.350 For now the general re-orientation of urban policies indicated here needs some further comment. It implied, in the first place, a political change of focus from the modern bourgeois residential districts towards a more complete picture which included both the the problematic realities of the central popular districts, the mushrooming semi-legal developments outwards and the neglected waterfront. This meant an end to the kind of logic put into place during the previous decades, with its reliance on heavy public investment combined with laissez-faire economics typical of 19th century liberalism. To the council Ressano Garcia was a welcome personification of this type of politics, and he was duly criticized.351 Both Lisboa Nova and the dreams of a “monumental Lisbon”352 were, consequently, left aside. Behind the general geography of municipal attention during 1908-1913 is an embryonic concern with a city which had already started to grow into a metropolitan scale. The attention absorbed by the areas around the Avenida Almirante Reis (until 1910 Avenida D. Amélia) and 350 Precedents are studied by A. V. da Silva (1968, 113–34) and A. M. Barata (2010). To take one example regarding the general development plan, C. M. Dias, after outlining a situation of urban impasse in the wake of Ressano Garcia's extension scheme, concluded in 1906 that it was now urgent to elaborate a “definitive plan” for “central, maritime Lisbon.” (C. M. Dias 1907, 275) 351 The general critique was that he ranked speculative real estate development above the public interest. Concrete points were the absence of public equipments such as schools and markets, or the exiguity of public gardens. (Actas 1908, 457; 1909, 72, 133; A Capital 1911f) The criticism was resumed in 1911 by Miranda do Vale, a member of the municipal council turned Republican senator, in a a clarifying sentence: “O alargamento para o norte foi um êrro estético como já foi demonstrado pelo Sr. Ventura Terra; e foi um êrro económico como está demonstrado pelos relatórios [municipais].” (Diário do Senado da República, 15 May 1912) 352 Fialho de Almeida's “Lisboa monumental” (see p. 150–160 above) was, in retrospective, something like a final recapitulation of the monumental theme, major piece of a last convulsion of monumentalist image production under J. Franco's government. The last relevant act was the proposal to construct a hotel in the São Pedro de Alcântara garden by a French-Portuguese partnership (aptly named “O Sol de Lisboa”), refused by the Republican municipal council with arguments over the need to preserve existing public space. Gardens were local “lungs,” essential to popular hygiene, pondered Ventura Terra. The project itself – a rather banal Beaux-arts composition – might have been a scam; it was credited to one Maurice le Curieux, a French architect who, if indeed existing, certainly had nothing to do with the casinos of Ostend, Monaco or Biarritz, as local promoters told the press. (Ill. Port. 1909; Actas 1908, 428–29, 440–41; 1909, 147) – 242 – G. Verheij Urban policies and “municipal aesthetics” along the line Rato – Jardim da Estrela – Alcântara confirms a continuing link to the river, much related to new, often neglected popular districts. But especially after the Republican Revolution of 1910 growing suburban areas up North, until here poorly served by infrastructures and political representation, also assumed more vindictive stances. The many demands of small but urgent urban improvements were more or less answered. A major example is the creation of a public park in Benfica (actual Parque Silva Porto; it resulted from a donation of a local benefactor), opened to the public in 1911 and the object of improvements during the remainder of the decade. (Carapinha 2009, 228–31) The weightiest point of Ventura Terra's program was undoubtedly the production of a general development plan. Though different sources mention the existence of detailed studies for this plan (f. ex. Ill. Port. 1910; A Capital 1911c; A República 1911f; Actas 1911, 339–40) none of them seems to have survived the passage of time. One possible reason is that it was the architect himself, rather than the municipal Department of Public Works, who elaborated the studies; as the results were never officially presented to the municipal council they presumably remained in the possession of the architect, and might have been part of Ventura Terra's estate lost in a fire.353 Besides the concrete projects studied later on only very partial details can be reconstructed from extant sources. One example is an avenue going from Príncipe Real to Santa Catarina, straight through the Bairro Alto, to give access to a future bridge over the river (A República 1911f). The plan could have been a valuable element to assess the modernity of Ventura Terra's planning culture. The absence can to a certain extent be redressed by the development plan he elaborated for Funchal, capital of Madeira, between 1913 and 1915.354 Ventura Terra was invited to produce a plan in 1912, mainly on account of previsions of growing tourism, and left for Madeira within weeks of the collective resignation of the Lisbon council. The Funchal plan was guided by similar premises as Ventura Terra's proposals for Lisbon: visual order, improvement of circulation, the combined requirements of “beauty” and “comfort,” and attention to landscape and viewpoints. In fact, similar solutions were included, such as a seaside promenade with casino, a large square to receive tourists and a general focus on the enhancement of public space. In a sense, Ventura Terra applied in Funchal what he hadn't been able to do in Lisbon, as he more or less admitted himself in an interview for a local newspaper (Heraldo da Madeira 1913, quoted by T. Vasconcelos 2008, 32). The short period needed for the plan (finished in 1915), the solidity of the used methodology and the 353 Part of Ventura Terra's estate, kept at his brother's house, was lost in a fire during the late 1980s, according to information provided by the Associação Ventura Terra. 354 The development plan for Funchal has been the object of recent monographs (T. Vasconcelos 2008; C. S. Perdigão 2009; C. S. Perdigão and Virtudes 2010; 100 anos 2015), but awaits integration into the history of urban planning in Portugal. Notwithstanding admitted differences between large, industrializing cities such as Lisbon or Porto and the relatively small tourist resort, the Funchal plan is in fact the first really comprehensive development plan – i.e. including both reform of the existing city and extension – to be approved in Portugal during the 20th century. A cursory comparison with the 1904 extension plan for Lisbon shows qualitative differences, for example in the control of private construction beyond crude requirements of hygiene and safety, policies of green spaces and public facilities or the incorporation of social concerns (namely affordable housing). Future studies will certainly do justice to the pioneering and innovative character of this plan. – 243 – G. Verheij Urban policies and “municipal aesthetics” confidence basic planning concepts are used with355 suggest that by 1913 Ventura Terra was rather well at home in matters of urban planning. (Figure 182) The roots of the architect's planning cultural are to be sought in the generalized international circulation outlined in the previous chapter rather than theoretical reflection. In writings and interviews the architect remained staunchly in the domain of the practical and the local, even if he appears as a gifted speaker, capable of sharing visual anticipations and enthusiasm.356 But his practice attests to a cosmopolitan outlook. Occasional references show a keen awareness of international developments, especially in France (f. ex. Actas 1911, 117). Ventura Terra maintained an international dialogue with scholars and architects (f. ex. Actas 1909, 801–2) and consistently attended the International Congresses of Architects and, as municipal councillor, the International Congresses of Tourism in Lisbon (1911) and Madrid (1912). (Actas 1911, 705, 744; 1912, 611–12, 667) He was more or less aware of the International Road Congresses, of which the municipality was a full member (Actas 1909, 579). More importantly, Ventura Terra was to represent the municipality at the 1910 Town Planning Conference in London, held from 10 to 15 October; it was probably the Republican revolution 5 days earlier which prevented him from doing so. Besides this Ventura Terra was well-travelled and had visited most of Europe's cities, providing him with an extensive repertoire of urban “cases” to which Lisbon is constantly compared.357 An example is the large tour made through Spain, Italy, Swiss, Germany and France during the last months of 1911, representing the city of Lisbon and the government of Portugal at the International Congress of Architects in Rome and collecting arguments in favour of his waterfront proposals.358 (Actas 1911, 487, 740–41; Diário do Govérno, 21 September 1911; Figure 183) 355 See the studies quoted in note 354. Ventura Terra exposed his methodology in the interview for the Heraldo da Madeira; it closely followed basic procedures of the planning culture of his time: 1) data collection, especially on works in progress and the possibilities of creating more open space in the centre; 2) preliminary plan; 3) final, long-term General Development Plan (plano geral de melhoramentos) with different implementation phases (present, near future, long-term future of 50 to 100 years). (T. Vasconcelos 2008, 32) 356 Ventura Terra's capacity to enthusiastically give life to the yet to be built is a recurrent topic in interviews: “O illustre architecto continúa então como se já visse realisada essa obra que tanto aformosearia a cidade.” (Ill. Port. 1910, 973) “Todos nós vimos como, das suas palavras, essa Lisboa surgia magestosamente, ora caminhando á beira do rio, n'uma florida cadeia de avenidas, ora subindo as encostas na audaciosa espiral macadamisada (…) arrancando da Baixa até á Graça.” (A República 1911b) The words of the architect – stocked with schemes, drawings, maps – led one interviewer to see a “city of art and dream,” a sumptuous new Babylon, arise from the “Pombaline dunghill” (monturo pombalino). (A República 1911a; see also Actas 1910, 577–79, 664; 1911, 339–42, etc.) 357 “Eu tenho viajado um pouco, tenho mesmo viajado alguma coisa... E não calcula a immensa pena com que a muitas leguas da minha patria eu tanta vez tenho chamado a um confronto Lisboa e as varias capitaes europeias. Nem Paris, nem Berlim, nem Londres, nem Bruxellas possuem uma pequena parte só das bellezas naturaes da nossa cidade.” (A República 1911a; for similar statements, Actas 1910, 579; A República 1911b) 358 “Depois duma viagem pela maioria das cidades da Europa, [Ventura Terra] regressa a Lisboa com mais arreigada convicção de que a nossa Capital poderá ser classificada das mais belas cidades, introduzindo-se-lhe melhoramentos que a beneficiem.” (Actas 1911, 754) – 244 – G. Verheij Urban policies and “municipal aesthetics” In existing readings of Ventura Terra there is a strong accent on the utopian, echoing enthusiastic accolades of his time such as these nostalgic memories of Francisco José da Rocha Martins (1879-1952), a Republican journalist-cum-historiographer and eye-witness of the period: O arquitecto Ventura Terra (...) era um artista. Se lhe entregassem Lisboa com um orçamento opulento ele, pondo ao serviço da arte a sua imensa fantasia, transformaria esse amontoado de casas numa cidade de fadas. Sonhava parques, pontes dominando os morros, avenidas largas, cheias de estátuas, dominando o Tejo, luz do Sol e de iluminações magnificentes.359 (O Século 1959, 466, quoted by A. I. Ribeiro in Xardoné, Costa, and Rufino 2009, 103, 109) But placing Ventura Terra's ideas in the future, outside of his time, often circumvents the cosmopolitan dimension. The main conclusion becomes one of “intense” utopianism (Mangorrinha 2010), focusing on Beaux-Arts urban form rather than the embryonic engagement with planning concerns. The fact that in the end almost nothing of Ventura Terra's ideas were executed obviously facilitates this qualification as one more utopian project in a line of failed urban modernization. J.-A. França (1992, 238) consequently wrote it off as yet another frustrated attempt to introduce some cosmopolitan air in the city. J. M. Fernandes (1993, 74) interpreted it ambiguously as utopian “decorativism.” An early monographic study (M. J. A. L. Perdigão 1988) hinted that Ventura Terra brought something new to the planning conceptions of the time, yet in the end also remains stuck in dichotomies between utopian Parisian cosmopolitanism and obstructive local “provincialism” – high dreams pitted against practical failures. Whatever the virtues ascribed to the architect, in the end Ventura Terra appears as a well-intentioned day-dreamer, naively unaware of the unforgiving restrictions of economic and social realities. R. H. da Silva (2006; reprinted in English as R. H. da Silva 2009) was the first to convincingly argue the relevance of Ventura Terra's planning proposals beyond the epochal veil of Beaux-arts monumentalism. Drawing on the innovative work of P. V. Almeida, Silva insisted on the cosmopolitanism of Portuguese architectural culture of the time and the “French matrix” of Ventura Terra's urban proposals.360 Though she repeated the argument that “Lisbon was not up to [Ventura Terra's] dreams” she linked this “utopian side” to a “tradition 359 These and similar comments – “Entreguem-lhe a cidade, deem-lhe facilidades e Lisboa será tão artistica quanto é naturalmente formosa.” (Ill. Port. 1910, 372) “Lisboa vai resurgir do montão pombalino, e, remodelada, transformada, apparecerá finalmente, dentro em breve, como a capital aureolada d'um grande povo.” (A Capital 1911c) – are but the other side of less admiring qualifications of Ventura Terra as an air-castle builder. One example from a satirical publication of the time (credited to a gossiping statue of the Town Hall's pediment): “– E a respeito dos projectos do Ventura Terra? – Isso era uma grande ventura se fossem praticaveis! – Porque não? – Porque não ha dinheiro. Portanto, arcadas, palacios de exposições, estações e mercados não passam... – De quê? – De castellos no ar, caro amigo.” (C. Simões 1911, 18) 360 This is discussed in Verheij (2015a). Recent re-visitations of certain aspects of Ventura Terra's work follow the international perspective argued for by R. H. da Silva (f. ex. T. Neto 2016; Varela 2016). However, Silva's suggestion was not followed when an earlier Colloquium on the first Republican town council, organized by the Municipality of Lisbon, provided the opportunity (CML 2010, especially J. Mangorrinha). Ongoing research and increased visibility of the architect after commemorations of his 150th birth-year (2016) promise to bring new attention and prospects. – 245 – G. Verheij Urban policies and “municipal aesthetics” of European urban art” and the pioneering planning proposals of the time. (R. H. da Silva 2009, 302) Silva herself noted there is something of a paradox in “such a pragmatic man as Ventura Terra” endeavouring on the the apparently ungrounded utopia of balanced urban growth. Of course, many arguments for a utopian reading can be adduced; much of them are reproduced along the pages of A. M. Barata's study on urban proposals between 1860-1930 (2010), the most thorough engagement with Ventura Terra's planning activity to this date. Yet the utopian reading endows the proposals, and especially the ensuing processes, with an apparently easy legibility which, in my view, fails to recognize the way they articulate with and work within a very complex context. Differently from a Utopia (a “non-place” by definition), Ventura Terra's proposals had a definite place in the urban dynamics of the time. The reading I propose in this chapter is consequently based on the hypothesis that there was more to it than visionary but ultimately utopian ideas.361 The entrance to the proposed re-visitation of Ventura Terra's planning activity is that of “urban aesthetic(s).” The solid background behind the priority given to aesthetic regulation in the architect's municipal program will by now be clear. Ventura Terra was vice-president of the board of the Society of Architects when it issued its petition in defence of the city's “aesthetic.” (SAP 1907a; p. 198 above) He undoubtedly underwrote the arguments over the ultimately moral demand of aesthetic regulation and “artistic censorship,” and the unsurpassed capacities of the architect as aesthetic expert. Consequently, his election as municipal councillor brought a unique opportunity to translate these and other aspirations of the architectural profession into solid municipal policies. The creation, on the architect's initiative, of a “Commission of Municipal Aesthetics” (Comissão de Estética Municipal) clearly belongs to this politics. With this passage the discourse of “urban aesthetic(s)” was plunged into the specificities of context and a myriad of local policies, tactics and strategies. Though Ventura Terra's involvement with “municipal aesthetics” is routinely mentioned in relevant literature, hardly any effort has been put into understanding the Commission's activity. Like the era's champions of the “urban aesthetic(s),” historians don't seem to have deemed the elaboration of a working definition and reflection on the possible implications it brought to the modes of urban production worth the trouble. In the remainder of this chapter I will approach this as the practical deployment of the aspirations of an “urban aesthetics” discussed earlier. To do this, two approaches are proposed: one, the tailing of aesthetic supervision and regulation and its impact on the production of urban space; the other, the pursuit of its impact on municipal projects elaborated by Ventura Terra himself. No solid evidence about the proposed study on the possibilities of municipal intervention in the “aesthetic” of buildings (i.e. private architecture, see p. 241, point 1 above) could be located. Yet a later comment by Ventura Terra suggest it was made. In January 1910 the architect proposed that contracts of sale, cession or use permissions of municipal soil include 361 The outlines of this reading were first proposed at the Southern Modernism congress in Porto (Verheij 2015b). For a general critique of the kind of logic at work in the readings quoted on this page, see p. 23 above. – 246 – G. Verheij Urban policies and “municipal aesthetics” aesthetic prescriptions (determinadas condições de esthetica), i.e. artistic servitudes.362 The reason he adduced was the non-existence of laws or regulations which allowed the municipality to “intervene in the urban aesthetic in relation to private building,” suggesting no legal framework existed to regulate private construction on aesthetic grounds.363 But only half a year earlier he still seemed convinced about such a possibility. Discussing the “aesthetic conditions” (condições estheticas) of a projected avenue linking the Praça de Estrela with Alcântara (Avenida Tenente Valadim, were later the Avenida Infante Santo was built) Ventura Terra categorically stated the municipal “right” – it is not clear whether he referred to a moral or a juridical right – “not to consent constructions offending aesthetics and good taste” (construcções offensivas da esthetica e do bom gosto). (Actas 1909, 405) The 1910 proposal appears thus as a kind of palliative to the legal impossibility of general aesthetic regulation, limiting it by force of legal circumstances to the special case of municipal soil. In line with common arguments of “urban aesthetic(s),” the kind of prescriptions proposed by the architect would vary according to the importance of site, and regulate the “artistic disposition and proper proportions of façades” (disposição artistica e boas proporções das fachadas) rather than prescribe specific materials, ornamental styles or degrees of material splendour. He supported his idea by descriptions of the “inappropriate spectacle” of “certain constructions and establishments” along the city's main avenues. Yet even in this diluted form aesthetics didn't make it into regulation. Braamcamp Freire cautiously proposed to study the matter with more care, after which it seem to have been quietly dropped. (Actas 1910, 10; Barata 2007, 133) Political and legal realities didn't give way as easily as champions of “urban aesthetic(s)” had thought. But, as has already been mentioned, that other key demand of partisans of “urban aesthetic(s)” – an expert commission of artists and architects – was met. The creation of a “Commission of Municipal Aesthetics,” on Ventura Terra's initiative, was approved during the council session of 19 August 1909.364 This Commission was tasked with advisory functions over the improvement of municipal resources relating to the hitherto neglected “aesthetic” of Lisbon and its “artistic comfort,” and especially with regard to the construction and development of avenues, squares, streets and gardens and the protection of viewpoints. 362 Another councillor, Costa Ferreira, had made an isolated proposal of introducing “by-laws of artistic servitude” (posturas de servidão artistica) in 1909. (Actas 1909, 72) 363 “Não possuindo esta Camara leis ou regulamentos pelos quaes possa intervir na esthetica da cidade, na parte respeitante ás edificações particulares; o que a colloca n'uma situação de evidente inferioridade com relação ás outras capitaes; e emquanto se não estabelecem leis que regulem estes importantes serviços (...)” (Actas 1910, 10) 364 It was the opening piece of a package of urban measures, including studies on workers' housing by Tomás Cabreira, reaffirming again the perceived priority of the subject. The session itself had something of a taking of stock of work done so far and of reaffirming taken roads. Miranda do Vale mentioned recent press criticism and insisted on the work of administrative reform and “moralization” rather than showy urban projects. “(...) referindo se aos detractores da actual vereação que a censuraram por nada haver feito, disse que não podiam surgir as grandes avenidas e os bellos edificios apenas do facto de se terem sentado nas cadeiras da vereação os actuaes eleitos do povo. Não o permittem as finanças municipaes, mas não tem a vereação estado occiosa porque muito tem feito, quanto a moralisação da aministração municipal e regularisação das suas finanças.” (Actas 1909, 487) – 247 – G. Verheij Urban policies and “municipal aesthetics” Designated members were the municipal President, the directors of the Department of Public Works and of its subsection of Architecture, and outside experts.365 The term “municipal aesthetics” was a novelty. Among the many terms circulating at the time, only one previous appearance of this particular combination was found in a short notice on the 1908 improvement scheme of London's Marble Arch (wrongly reported as a transfer). It was presented as an act of “municipal aesthetics.” (“Uma obra” 1909) Taken together, the use of “municipal” seems to refer to competence rather than being a real terminological innovation. In this case the proper reading of the term is as the part of the domain of “urban aesthetic(s)” belonging (as defined by law) to municipal competence. In short, “municipal aesthetics” designated municipal control over the “urban aesthetic.” The commission itself only started to function towards the end of the year or early 1910.366 Its real functioning is difficult to reconstruct, as the minutes of commission meeting could not be located in the Municipal Archive. The chronicle of its activity therefore has to rely on indirect sources (municipal council minutes, extant documentation of municipal departments). Though required to propose regulatory statutes for its functioning, by October 1912 these were still under discussion.367 The very composition of the commission is uncertain. While internal representation is evident – Braamcamp Freire as president, Diogo Peres as director of the Department of Public Works and J. A. Soares as municipal architect – membership of extra-municipal delegates is difficult to reconstruct.368 Yet it appears regularly in municipal 365 “Sendo indispensavel melhorar quanto possivel os serviços relativos á esthetica da cidade de Lisboa e ao seu conforto sob o ponto de vista artistico, principalmente no que diz respeito a construcção e conclusão de avenidas, praças, ruas, jardins, etc., e ao aproveitamento das suas magnificas perspectivas; Proponho que esta Camara Municipal nomeie uma commissão denominada 'Commissão d'Esthetica Municipal', que proporá todos os melhoramentos que n'este sentido julgar convenientes e será consultada todas as vezes que a Camara o julgar necessario a bem do embellezamento e conforto artistico da capital.” (Actas, 1909, 491) Outside experts were relevant society delegates: an architect, painter, sculptor and art critic elected by the Royal Association of the Fine-Arts and delegates from the Council of National Monuments, the National Society of Fine-Arts and the SAP. 366 In September 1909 the Royal Association of the Fine-Arts answered a municipal request dated from 28 August to indicate a delegate for the commission informing a scheduled general meeting had been postponed. The SAP only informed about the chosen member (Álvaro Machado, 1874- 1944) in December. (Actas 1909, 542, 820) First notices of the commission's activity in the municipal minutes appeared in the following year. On the other hand, the hypothetical study on the possibilities of aesthetic regulation (see p. 247 above) would have been conducted during the second half of 1909 and in this case were probably linked – at least informally – to the assembling commission. 367 On 25 October 1912 the recently-created Department of Architecture summoned a meeting of the Commission of Municipal Aesthetics to discuss, among other subjects, regulatory statutes. (CML- RA 1912k) 368 A first relevant notice dates from February 1912, indicating that by then the Council of Art and Archaeology – a recent Republican invention, created in May 1911 (M. H. Lisboa 2007, 404–5) – also had gained seated and until then had been represented by A. Botelho. He was substituted by J. de Figueiredo. (Actas 1912, 95) A meeting in 1913 was only attended by the municipal president (Correia Barreto), the architects A. A. Machado, A. Bermudes and J. A. Soares and the painter José Maria Veloso Salgado (1864-1945). (CML-CEM 1913) In 1914 the line-up of a meeting of the Commission included the directors of the departments of Architecture and Engineering (J.-A. Soares and D. Peres; the Department of Public Works was reformed in 1911, see later), the – 248 – G. Verheij Urban policies and “municipal aesthetics” minutes and archival documentation. This allows for an inventory of “aesthetic issues” over which it was consulted or offered advice. During Ventura Terra's municipal activity these issues included urban heritage,369 the aesthetic appreciation of municipal and particular building projects,370 municipal competitions371 and the acquisition of artworks.372 In 1911 Ventura Terra presented the Commission as a success at the International Congress of Architects in Rome. (Actas 1911, 741; Congressi 1914, 339) In 1913 it was replicated in Porto.373 In order to clear up conceptual grounds, it is important to trace the effects of aesthetic considerations over municipal policies and projects during the heydays of “municipal aesthetics” (1908-1913). The bulk of this, related to Ventura Terra's municipal activity, will architects F. C. Parente and A. Bermudes, the sculptor Costa Mota, the painter Veloso Salgado and J. de Figueiredo. (Actas 1914, 104) 369 In April 1910 Ventura Terra criticized recent changes made to the hotel Avenida Palace, at Praça de Restauradores, a building by the former municipal architect J. L. Monteiro. He proposed to entrust the Commission of Municipal Aesthetics with the elaboration of a model for a bill protecting architectural heritage. (Actas 1910, 287) In 1912 Braamcamp Freire called attention to disfiguring alterations to Pombaline façades, giving as example a large announcement panel in glazed tiles (azulejos) in the Rua do Arsenal. He also insisted on the need of proper legislation. (Actas 1912, 413) 370 Some examples – proposals for the redesign of the Rossio square, the placement of a clock-tower in the Port of Lisbon … (Actas 1909, 117; 1912, 751) – are discussed later. When asked for advice the commission usually visited the site, deciding on spot about the compliance with the “proper rules of urban aesthetics” (f. ex. CML-CEM 1912d). 371 In 1911 the commission was asked to give formal opinions on the programs and results of competitions of a commemorative plaque and an allegorical bust of the Revolution and consulted over the programs for an Exhibition Palace and Monument to the Republic for the Eduardo VII Park, discussed later. (Actas 1911, 59–60, 246, 379, 387, 574; 1912, 811, 853–54; CML-CEM 1912g) 372 In 1911 the commission was charged with an advisory role for the acquisition of sculptures at the yearly exhibition of the National Society of the Fine Arts, to be placed in public gardens (Actas 1911, 99, 172–73). In general it accompanied the execution and payments of commissioned artworks, visiting ateliers and examining the works. Contracts usually stipulated payment through several instalments according to the work's progress. The commission had the important task of verifying the work's quality and, consequently, whether the artist should be paid. (Actas 1911, 614, 636; 1912, 329, 628; CML-CEM 1911a, b; 1912f, i) It could also propose changes in accordance with the artist, for example of material (CML-CEM 1912c, d). Curiously, when asked a formal opinion over the acquisition of artistic faïence from Manoel Gustavo Bordalo Pinheiro's factory in Caldas da Rainha for the Jardim da Estrela, the commission responded this fell outside of its competences (Actas 1911, 328–29). Possibly the popular, decorative aesthetics of Bordalo's work escaped the Fine-arts boundaries of “municipal aesthetics”? (The works are probably the decorative animals currently placed in the gardens of the Palácio Pimenta / Museum of Lisbon.) 373 In contrast with the Lisbon commission, Porto's Commission of Urban Aesthetics (Comissão de Estética da Cidade) was far more stable and much better documented. The minutes of meetings are kept at the Municipal Archive of Porto (see http://gisaweb.cm-porto.pt/creators/37372/). The Commission was active until 1979, changing its denomination in 1934 to the Council of Aesthetics and Urbanization (Conselho de Estética e Urbanização) and in 1946 to the Council of Urban Aesthetics (Conselho de Estética Urbana). Its initial members were the architects José Marques da Silva (1869-1947) and José Teixeira Lopes (1872-1919), the artists Acácio Lino (1878-1956), António Teixeira Lopes (1866-1942) and Júlio Ramos (1868-1945) and the writer João Grave – 249 – G. Verheij Urban policies and “municipal aesthetics” be studied in detail later on. In general municipal decision-making its impact is mainly visible in the approach to the small details of everyday decorum, for example in the attempts to attenuate the visible impact of tramway cables and posts, telephone poles or street lights or to include aesthetic criteria in the regulation of advertisement posters, permits for kiosks and terraces. It was of course an ever-present concern in ongoing revisions to the municipal ordinances on public space occupancy. (Actas 1909, 39, 104, 114, 265, 552, 811–14; 1912, 47; 1913, 109; P. da Silva 1911; S. Barradas 2010, 53–55) An illustrative example is given by municipal debate over the revision of the concession of “announcement panels” (paineis annuncaidores) to the press agency Lusa. Since 1896 the agency had placed about 50 of such panels throughout the city. Braamcamp Freire defended the revision of the relevant concession on basically aesthetic grounds: the original panels offended “art and good taste,” and recently introduced quadrangular panels were still worse (feiissimos). (Actas 1909, 375– 76; 1911, 157; S. Barradas 2015, 287–96; Figures 184–85) The restoration of one of the noble rooms of the Town Hall, destroyed by a small fire in 1911, gives insight into the practical functioning of the Commission. Ventura Terra proposed to use insurance funds to rehabilitate the room for use by the several existing municipal commissions, such as those of Municipal Aesthetics or Pavement (see p. 253–254 below). Providing these commissions with “decent and appropriate accommodations” (alojamentos condignos e apropriados) was a matter of decorum, as its members served without financial compensation. An added advantage was the provision of proper storage for the necessary elements of study (city plan, drawings). (CML-RA 1912a; Actas 1912, 539) The Commission of Municipal Aesthetics was charged with the study of the artistic decoration. As the decoration of the room was not considered sufficiently important to open a public competition the municipal architect and the commission collected proposals by interested artists, of which the one by the decorative painter Bemvindo Ceia (1870-1941) was elected.374 The Commission also suggest to acquire a new painting from J. Veloso Salgado, a work of whom was was damaged beyond repair during the fire.375 It advised to settle with the artist on a contemporary subject rather than repeating the original historical painting. The proposal was approved. In May a painting of 3,35 x 2,60 meter was commissioned to the painter for 2 000 000 réis.376 The agreed subject was the election of the first Republican municipal council by the City of Lisbon. (Actas 1912, 175–176, 250, 311, 329; CML-CEM 1912b; Figures 179, 186) The commission followed the work of both artists, informing the municipal council about their progress and approving payments. Salgado's painting is finished in June 1913; in August (1872-1934). 374 Other proposals were made by the painters João Vaz (1859-1931), Domingos Maria da Costa (1867-1954), Artur Napoleão Vieira de Mello (1868-?), J. R. Cristino da Silva and Artur Alves Cardoso (1882-1930). 375 Another painting was given for restoration to Luciano Freire. The lost painting was possibly Veloso Salgado's depiction of “Martim de Freitas ante o cadáver de D. Sancho II” (Martim de Freitas before the corpse of Sancho II), which had won a municipal competition of historical painting in 1890. (França 1990, 2:55) 376 In order to facilitate the comprehension of mentioned money amounts historical exchange rates to US dollars are included in Appendix 6. – 250 – G. Verheij Urban policies and “municipal aesthetics” the finished room is presented to the public. (Actas 1912, 768, 839; 1913, 441; CML-CEM 19212e, f; O Occidente 1913b) From 1912 on the Commission, seemingly occupying a firm place in the municipal firmament, started to make autonomous proposals. In July it relaunched the long-standing idea of a city-wide program of public statuary (see p. 170 above), including the establishment of commemorable personalities and proper sites. A bust of the playwright (and former critic of the “urban aesthetic”) João da Câmara, who had died in 1908, was to give a foretaste at the square between the National Theatre and the Rossio railway station (actual Praça D. João da Câmara, then Largo de Camões). Both bust and program were approved, but apparently never finished.377 The next month the commission proposed with more success to formally request the State to cede a part of the terrain resulting from the demolition of the Albertas convent in order to regularize the garden next to Museum of Ancient Art (actual Jardim 9 de Abril). (Actas 1912, 486, 506, 767) This relative autonomy was one cause for conflict with the subsequent administrative commission; one of its members, Apolínio Pereira, strongly criticized what he considered the unwarranted initiative of the commission in 1913 (Actas 1913, 859; p. 298 below). One of the members of the Commission of Municipal Aesthetics at the time, J. de Figueiredo, recalled many years later that only during the time of Ventura Terra and Anselmo Braamcamp the commission had really been taken serious (Diário de Notícias 1928). Indeed, if there is any invariable in its existence it is the constant struggle and uncertainty over the limits and scope of its activity (this is largely discussed on p. 285–296 below). The absence of a clear outline (at least in writing) of what an “urban aesthetics” might constitute – indeed the evacuation of any aesthetic debate by the apparent rigour of “good taste” – probably didn't contribute to stability. Moreover, the existence of the commission remained strangely unconnected from public discourse on “urban aesthetic(s).” In the general and specialized press its creation was hardly noticed. On the contrary, at about this time authors routinely started to pronounce the official failure of the “propaganda of beauty,” at times even continuing the call for an expert commission as if none had been created. (R. d’Almeida 1909; H. de Mendonça 1910; A redacção 1911; A. Moreira 1911; an exception is A. Correia 1911) This reinforces the idea defended earlier that this discourse, within the wider public sphere, was made up of common places rather than actual engagement with urban and institutional realities. Conflicting competences. Architects, engineers and aesthetics Earlier I argued that, for architects, the idea of an “urban aesthetics,” which in the end formulated city-building as art dependent on intuition and feeling as much as science and know-how, was an important means to claim social relevance and differentiate themselves from other urban professionals such as engineers (see p. 195 above). The introduction of such an aesthetics in the municipal machinery predictably created conflicts with the engineers who until then had had exclusive technical responsibility for city-building procedures. More specifically, it pitted the municipal director of Public Works, the engineer Diogo Peres, 377 The present bust at this spot, also of João da Câmara, was made by Maximiano Alves in 1952. – 251 – G. Verheij Conflicting competences. Architects, engineers and aesthetics against Ventura Terra. This conflict is illuminating of the complexities of context, that multitude of minute affairs in confrontation with which the until this point still vague “urban aesthetic(s)” mustered density and substance. Diogo Peres had entered the municipal Department of Public Works (3.ª Repartição) in January 1909 to substitute A. M. de Avelar, who retired for health reasons. The latter engineer, by then first officer in charge (1.º oficial-chefe), had been Ressano Garcia's right hand during the previous decades. Diogo Peres was national deputy for the region of Setúbal and an attaché to the staff of the Ministry of Public Works. The government appointed him directly to the place, without further justification nor inquiry over the eventual wishes of the municipal council. Soon after Ressano Garcia also retired (1910), and Diogo Peres was consequently promoted to director of the Department of Public Works.378 The entrance – delayed until the end of 1909 due to D. Peres' political activity379 – wasn't a good start. Though initially there was no sign of personal conflict between the engineer and the municipal council, over time Peres' ideas on urban development, much in line with those of Ressano Garcia and Avelar, clashed with the urban policies and programs espoused by the Republican council. Aesthetic divergences were at the centre of this conflict. From the start Ventura Terra complained about the lack of efficacy of the Department of Municipal Works. Among points of critique were the long delays in the approval of architectural projects380 and the informality of its functioning.381 After Peres became the department's director this relationship worsened, evolving from initial mutual irritation to a 378 The biography of Diogo Peres is elusive. Born in 1872 in Santiago do Cacém (Setúbal), Diogo Domingues Peres was deputy between 1905-1910. He died in January 1926 or perhaps late 1925. (Diário da Câmara dos Deputados, 21 January 1926, 15–16; F. Figueiredo 2004; Diniz 2014, 84; Barata 2010, 233, is inexact). The municipal council protested against Peres' appointment as yet another display of the abhorred “custodial regime.” The direct indication also overrode the custom of promotion by seniority; the department's most senior employee, J. A. V. Silva Pinto made a formal complaint about the placement to the Administrative Audit Court (Auditoria administrativa), which was dismissed. The promotion to department director was formalized in March 1910, again to formal municipal protest. (Actas 1909, 61–62, 513; 1910, 125–26) In 1921 Peres was removed from his position after accusations of corruption, of which he was absolved after his death in a process of which already in 1926 most of the essential pieces had disappeared. (Actas da Comissão Executiva 1923, 53; 1925, 904–5; Actas 1926, 614–33) For now the reasons for the odd procedure of Peres' promotion– including the absence of any proof of special qualification for this important post on his part – remain in the domain of speculation. 379 During the larger part of 1909 the Department of Public Works had to do it without superior officials, as Ventura Terra noted in March that year. Ressano Garcia and Diogo Peres were performing political roles; Avelar and Henrique Sabino dos Santos (1847-?), a senior public works superintendent, had retired, and the municipal architect J. L. Monteiro had requested retirement as well. As a result, direction of the department was temporarily secured by a lower ranking section chief, Francisco Maria Pereira Heitor de Macedo. (Actas 1909, 191, 252) 380 The months it took for a project to be approved was something architects were all too familiar with. After attempting unsuccessfully to get a grip on the documentary flow of architectural projects through the department, Ventura Terra introduced a new form to register the bureaucratic course of requirements. (Actas 1909, 487–88, 769) 381 An example is the rebuke of Heitor de Macedo after he had favourably briefed a request of promotion entirely bypassing formal qualifications. (Actas 1909, 488) – 252 – G. Verheij Conflicting competences. Architects, engineers and aesthetics mute, then open conflict.382 This had a direct impact on the execution of municipal proposals, as the case of a pavement competition promoted by Ventura Terra illustrates. The problem of the quality of the city's pavement had been recognized for long. (C.C. 1901; Novidades 1902; “O Pavimento” 1903; “A poeira” 1905; Mattos 1908a) The macadam used for transit roads suffered with the mud of rainy days and in summer became impossible for pedestrians due to the dust. The southern climate tended to shorten the material's useful life, resulting in unseemly roads or costly repairs. In general it gave municipal cleaning services a hard time. Late 1909 Ventura Terra proposed a first provisional solution: the introduction of pedestrian cross-walks in stone (calçada portuguesa or granite paving stones) at each 100 to 150 meter, turning pedestrian road-crossing more comfortable and cleaning easier.383 The second step was a public competition to find more suitable alternatives for the city's pavement, proposed around November 1910. The Department of Public Works was tasked with the elaboration of the competition program. (Actas 1911, 13) Notwithstanding repeated complaints by Ventura Terra, it wasn't until May 1911 and after much verbal pressure that there came a response, signed by Diogo Peres, in which the latter flatly refused the task on basis of “professional honesty” (probidade professional).384 He supported his statement by a mention to study of the subject matter by himself and the engineer Francisco Valente Marrecas Ferreira (1882-1930), the department's responsible for pavement,385 and the general conviction that the time span and area necessary for proper evaluation – in his estimate at least 20 to 30 years, and between 2000-3000 m2 for each competitor – made the competition implausible; the tested systems would be outdated before the results were known. (CML-ROP 1911a) The refusal didn't please, and while Peres ended his statement with suggestions of excessive personal involvement of Ventura Terra in departmental affairs, the architect complained about the gratuitous obstacles to reform created by the Department of Public Works. He furthermore noted that Peres' financial and technical arguments didn't make sense in face of the costs and quality of existing pavement in the city. Months later he and Braamcamp Freire openly criticized the seeming irrationality of pavement repairs by the Department, which was becoming widespread in public opinion. Deteriorating pavement in arterial roads was left untouched, while streets without apparent problems and even less traffic were broken open for repair. (Actas 1911, 308; 1912, 182; B. Simões 1912a; Brun 1913d) 382 Ventura Terra was not the only one to be put off by the engineer's at times vacuous dismissals. To mention just one other example (and besides the accusations from the 1920s), in 1914 the councillor responsible for engineering, Francisco Nunes Guerra, accused Peres of abuse of authority and disobedience of orders on account of work done without superior consent nor budget, and almost got him fired. (Actas 1914, 641) 383 Tough the proposal was approved I have no elements regarding its realization in practice. The procedure of making pedestrian cross-roads in a different material than the remaining street is however still a widespread practice in Lisbon and other Portuguese cities. In Ventura Terra's proposal width could vary from 3 to 10 meter, in the latter case in combination with tramway stops, adding the advantage of visually defining the latter as, another councillor added, trams currently stopped wherever the driver felt like. (Actas 1909, 831–32) 384 This was not the only time Peres refused to follow council orders (see f. ex. CML-RE 1912c). 385 One of the sources D. Peres mentioned is A treatise on roads and pavements (1903), by the American engineer Ira Osborn Baker (1853-1925). – 253 – G. Verheij Conflicting competences. Architects, engineers and aesthetics For Ventura Terra, the improvement of the city's pavement was part of the wider program of urban modernization (f. ex. A Capital 1911b). As Peres was ignoring the order to elaborate the competition program, the architect himself had already started investigating on his own and promoted a first experience with sections of “Carbolith” in three different types of roads.386 Though he initially presented promising results, a final report by Diogo Peres considered the material deteriorated too quickly. Meanwhile Ventura Terra insisted other materials needed to be tried for definitive opinions. (Actas 1911, 71, 100–1, 248–49; CML- RE 1912a) After Peres' response Ventura Terra himself elaborated the competition program. The program organized the competition in two parts: first, of monographs on new street-paving techniques, including information on construction, conservation, piping and sewage, road traffic and others; secondly, the practical testing of promising proposals. Like in the Carbolith experiment three different categories were proposed: streets with no or virtually no slope and heavy commercial traffic (example: Rua da Alfândega), idem with luxury traffic (example: the central road of the Avenida da Liberdade), and steep streets with dense mixed traffic (example: Rua de Alecrim). Construction of the experimental sections was responsibility of competitors but the municipality provided workers, available machinery and national materials. (Actas 1911, 309–10) By September ten monographs had been received. They were evaluated by a municipal Commission for the study of pavement (presumably created in the process), presided by Ventura Terra.387 The result were presented in April 1912, with seven entries accepted for experiment.388 Definitive results were only expected in 1913 (O Século 1912a), but by then Ventura Terra and the other councillors had already resigned. Though one of the members of the subsequent Administrative Commission, the architect F. C. Parente, took up the pavement issue, the competition was quietly forgotten. F. C. Parente proposed instead to approve a suggestion by Diogo Peres to use granite paving stones, the fruit of the engineers own meditations since at least late 1911.389 386 Carbolith – an invention apparently lost in time – was probably based on the sedimented rock of that name, which has a characteristically large percentage of carbonaceous matter. The material was experimented in three 50 meter sections in heavily transited sites with different characteristics: a straight street (Rua do Comércio, at the time dos Capelistas), a square (Praça dos Restauradores) and a steep street (Rua Nova do Almada). The experiment was carried out by Nicolau dos Santos Pinto (possibly the philanthropic landowner from São Tomé and later activist of the African cause, 1875-1922), executed by Spanish workers, and in the end donated to the municipality. (Actas 1911, 100–1, 269; CML-RE 1912a) 387 Other members were the engineers José da Peixão Castanheira das Neves (1849-1922), José Maria Cordeiro de Souza (1853-1923), José Abecassis (1863-1932), João Emílio dos Santos Segurado (the author of a number of technical textbooks who proves as elusive as he was prolific) and Diogo Peres, and the architect Antonio Rodrigues da Silva Junior (1868-1937). Peres was elected to the jury by the competitors, who could choose a delegate. (Actas 1911, 547; 1912, 53, 261) 388 Only a few names are given in the documentation: Ezequiel de Campos (1874-1965), the Professional Association of Lisbon's Roadworkers (Calceteiros). (Actas 1912, 244–45) 389 Granite was used in Porto for pavement. In July 1913 a technician and road workers (calceteiros) were sent there to study acquisition and techniques on D. Peres' suggestion. Peres had written a large report on the purchase and storage of this material in January 1912, still during the pavement competition, of which he apparently didn't inform the municipal council. The same year he had – 254 – G. Verheij Conflicting competences. Architects, engineers and aesthetics Divergence between Ventura Terra and Diogo Peres had similar negative effects over key projects of the architect's municipal program, as will be discussed with detail later. For the architect, this certainly was another instance of the detrimental submission of architecture to engineering – and more generally of aesthetics to technique – within public administration. Consequently Ventura Terra tried to remove matters of architecture and urban design from Peres' influence. The decisive element in his strategy was a reform of the Department of Public Works which separated architecture from engineering. Though responding to long- standing aspirations of the architects, the conflict between Ventura Terra and Peres provided a direct preamble. Among arguments adduced by the architect were the “true anomalies” (verdadeiras anomalias) observed in the functioning of the Department, blamed on the “technical inconvenience” of single-handed direction (Actas 1911, 449). Already in 1910 Diogo Peres had been asked about his views on reform of his department. In response he stated there was no need for profound change; what was needed was slow and gradual simplification and regulation and a more effective administrative hierarchy. Consequently he proposed to reduce the existing sub-sections, each with its own administrative service, to two executive sections (Engineering and Architecture) among which the different services were distributed, completed with a general administrative section. (See table 5 below.) While Peres' proposal implicitly admitted the need of more involvement of architects (who for example gained responsibilities over public gardens and public space occupancy) the ultimate management by an engineer predictably remained unquestioned. The final reform, pushed through by Ventura Terra in July 1911, was much more radical in its separation of both disciplines. It divided the Department of Public Works into two new departments, one of Engineering (3.ª Repartição) and another of Architecture (4.ª Repartição).390 (See table 5 below and Appendix 4) For Ventura Terra the definitive separation of Architecture and Engineering in Lisbon's municipal machinery was to solve extant conflicts and urban problems and to serve as a national example. The widespread “confusion” in public management and the “deplorable” state of public architecture were ultimately blamed on a “disastrous and noxious national routine” (nefasta e prejudical rotina nacional) in which the limitations of each profession's competences and responsibilities remained vague. Yet the justification given by Ventura Terra confirms the weight of the aesthetic as an architectural prerogative: besides architecture proper and green spaces the services defined as falling within the purview of the Department of Architecture were all those which “directly or indirectly contribute to the embellishment and comfort (aformoseamento e conforto) of the capital.”391 attempted to go to Porto for further study, but – as he complained to his Northern colleague, J. G. R. Pacheco – was impeded by “obstructionism” of the municipal council. (Actas 1913, 494; CML- RE 1912b; 1912g) Posterior complaints and research indicate the problem persisted, and in 1924 there were again notices about studies and competition. (“Pavimento de ruas” 1915; “Coisas Portuguezas” 1917; CML 1920b; Actas da Comissão Executiva 1924, 248) 390 The reform was preceded by a small press campaign in the daily A República (1911-1976) promoting architecture within the municipality. (A República 1911a–d) 391 “A repartição de arquitectura abrangerá todos os trabalhos relativos á arquitectura propriamente dita, – Parques, Jardins e Cemiterios – assim como todos os serviços que com estes se relacionem e que directa ou indirectamente contribuam para o aformoseamento e conforto da capital. A – 255 – G. Verheij Conflicting competences. Architects, engineers and aesthetics Organization in 1910 (3.ª Repartição) Proposal by Diogo Peres 1911 reform by Ventura Terra First section: Building lines, planning studies, public space occupancy Second section: Architecture Third section: Gardens, water services, lighting and rails Fourth section: Roads and pavement Fifth section: Acquisitions, expropriations, general administration Section of Engineering Responsibilities: building lines, planning studies, water services, lighting, roads and pavement Section of Architecture Responsibilities: architecture, gardens, public space occupancy Administrative services Responsibilities: administration, acquisitions, expropriations, cadaster Department of Engineering: Sections: Engineering; Surveys, city plan and building lines; Public amenities (sewage, water, gas, electricity); Roads and pavement Department of Architecture: Sections: Architecture; Parks, gardens and cemeteries; General development plan; Expropriations; Urban furniture; Public art; Toponymy; Public space occupancy. Shared administrative services Table 5: Comparison of different organizations of municipal Public Works. Existing distribution was the result of the administrative reform of 1901. (Sources: CML-ROP 1910c, d; Actas 1911, 449–50) The details of administrative reorganization, including the creation of a new post of director of the Department of Architecture occupied by the municipal architect J. A. Soares, were discussed until August.392 At the end of the month the reform was approved for an experimental period of three months (Actas 1911, 533); in June 1912 it was confirmed by national legislation.393 repartição de engenharia comprehenderá os trabalhos relativos á engenharia com todos os serviços que lhe estão intimamente ligados e delas são seus subsidiarios.” The detailed description of the attributes of the Department of Architecture included the study and execution of works of architecture; the study, composition and execution of parks, gardens and cemeteries; the study of the general composition of the city plan; evaluations of buildings and expropriation; supervision of private building; urban furniture and ornamental pavement (A parte decorativa relativa á iluminação, aos passeios mozaicados e a outras placas especiaes da via publica); public art (Estudo, execução e conservação de monumentos, fontes, marcos, abrigos, postes, bancos, urinois, etc.); toponymy; public space occupancy; and “anything else that might interest the urban aesthetic” (tudo o mais que possa interessar a estetica da cidade). (Actas 1911, 449–50) 392 Hesitance over the reform was chiefly related with staff changes and budget consequences. The creation of the new post of department director was economically matched by the elimination of the two (vacant) post of first official-in-charge (oficial-chefe) of the First and Second section. In Ventura Terra's original proposal each Department would have its own administrative service; the shared section with administrative services (expediente, cadastro, contabilidade, compras e estatística) was a concession to concerns over the economical consequences of the reform. (Actas 1911, 451, 485–87) Architects who worked at the new Department between 1911-1913 included, besides J. A. Soares, A. d'A. Machado, António José Dias da Silva (1848-1912), Jorge Pereira Leite, José Casimiro de Silva Fernandes (1851-1928), and, as apprentices, Artur Moreira Rato (1878-1926), José da Purificação Coelho and Deolindo Pereira Leite Vieira (1877-1965). 393 The law (in Diário do Governo, s. I, 8 June 1912) consisted of two articles, one recognizing the right of the Municipality to split its Department of Public Works and creating a new post of – 256 – G. Verheij Conflicting competences. Architects, engineers and aesthetics The reform immediately received favourable comments from artistic and architectural circles (SAP, Council of Art and Archaeology, National Society of the Fine-Arts). Ventura Terra himself presented the reorganization and the Commission of Municipal Aesthetics at the 9th International Congress of Architects in Rome (2-10 October 1911), where he related it to the congressional conclusions on the importance of separating architecture from engineering in public administration. (Actas 1911, 491, 507, 522, 740–41) D. Peres predictably had a less positive view. In February 1912 he unwillingly penned down a formal opinion of the reform – forced, he claimed, by reiterated orders from Ventura Terra to pronounce himself on what he saw as an exclusively political decision. His judgement was critical. In his opinion the reform was irregular, illegal and untimely, pushed through without governmental authorization (which had not yet arrived) and ignoring the ongoing elaboration of a new national Administrative Code. Another point of critique was the perceived incompetence of his new colleague, J. A. Soares.394 (CML-RE 1912e) More importantly, Peres called into question the very grounds for the reform which Ventura Terra had deployed. In his view, it increased ambiguity in the delimitations of architecture and engineering, the frontier between which was, in his view, not as clear-cut as the architect made it seem. There was, in his view, a considerable overlap, which the generic attribution of “architecture” and “engineering” to the respective Departments (see table 5) didn't pay attention to. In a wordplay he suggested that the “suitability” which according to Ventura Terra's reform was to guide the distribution of responsibilities (como convém) easily could turn into the passing interest (conveniência) of changing municipal councils. Consequently, the reform established the arbitrary as system (erige o arbitrário em sistema). In the end the entire disarray and hastiness is blamed on the unreasonable weight given to architecture and aesthetics by the architect.395 Peres' final remarks reveal that the issue of aesthetics especially irritated him. In his view it only deserved minor regard in urban development; the attribution of the “general composition” of the city's development plan resulted from the “mistaken belief” (convicção errada) that “aesthetics” was a solid or necessary starting point.396 Indeed, Department director (chefe de repartição) for the architectural department; another repealing all contrary legislation. 394 The day before D. Peres had already disparaged what he considered J. A. Soares' flawed understanding of both professional competence and grammar – at least the latter not entirely without reason. “Mas então o chefe da 4ª Repartição julga poder dar-me ordens? Parece-me necessário Sr. Presidente, que V. Ex.ª observe a esse funcionario que não deve, porque para isso não tem direito, nem pode, porque V. Ex.ª lh'o não consentirá, mostrar nas suas informações, pela independencia das minhas attribuições, a mesma falta de respeito que professa pela grammatica.” (CML-RE 1912d) Complaints by Peres about disrespect towards established competences or the distribution of employees and funds are common during the following period. 395 At one point Peres sarcastically bemoaned that one only needed to read Ventura Terra's justification to understand the unreasonableness of the reform, which postulated the creation of a department of architecture as an indispensable condition for national well-being: “(...) mas compreende-se que assim não tenha procedido lendo as considerações que precedem a proposta do Ex.mo Sr. Vereador Ventura Terra, das quaes se conclue que a creação d'uma repartição de arquitectura estava sendo reclamada a bem da riqueza nacional. (CML-RE 1912e, 470) 396 Peres analysed the attribution of, on the one hand, the “study of the general composition of the city's enhancements, of its alignments and levelling” (Estudos da composição geral dos melhoramentos da cidade, seus alinhamentos e nivelamentos) to Architecture and, on the other, the “elaboration of the city plan and the execution of alignments and leveling” (Levantamento da – 257 – G. Verheij Conflicting competences. Architects, engineers and aesthetics from his wording397 one deduces that for Peres the elaboration of a development plan consisted essentially in the prevision of arterial roads, determined by considerations of traffic and hygiene in which the architect was incompetent. The opinion of J. A. Soares was, by contrast, favourable. In his view the results of the reform had been positive; the only critical note is on insufficient staff398 and occasional problems with the shared administrative services, notably in acquisitions which, he insinuated, responded excessively to the needs of the Department of Engineering. (CML-RA 1911c) Regarding the potential contradictions of the attributions of urban development pictured by Peres, Soares was notably more sanguine. In an exposition from October 1912 “aesthetics” appears as a perfectly usable concept to distribute jobs of road alignments (i.e. the design and construction of roads), levelling of soil and building lines between both departments. In Soares' view, Engineering was logically charged with the building of avenues, streets and squares and their technical infrastructures and the fixing of respective building lines. When these tasks were required for buildings or accessory constructions they were the responsibility of Architecture. The exception were urban projects (estudo parcelar ou de detalhe) for architectural ensembles with an aesthetic interest – which at this point could apply to any urban setting deemed so by the “expert” (that is, the architect).399 By now it will be clear that the dispute between architecture and engineering was, in Lisbon, far from settled, at least in the practical terrain of the demarcation of competence. In a general sense this can count as a late instance of the classical 19th century conflict which pitted the question of the aesthetic validity of modern technology mastered by engineers against that of the technical capacities of the Beaux-Arts architect, which in Portugal was only definitively solved in the 1930s (M. H. Lisboa 2002, chap. 2; 2008). Yet this conflict appears here within the particular context of a confrontation of architecture with the modern city. R. H. da Silva (2009) suggested that Ventura Terra's work in general can be read as the entrance of architecture into the “terrain of non-art,” a passage she considers essential for the emergence of modern architecture. She meant with this “non-art” the “non-beauty” of engineering architectures, that is, of constructions and methods which traditionally fell outside the limits planta da cidade e execução dos alinhamentos e nivelamentos) to Engineering, to conclude that they were both imprecise and contradictory (starting with the vagueness of the terms “alinhamentos” and “nivelamentos”). 397 “(...) a convicção errada das modificações das vias de comunicação n'uma grande cidade poder ou ter de fazer-se sob o ponto de vista da estetica.” (CML-RE 1912e, 472) 398 Later that year Ventura Terra used the number of issued internal letters (ofícios) – by 20 June 1912 Engineering had issued 848, Architecture 1247 – to argue that the Department of Architecture had in fact inherited the larger share of the tasks of Public Works. (Actas 1912, 413) 399 Soares exposed his view in an opinion over whether the Service of Alignments and Expropriation (Serviços de alinhamentos e expropriações) belonged to Architecture or Engineering. The indicated aesthetic exception to the attribution of general responsibility to the latter was the modification of an architectural ensemble “of interest to the perspective and aesthetics of public spaces.” (que interesse á perspective e á estetica das ruas, avenidas e praças publicas.) Expropriation, on the contrary, was defined as a responsibility of the architect, as it related mainly to urban property; in a example of Soares' occasional struggles with grammar, the architect is credited with “special competence” to “demolish his own work.” (avaliar e demolir a sua propria obra, para o que tem especial competencia.) (CML-RA 1912j) – 258 – G. Verheij Conflicting competences. Architects, engineers and aesthetics and precepts of academic Beaux-Arts.400 Yet what the chronicle of the discourse of “urban aesthetic(s)” and its deployment in the capital suggest is that the urban landscape itself was at least as powerful a source of “non-art.” In this case, the issue of “urban aesthetic(s)” was one relevant expression of this entrance of architecture into the 20th century. Seen from the domain of architecture, it appeared as a possible way out of the confines of “Art” without losing its identity and social relevance; in other words, a way of simultaneously enter the market of urban professionals yet claim distinction.401 400 For R. H. da Silva “the attraction [of architecture] towards the non-beauty of engineering architectures” brought forth “new formal and compositional repertoires, that showed to be particularly suited to the needs of urban demands.” (2009, 286) Silva considers this a fundamental architectural in the transition from the 19th to 20th century. 401 A good counterpoint is provided by Raul Lino, the architect who since J.-A. França's and P. V. da Almeida's classical interpretations is usually contrasted to Ventura Terra (França 1990, vol. 2, chaps. 16, 17; P. V. de Almeida 1986). R. Lino never bought into the discourse of “urban aesthetic(s),” instead seeking to create his own, singular architecture from the reinterpretation of place and the vernacular. He maintained a significant distance to the SAP (though he was a member), and maintained until his death in 1974 that “Art” was the proper domain of architecture (see among others Lino 2004). An exceptional proposal of an “urban architecture” of the early years manifestly deny values of urbanity (A Construcção Moderna, 3:69, 10 August 1902). (For further discussion, Raul Lino 1970, 80, 160–62; Quintino 2003, 18–24) – 259 – G. Verheij “Municipal aesthetics” in practice “Municipal aesthetics” in practice Case 1: Aesthetics and public space in the Eduardo VII Park If any urban site qualified as testing ground for the application of “municipal aesthetics” to the city it would be the Eduardo VII Park, which figured prominently in Ventura Terra's urban program (see page 241, point 2 above).402 It provides the only documented case of concrete aesthetic control of private architecture. More generally, the park was the main site of the entanglement of “urban aesthetic(s)” with the realpolitik of municipal management. It was here that its premisses – or at least those of the version practised by Ventura Terra – appeared most clearly, and failed most visibly. One reason to turn the site into a priority was because it had been a stumbling block of Monarchic urban policies. The history of the park's construction goes back to 1887: the prevailing project dated from 1899, and was itself a re-elaboration by the municipal Department of Public Works of an 1895 project by the French landscape architect H. Lusseau.403 Though the park was a key piece in Ressano Garcia's 1904 extension scheme execution proved slow, due to costly expropriations and political indecision. It seems actual construction didn't start until 1905, when support walls were built, terrain levelled and ornamental cactuses and bushes planted in the angle between the Avenida Fontes Pereira de Melo and António Augusto Aguiar. This is the only gardened spot appearing in a land survey finished in 1911.404 (CML 1901; C. M. Dias 1905, 213; Levantamento 2005, fig. 10J, 10K; Figures 187–91) Revision of the project was a priority for the new municipal council, as its troubled history of constantly postponed execution was the very image of the city’s frustrated desires of 402 The arguments outlined in this section were first presented in G. Verheij (2015a, b). Ventura Terra himself said as much when construction of the park started (A Capital 1911c). 403 If the project history of the park merits an epigraph, it would be this prophesy from 1904: “Porque vao levar cinquenta anos, verao!, a discutir como há-de ser o seu traçado [of the park].” (M. E. da Silva 1958, 1:126) If anything, it was a conservative estimate. Initially called Parque da Liberdade (the name Eduardo VII was given in 1903 after the visit of the British king), the park was conceived by the municipal Department of Public Works as a crowning belvedere to the Avenida da Liberdade and a key piece of Lisboa Nova. The solution was never consensual, and from the 1870s up to the 1970s alternative projects extending the avenue through the park were proposed. The first project for the park itself was the result of an international competition held in 1887, won by the little-known landscape architect Henri Lusseau. Despite successive revisions it stranded over financial details. In the end it was redesigned by the municipal gardener António Fernando da Silva. The current solution is due to the architect Francisco Keil do Amaral (1910-1975) and dates from the 1940s. (Cunff 2000; 2003; Tostões 1992; Morais and Roseta 2006) 404 Only in early 1908 a deal was brokered (through the mediation of the SPP) between the municipality and owners of plots necessary for the park. (Cunff 2000, 259–60; Cerdeira 2014b, 68) – 260 – G. Verheij Case 1: Aesthetics and public space in the Eduardo VII Park modernization. It provided an opportunity to display Republican efficiency in contrast with the perceived Monarchic mismanagement repeatedly denounced by Ventura Terra and his colleagues (Actas 1908, 433, 444; 1909, 7, 191, etc.). In this context it seems only fitting that another councillor, L. F. da Mata, unearthed the idea of raising a monument to the Marquis de Pombal in the square in front of the park (Actas 1908, 397–98). A foundation stone had been placed there in 1882 without much further result. There is a clear symbolism in having the Marquis de Pombal, that other efficient city-builder who had left the king in his shadow, preceding the long-promised park. The 1910 revolution invested the site with additional significance, as the square and the lower part of the park were strategic to its success.405 Ventura Terra proposed to solve the financial obstacle to the park's construction through the sale of a 30 meter strip of land on the outer border of the park, destined to the construction of upper-class residences. This residential ring, subjected to special architectural regulation, was promoted as an “appropriate and artistic boundary” (vedação apropriada e artistica) of the park, not unlike a luxury garden-suburb.406 The example was the Parisian Parc Monceau, inaugurated in 1861. This was the first product of Haussmann's park program, around which the Péreire brothers developed a gated community. Like in Ventura Terra's proposal, one of the attractions of the residences bordering the park was direct access to the latter. (Cunff 2000, 263; Mairie de Paris 2016) Another mayor change in Ventura Terra's proposal was the location of the Exhibition Palace. The palace responded to the fashionable typology of commercial and artistic exhibition venues with space for public events.407 The park is located at a spot where a hill with a steep slope blocked the continuity of the Avenida da Liberdade, 405 The solution of the park figured prominently in the wish-list of the municipal council: “Continuaçao do parque Eduardo VII, que por falta de recursos estava condenado a nao se fazer nunca e que a vereaçao achou forma de realisar, substituindo a desgraciosa vedaçao projectada por uma cintura de elegantes edificaçoes.” (CML 1910, 97; see also Koebel 1909, 11–12) The Marquis de Pombal was an important symbol for Republicans, who emphasized the enlightened and anti- clerical character of Lisbon's rebuilder after the 1755 earthquake. During he centenary of the statesman's death in 1882 a commission was formed to raise funds for a monument, but the initial enthusiasm subsided as the commission slowly disappeared by death of its members. The commission was reconstituted in 1905. (A Capital 1912d) From October 1910 until the 1930s the park was a decisive site in any attempt at revolution or military coup, due to its strategic position. In general, the impasse in the park's construction turned the site into a true heterotopy: besides revolutionary battlefield it was also used for popular fairs, municipal deposit, stone quarry… 406 “Que se proceda a um novo estudo do Projecto do Parque Eduardo VII, por fórma a poder ser vendida uma faixa do terreno que o circumda interrompida pelas entradas indispensaveis; que essa faixa não tenha largura superior a 30 metros e que n'ella só sejam permittidas edificações sujeitas a um regulamento organisado de modo que garante ao Parque uma vedação apropriada e artistica; que o producto da venda d'esses terrenos seja exclusivamente destinado ás expropriações necessarias para a construcção do parque, á sua construcção e á edificação de um grande palacio para exposições e festas.” (Actas 1908, 398) Later Ventura Terra drew a picture of “elegant and artistic constructions” (edificações elegantes e artisticas), interspersed with masses of greenery (macissos de verdura). (Actas 1909, 427) 407 According to the competition program approved in November 1912 the venue should include a permanent trade exhibition, rooms for festivities, meetings, solemnities, conferences, temporary exhibitions and concerts, and a restaurant. (Actas 1912, 779–80) – 261 – G. Verheij Case 1: Aesthetics and public space in the Eduardo VII Park which connects the park to the historical centre. The architect moved the palace from the original spot on top of that hill to a large promenade at its bottom, were originally a lake was envisioned. (Actas 1909, 149–50; Figures 192–93) Ventura Terra presented his modifications of the park project to the municipal council on 23 June 1909. Within a month Diogo Peres issued a formal opinion questioning the importance given by the variant project to architecture over garden design, which he considered to jeopardize the stylistic unity of the park. Ventura Terra challenged this opposition between park and architecture, quoting foreign examples of “English” gardens with classical palaces in perfect harmony, and more generally the abundant number of successful combinations of residential architecture in landscaped settings.408 (Actas 1909, 363, 425–28) The elaboration of the final project by the Department of Public Works dragged on until Summer 1910, responding to bureaucratic requirements of the State-dependent Superior Council of Public Works (Conselho Superior de Obras Públicas e Minas), which needed to approve changes to statutory development plans.409 Peres accompanied the project with a report which not only justified the delay – according to him, the elements provided by Ventura Terra had to be entirely redrawn, written and calculated to comply with superior requirements – but also offered a harsh critique of the architect's project. (CML-ROP 1910b) Financially he doubted the estimated selling price of the residential ring – 20 000 réis per m2 – was attainable, while he considered estimated costs on the low end, among others because the variant project ignored the question of soil fertility. This threatened financial viability. But the real breaking point was aesthetic. Peres included four categorical reasons why the project was detrimental to the “urban aesthetic” (esthetica da cidade): 1. Constructing buildings around a garden is prejudicial to the latter; 2. The proper site for the exhibition palace was at the upper end of the park; 3. The new site of the exhibition palace eliminated the original cascades, grottos and waterfalls in this area, the park's principal attractions; 4. The garden should unwind in front of the palace, dominating the city from above, not be cramped behind it.410 408 Here the references are not specified, but later Ventura Terra randomly quoted Champs-Élysées, Versailles, Fontainebleau, even Porto's Crystal Palace (demolished in 1951), as well as unidentified palaces in green settings in London, Berlin or Vienna. (Actas 1910, 579) 409 The project (CML-ROP 1910a), still uncatalogued, is kept at the Municipal Archive and contains a brief, calculations of volumes of earth movement and distribution, measurements, a budget, a general and partial plans and 14 section profiles. The original plan is kept at the Municipality of Lisbon; a copy which figured in the 2006 retrospective exhibition of the architect (A. I. Ribeiro 2006) could not be located. There is further documentation in the Archive relating to ownership and expropriation, most importantly a plot plan indicating expropriated land from June 1909, documentation related to earthworks from October 1911 and documents around the sale of lots from 1911 and 1912. (CML-ROP 1909c; 1911b; CML-RA 1911a; 1912b) Of the original papers presented by Ventura Terra to the municipal council on 23 June 1909 – plans, sections, drawings and a report including estimated budget and competition program (Actas 1909, 363) – only a drawing of types of ornamental fencing (Terra 1909; Figure 195) and cross sections (in CML-ROP 1910a; see Figure 194) could be identified. 410 “Pelo que respeita á esthetica da cidade, julga esta Repartição: a) que construir predios em volta d'um jardim é sempre prejudicar o jardim. b) que a construcção do palacio para exposições deveria – 262 – G. Verheij Case 1: Aesthetics and public space in the Eduardo VII Park Ventura Terra responded to the objections in the municipal council session of 1 September. Regarding the financial arguments, he dryly noted the cause of the present impasse was precisely the absence of financial means of execution, combined with the irrationality of works executed thus far. The creation of specific revenues through the sale of land promised better results; doubts about estimated prizes and costs were dismissed as unfounded. The mass of argument was dedicated to the aesthetic question. The architect countered with the image of a ring of independent and artistically distributed houses involved with greenery (uma série de pequenas casas isoladas, artisticamente dispostas e envolvidas em macissos de verdura), framing the park with an air of “beauty, civilization, and progress” (uma nota de belleza, civilisação e progresso). Regarding the water features Ventura Terra argued their number remained more or less equal, though they lost prominence; he tacitly overlooked the disappearance of the big lake. (Actas 1910, 577–79) As it became clear that the architect and engineer held irreconcilable views over the park's design Ventura Terra removed the project from the latter's responsibility, with the argument that it was a work of architecture rather than gardening.411 In 1911, shortly after the final revised project was officially approved, it was first moved from the garden section to the architectural section, then – after the reform of the Department of Public Works – to the new Department of Architecture. (Actas 1911, 341) By that time, the project had been expanded to include a monumental arch dedicated to the Republican Revolution of 5 October 1910. The site was the future promenade of the park – renamed as the Promenade of the Revolution's Heroes – in front of the Exhibition Palace, marking one of the principal revolutionary battlefields with a truly monumental solution.412 A foundation stone was placed on 3 October ser feita no alto do parque, onde primitivamente foi projectada, e não n'uma explanada immediatamente ligada a uma grande rotunda. c) que justamente a escolha d'este local e a necessidade da nova explanada, como propõe o Ex.mo Vereador [Ventura Terra], impossibilita a execução das cascatas, grutas e quedas d'agua, o que n'uma Ventura Terra onde o que mais falta é a agua seria uma das principaes bellezas do parque. d) que, construido no alto do parque, o palacio dominaria toda a cidade, servindo-lhe o jardim de tapete sobre o qual sobresahiria; e que, construido em baixo, ficará sendo um palacio com um jardim ás costas.” (CML-ROP 1910b, 439– 40) 411 More precisely, a work of “landscape architecture, monumental architecture and urban architecture.” (uma obra onde predomina a arte, e principalmente a arquitéctura paisagista, monumental e urbana) The latter term should probably be interpreted as urban design. (Actas 1911, 353) 412 “Ao centro da praça do Marquez do Pombal, o projectado monumento do glorioso estadista. Servindo-lhe de fundo no limite superior da praça, e ligando-a intimamente com a esplanada, um arco de triumpho verdadeiramente monumental dedicado ao triumpho da Republica. A esplanada, que se denominará dos heroes da Revolução comportará, alem da ornamentação propria, as estatuas dos heroes e quaesquer outros elementos caracteristicos do movimento de 4 e 5 de Outubro. E para completar esta grandiosa composição teremos como fundo o nosso projectado palacio de exposições e festas e em planos mais afastados, o Parque Eduardo VII que se avistará na sua maior parte tanto da Esplanada, como da praça do Marquez de Pombal e Avenida da Liberdade.” (Actas 1910, 664–65) Ventura Terra later suggested to locate a proposed Museum of the Revolution in the future Exhibition Palace, adding to the symbolic significance of the site. The museum was temporarily installed in an evicted convent in December 1910, but during a monarchic counter-revolutionary movement in 1913 a considerable part of the revolutionary memorabilia was destroyed. (Actas 1910, 760; Relvas 2009) – 263 – G. Verheij Case 1: Aesthetics and public space in the Eduardo VII Park 1911 by Braamcamp Freire to open commemorative festivities. (Ill. Port. 1911d; Figures 197–98) Notwithstanding favourable internal and external circumstances, intensive publicity efforts by Ventura Terra, in which he passed over the conflict with Public Works, and the first contracts for earthworks in October 1911 (CML-RA 1911a) the project suffered from serious setbacks.413 The competition for the monument to the Marquis de Pombal in 1911-1912 was a fiasco: virtually all architects refused participation as the competition program was deemed unacceptable; only Raúl Lino turned in a project, refused by the jury. A second competition in 1914 resulted in a controversy which wasn't solved until 1917. Foundations were built at snail's pace amidst strikes, war, epidemics, military coups and sheer incompetence resulting in the collapse of the foundations in the winter of 1919-1920; construction proper only started in May 1926, months before the fall of the First Republic, and wasn't finished until 1934. (A Capital 1912d; A. I. Ribeiro 1993, 66; Occidente 1914a; Arroyo 1914; L. A. Matos 2007, 60– 64; Figures 199–201) The competitions for the Exhibition Palace and the Monument to the Republic also suffered from delays. The competition for the Exhibition Palace, with a budget of 600 000 000 reis (600 000 escudos) was opened in November 1912. The program, studied by the Department of Architecture and the Commission of Municipal Aesthetics (which would function as jury), was a model in its genre, in line with the aspirations of architects and recommendations of the International Congress of Architects of 1908. It provided participating architects with clear guidelines and norms while leaving entire freedom regarding dimensions, distribution and appearance. Initially programmed until 30 April 1913, the deadline was extended to July and then December 1913 on request of participants, and in March 1914 still awaited judgement.414 By then the idea of the promenade in front of the park had already been abandoned. The competition for the Monument to the Republic was delayed by legal ambiguities415 until the council's resignation; the subsequent administrative commission left the initiative to the State. 413 In June 1911 A Capital quoted the architect as follows: “Damos a vez ao parque Eduardo VII. Não temos um parque digno d'esse nome, necessitamos de o construir. (…) O parque ressurgirá d'aquelle montão de plantas em desalinho [which Ventura Terra had been showing the journalist] (…) A ideia está no espirito de todos os vereadores, e fez triumphantemente a travessia das repartições competentes. (…) Subsiste o plano do palacio de festas e exposições. O parque será circundado de pequenas construcções particulares, artisticas, que, n'essa conformidade, deverão obedecer de um modo geral a um risco apresentado.” (A Capital 1911c) 414 The Museum of Lisbon holds an elevation of an Exhibition Palace which almost certainly was produced for this competition, and is attributed to Ventura Terra (inv. MC.DES.4419). 415 The decree from 26 May 1911 which created Regional and National Councils of Art included four articles (61 to 64) which outlined conditions for design commissions and execution of public buildings “of artistic nature” and commemorative monuments, requiring public competitions supervised by the State. Regarding monuments, this interfered with the established custom of civic initiative – this was one cause in the delay of the Pombal monument, which between the first and second competition changed from a civic initiative supervised by a private commission to a governmental responsibility. The continuing vigour of monuments of civic initiative during the First Republic (see Appendix 9) suggests these legal restrictions were tacitly forgotten soon afterwards. As it is, the continuing delays in the monuments to Pombal (belatedly inaugurated in 1934) or to the Heroes of the Peninsular War (1908-1933) raise doubts on the efficacy of State supervision. (Decreto 1, Diário do Governo, s. I, 29 May 1911; A Capital 1912d) – 264 – G. Verheij Case 1: Aesthetics and public space in the Eduardo VII Park In 1915 a competition for a Monument to the Republic was held, but the idea of the promenade having been abandoned, the envisioned site was now the Chamber of National Parliament.416 (Actas 1909, 230; 1911, 59–60; 1912, 779–80, 853–54; 1913, 19–20; 826–27; CML-RA 1912f, g; Actas da Comissão Executiva 1914, 224; “Concursos publicos” 1911; E. Nunes 1914) On another front, legal complexities resulting from the intention of selling lots on expropriated land postponed the start of the park's construction. Only in early 1912 was the complex patchwork of legal obligations sorted out and were final agreements reached. (Actas 1912, 87, 102; CML-RA 1912c) Ventura Terra explained the delay in an interview with O Século. The problem was that much of the land had been expropriated with the condition that former owners would receive a substantial percentage in the case of resale – a formality intended to avoid municipal speculation, but which in this case threatened the revenues to be obtained by the creation of the residential ring. Yet, he promised, after two years of negotiation work was about to start, and the park would be finished within eight years. (O Século 1912a) Despite the optimism public auctions of the lots were a total failure. In a first auction in March 1912 only one lot was sold to the Paris-based artist Artur Prat (1861-1918). A second auction in August received no bids at all. The building fever of the previous decade had come to an end and land values were falling, discouraging the already limited propensity to novelty which, as Melo de Matos had observed in 1905, was the prudish hallmark of local capitalist classes. (Á. F. da Silva 1996, 605; Mattos 1905b, 92) The failure corroborated Peres' sceptical previsions, and the engineer vindicated himself by providing sarcastic comments and suggestive insinuations to A Capital (though again the most substantial arguments were related to the aesthetic premises of the revised design). The architect A. Bermudes publicly challenged the gloomy previsions, the municipal council ordered an inquiry and reprimanded the engineer and the project was maintained in hope of future demand, but the blow was fatal. Peres' prophesy that regarding the park there was still much waiting ahead would prove true.417 416 Ventura Terra, author of the building's architectural program, was responsible for the competition brief. The unsatisfied jury attributed no first award; the competition was repeated in 1916 and won by the sculptor Anjos Teixeira. (Mourão 2015) 417 The subtitle of the interview with Peres – A camara não faz o parque porque não ha compradores para os terrenos. Não ha compradores para os terrenos porque a camara não faz o parque – is indicative of the ironic tone of the report on the “comical” case (se não comico, pelo menos difficil de resolver). Besides Peres' objections to the revised park project the article contained insinuations about council incompetency or even cronyism. The municipal council considered the statements by Peres detrimental to municipal interest and accused him of unjustified and disrespectful criticism, instigation to legal actions against the municipality, sabotage of the auctions and malicious remarks on municipal administration. Peres unconvincingly tried to downplay his statements, arguing the interview was representative yet not factual of his ideas. The municipal council maintained the project, starting construction of the park's ring-way servicing the sold lot, refusing a proposal for private exploration, announcing the end of the traditional August Fair at the park's premises for 1913 and blocking a proposal to create a golf course. (A Capital 1912a–c, e; Bermudes 1912a; Peres 1912; Actas 1912, 265–66, 293–94, 345, 372, 432, 595; CML-RE 1912f) – 265 – G. Verheij Case 1: Aesthetics and public space in the Eduardo VII Park To public opinion the project became yet another specimen of urban fantasy doomed to remain on paper. The idea of further auctions was abandoned by the subsequent administrative commission, who also reverted the decision to move the August Fair to a new location, in fact suspending construction of the promenade. In 1914 the municipal council decided to return entirely to the original project. Though the sale of lots was maintained to finance construction, the architectural by-laws imposed by Ventura Terra were dropped, as the unprofitable typology they imposed was blamed for the failed auctions. Lower selling prizes would be compensated by savings to be obtained through technological improvements in earthworks. The solution was well-received, from the Commission of Municipal Aesthetics to Diogo Peres; only in Architectura Portugueaza and A Construcção Moderna a lone voice deplored the suspension. (Actas 1913, 178, 279; Actas da Comissão Executiva 1914, 99–106; Brun 1913e; A Capital 1913; Occidente 1914b; E. Nunes 1914; “Casa de Artur Prat” 1914; for the further history of the park, Tostões 1992; Cunff 2000) The long exchange of arguments between Ventura Terra and Diogo Peres over the park's design, read against the projects each one was defending, provides a unique opportunity to probe some key aspects of “municipal aesthetics.” Though initially presented as a conflict between architecture and gardening, the main point of contention had to do with the final aims of park design. For Diogo Peres, this primary objective was stylistic unity; the changes by Ventura Terra threatened the “harmonious and complete whole” (conjuncto unido e integro) of the original design. The engineer continuously returned to visual arguments such as the dramatic picture of the Exhibition Palace dominating the city, picturesquely framed by the park. For the engineer, the park was first of all a work of art, to be composed and judged by the criteria of aesthetic harmony and unity. (Actas 1909, 425–28; CML-ROP 1910b) Peres' criticism of Ventura Terra's relocation of the Exhibition Palace are characteristic. In the 1912 interview the engineer argued that the palace should either remain on the original site, one of the most beautiful viewpoints of the city, or alternatively be moved to the immediate border of the Praça do Marquês do Pombal, which would thus be ennobled by a “grandiose” and “imposing” monumental façade. The 150 meter deep promenade proposed by Ventura Terra would result in the park being “jammed” behind the palace. (A Capital 1912a) In his answer to the council's accusations Peres extended his arguments, insisting that the location of the palace proposed by Ventura Terra not only thwarted his favoured solutions, but also complicated the articulation between promenade and park. E devo observar-lhe que essa ligação [between promenade and park], além das dificuldades tecnicas, sempre faceis de vencer, apresenta dificuldades artisticas. Perdida a harmonia natural de um conjunto – e o palacio e parque são um conjunto – pode acontecer que venha a tornar-se muito cara a sua associação artificial, se se reconhecer que a que está projectada não satisfaz sob o ponto de vista da arte. (CML- RE 1912g, 58) The problem is explicitly posed as an “artistic” rather than a “technical” one. But the insistence on the resulting visual images ignored use and function. A. Bermudes (1912a) called attention to this in his public answer to the engineer's criticisms. He noted, among others, that an Exhibition Palace is a place to be visited and to exhibit what is inside; it was not necessary for watching the views, for which a proper belvedere could be constructed. – 266 – G. Verheij Case 1: Aesthetics and public space in the Eduardo VII Park Access to Peres' favoured locations was a problem: either too distanced (the top of the park) or posing serious problems of circulation on busy days (next to the square). Ventura Terra's idea was the only valid one by prioritizing arguments of functionality over those of imposing scenery, picturesque views, or stylistic integrity. The architect himself spelt out the rationale of nearing the palace to the square, predictably a future point of convergence, while creating an inviting promenade in front of it. A construcção do palacio a uns 150 metros de distancia da Praça do Marquez de Pombal, justifica-se pela necessidade de o tornar facilmente accessivel ao publico e de ser assim sem duvida, mais bella a sua situação. Entre a rotunda da Liberdade e o palacio e aos lados d'este, seria construida uma ampla esplanada ajardinada com lagos, quedas de agua, estatuas e balaustradas etc., seguindo-se depois o Parque do qual (...) a vista ficaria perfeitamente desafogada sobre a cidade, Tejo, etc. (Actas 1910, 579) The solution would make the Exhibition Palace accessible and at the same time open up the park to urban life and thus constitute it as public space. Through the established contrast the different ways both projects proposed to mediate between park and city becomes evident. Looking at artistic renderings of the 1899 project (Figure 189) it is easy to see how they imagined the park as an enclosed area of nature, as a refuge of small waterfalls, soothing water and meandering paths in which to forget the horrors of urban civilization. Yet the centrality of this relatively small green area destined it not for the serene seclusion of nature but for intensive public use. Common expectations were about music-halls, bandstands, restaurants, belvederes, theatres and exhibition halls rather than the staging of unspoiled flora and fauna. (C. M. Dias 1905, 213; for stylistic analyses, Cunff 2000, 259–72; M. T. B. Câmara 2000) The 1899 design solidly stands in the British-American tradition of the park as an idealized reconstruction of pastoral landscape, as it had been defined between Joseph Paxton (1803– 1865) and F. L. Olmsted. From the perspective of garden history, the arguments adduced by Peres echo those of the old dispute between the “classic” and the “romantic” (or formal and informal) garden. But by then the booming typology of the public park – from J.-C. A. Alphand's creations to the German Volksparks of the early 20th century – had already displaced this debate. As the park designs by Alphand abundantly show, the issue was not that of style or solitary contemplation, but of public use – leisure, pleasure, promenading – and urban form. (Among the vast bibliography on the subject see Chadwick 1966; Fariello 2004; Dal Co 1975; Scarpa 1981; Cranz 1982; Schuyler 1986; Parcs 1989; Mosser and Teyssot 1991; Debié 1992; Panzini 1993; Cerami 1996; Fasoli and Tosini 1999; Haney 2010; Santini 2013) Ventura Terra's proposal, which reframed the park as a stage for social interaction and cultural events, was much closer to such a modern notion of the public park. The architect considered the problem of urban gardens and parks not to be that of style or stylistic unity, but of use and urban integration. Disparate stylistic elements could perfectly be combined.418 418 Against Peres' prediction of stylistic disharmony between park and promenade Ventura Terra argued that the plants, balustrades, statues and water features which would ornament the latter would functionally constitute a garden, perfectly integrated into the rest of the park (pode perfeitamente constituir um jardim e subordinar-se ao estylo do Parque do qual de resto faz parte). (Actas 1909, 427) On the other hand Ventura Terra's solution combined well with the particular – 267 – G. Verheij Case 1: Aesthetics and public space in the Eduardo VII Park To return to the opposition supposed by Peres between park design and architecture, in light of the current reading it is interesting to note how in Ventura Terra's proposal architecture is not there as isolated object but as a means of mediating distance. While the original lake was one more symbolic barrier, the Exhibition Palace would create something like a welcoming embrace, opening rather than closing the park to the city. The same reasoning can be noted in the defence of the residential belt around the park.419 They would mediate the considerable height differences along the park's limits of up to 8 meters, which the 1899 project solved by slopes and what another councillor had unsparingly defined as chicken wire with boom barriers.420 While the original solution would set the park apart from the city, using the “art of landscaping” to disguise the city in a way reminding the ideas of F. L. Olmsted (Schuyler 1986, 77–100), for Ventura Terra architecture could mediate isolating features and integrate the park into urban space.421 Thus the final aesthetic divergence between the opposing architect and engineer surfaces. While Diogo Peres nominally called on the repertoire of “urban aesthetic(s)” to argue his nature of the public space system of central Lisbon, which is composed by a succession of discrete public spaces (Praça do Comércio, Rossio, Restauradores, etc.). Within this system, the Avenida da Liberdade resembles a parkway rather than a Haussmanian avenue – the monumental axiality of the latter is anyway hard to imagine in the Avenida's room-like intimacy of hack-berries and plane trees, while its steady upward inclination places the vanishing point way too high for Baroque perspectives. Ventura Terra avoided the extraneous solution of a perspectival axis as much as the claustrophobic enclosure of a façade immediately on the Rotunda do Marquês do Pombal or the indefinition of vague pastoral views of the original project. 419 The house built on the sole auctioned lot gives a physical example of what the residential ring might have been. A. Prat had Ventura Terra himself designed the house, which was to function as a showcase for the architectural possibilities of the lots. It combines two very distinct façades, urbane towards the street, playfully “vernacular” towards the park. The park façade – for which Prat himself created a sculpture and a mural painting which simultaneously represent and exemplify the integration of the Fine-Arts – is, in Ventura Terra's oeuvre, a curious case of abandonment of the façade as separation between public and private, adopting a series of mediated transitions between inside and outside. However, the failure of the auctions and posterior abandonment of Ventura Terra's plan left an isolated mansion surrounded by a building site for the following decades. Today, cased into modern iron, concrete and glass, it ironically houses the Order of Engineers, as if an involuntary monument to the architect's defeat in this particular instance of the conflict between engineers and architects. (Actas 1912, 198; 1913, 61; CML-RA 1912h; “Um Bélo Trabalho” 1914; E. Nunes 1914; “Casa de Artur Prat” 1914; Catarina Oliveira 2007; Figures 202–7) 420 In a critique of Peres' formal opinion from July 1909 the municipal councillor Carlos Alves disparaged the original fencing solution as chicken wire with boom barriers: “prumos de ferro T espaçados de 2 em 2 metros e ligados com rede de arame de malha larga, (…) adequado para um gallinheiro, mas nunca para o parque; (…) uma barreira de ferro ligeira girando sobre rodisios á similhança das passagens do nivel dos caminhos de ferro (…).” The entire opinion was sarcastically qualified as a “true monument to the good taste of its author” (verdadeiro monumento demonstrativo de bom gosto de quem elaborou o projecto). (Actas 1909, 427–28) The visual impact of the height differences mentioned by Ventura Terra can still be observed along the actual Avenida Sidónio Pais. 421 “A moldura que se preconizará para o Parque (...) era entendida não só como demarcação ou limite, mas também e sobretudo como o elemento integrador deste espaço na cidade, permitindo criar uma malha urbanística curiosa, onde esta 'cortina de casas' não era mais que uma zona de transição ou de diálogo entre o Parque e a cidade.” (M. J. A. L. Perdigão 1988, 36) – 268 – G. Verheij Case 1: Aesthetics and public space in the Eduardo VII Park view, he still had in mind the isolated “embellishments” particular to the kind of 19th century development against which Ventura Terra was reacting. His notion of public space didn't go beyond a quantitative conception of green space and the administrative provision of predefined uses. He lacked a notion of the dynamics of public space which was clear to architects such as Ventura Terra or A. Bermudes. For them, the revitalization of public space was to be a motor for urban regeneration, and while this revitalization was primarily aesthetic, this was not understood in a purely formal or aestheticist sense, as Bermudes's words make clear: Esse grandioso fóco de arte e de belleza [the Eduardo VII park] será o primeiro marco de moderna civilisação, que enobrecerá a cidade e que a collocará ao lado das grandes capitaes. Esse fóco será o diapasão por onde se afinará a transformação esthetica dos nossos burgos. Elle será o educador do gosto publico e d'elle irrardiará a arte vencedora e consoladora. (Bermudes 1912a) Case 2: Regenerating the urban waterfront The most ambitious point of Ventura Terra's municipal program was the practical twist he gave to the renewed focus on the waterfront.422 The general outline highlighted the central place the waterfront was to occupy in a new planning policy, expected to boost modernization, “embellishment” and metropolitan growth. Que se proceda ao estudo de uma planta dos melhoramentos da cidade por fórma que, sem prejuizo das obras iniciadas as novas ruas, avenidas, praças, etc., a edificar, se agrupem quanto possivel na margem direita do Tejo de onde, n'um futuro embora longiquo, deve desapparecer tudo o que possa destruir a sua belleza, transformando-a n'uma verdadeira cidade moderna e annexando lhe as encostas da Outra Banda. N'essa planta deve indicar se o local mais apropriado para a construcção de uma já projectada ponte–avenida–que ligue as duas margens. (Actas 1908, 398) The suggestions responded to the kind of critical writing discussed earlier, such as the call to arms by A. Z Cândido published months before municipal elections: Nao se esqueça, porém, que a nossa cidade se acha indissoluvelmente ligada ao nosso rio, que é pela sua fronteira maritima que ella é visitada e primeiro conhecida, que a sua fachada principal tem que ser a que se volta para o Tejo. (Cândido 1908) More generally, one notices reverberations of the premisses of “embellishment” of 19 th century schemes such as those by P. J. Pézerat or Thomé de Gamond.423 More direct 422 I recall that in the first council session of 3 December 1908 L. F. da Matta indicated that the embankments West of the Praça do Comércio (Aterro) were to be object of special attention. (Actas 1908, 397–98) 423 P. J. Pézerat published in 1865 a Mémoire with proposals for the “improvement” (améloriations) and “embellishment” (embellissements) of Lisbon. It included comprehensive waterfront regeneration, boosted by the transfer of part of the city's port facilities to the other side of the river. The solution of persistent sanitary problems and the availability of prime urban soil were to turn the “Bairro da Boavista” (to be built between Santos and Cais do Sodré) into a thriving commercial district. In 1870 the entrepreneuring engineer Aimé Thomé de Gamond (1807-1876) – 269 – G. Verheij Case 2: Regenerating the urban waterfront references were contemporary waterfront improvements around the world. One concrete example contemporaries could have in mind was Rio de Janeiro, which had revamped its impressive waterfront for the upcoming National Exhibition.424 The architect A. A. Marques da Silva highlighted the “imposing achievement” (grandiosa realisação pratica) of the transformation of an “old and anti-hygienic city” (cidade velha e anti-hygienica) into one of the world's “most beautiful and modern” (uma das mais bellas e modernas do mundo). (Marques da Silva 1908) The fact that Rio de Janeiro's waterfront regeneration was essentially known through images rather than first-hand experience probably only increased its appeal. But many other cities could provide stimulus. From the maritime promenade proposed by L. Jaussely for Barcelona in 1905 or the centrality of the waterfront in D. H. Burnham's 1909 Plan of Chicago to preparations for the 1911 Turin exhibition along the river Po or an international competition for a “New Liverpool Waterfront” sponsored by soap magnate W. H. Lever, waterfront regeneration was often at the centre of the urban development programs of the time. In common they had a focus on public space (often promenading) and leisure facilities such as casinos, hotels, restaurants, owing something to fashionable seaside resorts from Brighton to Nice or Cannes. (Debié 1993; Remesar and Costa 2004, 3; Crouch 2002, 185–86; Olsen 1986, 83; Ayuntamiento de Las Palmas 1999; Meller 2001, chap. 5; Trapero 1998; Figures 216–17) While Ventura Terra's waterfront proposals remained, as much else, unexecuted, they were undoubtedly the most attractive aspect of his program, even if only for the way they anticipated much of the basic tenets of present waterfront regeneration in Lisbon. The 100 year-divide, including industrialization and de-industrialization, forbids easy comparisons, but notwithstanding the temporal distance current programs of urban renewal share similar slogans (“returning the river to the city,” etc.), several symbolic sites (Cais do Sodré and its link to Praça do Comércio, Rua do Arsenal), strategic options (public use and leisure over industry and trade) and the general conviction that it is at the level of public space that the main problems of the area (use, accessibility) must be solved.425 This temporal gap charges the proposals with a visionary air which is reinforced by a cursory glance over surviving graphic material. The main source is a large narrative interview published, apparently on his own initiative, another Mémoire proposing still more ambitious “embellishments” over extensive landfills. (Barata 2010, 58–60, 88–92; Paixão 2007; for further projects, J. P. Costa 2007, 90–97) 424 Portugal was the only foreign country to participate, and architects enthusiastically sent their projects to the Fine-Arts exhibition, lured by the appealing prospects of a new market. They did so at the expense of the exhibition of the International Congress of Architects held the same year in Vienna. (J. A. Soares 1907; on the Rio exhibition and its urban impact, Noronha 1908; Júdice 1908; Sisson and Jackson 1995) A. Z. Cândido didn't quote the city, yet certainly was aware of it as he had lived there for over two decades and maintained contacts (Menezes 2010). Rio de Janeiro is directly quoted by F. P. Botelho (1907, 15) and R. Carvalheiro (1908). A few years later J. R. Cristino da Silva referenced the city's Avenida de Botafôgo as an example of what the area between Cais do Sodré and Santos should be (Christino 1923, 17). 425 The Municipality of Lisbon has been executing a comprehensive program of waterfront regeneration since 2008. Though the entire waterfront of the city is comprehended in the program there is a special focus on the historical area between Cais do Sodré and Santa Apolónia. (CML 2016a, b; Salgado 2012) – 270 – G. Verheij Case 2: Regenerating the urban waterfront published in the magazine Illustração Portugueaza in 1910, aptly entitled “Future Lisbon.” The article presents Ventura Terra as the redeeming saviour of the “urban aesthetic,” devoted to the mission of bringing “Art” (a grande arte) to the street and aesthetically transform the entire city, with explicit reference to similar international movements.426 The waterfront was at the centre of this endeavour, and the description of its imagined future provides a good example of the text's means of persuasion: Imagine o Aterro com a sua grande muralha ladeada por varões, as fachas de terreno ajardinadas, com bancos, com columnas de luz electrica elegantes, os mercados construidos com um ar artistico, e depois, entre os grandes predios que já lá existem, edificios que se iriam fazendo pouco a pouco, palacios de festas, hotels com os seus varandins em frente do Tejo formoso. Dos grandes paquetes carregados de touristes, olhar-se-hia então d'outro modo para essa cidade cujas margens se mostrariam formosas. Ao cabo do passeio, no Caes do Sodré e em Santos estariam dois embarcadouros, de degrau bem lançados, com seus pavilhões para descanso dos que esperassem os barcos e em frente d'elles estatuas: a do Terceira no Caes do Sodré, a do Sá de bandeira que porríamos em Santos. (…) D'este modo teriamos uma linda arteria, com os seus novos edificios, os seus caes, os seus depositos de peixe, os seus embarcadouros formosos, um passeio na orla do rio e que tornaria mais bella a cidade. (Ill. Port. 1910, 367–68) A constant contrasting of future magnificence and actual misery, enthusiastic dramatizing descriptions (including imaginary guided tours) and the frequent resort to “we” and “us” are central to the the text's rethorical repertoire. The visionary tone is reinforced by the accompanying illustrations, akin to those accompanying earlier urban fictions (Fialho de Almeida, Melo de Matos). (Figures 211–14) Nonetheless it would be wrong to relegate Ventura Terra's proposals to the domains of urban fantasy. In the first place because the uncritical celebration of the architect and his ideas suggests a piece of advertising rather than objective journalism. It is not a neutral project description but an attempt to persuade and enthuse public opinion, and consequently should not be taken at face-value. The fuzzy lack of precision of most of the illustrations – notwithstanding the language of “previews” (antevisões) and the visual comparisons of before and after – contrasts with the contents of the text, in which Ventura Terra is staged as a determined realist: serene, calm, well-considered, secure of his facts … (tranquillamente, a mesma calma de quem está seguro da sua idéa, etc.) The interview develops according to a pragmatic, project-orientated dialect, constantly confronting the possible and the desirable. Direct references to execution outline a picture of concrete, calculated interventions. And while the general judgement of these proposals, which mostly remained on paper, has been that of utopianism,427 there is, as R. H. da Silva admits, something paradoxical in this combination of visionary utopianism and the 426 “Ventura Terra é como o ousado pintor da Oeuvre, que desejava encher d'alto a baixo as paredes de Paris com os seus trechos sociaes, com as notas rubras da sua phantasia, impondo a grande arte na rua. O architecto illustre (…) desejaria que lhe entregassem esta cidade onde ha tantos logares anti- estheticos, onde se desdenha a linha e a fórma, para a transformar rasgando avenidas e arejar os maus bairros, a ladeal-os de casas artisticas, a ensombral-as d'arvores creando uma Lisboa d'agrado para a vista onde soubessem bem demoras largas como em Monaco, como em Nice.” (Ill. Port. 1910, 367) The “daring painter of the Oeuvre” might be a reference to Eugène Broerman and the Belgian Œuvre de l'Art public; the mention to Paris might result from memories of the 1900 Public Art Congress in that city, where similar ideas had been proposed. (See p. 81–83 above) – 271 – G. Verheij Case 2: Regenerating the urban waterfront architect's characteristic pragmatism. The problem is, in my view, that this utopian character is too hastily deduced from the ultimate failure to materialize the proposals, bypassing the precise outlines of their “conditions of impossibility.” In the following pages I propose to outline these conditions and how Ventura Terra's waterfront proposals related to the actual situation of the area and other existing intentions. References to the waterfront area (see Figures 208, 210) appeared gradually in council discussions. In early 1909 the decision was made to create a garden in front of the Praça Duque da Terceira and the ferry station managed by the Parceria dos Vapores Lisbonenses (Society of Packet Boats of Lisbon). (Actas 1909, 126, 156) The Municipal Archive holds a project signed by D. Peres from that year; the garden itself was finished at last in 1915 (probably before 1913). (Figures 219–20) Later that year the problematic sanitary conditions of the municipal fish market (Mercado da Ribeira), prominently placed between Cais do Sodré and the Jardim Sá da Bandeira, and the temporary agricultural market in front of it, were brought to municipal attention by Ventura Terra. The architect proposed to amplify the existing building, adding an extra floor and lateral galleries. The enlarged building would offer proper sanitary conditions, provide extra space for the vegetable market, and endow the building with a worthy architectural character. (Actas 1909, 376–80; Figures 221–29) News about the intentions of the Royal Company of Railways (CRCFP) to transform the provisional railway station at Cais do Sodré into a definitive station provided the final piece for a comprehensive plan.428 Ventura Terra qualified the pretensions as “vandalism.” The only sensible solution would be to vacate the area, cut back the railway to Santos, create a promenade,429 and thus recover the “beauty of the waterfront” (a beleza das margens), the city's “principal aesthetic asset” (principal elemento esthetico). Urgency was added, as the area was the only easily accessible site along the waterfront which at the time was still awaiting definitive development and mostly in public hands. The municipal council made the proposal a priority, and promised to lobby the government for support in negotiations with the CRCFP, as the “shameful” state of the central waterfront was a matter of general public interest. (Actas 1909, 456–57) The transformation of the Rua do Arsenal (Figures 231–34), 427 The most comprehensive studies of Ventura Terra's waterfront proposals are by R. H. da Silva (2009) and A. M. Barata (2009; 2010, especially 106–15). Both authors judge them utopian. The reading I propose, even if diverging in conclusions, is much indebted to both authors. 428 This railway station was another of those “in-aesthetic” structures on the waterfront which exasperated critics. It was built as a provisional structure in 1895, improvised with wood and “a miraculous effort of good will” (um milagre de esforço de boa vontade). (Paulino 2012, 44–45) W. H. Koebel (1909, 113) described it as a shed-like structure placed at random on a flat waste in front of the river. Later Ventura Terra admitted that the pretension of the CRCFP to make the railway station at Cais do Sodré permanent had been the main motivation for his plans. (Ill. Port. 1910; Actas 1910, 517) 429 The idea took advantage of existing aspirations of a promenade along the Tejo. Until the construction of the railway between Santos and Caís do Sodré, the “Aterro da Boavista” (Boavista Embankment, presently the Avenida 24 de Julho) had fulfilled this role. (Barata 2010, chap. 2) – 272 – G. Verheij Case 2: Regenerating the urban waterfront already announced in December 1908,430 was added to the projects to form a general plan of intervention in the area, which the architect formulated clearly in late 1909: Desembaraçar de tudo o que actualmente peja o terreno marginal comprehendido entre o Caes do Sodré e Santos, transformando-o n'um magnifico passeio publico ajardinado; – Construir no lado opposto, a norte da rua 24 de Julho, nos terrenos municipaes ali existentes – o mercado geral do peixe e o mercado agricola para fructas, hortaliças, etc., e emfim – alargar a rua do Arsenal por meio de um portico mais amplo ainda do que a arcaria do Terreiro do Paço – e que aberto sobre a mesma rua permitta o transito facil de peões, ficando o seu actual leito exclusivamente destinado ao transito de vehiculos. (Actas 1909, 799) In early 1910 Ventura Terra provided the fine details. The promenade would have an extension of about 1 km, with some 800 000 m2 of gardens to leisurely enjoy the marine view and the “admirable entertainment” of commercial movement. In the future, after the transfer of the Armoury, the promenade could be extended to the Praça do Comércio and perhaps even to Santa Apolónia. Providing a prime sites for real estate investment and leisure facilities such as casinos and hotels, it would endow the city with a “splendid lobby” for the reception of tourists. The final solution for the market implied the combination of the renovation of the fish market and the construction of a new agricultural market in the Jardim de Dom Luís next to it (the statue of Sá da Bandeira, placed in this garden, would be relocated to the promenade). Designed as an architectural unity (though functioning independently) they would add life and interest to the place. (Actas 1910, 180–81; Figures 211–14) As to the Rua do Arsenal, the project had already been detailed into the rebuilding of some 200 meter of housing fronts to include an arcade modelled after the Rue de Rivoli, Paris' widely admired shopping street. The 5 meter deep gallery would transform the “unpleasant” (desagradavel) street into something “stately” (pomposo) and interesting, while at the same time providing pedestrians with shelter from heath, rain and heavy traffic to comfortably contemplate the exhibition space of shops and stores. Increasing real estate and rent values would largely compensate for the investment.431 The architect estimated the total cost at about 400 000 000 réis (see table 6), financed from the ordinary municipal budget, provided deals could be made with the State and the CRCFP 430 “Que se proceda ao estudo do alargamento da rua do Arsenal, sob a orientação de construir na parte correspondente ao rez do chão e 1.º andar das casas do lado norte um amplo portico aberto sobre a rua e por onde possam circular peões. O actual pavimento da referida rua destinar se-hia principalmente ao transito de vehiculos e ao transporta de objectos que de qualquer modo possam incommodar o transito no portico.” (Actas 1908, 398) The Rua do Arsenal provided at the time the only direct communication between the commercial centre and the industry and port in Cais do Sodré, Santos and beyond. Ventura Terra's proposal came in a long line of previous attempts at solution by means of tunnels or arcades. (A. V. da Silva 1968, 113–34) 431 Currently one entered the streets with the only desire of leaving as soon as possible, judged Ventura Terra (Quem entra na rua do Arsenal apenas deseja sahir d'ella). To pause and stop by a shop was risky with the constantly moving flux of transit. On rainy days the street became a mess (Nos dias de lama é um horror). According to Ventura Terra this explained low rent prizes (between 45 000 and 600 000 réis). The revamped street would attract luxury establishments (d'esses que vendem objectos d'artes, casas que attrahem a vista, lojas modelares como na rua de Rivoli), increasing rent and property values. Another advantage for owners was the possibility to add one or two more stories to the buildings. (Ill. Port. 1910) – 273 – G. Verheij Case 2: Regenerating the urban waterfront regarding land ownership. Execution was programmed for about two years. (Actas 1909, 799; 1910, 180–81; Ill. Port. 1910) In 1912 the final designs for the renovation of the municipal market and the transformation of the Rua do Arsenal were finished, but remained unexecuted. The other components of the waterfront plan never seem to have made it into a definitive design. Item Cost per unit Total cost gardening for the river promenade 80 000 m2 at 1 200 réis per m2 96 000 000 e réis renovation of the fish market 60 000 000 réis new agricultural market 120 000 000 réis expropriation and reconstruction in the Rua do Arsenal 200 meter at 620 000 réis per meter up to 124 000 000 réis Table 6: Estimated cost of the different projects of the waterfront plans. (Source: Ill. Port. 1910) Ventura Terra consistently claimed that his solution was simple, natural and necessary, blaming opposition on “squabbles” (atoardas) and government opposition. (CML 1910, 97– 99; Ill. Port. 1910; Actas 1909, 457) This was in fact a gross simplification, probably to make his own project seem more convincing. The promenade required the cession of Ventura Terrains by the State and the CRCFP to municipal domain – an eventuality these entities never contemplated, sticking instead with existing, mutually agreed projects for the area. Before reconstructing the complex situation indicated here I briefly recall the high hopes deposited during these years in port development (see p. 178 above). Ultimately rebuffed by the dramatic impact on maritime travel of World War I, during Ventura Terra's municipal years continuous growth gave some plausibility to the rose-coloured previsions guiding Monarchic as much as Republican port policies.432 The expected impact of the Panama channel, opened on 15 August 1914 (less than a month after the declaration of war by Austria-Hungary), was a key factor in these enthusiastic estimates. The local consul of Panama forecast equal status to New York or London, consequently outlining a large program to prepare Lisbon for the coming “human avalanche.” (Serpa 1911, 16) A former council colleague of Ventura Terra – Tomás Cabreira, who after 1910 made the step to national politics – succinctly exposed the argument in Parliament: A situação geographica do porto de Lisboa, o seu acesso facil, a quantidade importante de mercadorias que nelle entram para baldeação e transito (…), mostram bem que o porto de Lisboa é um verdadeiro porto de distribuição (…) O corte do 432 For an overview of early Republican ambitions, see J. N. da Matta (1911). The essential reference is A. Prata's study, who notes that during the early years of the Republic investment in the port, if anything, increased. Considerable growth in 1910-1914 indicates that the port of Lisbon initially accompanied the rapid evolution of international maritime routes and increasingly demanding naval technologies with some success, but in 1914 vessel entries, total GRT (gross register tonnage, which indicates the size and capacity of entering vessels) and trade volumes fell abruptly. The port of Lisbon suffered heavily from World War I and the subsequent international crises of over-production and inflation during the 1920s, besides local political instability and economic scarcity; it didn't completely recover until the 1930s. This provided an extremely unfavourable context for the pre-war plans. (Prata 2011, 111–12, 126–28) – 274 – G. Verheij Case 2: Regenerating the urban waterfront isthmo de Panamá vem aproximar da Europa parte dos Estados Unidos e do México, as republicas de Guatemala, Honduras, Nicaragua, Salvador, Costa Rica, Panamá, Colômbia, Equador, Peru e Chile; o Japão, a China e grande parte da Ásia; a Nova Zelandia, a Austrália e toda a Oceania. E é Lisboa que constitue o cães natural de desembarque das mercadorias vindas desses países (…) (Diário da Assembleia Nacional Constituinte, 7 August 1911, 4)433 What this means is that Ventura Terra's river promenade competed with the conflicting ambition of turning Lisbon into a global port, reflected in continuing investments in portuary infrastructures and, more importantly, the option for autonomous port exploration. This option, recommended by a study commission in 1905 and formalized in 1907 with the creation of the Lisbon Port Exploration (Exploração do Porto de Lisboa, EPL), in fact removed the larger part of the waterfront from municipal interference and public use. (Prata 2011, 84–93, 109–10) This political option is behind one aspect of the conflict generated by Ventura Terra's proposals, and which was largely fought out in the public sphere. (Barata 2010, 106–12; Cerdeira 2014b, 62–66) Spokespersons for the prevailing State policy were the engineers, chief among whom J. F. de Sousa.434 A first critique of Ventura Terra's plans was followed by a continuous exchange of public statements in which both sides displayed their different understandings of the city's future.435 The main complaint was that the municipal aspirations interfered with existing port development plans, which included the final linkage of the railway stations of Santos and Santa Apolónia. For the moment, the Armoury impeded this; this was one reason the Cascais railway provisionally ended at Cais do Sodré since 1895. (Paulino 2012, 34–45) For engineers such as J. F. de Sousa, a continuous railway connection, linking the sections already built, was essential for the commercial success of the port. Ventura Terra's proposals were presented as 433 Tomás Cabreira was defending the creation of a free-port near Lisbon, combined with the legalization of gambling. Both issues, considered essential to boost international commerce and tourism, were intensively debated in the Republic's political chambers. In the end, the modest outcome was the creation of a free-zone for products from Brazil and Portuguese colonies, launched in 1914. (Prata 2011, 20–26, 108–9; MOPTC 1991) 434 José Fernando de Sousa (1855-1942) was an engineer, politician and avowed Monarchist, who worked for the State Railways (Caminhos de Ferro do Estado) since the 1890s and held functions in several other railway-related companies and public entities. He was first executive president of the SPP and a prolific publicist. At the core of his large bibliographic output was the Gazeta dos Caminhos de Ferro, for which he penned the first article in 1892. He was the journal's main editor between 1902 and 1941. (R. Ramos 2004) 435 J. F. de Sousa published a critique in September 1909 and dedicated two conferences to the subject in February and April 1910 (Cerdeira 2014b, 65). In line with his views, the SPP sent two official communications to the municipality, dated from 31 August and 26 November 1909. Ventura Terra ventured his opinions in the municipal council meetings and several interviews, in which he enthusiastically presented his waterfront plans as the start of a “return to the river” (Sim! Tudo para a beira do Tejo) and the general modernization of the city. Public opinion was especially seduced by Ventura Terra's description of a possible “boulevard bridge” (ponte-boulevard), including promenades, artistic pavement and lighting, gardens, statues, marble columns and monumental entrances; the architect’s plans didn't include such a project but he used the fashionable subject to promote his other plans. (Ill. Port. 1910; A República 1911a, b) Projects for such a bridge had been presented since the 1870s and cyclically resurfaced in the public sphere. (M. H. Lisboa 2002, 141–45; A Capital 1911b–e; “A ponte” 1912) – 275 – G. Verheij Case 2: Regenerating the urban waterfront the absurd sacrifice of the port's international statute,the city's general economy and decades of public investment for the sake of a few hundred meters of public walk. The more aesthetically-inclined engineers at the Commission of Monuments of the SPP made an attempt to reconcile Ventura Terra's civic intentions with the prosecution of port development. Innovative design was the solve the puzzle of combining yet maintaining physically separate port activity and public promenading. The examples were Antwerp's promenoirs: heightened “walkways” built on pillars to give public access to the river and the “moralizing” spectacle of port activity without compromising operational performance.436 (E. 1909) The ideas were disparaged by Ventura Terra. The connection of the railway stations of Cais do Sodré and Santa Apolónia was defined as a “great crime of artistic high-treason” (grande crime de lesa arte). The railway would create an impenetrable barrier between the last publicly accessible section of the central waterfront and destroy the city's monumental antechamber, Praça do Comércio.437 As to the impact on the city's economy, Ventura Terra turned the Antwerp example against the engineers. Lisbon counted with 11 km of port installations, of which 6 km of usable quays; though less than the 20 km of quays of the Antwerp port, the latter sufficed for a commercial movement 8 times and a half the size of Lisbon's. Following the architect's argument, there was no immediate need for more port facilities. Moreover, the very rationale of devoting the entire waterfront to port activity was questionable in a city which, unlike Antwerp, was a national capital with other interests (tourism, political representativity) besides trade and industry. The Antwerpian “walkway” solution was brushed aside as prohibitively costly and irrational, providing by elaborate means what was now freely available (the view of the river).438 (Actas 1909, 798–803) Of course, the riposte cleverly avoided confrontation with the main argument of the engineers, which was that continuous railway service along the port would vastly increase the velocity and capacity of transactions, an essential factor in international competitiveness. Ventura Terra consistently interpreted the argument of “commercial impediments” on the small scale of public space, that is, as the (im)possibility of leisure and commercial movement coexisting on the quays, rather than engaging with the global long-term view of the engineers.439 While 436 The Port of Antwerp was visited by the lawyer and SPP board member João de Caires (1862-1939) in October 1908, after which he published a report in the society's bulletin. (Cerdeira 2014b, 46) 437 A few months later the architect anticipated that the railway would put “something akin to a mourning stripe” (como que uma tarja de luto) on the square at the precise point where it was most cheerful (festivo). (Actas 1910, 181) 438 “Para corrigir o consideravel erro que aconselha [i.e. divorcing the city from the river by means of the railway], diz a SPP que ao longo da rua 24 de Julho se gastem ainda alguns centos de contos de réis na construcção de terraços sobre columnas – sombreando o leito d'aquella rua e as casas que sobre ella existem ou venham a construir-se. É d'ahi que a população lisboeta poderá avistar o Tejo que tão naturalmente póde gozar se quizermos respeitar que a Natureza tão generosamente nos legou.” (Actas 1909, 800) 439 Ventura Terra's proposal to ask the city's commercial associations (Commercial Association of Lisbon and Commercial Shopkeepers Association of Lisbon) about their perceptions of the impact of his “aesthetic measures” on commercial interests remained within the limits of this (mis)reading. The questions were carefully framed to avoid engagement with the main arguments of J. F. de Sousa and others: 1) if business would be harmed in case the railway between Santos and Santa Apolónia was not built; 2) if in the present or future the waterfront between Cais do Sodré and Santos would be needed for heavy port activity (i.e. mooring large vessels). The – 276 – G. Verheij Case 2: Regenerating the urban waterfront the architect's argument that existing commercial movement such as the unloading of fishing boats or the provision of the markets would add a picturesque touch to his intended promenade testifies to a modern conception of public space (see p. 279 below), it was in a sense besides the point. This background of conflicting intentions for the city's waterfront is behind the consistent refusal of relevant entities to cede the terrains necessary for the projected promenade. (Actas 1910, 517–19) As a matter of fact, less than a year before the Republican council was elected to Lisbon's administration a deal had finally been brokered between the municipality, the State, the CRCFP and the EPL over the redistribution of land in the area, the fruit of lengthy negotiations going back to at least 1905. The deal included a number of land exchanges to provide definitive localizations for a new municipal fish market, a railway station, EPL headquarters and the area in which the garden mentioned earlier was created.440 This patchwork of land use, public authorities, interests and claims provides something like a palimpsest for the complex situations which waterfronts usually represent (Remesar and Costa 2004), and to which Ventura Terra added yet another fresh layer of possibilities which not only ignored but directly contradicted this deal. (Figures 208–9) The advent of the Republic did not solve this impasse. While institutional relations improved and Ventura Terra's most vocal opponent, J. F. de Sousa, lost much of his influence, governmental attitudes remained reticent at best.441 Established interests proved stronger than municipal efforts. The crisis around the fish market in November 1912 gave the final blow. Ventura Terra still tried unsuccessfully to take advantage of the situation to push through the start of the renovation of the municipal market, but in the end it precipitated the council's associations responded negatively, but the move was not politically naive, as both were strong supporters of the Republican's party. (Actas 1909, 800; 1910, 74, 179–82; Alves 2012, especially p. 251–56). Furthermore, the Commercial Association – a former president of which, L. F. da Mata, was member of the municipal council – was itself involved in a long-standing public dispute with J. F. de Sous over the docks in front of Customs (east of Praça do Comércio), which Ventura Terra certainly did not ignore. (T. Vale, Gomes, and Martins 2002; Paulino 2012; “Porto de Lisboa” 1906; A Capital 1910c; J. F. de Sousa 1932) 440 Relevant documentation is at the Municipal Archive, including the agreement on the exchange of land dated from 29 January 1908 and documentation on the localization of a future fish market and the clearance of the terrain for the garden. (CML-ROP 1906a; 1908; 1909a) Documentation explicitly related to these negotiations is dated from 1905-1908 but certain aspects of it – such the regularization of terrains belonging to the port or the localization of the fish market – went back much further in time. It is possible that Ventura Terra was not aware of the fine details of the entire process, scattered through documentation of which possibly only the retiring senior officials who signed a large part of it (Ressano Garcia, J. L. Monteiro) could make a comprehensive sense. 441 In 1911 the executive boards of the SPP and the State Railways were purged of overtly Monarchic members, including J. F. de Sousa. Afterwards the municipality became a member of the SPP, with Ventura Terra as delegate. Formal municipal solicitations of governmental support – the first one of which dispatched as early as 6 October 1910 – remained unanswered; two municipal delegations sent in 1911 to the ministry of Development returned first with empty hands, later with vague promises. In general the municipality was easily forgotten as an interest actor in in public port policies. (Cerdeira 2014b, 104–6; Actas 1910, 813–84; 1911, 59–60, 233–34, 546–47, 687–88, 705; 1912, 15–16) – 277 – G. Verheij Case 2: Regenerating the urban waterfront resignation; subsequent municipal administrations returned to the premises of the January 1908 agreement, leaving the larger part of Ventura Terra's ideas aside.442 On the other hand, the competing project of turning Lisbon into a global port did not fare better. Economic crisis precipitated by war and constant budget deficits from 1916 on crippled executive capacities of the EPL. For the same reason studies of the essential transfer of the Armoury were tacitly postponed until 1918, while work on new installations didn't start before 1928. The transfer itself had to wait until the second half of the 1930s. (Prata 2011) When surveying the entire dispute it is curious to note how Ventura Terra tended to adopt the role of the pragmatic realist, committed to the practical short-term possibilities of urban change,443 while the engineers were guided by previsions which, independently of their plausibility, belonged to a far future. In a curious reversal of the usual confrontation between both professions, the latter appeared as the visionary dreamers, while Ventura Terra played the disbelieving critic of chimeras which, besides everything else, were “anti-aesthetic.” Near Cais do Sodré a public clock still stands as a modest monument to these competing intentions. The bulky volume – a kind of aedicula decorated with pillars, ornamental ovolos, cavetto molding and an arched pediment – was designed by a military engineer (Frederico Oom, 1864-1930) and a hydrographer (Augusto Ramos da Costa, 1865-1939) to indicate the Greenwich hour, adopted on 1 January 1912. In a sense it is the tangible equivalent of the monumental watchtower imagined by Melo de Matos six years earlier (see p. 175 and Figure 151). Given its symbolic importance – synchronizing Portugal with the world – the clock's designers proposed the top of the garden nearby as preferential site. The Commission of Municipal Aesthetics and Department of Architecture opined unfavorably. The clock would be an “obstacle” (embaraço) obstructing (pejar) the garden, interfering with the views of the monument of Duque da Terceira. The blunt language signals aesthetic disagreement: the municipal council regretted that the clock was one more missed opportunity to improve the “urban aesthetic” (estética da cidade). In the end, “municipal aesthetics” relegated the technical feat – the plain classical motives disguised solid German machinery – to its present 442 The problem around the fish market was, I recall, the creation of a private wholesale selling point in Santos by a society of fishing companies. According to market resellers it competed with the municipal market (see note 343 above). Ventura Terra tried to push through quick renovation of the existing market, with the argument it offended “the most basic rules of hygiene, aesthetics and everything else” (vergonha atentatoria das mais simples regras de higiene, de estetica e de tudo mais). The solution didn’t avoid aggravated feelings of fish sellers (peixeiras), who invaded the Town Hall. The council's resignation shortly afterwards left the waterfront projects in hands of the subsequent administrative commission, who ignored them. The posterior elected council resumed the renovation project of the municipal market, but dropped construction of a new market in the Jardim de Dom Luís, returning instead to the original site of the January 1908 agreement. An alternative, less costly solution was approved (but not executed) for the Rua do Arsenal: the demolition of the protruding central body of the Armoury and its reconstruction along the street's dominant building line within a similar architectural style. (Actas 1912, 761–64, 796; 1913, 47;1914, 134, 148–51, 213, 297; Ill. Port. 1912; 1913; Occidente 1913a) 443 “(...) o que a Camara deseja principalmente é, com um dispendio não superior a 400 contos [400 000 000 réis or 400 000 escudos] e por isso ao alcance das suas finanças obter um importantíssimo melhoramento composto de solução perfeita dos seguintes problemas pelo qual toda a cidade anceia.” (Actas 1910, 180) – 278 – G. Verheij Case 2: Regenerating the urban waterfront inconspicuous site. (Diário do Governo, s. I, 15 October 1912; Actas 1912, 751; CML-RA 1912e; Ill. Port. 1913; Figure 235) The anecdote is suggestive of the different scales embodied, on the one hand, by the engineers who crafted the modernization projects for the port and, on the other, by Ventura Terra and his concern with the design and experience of public space. Public space is by definition open-ended and multifunctional. The instrumental concept of space espoused by the engineers shows that, for all their technological acumen and forward-looking determination, they crucially lacked such a notion. They though in terms of spatially circumscribed and separated functions and fluxes, rather than accessibility, social relations, symbolic identification and civic culture.444 Civic and aesthetic concerns were at best extras to be added afterwards. Ventura Terra's modern notion of public space is, on the other hand, what made his project in a sense necessary (hence its continuing actuality), even if he miscalculated the dynamics of the area. Limits and values of “municipal aesthetics” The previous two case studies conclude that at the centre of “municipal aesthetics” as conceived by Ventura Terra was public space. Yet this notion of public space was applied with restrictions. Most importantly, housing in general and private urban development in particular fell outside its scope. Ventura Terra only tangentially involved himself with the topic of affordable housing, leaving the matter to his social reforming colleagues,445 but showed much interest in the regulation of the private production of architecture. As in the previous cases his practical involvement was triggered by the appearance of a concrete problem, in this case an illegal housing development known as Casal Ventoso. This development was one of the products of the steady urbanization of the Alcântara valley to house workers of the industry situated there, part of a larger compound of “pátios” and “vilas” constructed since the late 19th century around the middle-class residential quarters of Campo de Ourique.446 Casal Ventoso seems to have consisted of buildings of varying quality, but the main problem was that, built without permission and not recognized as urban area, it lacked access to basic 444 “L'espai públic suposa, doncs, domini públic, ús social col·lectiu i multifunctionalitat. Es caracteritza físicament per la seva accessibilitat, la qual cosa el converteix en un factor de centralitat. La qualitat de l'espai públic es pot avaluar sobretot per la intensitat i la qualitat de les relacions socials que facilita, per la força amb què fomenta la barreja de grups i comportaments i per la capacitat d'estimular la identificació simbòlica, l'expressió i la integració culturals. Per això convé que l'espai públic tingui algunes qualitats formals, com ara la continuïtat del disseny urbà i la facultat ordenadora d'aquest disseny, la generositat de les formes, de la imatge i dels materials i l'adaptabilitat a usos diversos a través del temps.” (Borja and Muxí 2001, 48–49; see also Ricart and Remesar 2013) 445 I recall that the topic of affordable housing was at this moment essentially grasped as a financial rather than a design problem. The topic was the speciality of Tomás Cabreira, who in 1911 presented an affordable housing bill in parliament for which Ventura Terra verified rent calculations. (Actas 1909, 317–19, 492; Diário da Assembleia Nacional Constituinte, 30 June 1911) 446 Municipal development of Campo de Ourique started in the late 1870s. Since 1906 the municipal Department of Public Works was studying the amplification of the district. (Diniz 2014; on the concepts of patíos and vilas, see note 204) – 279 – G. Verheij Limits and values of “municipal aesthetics” municipal services such as cleaning and public illumination. Yet paradoxically inhabitants paid municipal contributions, and on this account they had been claiming access to these municipal privileges. (Barata 2010, 224–30) Still in December 1908 the Republican council decided on an inquiry, finished about a year later. Ventura Terra presented the conclusions. The development, composed of 58 apartment buildings housing 1176 persons, was built without permission and lacked basic norms of hygiene, from sewage and lighting to minimum room sizes and street widths. Given the number of inhabitants, immediate slum clearance would only worsen the problem; instead, it was decided to immediately suspend further construction and implement basic improvements of streets and buildings. (Actas 1908, 452–53, 458-59; 1909, 561, 837; A Capital 1910a) An improvement scheme was finished some months later but largely exceeded the indicated budget of 15 000 000 réis (15 000 escudos). Ventura Terra himself reworked it to make it fit, counting on landowners to freely make available the necessary land for the improvements (basically a 8 meter wide road linking the entire area). The new version of the scheme was approved in September 1911 to be executed between 1912-1914, yet despite available funds and an approved project work still hadn't started in August 1912, apparently because of resistance of land owners – mainly Benjamin Cid, responsible for most of the construction – to cede terrain, dragging on the process while new illegal constructions were surreptitiously added.447 (Figures 236–37) The important point to make in this context is how the scheme Ventura Terra pushed through was extremely pragmatic, seeking to solve at minimum cost basic problems of circulation and hygiene. The vocabulary of “embellishments” or “urban aesthetic(s)” was altogether absent, as was any mention of the exceptional visual potential of this site, on the slope of the Alcântara valley. A similar case confirms this: when Joaquim Gonçalves Garrido (1874-1937) proposed a cheap housing development in his Quinta do Bacalhau (Alto do Pina), Ventura Terra (who apparently suggested the whole idea himself) defended the enterprise with the argument of solid, hygienic housing for 700 poor families. The houses were demolished around 1940 to make place for the actual Alameda Dom Afonso Henriques. A surviving photograph shows modest architectural gusto in the little façades but the monotony of the repeated building modules and the absence of any green or garden could hardly be expected to respond to the exacting demands of “municipal aesthetics.” (Figure 238) It probably was an improvement in comparison with the “squalid courtyards and filthy quarters” which – as Ventura Terra denounced – made up the larger part of proletarian housing, but at the very least the architect's praise suggests there were different degrees of “urban beauty” for different urban (and social) settings. (Actas 1911, 359, 527) At the level of the regulation of private development a similar pattern can be discerned. Until 1908 the municipality – and especially the director of Public Works, Ressano Garcia – had categorically opposed privately-led urban development, as this was considered an exclusive 447 Negotiations over the cession of land for the amplification of roads and other improvements started at last in July 1912, but the larger part of it was only given over by B. Cid in 1913. Nonetheless, municipalization continued until at least 1919. Meanwhile new buildings were built without license, according to maps from 1915 and 1916. The urban improvements itself don't seem to have been executed at all. (CML-ROP 1900-1911; Actas 1911, 249, 538–39; 1912, 551; Barata 2010, 230; Chaves 2013, 44–51) – 280 – G. Verheij Limits and values of “municipal aesthetics” competence of public administration. Yet in practice municipal administration proved incapable to develop land at the necessary pace, and private initiative had an agenda-setting role in the directions of urbanization. This had resulted in the fragmented city discussed earlier. The urbanism of the time appears split between the qualified but expensive districts of Lisboa Nova and inadequate yet tolerated private development, including informal settlements such as Casal Ventoso, to respond to pressing housing demands of the less affluent. (M. J. M. Rodrigues 1978; J. D. Pereira 2012) Ventura Terra knew the city grown out of this combination of nominal public control and laissez-faire, and during his municipal passage the Republican council attempted to carry through a more comprehensive planning policy, regulating rather than ignoring the reality of private development.448 A standing proposal to revise building by-laws relating to private streets and pátios (courtyards) was unearthed by Nunes Loureiro in 1909, and modified by Ventura Terra. The by-laws recognized the existence of pátios and private streets, establishing minimum hygiene and safety requirements for the obtention of building permits. It furthermore distinguished between privately-developed streets of general interest, to be built according to statutory plans and incorporated into municipal domain, and those of private interest, to remain in private hands. (Actas 1909, 287–90, 301, 471–72) Examples of private developments the construction or enlargement of which was authorized on ground of the new by-laws are “Bairro Ermida” and “Vila Cândida;” documentation related to the first explicitly mentions a deal made between Ventura Terra and the developer, Carlos Ribeiro Ermida. (CML-ROP 1910-1911; CML-RE 1912–1915) This meant a departure from earlier planning policies, most visible in the change of attitude towards the Bairro Europa. I recall that the intention of building this private development had been an important reason for Ressano Garcia to push through his extension scheme from 1903, reserving the area for his intended urban forest (see p. 164 above). Owners of the land complained about the resulting impasse: prohibited by the statutory plan to develop their land, the municipality nonetheless refrained from expropriation for lack of financial resources. Ventura Terra revived the issue, proposing to approve limited development in the park's area, supported by the new building by-laws. On another level, a number of existing private developments – the “Bairro de Braz Simões,” presently the Bairro da Inglaterra, or the “Bairro Serzedelo,” between today's Rua Vieira Lusitano and Ferreira Chaves – were municipalized. (Actas 1909, 517–18; 1910, 523; 1911, 189–90; 1912, 222, 262; A Capital 1911a; CML-ROP 1908-1916) The pragmatic recognition of long-ignored urban realities nonetheless relinquished formal public monopoly over urban development and consequently the possibility of imposing the aesthetic norms promoted by Ventura Terra. The kind of concerns so common in the cases of the Eduardo VII Park of the waterfront are conspicuously absent here. I recall the image of the Rua do Garrido to enliven the contrast with a last short case study of the modification of a support wall in the commercial Rua do Carmo. Though the architect was only partly involve 448 A fire in one cheap private housing development (Vila Pereira) in September 1911 and the typhoid fever epidemic of 1912, commonly blamed on inadequate hygiene, were tragic tokens of problematic housing conditions. (On living conditions of the poor, see Lúcio and Marques 2015; Barreto and Mónica 1983) – 281 – G. Verheij Limits and values of “municipal aesthetics” the project has the virtue of being actually executed, providing a real case scenario of the impact of “urban aesthetic(s)” on urban space. From the viewpoint of urban history the Rua do Carmo is a very interesting site. Here Pombaline regularity meets the pre-existing urban tissue. The Rua do Carmo has a double transition function between different urban fabrics and different height levels. This limit case at the same time shows the sheer weight of the aesthetic premises of Pombaline design. In the street's lower section a support wall, visible along some 47 meter, was hidden behind a fake façade continuing the characteristic pattern of Pombaline architectural. Within the functional and rational premises of Pombaline reconstruction this trompe l'oeil has something of a paradox, highlighting the unacknowledged aesthetic underpinnings. (Figure 239) Around the turn of the century this area had turned into a commercial street for luxury retail (florists, shoe stores, jewel shops) and that quintessential shopping typology, the department store (Armazéns do Chiado in 1894, Grandes Armazéns Grandela in 1907). In line with its commercial vocation the street was the object of persistent aesthetic “improvements,” of which the Elevator of Santa Justa (Raul Mesnier, 1902) was only the most visible. Dispersed documentation at the Municipal Archive shows it was accompanied by a continuing investment in more prosaic matters such as pavement and lighting (f. ex. CML-ROP 1901a, b; 1902a). In this setting of sophisticated affluence the fake support wall appeared to many as inappropriate. Contemporary comments mention physical deterioration, but it also suffered from customary complaints about Pombaline “monotony.” (J. C. Leal 2013) On festive occasions attempts at camouflaging were made with cornices, painted textiles, ornamental plants and additional decoration, but local commerce lobbied for more elegant and lasting solutions. (“A Muralha do Carmo” 1906; “Antiga e nova muralha” 1912; Airosa 2004) The wall itself included small interior space where in 1847 a repair shop of umbrellas and porcelain and a glove shop were installed. Some years later another two portholes were opened for jewellers.449 The consensual solution was to combine use and beauty, transforming the entire wall according to updated aesthetic patterns and enlarging commercial space.450 A 1906 scheme by Álvaro Machado proposed to transform the fake windows into seven ornamental medallions or arches which at the same time would provide appropriate space for commercial advertisement. In the lower section three tunnels were to be excavated to create 6 meter deep vaulted rooms for shops lined in oak and glazed tiles (azulejos). This design was promoted by the State, but stalled due to a standing conflict with the municipality over ownership of the wall,451 adding to the prohibitive costs of excavations. (“Antiga e nova muralha” 1912; Figure 241) In 1912 another project, elaborated by a young architect of the Ministry of Development (Fomento), Leonel Gaia, was approved. The motive for this second project was municipal concern about the “shameful state” of the wall, in need of cleaning and painting. On initiative 449 In a concession contract from 1901 the shops are defined as “portholes” (vãos de porta). (CML- AML 1901) 450 “De ha muito que se pensa em aproveitar a muralha do Carmo, para qualquer fim util, embellezando ao mesmo tempo aquella parte da rua Nova do Carmo, desfeiada por aquelle enorme paredão de alvenaria, escura, lobrega.” (“A Muralha do Carmo” 1906) 451 The dispute over ownership went back to 1839, when the municipality bought the upper part of the wall only to be faced with the consummated fact that it had already been occupied by the military quarters at the Convento do Carmo (today GNR). (Airosa 2004) – 282 – G. Verheij Limits and values of “municipal aesthetics” of Ventura Terra this was communicated in January 1911 to the Ministry of Finance, responsible for the wall. Gaia's project resulted however in a reawakening of the conflict of competences. Negotiations dragged on until February 1912, but in June the new wall was officially inaugurated.452 The project was published in A Construcção Moderna with enthusiastic words on the disappearance of the “old wall full of faked windows” and its “modernized, nice-looking” substitute.453 (Figures 240, 242) In another State-promoted initiative the architect Adolpho Antonio Marques da Silva (1876- 1939) designed a small pavilion to be constructed around the supporting pillar of the Elevator of Santa Justa facing the Rua do Carmo.454 In the end it wasn't built, but the Commission of Municipal Aesthetics reviewed it favourably in January 1912. It noted how, by annulling the “anti-aesthetic effect” (effeito anti-esthetico) of the iron pillars, the project would exert a salutary influence on the general street picture. (CML-CEM 1912a; Figure 243) The contrast between the heavy investment in aesthetic effects in the luxury shopping street with the superficial nod to architectural ornament in the Rua do Garrido suggests the obvious: in practice (as opposed to discourse) the horizon of “urban aesthetic(s)” was not so much the democratic diffusion of art throughout the entire city but the strategic embellishment of specific, representative public spaces. To a large extent it had to do with the creation of appropriate and attractive urban scenarios for bourgeois leisure: main squares, shopping streets, parks and gardens, promenades... This is the limit to the notion of public space underlying Ventura Terra's activity: it did not transcend its bourgeois origins. The architect's proposals have the typical Belle Époque flavour of eclectic architecture, abundant gardening, sprouting ornament, leisured bourgeoisie and abiding proletarians. However, within these limits relevant virtues can be detected. I single out three: 1. In a sense contrarily to his usual practice as an architect, the two previous case studies show a consistent use of architecture as transition space rather than object. In the Eduardo VII Park, the Rua do Arsenal and even the waterfront promenade architecture is consistently proposed as an element mediating public space. The urban integration of the park, rather than its enclosure as an oasis of quietness amidst urban chaos, is characteristic. More generally, relevant arts – architecture, but also sculpture and other public arts, gardening, even pavement design – were mobilized not for their 452 The problem was who should pay the indemnification to shopkeepers for forced closing during construction works. In the end an agreement was arrived in which shopkeepers were compensated by new façades and window displays for their shops, designed by L. Gaia and executed by the State as part of the total project. (Actas 1911, 13, 34; 1912, 158–59; CML-RA 1911b; 1912d) 453 “É este projecto, que acaba de ter execução, que hoje publicamos na nossa revista, apresentando o confronto da muralha antiga com a moderna, para ficar archivado nas nossas columnas o que era o antigo paredão, que, felizmente, acabar de ser modernisado de forma a tornar-se agradavel á vista de todos que passam pela bella arteria, admirando o cunho artistico que sustituiu n'aquelle enorme vão, a antiga muralha cheia de janellas fingidas.” (“Antiga e nova muralha” 1912) 454 The pavilion – actually more like a sales booth – was intended to be a tourist shop of “exclusively Portuguese products.” The choice for “Manueline style” (Portuguese late Gothic) for visual dressing was justified by its “national character,” which, noted an anonymous commentator, at the same time matched nicely with the elevator's Gothic. (Marques da Silva 1912) – 283 – G. Verheij Limits and values of “municipal aesthetics” own sake but to create appropriate settings for social, cultural and economic dynamics: a space of encounters.455 2. The pragmatic engagement with the “weight of place” through creative, site-specific solutions attentive to local particularities, practical possibilities and the urgency of concrete problems, rather than obeying to the formal demands of bird-eye perspectives or paper maps. Ventura Terra's is a typically project-orientated dynamics, developing dialectically through the interplay between urban idea and concrete project. Instead of formal dogmas (such as those of the stylistic unity of the artwork) or normative images (such as those by Fialho de Almeida or Melo de Matos), an “experimental urban aesthetics” which – in F. Choay's reading – is where the ideas of C. Sitte intersect with those of Viollet-le-Duc. (Choay 1992, 141–48) 3. Urban modernization as the creation of the present within the city's historicity, reconciling modern needs with aesthetic concerns within the context of the possible. A. Bermudes (1912a) implicitly asserted that care for the “urban aesthetic” (esthetica urbana) naturally compounded with the public interest and the requirements of “progress.” “Urban aesthetic(s)” appears here as a possible alternative to both the technopolis of imaginative engineers or the monumental utopia of cultural elites disussed in the previous chapter, mediating between the values, desires and temporalities which punctured the imagination and urban realities of Lisbon at the start of the century. To resume, Ventura Terra's “urban aesthetic(s)” had to do with the intentional cultivation of place,456 bringing together and consequently reframing the methodologies (the “arts”) mobilized in the design of public space. It is close to contemporary notions such as civic design or art public and their embryonic grasp of the city as an open-ended process of design rather than a work of art manifesting authorial intentions. 455 This argument is indebted to P. Vieira de Almeida's suggestive reading of Ventura Terra's architecture, though it inverts some of the values ascribed to the latter. (P. V. de Almeida 1986; Verheij 2015b) 456 The “cultivation of place” is, according to P. Brandão (2003), one way to define urban design. – 284 – G. Verheij Continuity and change from the Republic to the New State Continuity and change from the Republic to the New State The limits of law and the problem of the plan Ventura Terra's municipal activity during 1908-1913 inaugurated a frequent presence of architects and artists in municipal administrations. Between 1913 and 1920 F. C. Parente, A. Couto, Á. Machado, A. Bermudes and the sculptor Costa Mota (the younger) occupied municipal chairs.457 The presence of architects in municipal decision-making, added to the larger autonomy of architecture in the municipal machinery forged by Ventura Terra, in part answered pre-1910 demands of architects for a larger share of public responsibilities and positions. However, the enhanced prominence of artists and architects was not accompanied by further evolution in policies of urban aesthetics; on the contrary, the novelties introduced by Ventura Terra remained precarious along the Republican years. In general, political instability was an important obstacle to the articulation of lasting municipal policies, including those related to the public control of the production of urban space. One reason was the provisional character of municipal management during the First Republic. A promised Administrative Code was indefinitely postponed; instead a “temporary” set of dispositions determining the form and functioning of administrative bodies was approved in August 1913 to remain in effect until the 1930s. Regarding municipal bodies, these dispositions separated deliberative from executive organs in the form of a Senate and an Executive Commission.458 In the case of Lisbon the Senate was composed of 54 members 457 F. C. Parente was a member of the 1913 Administrative Commission. Álvaro Machado and António do Couto (1887-1970) were elected in 1914; Machado was proposed for executive councillor but refused; he was however a member of the 1915 Administrative Commission; Couto was a member of the Study Commission of Building and Streets (Construção e Arruamentos). Ventura Terra was elected into the Executive Commission of 1918, which only held one meeting before Sidónio Pais substituted it for an Administrative Commission. Among the latter's changing composition were Bermudes (vice-president, July 1918–February 1919) and Costa Mota (the younger, March–June 1919). (M. do R. Santos and Viegas 1996, 121–27; Actas) 458 A commission to study a new Administrative Code was created still in October 1910; the final proposal passed National Parliament but not the Senate. The “provisional” code (lei 88, slightly modified by lei 621) basically restored the dispositions of a decentralizing administrative code from 1878, against the centralizing norms introduced in 1886 and 1896. (Diário do Governo, s. I, 7 August 1913, 23 June 1916) The adopted construct of municipal management demonstrated a concern with democratic representativity (including the representation of minorities and the possibility of direct plebiscites) but also turned the Municipal Senate into a less effective entity, distanced from the daily management of municipal matters. The legislative edifice was completed with the Electoral Law approved in July 1913. The law restricted voting rights to literate males above 21 (with some exceptions) out of fear of “reactionary” rural and female votes, supposed to – 285 – G. Verheij The limits of law and the problem of the plan elected for a three-year period (in 1916 this was reduced to 36), meeting during four ordinary 8-day meetings a year plus extraordinary meetings. The Executive Commission consisted of nine paid members elected each year by the Senate; each executive council members held responsibility for a specific portfolio (pelouro).459 Elections were held on 30 November 1913; on 2 January 1914 the new councils started working. However, they didn't function with the placid alternation dictated by law. In the context of war, economic crisis and deteriorating living conditions, municipal management was directly affected by episodes of political instability. During two dictatorial periods – led by Joaquim Pimenta de Castro (1846-1918) in 1915 and by Sidónio Pais (1872-1918) in 1918 – the city's elected councils were substituted by administrative commissions. The novel prominence of artists and architects in an otherwise unstable municipal administration is behind the recurrent yet fruitless reappearance of the topic of aesthetic control along the entire period. In the following pages this hesitant persistence will be charted, focusing on three periods in which the issue of “urban aesthetic(s)” resurfaced with particular vigour. At the same time, these episodes provide larger insight in the institutional framing of the production of urban space during the Republic, beyond the frustrating subject of the absent plan (see Introdution). I recall that an essential weakness of the Commission of Municipal Aesthetics was the absence of a legal basis for policies of aesthetic control. The Commission could only issue non-binding recommendations; the municipality itself did not have the legal power to interdict construction on purely aesthetic grounds. A first attempt to create a relevant legal framework was made still during Ventura Terra's municipal term. The writer and national deputy A. Botelho presented a bill to the Constituent Assembly to create “Councils of Aesthetics” (Conselhos de Esthetica) in metropolitan areas (Lisbon including Loures, Oeiras, Cascais and Sintra; Porto including Espinho, Vila Nova de Gaia and Bouças; Coimbra including Figueira da Foz). These councils, funded by local municipalities but for the larger part appointed by the national Government, would have ample powers in the approval and supervision of particular and municipal building projects and be involved in the municipal elaboration of planning and building policies.460 be controlled by religious-conservatives adversaries of the Republic. (Serra 1996; P. T. de Almeida 1998; J. F. Alves 2010) 459 In 1914 executive portfolios were defined as follows: Administration and general services; Gardens, cemeteries and wash houses; Architecture; Engineering; Markets, butchers, slaughterhouses and sanitary inspection; Education; Cleaning and irrigation; Accountancy; Fires. (Actas 1914, 214) 460 The bill is reproduced in Diário da Assembleia Nacional Constituinte, 25 August 1911 (p. 11). The Councils of Aesthetics were to be composed of the president, chief-architect and chief-engineer of the municipality and nine local artists, architects and art critics appointed by the Government for three-year periods. The latter should include at least one representative of the local Council of Art and Archaeology, and in the case of Lisbon delegates of the Council of National Monuments, the National Society of Fine-Arts and the Society of Portuguese Architects. Conferred powers included binding appreciations of any building project not signed by an architect which directly or indirectly affected public space (quer na via publica, quer em local que d'esta possa ser apercebido), the supervision of municipal projects and policies affecting public space (construction, embellishment and occupancy of streets and squares, artistic servitudes or zoning ordinances, placement of public – 286 – G. Verheij The limits of law and the problem of the plan Botelho, earlier presented as the author of an unusual essay in defence of a place-specific urbanism based on curved rather than straight lines, was a member of Lisbon's Commission of Municipal Aesthetics in 1911-1912 (see note 368 above). It is thus probable that the bill had its origin in the commission itself. That it proposed to create State-nominated councils rather than regulating the executive powers of the municipal commission, as the SAP mistakenly had it (A. I. Ribeiro 1993, 69), is indicative of a technocratic ambition to bypass accountability to the democratically elected council. The bill, like so many others of this period, didn't come to be discussed; Botelho himself was nominated Consul in Argentina shortly afterwards. However, the following years brought opportunity for the potential conflict between municipal sovereignty and technocratic expertise to materialize. The Commission of Municipal Aesthetics, seconded by the National Academy of Fine-Arts, made a second attempt at the legal definition of its competences in 1913-1914. Besides the customary “attacks” (atentados) at good taste, a novel concern with urban heritage was introduced on account of recent “barbarian” destructions – the latter probably a reference to the demolition of the historical Gate of Santo André in 1913, which provoked public outcry (see Parro and Santana 1983, 8–9). The precise redaction of this second “project of aesthetic regulation” (projecto sobre regulamentação estética), elaborated by the Commission to be presented to Parliament, is unknown, but ultimately it failed because of the accountability problem mentioned earlier. Presented by the architect F. C. Parente, Apolínio Pereira – at the time himself involved in a disagreement with the Commission of Municipal Aesthetic over modifications to the Rossio square (see p. 298 below) – blocked the proposal because in his view it entrusted the Commission with excessive deliberative and executive powers, placing it in fact above the municipal council. (Actas 1913, 683, 838, 859; see also Actas 1919, 42) Novelties regarding aesthetic legislation came from elsewhere. I recall that, for Ventura Terra, private urban development was recognized as a valid agency in city-building yet in practice fell outside of the sphere of interests of “municipal aesthetics.” From 1914 on it was, inversely, in combination with the promotion of public control over private development that the topic of “urban aesthetic(s)” periodically resurfaced. In 1913 the by-laws which Ventura Terra had proposed in 1909 were substituted by much more restrictive regulation, promoted by the municipal council member and entrepreneur Joaquim Rodrigues Simões. New regulation mandated that private developments (bairros particulares) were authored by competent technicians (engineers, architects or public works superintendents) and included artworks, any project of monumental character, etc.) and general urban planning, the elaboration of building by-laws to guarantee aesthetic propriety including the imposition of architectural precepts in harmony with climate and landscape, and the monitoring of the aesthetic state of existing buildings. Executive powers in aesthetic matters were guaranteed by legal prevalence over municipal departments, particulars and in certain cases the municipal councils, the power to sanction transgressions and the creation of a permanent service of vigilance and oversight responding to the Council. Excepted from Council supervision were State-promoted building projects; the latter's artistic propriety was to be guaranteed through the addition of an artist or architect to the existing Superior Council of Public Works. – 287 – G. Verheij The limits of law and the problem of the plan public facilities according to size.461 They outlined an image of urban development far from actual building practices, leading to widespread complaints from the construction sector. In the ensuing debate, Simões defended the by-laws as a guarantee of the public interest. The problem was that developers, contractually obliged to take care of the cleaning, lighting and maintenance of their privately-developed streets, rapidly lost interest when the last lot was sold. Incapable of making developers fulfil the contract, the municipality usually ended up taking care of the streets and paying for lacking infrastructures. (Actas 1913, 711–16, 759, 787–92; 1914, 89) Examples of the period are the “Bairro Tavares” (Rua do Açucar), where the sidewalks required by a contract from February 1913 were still not built in November 1914, or the Bairro Braz de Simões, which after its municipalization in 1912 needed considerable additional public investment due to the bad shape of its public spaces, leading to a formal inquiry about the procedure. (Actas 1914, 240, 294–95, 325, 378, 390–91, 397–98, 410–17, 420–26, 547; for similar issues, p. 94, 116, 225, 391, 435, 491–92) The Commission of Buildings and Streets (Comissão de Construções e Arruamentos), recently created and chaired by the engineer Ernesto Júlio Navarro (1876-1938), agreed however with complaining professionals. The 1913 by-laws were considered to have a ruinous impact on the construction sector at a time of severe unemployment, strangling fragile particular initiative while local authorities lacked resources to pursue urban development on their own. Consequently the Commission proposed to suspend the approved by-laws, apply the 1909 by-laws to building requests filed before December 1913 and urgently study new regulation of private initiative. These new by-laws should be articulated by a future general development plan; Navarro proposed to open a competition for such a plan in the following months. The engineer's rationale testified to a more comprehensive grasp of the problem. Most importantly, Navarro argued that private development tended to exclusively benefit its promoters while surplus value was in fact created collectively.462 In addition he linked the problem to the urgent need of new, comprehensive statutory plans to improve the city – a reason for the president of the municipal Senate to propose that the competition be international and well-rewarded –, to the problem of affordable housing and to “urban aesthetic” (esthetica da cidade). Regarding the latter, tourism was the main argument.463 (Actas 1914, 89–90) The proposal suddenly brought the main tenets of pre-war international planning strategies to municipal debate, from increased public control, the socio-economic rationale of planning, the socialization of part of the surplus value produced by urban development and 461 For example, the 5th article established the obligatory inclusion of schools, public bathhouses, lavatories, gardens and further facilities in private developments of over 50 000 m2, to be transferred to public ownership. 462 “Considerando que da maioria dos bairros, construidos por iniciativas particulares, teem quasi que exclusivamente aproveitados os proprietarios, o que não é justo, visto que a valorisação dos seus terrenos não provem de qualquer esforço proprio ou individual, mas, sim, do desenvolvimento da collectividade que os abrange (...)” (Actas 1914, 90) The argument echoed a key point in international planning debates in favour of more comprehensive public involvement (see Piccinato 1993). 463 “Considerando a necessidade de beneficiar a esthetica da cidade, que pela sua privilegiada situação geographica e clima, constitue já hoje um dos pontos affectos ao turismo mundial (…)” One councillor congratulated the commission for putting forward the task of “collaborating with nature.” (Actas 1914, 90) – 288 – G. Verheij The limits of law and the problem of the plan comprehensive planning policies to affordable housing, tourism and “aesthetics.” But while the ambitious proposal was approved with public acclaim (f. ex. Actas 1914, 94) executive realities were more modest. Regarding private development, the Executive Commission, chaired by Levy Marques da Costa (1868-1941), decided in February on some generic criteria for approval of private developments,464 and in March added the temporary possibility of private citizens executing municipal development projects on land in their possession. The stimulation of private initiative was however accompanied by the assembly of a firmer public grasp over urban development. The main piece was a municipal Expropriation Fund approved in March 1914 to take advantage of the possibilities offered by the Law on Eminent Domain from 1912.465 Once in place, urban development would “inflexibly” be executed with resort to expropriation. (Actas 1914, 179–81, 218–19) In September a piece of ad-hoc legislation was issued by the Ministry of Internal Affairs which implemented additional municipal attributions. The decree (decreto 902) is a rather eclectic piece of legislation. It had the double objective of mitigating the effects of economic crisis in the construction sector of Lisbon and promoting the capital's appearance. Consequentially, it included articles clarifying and facilitating expropriation (articles 2, 5, 6 and 8) and the issuance of building permits (articles 1, 9 and 10) while at the same time it reinforced municipal competences and capacities regarding urban development and aesthetic regulation (articles 3, 4, 7 and 9). The latter two articles defined the construction of public spaces (including pátios or courtyards) as a sole municipal attribution and explicitly imposed the need of municipal permission for any construction; the articles 3 and 4 created the legal basis for rudimentary residential zoning and aesthetic supervision of private construction. It thus linked “urban aesthetic(s)” to control over private initiative and urban development in general.466 The decree was received with mixed feelings within the municipal council; a formal recognition is approved with strong minority opposition. Critics – E. Navarro, the 464 The decision reads textually: “Que a approvação de qualquer dos bairros fosse concedida quando se verificasse: 1.º – Que não prejudicam o plano dos melhoramentos da cidade, quer projectados, quer em estudo; 2.º – Que a Camara era, de certo modo, compensada dos encargos que ia assumir, e; 3.º – Que eram respeitados os principios de esthetica e das condições geraes a que todos os projectos de construcção urbana estavam sujeitos.” (Actas 1914, 119) 465 The initial endowment of the Fund was 250 000 escudos, to be increased up to 500 000 escudos by the emission of additional obligations. The Fund had its own sources of revenues, including 50 % of the revenues of land sales, the income of credit papers, additional funding from the municipal budget and land-related donations. 466 Relevant articles read textually as follows: “3) A Câmara Municipal de Lisboa fica autorizada a impor aos proprietários que pretendam construir nas ruas que para êsse efeito por ela forem designadas, a obrigação de deixarem, entre a frente dos prédios e os alinhamentos das ruas, jardins vedados com a largura mínima que fôr fixada para cada uma daquelas ruas. § único. Para estas ruas a Câmara Municipal fixará tambêm a altura máxima que poderão ter as fachadas e vedações. 4) Quando se tratar da devida aprovação dos projectos de edificações e construções particulares, dentro da cidade de Lisboa, a respectiva Câmara Municipal deverá, sem obrigação de qualquer imdemnização, denegar a licença àqueles que prejudiquem as condições panorâmicas e artísticas da cidade. (…) 9) Nenhuma obra, edificação ou monumento, que não seja autorizado ou ordenado pelo Govêrno, poderá erigir-se nas vias públicas sem acôrdo e consentimento da Câmara Municipal.” (Diário do Governo, s. I, 30 September 1914) – 289 – G. Verheij The limits of law and the problem of the plan physiologist Matias Boleto Ferreira de Mira (1875-1953), J. Rodrigues Simões, the constructor Zacarias Gomes de Lima … – questioned some of the articles. Marques da Costa justified formal fragilities and the haphazard nature of the decree with the passing “moment of crisis,” including not only the economic crisis but also the “true barbarities” and “attacks to good taste and urban development” being perpetrated in the city. Admitting personal involvement in the legislation, the municipal president called it “the most important achievement of recent times” (a melhor conquista que se tinha feito nos ultimos tempos), paving the way for a new era of progress and development. (Actas 1914, 378, 386–88, 560– 64) Perhaps most importantly, the seventh article of the decree defined urban development as a sole municipal attribution, validating the announced intentions of the Executive Commission to strongly limit private initiative starting in 1915. However, on the international competition for a development plan nothing more could be found; the proposed stimuli of private initiative seem to have had little impact, as building activity remained sluggish at best. (Actas 1914, 651–52) Presumably the outbreak of war advised against internationalist endeavours; the entire Commission itself was dismissed during Pimenta de Castro's short-lived dictatorship in 1915. Thus, the casual set of dispositions remained characteristically the only approved piece of aesthetic regulation during the First Republic. If the decree theoretically provided a legal basis for enlarged municipal control over the production of urban space there is reason to doubts it true efficacy.467 For one, proposals similar to those of Botelho or Parente continued to be made, though unsuccessfully. On the other hand, lamentations about attacks to the “urban aesthetic” did not subside. To take one example, the SAP repeatedly rang the alarm about how the city was helplessly at the mercy of “the most criminal whims” (as mais criminosas extravagâncias), while the architectural profession was being seized by individuals “without artistic scruples” (sem escrúpulos artísticos). (A. I. Ribeiro 1993, 78, 80–81) In the press criticism of the architectural quality of buildings, the lack of planning and neglected cleaning and paving similarly showed a continuing dissatisfaction with the municipal administration of urban decorum.468 At the same time the Commission of Municipal Aesthetics was progressively marginalized. (Actas 1919, 42) In its purely advisory role it depended on the goodwill of municipal administrators, apparently at a low ebb during the war years. 467 Given the present state of research, it is hard to say anything on the actual impact of the decree on the production of architecture and urban space, either private or public; it would require an in- depth study of internal municipal activity at the time, which falls outside the possibilities of this study. 468 The satirical complement of O Século played with a picturesque twist of dirtiness: “Esta Lisboa nasceu suja e por mais limpeza que lhe façam suja continua e suja ha de morrer. Todos os dias os jornais noticiam A limpeza da cidade, mas seja em sentido proprio, seja em sentido figurado, cada vez nos emporcalha mais (…). Bem sabemos que é isto precisamente o que torna Lisboa interessante: sem estes incidentes, a nossa cidade seria como as outras capitais do mundo, monotonas á força de civilisadas.” (O Seculo Comico 1919a) In general the most consistent criticism came from the sector of tourism, namely the Revista de Turismo (1916-1924), published by the State Department of Tourism. The discourse transmitted by its editors strongly recalls that of the mid-1900s: “Basta dar uma volta pela cidade, para se apreciarem, e se constatar, infelizmente, a incuria que tem havido por parte das corporações administrativas no desempenho das suas funções, e a noção que elas teem tido do mais caro sentimento d'um povo, que se traduz simplesmente pela palavra patriotismo.” (J. Lisboa 1918; see also C. Magalhães 1918) – 290 – G. Verheij The limits of law and the problem of the plan The scant attention devoted to the visual quality of architecture and the urban environment after 1915 should not be blamed too hastily on the impact of war and other hardship (from a faltering economy and construction meltdown to continuous budget deficits, typhoid fever and Spanish flu). The topic returned full-force during Sidónio Pais' strong-handed and socially explosive dictatorship, installed after a military coup in December 1917.469 Among Pais' measures was the dissolution of all administrative bodies. Lisbon's municipal council – elected less than a month before Pais' coup, and including Ventura Terra – was substituted by a sequence of Administrative Commissions, the second of which (from March to June 1918) included the architect A. Bermudes as vice-president. The latter architect headed the most ambitious attempt at surpassing the impasse of public planning policies and aesthetic control over the urban environment. Against the initial background of enthusiasm and hopes of “regeneration” promised by S. Pais the architect re-introduced the issue of a general improvement plan in the municipal agenda. On his initiative a Commission of Urban Improvements (Comissão de Melhoramentos da Cidade) was created, composed of the municipal president, directors of the Departments of Architecture and Engineering and responsible councillors, and three members of the Commission of Municipal Aesthetics. Additionally, delegates of bordering municipalities and interested public services could be added. The commission's task was to elaborate a development plan (plano regulador) determining, “in a logical and harmonious whole,” the general orientation of metropolitan development and urban transformation.470 Besides the customary argument that urban growth had not obeyed the necessary “aesthetic and hygienic transformation” (transformação estética e higiénica), commercial expansion and public commodity, other reasons invoked testify to an updated notion of planning. The added costs of the lack of foresight – the partial improvements depending on the whims and resources of the moment which undermined long-term general development – and the worrying results of unplanned suburban growth had not yet been exposed with similar clarity. (Actas 1918, 264–65) The use by Bermudes of the neologism “urbanism” (urbanismo) weeks later – a term only recently popularized in France – suggests that the public interest in the prospectives of Urbanisme at least provided some of the vocabulary.471 While the more 469 Though the self-proclaimed “New Republic” initially received wide public support from conservative and Catholic sectors to workers and intellectuals, Pais rapidly started to loose control of the political situation, resorting to repression of opposition and workers' protest. In a climate of strikes, conspiracies and political violence the dictator was assassinated on 14 December 1918, heralding a return to the “Old Republic.” The spiralling violence which marked Pais' charismatic dictatorship, grounded on populism, political repression and Carlylean hero cult, inaugurated a permanent political crisis which strongly contributed to the Republic's ultimate demise. For the political contours of the time, see E. C. Leal (2008). 470 “Proponho que se nomeie uma Comissão de melhoramentos da cidade, [incumbida] de elaborar e de submeter à aprovação da Câmara, com a possível urgência, o plano regulador da cidade de Lisboa, onde se fixe, num conjunto lógico e harmónico, a orientação geral que deve presidir ao desenvolvimento e transformação da cidade e seus arredores, sistematizando e subordinando a essa orientação todos os melhoramentos parciais a realizar.” (Actas 1918, 264–65) 471 Bermudes used the term “urbanism” in the sense promoted by M. Poëte. “Sem essas iniciativas, não sòmente a cidade continuaria a arrastar uma vida acanhada e mesquinha, desprovida de beleza, de higiene e de confôrto, mas, devido às condições do seu activo e tão mal aproveitado urbanismo, ela arriscava-se a reproduzir, em breve, os aspectos lastimáveis daquelas grandes cidades orientais, – 291 – G. Verheij The limits of law and the problem of the plan utopian aspects of Bermudes' plans mostly produced satire, the Commission of Urban Improvements worked all along Pais' administration and beyond; by June 1919 it was said to have made valuable studies, though no further information on its activity has been located. Its activity was accompanied by a reorganization of the Department of Architecture, giving autonomy to the Service of Cemeteries, Gardens, Parks and Plantations, apparently in accord with pressures from the SAP, of which the municipal architect J. A. Soares was president in 1917-1918, and an inquiry into further reform of the municipal machinery. (Actas 1918, 812– 13; 1919, 7, 190–91; Actas da Comissão Executiva 1919, 28–30, 157; M. do R. Santos and Viegas 1996, 31; A. I. Ribeiro 1993, 82; for background, M. H. Lisboa 2002, 100; S. Barradas 2015, 224) Aganst these general ambitions of planned development the Commission of Municipal Aesthetics resurfaced in importance. Belated discussion within the Administrative Commission of the jury report of the Valmor award of 1917 was cause for Adelino Mendes (1878-1963) to deplore the general state of architecture, in contrast with the winning project by the architect Ernesto Korrodi (1877-1944). “Anti-aesthetic” constructions – cheap rental barracks unconcerned with site and context – dissipated the effect of quality architecture. The state of the art was blamed on the Commission of Municipal Aesthetics and the Department of Architecture.472 A. Bermudes unburdened the architectural class of responsibility, reporting on the frustrated attempts at aesthetic regulation and the progressive marginalization of the Commission. Those concerned with the city's “art and aesthetic” did not have legal authority to force the public to resort to proper architects rather than “entities who neither loved their art nor have received any artistic education” (entidades que pela sua arte não tinham amor algum nem haviam recebido educação artística).473 (Actas 1919, 40–42) onde no meio de tôda imundície, pulula e vagueia uma multidão andrajosa, faminta e desocupada.” (Actas 1918, 312) The initiative mentioned by Bermudes was the more utopian aspect of his plans: the municipalization of the entire Tagus basin or, more precisely, governmental concession of the use of its resources for the production of electrical energy, industry, consumption, irrigation and transportation. This was to provide the necessary source of revenues for the urban improvements, adding additional advantages such as cheap provision of drinking water, electricity and other public services and municipal control of a mayor commercial and aesthetic asset of the city. (Actas 1918, 312–16) Notwithstanding the embryonic understanding of metropolitan metabolism, the plans were ingeniously utopian; one satirist resumed the idea in a caustic dialogue accompanied by a cartoon of the architect literally ablaze with ideas. “– Então já sabes? Vamos ter industrias a dar- lhes com um pau! – Como, se não temos as materias primas? – Como? Por meio do Tejo! – E as subsistencias nunca mais nos faltarão. – Onde estão elas? – No Tejo, homem, no Tejo! – Mas parece-me... – Sempre o maldito septicismo nacional! E sabes que mais? Agora é que todos vão ter juizo. – Como? – Ó homem! É o que falta no Tejo! (O Seculo Comico 1918) 472 “(...) o que era que fazia a comissão de Estetica e a repartição municipal competente que deixava que se cometessem verdadeiros atentados contra a arte e estetica da Capital, para a qual se queria chamar a atenção do turiste?” (Actas 1919, 41) 473 “Para que as resoluções da comissão de Estetica, tivessem um caracter legal entendeu ela que era necessario fazer um regulamento, trabalho que fôra apresentado a uma vereação que após demorado estudo chegou á conclusão de que o que se pretendia, constituia uma diminuição das atribuições da vereação. As classes operarias por sua vez, quizeram ter delegados na comissão de Estetica. Prestara a comissão de Estetica bons serviços ao princípio, mas depois só era ouvida quando se pretendia que ela sancionasse coisas que o não podiam ser. O regulamento como dissera – 292 – G. Verheij The limits of law and the problem of the plan Though Bermudes was charged with the presentation in Parliament of a new bill on aesthetic regulation, cascading political events – the assassination of S. Pais and constitutional restoration – eclipsed his political role. A new Administrative Commission, unelected but representative of the political spectre, inherited the assignment. One of its members was the sculptor Costa Mota (the younger), representing the right-wing Republican Union.474 Costa Mota seems to have stumbled upon the subject when he tried to get the monument to Eça de Queirós moved to a more “imposing” location. Within a week he presented two bills to the municipal Senate, elaborated on his initiative by the Commission of Municipal Aesthetics and the municipal attorney, though they visibly harked back to previous proposals. The first bill would created a Council of Aesthetics not unlike those proposed by A. Botelho eight years earlier, though in this case membership was appointed by municipal rather than national government.475 The second bill turned deliberations over projects affecting representative public spaces binding after approval by the municipal council. The Council of Aesthetics would be a deliberative entity, though remaining within democratic, municipal control. (Actas 1919, 112, 135–39) In comparison with Botelho's bill, the proposed competences had increased markedly; the complete list suggests “urban aesthetic(s)” was starting to become something more defined: • Obligatory consultation in case of building projects affecting representatives public spaces (praças, avenidas, ruas principaes e pontos panoramicos da cidade); • Issuing of opinions of public space occupancy whenever it might affect the “artistic aspect” (aspecto artistico) of the city; • Issuing of opinions on the construction and embellishment of roads, squares, gardens and cemeteries; • Suggestion of modifications or repairs in public or private constructions detrimental to the “local aesthetic” (a estetica local), in the interest of “artistic fine-tuning” (afinamento artistico); • Elaboration of aesthetic building norms and principles (normas e principios de estetica para edificações urbanas); • Cooperation in the creation of a general development plan (plano regulador e sistematizador dos melhoramentos da cidadde); estava feito; o que faltava era votal-o dando assim á comissão de Estetica uma autoridade que ela não tinha. Quanto á 4.ª repartição (Arquitectura) ela não pode opôr-se a que sejam construidas casas sem estetica alguma, porque não ha leis que á Camara deem atribuições para isso. Em os predios obedecendo ao que determinam os regulamentos legaes, a repartição não tem autoridade para regeitar os projectos a não ser que exorbite.” (Actas 1919, 42) 474 The Republican Union recruited its memberships mainly from from intellectual, artistic and scientific elites. Later in 1919 it fused with the Evolutionist Party to become the Liberal Party. Representatives of the other side of the political spectrum included the socialist António Maria Abrantes, who defended the municipalization of public services and social housing (f. ex. Actas 1919, 140–45). The contrast suggests that, like a decade earlier, the discourse of “urban aesthetic(s)” continued to be the hall-mark of bourgeois cultural elites. 475 The Council of Aesthetics would be composed of seven members appointed by the municipality for three-year periods. The municipal president, architect and engineer were permanent members, joined by delegates of the local Council of Art and Archaeology, the Commission of National Monuments, the National Society of Fine-Arts and the Society of Portuguese Architects. Botelho's metropolitan scope was maintained: the Council could be consulted by bordering municipalities. – 293 – G. Verheij The limits of law and the problem of the plan • Proposal of measures to preserve the “aesthetic integrity” and conservation of sites of interest from artistic or historical viewpoint. Still the proposals stumbled over the same point of limitations to municipal autonomy. A study commission composed by Costa Mota, Zacarias Gomes de Lima and José Candido dos Santos and debates within the SAP were cut short by new municipal elections. (Actas 1919, 165–67; A. I. Ribeiro 1993, 85) The subsequent municipal council seems to have had little patience for the issues of “urban aesthetic(s);” rather than continuing the pursuit of autonomy for the Commission of Municipal Aesthetics the latter was quietly suspended somewhere between late 1922 or early 1923, due to lacking legal authority and members. In a final volte-face of the wavering saga of Republican “municipal aesthetics” the Commission was again restored to full flowering. Alexandre Ferreira (1877-1956), a member of a new Executive Commission with a past in social reform, proposed reconstitution in July 1923. He took the opportunity to enlarge its composition, including more artists and a member of the Council of Tourism. Ferreira explicitly linked his proposal to Ventura Terra's original creation.476 The commission was indeed envisioned in pretty much the same way – and with similar vocabulary and arguments – as in 1909. In almost 15 years the “doctrine” of “municipal aesthetics” had not advanced much beyond Ventura Terra's initial formulation. From the legal point of view, the fluctuating, unstable fate of “municipal aesthetics” suggests that the ideas embodied in it contained sufficient social force to persist along 16 tumultuous years, yet not enough to impose itself unambiguously on administrative law and practice. The momentum for the cause didn't come, in contrast with, for example, France, where these years 476 “Considerando que se torna indispensavel a esta Camara uma estação consultiva sobre assuntos de arte e da estetica citadina, afim de se melhorar tanto quanto possivel as condições do embelezamento e do conforto artistico da capital; Considerando que, tendo sido, por proposta do falecido vereador que foi desta Camara, sr. Miguel Ventura Terra, em sessão de 12 de Agosto de 1909, criada uma Comissão denominada de 'Estetica' que visava esse fim, que se desmembrou por falta de disposições legais que lhes permitisse uma acção benefica em prol da cidade; (...) Considerando, finalmente, que esta Camara se encontra nas melhores disposições de organisar devidamente esse organismo consultivo, dando-lhe todos os meios legais de acção; Proponho: Que se convidem as entidades abaixo mencionadas a nomearem ou a reconduzirem, no mais breve praso possivel, os seus delegados que devem formar a futura Comissão de Estetica Municipal.” The proposed line-up was as follows: Municipal president, engineer and architect; delegates from the national Council of Art and Archaeology, the Council of Tourism, the Council of National Monuments, the Society of Portuguese Architects, the National Society of Fine-Arts and the Society of Portuguese Archaeologists; and an architect, painter, sculptor and art critic from the local Council of Art and Archaeology. The final proposal of membership seems to have followed different criteria, including only one architect and neither painter nor sculptor. The architect was Raúl Lino, who until here had hardly been involved with the campaign of “urban aesthetic(s)” and the lobbying efforts of the SAP. In a sense his membership anticipated the conservative appropriation of the urban ideals during the 1930s. Other members included pioneers of the campaign in favour of “urban aesthetic(s)” – the writer C. M. Dias, the art critic J. de Figueiredo –, three influential newspaper editors – Augusto de Castro (1883-1971), Joaquim Manso (1878-1956) and Amadeu de Freitas (1876-1932) and a nucleus of democratic intellectuals – the poet Afonso Lopes Vieira (1878-1946), the writers Aquilino Ribeiro (1885-1963) and Jaime Cortesão (1884- 1960), the philosopher António Sérgio (1883-1969) and the art historian Reinaldo dos Santos (1880-1970). (Actas 1923, 166, 219) – 294 – G. Verheij The limits of law and the problem of the plan were crucial for the transition from art public and l'esthétique des villes to Urbanisme (see p. 69 above). I recall that earlier I identified the social origin of the discourse of “urban aesthetic(s)” in bourgeois cultural elites, including artists and architects; the line-up of actors on the previous pages – Botelho, Bermudes, Costa Mota – confirms this diagnosis. What they had in common was not a political orientation – which ranged from Republican liberalism to right-wing conservatism and Sidonist sympathies – but socio-professional framing. Inevitably, “urban aesthetic(s)” was a subject for architects, artists, writers – the aesthetically enlightened. Discourse over the city remained largely stuck in bourgeois desires of aestheticization, even while the bourgeoisie lost social hegemony after 1918 (A. C. Pinto 2011; 2012). And since 1908 the city had changed in a way which Ventura Terra and others had not anticipated; urban modernity proved to be much more complex, manifold and diverse, as one author (probably José Lisboa) noted in 1918: Lisboa, apezar do seu feitio ainda um tanto burguez, já não parece a mesma cidade de ha 10 anos, onde os restos dos antigos usos e costumes, apareciam em exquisito contraste com as manifestações do progresso, então já entrado na nossa vida, embora esbarrando a cada passo nos anachronicos vicios que tão enraizados se achavam no solo alfacinha. Hoje, a nossa Capital, comquanto por alguns considerada, ainda, apenas, em paralelo com uma cidade de provincia das grandes nações, tem uma vida intensa e interessante, que oferece mil aspectos ao observador que tente descrevel'a. (“Lisboa. Aspectos citadinos” 1918, 149) Consequently, in the early 1920s the task of “discovering” Lisbon imposed itself again. A “new physiognomy” demanded attention, according to the writer and poet Tomás Ribeiro Colaça (1899-1965).477 Colaça inaugurated in 1921 a series of articles on the subject in Illustração Portuguesa, giving the example by adventuring among the “correct but banal” apartment buildings of the Camões quarters, where he entertained himself by imagining love affairs and scandals behind the white, bourgeois curtains. Armando Ferreira (1893-1968), an engineer with literary inclinations, followed in 1922with a survey of Estefânia, recognized as a habitat of the petty-bourgeoisie in pursuit of small ideals. Of course, the audience for these adventurous undertakings were not the struggling middle-classes (shopkeepers, employees, starting liberal professionals …) inhabiting Estefânia or Camões. The exploration was class- based, conducted and presumably consumed by a cultural elite who attended the fashionable cafés and shops of Chiado and the Rua do Ouro. As another poet and writer, Maria Marques de Carvalho (1879-1973), noted in 1922, this elite tended to ignore the larger part of urban realities making up the city. The historical districts, the silently joyful suburbs, and especially the city of the poor had little to do with the images of Beauty and Luxury, of voluptuousness, vivacity, fashion and women diffused by the illustrated magazines of the 1920s. (Carvalho 1922a, 530; contrast f. ex. with Ameal 1921; 1922; in general, see França 1992) For one intrepid journalist, the city proper – or at least conscious urbanity – seems to have ended as soon as one entered the market of Praça da Figueira, between the Baixa and Rossio.478 (Figures 244–47) 477 “Lisboa está por descobrir (…), a Lisboa de hoje, esta Lisboa em que andamos a fingir que vivemos.” (Colaço 1921, 261; see also Ill. Port. 1921) 478 “É que Lisboa é mais Lisboa quando o não é, quando não se lembra de que é cidade.” (Ferro 1921, 385) – 295 – G. Verheij The limits of law and the problem of the plan The incapacity to get – at the level of discourse and politics – beyond the values and ideals of bourgeois aesthetics is one factor in the explanation why its concerns were not generalized. Its proponents were unable to secure broader social support. The promises of a generalized “urban aesthetics” for public space remained at best within the limits of Ventura Terra's practice, and often lapsed back into mere aestheticism.479 The aesthetic pulse remained alive but failed to materialize in general building policies, as its practical absence from new building legislation in 1924 confirmed.480 Practices of design Along the previous pages I outlined a persistent failure to implement operative instruments of aesthetic control and comprehensive planning, but it would be wrong to deduce from this the absence of practices of urban design. In the ensuing pages I propose a glimpse behind the veil of institutional fragility and frustrated policy proposals towards a much richer design reality, largely awaiting historiographical exploration. Even in a context of unstable municipal management schemes and designs were (almost by necessity) produced. The clue to this booming yet apparently plan-less city – which appalled some but seduced others481 – is taken from the previous study of Ventura Terra's political activity. I recall that 479 A case in point is a proposal to control the spelling of all publicity and tax foreign languages (Latin excepted) for the sake of the “purity of language” and the “decency and pleasantness of the urban physiognomy” (o decôro e o aformoseamento da fisionomia urbana), eliminating any stigma of “aesthetic, mental or moral inferiority.” (Actas 1925, 216–17) It is not clear whether such comprehensive oversight of all publicity – signs, signboards, labels, letterings, emblems … – took real effect. 480 The 1924 Law on Constructions attempted to clarify process, rights and obligations of municipalities and technicians regarding building permits, responsibilities in case of collapse, qualification and supervision (with some minor updates on economic housing and rent limits). In practice it tried to perform a feat of balance between reinforced control and responsibility over building safety and the stimulation of a sluggish building market. Regarding the “urban aesthetic,” it guaranteed the continuing vigour of the 1914 decree (third article) but added no additional executive capacities to municipal oversight of the “aesthetic of buildings” (estética das construções). (Diário do Governo, s. I, 15 September 1924; Barata 2007, 133, discusses the law but in my view errs in interpretation) According with these new legal precepts, supervisory boards including delegates from the municipality, the AECP, the SAP and class societies of civil builders were created in Lisbon in 1924, completed with a permanent municipal supervisory service in 1925. (Actas 1924, 443–46; Actas da Comissão Executiva 1924, 45–47, 83, 99–101, 137–38; 1925, 272–75) 481 Bermudes' previsions of impending demotion to the squalor and idleness of “oriental” urbanity (see note 471 above) can be countered with different descriptions, for example the following anonymous opinion published in Illustração Portuguesa: “Lisboa, a capital da Republica Portugueza, parece ter entrado definitivamente n'um caminho de rejuvenescimento, digno da situação que ocupa, em relação ao paz, e da que pretende e deve ter para os estranhos que nos visitem por gosto ou necessidade. Desde ha algum tempo que esta tendencia se manifestára, no rasgamento das novas avenidas, traçadas com largueza e subordinadas ás exigencias d'uma população que visivelmente aumenta de ano para ano, orladas por edificios na sua maioria construidos de novo, quasi todos de linda aparencia e soberbamente proporcionados.” (Ill. Port. 1919b; see also Ludovice 2000) – 296 – G. Verheij Practices of design there I identified the design of (representative) public spaces as the centre of “municipal aesthetics.” Before entering the somewhat chaotic archive of Republican urban design a first surprise can be anticipated: continuity with Ventura Terra's municipal work should not be sought among the architects benefiting from the enlarged sphere of municipal activity they enjoyed after 1913, but rather in the opposing field of municipal engineers. Beyond the generic calls for regulation and general plans surveyed above, no evidence of significant involvement of architects in the actual production of municipal urban design was found. Ventura Terra did not have a direct successor. This failure of architects to maintain the lead in the novel areas of urban design and planning places the question of their competences in this field. Were they really up to the self-assumed task of “saving” the city from visual demeanour and aesthetic debasement? Could the profession provide, as was at this time happening in France or Great Britain, capable experts in these new areas? Two cases in which architects were presented with opportunities to apply the ideals of “urban aesthetic(s)” to actual designing allow for doubts. The first case is an early episode in the controversial transformation of the Praça de Dom Pedro IV, popularly called the Rossio. The square was the city's principal public meeting place, “hearth and kettle of the great bonfires of civic and political life,” as Fialho de Almeida (1921, 124, 132) put it. One of its defining features was the wave-like pattern of the mosaicked pavement (calçada portuguesa), earning it the nickname Rolling Motion Square among British tourists. (Figures 5, 82–83, 248) At the start of the 20th century there was a growing consensus that the square – a nodal point in Lisbon's traffic system – needed to be redesigned to absorb the growing impact of vehicle and tramway movement. A first proposal to enlarge the sidewalks, cut the square by a central crossing, asphalt the streets and introduce exclusive tramway lanes was made in 1909 by the municipal councillor Augusto José Vieira (1864-1942). It was shelved over doubts about the proposed solution and protests by professional street-pavers (calceteiros) against the use of asphalt. In 1913 Apolinário Pereira proposed another solution in which the mosaicked pavement disappeared altogether, enlarging sidewalks and devoting the larger area of the square to traffic. Most of the trees would be removed to clear views over the square's sculptural decoration and monumental façades (the National Theatre and the Pombaline “Arco do Bandeira”); excepted were the trees on the lateral sidewalks to provide shade for outdoor cafés and hide the perceived mediocrity of lateral façades. (Actas 1909, 116–17, 184; 1913, 694–95, 814; CML-ROP 1909b; S. Barradas 2010, 60–61; Figures 249–50) In first instance Pereira's proposal of “strategic embellishment”482 was shelved, but it formed the basis for the square's final transformation in 1919-1923. Then the destruction of the square's traditional character, including the original pavement, resulted in public outcry by 482 Among Pereira's arguments, cosmopolitan “embellishment” weighted at least as much as the reorganization of traffic flows. The project was to reconstruct the social character and use of the square. Instead of the current spectacle of indolent individuals accumulating in front of cafés, discussing politics and passing ladies, and good-for-nothings sleeping on benches, distracting passers-by from the square’s interesting monuments, Pereira wanted a modern, cosmopolitan, cheerful and “open” square, with sidewalk cafés inviting the civilized stroller and agreeable vistas unspoiled by the menacing crowd “As praças modernas são praticaveis em todas as direções. O povo circula, goza as maravilhas de arquitectura, faz-se artista e abandona os velhos habitos dos pateos que só podem tolerar-se em revistas ou zarzuelas.” (Actas 1913, 694; the term “strategic embellishment” is from Benjamin 1999, 12, 23) – 297 – G. Verheij Practices of design archaeologists, intellectuals and the public opinion in general.483 The widespread protest is illustrative of a growing conscience of urban heritage but also of the value of public space as something collectively cultivated over time, rather than the mere sum of it (ornamental) parts. (Figures 252–54) Surprisingly, among those endorsing this notion the Commission of Municipal Aesthetics and more generally the architectural class were conspicuously absent. This absence from a debate in which the aesthetic dimension of public space was so visibly at stake was, moreover, self- inflicted. In 1913 the Commission had been asked a formal opinion on the existing proposals, and on the occasion showed it had in fact little to say on this aspect. The report (in fact a transcription of the relevant minutes of a Commission meeting) included critiques on the cutting of trees, the grass-beds around the monuments envisioned by Pereira and several aspects of both councillors' traffic solutions, elaborating vaguely on the need to design traffic flows. But – as Pereira noted grumpily in his reaction – it had little to say on the properly aesthetic aspects of the proposals. Nothing on the visual framing of sculptural and architectural monuments, the placement of kiosks, benches and other urban furniture, or the consequences of the proposed changes to social and commercial use. Most illustrative of the limits of the grasp of the aesthetic dimension of public space by Commission members – including A. Bermudes, Álvaro Machado and J. A. Soares – is that there is not a word on the artistic value of the pavement.484 (CML-CEM 1913; Actas 1913, 759, 858–60; Figure 251) The failure by these self-proclaimed defenders of the “urban aesthetic” to include this value in their assessment contrasts with the position of J. R. Cristino da Silva a few months later, when he explicitly defined the originality of the pavement as one reason against the envisioned modifications. Still more damaging, two engineers had already highlighted the pavement's exemplary alliance between functionality and artistic value a few years earlier at the II International Road Congress in Brussels. (Christino da Silva 1923, 140–47; Roldan y Pego and Mattos 1910, 6; Esparza 2014, 347) The episode casts doubts over the invoked “aesthetic competence” of the Commission and its architects and the solidity of their notion of public space, as they overlooked basic aspects of the latter's visual and symbolic definition. The second case is the design of the public spaces of the publicly-promoted housing development of Arco do Cego. The “Bairro Social do Arco do Cego” was the fruit of an ambitious social housing program from 1919, which failed remarkably. At its high point the complex was to comprehend no less than 3000 dwellings, though in the end only 86 were 483 The modification was pushed through by an elected council representing the Republican and Socialist Parties; its promoters boasted how they had avoided “platonic consultations” and needless controversies in pushing through the project, deemed urgent and strategic for the regeneration of the city's centre. The lengthy execution, which changed the square in a permanent construction site for four years, was caused by different factors, from lack of materials during post-war depression and conflicts with the tramway company (Carris) to unforeseen technical difficulties and problems of design. (Actas 1919, 377, 385–405, 392–94; S. Barradas 2010; for illustrative instances of public outcry, Ill. Port. 1919A; 1920b; 1922; “O Respeito” 1919; O Seculo Comico 1919b; Esaguy 1921; Christino da Silva 1923, 140, 147; A. I. Ribeiro 1993, 88) 484 To A. Pereira's chagrin, the Commission, unsatisfied with both proposals, elaborated a third alternative of its own. It is an unconvincing hybrid of the existing projects which in fact doesn't solve anything; Pereira correctly noted the report eschewed substantiation as to the “reasons of aesthetic” (razões de estetica) behind the Commission's alternative proposal. (Actas 1913, 858–60) – 298 – G. Verheij Practices of design built (the remaining lots were sold during the Estado Novo dictatorship and developed according to the “traditionalist” taste of their new lower middle-class owners).485 (Figures 255–56, 260–61) Building upon the formal analyses of O. P. H. S. de Azevedo (1998) and D. M. Mesquita (2006), the original scheme, elaborated by the architects Edmundo Tavares (1892-1983) and Frederico Caetano de Carvalho (1889-1976) with initial involvement of A. Bermudes, arguably illustrates a failure to design public space. According to the emancipatory premisses of the 1919 legislation there is a strong investment in public facilities. A Theatre, Library and Entertainment Hall, school and public canteen gave form the to stated aim of creating the “proper conditions for the enjoyment of health, for physical, moral and intellectual development, for professional improvement and for the support, repose and medical treatment of the sick.”486 Yet this investment remained essentially limited to architectural objects. In a promotional picture produced at the start of the process the elaborated detail of dwellings and public facilities already contrasted with the virtual lack of treatment of public space, little more than the void separating buildings. Likewise later architectural drawings were elaborated with painstaking detail while the organization and design of public space remained only superficially indicated. There is hardly anything suggesting reflection on the integration of this new urban area into the city as a whole; included green areas and a central square seem to answer demands of composition rather than a meditated policy of public space. The absence of a solid urban vision in this idealized microcosm is partly responsible for the self- contained, village-like character of the quarter, still visible today. (M. J. Ferreira 1994; M. D. Mesquita 2006; Figures 255, 257–58) The role of architects in the modification of the Rossio and the initial phase of the Arco do Cego quarters suggests that, contrarily to repeated claims of expertise, architects had great difficulty in grasping the aesthetic dimension and design requirements of public space. In a 485 The best overview of Republican housing policies is by M. C. Tiago (2010). Earlier accounts (Teixeira 1992; F. L. de Matos 1994; specifically on the Arco do Cego quarters, M. J. Ferreira 1994; O. P. H. S. de Azevedo 1998; M. D. Mesquita 2006) suffer from the confusion of different legislative concepts and political programs, especially the difference between the classical liberal strategy of promoting affordable housing through fiscal incentives, legislated in 1918, and direct construction by public entities. The latter resulted in two distinct programs: one of affordable housing (casas económicas) implemented in 1918 and resulting in urban developments in Ajuda (Lisbon) and Arrábida (Porto); and another of socialist “social housing complexes” (bairros sociais), started in 1919. (Diário do Governo, s. I, 25 and 29 April 1918; 14 April 1919) The social housing program implemented in 1919 was rapidly increased from a first neighbourhood of 1000 affordable single-family dwellings in the Quinta das Cortes (future “Bairro do Arco do Cego”), with a budget of 250 000 escudos, to five public housing developments in Lisbon, Covilhã and Porto, with a total budget of 10 000 000 escudos. However, the program ended in dismal failure, suffering from inexperience (though technical commissions included leading architects) and rapidly changing directions by successive right and left-wing governments. A Commission of Inquiry found that between 1918 and 1922 ¾ of the total budget had been spent with only 72 still incomplete apartment buildings and single-family dwellings (all located in the Arco do Cego quarters) as a result. Conclusion of the Arco do Cego quarters continued until well into the subsequent dictatorship, which accentuated its rural, self-enclosed character. 486 “(…) as condições próprias para o gôzo da saúde, para o desenvolvimento físico, formação e educação moral e intelectual, aperfeiçoamento profissional e para o amparo, repouso e tratamento de doenças.” (Decreto 5397, Diário do Governo, s. I, 14 April 1919) – 299 – G. Verheij Practices of design sense they remained stuck in architecture-as-art, unable to follow Ventura Terra's venture into that challenging realm of “non-Art:” modern urban territory.487 The paradox deepens when contrasting this incapacity of the architectural class with the contemporary production of municipal schemes, which continued to be the responsibility of the Department of Engineering, directed by Ventura Terra's nemesis, D. Peres.488 For the moment analysis of this output suffers from the lack of reliable studies which probe the realities beyond the veil of institutional fragility and the fragmentation of planning.489 In light of this predicament an article published by the municipal councillor Edmundo de Oliveira (1899-1944) in 1920 provides useful insight. Oliveira was writing to defend a proposal made in June 1919 by the investment fund Sociedade Comercial Financeira Limitada, represented by the entrepreneur Carlos Champalimaud (1877-1937), to finance and partially execute approved municipal schemes. Favourably received by municipal councillors, the ambitious public-private enterprise met with strong opposition from property interests, among others because it included the transfer of eminent domain powers to a private actor. It finally stranded in court.490 For the purpose of this study the main interest of the article resides in the global picture of planned interventions given by Oliveira, unsurprisingly described with resort to the customary tenets of the discourse of “urban aesthetic(s).”491 The entire list included three new residential quarters – one in Penha de França, a “Bairro da França” above the Eduardo VII Park and workers' housing in Alcântara – and the construction of several arterial roads – extension of the Avenida Almirante Reis, Avenida de José António 487 See p. 259 above. At the level of architectural critical discourse, during the 1910s there is a marked retreat from the urban; it tended to loose itself in the muddy waters of nationalist, anti-urban promotion of a vernacular style in architecture, without being able to elevate this debate to a larger critical review of urban residential architecture, as some of its earlier promoters (Pessanha, Castilho) had hoped. (Rute Figueiredo 2007, chap. 4; J. C. Leal 2006) 488 While Peres had ultimate responsibility of the schemes, authorship is not linear. They were usually the outcome of complex processes with various intervening agents, including the Department of Architecture and the Commission of Municipal Aesthetics (see f. ex. CML-RE 1915). Further research will probably bring to light a more complex picture of the municipal production of plans. 489 The most comprehensive approach of this period is by A. M. Barata (2010), but the Republican years are really the weak spot of her study. While her account provided an important starting point for the following pages, my conclusions tend to be very different. 490 The Financial Commission of the municipal council presented a report on the proposal in February 1920. (Actas 1920, 78–95; CML 1920a; E. de Oliveira 1920) A similar proposal had been made in 1918 by the State-owned bank Caixa Geral de Depósitos (J. Lisboa 1918). These proposals, and the wider context of relations between municipal planning policies and private capital, merit further study. The account given by J.-A. França (1992, 240–41) is exceedingly concise; the one by A. M. Barata (2010, 237–41) is flawed, as she wrongly interprets the proposal as an alternative improvement plan of private initiative, rather than the private execution of existing municipal plans. 491 “O sonho, o grande sonho de vêr Lisboa engrandecida e embelesada, rivalisando com as principaes cidades do mundo em estetica como já rivalisa com elas e sobre elas triunfa nos favores da Natureza! O sonho, o grande e luminoso sonho de vêr Lisboa distanciar-se do burgo sorna que foi e ainda é, e tornar-se a urbe aberta a todos os melhores progressos humanos, empregando centenas de milhares de braços, resolvendo o problema da habitação, industrialisando as atividades e creando novas fontes de riqueza (…)!” (E. de Oliveira 1920, 318) – 300 – G. Verheij Practices of design Aguiar and Rua do Tenente Valadim, the creation of a new road through the Alcântara valley (Avenida de Ceuta) and the enlargement of the Estrada da Luz (today Estrada de Benfica). The area of intervention totalled some 315 ha, including 81 ha of roads and 200 ha of green space.492 One first conclusion is that, contrary to common accounts (see Barata 2010, 236– 37), quite a lot of designing had been done by the municipality, even if actual construction was another matter. D. Peres explained the underlying rationale in a 1917 notice to the municipal council. While Peres insisted piecemeal planning without the guiding lines of a general development plan was a mistake, the latter's absence combined with the demands of urban growth, traffic and housing left no choice than the production of partial improvement schemes. The problem then was not so much the lack of plans and ideas but the financial resources and legal power to articulate comprehensive planning strategies. The result was the fragmentation of statutory planning into a myriad of partial designs, seeking a balance between precarious municipal finances and executive capacities and the need to order rapid urban growth. (CML-RE 1917) Admitting this particular nature of urban planning in Lisbon during the 1910s493 some kind of compounded urban improvement plan can be reconstructed from Oliveira's overview (Figures 261–65). Taken together, it is curious to detect a continuing relevance of the river, contrasting with the extension schemes of Ressano Garcia but in line with the ideas of Ventura Terra and his fellow councillors. Residential quarters are planned along the river rather than in the hinterland, and maintain physical or symbolic links to the water (in the case of the high-class suburb above the Eduardo VII Park, the top of the park provided demanding views of the city and the river). Most arterial roads connect the waterfront with the hinterland in a comb-like structure (Ochoa 2013) rather than the linear structure of Lisboa Nova. A closer look at the municipal project of the district of Penha de França, the most elaborated of the designs, adds further insight into the practice of planning. (Figure 261) The final project is dated from 1917.494 It was the somewhat pragmatic result of the need to link the Avenida Almirante Reis with the railway station in Santa Apolónia. The projected avenue, meandering down the Vale Escuro, provided, in combination with pressures from private developers, impetus for the development of the area.495 Until then the eastern part of the city – 492 The enlargement of the Estrada da Luz and the creation of quarters with workers' housing in Alcântara seem to have been innovations of Champalimaud's investment fund; the remainder were schemes elaborated during the preceding decade. (E. de Oliveira 1920; França 1992, 240–41) 493 V. M. Ferreira (1987, 103–4) still provides an insightful approach and useful terminology to describe this logic of opposite but complementary forces of centralization and metropolitanization, structuring the urban territory by means of continuities and discontinuities with strong rural persistences. 494 The project (CML-RE 1917), signed by Diogo Peres, includes a general plan, cross sections and details, an accompanying report and budget. The scheme is structured by a 20 meter-wide avenue (Avenida da Penha, later do Vale Escuro) linking Santa Apolónia with the Rua do Conselheiro Moraes Soares. Indicated time of execution was 25 years and total costs 710 000 escudos. According to Peres' calculations, after construction 300 000 m2 of building lots could be put on the market; at a rate of 3$50 per m2 this would yield 1 050 000 escudos, with a net gain of 340 000 escudos. The scheme was only partially implemented. It has been studied by A. M. Barata (2010, 233–37). 495 The reasons for the project are explained by D. Peres in his accompanying report. The projected avenue provided a direct link between Santa Apolónia and the Northern districts, relieving traffic through the city centre (until then, the most direct connection went through the Rua da Alfândega – 301 – G. Verheij Practices of design mostly occupied by industry and cheap housing – had hardly been the object of formal planning at all. This particular spot added the novelty of a challenging, irregular geography and impressive views of the river and the urban hinterland. The scheme responded with an urban design adapted to topographical particularities, combining economy – mainly the avoidance of costly expropriations and large earthworks – with the beauty of site-specificity. Curiously recalling the ideas expounded by A. Botelho in 1908 (see p. 184 above), D. Peres promoted the asymmetric solution as an attractive novelty in a city where the grid had been the recent norm.496 And while here he didn't go as far to admit curved streets, these were conspicuously present in the luxury quarters envisioned near the Eduardo VII Park. Another novelty was the attention to green spaces, including a park and several gardened areas. The park – to be built on an irregular spot unfit for construction – was justified with classical reasons of hygiene, but included novel attention to collective recreation. Divided in two parts separated by an avenue, ornamental gardens (canteiros largamente ajardinados, onde a vista se recreia) were complemented by shaded playgrounds (o campo de jogos fornecendo divertimentos populares aos habitantes d'esta vasta região). Apparently, the passing of time had softened Peres' views about the “artistic unity” of park design. Two gardened squares were included for ornamental reasons. One gave a noble finishing to the main avenue near the waterfront. A gardened square articulated the avenue with the Rua Morais Soares, as the “Bairro Gadanho” blocked direct connection.497 To resume, we can find here updated design principles in line with the ideas defended and applied internationally by early practitioners of the planning discipline (see references on p. 267). Instead of the former ideal of straight “Parisian” boulevards there is a much more flexible interplay between straight and curved roads, specially in residential streets; similarly, there is much more responsiveness to site and topography. It is as if there had been a gradual and Praça do Comércio). The avenue opened an area for urban development which was already attracting interest from developers; the statutory plan should limit the impact of already-appearing private development. The “Bairro Gadanho” was given as a self-explanatory example of the aesthetic trouble this posed: “Basta notar a ligação do Bairro Gadanho com o que se projecta, para se tornarem notorios os inconvenientes de taes concessões [of private development] sob o ponto de vista estetico.” (Diogo Peres, “Memória Descritiva e Justificativa,” 2, in CML-RE 1917) The Bairro Gadanho was a private development of Joaquim Rodrigues Gadanho, approved in early 1917 (CML-AML 1917). A similar justification is given by E. de Oliveira (1920, 320). 496 “Tirar o melhor partido das condições geograficas do local foi o que tivémos em vista [in the plan's elaboration]. É essa a causa da pouca symetria do projecto, o que julgo não ter inconveniente, e pelo contrario dar um cunho de novidade, n'uma cidade onde os cruzamentos orthogonaes se fazem já em tão larga escala.”(“Memória...,” 5–6) 497 Peres' earlier categorical statement that surrounding a park by buildings was always a bad idea (see p. 262 above) returned in the justification of a similar solution by the park higher level, thus avoiding visual obstruction of the views by the buildings. In general, Peres described urban parks in classical metaphors – “reservoirs of pure air” (reservatorios de ar puro) and “urban lungs” (pulmões da cidade) – and quoted Jean-Jacques Rousseau on men's need of nature. (“Memória...,” 4–5; the quote of Rousseau – “Les hommes ne sont point faits pour être entassés en fourmilières” – comes from the first book of Émile, ou De l’éducation) Of the projected green areas only one gardened square was actually built. The area for the park was partially used for a school in the late 1940s. The novelty of programmed playgrounds can be illustrated by the fact that only in 1925 the creation of sport-fields and playgrounds was legally defined as a legitimate motive for expropriation (Lei 1728, Diário do Governo, s. I, 5 January 1925). – 302 – G. Verheij Practices of design renewal of design practices during the 1910s, hidden in the pragmatic activity of municipal departments; as if the novelties pioneered by Ventura Terra had been unwittingly appropriated and applied by those very actors who the architect had tried to distance from urban design on account of their perceived aesthetic incompetence. The paradoxical impasse outlined here turns the immediate legacy of Ventura Terra's “municipal aesthetics” deeply ambiguous. There is however another aspect of Republican municipal policies to be considered. In the practice of everyday life, the places where the political and aesthetic ideals associated with “urban aesthetic(s)” were most readily experienced where the many public gardens dotting historical Lisbon. As will be seen later, a considerable part of the activity of the Commission of Municipal Aesthetics related to artworks in green spaces. This was no coincidence. During the First Republic, the possibility of a city-wide politics of green spaces was for the first time envisioned, accompanying an international trend. Public gardens promised increased hygiene (purifying air, lowering building densities), improved popular morals (satisfying the supposedly universal need of beauty), educative potential (through garden-schools and sport-fields) and the aesthetic improvement of the urban landscape in general. During the previous years a generic understanding of gardens as means of democratizing the city had taken shape. As access restrictions to gardens were alleviated and they truly became a “place for all,” public gardens changed from enclosed refuges to constituent parts of the city (Serões 1902). During the early 1910s it was common to hear that parks and gardens were a social need and should be multiplied, democratizing this former luxury.498 On the other hand, the promotion of public gardens wedded nicely with a dominant ideology of “nature,” visible in such different phenomena as the persistent preference for naturalist painting, the focus of art theory on art's relation with nature or the popularity of the Republican “tree cult.” The natural usually tended to combine with associated aesthetic categories such as the picturesque, the national or the popular, while art often appears related to a bourgeois notion of nature as an escape of the corruption of city and civilization. (C. A. Tavares 1999; J. C. Pereira 2011; M. H. Lisboa 2007; Pintassilgo 1998, chap. 4; Figures 266–67) At the same time ideas on urban green spaces received important though often inconspicuous impulses from international debates on the topic. Elsewhere, landscape architects and garden designers played a relevant role in the construction of the planning profession. This happened most obviously in the United States, but also in other countries professionals with roots in these areas – J.-C. N. Forestier in France or T. H. Mawson in Great Britain – played relevant parts. In a different key, the mythical image of the modern city itself – from F. L. Olmsted to Le Corbusier – appears inextricably linked to bucolic parkland settings. (Duempelmann 2009; Ábalos 2005). Earlier I defined the reception of these debates – especially those on the future of Paris' fortifications during the late 1900s – as one of the tributary flows to the discourse of “urban aesthetic(s).” Botelho's “Apology of the curve” is probably the most suggestive writing on the subject. (See p. 184, 194.) However, others – especially the circle around Melo de Matos – engaged more directly with the proposals of park systems by J. Siegfried and E. 498 One agronomist quoted a French botanist (indicated as E. Guinier but more likely Philibert Guinier, 1876-1962): “À nossa epoca de democracia compete multiplicar os parques e jardins, dando assim ao povo partilha n'este goso que, muito mais do que um luxo, representa a satisfação d'uma necessidade.” (Borges 1913) – 303 – G. Verheij Practices of design Hénard.499 In this context references to park policies in Europe's capitals, including a reproduction of Hénard's comparative map of green space in London and Paris, appeared in the specialized press to support calls for more green areas in Lisbon. (A. Botelho 1908; “As fortificações” 1908; A.B. 1908; “Areas arborizadas” 1909) During the larger part of the Republic no explicit municipal policy of green spaces responded to such demands beyond the generic principle of their conservation and promotion (see f. ex. Actas 1909, 72). (For a general bibliography on Lisbon's gardens, see Viterbo 1906; 1909; Carita 1990; Tostões 1992; M. R. Magalhães 1992; F. Magalhães 1998; Cunff 2000; Carapinha 2009.) Nonetheless, after 1910 a number of sites were obtained to open new public gardens and parks. Examples are the creation of the Parque Silva Porto in 1911, the enlargement of the Jardim da Rocha do Conde de Óbidos (today Jardim 9 de Abril) in 1912, the start of the creation of the Santa Luzia belvedere in 1914 or the Jardim Cinco de Outubro in 1916. Often these were the results of deals with private individuals or the State rather than programmed planning, but after 16 Republican years (1910-1926) the combined result was a considerable enlargement and artistic investment in the city's green areas. (Actas 1911, 436– 37, 466; 1912, 506, 767; 1914, 313, 534–35; CML-RA 1916; Figures 268–69; Appendix 8) This is best exemplified with a look at the placement of public art (see Appendix 9). Interpreted as an index of municipal investment in public space, it shows a consistent and city-wide attention to these green areas. While the larger State-sponsored monuments slowly began to puncture the axis of Ressano Garcia's extension plans northwards, the smaller municipal works outline a very different geography in which Lisboa Nova is virtually ignored. Covering existing or new parks or small gardened areas from Amoreiras to the Castle of S. Jorge, from the Avenida da Liberdade to the waterfront, the centre of gravity is towards the historical city, the surrounding popular districts and a few departures to growing suburbs such as Benfica. 499 In his opening speech for the Commission of Monuments, Melo de Matos (1909c) linked the prevalent dichotomy of unspoilt nature versus urban corruption to municipal politics of public space. The engineer confronted urban crowdedness and enclosure with the freedom of country-side walks, beaches and sports to highlight the scarcity of public gardens and even more of playgrounds. He noted that especially the new areas of private promotion – the “Bairro de Andrade,” “Bairro dos Castelinhos,” “Bairro de Camões,” “Bairro Barata Salgueiro” … – did not have any public garden. He contrasted this absence with the developments of parks, gardens, playgrounds, kindergärtens and squares in London, Vienna or Boston. A few years later these calls were repeated in the general press. “Todas as grandes cidades do mundo tem evidenciado os maiores esforços e executado verdadeiros prodigios para inaugurarem, transformarem e manterem, no seu recinto e nos arredores, magnificos parques que são considerados como os pulmões d'uma cidade. Entre os grandes centros que dão a nota d'estes esforços podemos citar Paris, como um exemplo, onde se passaram recentemente factores muito importantes. N'essa cidade, depois de persistente lucta obteve-se dos administradores do Estado e da cidade, que se desmantelassem algumas fortificações para em seu logar se construirem casas baratas para os operarios e serem traçados parques grandiosos. (…) Lisboa, grande cidade, com os seus hoteis confortaveis, bem installados, offerecendo commodidades e distrações, pode, pelo seu clima e situação ser uma cidade de estação d'onde se irradie para as outras cidades de Portugal. Ora, é preciso para isso que se desenvolva um dos maiores encantos no aformoseamento das cidades, taes como são os parques e jardins.” (A Capital 1913) – 304 – G. Verheij Practices of design The placement of these works responded in fact to a pioneering public art policy going back to Ventura Terra's days. Its roots were in the 1911 International Congress of Tourism. During a garden-party for congress members in the Jardim da Estrela Braamcamp Freire, municipal president at the time, observed the scarcity of statues. He extended the judgement to all the city's public gardens; still worse, the few existing works did not usually “excel in artistic beauty.” Given the municipal mission to concur to the “development of art” Braamcamp Freire proposed to assign a small fund to the acquisition of sculptures at the yearly Fine-Arts exhibitions.500 A month later a program elaborated by the Commission of Municipal Aesthetics was formalized and approved. It created a permanent, yearly endowment of 4 000 000 réis (4 000 escudos) for the acquisition of original sculptural artworks of Portuguese artists to “enhance the public squares and gardens of Lisbon.” The Commission of Municipal Aesthetics was charged with the selection of suitable works at the yearly exhibitions, presenting a reasoned proposal including a report on conditions of acquisition, dimensions, material and placement to the municipal council. The possibility of public competitions was optionally included.501 The decision was enthusiastically received by the National Society of Fine-Arts and the Society of Architects. In the press the initiative called up images of ubiquitous garden sculptures in London or Paris and their double function of memorial and educational devices and public ornament. The daily A República dreamily anticipated the transformation of this “city of monotonous, unattractive gardens” (a cidade dos jardins monotonos e sem belleza) to one “pulsating with art” (palpitante d'arte), and inquired among artists, writers and critics which works best qualified for acquisition. (Actas 1911, 131, 133; A República 1911e; Ill. Port. 1911b; Occidente 1911) The inquiry brought up established names and celebrated master-pieces – Soares dos Reis' Desterrado (The Exile), Teixeira Lopes' Viuva (The Widow) – but Braamcamp Freire 500 “A esculptura e a esthetica n'aquelles passeios [public gardens of the city], além de estarem representados por muito poucos objectos, não primam geralmente pella belleza artistica. N'estes termos e devendo a Camara concorrer com o possivel auxilio para o desenvolvimento da arte na capital, propunha que começando pela esculptura, se inclua no orçamento uma verba para acquisição de objectos d'arquelle ramo de arte e se peça á Commissão de esthetica para organisar uma nota de programma d'essas acquisições, lembrando que, conforme se realisa n'outras capitaes, os primeiros premios de esculptura das exposições annuaes de Bellas Artes, sejam adquiridos pela Camara Municipal, no caso d'aquella commissão entender serem dignos d'essa preferencia.” (Actas 1911, 99) 501 “A Camara Municipal resolve consignar uma verba annual de 4:000$000 reis para acquisição de obras de arte, originaes, de esculptura de artistas nacionaes que enriqueçam a esthetica das praças publicas e jardins de Lisboa. Esta verba constituirá um fundo permanente, accumulando os saldos, quando os houver, com os respectivos juros. A acquisição d'estes trabalhos poderá ser feita nas exposições officiaes realisadas em Lisboa e nas promovidas pela SNBA d'esta cidade, ficando a commissão de esthetica municipal encarregada de propor á Camara a acquisição d'essas obras. Para este fim, esta commissão, depois de examinar as obras expostas e reconhecer que entre ellas existe alguma digna de ser adquirida, apresentará á Camara uma proposta fundamentada, acerca da sua acquisição, acompanhada de relatorio sobre as condições em que essa acquisição deve ser feita, preços, dimensões, material, forma de pagamento, destino etc. Quando a Camara Municipal entender que acquisição deverá ser feita por meio de concurso publico, incumbirá, com a previa antecedencia a commissao de esthetica de elaborar o respectivo programma.” (Actas 1911, 172– 73) – 305 – G. Verheij Practices of design elucidated the program concentrated on new works of young, promising artists. That year's choice of the Commission of Municipal Commission only partially applied the principle. One of the works was Despertar (Awakening), by the young sculptor Simões de Almeida (the younger), creator of a popular Republican bust; the other, however, was O Cavador (The Digger) by the reputed artist Costa Mota (the elder), by then already nearing his 50s. Still the choice was perceptive; both sculptors define Republican sculptural taste, and later other works of both artists would be selected to adorn the public spaces of Lisbon. (Actas 1911, 246, 328) Acquisition contracts were signed in June and July, setting out the conditions for the translation of the plaster models to stone. Only after 1912 were both works installed in the Jardim da Estrela. Similar delays occurred with posterior acquisitions; they were implicit in the decision to choose prospective works from exhibited plaster models rather than direct commissions. The laborious process of transforming the plaster model into a definitive outdoor sculpture – from changes to size (usually the models had to be enlarged) to time- consuming copies to stone or bronze casting – added to occasional municipal indecision over placement. (Appendix 9) The public arts program had a wider impact. In May 1911 a commission created to pay tribute to the popular actor Francisco Alves da Silva Taborda (1824-1909) offered a bust of the latter to the municipality in recognition of the garden sculpture decision. The work was favourably examined by the municipal architect, consequently charged with the design of a pedestal, and placed in the Jardim da Estrela. On the other hand, the garden sculpture program was closely linked to other monumentalizing initiatives of the municipality, such as the competition for a bust of the Republic or a commemorative plaque of the Republican Revolution. (Actas 1911, 262, 328, 379) The program itself became part of the routine activity of the Commission of Municipal Aesthetics, which regularly reported on possible acquisitions¸ progress on acquired works and payments to artists (f. ex. Actas 1911, 614, 636; CML-CEM 1911b; 1912c; 1912d; 1912i; etc.). During the early 1920s, a time of rapid currency devaluation (see Appendix 6), the focus of the acquisition of artworks shifted from public sculptures to the more economical genres of paintings and small indoor sculptures.502 Even while the endowment for the acquisition of artworks was successively enlarged, rampant inflation posed difficulties to the lengthy processes of the outdoor sculptures. This can be illustrated by the work Prometeu, contracted to Franscisco dos Santos in 1920 for 8 000 escudos. In 1924 an additional 8 000 escudos were approved to finish the work as the original amount was by then totally insufficient. Perhaps for this reason, only one other outdoor sculpture – O Adamastor – was directly acquired with the public art funds after 1920, but the costs surpassed the available budget and additional money needed to be authorized by the Municipal Senate. (Actas 1921, 260–62, 484–86; Actas da Comissão Executiva 1923, 3–4; 1924, 29) The lack of direct acquisition of public sculptures was however largely compensated by a new wave of civic initiatives in commemorative sculptures. From 1923 on this was joined by timid municipal initiative in this area. (Appendix 9) 502 The acquisition of paintings and less often small sculptural works seems to have started in 1921. For documentary purposes a quite complete list of acquired works is included in Appendix 9. – 306 – G. Verheij Practices of design The modest scale of much of the installed works does not take away relevance nor originality. Until this moment no coherent public arts policy – either municipal or governmental – existed; the initiative originated usually in civil society and was often financed by public subscription. In these cases the result was “offered” to the municipality, which decided whether to accept the monument, authorized or elected a site and generally provided technical and logistic support (construction of foundations, etc.). In other cases (for example the Garden of S. Pedro de Alcântara, with its elaborated program of sculptural commemoration), the municipality responded to civic solicitations. Larger commemorative programs were usually an initiative of the State.503 In Lisbon this was consequently the first time that municipal administration took upon itself the (more or less) programmed placement of artworks in public space. But besides the first instance of a “commissioning system” of public art (the term is H. Elias'), the sculptures itself also share common characteristics which set them apart from the ceremonial framing of monuments as defined by M. I. João. (Elias 2006; João 2002, 48–52) The intimate scale of most works departs from the monumental memorialism to which the idea of public arts at this time is often reduced (Remesar 2003). Thematically, the subject matter is decidedly popular: traditional professions (O Cavador, Ao Leme, O Lavrador), popular figures (Maria da Fonte, the poet Chiado), accessible allegories (Despertar, Primavera, Prometeu, O Adamastor) … The dominant stylistic regime is that of an often expressive naturalism. On a structural level the works pursue familiar proximity rather than monumental distance, reducing the pedestal to a purely structural element to raise the work above the surrounding vegetation. In two cases – La Source and O Adamastor – the sculpture completely fuses with its environment. This suggests that the modest scale and scope of the public arts program was not only a matter of economy, but also one of aesthetic and political choice.504 When in 1920 the Illustração Portuguesa assessed the impact of the art acquisitions on Lisbon's gardens it seemed that, after almost a decade, the municipal program had attained a degree of coherence. The journalist presented the choice for garden settings as the only valid option in the hassle of the modern city.505 More generally, the works fit well within 503 The monuments to D. Pedro IV, inaugurated in 1870, to the Duque da Terceira (1877), to the Restorers of national independence (Restauradores, 1886), to the Marquis de Saldanha (1909) or to the Heroes of the Peninsular War (1933) were the (at times belated) results of public competitions of State responsability. A large part of these works was related to the monumentalization of the main axis of expansion of Lisboa Nova, focusing the visual perspectives of the avenues at the circular squares marking inflections. These sites, created by Ressano Garcia's expansion plans, implicitly required sculptural interventions, but there is no evidence that the actual monuments responded to a planned program rather than more or less fortunate conjunctures. (J. R. Carvalho and Câmara 2005; R. H. da Silva 1989) 504 In photographs of the time the simple pedestals often appear covered by climbing plants. In several cases the pedestal was entirely removed later on, placing the work directly on the soil. (See Appendix 9) As R. H. da Silva (2005) has noted, these characteristics are anticipated by some historical antecedents, chiefly the small commemorative works installed during the 1900s across the city's green areas. Teixeira Lopes' A Verdade (The Truth) – the commemorative statue of Eça de Queirós inaugurated in 1903 – anticipates the loss of the pedestal; the works dedicated to Eduardo Coelho (Jardim de S. Pedro de Alcântara, 1904) or Pinheiro Chagas (Avenida da Liberdade, 1908), both by Costa Mota (the elder), foreshadow the popular imaginary. – 307 – G. Verheij Practices of design Republican creeds of public patronage of the arts and aesthetic education of the people.506 Seen from this angle, the garden sculptures responded to an (idealized) democratic pedagogy and the diffusion of a (equally idealized) popular imagery. They can consequently be considered a first attempt to elevate the tenets of what was a few years earlier promoted as “public art” – with its implications of a new relationship of art to public space and the modern urban audience – to official policy.507 However, over time the original pedagogical intention seems to have given way to an unsuspecting contribution to the urban landscape. The journalist of Illustração Portuguesa suggested as much in describing how the artworks helped to make visible the “psychology” or individuality of the different gardens, known to poets and regulars: exciting or lifeless, happy or melancholic, rural or aristocratic, sad or 505 “O grupo escultural, a escultura simbolica, o pequeno monumento, ficam nos jardins como em parte alguma. Os monumentos nas praças quasi ninguem os olha. Os monumentos dos jardins teem sempre contemplativos. Depois não é no bulicio das praças, no vortilhão da vida asafamada que fica bem a estatua evocadora de um artista querido ou de um sabio de eleição. Mas ponha-se a sua estatua n'um recanto de jardim, ao meio de uma rua de verdura, ou n'um aconchego de rosas e glycinias e digam se não tem muito mais poesia, maior e mais profunda evocação. (…) Decididamente, ha que encher os nossos jardins de obras d'arte.” The author preferred “small artworks, close by, almost next to the masses” (perto da multidão, quasi á beira d'ela) over huge monuments. (M. C. Ramos 1920, 159) This positive judgement (the program is repeatedly compared to Parisian public art policies) was not universally shared. To take one example, a few years later Raúl Proença (n.d., 31–32) deplored the waste of money on “small, tasteless statues placed between poor, dried up trees” (pequenas estatuas insulsas entre pobres arvores ressequidas), while contrasting the “trivial, fragmented plans” (planos mesquinhos e fragmentarios) with what he considered was truly needed: new avenues along the river, a new Hall of Justice, Library and Exhibition venue, a large public park … Proença's view clearly recovered the more utopian tenets of the discourse on “urban aesthetic(s).” 506 The political commitment to more extensive involvement of public authorities with the arts was defended in the report accompanying the 1911 decree creating Regional and National Councils of Art . A true hymn to the influence of H. Taine and P.-J. Proudhon, the report proposed two claims to guide a Republican politics of the arts: 1) that art has its roots in the “popular arts” (i.e. the “minor” or “decorative arts”), which form the necessary subsoil from which the former sprouts; 2) that art is a moralizing (and thus social) agent. Both claims are explicitly put in a co-dependant relationship (sem a arte do povo, a arte para o povo seria uma utopia). The political principles for the new democracy deduced from these claims are that of the public promotion of arts and artists (for art in democracy should not rely on traditional patrons and non-democratic power relations) and the decentralization of artworks and practices through regional museums and institutions and democratization of access. (Decreto 1, Diário do Governo, s. I, 29 May 1911; see also E. C. Leal 2010) 507 The focus on the relationships forged between artwork and public space rather than stylistic characteristics departs from customary art historical discourse, which, while elaborating a narrative about the “loss of the monument” and the difficulties of modernist public sculpture, banishes the larger part of actual sculptural production in public space to the sorry category of “clumsy remedies of past models, fruits of inertia, routine or public apathy” (topres remedios de los modelos del passado, producto de la inercia, de la rutina o de la desidia pública), as one author puts it (Maderuelo 2008, 34; but see also Maderuelo 1994, chap. 4). My reading follows arguments developed by A. Remesar (2003) on the importance of public space, social context and the public sphere to understand public sculpture. In the case of Lisbon, S. Almeida (2012) has convincingly argued that first instances of such a “modern” relationship between sculpture and public space can be traced back to the mid-19th century. – 308 – G. Verheij Practices of design passionate.508 The gardens and artworks contributed to a sense of place and, as the title of the article suggests (“The sculptures and artworks of our gardens”), to the appropriation of these places by citizens. (Figures 270–71) I already mentioned how municipal services of Parks and Gardens had become independent from the Department of Architecture in 1919 (see p. 291 above). In 1923 a newly elected municipal council, dominated by progressive democrats, articulated the furtive policy of green spaces and public art in explicit discourse. The Executive Commission, presided by the agronomist and politician Eduardo Alberto Lima Basto (1875-1942), renewed many of the ideas first proposed by Ventura Terra: besides the reactivation of the Commission of Municipal Aesthetics and the acquisition of artworks it took up issues such as the still unresolved project of the Eduardo VII Park, the quest for new paving techniques or the improvement of by-laws for private urban development and the placement of publicity. (Actas da Comissão Executiva 1923, 53; 1924, 126–27, 248–49; 1926, 69–70) A. Guisado,509 politically responsible for what had recently become the Department of Parks, Gardens and Cemeteries, launched renewed attempts at public competitions for the completion of the Eduardo VII Park, and after these failed twice endeavoured to execute the works within the municipal budget. The military coup of 28 May 1926, after which the council was substituted for yet another administrative commission, cut short the attempt. Following another more lasting initiative of Guisado, in late 1924 the city's gardens were renamed after notable writers and poets (see Appendix 8). According to A. H. de Melo (2011) this is the first coherent toponymical proposal for a typology of public space. A. Ferreira added the idea that busts of the literates be placed in them together with passages of their work, in order to “educate the people.” Posterior initiatives by Guisado reinforced the link between green spaces, memory and art. New sites were gardened, from larger gardens (f. ex. the Jardim de Teixeira Rebelo in Benfica) to small flower-beds, spreading flowers throughout the city, as one commentator recalled later.510 (Actas da Comissão Executiva 1924, 646–47; 1926, 69–70; Actas 1925, 78-84; Elias 2006, 32–34) This garden policy was articulated with public or civic initiatives of commemorative monuments, proposing monuments and changing names if necessary (thus the garden named after Fialho de Almeida changed to Alfredo Keil after a small monument to the latter was authorized there). In 1925 Guisado proposed to allocate a special funds for the creation of these monuments. The results of his initiatives extended well beyond the limits of his municipal activity, and there is a marked 508 “Os jardins são a alegria da casa e o paraiso das cidades. Aparte a sua função terapeutica, renovadora, oxigenante, eles teem um encanto proprio e o mais curioso, é que cada jardim tem o seu. (…) E não é so o encanto em si, do tom, da hora, da paisagem. Cada jardim tem a sua população, cada jardim tem os seus 'habitués.'” (M. C. Ramos 1920, 158) 509 Alfredo Guisado (1891-1975) was a poet, journalist and politician. In his youth he was related to the avant-guard around the mythical Orpheu (his Galician parents owned the restaurant where Fernando Pessoa, Sá Carneiro, Almeida Negreiros and others used to meet). After studying law he became active in associative and political life in the early 1920s, writing widely in the Portuguese and Galician press. (Pazos Justo 2013; Martinho 2015) 510 “[A. Guisado] possuiu-se do bom intuito de aformosear a cidade no que diz respeito aos seus largos e praças mal cuidados, aproveitando-os todos para fazer pequenos jardins ou simples taboleiros de relva com seu canteiro de flôres ou suas arvores a alegrar os olhos (…)” (Diário de Notícias 1925; see also P. C. Santos 1926) – 309 – G. Verheij Practices of design continuity during the first years of the subsequent dictatorship (installed in 1926). (Actas da Comissão Executiva 1925, 404, 874, 929; 1926, 192–93, 243–44; Appendices 8 and 9) In a sense, the sublime prospects of “urban aesthetic(s)” were in the practice of public space worked out as public art and piecemeal garden design rather than urban composition of the kind proposed by Fialho de Almeida. Domesticating the “urban aesthetic” during the early dictatorship On 28 May 1926 a military coup put an end to the First Republic. The coup was supported by a broad range of conservative and right-wing factions, from conservative Republicans, monarchists and Catholic Integralists to admirers of Mussolini's fascism. Though united by the promise of strong government and its presumed efficacy against endemic political and economic crisis it was essentially shared animosity towards the defunct “demo-liberal” model which brought the variegated coalition together. In the subsequent struggle to impose a hegemonic social and political project, the economist António de Oliveira Salazar (1889- 1970) – a university professor and Catholic politician – surfaced as the national saviour of choice, first as all-powerful minister of Finance (1928), then as permanent head of government. In 1933 a new Constitution officially installed the Estado Novo (New State), a repressive, authoritarian one-party dictatorship initially marked by an ambiguous approximation to the fascist regimes which, at the time, seemed to promise a “New Order” for Europe.511 During the 1930s the ideological coordinates of the New State were fixed and propagated, while at the same time the institutional structure of the State was thoroughly revised. Notwithstanding the ideological focus on agrarian virtues and traditional values, urban development was a significant element of the New State's political and economic program. Public works created employment, affiliated experts and economic interests and provided new elites with improved living conditions. As in other dictatorships of the time, architecture and urban design served “to legitimate power, produce consensus, and demonstrate strength, efficiency and speed,” translating socio-political programs into stone and concrete. (Bodenschatz 2015, 15) In general,the possibilities of increased governmentality – through the rationalization of space and the possibilities of social engineering – promised by the still fresh discipline of planning attracted inter-war dictatorships. (Sevilla Buitrago 2015) Accordingly, under the dynamic direction of Duarte Pacheco (1900-1943) – an engineer who occupied the post of minister of Public Works between 1932-1936 and 1938-1943 – modern planning procedures were introduced through legislation, institutions and the importation of foreign expertise. Pacheco reorganized the Ministry of Public Works in 1932, contracted the French planner D.-A. Agache and in 1934 sponsored a first modern planning act modelled on 511 The New State defined itself as a “corporative” regime, according to a paternalist “organic” social model, forming a social pyramid with the family unit at its base and the State at the top. Theoretically each (compliant) citizen was assigned a clearly defined position with corresponding privileges and obligations according to profession, class and interests. Politically, the 1933 Constitution implemented a presidential system, though in fact power was concentrated in the hands of the head of government – a post Salazar occupied from 1932 to 1968. (Rosas 1998; 2001; Torgal 2009; Loff 2008) – 310 – G. Verheij Domesticating the “urban aesthetic” during the early dictatorship French legislation.512 In 1938 Pacheco spearheaded a large administrative reform which locally and at national level reformulated the juridical, technical and financial bases of urban planning, with far-reaching implications for the nation's capital.513 Lisbon, rediscovered as the capital of an Empire, was the main object of the dictatorship's urban investments. The climax of this politics of public works (which joined a “politics of the spirit” promoted by the regime's propagandist, A. Ferro) was the Exhibition of the Portuguese World in 1940, commemorating foundational dates of the Nation and its supposedly “organic” colonial vocation.514 (Acciaiuoli 1998) Still, the exhibition premises in the South-West of Lisbon were only the most eloquent expressions of a much more comprehensive ambition to transform the “box of Pandora” which the modern city had become into a well-ordered hierarchy of public spaces, framed by ritual, commemoration and power (see Verheij 2011, chap. 2.2; Figures 272–76; the Pandora metaphor is from M. G. Dias 2011, 60). In this context the ideas around “urban aesthetic(s)” proved useful to the new regime, and were duly appropriated and transformed. At the municipal level, the first consequence of the military coup from 1926 had been the dissolution of local administrations, substituted by administrative commissions depending from central government. The Lisbon commission – entirely composed of military men – was 512 Pacheco's first mayor engagement with urban planning was related to the so-called “Costa do Sol” (Sun Coast), the area roughly from Cascais to Sintra which was to be developed for tourist exploitation. Agache was contracted to direct the elaboration of a development plan, approved in 1935, and is reputed with a hand in the 1934 law on statutory planning, which created the legal concept of General Development Plans (Planos Gerais de Urbanização). It recalls the French act from 1919. (Decreto-lei 24 802, Diário do Governo, s. I, 21 December 1934; Agache 1936; S. V. Costa 2016; Cadavez 2012; André, Marat-Mendes, and Rodrigues 2012; Lobo 2013; André 2015; Camarinhas 2011b, 207–11; 2011c) 513 The so-called “centenary regime” (regime dos centenários) was directly linked to the international exhibition programmed for 1940 (see note 514 below). Fresh legislation brought among others swift expropriation and slum clearance procedures and created the necessary institutional and technical structures to assist municipalities in the elaboration of statutory plans. (Decreto-lei 28797, Diário do Governo, s. I, 1 July 1938; V. M. Ferreira 1987; C. N. Silva 1994b; Lôbo 1995; S. V. Costa 2015; 2016; Camarinhas 2011a; 2011b; 2011c; G. C. Moniz and C. Oppen in Bodenschatz, Sassi, and Welch Guerra 2015) Additional legislation and institutions framed the production of State-subsidized housing (M. V. Moreira 1950; C. N. Silva 1994a; L. V. Baptista 1999; Marques 2004; S. D. Silva and Ramos 2015), public and private architecture (N. T. Pereira and Fernandes 1982; Fernandez 1988; P. V. de Almeida 1994; 2002; Bandeirinha 1996; Tostões 1997; 2004; J. M. Fernandes 2003; 2005; Rosmaninho 2006; Brites 2014; 2015; 2016) and colonial urban development (Milheiro 2012; M. C. Matos and Ramos 2012; C. N. Silva 2016). 514 The dates celebrated in 1940 were 1140 (proclamation of Afonso Henriques as first king of Portugal) and 1640 (restoration of independence from Spain). Portugal's supposed colonial vocation was essential to the ideology and politics of the New State. António Ferro (1896-1956), a journalist who in his early youth had been involved with the literary avant-garde, became increasingly attracted to dictatorial solutions and in 1932 published a series of hagiographic interviews with Salazar. In 1933 he became director of the regime's propaganda office (Secretariado de Propaganda Nacional) implementing a comprehensive program of cultural modernization, propaganda and indoctrination, including the promotion of a new, “national” art suitable to the program of “reconstruction.” (Ferro 1933; 1949; Ó 1999) – 311 – G. Verheij Domesticating the “urban aesthetic” during the early dictatorship led by J. Vicente de Freitas, who had come to the spotlights the year before after a bold proposal to enlarge the Eduardo VII Park to a staggering 1800 ha urban forest (Figure 277).515 Opposed to Salazar's options, after 1932 the administrative commission was renovated with members of the regime's confidence, first led by Henrique Linhares de Lima (1876-1953) and, after 1934, by Daniel Rodrigues de Sousa (1867-1958). But despite successive reforms of the municipal machinery from 1926 on a satisfying formula was only arrived at when D. Pacheco was appointed president of Lisbon in 1938. In his double function of municipal president and minister of Public Works – and benefiting from the prominence given to the municipal president by a new Administrative Law516 – Pacheco was capable of implementing the large- scale urban renovation program linked to the 1940s commemorations, and introduced an organization of the municipality's technical departments which persisted until the 1980s. (M. do R. Santos and Viegas 1996; A. Santos 2007; Appendix 4) At the basis of Pacheco's efforts was the elaboration of a general development plan (Plano de Urbanização e Expansão), for which the French planner Étienne de Gröer (1882-1952) – a teacher at the Parisian Institut de l'Urbanisme and protegée of D.-A. Agache – was hired as planning consultant. Under De Gröer's direction the plan was developed between 1938 and 1948 (though never formally approved). It focused on a transportation network, residential developments of the garden suburb kind, green spaces and a number of urban landmarks, and introduced pioneering concerns with regional planning. (Camarinhas and Brito 2007; Figure 283) While Pacheco decisively created the juridical, bureaucratic and political conditions for the modernization of urban planning in Lisbon and the country at large, the general orientations for the growth of the capital had been discussed and experimented with during the entire previous decade (see I. Guarda 2008). The continuing presence of foreign experts contributed to public debate and political enterprise. Already in 1927 Vicente de Freitas had hired the French planner J.-C. N. Forestier as a consultant to realize his ambitious intentions for the city's “embellishment.” Though it remained with two visits and a handful of sketches and recommendations, Forestier's suggestions brought a new generation of architects – most notably Luís Cristino da Silva (1896-1976, see Rodolfo 2002) – in contact with international developments of urban design.517 Forestier's main proposal – the extension of the Avenida da 515 Born in Madeira, José Vicente de Freitas (1869-1952) followed a military career and taught drawing and geometry. He was an accomplished cartographer, responsible for a much-reprinted commercial city map of Lisbon. From 1927 to 1929 Freitas also occupied the post of minister of Education, doubling as head of government during the last year until he resigned over a conflict with his minister of Finance, Salazar. (F. Fernandes 2010) 516 The Administrative Law, approved in 1936 for a two-year trial period (later extended until 1940), outlined the place, structure, competences and obligations of municipal administrations within the New State edifice. In general, central government and state institutions had extensive supervisory powers. In the case of Lisbon and Porto, a twelve-member municipal chamber, elected every four years by parish councils and corporative organisms and meeting once a month, had very limited powers. In practice, municipal management was entrusted to the municipal president directly appointed by the Government for renewable six-year periods; the president, assisted by managing directors of his choice, received strong executive powers. (Código administrativo 1937; César Oliveira 1996) 517 The context and discussions around and after Forestier's visits are largely discussed by A. M. Barata (2010, 241–72) and C. Camarinhas (2011a, 178–85). Freitas – who had stated his intention – 312 – G. Verheij Domesticating the “urban aesthetic” during the early dictatorship Liberdade through the Eduardo VII Park as the starting point for the creation of a comprehensive park-system – stranded over technical and financial difficulties and local resistance, but it marked the urban imagery of the following decades. (Diário de Notícias 1926b; Actas 1926, 699, 1011; Morais and Roseta 2006; Casals Costa 2009; Figures 278–82) Forestier's suggestions and Freitas' muscled promises provided fuel for reinvigorated public debate over the city. The writer Aquilino Ribeiro, by no means an acolyte of the new regime, nonetheless welcomed the first steps of the “tremendous and onerous task” (tarefa custosa e gigantesca) of modernizing Lisbon. After Forestier presented his plans in 1928 the Diário de Notícias collected a number of still more complimentary opinions among leading intellectuals. (A. Ribeiro 1927; Diário de Notícias 1928a–c) From within architectural circles the reaction was mixed. Cassiano Branco (1897-1970) – then still a student of architecture – defended the skills of national architects, and even denied Forestier's accomplishments. He preferred D. H. Burnham, J. Gréber or T. Garnier. A. Bermudes similarly wondered about the implicit disregard of national architects, and insisted that a general development plan required extensive study from multiple angles, thus demanding the collaboration of many different areas of knowledge. (Branco 1926; Bermudes 1927) More generally, architects reacted against a perceived disregard to the profession during the first years of the dictatorship. In a municipal commission created in 1926 to study yet another urban improvement plan architecture was only represented by the ageing architect José Luís Monteiro.518 More importantly, the Department of Architecture was extinguished in 1926 to become again part of the Department of Engineering. Is tasks were split between an advisory Council of Art and Architecture which took on the municipal architects and seems to have taken over the competences of the Commission of Municipal Aesthetics, of which nothing of hiring Forestier even before his official appointment – probably knew the French expert (especialista em metodos de urbanisação) through the latter's work in Barcelona and Seville and his own engagement with park-systems in 1925. The French architect visited Lisbon in February 1927 and July 1928, but already in March 1927 the politically responsible for the Eduardo VII Park – Henrique Quirino da Fonseca (1868-1939), a military engineer and historian whose municipal career ended after accusing Vicente de Freitas of corruption in 1932 – had put aside Forestier's suggestions as impracticable; in June 1928 a new park project was approved. L. Cristino da Silva, who had known Forestier personally, further elaborated his ideas in a series of drawings made on his own initiative. As to Freitas himself, he put the larger part of his energy in solving inherited obstacles, some of which pending since Ventura Terra and before. In this he benefited from the strong hand of the military dictatorship and a certain disregard for “established interests.” An example is the single-minded demolition of the “temporary” market at Cais do Sodré in 1927, which had impeded a solution of the area for over two decades. (Diário da Tarde 1926; Diário de Notícias 1927a) The municipality had started to intensify international contacts in 1925, sending the municipal engineer Manuel Gomes Meleiro to that year's congress of the International Federation of the Building Trades (the present European Construction Industry Federation, founded in 1905) in Paris and a delegation of three municipal councillors (Durão Portugal, Pinto Rodrigues and Aurélio Neto) to a conference of the United Cities and Local Governments in Brighton and to the 3d International Congress of Cities in Paris. (Actas 1925, 266–67; Actas da Comissão Executiva 1925, 380; CML 1926) 518 Others members were the councillor Quirino da Fonseca, the engineer Augusto Vieira da Silva, the painter Luciano Freire, the archaeologist Gustavo Matos Sequeiro, the agronomist Joaquim Rasteiro and the hygienist Silva Carvalho. Within a month Quirino da Fonseca was already talking about an advanced improvement scheme. (Actas 1926, 727, 864) – 313 – G. Verheij Domesticating the “urban aesthetic” during the early dictatorship more is heard; and a Department of Urban Buildings (Repartição de Edificações Urbanas). The latter, led by an engineer, inherited the tasks of evaluating and supervising private constructions. Consequently the architectural profession lost much of the municipal responsibilities in the area of “urban aesthetic(s)” obtained during the previous decades. The Society of Architects complained loudly, and argued that the novel methods and provisions required by modern urban development – from aesthetics and hygiene to urban composition and planning at large – were essentially a matter of architecture. (Actas 1926, 701–3, 765; Cunff 2000, 310; A. I. Ribeiro 1993, 95–96) Aesthetics – and the prerogatives of architecture – had however by no means abandoned municipal and public concerns. Indeed, if there was one point amidst the debates about the putative virtues of Forestier's proposals, administrative and political reform and clashing professional pretensions on which politicians, architects, intellectuals, journalists and foreign experts could unconditionally agree, it was the centrality of the aesthetic quality of the city. Vicente de Freitas counted the topic among his priorities, and Forestier explicitly recommended aesthetic regulation of architecture and the protection and promotion of sites of special beauty. He defined his main goal as the recovery of the relation of the city with the river and its characteristic panoramic views. (Diário de Notícias 1926a–c) Similarly, in debates in the press the vocabulary of “urban aesthetic(s)” figured prominently. The “urbanism” which Forestier represented contrasted with a new wave of verbose complaints about architectural quality and random growth: those “artistic monstrosities,” “inconceivable miscarriages without balance nor grace or beauty” (abortos inqualificáveis, onde não há equilibirio nem graça, nem beleza), decaying slums and boring apartment buildings “arbitrarily stuck together” (aglutinada arbitrariamente) which for decades had led Portuguese intellectuals and artists to raise their writing quills. Others, charmed by Forestier's emphasis on the light, viewpoints and “topographical picturesque,” entertained themselves with moving descriptions of the dazzling views of the river to regret the failure of “artistic transformation” matching urban growth. (Ribeiro 1927; Aranha 1928; Diário de Notícias 1928b, c) The “overarching concept” (visão de conjunto) promised by the “modern science of planning” (moderna sciência do 'urbanismo') – the efficacy of which was usually certified by its presumed role in the reconstruction of France after World War I – was, implicitly or explicitly, linked to a renewed supremacy of architecture as the mother of arts. (Aranha 1928) And notwithstanding the initial misgivings of architects Freitas' administration satisfied a decade- old demand. New building regulations, approved in August 1930 but in development since 1927, included an entire chapter (IV) dedicated to the “aesthetic conditions” of urban buildings. This “General Regulation of Urban Construction” (Regulamento Geral da Construção Urbana) granted unprecedented powers of aesthetic control to the municipal Architectural Service. Aesthetic evaluation became a necessary step for the approval of building projects, and in newly developed areas they were to obey previously elaborated indications in accordance with the importance and topography of the site. Architectural façades, including ornamental details and colour, were subjected to specific regulation, differentiated according to urban area.519 According to A. E. Abrantes, by 1936 it had caused 519 For example, according to the 78th article only complete modifications of the façade were allowed in the Pombaline centre; partial modifications were compulsorily subjected to the original – 314 – G. Verheij Domesticating the “urban aesthetic” during the early dictatorship visible improvements in the “art of building” (arte de construir). (CML 1930; 1937, 175; Barata 2010, 262–63) During the 1930s, public engagement with the new vocabulary and ideas of (mostly French) planning deepened, benefiting from the periodic presence of D.-A. Agache, who promised a new, maritime Lisbon in newspaper interviews (his work on the “Costa do Sol” directly touched on the future extension of Lisbon) and lectured in 1933 on his work in Brazil at the National Society of Fine-Arts. Two years earlier a reform of architectural education, which introduced the French model of individual competitions, had introduced a course dedicated to urban design (Projectos de Urbanização), taught by architects. (André, Marat-Mendes, and Rodrigues 2012; Moniz 2011, 102–8; On the international contacts of Portuguese architects during the 1930s, see Camarinhas 2011c; André 2012; Carvalho 2015) The traces of this updating of national planning culture are visible in public discourse. When in 1933 prominent architects and engineers were asked to opine in the Diário de Lisboa on different aspects of urban modernization, the new vocabulary – urbanização, urbanismo, urbanística – prominently marked its presence. (S. Vieira 1933a–h) The municipality itself organized a conference series between November 1934 and January 1935 dedicated to “Problems of urban development” (Problemas de urbanização), where the audience could hear about ongoing and upcoming projects (the airport of Portela, cheap housing, the university campus), the need for sport-fields and green spaces, modern architecture, urban hygiene and the historical and aesthetic character of the city. Significantly, one participant – Joaquim Roque da Fonseca (1891-1954), president of the city's Commercial Association (ACL) – included in his discussion of the relation between urban and commercial improvements a very reasonable account of the recent history of French Urbanisme and updated bibliography.520 (CML 1936, 230) As the New State bureaucracy substituted the often single-minded approach of the early dictatorship's leading military, a more solid study commission of a future development plan (Comissão de Urbanização da Cidade de Lisboa) was formed in 1933, following a late proposal by Vicente de Freitas. Composed of the engineers António Nunes Freire and Álvaro Fontoura, the hygienist Alberto Gomes and the architects J. A. Piloto and Henrique Taveira Soares, it was chaired by the municipal engineer António Emídio Abrantes (1880-1970), who had accompanied Forestier on his city tour in 1927. Months earlier Abrantes had made public a report on the needs of the city's urban development. The study commission provided a certain degree of coherence to municipal works during the 1930s, and elaborated a “architectural expression” (expressão arquitectónica). (On the introduction of “colour planning” in Lisbon during the 1930s, see Aguiar 2003; “A cor de Lisboa” 1949) 520 The bibliographical references quoted by Fonseca are Agache, La remodelation d'une capitale (1932), J. Raymond, L'Urbanisme à la portée de tous (1925) and Précis d'urbanisme moderne (1934), Michel Dikansky, La ville moderne (1927) and R Danger, Cours d'urbanisme (1933). He also mentioned the names of G. Risler, H. Prost and J. Gréber. – 315 – G. Verheij Domesticating the “urban aesthetic” during the early dictatorship preliminary report which formed the starting point for De Gröer.521 (Boletim 8: 315, 26 January 1933, 10; Camarinhas and Brito 2007; Abrantes 1938) Amidst the modernization of vocabulary, methods and institutions, critique of the quality of urban architecture remained paramount. Authorized voices such as João Barreira (1866- 1961), a medically trained professor of Art History at the University of Lisbon, described an “eczema of misery invading hills and valleys, covering the soil with patches of tastelessness” (um eczema de miséria invadiu as colinas e os vales, cobrindo o solo com manchas de mau gosto). Worrying numbers about the negligible number of buildings signed by architects – 16 out of 800 in 1931, 10 out of 600 in 1932 (França 1992, 239) – added poignancy. Adelino Nunes (1903-1948), an architect with modernist inclinations, identified these “amateurs” (os amadores de arquitectura), blissfully ignorant of the momentous demands of “urban aesthetics” (estetica urbanistica), as prime enemies of the city.522 (S. Vieira 1933a, c) In line with these persistent concerns and the principles laid out in the 1930 by-laws, during the 1930s institutions of aesthetic control gained unprecedented importance. In December 1933 a successor of the Commission of Municipal Aesthetics was created. It was preceded by the enlargement of aesthetic protection inscribed in the 1930 by-laws, enthusiastically received by the Society of Architects and the National Society of Fine-Arts as a first step towards the improvement of the “aesthetic conditions” of designing and building in Lisbon – the SAP explicitly defended the peremptory need of a competent municipal entity to “enhance urban development” (valorizar a urbanização). (Boletim 7: 357, 9 November 1933, 12–13; 362, 15 December 1933, 7–9) The Council of Urban Aesthetics (Conselho de Estética Citadina) was created by Luís Pastor de Macedo (1901-1971) as an advisory board on general problems of aesthetics and urban transformation. Its composition included municipal staff, delegates of relevant entities (many of them recent creations of the New State) and four experts.523 One main objective – to “avoid 521 On municipal activity during the 1930s, see also the intricate succession of municipal publications: Boletim da Câmara Municipal de Lisboa (1928-1937), Anais das Bibliotecas, Arquivos e Museus Municipais (1931-1936), Anuário da Câmara Municipal de Lisboa (1935-1937), Boletim cultural e estatístico (1937), Anais do Município de Lisboa (1938-1968) and Revista municipal (1939- 1973). 522 Curiously, A. Nunes highlighted the “Bairro das Colónias” as bad example. The area, resulting from the development plan of Penha de França discussed earlier, was developed during the 1930s with Art Déco apartment buildings. Nunes criticized the lack of proportions of façades and their “fake sumptuousness” of expensive but tasteless ornament (fluted columns, gilding and silvering, fake marble), as well as the unimaginative solutions of the many sharp angles resulting from the triangular shape of the street plan. 523 The 16-member Council was initially composed of the municipal president and director of the municipal Council of Architecture, functioning as president and secretary, the politically responsible for the department of culture (vereador do Pelouro de Serviços Culturais), a municipal engineer, delegates of the National Academy of Fine-Arts (which substituted the Republican Council of Art and Archaeology), the Society of Architects, the National Society of Fine-Arts, a short-lived National Board of Excavations and Antiquities (Junta Nacional de Escavações e Antiguidades, 1933-1936), the Society of Portuguese Archaeologists and the Portuguese Institute of Archaeology, History and Ethnography (Instituto Português de Arqueologia, História e Etnografia, also created in 1933), and four independent experts chosen by the municipality. – 316 – G. Verheij Domesticating the “urban aesthetic” during the early dictatorship any attack to the capital's art, tradition or history” (evitar quaisquer atentados à arte, à tradiçãou ou à história da capital) – gave new emphasis to urban heritage preservation. The “aesthetic of the city” was closely linked to the “traditional physiognomy” of the city, and it is significant that the Council was created as part of a politics of culture rather than planning or public works. Macedo – who, though professionally a textile retailer, was a notable member of the select circle of the city's house historians clustered around the society of Friends of Lisbon – considered “urban aesthetics” essentially the “spiritual action” supporting municipal administration, guiding citizens towards the correct appreciation of urban beauty.524 (Boletim 7: 364, 29 December 1933, 12–13; “A cidade de Lisboa” 1934; L. P. de Macedo 1933; Brochado 1934) The concern with heritage manifested itself with paradoxical splendour in the main legacy of the Council of Urban Aesthetics, a public competition for the “aesthetic improvement” of the Rossio square. Participants – which included a representative sample of modernist architects – were challenged with the nay-impossible task of restoring the square's “purity and architectural unity” while adapting it to modern (commercial) needs. Well within the ideals of “urban aesthetic(s),” the main objective was to correct the “disorder” (desequilíbrio) and “dissonance” of the architectural modifications since the late 19th century. Almost by necessity it got trapped in a series of paradoxes about the meaning of this doubtful “architectural unity” of the square. (for a thorough discussion, see P. V. Gomes 1988) From the viewpoint of urban transformation the competition failed; in April 1935 the winning design by Cottinelli Telmo (1897-1948) was shelved on account of excessive costs and the disturbance of commerce. (Figure 284) But earlier Macedo had already celebrated the results as a successful publicity stunt; it had brought matters of “urban aesthetic(s)” to public attention, an essential step in any attempt to improve the city.525 524 Amigos de Lisboa, formally constituted in 1936 but existing informally since 1924 (A. de A. 1924; Santana 1994, 63–64). On the place of Macedo in the incipient field of urban studies in Lisbon, see M. T. Dias (2002, 6–14; for background, Salvado 2014). Macedo had created the Department of Culture himself half a year earlier “in the name of Art, of Urban Aesthetics, of the principles of nationalism and the interests of this city” (Em nome da Arte, da Estética citadina, dos princípios nacionalistas e dos interêsses desta cidade). (Boletim 8: 331, 11 May 1933, 20–25) The same department organized the conference series on urban development in 1934-1935, and significantly paired it with a series of on-the-spot conferences on historic motives of the city, for example by the pioneering etnographer Luís Chaves (1888-1975) on Alfama (L. Chaves 1935). In general, the Department of Culture devoted much attention and resources to urban history, from documentary inventories, re-editions and exhibitions to the creation of the legal category of “municipal monument” or the introduction of historical information in street sign as “nationalist lesson.” (CML 1936) The notion of an historical, traditional “physiognomy” of old Lisbon was instrumental in this embracement of heritage concerns and the urban aesthetic. Though rooted in the work of J. Castilho, it became a usual topic during the 1930s. See for example Norberto Araújo's contribution to the conferences series “Problemas de urbanização” on the “feeling” of Lisbon (“O sentimento de Lisboa,” in Problemas de Urbanização 1935; republished as Araújo 1936). 525 “Elaborando um plano, a Câmara Municipal de Lisboa, quebrando essa indiferença e impedindo o progresso da anarquia arquitectónica, caminha com segurança para um objectivo dignificador da Cidade.” (Boletim 8: 409, 1 November 1934, 12–13) – 317 – G. Verheij Domesticating the “urban aesthetic” during the early dictatorship The format of the Council was successfully copied to a number of other cities.526 After 1936 it was complemented with a Municipal Commission of Art and Archaeology (Comissão Municipal de Arte e Arqueologia, CMAA). This entity was a mandatory advisory board created by the new Administrative Law of 1936. Charged with the preservation and promotion of natural, artistic, historical or archaeological monuments, the commission was composed (in Lisbon) of the political responsible for Culture (vereador do Pelouro de Cultura), the director of the Municipal Museum, the chief municipal architect and four experts (later changed to a municipal councillor or managing director and six appointed experts). The Commission had advisory powers over any design project involving the different categories of monuments, from general development plans to building projects. It could also make suggestions on issues related to urban embellishment, the defence of monuments and landscape and the development of tourism. Finally, it was required to collaborate with State institutions “in the defence of artistic interests, cultural progress and the education of popular taste.”527 Consultation on questions of “architectural aesthetics” and, more importantly, effective oversight of the production of private architecture were also attributed to the Architectural Service. However, the architect in charge, João António Piloto (1880-1956), complained repeatedly about the lack of staff and institutional structure to fulfil these functions. Its appreciation of private building projects was limited to a non-binding opinion on the “aesthetic” of the façade, wile building inspection was the responsibility of another service exclusively dedicated to technical aspects (Urban Constructions). In its claim for aesthetic competences it competed furthermore with the municipal service responsible for the elaboration of the general development plan and urban improvement schemes (Serviço da Planta da Cidade e Expropriações). (CML 1936, 365; 1937, 192, 305–10; 1939, 10–11; Figures 285–92) The municipal organization introduced by Duarte Pacheco redistributed these competences more rationally, clearly separating urban planning and development and architecture (in the 526 In Porto a Council of Aesthetics and Urban Development (Conselho de Estética e Urbanização, after 1946 Conselho de Estética Urbana) substituted the Commission of Municipal Aesthetics in 1934, functioning until 1979. Other documented instances are Évora (1937, see Aguiar 2003), Lourenço Marques, today Maputo (Regulamento 1943) and the Algarve (Agarez 2016). 527 According to the Administrative Law from 1936, the existence of this commission was mandatory in municipalities with monumental heritage. The 98th article, which defined its competencies, reads textually: “Compete à comissão municipal de arte e arqueologia: 1º Dar parecer sôbre a parte do plano de urbanização e expansão relativa à conservação e valorização dos monumentos artísticos, históricos, naturais e arqueológicos; 2º Dar parecer sôbre quaisquer projectos de construção, reintegração ou valorização de monumentos, a respeito dos quais seja consultada pela câmara ou pelo seu presidente; 3º Sugerir às câmaras tudo o que entender conveniente ao embelezamento das povoações, à preservação, defesa e aproveitamento dos monumentos e da paisagem, e ao desenvolvimento do turismo; 4º Colaborar com os órgãos da administração central na defesa dos interêsses artisticos, progresso da cultura e educação do gôsto popular, exercendo as atribuições que a lei lhe conferir.” In the final elaboration of the Administrative Law approved in 1940 the composition of the commission changed (article 114), reflecting the municipal organization introduced by D. Pacheco: one municipal council member or department director acting as president, and six experts appointed by the municipal president. (Código administrativo 1937; Diário do Governo, s. I, 31 December 1940, Suplemento) – 318 – G. Verheij Domesticating the “urban aesthetic” during the early dictatorship process, the Council of Urban Aesthetics seems to have lost prominence). The different municipal activities related to urban development were grouped in one general department (Direcção dos Serviços de Urbanização e Obras), organized in six specialized departments (repartições). Municipal activities related to urban planning were joined (Repartição de Urbanização e Expropriações), and the different supervisory powers over the architectural and technical aspects of building projects divided between the departments of Architecture and Urban Buildings, both with executive oversight capacities. Taken together, by late 1938 the municipal organization chart clearly separated the areas of planning, architecture, construction and public art and heritage. However, again this modernizing impetus did not mean that “urban aesthetic(s)” was now written off as an outdated concept. On the contrary. Pacheco put the visual quality of the city and its architecture as high on his list of priorities as his predecessors, and partly justified his organization and program on these grounds. The promotion of the “embellishment” of existing buildings and the “strict supervision” of new constructions in defence of the “architectural aspect of the city” (aspecto arquitectóico da cidade) were among the priorities announced in Pacheco's inaugural speech. (Diário de Notícias 1938) Among the frenzied activity of the first months of municipal presidency the recreation of a municipal award of architecture, about which Pacheco had commissioned a report from the CMAA, led to a long discussion of the problem. On the occasion the CMAA duly re-edited the discourse of “urban aesthetic(s),” considering the modern quarters of Lisboa Nova the very refusal of the city's past and present. Pacheco, if anything, increased the accusation: the city's civil construction was “sick,” “shocking” and “indescribable” (doente, aterrador e indiscritível). The “aesthetic of the City” continued to be capital, and Pacheco put his faith in the restriction of the exercise of architecture to qualified professionals.528 “Disciplinary action” to raise the “aesthetic and constructive standards” (o nível estético e construtivo) of architecture similarly received pride of place in the municipal yearbook. (Actas 4, 17 March 1938, 7–16; E. R. Carvalho 1939, 16–18) Mentions to aesthetic control appear all over, but are hardly noticed by a historiography looking for the signs of “modern planning” understood in opposition to the vocabulary of aesthetics. Accordingly, I want to finish this section with two concluding reflections on the benefits which the appropriation of the old discourse of “urban aesthetic(s)” brought to the New State's urban policies and the relevance for historiographical approaches of the production of the city during the dictatorship. One has to do with the marginalization of “aesthetics” by discourse on modern architecture. As a consequence, the ideas of “urban aesthetic(s)” are easily relegated to the dust-heap of backward persistences of the past. The previous pages suggest, on the contrary, that during the 1930s the discourse and practices of “urban aesthetic(s)” facilitated rather than obstructed the 528 “É necessário velar pela estética da Cidade, entregando a quem de direito, aos arquitectos, a orientação geral das construções.” (Actas 4, 17 March 1938, 13) Significantly, the National Syndicate of Architects (the New State entity which had substituted Society of Portuguese Architects) reprinted Pacheco's comments approvingly, adding that it outlined a new and significant place for architects (“A fisionomia de Lisboa” 1938). S. V. Costa (2016, 126–29) interprets Pacheco's engagement with the aesthetic tendencies of architecture differently. – 319 – G. Verheij Domesticating the “urban aesthetic” during the early dictatorship modernization of planning practices.529 In general it provided a common and accessible language to publicly discuss the novel problems faced by the city, in a context where at best a few architects mastered the corresponding expert jargon. It contributed to a “collective interpretation” of the city (see Argan 1984, chap. 15). But there are also serious indications that it facilitated the dialogue of Portuguese professionals and politics with the French experts brought in as planning consultants. Evidence from Forestier has already been quoted (see p. 314 above). When De Gröer described in his report on the General Development Plan the “ugly and sad quarters” (feios e tristes bairros) of the last decades, and denounced the lack of character of much of modern Lisbon as the very absence of planning (a negação do urbanismo), he virtually echoed the 1938 report of the CMAA on the architecture award, even if the zoning solution he proposed was deeply modern. And in his recommendation to inventory and protect the principle viewpoints and points of scenic interest the novel idea of an urban green belt got linked to a set of standard descriptions about the city's “aesthetic.” (Camarinhas and Brito 2007, 183–84) “Clarity, bright colours, winding streets, impelling profiles, both symmetric and asymmetric, rich vegetation, easy access to high points, gardened belvederes with panoramic viewpoints over the river and the urban landscape,” as Abrantes put it.530 Similarly “embellishment” continued to be a standard topic in Agache's methodology, and he took up some long-standing “aesthetic problems,” such as the urban redevelopment of the area around the Belém Tower, disfigured by “abominable” factories and workshops, or the “screen of houses” (ecrán de maisons) which virtually everywhere blocked the magnificent views of the Tagos.531 It is also significant that in 1944 Portuguese architects inaugurated their generalized participation at international planning meetings with a discussions in Madrid of the essentially aesthetic impact of “flawed urban development” on rural area. Portuguese participants coincided with their Spanish colleagues in denouncing the dangers of bad taste, pretentiousness, “foreignisms” (estrangeirismos), mistaken folcloricism, counterfeits (fingimentos) and imitations, not to speak of the “cold geometry” of the grid, which 529 This hypothesis is further tested through a short study of Paulino Montez (see Epilogue). 530 “Claridade, tons alegres, ruas serpenteadas, perfis movimentados, simétricos e assimétricos, riqueza de vegetação, acessos fáceis aos pontos altos, miradouros ajardinados e panorâmicas sobre o rio Tejo, sobre o casario.” (Abrantes 1938, 2) 531 This is not to deny the innovative regional approach which Agache applied to the study of larger Lisbon, only to insist that aesthetic considerations continued to occupy a significant place. “Aussi est-il important, à côté des préoccupations hygiéniques et des préoccupations de trafic, de ne pas oublier ce qui appartient, selon nous, à l'art urbain. Conserver et mettre en valeur les monuments anciens, réserver des emplacements choisis pour les édifices futurs, tirer le meilleur parti, au point de vue pittoresque, des richesses que la nature offre libéralement aux yeux qui savent regarder, tels sont les trois points importants qui doivent guider l'urbaniste à qui l'on a confié une remodelation ou un aménagement nouveau.” (Agache 1936, 150) In the French textbooks of the 1930s aesthetic considerations similarly retained a significant presence in the increasingly scientific methodologies. – 320 – G. Verheij Domesticating the “urban aesthetic” during the early dictatorship threatened rural landscapes and picturesque villages.532 (Federacion del Urbanismo y de la Vivienda 1945, 13–27) A second consideration has to do with the historiographical use of the concept of “urban aesthetic(s).” Along the previous pages I showed how the New State effectuated in a few years the demands which, in pursuit of the “urban aesthetic,” had been repeated during the previous decades. But in fulfilling these long-standing aspirations the inherent disciplinary propensities were fine-tuned to the New State's own political aims. The unruly discourse of “urban aesthetic(s)” was tamed for the domestic uses of a totalitarian aesthetic politics and the original, elitist desires of the diffusion and democratization of bourgeois “Art” discreetly transmuted in the disciplinary control of the city's image and the ideological framing of public space.533 As in other inter-war dictatorships the arts were crucial to the reconstruction of the city as a stage of political power, here disguised as “Nation” and “History.” (Pedras 2014) Accordingly extensive networks of control were set up to tentatively monitor and discipline all aspects of the production of the city. The production of space was framed by a (manipulated) legal rationality made up of multiplying legislation, bureaucratic supervision, managerial control, direct commissions and self-censorship, unfolding a Foucaultian web of coercion and ideological surveillance. (Brites 2015; in general, A. C. Pinto 2001; Gil 1995; Rosas 2012) 532 The reference is to the 3d Congress of the Spanish Housing and Town-Planning Federation (Federación de Urbanismo y de la Vivienda), held in Lisbon, Madrid and Seville in October 1944. The topics discussed were the “Protection of the countryside against the infiltrations of flawed urban development” (Protección de los campos contra las infiltraciones de la urbanización defectuosa) and “Workers' housing in big cities” (La vivienda obrera en las grandes ciudades). Papers were presented by Pardal Monteiro, then president of the National Syndicate of Architects, A. Couto, António Reis Camelo (1899-1985) and Carlos Rebelo de Andrade (1887-1971). The Federation was created in 1939 by César Cort, and though it was primarily a Spanish affair it maintained connections with South-America and above all Portugal, were later congresses were held (1947 in Lisbon, 1951 in Porto). (García González and Guerrero 2014) For Portuguese architects the 1944 congress was a first step towards increasing internationalization, signalled, for example, by the 1st National Congress of Architecture (1948), the 2nd International Congress of Capital Cities (1950) or the 21st International Congress for Housing and Town Planning (1952), all in Lisbon. 533 J. Brites (2005) has proposed a similar interpretation of the “domestication” of architectural modernism during the New State. In general, the putative aestheticization of the city fitted well within the wider totalitarian project of the aestheticization of life typical of inter-war dictatorships. Notwithstanding the conservative, nationalist rhetoric the political project of the New State was deeply marked by the impact of modern mass society. The modern doctrine of nationalism promised, precisely, the possibility of re-integrating the modern, uprooted masses into a new-found social harmony. Hence the importance of propaganda – the seduction of the masses based on a pragmatic separation of political reality and its public representation, or, as Paul Valéry (1871- 1945) called it, the “exploitation of sensibility” – and the requisite of State control over issues of collective representation. (This is discussed in Verheij 2012; see also Esquível 2007, 71–79; for background, Rosas 2001; Trindade 2008; Torgal and Paulo 2008; Torgal 2009; Mosse 1975; Gentile 1996; Golomstock 1991; Griffin 2007; Gellner 2009; T. Clark 1997) – 321 – G. Verheij Domesticating the “urban aesthetic” during the early dictatorship The impact of this pervasive yet discrete government of the different aspects of spatial production have been been approached more or less directly in studies on public art (P. V. de Almeida 2002; Elias and Brito 2005; Elias 2006; 2007), urban heritage (R. M. da S. Matos 1999; M. J. B. Neto 2001), public architecture and urban design (Rosmaninho 2006; Elias 2004; 2010; Brites 2005; 2014; 2015), private architecture (Agarez 2016), State-subsidized housing (L. V: Baptista 1998; Marques 2004; S. D. Silva and Ramos 2015) and the ceremonial framing of public space through commemorative practices (João 2002). But disciplinary specialization tends to emphasize its own area of expertise rather than recognizing its place within a larger, political-aesthetic project that cannot be deduced from any singular artistic discipline. H. Bodenschatz (2015, 15–16) has argued that, in inter-war dictatorships, the main issue was actually urban design; the different arts “served to compose the city as a public work of art.” The discourse and aggregated practices of “urban aesthetic(s)” were, in 1930s Lisbon, one way to discuss, institutionalize and control this still unformulated field of urban design.534 534 The term “urban design” was first officially proposed as an autonomous discipline by José Luís Sert (1902-1983) at an International Conference at Harvard's Graduate School of Design in 1956. Sert conceived the discipline as a possible bridge between the increasingly distant disciplines of urban planning and architectural design. (Krieger and Saunders 2009) – 322 – G. Verheij [Figures] [Figures] Republican Lisbon – 323 – Figure 173: Popular revolts after legislative elections, April 1908. (Joshua Benoliel / In Illustração Portugueza, s. II, 112, 13 April 1908) Figure 174: Republican meeting at the Avenida Dona Amélia (today Almirante Reis) to demand municipal elections, 26 July 1908. (António Novais / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/ANV/000699]) Figure 175: Municipal garden-party at the Jardim da Estrela during the 4th International Congress of Tourism, 1911. (Joshua Benoliel / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/JBN/000871]) The four men up front are the Republican industrialist José Cupertino Ribeiro (1848-1922) and the municipal councillors Mirando do Vale, Braamcamp Freire and Barros Queirós. Figure 176: John Doe lost in the labyrinth of Republican promises. (In O Thalassa, 1: 29, 19 September 1913) G. Verheij [Figures] – 324 – Figure 178: Decoration of shop windows in the Rua do Ouro on occasion of the International Congress of Tourism in 1911. (In Illustração Portugueza, s. II, 274, 22 May 1911) Figure 177: G. Renda, Drawing for the menu of the municipal garden-party (see fig. 175 Above), 1911. (Courtesy of Associação Ventura Terra) Gilberto Renda (1884-1971), a nephew of M. Ventura Terra, combined national, municipal and personal mythologies. The train is a reference to the international travellers attending the congress, welcomed by a female allegory of the Republic raising an elaborate heraldic iconography around the city of Lisbon and Spanish-French-Portuguese friendship. Below, the landscape of Seixas, home-town of both Renda and Ventura Terra. Figure 179: J. Veloso Salgado, A cidade de Lisboa elige a primeira vereação republicana [The city of Lisbon electing its first Republican council], 1913. Oil on canvas, 342 x 261 cm. (Lisbon, Museum of Lisbon / Câmara Municipal de Lisboa – EGEAC) Ventura Terra is the one with a yellow hat near the painting's centre, half covered. The only other identified municipal council member is Braamcamp Freire, in front. For further discussion, G. Verheij (2015a). G. Verheij [Figures] Miguel Ventura Terra – 325 – Figure 180: Photographs of M. Ventura Terra from around 1910. (Courtesy of Associação Ventura Terra) Figure 181: J. Veloso Salgsado, Portrait of Miguel Ventura Terra, 1914. Oil on canvas, 130 x 108 cm. (https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File: Miguel_Ventura_Terra.jpg) Figure 182: M. Ventura Terra, Map of the General Development Plan for Funchal, 1915. (In C. S. Perdigão 2009) G. Verheij [Figures] Urban aesthetic(s) Publicity and its visual impact on public space was a common concern of municipal administrators. In 1909, the municipal president Braamcamp Freire complained about the oversized dimensions of some announcement panels of the Lusa Agency (total width was 1,48 meter, and height 4,28 meter). In 1912 the Department of Architecture requested the removal of one such panel from the Praça dos Restauradores, on the ground it was “contrary to all norms of urban aesthetics” (contraria a todos os preceitos da estetica dos arruamentos). (Actas 1909, 375–76; CML-RA 1912g) – 326 – Figure 183: Holiday picture taken in Rome, 1911. (Courtesy of Associação Ventura Terra) From left to right, J. Veloso Salgado and wife, Ventura Terra, his wife Louise Audigé and their niece Eugénia. The trip to Rome combined official incumbencies, private holidays and personal study. Figure 185: Freight boys at the Largo do Chiado; at the background an announcement panel of the Lusa Agency, 1907. (Joshua Benoliel / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/JBN/000243]) Figure 184: Parade during the municipal holiday; at the background an announcement panel of the Lusa Agency, 1913. (Joshua Benoliel / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/JBN/002516]) G. Verheij [Figures] The Eduardo VII Park – 327 – Figure 186: New meeting room in the Town Hall of Lisbon. (A. Lima / In O Occidente, 36: 1248, 30 August 1913) J. Veloso Salgado's painting (figure 179) is on the right; the bust in the corner seems to be the allegory of the Republic by J. Simões de Almeida (the younger). Figure 187: Prospective view of the Parque da Liberdade. (Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSB/UROB-PU/11/854]) This engraving accompanied the entry going by the motto Omne tulit punctum qui miscuil utile dulci (Horace: “He who has blended the useful with the sweet gains every point”) – almost certainly H. Lusseau's winning entry – to the 1887 competition for the Park of Liberty (later Eduardo VII). The Museum of Lisbon holds a series of watercolour drawings of architectural elements for the park: kiosks, a romantic bridge, a shelter with dovecote, a belvedere... (inv. MC.DES.4426 to 4412). Figure 188: CML-Serviço Geral de Obras, Design of the Parque da Liberdade, 1899. (Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSB/UROB-PU/11/497]) Below is the Marquês de Pombal square; the building in the upper central section is the exhibition palace. G. Verheij [Figures] – 328 – Figure 189: Photographic reproduction of a painted rendering of the future Eduardo VII Park. (Alberto Carlos Lima / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/LIM/002465]) The painting was made by municipal head gardener António Fernando da Silva in 1899, to be exhibited at the 1900 Universal Exposition in Paris. (Cunff 2000, 240–48) An oil painting of the plan of the envisioned park design decorated with flowers is at the Museum of Lisbon (inv. MC.PIN.945). Figure 191: State of the park around 1911, based on plates 9I, 9J, 9K, 10I, 10J and 10K from the survey by Silva Pinto, (In Levantamento 2005) Figure 192: CML-ROP. Design of the Eduardo VII Park according to M. Ventura Terra's changes, drawn by F. Homem da Cunha Corte Real, 1910. Ink and watercolour on tracing cloth. (Lisbon, Câmara Municipal de Lisboa) In the lower right corner there is an outline of the maximum building area according to special by-laws. Figure 190: Construction works for the Eduardo VII Park, 1909? ( Joshua Benoliel / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/JBN/000629, 630, 632 and 632]) G. Verheij [Figures] – 329 – Figure 193: Comparison between the designs for the Eduardo VII Park from 1899 and 1910. (Based on maps included in CML-Serviços da Planta da Cidade e Expropriações 1936) In red, architectural changes; in blue, the disappearing lake. Figure 194: Sheet with topographical and road sections, signed M. Ventura Terra, dated 23 June 1909. (In CML-ROP 1910a) Figure 195: Types of fences for residences around the Eduardo VII Park, dated 23 June 1909. (In Terra 1909) Handwriting is identical to fig. 194. Figure 196: CML-ROP, Types of fences for residences around the Eduardo VII Park, signed Fernando Homem da Cunha Côrte-Real, dated from 25 June 1910. (In CML-ROP 1910a) G. Verheij [Figures] – 330 – Figure 198: Ceremony of the foundational stone of the Monument to the Heroes of the Revolution. (In Illustração Portugueza, s. II, 295, 16 October 1911) The country's president, Manuel de Arriage, performs the ceremony; behind him, Braamcamp Freire, municipal president; on the right, J. A. Soares, director of the municipal Department of Architecture. Figure 199: First, second and third awards at the 1914 Pombal competition. (In O Occidente, 37: 1271, 20 April 1914) Winning model by A. Bermudes, A. Couto and F. dos Santos; the second prize went to J. Marques da Silva and A. Alves de Souza; third prize went to J. Ferreira da Costa and E. de Paula Campos. Figure 201: Inaugural ceremony of the construction of the Monument to Pombal, 12 August 1917. (Joshua Benoliel / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/JBN/000637]) At the background the future Eduardo VII Park. Figure 200: Aerial views of the recently-inaugurated Pombal Monument, around 1934. (José Pedro Pinheiro Corrêa / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/PIC/000008]) In the upper left corner the lake of the Eduardo VII Park. Figure 197: M. Ventura Terra, Model of a monumental arch at the competition for a Monument to the Heroes of the Peninsular War, March 1909. (Joshua Benoliel / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/JBN/000399]) Ventura Terra recycled the model, here exhibited at the Portuguese Society of Geography, in a later proposal for a monument to the Republican Revolution (Actas 1910, 664–65). G. Verheij [Figures] – 331 – Figure 202: Arthur Prat in his atelier in Paris. (In Illustração Portuguesa, s. II, 4, 19 March 1906) Figure 203: A. Prat and his allegory of the Republic. (In Illustração Portugueza, s. II, 298, 6 November 1911) Figure 205: Aerial photograph of the Eduardo VII Park between 1930 and 1932 (Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/MBM/000015]) The house of A. Prat is indicated with a circle. Figure 206: Aerial photograph of the Eduardo VII Park, 1950, (Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/SPT/S0056]) The final project by Keil de Amaral pragmatically solved the problem of the park, leaving space for a much-discussed future extensions of the Avenida da Liberdade through the park. On the left side, a row of apartment buildings encased A. Prat's house. Figure 204: M. Ventura Terra, Designs of back and front façade of A. Prat's house. (In A Construção Moderna, 14: 5, 10 March 1914) G. Verheij [Figures] – 332 – Figure 207: Artur Prat's house at present. (Images: Author, 2014) The only remaining physical trace of Ventura Terra's alternative proposal for the Eduardo VII Park is Prat's house, designed by the architect himself. Ironically, today it houses the Order of Engineers, built into a construction of glass, iron and concrete which completely blocks the visual relation between the house's back and the park over which it was supposed to open. The iron grid blocking the view may be seen as a practical joke of history on the conflict between somewhat picturesque garden aesthetics and the calculated severity of the grid. G. Verheij [Figures] On the waterfront – 333 – Figure 208: Overview of sites of interventions at the waterfront, based on plates 10E and 11E from the survey by Silva Pinto. (Levantamento 2005) The blue area in the Rua do Arsenal indicates Ventura Terra's proposed gallery (figure 231). Figure 209: CML-ROP, Map indicating municipal possessions in the Cais do Sodré area, including the municipal fish market and the temporary Agricultural market, indicating occupation and respective state of “aesthetics” and conservation of selling boots, 1909. (Lisbon, Municipal Archive, PT/AMLSB/CMLSB/UROB-PU/09/00804]) Figure 210: Aerial view of the Cais do Sodré area around 1934. (João Pedro Pinheiro Corrêa / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/PIC/000018]) Note the new railway station and enlarged market. G. Verheij [Figures] Figures 211–214 reproduced from “Lisboa Futura” (Illustração Portugueza 1910) The illustrations accompanying the 1910 interview with Ventura Terra, published in Illustração Portugueza, are unsigned, yet it is probable they were furnished by one of the magazine's illustrators (though, given stylistic differences, probably not by Alonso). They are certainly not made by the architect; they are way too vague in their spatial definition. This is clear when compared to the only signed drawing included, a rendering of the Rua do Arsenal after Ventura Terra's proposed modification signed by his nephew, G. Renda (fig. 231). Figures 213 and 214 suggest that the illustrator worked from photographs over which he freely pasted Ventura Terra's suggested changes. Consequently, the pictures should be interpreted as the creative re-imagination of the interview, rather than the direct representation of the architect's proposals. – 334 – Figure 211: Cais do Sodré area, cleared of the railway. Note the two markets left. Figure 212: Waterfront promenade in front of the garden of Santos. The cross left indicates the site for a new railway terminal. G. Verheij [Figures] – 335 – Figure 213: Monument to Sá da Bandeira, before and after the proposed modifications. Figure 214: Waterfront avenue before and after the proposed modifications. The building left is a former electricity and gas fabric, the façade of which still exists. Figure 215: Modern and traditional port technologies. (In Illustração Portugueza, s. II, 341, 26 August 1912) The article stresses the need to modernize port structures to adopt them to international expectations; the commercial success of a port depended essentially on the advantages it provided, and while the port of Lisbon offered an excellent location and good natural conditions of access, shelter and anchorage, the rapidly evolving technologies of maritime trade – the constant evolution of vessels and cargo capacities, the increasing rapidity of trade transactions – required continuous updates to port infrastructures. (Prata 2011, chap. 1) G. Verheij [Figures] – 336 – Figure 216: Revamped waterfront for the 1908 National Exhibition in Rio de Janeiro, “city of splendour.” (In Illustração Portugueza, s. II, 146, 7 December 1908) Figure 217: Tests of electrical lighting along the waterfront of the 1911 Turin Exposition. (In L'Esposizione di Torini: Giornale ufficiale illustrato dell'esposizione internazionale delle industrie e del lavoro, 2: 15, February 1911) Figure 218: Antwerp's Zuiderterras (South Terrace) around 1909. (© Gjenvick-Gjønvik Archives) The Zuiderterras was one of the port's two “walkways” (wandelwegen) along the river Schelde, built in 1884- 1887. During port modernization in the 1870s and 1880s entire blocks of houses had been demolished to create 100 meter deep quays. As the new warehouses and sheds withdrew sight of the river from inhabitants it was decided to build terraces on pillars. (Agentschap Onroerend Erfgoed 2016) G. Verheij [Figures] – 337 – Figure 219: CML-ROP, Design of a garden (future Jardim Roque Gameiro) to be built in front of the Praça Duque da Terceira, signed by D. Peres, dated 27 February? 1909 (Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSB/UROB- E/23/0783]) Figure 220: Jardim Roque Gameiro, undated. (Eduardo Portugal / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/POR/024421]) G. Verheij [Figures] – 338 – Figure 221: Municipal fish market, 1905? (Alberto Carlos Lima / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/LIM/001344]) Figure 222: Entrance to the municipal fish market, undated. (José Chaves Cruz / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/CRU/000610]) Figure 223: Municipal fish market, between 1882 and 1893. (Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/LS M/000981]) The market was inaugurated in 1882 according to a design by Ressano Garcia from 1876. Figure 224: Interior of the municipal fish market, 1912. (Joshua Benoliel / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/JBN/000109]) Figure 225: Temporary Agricultural market, 1905. (Alberto Carlos Lima / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/LIM/001345]) In the background the façade of the fish market. G. Verheij [Figures] The historical background to this temporary agricultural market is given in a 1914 report by the municipal councillor Lourenço Loureiro (?-1915). The market was the successor of another temporary market, installed after 1903 at Campo de Sant'Anna after disagreement among vendors over the distribution of exiguous space at the Praça da Figueira (dismantled in 1949). In 1905 it was decided to remove this market in order to create a garden (actual Jardim Braamcamp Freire) to suitably frame the new installations of the Medical School. The installation at unused land in front of the fish market was supposed to be temporary, awaiting the choice of a definitive location. Over time the improvised constructions expanded to adjoining land, creating an obstacle to any comprehensive intervention in the area. (Actas da Comissão Executiva 1914, 148–49) The architectural quality of these constructions was generally deplored. “Distinctly unimposing,” W. H. Koebel (1909, 113) called them with British understatement; a “hideous and sickening pile of filthy sheds and barracks” (medonho e nauseante amontoado de infectos barracões e telheiros), wrote L. Loureiro. In the end it remained at the spot until 1927. – 339 – Figure 226: Temporary agricultural market, undated. (Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/SEX/000199]) Figure 227: Temporary agricultural market, undated. (Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/SEX/000201]) G. Verheij [Figures] – 340 – Figure 229: Avenida 24 de Julho, with the market on the right, undated. (Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/POR/075008]) Figure 228: CML-RA, Ante-project of the enlargement of the municipal fish market, signed by Jorge Pereira Leite and Edmundo Tavares, dated December 1914. (Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSB/UROB- OM/06/010]) This design almost certainly followed the original proposal promoted by Ventura Terra, which was at least partially elaborated by Pereira Leite and discussed in the municipal council session of 28 November 1912. The final project was finished in 1915; funding was secured through a loan of the Caixa Geral de Depósitos in 1916. However, within the restraints of a (post)war economy construction, directed by the municipal architect J. A. Piloto, proceeded slowly through a mixture of direct construction and partial contracts, and was only finished around 1926-1927. (Actas 1912, 796; CML-RA 1912i; Actas da Comissão Executiva 1922, 20–22) Figure 230: Façade of the enlarged municipal market, undated. (Eduardo Portugal / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/EDP/001348]) G. Verheij [Figures] – 341 – Figure 231: M. Ventura Terra's proposal for the Rua do Arsenal. (In Illustração Portugueza 1910) The architectural rendering is signed by G. Renda; the picture of the street's present state is by Joshua Benoliel. Figure 232: Rue de Rivoli, Paris, 2011. (User: Mbzt / Wikimedia Commons / CC BY-SA 3.0) Figure 233: Rua do Arsenal, 1910? (Joshua Benoliel / Lisbon, Municipal Archive, [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/JBN/001202]) G. Verheij [Figures] – 342 – Figure 234: CML-RA, Design of façade modifications in the Rua do Arsenal. (Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSB/UROB-PU/09/00132]) The same dossier includes two other original drawings and two copies dated from 20 August and 30 September 1912, which do not exactly match any of the original drawings. The main differences is in the oculi, here in the lateral and central pillars of the gallery. Figure 235: Public watch with the legal hour, 1914. (Joshua Benoliel / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/JBN/000321]) G. Verheij [Figures] Ventura Terra and cheap housing – 343 – Figure 237: Newspaper notice about misery in Casal Ventoso. (In A Capital, 31 July 1910) Figure 236: CML-ROP, Second improvement scheme for Casal Ventoso, dated from July 1911. (Lisbon, Municipal Archive, [PT/AMLSB/CMLSB/UROB-PU/09/00098]) In red projected changes. The scheme was approved in September 1911. Figure 238: Rua Garrido shortly before demolition, June 1939. (Eduardo Portugal / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/POR/056510]) G. Verheij [Figures] The Carmo support wall – 344 – Figure 240: Postcard of the Rua do Carmo, 1910s. (Arquivo Marina Tavares Dias) On the right the support wall according to L. Gaia's design from 1912 but before an additional four shops were made in the lower section in the 1920s. Figure 241: Álvaro Machado, Proposed redesign of the support wall in the Rua do Carmo. (In A Construcção Moderna, 7: 4, 20 August 1906) Figure 239: Original Pombaline support wall in the Rua do Carmo. (In A Construcção Moderna, 12: 374, 20 July 1912) Figure 242: L. Gaia, Redesign of the the support wall in the Rua do Carmo. (In A Construcção Moderna, 12: 374, 20 July 1912) Figure 243: A. Marques da Silva, Design of a tourist pavilion in Gothic style to be build around a support pillar of the Elevator of Santa Justa. (In A Construcção Moderna e as Artes do Metal, 12: 367, 5 April 1912) G. Verheij [Figures] Lisbon in the 1920s – 345 – Figure 244: Discovering the Camões quarters. (In Illustração Portuguesa, s. II, 817, 15 October 1921) Figure 245: Bernardo Marques, Drawings of city life. (In Illustração Portuguesa, s. II, 836, 25 February, and 837, 4 March 1922) Figure 247: Mass housing for the poor. (In M. M. de Carvalho 1922) Figure 246: Views of a collapsed building and popular protest against bad construction. (In Illustração Portuguesa, s. II, 818, 22 October 1921) Housing shortage brought with it substandard housing stock and a series of sudden collapses of buildings around 1920. G. Verheij [Figures] The transformation of the Rossio – 346 – Figure 248: The Rossio around 1910, according to plates 11F and 11G from the survey by Silva Pinto. (In Levantamento 2005) Figure 249: CML-ROP, Modification project of the Rossio square, according to suggestions by A. J. Vieira, dated 14 May 1909. (Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSB/UROB-E/23/0918]) Vieira proposed to enlarge the sidewalks to 7,50 meter and streets to 20 meter. The asphalted streets were divided in two lanes separated by safe havens; the interior carriageway was for trams. A new street of 10 meter would link the Rua do Amparo and the Calçada do Carmo through the middle of the square, circumventing the central monument by means of an 8 meter- wide rotunda. Figure 250: CML-RE, Modification project of the Rossio square following A. Pereira. (In S. Barradas 2010) Pereira's variant consisted in three islands with a diameter of 31 meter, including 5 meter-wide sidewalks and grass beds, around the central monument and fountains and two more safe-havens of 31 x 4 m2. Lateral sidewalks would be enlarged to 12,5 meter, leaving 20 meter for streets. Four monumental light posts-cum- kiosks circled the monument. Figure 251: CML-CEM, Alternative design for the Rossio square, signed by J. A. Soares, dated 23 December 1913. (Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSB/UROB- PU/11/490]) In dotted lines the existing situation; in continuous lines the Commission's proposal, with indication of tramways. Figure 252: Final project for the Rossio square approved in 1919. (In E. de Oliveira 1920) G. Verheij [Figures] Social housing at Arco do Cego – 347 – Figure 253: Repaving the Rossio square, around 1920. (Joshua Benoliel / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/JBN/000696]) Figure 254: The Rossio square after the modifications, mid- 1920s? (Joshua Benoliel / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/JBN/004267]) Figure 255: Ambitious prospect of social housing at Arco do Cego. (In Illustração Portuguesa, s. II, 746, 7 June 1920) Figure 256: A. C. Rocha de Vieira, Worker greeting neat rows of fresh housing. (In Illustração Portuguesa, s. II, 689, 5 May 1919) The drawing was published on occasion of the inauguration of work at Arco do Cego. “Poucas vezes aos nossos olhos se desenrolou espectaculo tão imponente, não que nos surpreendesse a quantidade de pessoas que enchiam o vastissimo recinto, mas pelo pensamento que a todos ali reunia e pelo que se lia n'aqueles milhares de olhos, iluminados de esperanças.” (Paiva 1919) G. Verheij [Figures] – 348 – Figure 257: Scheme of pavements and sewage for the social housing project at Arco do Cego, undated (Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSB/UROB-PU/10/441]) In black projected green areas. Notice how public space is little more than leftovers and the framing of a central entertainment hall. Figure 258: Final plan of the social housing complex at Arco do Cego, dated 22 February 1933. (Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSB/UROB-PU/10/441]) Scale and orientation are similar to fig. 257: note the reduction in size. Figure 259: Construction at Arco do Cego. (In Illustração Portuguesa, s. II, 812, 10 September 1921) Figure 260: Members of the new Administrative Commission visit the construction site at Arco do Cego, 16 November 1926. (Lisbon, Torre do Tombo [PT/TT/EPJS/SF/001- 001/0003/1281A]) G. Verheij [Figures] Designing Lisbon in the 1920s – 349 – Figure 261: CML-RE, Scheme for a working-class district in Penha de França, 1917. (Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSB/UROB-PU/09/00826]) This new working-class district would occupy some 60 ha, of which about 16 ha of parks and parkways (alamedas) and almost 30 ha of construction lots. In his accompanying report, Diogo Peres distinguished between arterial roads (ruas de viação) and residential streets (ruas de construção); the first were laid out pursuing the smallest slope to ease transit; the second obeyed economic rationale (cost of expropriation and projected resale value); all were 20 meter wide but with different types of road sections. Extensive tree-planting was justified on grounds of urban decorum (saneando e dando alegria ás vias publias). A central park was composed of two parts, divided by a road: one for the “recreation of sight” (vista), one for play and sports. Figure 262: Scheme of “Bairro de Penha de França” published by E. de Oliveira (1920) superimposed on a city map from around 1920 (Á. Santos n.d.). G. Verheij [Figures] – 350 – Figure 264: Scheme of “Bairro da França” published by E. de Oliveira (1920) superimposed on a city map from around 1920 (Á. Santos n.d.). Figure 263: Scheme of the upper-class residential garden-suburb “Bairro da França.” (In E. de Oliveira 1920) This high class development on top of the Eduardo VII park was to occupy about 70 ha, with streets (30 meter wide), avenues (40 meter wide) and over 40 ha of gardens. Behind the proposal was pragmatic reasoning: as the projected Exhibition Palace on top of the park recquired an imposing access (a problem pinpointed by Terra and Bermudes, see earlier chapter), municipal president Levy Marques da Costa promoted in 1914 the study of a 40 meter-wide avenue linking the park with a future Forest Park. The accidental nature of the terrain imposed a curved solution; existing luxury mansions with gardens along the Rua do Marquês da Fronteira suggested the creation of an upper-class residential development, in which garden-suburb references are obvious. G. Verheij [Figures] Gardens and garden sculptures – 351 – Figure 265: Extension scheme of the Avenida Joaquim António de Aguiar. (In E. de Oliveira 1920) The Avenida is the one going up from the right, linking to arterial roads towards Campo de Ourique (Rua Ferreira Borges, left) and Campolide (up); the Eduardo VII Park starts on the right side about were the map ends. The original project and accompanying report are kept at the Municipal Archive (CML-RE 1920). Figure 266: Picturesque aspects of Lisbon's gardens. (In Illustração Portugueza, s. II, 56, 18 March 1907) In a tourist travelogue from the same year one reads: “Few, if any, capitals can show such a number of public gardens and open spaces planted out with such a wealth of trees and shrubs as Lisbon. The nearness of Africa is brought constantly to mind. (…) The sites of these delicious oases of greenery and rare colour have been chiefly chosen on the high places of the city, whence the eye can feast on a variety of pictures in which the colours of the massed houses blend into an inimitable, delicate harmony (…).” (Inchbold 1907, 19–20) Figure 267: President Manuel de Arriaga in his garden with children. (In Illustração Portugueza, s. II, 321, 15 April 1912) “Desabrocham as flôres nos jardins, veem os passaros cantar nas ramarias. Ha no espaço um deslumbramento, na lama uma alegria, na terra uma germinação. Eis a primavera, esta linda primavera que enche de luz os espaços e de perfumes os jardins.” According to the anonymous author, spring brought flocks of children to the public gardens; he interpreted this as a symptom of the democratization of the cult of flowers and nature. G. Verheij [Figures] – 352 – Figure 270: Cartoon figuring the Republic and its promises as a sculpture. (In A Capital, 31 December 1910) Figure 271: Bernardo Marques, graphic inventory of different psychological types of garden benches.(In Illustração Portuguesa, s. II, 878, 16 December 1922) In the article by Eduardo Frias and Ferreira de Castro one reads: “Como as ruas, como a fachada de certas casas, os bancos voluptuosos dos jardins os os bancos humildes das largas avenidas têm a sua psicologia, a sua emaranhada historia.” Figure 269: Kiosk at the Praça David Leandro da Silva. (Image courtesy of Rita Ochoa) Other kiosks of the same type can be found at the Jardim Roque Gameiro, Parque Silva Porto and Jardim Constantino. Each kiosk is decorated with distinct azulejo compositions by José Pinto. Figure 268: CML-RA, Design of a kiosk with public bathroom, signed by J. A. Soares, dated from 4 December 1913, (Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSB/UROB- E/23/0921]) The kiosk was designed for public squares and gardens after a suggestion of municipal council member Albino José Baptista. The choice of materials – bricks, limestone, glazed tiles, wood, fibre cement... – made it a cheaper option than the traditional iron-cast kiosks. G. Verheij [Figures] Disciplining space, staging History and Empire. Lisbon during the New State – 353 – Figure 272: Premises of the 1940 Exhibition of the Portuguese World in Belém, undated. (Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/003/DPP/000001]) Figure 273: Formation of troops during the 13th Anniversary of the Revolution of 28 May 1926 at the Terreiro do Paço, 1939. (Lisbon. Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/JDN/000002]) Figure 275: “Typical” Portuguese rural architecture reconstructed at the Exhibition of the Portuguese World in Belém, 1940. (Paulo Guedes / Lisbon. Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/PAG/000379]) Figure 274: J. Barradas, Milkmaid and Sailor, 1933. Lithograph, 35,5 x 26,5 cm. (Lisbon. National Library) Figure 276: J. Barradas, Fish wife and folk architecture, 1933. Lithograph, 35,5 x 26,5 cm. (Lisbon. National Library) G. Verheij [Figures] Planning Lisbon from Freitas and Forestier to De Gröer – 354 – Figure 277: Alberto and Eugénio Mac-Bride, Vicente de Freitas, Proposal for an urban forest. (In A Época, 14 February 1925) Figure 278: Departure of J.-C. N. Forestier, 20 February 1927. (Lisbon, Torre do Tombo [PT/TT/EPJS/SF/001- 001/0195/0229B]) Forestier is the smaller man with white head. Among those present are the municipal engineer A. E. Abrantes, the artist Jorge Colaço and council member H. Quirino da Fonseca. The Mac-bride brothers were art-collecting doctors with an interest in urban matters. The authors promoted the green belt, which would start at Entrecampos and circumvent the city until Alcântara, as the biggest “urban lung” of Europe (fittingly Eugénio had specialized in asthma treatments). The central rotunda (with a projected diameter of a staggering 300 meter) is at Sete Rios, linked the 120 meter-wide avenues. The forest itself would comprehend four sport-fields and three recreational lakes. The image was also reproduced in Diário de Notícias (4 February 1925). G. Verheij [Figures] – 355 – Figure 279: J.-C. N. Forestier, Ville de Lisbonne: Étude pour une nouvelle avenue sur le Tage, September 1927. Gouache on paper. (Lisbon, Museum of Lisbon / Reproduced from Leclerc 1994) Figure 280: J.-C. N. Forestier, “Ville de Lisbonne, Étude de la continuation de la l'Avenue de la Liberté et de l'aménagement d'un grand parc avec cités-jardin et terrains de jeux,” November 1927. Photographic reproduction, 1943. (Lisbon, Municipal Archive, PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/MNV/000133) Forestier extended the Northern axis of the Avenida da Liberdade through the Eduardo VII park, progressively leading into a densely landscaped area by a series of monumental squares and buildings. (See Cunff 2000, 276–78) Figure 281: CML-RE, Design of the Eduardo VII Park, signed by the engineer Augusto Gomes Froes Júnior (1889-1964). (Lisbon. Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSB/UROB-PU/10/055]) Note the small houses on the sides, a legacy of Ventura Terra's project. Figure 282: L. Cristino da Silva, Perspective view of a proposed design of the Eduardo VII Park, 1930, (Espólio Luís Cristino da Silva / Fundação Calouste Gulbenkian / Reproduced with permission) G. Verheij [Figures] – 356 – Figure 283: 1948 Master Plan for the development of Lisbon, directed by E. de Gröer. (In J. C. Mesquita 1952) Figure 284: Cottinelli Telmo, Perspective rendering of a proposed redesign of the Rossio square, 1935. Ink on paper. (Lisbon, Museum of Lisbon / Câmara Municipal de Lisboa – EGEAC) This drawing was part of Telmo's entry to the 1935 competition of the “aesthetic improvement” of the square. G. Verheij [Figures] Examples of urban aesthetics Figures 285–291: stylistically diverse examples of successful urban composition, according to the Anuário of 1935 (CML 1936). – 357 – Figure 289: Detached houses in the Avenida António José de Almeida, “forming a constructive volume of much unity and strong modernist expression.” Figure 285: Detached houses in the Avenida Columbano Bordalo Pinheiro, combining modern expression with national character. Figure 287: Apartment building in the Largo Afonso Pena, stylistically marking the transition to modern style. Figure 290: Entirely modern apartment building in the Rua Nova do Desterro. Figure 288: Apartment buildings in the Rua de Artelharia 1, in transition towards modern expression. Figure 286: Apartment buildings near São Sebastião da Pedreira, “with much architectural unity and harmony of building volumes.” G. Verheij [Figures] Paulino Montez and urban design – 358 – Figure 291: Detached house in the Rua Castilho with modern expression. Figure 292: Modernist building with “beautiful architectural proportions and great harmony of the whole volume,” (In CML 1937) Figure 293: Watercolour exhibition by Paulino Montez, 30 October 1926. (Lisbon, Torre do Tombo [PT/TT/EPJS/SF/001- 001/0003/1218A]) Figure 294: P. Montez, drawing of the Rossio square. (In Diário de Notícias (5 January 1925) Figure 295: P. Montez, Drawing of the Avenida da Liberdade. (In Diário de Notícias, 13 February 1925) Figure 296: P. Montez, Drawing of historical buildings of Lisbon as expression of their time. (In Diário de Notícias, 25 March 1927) G. Verheij [Figures] – 359 – Figure 299: Cover of Montez 1933. Figure 300: Cover of Montez 1935. Figure 297: Cover of Bünz 1930.Figure 298: Otto Bünz, Drawings of townscapes. (In Bünz 1909) Figure 301: P. Montez, “Bairro do Alvito,” aerial photograph in 1947. (Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/003/FDM/002136]) Figure 302: P. Montez, Scheme of the “Bairro da Encarnação.” (In Montez 1958) G. Verheij Epilogue: An aesthetic of Lisbon? EPILOGUE: AN AESTHETIC OF LISBON? In February 1935, shortly after being appointed member of Lisbon's administrative commission, the architect Paulino Montez presented a study on “The Aesthetic of Lisbon” (A Estética de Lisboa). After a brief overview of the city's historical roots Montez summarized the usual critiques on modern urban development in Lisbon. To the architect, the layout plans of modern extensions had been deeply irrational (um riscado caprichoso). The resulting avenues and streets were often unsatisfying: lumpy or droopy (artérias descaídas e lombudas), unending or excessively large, contemptuous towards geographical relief... The architecture, squares and public artworks “naturally” followed the “débâcle” (descalabro). Though by temperament inclined towards monumentality, for Montez “methodical and rational urban development” (uma urbanização metódica e racional) could not but take into account the irregular geography, the views, landscape. According to the architect a city's beauty ultimately depended on the “agreement or harmony of its layout and expression with the city's features and shared needs.”535 Perhaps he was responding to the conference series on the city's problems which had just ended (see p. 315 above). There his colleague C. Telmo had, with modernist belligerence, ridiculed everything picturesque and proposed to bulldoze it all to “create space.”536 Montez proposed instead something like a balanced interplay between both categories (picturesque and monumentality), elaborating on what he identified as a “monumental sector” from Praça do Comércio to the Eduardo VII Park, or even Campo Grande, while elsewhere taking advantage of viewpoints, height differences and curves. In support he quoted both Sitte (1918, 85) and Le Corbusier (1925, 202–202, where Le Corbusier admits curved roads in irregular terrain). The study ended with the argument that only the vigour of thoughtful prevision, formalized in a general development plan, could guarantee such urban harmony. 535 “... o acôrdo ou harmonia do traçado e da expressão com as características da urbe, com as necessidade e aspirações mais comunso dos habitantes.” (Montez 1935, 57) 536 “Uma das coisas que mais nos embaraça é o pitoresco! (…) Pitoresco é o bairro onde as casas se amontoam sem ordem, formando recantos, saguões, furnas justificadas por um arco de volta abatida, com um fecho com umas gotas pombalinas ou encimado por um registo de azulejos antigo; pitoresco são as ruas onde não cabem duas pessoas a par, onde as varandas de grades desconjuntadas se tocam e as pedras da calçada se levantam para espreitar o próprio pitoresco [etc. etc.] Demolidos êsses focos de infecção (…) criámos espaço; demolido o mau hospital-convento ou a escola-convento má, criámos espaço. Êstes espaços serão jardins, facilitarão a abertura de novas ruas, constituirão zonas de protecção para edifícios anexos, serão, enfim, o terreno que faltava para construir de raiz um outro edifício novo, se não fôr mais acertado deixá-lo livre.” (Telmo 1936, 20–22) – 360 – G. Verheij Epilogue: An aesthetic of Lisbon? On first reading the essay seems a little superficial: modernized vocabulary for an old idea. However, Montez – a graduate of the Academy of Fine-Arts and accomplished water-colourist (Figure 293) – was not yet another Lisbon-loving amateur. Though strangely neglected in architectural and planning history Montez played a crucial role in the public visibility and mediation of the new discipline of planning (urbanismo).537 He was the first professional to actively engage in theoretical elaboration, starting in 1933 a collection of accessible and well- designed monographs on urban planning in Portugal (“Estudos de Urbanismo em Portugal”), in which he used his own work as illustration (Figures 299–300).538 In an introductory “Preamble” (1933b) Montez paraded reasonable command of the recent history of he discipline, noting how older expressions – the “architecture of cities” (Arquitectura das cidades), the “art of city-building” (arte de construir cidades) or even “town-planning” (planeamento de cidades) – were becoming inadequate to comprehend the increasingly supra- urban, regional scope of planning approaches. These “tremendous prospects” (rasgados horizontes) were contrasted with local disinterest. No legislation (I recall that the first law on statutory planning wouldn't be approved until 1934), no official planing department, no comprehensive planning strategies or even updated topographical surveys, only occasional interest unhampered by broader reflections on the city.539 Curiously, while Montez' private library, today held at the municipal archive of Peniche, figures a number of specialized works on planning, few of them are dated from before 537 During the 1930s Montez occupied a number of relevant public posts: jury member of the Rossio competition (see above), member of Lisbon's administrative commission with responsibility for urban hygiene in 1935-1937, deputy at the National Assembly in 1935-1936 and staff member of the Planning Office created in 1936 to execute Agache's plan for the Costa do Sol. In Lisbon, he pioneered modern urban design in a municipal housing development at the edge of the Monsanto park (Bairro de Alvito, a municipal initiative which Montez promoted as a matter of hygiene, improving the living conditions of municipal employees), followed by a much larger residential development near the airport (Bairro da Encarnação). (Gregório 2014) After 1945 Montez' most relevant role was in education, dictating the meaning of planning to students of architecture at the Academy of Fine-Arts in Lisbon, first at a practical course of urban design and planning (Projectos e obras de urbanização) and after 1948 in a theoretical course (Urbanologia). (Moniz 2011) P. V. Gomes (1988, 131–32) described him as a “symptomatic” specimen of the time's local architectural culture (um homem sintomático da situação geral da cultura arquitectónica portuguesa) based on much less. 538 The collection was continued with interruptions until 1978, when it counted 10 volumes, but essentially documents Montez' work in planning and urban design from the 1930s and 1940s (Gregório 2014, 163–89). The complete series comprehends a “Preamble” (1933b) and studies on Mafra (1933a), the “Bairro de Alvito” (originally called “Bairro Salazar”), “Bairro da Encarnação” and Alcântara valley in Lisbon (1938; 1958; 1977), Caldas da Rainha (1941a), Penich (1943b; 1976; 1978a) and the “Costa do Sol” (1978b). The intended audience was the general public, especially those who would be directly affected by the plans. Hence the works avoid specialist jargon and at times even lapse into oversimplification. 539 “A própria capital do País – que na 'baixa pombalina' conserva um arranjo urbanístico que foi, no seu tempo, dos mais notáveis de todo o mundo – não possui qualquer estudo de conjunto que mereça designar-se por 'plano da cidade.'” To Montez, the work done in Lisbon by Ressano Garcia, E. A. Abrantes or J.-C. N. Forestier were schemes (traçados) rather than plans (planos). (Montez 1933b, 15, 29) – 361 – G. Verheij Epilogue: An aesthetic of Lisbon? 1933.540 Everything suggests that the main source for his “Preamble” was the Spanish translation of a work by Otto Bünz, published in 1930.541 Not only is it profusely underlined, including some comments on the future of regional planning which are remarkably similar to Montez'; the format and cover design itself strongly recalls the innovative design of Montez' own publications, and probably inspired it. (Figures 26, 28–29) Still, Montez did not follow up Bünz' sophisticated methodology, abiding instead with the traditional division between a “regularization plan” (plano de regularização, of the existing city) and an “extension plan” (plano de extensão), to which he added an “embellishment plan” (plano de embelezamento) and, in 1935, a regional plan (plano regional). (Montez 1933b; 1935) The works from the collection show Montez systematically applied the same program, starting with historical and geographical summaries, followed by inventories of main issues and anticipated future needs. From there the chosen solution is clarified, with circulation, public facilities and later use zoning as important arguments. (Gregório 2014) The “embellishment plan” was far from accessory in this construct; not necessarily an autonomous plan, it really focused on the aesthetic dimension of the other plans and versed the details of design. While aesthetic investment is most obvious in the architectural framing of monuments, the placement of public art or in ornamental motives – see the dedicated attention to the Palace in Mafra, the aqueduct in Alcântara (Lisbon) or the sea in Peniche – Montez took pains to make clear he considered planning in itself essentially an art, with synthesis and harmony as its ultimate aims.542 540 Among the architectural treatises and specialized literature on pedagogy, art and municipal administration, planning-related literature from before 1933 only includes G. B. Ford's L'Urbanisme en pratique (1920) and O. Bünz' textbook (see note 541 below); less directly related, two picture books by Walter Müller-Wulckow (1929; 1930) on modern architecture and urban design in Germany. The works from Sitte (1918) and Le Corbusier (1925) quoted in 1935 are not in his library. He did possess copies of the textbooks by J. Raymond (1934), P. Abercrombie (1933, in the Spanish translation from 1936), C. Cort (1941) and a few Portuguese works (Resende 1943; J. J. M. N. Soares 1945), but the larger share was French writing from the 1940s (Gutton 1941; Boll 1942; Bardet 1945a, b; 1948; Le Corbusier 1946; Vera 1946; Antoine 1946; Guitard 1947). The dates suggest he acquired them for his teaching at the Academy of Fine-Arts, and didn't keep up afterwards. 541 Otto Bünz (Otto Robert Bünz, 1881-1954?) was a professor at the Städtebau-Seminar of the Technische Hochschule of Berlin. The prologue was written by his better-known colleague Hermann Jansen (1869-1945). The work was originally published in German in 1928 and translated by CIAM member Fernando García Mercadal (1896-1985), who had worked with Bünz in Bilbao a few years earlier, and Otto Czekelius (1895-1974), a German architect and planner working in Spain during the 1920s and 1930s. (García González 2013, 21–23, 66–68) 542 “O urbanismo poderá tomar-se como ciência ou como aplicação de ciências várias; mas será sempre uma verdadeira arte. Isto porque os seus problemas têm de resolver-se com o objectivo último: de síntese e de harmonia. Consequentemente, os estudos de urbanismo têm na sua essência, carácter artístico. Porém, sucede que em muitos deles, esse carácter se dilue, a ponto de se tornar quase exclusivamente utilitário.” (Montez 1933b, 30) In 1935 Montez told the National Assembly that a development plan is “essentially a study of architectural harmony or proportions” (estudo de harmonias ou proporções arquitecturais). (Diário das Sessões da Assembleia Nacional, 9 March 1935, 461) – 362 – G. Verheij Epilogue: An aesthetic of Lisbon? “Aesthetic interest” was the main editorial criteria for inclusion in his collection. Indeed, the origin of Montez' interest in planning can be traced back to earlier writing on the “urban aesthetic” (estética citadina or da cidade), starting around 1925 – the same year his name pops up in municipal documentation, as a member of a supervisory commission on the quality of urban building (Actas da Comissão Executiva 1925, 45). Then his approach was markedly Sittean, though there is no evidence of actual engagement with the Viennese architect at this time.543 On the one hand, he held the conviction that public space and its aesthetic qualities were a matter of public interest, as the streets and squares of a city had – like public art – an eminently pedagogical and civilizing role which warranted an “aesthetic of streets.”544 On the other, he went beyond the customary opposition between natural beauties and architectural ugliness, advising to observe and respect the particular rationality of pre- modern city-building.545 Still he preferred the city's monumental ensembles, from the 18th century squares to some of the modern avenues of Lisboa Nova, over the “crooked, narrow streets” (ruas tortuosas, estreitas) and “disgusting, irregular buildings” (edifícios irregulares e execráveis) deplored in 1935 and which others were starting to appreciate (f. ex. Diário de Lisboa 1934; L. Chaves 1935). (Figures 294–96) As it happens, Bünz' work was not only a useful, well-documented and up-to-date practical planning guidebook but also a strong case for a modernized Sittean tradition. Bünz introduced his work with a call to return to the “sound sense” (sano sentido) of the masters of old and urged his readers to learn by drawing from sight (Bünz himself had published a collection of 543 The Sittean note is most obvious in a discussion of urban squares from 1926, in which Montez remarked on the importance of the square for the “image” of the city and proposed a Sittean account of the disappearance of the public square in modern life and the tendency to reduce it to allotment left-overs. The combination of Sittean approaches and monumental predilections should be placed within the eclectic aesthetics of academism (hence Montez' reliance on a repertoire of mostly 19th century architectural references). During the 1920s Montez promoted the “architecture of cities” (a arquitectura das cidades) as one of the Fine-Arts, subjected to the unchanging laws of Beauty. (Montez 1925a, b; 1926; 1927a) 544 Montez approvingly quoted C. M. Dias: “Ao povo que não pode morar em palacios devemos as ruas, as avenidas, os jardins e os parques por onde ele transita com recreio e enlevo. (…) A beleza de uma cidade não é megalomania censuravel, mas dignidade edificante. Uma cidade bela educa e civiliza.” Later he wrote: “A higiene, circulação e quantas mais conveniencias de ordem util, não satisfazem de per si aos requisitos actuais duma cidade. A estética das ruas tem o fim educativo e social, bem levantado, de condensar, em formas de Arte, uma acção sempre exalante das mais belas impressões, ao mesmo tempo infundidora dos mais nobres sentimentos.” (Montez 1925a) Montez held similar ideas on public art, which he considered essentially a means of education. He disparaged the “petty monuments” and garden sculptures of the Republic and anticipated a “national public art” (arte pública nacional), capable of escorting the masses, through the salutary seasoning of souls in the past, towards a better future. (Montez 1928; see also 1925b; Elias 2006, 56–58; for Montez’ ideas on aesthetic education, see 1941b; 1974) 545 “Lisboa, habituada a importar a olhos cegos o bom e mau do estrangeiro, sugestionada constantemente pela França, nos costumes, na politica, nas belas letras e nas artes, copia de Paris as linhas rectas nascidas lá por exigencias especiais que entre nós nunca existiram! A falta de estudo dum traçado racional que proviesse da sua propria natureza e das necessidades dos seus municipes, havia de arrastar a longa série de absurdos que aparecem espalhados por toda a área da cidade. Nas avenidas e nas ruas, desenhadas na prancheta como um traçado matematico de esgotos ou via ferrea, dividem-se os terrenos em talhões de forma igual, sem previsões de harmonia e de expressão de cada rua, cada praça ou cada bairro.” (Montez 1926; see also 1925c, d; 1927a) – 363 – G. Verheij Epilogue: An aesthetic of Lisbon? urban sketches years earlier, see Figure 298).546 Among urban history, legislation, economy, use zoning and public green spaces, “civic art” figured prominently, defined in relation to the pursuit of harmony.547 One understands the appeal such a work could exert over Montez. It facilitated the promotion of an approach to urban planning intimately related to the “urban aesthetic.” In short, for Montez urban planning was, in the context of the modern city, the necessary means to arrive at urban beauty (even if it also fulfilled other “utilitarian” needs), perhaps even the possibility to turn the modern city itself into a work of art. In this sense this was (and would remain) the most elaborated attempt to integrate the heritage of three decades of discussion of the “urban aesthetic” into the fabric of the promising discipline of planning. A happy marriage was proposed: aesthetics needed planning to impose itself on the city; planning needed aesthetics to guarantee a solid urban image, as suited a newly-found capital of Empire. Montez provides thus a particularly telling example of the hypothesis proposed earlier that “urban aesthetic(s)” was not necessarily an obstacle to the modernization of planning practices (though it was so, of course, to modernist planning practices). The question as to the nature of the “aesthetic” of Lisbon still remains elusive. In a sense, Montez' proposal of a balanced interplay between monumentality and the picturesque captured in positive terms an commonly observed opposition. Raúl Proença548 had clarified this opposition a decade earlier: it was the contradiction between “natural conditions” and “the work of men” (a obra dos homens), between a “noble frame” (nobre moldura) and the “poor, vulgar content” (vulgar pobreza do conteúdo), between “the wonder of far-a-way perspectives” (a maravilha das perspectivas longinquas) in “a city made of distance and illusion” (cidade toda de afastamento e de miragem) and the “disillusion of close exam” (as desilusões do exame proximo) (R. Proença 1924, 181). In short, between landscape and architecture. When Montez stated that urban beauty depended on the harmony of “layout and expression with the city's features and shared needs” (see p. 359 above) perhaps this was the point: the “city's features,” among which the natural setting undoubtedly stood out, did not 546 “El cuaderno de apuntes será el mejor camarada, tanto para el principiante como para el ya formado especialista, debido a que los estudios sobre el natural tienen un mayor valor, más profundas raíces, sólo como complemento debemos servirnos de la fotografía. (…) En todas partes encontraremos ocasión de estudio, tanto de conjuntos como de detalles. Dimensiones de plazas y sus aspectos, perfiles de calles, anchos de vías, aspectos característicos, edificios de todas clases, puentes, túneles, viaductos, pendientes, organización de tráfico, parques y jardines, distancias entre árboles y otro sinnúmero de datos pueden ser objeto de estudio para el urbanista.” (Bünz 1930, 18– 19) The publication with sketches is Städtebaustudien (1909). 547 “El Arte cívico se ocupa de la disposición armónica de las masas de las edificaciones de las plazas, calles y superficies verdes, etc. Lo mismo que de la creación de disposiciones de tráfico, edificios públicos, casas de vivienda y comercio, monumentos, fuentes, escalinatas, rampas, jardines, muelles, etc., persiguiendo siempre, tanto en el detalle como en el conjunto, una total armonía.” Later Bünz defends a “broad policy of urban aesthetics” (amplia política de estética urbana), based on the examples of the past and comprehensive design. (Bünz 1930, 49–50, 74) 548 R. Proença (1884-1941) was a progressive writer and at the time director of the National Library. There he started the publication of a multi-volume Guide of Portugal, for which he obtained collaboration of the flower of late-Republican intellectuals. The first volume is dedicated to Lisbon. (A. Reis 2003, 398–407) – 364 – G. Verheij Epilogue: An aesthetic of Lisbon? naturally blend with the “shared needs” which for many – at least for Montez himself – included proper, architectural monumentality. Proença's description of nature's “noble frame” is remarkable. After deploring the “blotchy, cold banality” and the “aesthetic dumbness” (banalidade charra, de frieza, de “surdez” estética) of Lisbon's architecture, it takes form in a sudden love-song which stands out from the otherwise concise prose: Assim abandonada dos fados e dos homens, Lisboa seria uma cidade quase inteiramente insulsa e inestética, como nenhuma outra incolor e incaracterística, se não resgatasse estes defeitos, amplamente, a sua maravilhosa situação dominadora, e não a enriquecesse de pitoresco um rio como o Tejo, raro no Mundo, de gradações infinitas de colorido, irreais como panoramas entrevistos em sonho – azul profundo por vezes, anilado de outras, de outras azul-celeste, e ainda de outras cor de pérola, ou dum espantoso tom de ardósia, ou listrado de sulcos nacarados, quando não retalhado em faixas polícromas de encantador cambiante –, rio largo e profundo como um mar, grandioso e evocativo, inconcebivelmente proteico e sempre belo. (…) Cidade disposta em anfiteatro, em sucessivos terraços, em todas as orientações imagináveis e a variadíssimas alturas, ora perdendo-se lá longe, numa colina distante, vestida de arvoredo, ora avançando sobre o rio como o estreito tombadilho duma nau, os seus prospectos, variadíssimos, não se repetem uns aos outros. (...) Vista de qualquer desses pontos altos da cidade, a casaria apinhoa-se numa confusão inextrincável, mas, na pobreza da sua arquitectura, refulge ao sol como diademas de oiro. E tudo isto é diferente, tudo isto muda a cada passo e a cada instante, com a posição do observador, o esplendor do sol, a hora do dia, o estado das nuvens. Vista do Tejo, a cidade, então, transfigura-se, pois que, erguendo-se em anfiteatro, como dissemos, sobre as suas numerosas colinas, em sucessivas abaladas para as alturas, e entremostrando deste modo as verduras dos seus jardins, as graças dos seus recantos, e dando a falsa impressão de haver aladas torres, coruchéus, pináculos, agulhas recortando-se no azul sem mácula do céu português, parece assim mais bela que a realidade, e erguida ali em paisagem etérea pela varinha mágica do rio feiticeiro, criador de encantamentos e miragens. (R. Proença 1924, 179–80) Not unlike Fialho de Almeida's “Lisboa monumental” almost two decades earlier, Proença's description captured in a particularly successful way a very common type of descriptions. To take one other unsuspecting example, W. Hegemann, preferring concision over Proença's multiplying metaphors, wrote essentially the same when he passed through Lisbon on his way to Buenos Aires in 1931: Lissabon is the most beautiful city one can imagine. Similar to Paris and Madrid, she has the advantage of a topography of various heights as well as the ocean, reminiscent of Naples, fantastic, wonderful! Every new trip by tram, automobile, elevator (lift) or by trains ascending the mountains reveals new unexpected and astonishing views.549 Proença contrasted these singular natural conditions – the marvellous “gift of sky and water” (dádiva do céu e da água) – with Lisbon's inhabitants, who, he wrote, simply turned their 549 Letter from W. Hegemann to Ida Belle Hegemann, August 1931, quoted and translated by C. C. Collins (2005, 254). – 365 – G. Verheij Epilogue: An aesthetic of Lisbon? back. They covered the river with a decorative screen (biombo) of buildings as if it were an annoying neighbour (vizinho incómodo). E assim, em vez de tudo convergir aqui para o rio fantástico, de ele ser o fundo dos quadros decorativos, de constituir, por assim dizer o leit-motiv da estética citadina, e de se abrir a seu lado uma das mais belas avenidas do Mundo, corre ali um paredão inestético de casaria, de fábricas, de armazens, e até de gasómetros, ocultando ao lisboeta a vista do seu largo e claro rio. (R. Proença 1924, 180–81) Let nature – the river, the viewpoints, the natural amphitheatre on which Lisbon was build, the colours and the light – be the leitmotif for an “urban aesthetic”...! The solution seems simple, and recalls many other similar calls which have been brought to these pages. Why didn't it happen? Was it really only because of the lack of administrative capacity, political will or capable experts? I think the apparent simplicity is misleading. For one, Proença's contradiction was as much, perhaps even more, in the gaze as in the object. This becomes clearer when the oppositions from Montez' prescriptions and Proença's description around the supposed contradiction between architecture and landscape are arranged in a table. built environment ⇔ natural landscape monumental ⇔ picturesque order ⇔ variety urban composition ⇔ panoramic vistas proximity ⇔ distance object ⇔ “frame” Table 7: Contrasts associated with the contradiction between Lisbon's architecture and landscape. Of course, in practice the left column was used negatively: lack of monumentality, disorder, dissonance, disillusion. It refers to the values desired but, alas, missing. So let's assume for a moment that these oppositions had more to do with the gaze than the object – that it was not so much the city and its architecture which contradicted, in their ugliness, the beauty of landscape, but that both were looked at differently. Put like this, something rather obvious comes up. Complaints about architecture and the built city at large consistently deployed (and found missing) the usual precepts of classical architectural aesthetics: symmetry, order, proportion, harmony, those values of supposedly universal beauty, independent of the vicissitudes of time or place. The complaints are, unsurprisingly, levelled at (the outward appearance of) architectural objects or visually perceptible ensembles of architectural objects (i.e. defined urban spaces). On the contrary, rapture over Lisbon's “blessings of nature” consistently deployed the usual topics used to appreciate natural scenery: distance, demanding views, variety and surprise, in short, variations on the sublime and the picturesque (see Berleant 2015). Seen from this angle, it would appear that few were actually prepared to follow Proença's suggestion, that is, few would accept those values prized in the city's natural setting in actual urban form. Proença, for one, would clearly not: he ended his description with critiques of the – 366 – G. Verheij Epilogue: An aesthetic of Lisbon? disorder and misery of old Lisbon and drew out the construction of a new, monumental city inspired on Fialho de Almeida's as the task for upcoming generations. (R. Proença 1924, 184) Neither was Montez. Besides similar dismissive remarks, his actual schemes in Lisbon (Alvito or Encarnação) translated the informed balance between picturesque and monumentality which he theoretically proposed in perfectly symmetric layouts of curved roads. (Figures 301–2) Whenever the values associated with Lisbon's natural landscape – variety, fluidity, undulation, imprecision (P. V. Gomes 1988, 135–36) – appeared in architecture or urban settings they were dismissed as disorder, indecision, dissonance. (For another example, Lucena 1935) As Montez' ideas illustrate, from the viewpoint of “urban aesthetic(s)” the city continued to be approached as a work of art. The idea of turning the entire city in a work of art grounded on the artist's intention was at the time widely spread, even if eventually it proved a dead end (Sonne 2003). Now for Montez, and most of his contemporaries, the artwork was roughly defined, in traditional fashion, by the embodiment of intentionality (“thoughts,” “feelings,” “order”) in form. At least for Montez, the subject of intentionality was not necessarily the artist – it could be a school, a people, an age, a civilization – but of course “genius” (the artist-as-subject) was its usual stereotype. (Montez 1927b; 1928; 1943a, 13–14, among others) Such an intentionally could manifest itself in urban form through visual order, hierarchy or harmony. In Lisbon, this idea – and the absence of these values – clearly had been the basis of aesthetic criticism of the existing city during the preceding decades, while hopes were set on the imposition of form by the steady hand of a conscious subject (“the artist,” “the architect,” “the planner”). This explains the attraction to “urban aesthetic(s)” of the prospects of planning and its supposed capacity to discipline the urban landscape through prevision and design. The traditional idea of the artwork was however not up to the particularities of landscape which so visibly intruded upon the city. In reality, landscape resisted “urban aesthetic(s).”550 This is still a variant of the paradox of the desire of classical monumentality in an overtly non-classical context (see p. 183 above), translated in the paradoxical concept of a city picturesque as a whole, but monumental in the details. What might happen when one takes Proença's suggestion seriously? Consider the following extract: Lisboa é uma cidade original que ainda não tomou consciência do que é e do que vale. (…) A primeira especificidade de Lisboa, é um urbanismo que, em vez de nos afastar da natureza, procura com ela uma reconciliação. (…) Lisboa surge perante todo aquele que a visite com olhos ingénuos ou sábios, como semeada de templos onde realmente se presta culto à natureza: são os miradouros, todos eles com os seus jardins (…), suspensos do alto das colinas sobre os panoramas mais belos que a cidade pode oferecer. (…) [A] subtil regra da natureza vai aparecer simbolizada em toda a cidade urbanística e arquitectónica. A sobreposição de planos e de perspectivas, a 550 “A topografia das colinas lisboetas opõe-se teimosamente às uniformidades do desenho e dos desígnios rectilíneos. Lisboa suscita quase que automaticamente a ideia de caos da tradição novecentista – que os nossos 'críticos' e arquitectos dos anos 20 e 30 [of the 20th century] tantas vezes enfadadamente referiram.” (P. V. Gomes 1988, 135) – 367 – G. Verheij Epilogue: An aesthetic of Lisbon? irregularidade no traçado das ruas, a sucessão de calçadas, travessas e escadinhas íngremes dir-se-ia terem sido propiciadas pelas condições do terreno. (Quadros 1958, 3, 6, 8, 14) The quotes are from an intriguing essay about the “enigma” of Lisbon, written in 1958 by the philosopher António Quadros (1923-1993). Though the author's quest for a slightly mystical, “trans-historical” national attitude towards nature makes for difficult reading, his practical “case” – the “urban aesthetic” (estética urbanística) of Lisbon – is highly suggestive. Quadros considered that this “urban aesthetic” was of mostly unconscious elaboration (one senses a different, post-surrealist and post-existentialist notion of the artwork, understood as the not entirely controlled outcome of both conscious and unconscious forces). It consisted of a particular relation between city and nature, of a “strange and diffuse cult of nature” which persisted despite the human-nature divide of humanist culture, so visible in the contradiction identified by Proença. It materialized in the city's continuous vacillation between high and low, distance and intimacy, opulence and poverty, hanging gardens with viewpoints and abrupt by-streets, small balcony gardens and undisciplined vegetation... Quadros suggests here a radically different “aesthetics.” An art responding to such a description would not follow the demands of monumentality and order, raising them inevitably against the “picturesque” of landscape, but instead modestly try to blend with nature. An urban picturesque (Ábalos 2005), approaching the city as if it were itself a garden. “Greening” the city was a common ideal at the time (Gravagnuolo 1998, chap. 2); Agache and collaborators had included a section on the “natural resources” available to the planner in their 1916 textbook, and recommended they be used generously for picturesque effects.551 In practice this was much like garden design applied to the city (of which the “garden-city” was only a possible case). Two years earlier a Portuguese garden professional, F. J. Borges, had ruminated about something alike.552 For Borges Lisbon was literally a garden-city – not because if followed the ideals of E. Howard, who was not mentioned, but because of an original vocation to distinguish itself by its “peculiar panoramas” and “notable perspectives,” its gardens and parks, a rural persistence (Borges quotes Horace: “rus in urbe”). (Borges 1914a) Borges noted how expanding urbanization, covering the once bucolic hills, was changing the panoramas and the peculiar shades of sunset. But within the inevitable process of urban growth and modernization, the “singular natural perspectives” of Lisbon should be “vigorously defended,” endowing the city with its own unmistakable beauty. While Borges 551 “Au point de vue pittoresque, l'urbaniste n'est pas limité aux heureuses rencontres du hasard; il a pour lui des ressources de la nature et il doit en user largement. Il prendra avantage, par exemple, des mouvements du terrain, des cours d'eau, des perspectives et des points de vue. Si la ville ou une partie de la ville s'élève en pente plus ou moins accentuée, il établira des rampes, des escaliers, des lacets, qui inciteront les constructions à s'étager suivant un certain rythme. Il aura préparer des jeux de silhouettes et, par de des échappées en terrasses, réserver des vues sur les lointains.” (Agache, Auburtin, and Redont 1916, 63) 552 Francisco Julio Borges was an agronomist with a relevant trajectory in writing. In the 1880s he had been editor of the Jornal Telegraphico e Postal: Revista mensal de administração de Telegraphos e Correios (1885-?); he was also founding member and frequent contributor of A Agricultura Contemporanea (1886-1902) and Portugal Agricola (1889-1911). No further bibliographical data was found. – 368 – G. Verheij Epilogue: An aesthetic of Lisbon? agreed that the architecture of modern Lisbon lacked expression and “aesthetic feeling” (sentimento estético), his solution was original. A new art should change it with resort to “adequate ornament” (decoração adequada): gardens adorning verandas and rooftops, roses blossoming on balconies. The “aesthetic” of the city could profit from the “harmonious entwining” (harmonicamente entrelaçados) of the effects of “natural panoramas” with the “architectural structure” (estructura arquitectonica). The “expression of landscape” (expressão paisagista), parkways and gardens, trees and flowerbeds could give emphasis and charm (realce e encanto) to architecture. This task fell, according to Borges, to “landscape architects” (arquitectos paisagistas).553 (Borges 1914a) Borges outlined, even if only tentatively, an art of collaboration with nature as the basis for an “urban aesthetic:” a new “Garden Art” (Arte dos Jardins) applied to the city at large, framing architecture and public art (Borges 1914a–c) In a sense, this was what Forestier, that consummate gardener, proposed in 1928, even while he took up the city's main monumental desires (the extension of the Avenida da Liberdade and a riverside promenade): Lisbon as a giant “park-city,” structured and organized by parkways and green areas in order to rediscover its monumentality in reciprocity with nature (Casals Costa 2009). The response of human design, as actual fact or potential art, to nature and inherited conditions seems a fertile and perhaps necessary starting point for a history (and theory?) of urban form in Lisbon for contemporary use. The point here is however another one: the contrast between a putative “garden art” for Lisbon taking its inspiration from a local particularity (the singular relation to nature) and the imposition of (monumental) form. It signals a tension behind the aesthetic certainties of the discourse on “urban aesthetic(s),” which can be visualized thus: the desire of the plan ⇔ a response to place The desire of the plan refers to the ambition of giving form to the urban landscape according to certain (often badly formulated) images of the city, which only the disciplinary capacities of planning and supervision would be able to accomplish. It embodies a will to power, ultimately defined by the utopian idea of (re)building the city as a work of art: “monumental Lisbon.” This is the most visible aspect of “urban aesthetic(s),” and taken by itself one needs not be an inveterate pessimist to consider this ambition doomed to fail, nor a radical modernist to think it better so. 553 The role of garden professionals – usually going by the designation of agronomist, horticulturist or simply gardener – in the 'pre-history' of modern planning in Portugal awaits a definitive study, though F. le Cunff (2000) provides much valuable information. Like elsewhere (for an overview, Capel Sáez 2002; Duempelmann 2009), there are strong reasons to think that garden professionals played more than just a secondary role. The issue of urban green spaces was a constant municipal concern and a frequent motive for international contacts. Since the 1850s – about the time that the ideal of the gardened square became popular among Lisbon's elites – the administration of municipal green spaces was, after Parisian example, an autonomous service. Though no specialized monographs were published, garden professionals had their own publications since 1870 (Jornal de Horticultura Prática, 1870-1892) and a specialized municipal library with international references since 1874. In 1902 agronomists created their own society (Sociedade de Sciências Agronómicas de Portugal). (Viterbo 1906; Cunff 2000; Frazão 2012) – 369 – G. Verheij Epilogue: An aesthetic of Lisbon? The response to place, however, was as much part of this discourse, visible, for example, in the constant tendency to “discover” the city and its features, or in the equally constant injunction that urban development take these features in account. Less often, original ideas appeared here: a defence of the curve (A. Botelho 1908) or the kind of “city-gardening” proposed by Borges. Taken far enough, responding to place ended in regionalism, adapting (or desiring to adapt) city-forming processes to local geographies, specificities and traditions. The tension can be crudely captured in this question: should the city follow the dictates of “Art,” or art aspire to satisfy needs of the city? In terms of urban design, should the city be modelled according to increasingly internationalized, standardizing procedures, or should these design procedures be reinvented in dialogue with the singularity of the city? This lurking contradiction was perhaps particularly visible in Lisbon, but it can be traced back to the Sittean reaction against the “monotony” of 19th century urban design and was, despite its own particularities, part of a broader questioning about how to re-elaborate the age-old precepts of urban decorum to apply them to the 20th century metropolis. Of course, among the architects, art lovers and other amateurs writing on the “aesthetic” of Lisbon the issue was never formulated in such binary and explicit terms. Indeed, shielding behind the apparent consensus and at times afflicting superficiality of the discourse on “urban aesthetic(s)” was often a way not to deal with it; “urban aesthetic(s)” was repeatedly found to be a common place with the appearance of consensus, camouflaging aesthetic difference with the supposed solidity of unchanging Beauty. But – as I hope I have shown – the tensions and contradictions, common places and platitudes, vigour and prolixity of aesthetic discourse on the city provide an indispensable historical frame for the way Lisbon was thought, seen and designed at the start of the 20th century. – 370 – G. Verheij Conclusions CONCLUSIONS Where did discourse about “urban aesthetic(s)” come from, how to define it, what did it to do the production of the city and where did it finally lead to? These were, in a nutshell, the questions formulated in the Introduction. Here I want to very briefly inventory the answers proposed in this study to end with some possible contributions to a future research agenda. At the centre of aesthetic discourse about the city was dissatisfaction with modern Lisbon; it originated from increasing critique about the development schemes and actual architecture which gave form to urban growth since the 1870s. These critiques reached their apogee during the first decade of the 20th century, crystallizing into a series of unceasingly repeated common places about the “ugliness” of the city and the need for public authorities to renovate practices of urban design and exert aesthetic control. From a critique of the “urban aesthetic” it discreetly ventured towards an “urban aesthetics.” I tried to show that this discourse cannot be understood without a background of booming urban growth, modernization of all aspects of urban life and nascent perceptions of metropolitanization. Aesthetic discourse was, indeed, one way to make sense of these rapid changes, and can be associated to a broader phenomenon of critique on 19th century methods of urban development and design. This is signalled by C. Sitte's impacting book from 1889 on the “artistic principles” of city-building, rapidly assimilated into an emergent discipline of urban planning. In general, I have argued that inquiries into urban debate and practice in Lisbon during the early 20th century cannot but take into account the international circulation of ideas, images, persons and methods, both in the general public sphere and specialist networks. As to the latter, Portuguese professionals with a potential interest in matters of urban planning and design were shown to have access to these networks; the failure to institutionalize planning disciplines in Portugal before the 1930s was the result of a fragile institutional landscape rather than provincialism or cultural backwardness. Diffusion of international ideas and practices depended thus on generalist engagement and occasional one- man-projects. Still, urban discourse and practice develop in hidden or overt dialogue with international ideas and practices, in which aesthetic arguments were a common presence. In Lisbon, “urban aesthetic(s)” remained a vague notion, in part because it could not be assimilated into a more solid notion of urban planning. While it brought together a variety of intellectuals and professionals, what joined them was a shared aversion to the products of recent urban development rather than a common program. The dreamy idea of “urban beauty,” never properly defined nor discussed, gave shelter to different aesthetic ideals and social, professional and cultural projects. “Urban aesthetic(s)” was a common place rather than a concept. Against this background of ambiguity architects, recently associated in a – 371 – G. Verheij Conclusions national society and struggling to claim social status and professional relevance, profiled themselves as the necessary experts, capable of distinguishing beauty and applying “aesthetics” to the city. They claimed professional authority over the “aesthetic of the Capital” and proposed themselves for the exercise of institutional “aesthetic censure.” In 1909 a Commission of Municipal Aesthetics was created on the initiative of the architect Miguel Ventura Terra, a former president of the Society of Architects who had been elected municipal councillor the year before. This commission was created with the intention of assisting municipal technicians in processes of urban development and of exercising aesthetic control over private building and development. The immediate success of this entity was limited; aesthetics became an issue of conflict between Ventura Terra and the director of the municipal Department of Public Works, resulting in a final reorganization of the latter department, split between Engineering and Architecture. While architects consequently received more importance within the municipal machinery on grounds of their supposed aesthetic expertise, urban development remained in practice a task of municipal engineers. As to aesthetic control, notwithstanding successive attempts the Commission was never endowed with the necessary legal and executive capacities to exert the desired “censorship” over private building projects. These attempts, which span the entire period of the First Republic (1910-1926), appear systematically linked with calls to wider urban planning policies: aesthetic control was a standard ingredient of envisioned policies of wider public control over the built environment. Notwithstanding the often fanciful proposals of transforming the entire city into a work of art, in the practice of design “urban” or “municipal aesthetics” appears associated with the city's representative public spaces and bourgeois leisure and sociability. Detailed studies of designs by Ventura Terra for an urban park and the city's central waterfront suggest that aesthetic concerns were a factor of renovation of practices of urban design, introducing a modern notion of public space as essential to urban life in a modern city. Paradoxically, the legacy of this new approach is not found in the work of architects involved in subsequent processes of urban design, but in a gradual, inconspicuous renovation of design practices at the municipal department of Engineering and in pioneering Republican policies of green spaces. Finally, to come back to a question I started the Introduction with, three decades of engagement with the notions of “urban aesthetic(s)” underpinned the confidence with which New State architects and politicians could talk about (and legislate) this subject. Persistent debate about it during the previous decades – over proposals for robust legislation or a larger role for experts, over competences and incompetency – not only maintained the discourse on “urban aesthetic(s)” alive but also reinforced its obviousness, spread its common places beyond the confines of cultural elites in which it was born, turning it into an obvious ingredient for any comprehensive intervention in the city. However unsatisfying in actual results, it prepared the ground for the modernization of planning practices under the banner of a new discipline, urbanismo. P. Montez provided the most obvious formulation of this link between modern urban planning and the decade-old discourse of “urban aesthetic(s).” – 372 – G. Verheij Conclusions Along this inquiry, a number of topics for further research surfaced. It seems useful here to review two general points which I think should be assimilated into research agendas on urban development and cultures in Lisbon during the first half of the 20th century. One has to do with the kind of perspectives adopted by the researcher, with the choice of “contexts” within which to place the urban forms, texts and images we are inquiring. Research should be extremely attentive to two aspects which, in general, have not yet been sufficiently incorporated. These are, on the one hand, the international circulation of ideas, images, persons and methods, and on the other the local specificities of place. Both inscribe themselves in practices of spatial production not through linear, deterministic readings of an assimilation of an idealized norm of supposed centres, but through a dynamic, often surprising interplay, all the more visible in a city of Lisbon where geographical conditions impose themselves so heavily and pervasively. This means, of course, to abandon pre- established narratives, chief among which the certainties of a still persistent modernist account which identifies modern planning with a few principles popularized after the Second World War, and thus ignores a large swath of the disciplinary panorama which, even at the time, could not be reduced to the Athens Charter. The subject of “urban aesthetic(s),” so alien to modernist ideologies, in this sense proved a useful starting point to question the validity of these narratives. A second has to do with the need to study the production of the city beyond the plan. The present inquiry of the troubling term of “urban aesthetic(s)” helped to make visible the limitations of research approaches which only consider general development plans, ignoring other forms of producing space, from architectural objects and practices of urban and landscape design to partial development schemes. In general, the level of public space is essential to grasp the urban history of a city and the formation of its urban landscape. Up to a point, these forms of producing space only become more relevant when there is no general development plan approved, as is the case in early 20th century Lisbon. Republican Lisbon can become a privileged object to inquiry into modes of spatial production beyond the statutory plan, yet for the moment this study suggests that, beyond the platitudes about chaos and political instability, urban research on this period is deeply insufficient. – 373 – G. Verheij Appendices APPENDICES – 374 – G. Verheij Appendix 1: Chronology of international planning institutions, 1899-1938 Appendix 1: Chronology of international planning institutions, 1899-1938 Internationally relevant institutions, including specialized periodical publications (in italics) and conference series. International expositions are included for reference. – 375 – Appendix 1: Chronology of international planning institutions, 1899-1938 1890 1895 1900 1905 1910 1915 1920 1925 1930 1935 W orld Expos 554 Paris C hicago B russels Paris St. Louis Liège M ilan B russels G hent San Francisco B arcelona Chicago B russels Paris G erm an Städtebau 555 Der Städtebau, after 1930 Wasmuths Monatshefte für Baukunst und Städtebau (1904-1939) Seminar für Städtebau, Berlin (1907-1920?) Stadtbaukunst alter und neuer Zeit, after 1929 Stadtbaukunst: Die farbige Stadt (1920-1931)556 Freie Akademie des Städtebaues (1922-present)557 Art Public L'Œuvre de l'Art Public (1893-1912?) L'Art Public (1896-1912) Liège Paris Liège B russels ← International Congresses of Public Art British Town Planning • Town Planning Act (1909) Garden City Association, after 1909 Garden Cities and Town Planning Association (1899-present)558 Garden Cities & Town Planning (1903-present), after 1932 Town and Country Planning National Housing Reform Council, after 1909 National Housing and Town Planning Council (1900-1999)559 Department of Civic Design, Liverpool School of Architecture (1909-present)560 Town Planning Review (1910-present) Town Planning Institute (1914-present)561 554 According to the Bureau International des Expositions (www.bie-paris.org). 555 Most Prussian states had approved specific planning legislation by 1890. 556 Edited by Cornelius Gurlitt and Bruno Möhring. In 1921-1922 B. Taut published his avant-garde supplement “Das Fruhlicht” here. 557 After 1934 Deutsche Akademie für Städtebau, Reichs- und Landesplanung, after 1946 Deutsche Akademie fur Stadtebau und Landesplanung (dasl.de). – 376 – Appendix 1: Chronology of international planning institutions, 1899-1938 1890 1895 1900 1905 1910 1915 1920 1925 1930 1935 Papers and Discussions of the TPI, after 1923 Journal of the TPI (1914-present)562 North-Am erican City Planning APOAA563 American Civic Association (1904-1934) APCA564ALCI565 National Conferences on City Planning (1909-1934) Proceedings of the NCCP, after 1924 Planning Problems (1910-1934) The City Plan (1915-1918) American City Planning Institute (1917-1978)566 City Planning (1925-1934) ASPO566 Planners' Journal566 Urbanism e • Loi Cornudet (1919) Musée Social (1894) Section de hygiene urbaine et rurale (1908-?) Société française des architectes-urbanistes, after 1920 des urbanistes (1913-present)567 Le Maître d'Œuvre Urbanisme (1932-1989) ESAP EHEU Institut d'Urbanisme (1924-2015)568 La Vie Urbaine (1919-1977, interrupted in 1940-1950) 558 Actually the Town & Country Planning Association (www.tcpa.org.uk). 559 In 1999 the NHTPC merged with the Housing Centre Trust and in 2002 became part of the Royal Town Planning Institute. 560 Presently part of the Department of Geography and Planning of the University of Liverpool. 561 Since 1959 Royal Town Planning Institute (www.rtpi.org.uk). 562 Presently The Planner (www.theplanner.co.uk). 563 American Park and Outdoor Art Association (1897-1904) 564 American Planning and Civic Association (1934-1971). In 1971 it became part of the National Urban Coalition. 565 American League for Civic Improvement (1900-1904) 566 The ACPI became in 1939 the American Institute of Planners, which in 1978 merged with the American Society of Planning Officials (ASPO) to form the American Planning Association, the journal of which continues Planners' Journal (planning.org). 567 www.urbanistes.com – 377 – Appendix 1: Chronology of international planning institutions, 1899-1938 1890 1895 1900 1905 1910 1915 1920 1925 1930 1935 Société des urbanistes belges, after 1923 des urbanistes et architectes modernistes (1919-1970) La Cité: Urbanisme, architecture, art public (1919-1935) International institutions International Garden Cities Association, after 1926 International Federation for Housing and Town Planning (1913-present)569 International Town Planning Conferences: London London London London Paris G othenbrug A m sterdam N ew York V ienna Paris Rom e B erlin London Union Internationale des Villes / International Union of Local Authorities (1913-2004)570 International Congresses of Cities: G hent A m sterdam Paris B ern Seville Liège London Lyon B erlin Paris G lasgow M odernist planning L'Esprit nouveau (1920-1925) International Congresses of Modern Architecture (CIAM): La Sarraz Frankfurt B russels A thens Paris Plans Prelude 568 The Institut d'Urbanisme existed within the University of Paris between 1924-1972, preceded by the École superieure d'art public, after 1919 École des hautes études urbaines. In 2015 it became part of the École d'urbanisme de Paris (www.eup.fr). 569 The IGCA was renamed International Garden Cities and Town Planning Federation in 1922 and International Federation for Town and Country Planning and Garden Cities in 1924 before it settled at IFHTP. Actually it is the International Federation for Housing and Planning (www.ifhp.org). 570 The IUCLA became in 2004 part of United Cities and Local Governments (www.uclg.org). The congress listing is based on Riboldazzi (2009, 18). – 378 – G. Verheij Appendix 2: Early planning literature Appendix 2: Early planning literature – 379 – A sample of early German planning literature- (Sitte 1889; Stübben 1890; Fritsch 1896; Die Großstadt 1903; Henrici 1904; Hercher 1904; Eberstadt 1907; Mangoldt 1907; Brinckmann 1908; Endell 1908, 190; Eberstadt 1909; Behrendt 1911; Hegemann 1911–1913; Eberstadt 1912; Fischer 1919; Wolf 1919; Blum 1921; Behrendt 1927; Hilberseimer 1927; Platz 1927) G. Verheij Appendix 2: Early planning literature – 380 – A sample of early British planning literature. (Arts and Crafts Exhibition Society 1897; Howard 1898; 1902; Geddes 1904; Horsfall 1904; Triggs 1909; Unwin 1909; Willis 1910; Bentley and Taylor 1911; Mawson 1911; Purdom 1913; Julian 1914; Nettlefold 1914; Liverpool 1914; Aldridge 1915; Geddes 1915; Ashbee 1917; Branford and Geddes 1917; Hughes 1919; Lanchester 1925) G. Verheij Appendix 2: Early planning literature – 381 – A sample of early American planning literature. (Shaw 1895; Robinson 1901; Rowe 1908; Burnham and Bennett 1909; Pray and Kimball 1913; Koester 1914; Waugh 1914; Shurtleff and Olmsted 1914; Howe 1915; Taylor 1915; Lewis 1916; Nolen 1916; Robinson 1916; Bird 1917; Adams 1917; Ford 1917; Evans 1919; Nolen 1919; Moody 1919) G. Verheij Appendix 2: Early planning literature – 382 – A sample of early French planning literature. (Benoît-Lévy 1904; Forestier 1906; Magne 1908; Poëte 1911; Union des Villes et Communes Belges 1913; Souza 1913; Vuyst 1914; Agache, Auburtin, and Redont 1916; Brito 1916; Auburtin and Blanchard 1917; Garnier 1918; Agache 1918; Hill 1918; Rosenthal 1918; Ford 1920; Joyant 1923; Raymond 1925; Le Corbusier 1925; Poëte 1929; Agache, Souza, and Prado Júnior 1930; Danger 1933) G. Verheij Appendix 3: Portuguese attendance at international congresses, 1898-1913 Appendix 3: Portuguese attendance at international congresses, 1898-1913 Portuguese inscriptions at relevant international congresses, according to member lists of published proceedings and additional sources. Completeness is attempted but not guaranteed; furthermore, membership neither means presence nor active participation. Known institutional representations are indicated between [square brackets]. 9th International Congress of Hygiene and Demography, Madrid, 1898 José Joaquim da Silva Amado (1840-1925), doctor, professor [State]. Source: Actas y memorias 1900. 1st International Congress of Public Art, Liège, 1898 Architects: Pedro d’Ávila. Joaquim Mendes dos Remédios (1867-1932), professor of literature and librarian at the University of Coimbra. Xavier da Cunha (1840-1920), doctor and scholar, director of the National Library. Source: Premier Congrès 1898. 10th International Congress of Hygiene and Demography, Paris, 1900 None. Source: Xe Congrès 1901. 1st International Congress of Affordable Housing, Paris, 1900 None. Source: Compte rendu 1900. 2nd International Congress of Public Art Architects: Ávila. Others? The proceedings were never published. Ávila's presence is mentioned by C. Normand (1900). 5th International Congress of Architects, Paris, 1900 Architects: Ávila [State]. Source: Congrès International 1906. 6th International Housing Congress, Berlin, 1902 None. Source: Bericht 1902. – 383 – G. Verheij Appendix 3: Portuguese attendance at international congresses, 1898-1913 13th International Congress of Hygiene and Demography, Brussels, 1903571 Augusto da Silva Carvalho (1861-1957), doctor, public official, municipal councillor. [State]. Annibal de Bettencourt (1868-1930), doctor, specialist in bacteriology. Manuel da Costa Alemão (1833-1922), doctor, professor at the University of Coimbra. Silva Amado. A. de Azevedo, probably António de Azevedo Castelo Branco (1843-1916), writer, politician, director of the Penitentiary in Lisbon and at the time president of the city's municipal council. Silva Selles (?). J. Amado Pereira (?). Source: XIIIe Congrès 1903 6th International Congress of Architects, Madrid, 1904 Architects: Ávila [State], Ventura Terra [State], R. Carvalheira [State, RAACAP], A. A. Machado [Municipality of Lisbon], A. Bermudes [SAP], Álvaro Machado [SAP], J. A. Soares [SAP], F. C. Parente [SAP, SNBA], J. L. Carvalho, R. Lino, José Teixeira Lopes (1872-1919), Antonio Peres Dias Guimaraes (?), Frederico Augusto Ribeiro (?), owner of a well-known workshop who occasionally practised architecture. The painter José Malhoa (1855-1933), the art critic R. Ortigão. Sources: Congrès International 1906; “VI Congresso” 1904. First International Congress of Housing Hygien, Paris, 1905 João Maria de Cisneiros Ferreira (1865-1940), doctor and politician [State], J. L. Carvalho. Source: Premier Congrès 1905, J. L. de Carvalho 1905a. 3d International Congress of Public Art, Brussels, 1905 Mendes dos Remédios [University of Coimbra], Xavier da Cunha [Municipality of Lisbon]. Source: Œuvre de l’Art Public 1905. 6th International Congress of Affordable Housing, Liège, 1905 M. Souza Brandão (?). Source: VIIme Congrès 1906. 7th International Congress of Architects, London, 1906 Architects: J. A. Soares, [SAP], F. C. Parente [SNBA], A. do Couto [RAACAP], J. L. Monteiro, A. Bermudes, Ventura Terra, R. Carvalheira. Luís de Magalhães (1859-1935), minister of Foreign Affairs, José Malheiro Reimão (1860- 1951), minister of Public Works, and Luís Pinto de Soveral (1851-1922), British ambassador and society dandy [State representatives]. Augusto José da Cunha (1834-1919), politician, scholar [RAACAP]. Rui de Atouguia Ferreira Pinto Basto (1849-1921), viscount of Athouguia, politician, painter [SNBA]. 571 The discrepancy in numbering (from 10 to 13) is because until 1903 earlier meetings in Brussels (1852) and Paris (1889) had not been counted. – 384 – G. Verheij Appendix 3: Portuguese attendance at international congresses, 1898-1913 Source: RIBA 1908. 2nd International Congress of Housing Hygiene, Geneva, 1906 Engineers: Melo de Matos. António José de Almeida (1866-1929), doctor, politician [State]. Sebastião Cabral da Costa Sacadura (1877-1966), doctor, professor. Eduardo Augusto da Rocha Dias (?) [RAACAP]. P. Gomes de Souza (?, perhaps Joaquim Pires de Souza Gomes, engineer). Source: Assainissement 1907. According to Melo de Matos no-one actually went to Geneva (“Congresso” 1906). 14th International Congress of Hygiene and Demography, Berlin, 1907 Miguel Bombarda (1851-1910), doctor, politician [Sociedade de Sciencias Medicas]. A. de Azevedo, Silva Carvalho, Sabino Maria Teixeira Coelho (1853-1938), medicine teacher and municipal councillor in Lisbon, A. Bettencourt, Ricardo Jorge (1858-1939), doctor and hygienist, Aires Kopke (1866-1947), doctor, director of the School of Tropical Medicine in Lisbon, António de Lancastre (1857-1941), royal doctor. Source: Bericht 1908. 8th International Housing Congress, London, 1907 None. Sources: Papers 1907; “Congresso” 1907. 13th International Congress of Architects, Vienna, 1908 Architects: F. C. Parente [SAP], A.M. Costa Campos [RAACAP], A. M. Rato [SNBA], J. Marques da Silva [SNBA, Municipality of Porto], J. L. Monteiro, A. Bermudes, R. Carvalheira, Ventura Terra, J. A. Soares. A. J. da Cunha [RAACAP], José Capello Franco Frazão (1872-1940), Count of Penha Garcia, politician [SNBA], the poet A. Lopes Vieira and wife. Source: Bericht 1909. 1st International Road Congress, Paris, 1908 Engineers: Melo de Matos,572 João Verissimo Mendes Guerreiro (1842-1911) [State], Alberto Afonso da Silva Monteiro (1850-?) [State], M. Roldan y Pego [AECP] and wife, Carlos Roma du Bocage (1853-1918) [Automóvel Club de Portugal], A. M. d'Avelar [Municipality of Lisbon], José Rodrigues do Amaral Themudo (1861-1917), director of public works in Luanda (Angola), Cordeiro de Souza, José Guedes de Queiroz (José Guedes Correia de Queiroz, 1854-1915?), director of public works in Santarém, Luís Strauss (?), director of the Port of Lisbon, and wife, Joaquim Pires de Souza Gomes (?), member of the Superior Council of Public Works. 572 Mattos contributed with a paper entitled “Les routes portugaises et l'automobilisme pour les transports en commun au Portugal.” – 385 – G. Verheij Appendix 3: Portuguese attendance at international congresses, 1898-1913 José Pinto Leite (1871-1956), count of Penha Longa, sportsman [Automóvel Club de Portugal]. Source: 1er Congrès 1909. 4th International Congress of Public Art, Brussels, 1910 None. Source: IVe Congrés 1910. 2nd International Road Congress, Brussels, 1910 Engineers: Mendes Guerreiro [State], Silva Monteiro [State], Augusto Luciano de Carvalho (1838-1912), member of the Superior Council of National Monuments [AECP], Melo de Matos (not present), M. Roldan y Pego, Severiano Augusto da Fonseca Monteiro (1856-1920), director general of the Board of Public Works in Lisbon. Source: IIe congrès 1911. 9th International Housing Congress, Vienna, 1910 Miguel Aleixo António do Carmo de Noronha (1850-1932), count of Paraty, politician, diplomat [State]. Source: Bericht 1911. Town Planning Conference, London, 1910 Architects: Ventura Terra [Municipality of Lisbon], not present. Source: RIBA 1911. 3d International Congress of Housing Hygiene, Dresden, 1911 Cisneiros Ferreira Source: Bericht 1912. 9th International Congress of Architects, Rome, 1911 Architects: A. Bermudes [SAP] and wife, R. Carvalheira, J. Marques da Silva [Municipality of Porto] and family, F. C. Parente, A. M. Rato, F. A. Ribeiro, J. A. Soares, Ventura Terra [SNBA, Municipality of Lisbon] with wife and niece. B. Ceia and D. Costa, decorative painters. António Tomás Quartin (1887-1970), journalist, with wife. António Cruz (?) and wife, Jayme Ignacio dos Santos (?), Joaquim Antonio Vieira (1859?-?). Source: Congressi 1914. 15th International Congress of Hygiene and Demography, Washington, 1912 Silva Carvalho, Costa Sacadura, Caetano António Gama Pinto (1853-1945), ophthalmologist, with wife. Source: Transactions 1913. – 386 – G. Verheij Appendix 3: Portuguese attendance at international congresses, 1898-1913 10th International Congress of Affordable Housing, The Hague, 1913 António Maria Bartolomeu Ferreira (1863-1944), diplomat [State]. Afonso de Lemos (1865- 1944), politician. José Maria de Oliveira Simões (1857-1944), military engineer, politician, poet. Source: Xme Congrès 1913. 3d International Road Congress, London, 1913 Engineers: João da Costa Couraça (1855-1919), secretary of the Superior Council of Public Works [State], M. Roldan y Pego [State], Silva Monteiro, David Xavier Cohen (1850?-?), military engineer, member of the Superior Council of Public Works, Cordeiro de Souza, Melo de Matos, Souza Gomes. José Ribeiro de Almeida (?) Source: IIIe Congrès 1913. International Congress of City-Building and Local Organization, Ghent, 1913 Engineers: Joaquim Gaudêncio Rodrigues Pacheco (1875-?), municipal engineer [Municipality of Porto]. Frazão. Source: Vuyst 1913. 4th International Congress of Housing Hygiene, Antwerp, 1913 None. Source: Assainissement 1914. – 387 – G. Verheij Appendix 4: National politics and municipal management, 1908-1938 Appendix 4: National politics and municipal management, 1908-1938 Municipal data is based on municipal minutes (Actas, Boletim da Câmara Municipal de Lisboa, Anuários). Notes to chronology 1 Unelected administrative commissions are in grey. In the case of elected councils between 1914- 1926 names are those of presidents of the Executive Commissions rather than the Municipal Senate (for the latter, see the list at www.cm-lisboa.pt/municipio/historia/presidentes). Legend: • CB – António Xavier Correia Barreto (1853-1939) • MC – Levy Marques da Costa (1868-1941). Levy's presidency was temporarily dissolved after a military coup by Pimenta de Castro in 1915. Between 22 April and 15 May 1915 the municipality was governed by an administrative commission led by the army engineer João Severo da Cunha. After constitutional restoration the elected council was reinstated. • MP – Augusto César Magalhães Peixoto. • * – An elected council presided by the criminologist Rodolfo Xavier da Silva Júnior (1877- 1948) took seat on 2 January 1918, but was disbanded days after to be substituted by an appointed administrative commission. This commission was presided by José Carlos da Maia (1978-1921), substituted by Zeferino Falcão Pacheco (1856-1924) on 21 March and then by José Tavares de Araújo e Castro (1870-1954) on 4 July. The entire commission was substituted in March 1919, with Ferreira Vidal as president. In elections in June that year Vidal was re-elected president of the Executive Commission. • Ferreira Vidal – Alberto Ferreira Vidal (1871-1967) • LB – Eduardo Alberto Lima Basto, elected president in April 1923 • CMC – António Maria da Cunha Marques da Costa (1878-1928), substitute of Lima Basto after the latter resigned in September 1924. • C – António dos Anjos Corvinel Moreira (?-1932), executive president of the last elected council. • Vicente de Freitas was substituted by Eugénio Carlos Mardel Ferreira (1867-1947) from August 1927 to August 1929. • CM– Adriano da Costa Macedo (1870-1938) • LL – Henrique Linhares de Lima (1876-1953) • RS – Daniel Rodrigues de Sousa (1867-1958) • DP – Duarte Pacheco 2 Successive municipal councils had been working on a reform of the entire municipal machinery since 1919 or even earlier. It was largely discussed during 1921-1922 and finally approved on 14 March 1923. However, Lima Bastos' Executive Commission, which took seat less than a month later, suspended the reorganization and started studying again. The precise reasons are as yet unclear; it might have to do with the considerable movement and contracting of staff which resulted. A new organization was studied during the following year and approved in early 1925. It maintained distinct departments of Engineering, Architecture and green spaces, though changing their inner organization. Already in 1926 a new council questioned the procedure, and decided to – 388 – G. Verheij Appendix 4: National politics and municipal management, 1908-1938 review the matter yet again. Vicente de Freitas' Administrative Commission inherited the ambition, but relevant changes were the product of isolated modifications rather than thoughtful inquiry. Though different forms of organizing the municipal departments were essayed during the 1930s, only in 1938 a stable formula was found. (Actas da Comissão Executiva 1919, 28–39; Actas 1922, 15–28, 426–31, 441–43; 1923, 120A, 134A-149A; 1925, 39–128; 1926, 29–41, 323–24; CML 1923) 3 The transformation of these “Independent Services” into a municipal department was first envisioned during the 1923 reform and appears to have been part of the 1925 reform (see note 2 above). Still, the municipal minutes at times also refer to these services as a department before this date. In 1929 Gardens and Municipal Greenery became a section of the Department of Engineering and Architecture. 4 Cemeteries only became part in 1935. 5 This Department was created in October 1926 as a Service of Urban Buildings, but in November it became a department, led by an engineer. (Actas 1926, 701–3, 903–4) 6 The Service of Urban Development and Public Works (Serviço de Urbanização e Obras) was divided in six departments: 1) Planning and expropriation; 2) Architecture; 3) Streets and sewage; 4) Urban buildings; 5) Municipal works; 6) Trees and gardens. (E. de A. e Oliveira 1939) 7 Municipal Council of Art and Archaeology. – 389 – Appendix 4: National politics and municipal management, 1908-1938 1910 1915 1920 1925 1930 1935 Political regimes Monarchy First Republic Military Dictatorship New State K ing's assassination (1 February) Republican revolution (5 O ctober) D ictatorship of Pim enta d Castro D eclaration of w ar by G erm any (9 M arch) D ictatorship of Sidónio Pais; End of w ar M ilitary coup (28 M ay) Salazar becom es m inister of Finance Salazar becom es Prim e M inister N ew Constitution Municipal management1 Braamcamp Freire CB MC MP MC * Ferreira Vidal LB CMC M Vicente de Freitas CM LL RS DP Technical departments2 Department of Public Works (since 1901) Department of Engineering Dept. Eng. and Arch. Department of Engineering SU O 6 Department of Architecture Independent Services of Cemeteries, Parks, Gardens and Trees (later Department3) Dept. Cemeteries and Gardens4 Service of City Plan and Expropriations Department of Urban Buildings5 Advisory boards with aesthetic competence Commission of Municipal Aesthetics Council of Art and Architecture Service of Architecture Council of Urban Aesthetics CMAA7 – 390 – G. Verheij Appendix 5: Petition on the aesthetic of the capital, 1907 Appendix 5: Petition on the aesthetic of the capital, 1907 Petition addressed to the Municipality of Lisbon, issued by the Society of Portuguese Architects, and published in the latter's Annuario (3, 1907, 21–2). ESTHETICA DA CAPITAL – REPRESENTAÇÃO Á CAMARA MUNICIPAL DE LISBOA Ill.mo e Ex.mo Sr. Presidente da Commissão Administrativa do Municipio de Lisboa. – A Sociedade dos Architectos Portuguezes vem solicitar a esclarecida attenção da Commissão Administrativao do Municipio de Lisboa, da qual V. Ex.ª é muito digno presidente, para a justificada necessidade que ha, a bem da arte e dos interesses da capital, de regulamentar a esthetica da edificação. A liberdade criminosa com que se tem povoado importantes avenidas, bairros inteiros, de construcções banaes, desprovidas das mais elementares condições de belleza, dando a essas novas arterias o aspecto desolador que infelizmente por ahi se observa a cada passo, é um triste testemunho da falta de educação artistica do paiz e um lamentavel prova do pouco interesse com que os corpos dirigentes da nação se têem occupado d'um assumpto, que é motivo de especial cuidado e attenção em todos os paizes civilisados. Com pesar o registâmos; tem a capital n'estes ultimos vinte annos quasi duplicado a sua area, construindo-se novos bairros como os da Estephania, Andrade, Campolide, Campo d'Ourique, Castellinhos, Camões, Alcantara e outros, sem que leis especiaes d'elles hajam feito qualquer cousa de compativel com o progresso da arte e da civilisação. Deixa-se construir levianamente, sempre que um projecto tenha as condições elementares de corresponder a uma exigencias intuitivas de hygiene, e a umas prescripções de alinhamento, alturas de pavimentos, cubagens e outras semelhantes, mas sem que até hoje se cuidasse de estabelecer uma censura artistica a esses projectos. Enganados estão todos aquelles que suppõem que a belleza só póde ser uma consequencia de dispendiosas construcções. Na modesta casa de baixo preço póde a arte transparecer com tanta ou mais belleza do eu no grande palacio. Póde um ter a belleza de custar centenas de contos de réis, n'uma confusão de motivos desordenados, sem coherencia architectonica, pejado de motivos banaes e futeis, e outro n'um bem lançado de linhas, ou n'uma apropriação de motivos simples mas coherentes, offerecer, apesar do seu custo insignificante, boas condições de esthetica. N'estes termos, sendo as ruas publicas logradouro dos municipes, devem ser os proprietarios orientados de modo que dêem as fachadas dos seus predios as condições de belleza que a arte exige, com tantos ou mais justos motivos como os que já de ha muito regulamentam as de alinhamento e outras. Em todos os paizes não só nas suas capitaes, como nas suas cidades mais grandiosas, de ha muito tempo que é lei o embellezamento das fachadas, havendo alguns onde os proprietarios têem que construir subordinados a um typo de architectura que dê unidade á praça ou avenida, e outros em – 391 – G. Verheij Appendix 5: Petition on the aesthetic of the capital, 1907 que se estabelecem premios para as fachadas da mais bella concepção artistica, sem que todavia entre nós até hoje, n'um triste dexleixo pela marcha triumphal da civilisação, nos tenhâmos occupado de tão importante assumpto. Alguma cousa que ha digna de menção é unicamente producto da iniciativa particular, porque de resto é triste testemunho d'estas considerações o espectaculo desolador que se nos offerece ao percorrer os novos bairros da capital. Esta Sociedade tem esperado vêr que tal estado de cousas seja motivo de attenção dos poderes publicos, muito mais desde que uma aggremiação do paiz, a Sociedade Propaganda de Portugal, já iniciou trabalhos de representação official n'este sentido. Mas a nós, architectos, que não temos a responsabilidade do que acima deixâmos exposto, mas sim sómente o pesar de vêr que a architectura no nosso paiz não pode, por maiores que sejam os nossos esforços, acompanhar toda essa grande evolução mundial, deixando que a mais util e importante de todas as artes, aquella que mais justifica a civilisação e a riqueza d'um paiz, tenha sido motivo da indifferença dos poderes pbulicos, vimos, como representantes da Sociedade dos Architectos POrtuguezes, n'esta singela exposição, reclamar da illustre commissão administrativa do municipio de Lisboa as disposições regulamentares necessarias para que, por agora e pelo menos na nossa capital sejam os projectos das futuras edificações apreciados sob o ponto de vista esthetico, sujeitando-o para isso á consulta de uma commissão de artistas para esse fim escolhida pelo seu municipio. Assim julga esta Sociedade prestar ao paiz um verdadeiro serviço publico, se a commissão da presidencia de V. Ex.ª tiver em consideração tão justa causa deixando os seus nomes ligados ao engrandecimento de uma arte, que ao mesmo tempo será motivo de riqueza e esplendor para a nossa capital, tão completa de bellezas naturaes. – 392 – G. Verheij Appendix 6: Escudo exchange rate, 1908-1938 Appendix 6: Escudo exchange rate, 1908-1938 In order to situate amounts of money mentioned in chapter 3 for the contemporary reader historical exchange rates of the Portuguese escudo (introduced in 1911) to US dollars are reproduced below. The escudo was introduced in 1911, substituting the former réis (from real) at a rate of 1 to 1 000. – 393 – 1908 1911 1914 1917 1920 1923 1926 1929 1932 1935 1938 0 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 PT E pe r U SD Monthly average US Dollar to Portuguese Escudo exchange rate, October 1908 to December 1938. (Banco de Portugal, www.bportugal.pt, BPStat Estatísticas online) G. Verheij Appendix 7: City survey of Lisbon, 1911 Appendix 7: City survey of Lisbon, 1911 Compilation of the plates of Silva Pinto's city survey (1904-1911; see Levantamento 2005). – 394 – Appendix 7: City survey of Lisbon, 1911 – 395 – Appendix 7: City survey of Lisbon, 1911 – 396 – G. Verheij Appendix 8: Municipal parks and gardens, 1910-1935 Appendix 8: Municipal parks and gardens, 1910-1935 Included are a table of name changes of municipal parks and gardens in 1925-1926 and an overview of the evolution of municipal green spaces from 1910 to 1935. Old name New name Jardim do Campo de Ourique Jardim de Teófilo Braga Jardim da Estrela Jardim de Guerra Junqueiro Jardim de S. Pedro de Alcântara Jardim de António Nobre Alameda de S. Pedro de Alcântara Alameda de Eduardo Coelho (at first the idea was Gomes Leal) Jardim da Estefânia Jardim de Cesário Verde Jardim das Amoreiras Jardim de Marcelino Mesquita Jardim da Praça da Alegria Jardim de Fialho de Almeida, then changed to Alfredo Keil Jardim de Santa Clara Jardim de Boto Machado Jardim da Praça do Rio de Janeiro (Príncipe Real) Jardim de França Borges Jardim dos Santos Jardim de Gomes Leal, then change to Jardim de Nuno Álvares Jardim da Igreja dos Anjos Jardim de António Feijó Jardim do Alto de Pina Jardim de Bulhão Pato Jardim do Campo dos Mártires da Pátria Jardim de Braamcamp Freire Jardim do Aterro Jardim de João Chagas Jardim da Praça das Flores Jardim de Fialho de Almeida Jardim do adro da igreja de Santo Estêvão de Alfama Jardim de Júlio de Castilho unnamed Jardim de Augusto Rosa Parque da Alameda da Luz Jardim de Teixeira Rebelo Name changes of municipal parks and gardens, 1925-1926 (some of the changes were only enacted after 1926, but continue the same policy). (Sources: Actas da Comissão Executiva 1924, 646–47; 1925, 331, 411, 874; Actas 1925, 78–84, 192–93, 699; 1926, 218–19) – 397 – G. Verheij Appendix 8: Municipal parks and gardens, 1910-1935 Present name Class in 1910 Class in 1935 Total area in 1935 (m2) Creation 1 Avenida da Liberdade 1 1 19 872,70 1886 2 Jardim Braamcamp Freire (Campo de Santana / Mártires da Pátria) 1 1 16 215,00 1900s 3 Jardim do Campo Grande 1 1 202 870,00 Early 19th century, much redesigned in 1945. 4 Jardim Guerra Junqueiro (Jardim da Estrela) 1 1 51 354,00 1852, the Rua de São Jorge is from the 1910s. 5 Jardim França Borges (Príncipe Real) 1 1 12 285,50 1853 6 Avenida 24 de Julho – 1573 33 217,00 1870s-1920s 7 Jardim Praça D. Vasco da Gama (Belém) 2 1 36 150,50 Before 1905, much redesigned in 1940. 8 Parque Eduardo VII – 1 100 356,50574 1880s-1948 9 Parque Silva Porto (Benfica) – 1 41 004,00 1910s 10 Parque Teixeira Rebelo (Largo da Luz) – 1 11 458,00 1925-1926 11 Jardim Marcelino Mesquita (Amoreiras) 2 2 6 449,00 1759 12 Jardim Teófilo Braga (Campo de Ourique) 2 2 5 491,50 1880-1890s 13 Jardim Henrique Lopes de Mendonça (Praça José Fontana) 2 2 6 134,00 Around 1880 14 Jardim Constantino 2 2 3 990,00 1886-1889 15 Jardim Sá da Bandeira (Praça Dom Luís) 2 2 5 959,30 1880s 16 Jardim 9 de Abril (Rocha do Conde de Óbidos) 2 2 5 632,00 1880s, enlarged during the 1910s. 17 Jardim António Nobre (São Pedro de Alcântara) 2 2 2 519,30 1864 18 Jardim Avelar Brotero (Santo Amaro) – 2 6 324,00 Late 1900s, redesigned in the 1950s. 19 Jardim Cesário Verde (Estefânia) – 2 3 100,00 19th century 20 Parada dos Prazeres – 2 8 151,23 19th century 21 Jardim Nuno Álvares (Santos) 3 2 4 409,30 19th century 22 Miradouro de Santa Catarina 3 3 1 269,10 1883 23 Jardim Boto Machado (Santa Clara) 3 2 5 892,30 1862 24 Jardim Augusto Gil (Largo da Graça) 3 3 1 712,00 1880s 25 Jardim Olavo Bilac (Largo das Necessidades) 3 3 4 055,00 1747 573 The avenue already included trees and greenery but was initially not considered a garden area. 574 Gardened area in 1935; the total area of the park is 403 268 m2. – 398 – G. Verheij Appendix 8: Municipal parks and gardens, 1910-1935 Present name Class in 1910 Class in 1935 Total area in 1935 (m2) Creation 26 Jardim Afonso de Albuquerque (Belém) 3 3 2 300,00 1900s? Redesigned around 1940. 27 Jardim Alfredo Keil (Praça da Alegria) 3 3 3 295,00 1882 28 Praça da Armada575 3 3 1 645,00 ? 29 Jardim Fialho de Almeida (Praça das Flores) 3 3 1 780,00 ? 30 Jardim do Bairro do Arco do Cego – 3 1 230,00 1920s/1930s 31 Jardim 5 de Outubro (Praça da Estrela) – 3 1 963,00 1910s 32 Jardim na Praça David Leandro da Silva (Poço do Bispo) – 3 778,00 Early 1910s 33 Jardim Roque Gameiro (Cais do Sodré) – 3 2 366,00 Early 1910s 34 Jardim to Torel – 3 3 258,17 Municipalized in 1927-1928 35 Jardim da Calçada de São João Nepomuceno 4 – There used to be a small garden at the Largo de São João Nepomuceno, in front of the Orphanage of Santa Catarina, which had been substituted for stairs by 1925. 36 Jardim do Calçada Ribeiro Santos576 4 4 558,00 ? 37 Jardim António Feijó (Igreja dos Anjos) – 4 2 336,00 1910s 38 Jardim Bulhão Pato (Alto do Pina) – 4 1 560,00 Around 1918, presently a playground. 39 Jardim Júlio de Castilho (Miradouro de Santa Luzia) – 4 799,69 1914-1920s 40 Jardim Augusto Rosa (Sé) – 4 616,00 Around 1925 41 Jardim na Calçada Conde Penafiel – 4 308,74 Presumably the small area between the Calçada do Conde Penafiel and the Travessa da Mata, already gardened in 1909 42 Jardim Gomes Leal (Largo do Mastro) – 4 1 190,50 ? 43 Jardim no Largo Barão de Quintela – 4 508,00 Early 19th century 44 Jardim no Largo da Academia Nacional das Belas Artes – 4 584,36 There used to be a gardened area which presumably disappeared when the metro was built. It probably dates from the late 19th century. 575 In 1910 Praça de Alcântara. 576 Until 1974 Calçada de Santos. – 399 – G. Verheij Appendix 8: Municipal parks and gardens, 1910-1935 Present name Class in 1910 Class in 1935 Total area in 1935 (m2) Creation 45 Jardim do Miradouro do Monte – 4 562,95 Late 19th century or earlier 46 Jardim na Praça Duque de Saldanha – 4 1 077,00 Late 1900s Municipal green spaces, 1910-1935. (Sources: Actas 1910, 692, 728; CML 1936, 269–72) – 400 – Appendix 8: Municipal parks and gardens, 1910-1935 – 401 – Distribution of green spaces in Lisbon. In dark green, existing green spaces in 1910; in light green new green spaces in 1935 G. Verheij Appendix 9: Public art, 1911-1937 Appendix 9: Public art, 1911-1937 The following pages include an exhaustive survey of actual and intended public sculptures in Lisbon affected by the chronology of the First Republic (1910-1926) or the military dictatorship (1926-1933), thus complementing H. Elias' study of New State public art policies. The survey is completed with an overview of authorship and a map and chronology giving spatial and temporal distribution. Besides specific sources quoted, this overview relies on the municipal inventory of Lisbon's public artworks (J. R. Carvalho and Câmara 2005; www.lisboapatrimoniocultural.pt) and contracts of acquisition in the Municipal Archive (CML-AML n.d.-a). Several of the works mentioned were removed during the late 1930s, on this see H. Elias (2006, 61–72) and CML- Direcção dos Serviços Centrais e Culturais (1956-1957; 1960-1961). Authorship 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 Graph with the number of works by sculptors by whom more than one artwork was placed in Lisbon's public space during 1911-1937. – 402 – Chronology Chronology Placement of public sculpture according to initiative. Numbers refer to the subsequent inventory. Years refer to inauguration or placement. Works mentioned in chapter 2 are included in grey. 1900 1905 1910 1915 1920 1925 1930 1935 Civic initiatives First monument to Sousa Martins (1900) Monument to Afonso de Albuquerque (1902) Monument to Eça de Queirós (1903) Monument to Eduardo Coelho (1904) Potrait bust of the Viscount of Valmor (1904) Second monument to Sousa Martins (1907) Monument to Manuel Pinheiro (1908) 3. Portrait bust of Taborda (1914?) 10. Portrait bust of Bordalo Pinheiro (1921) 13. Monument to França Borges (1925) 16. Portrait bust of Teófilo Braga (1927) 17. Portrait bust of Castilho (1929) 18. Monument to Antero Quental (1929) 20. Monument to Luís Monteiro (1932) 21. Monument to the Military School (1932) 26. Monument to J. A. Almeida (1937) State initiatives Monument to the Duque of Saldanha (1909) 19. First World War Memorial (1931) 23. Monument to the Heroes of the Peninsular War (1933) 24. Monument to Pombal (1934) 1. Despertar (1912) – 403 – Chronology 1900 1905 1910 1915 1920 1925 1930 1935 Municipal initiatives 2. O Cavador (1914?) 4. La Source (?) 5. Ao Leme (1915) 6. Guardadora de Patos (1917?) 7. Sagrada Família (?) 8. Fons Vitae (?) 9. Maria da Fonte (1920) 11. Prometeu (1925) 12. Portrait bust of A. Rosa (1925) 14. Monument to Chiado (1925) 15. Adamastor (1927) 22. Statue of D. Manuel I (1933?) 25. Monument to R. Araújo (1936) – 404 – G. Verheij Geographical distribution Geographical distribution Geographical distribution of public sculptures mentioned in the inventory below. Distribution is shown against contemporary Lisbon and against the distribution of green spaces of Appendix 8. Works are referenced by their corresponding inventory number. In light yellow, sites which had received public sculpture before 1910; in yellow, sculptures placed after 1910, according to the criteria of the inventory; in grey, works which were not placed or do not fall into the previous category. – 405 – Geographical distribution – 406 – Geographical distribution – 407 – Inventory Inventory 1 Despertar (Awakening), J. Simões de Almeida (the younger), Jardim da Estrela, contract signed 14 July 1911, placement 1912 One of the works selected at the 1911 Exhibition of Fine-Arts. The contract stipulated execution in marble 50 centimetre larger than the original plaster model for 1 800 000 réis (1 800 escudos). The works was finished in late 1912. According to photographs in the Municipal Archive the work was placed on a small pedestal. During the late 1930s it was removed. In the early 1960s it was reinstalled; on the occasion the present “rustic” pedestal was designed. Sources: Actas 1911, 328; 1912, 329; CML-CEM 1911b; 1912i; Illustração Portuguesa (s. II, 346, 7 October 1912, 457). CML-Direcção dos Serviços de Salubridade e Edificações Urbanas n.d. . Images: The sculptor in his atelier with the clay model (José Artur Leitão Bárcia / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/BAR/001154]). Original placement (In M. C. Ramos 1920). Notice on acquisition (In O Occidente, 34: 1174, 8 October 1911). The sculpture in the Jardim da Estrela before its removal (José Artur Leitão Bárcia / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/BAR/000917]). Present setting (© José Manuel Costa Alves 2005 / CML) – 408 – Inventory 2 O Cavador (The Digger), Costa Mota (the elder), Jardim da Estrela, contract signed 29 June 1911, placement 1914? One of the works selected at the 1911 Exhibition of Fine-Arts. The contract stipulated execution in bronze, later changed to marble, at double the size, for 2 000 000 réis (2 000 escudos). The work loosely recalls Alfred Boucher's A la terre (1890, also called Le Terrassier), though presenting an extremely realistic peasant rather than Boucher's idealized body. Initially the work was placed on a small pedestal; photographs from the 1950s show that later it was relocated to another place, without pedestal; the present pedestal was built during the 1960s. Sources: Actas 1911, 328, 636; 1912, 311; 1913, 338; CML- CEM 1912c; 1912d. Images: Original placement (In M. C. Ramos 1920). Notice on acquisition (In Illustração Portugueza, s. II, 278, 19 June 1911). A. Boucher, A la terre, 1890 (Wikipedia Commons). The work in 1959 (Arnoldo Madureira / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/ARM/I00328]). The work in 2004 (© José Manuel Costa Alves 2005 / CML) – 409 – Inventory 3 Portrait bust of Francisco Alves da Silva Taborda, Costa Mota (the younger), Jardim da Estrela. 1911?, inaugurated 1914. The bust was offered by a commemorative commission to the municipality in 1911; a pedestal was designed by the municipal architect J. A. Soares. During the 1930s it was removed, later to be reinstalled in the Eduardo VII Park (early 1960s). Sources: Actas 1911, 262; O Occidente (37: 1290, 3 October 1914, 352); CML-Direcção dos Serviços de Salubridade e Edificações Urbanas n.d.-b; CML-AML n.d.-b Images: The bust after its inauguration (Joshua Benoliel / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/JBN/002439]). Present site in the Eduardo VII Park (© José Manuel Costa Alves 2005 / CML). 4 A Fonte or La Source (The Source), Maria Gloria Ribeiro da Cruz, Jardim da Estrela, contract 14 August 1914, work dated 1914, placement unknown. A small bronze acquired in 1914 from this badly known sculptress and picturesquely staged in the Jardim da Estrela. It was removed during the 1930s. During the 1950s re-installation at the social housing complex of Ajuda was entertained. Currently it is placed in the entrance hall of the Palácio Pimenta / Museum of Lisbon. Images: Two views of the work in its original setting (In M. C. Ramos 1920). The work at present (image: author, 2016 / Lisbon, Museum of Lisbon / Câmara Municipal de Lisboa – EGEAC). – 410 – Inventory 5 Ao Leme (At the Helm), Francisco dos Santos, Jardim Roque Gameiro, contract 29 August 1913, inaugurated 1915. The plaster model was acquired at the annual exhibition at the National Society of the Fine-Arts in 1913 and finished in 1915. Sources: Actas 1913, 405, 514, 545. Images: Plaster model at the 1913 Exhibition (In Illustração Portugueza, s. II, 379, 26 May 1913). The work in 2005 (© José Manuel Costa Alves 2005 / CML). The work in 1943 (Eduardo Portugal / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/EDP/001987]) – 411 – Inventory 6 Guardadora de Patos (Duck Keeper), also known as A Filha do Rei Guardando Patos (The King's Daughter Caring Ducks), Costa Mota (the younger), Jardim da Estrela, contract 14 August 1914, placement 1917? The plaster model was acquired at the 1914 exhibition at the National Society of the Fine-Arts. Costa Mota represented an episode of “The Goose Girl” by the Grimm Brothers. The slightly different larger version in stone was finished by the sculptor around 1917. Source: A Construcção Moderna (14: 18, 25 September 1914, 143). Images: The original plaster model (In A Construcção Moderna 14:8, 25 September 1914). The work in 2005 (© José Manuel Costa Alves 2005 / CML). Lake setting of the sculpture, undated (Artur Inácio Bastos / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/AIB/001748]). – 412 – Inventory 7 Sagrada Família (Holy Family), also known as O Lavrador (The Labourer), Costa Mota (the younger), Jardim Cinco de Outubro, 1918, placement unknown. The small bronze group was exhibited by the artist in his atelier in 1919 as “Santa Família.” The decision of acquisition by the Commission of Municipal Aesthetics in 1919 provoked some controversy, as the author was a member of the municipal Executive Commission at the time. The garden, which substituted a former clay exploitation, was redesigned around 1916, creating the pavement and tree pits. Sources: Actas da Comissão Executiva 1919, 459; CML-RA 1916; CMLAML n.d.-b. Images: Exhibition of the bronze work in Costa Mota's atelier (In Illustração Portuguesa, s. II, 692, 26 May 1919). The work in 1955 (Fernando Martinez Pozal / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/POZ/000193]). The work in its garden setting, 2015 (User: Hipersyl / Wikipedia Commons / CC BY-SA 4.0). – 413 – Inventory 8 Fons Vitae, also known as Fonte da Vida (Fountain of Life), Francisco dos Santos, Jardim da Estrela, contract 9 November 1918, placement ? Exhibited at the 1918 exhibition of the National Society of the Fine-Arts, Fons Vitae was bought to be copied in marble with the height of 2 meter, for 2 500 escudos. During the 1930s it was removed; current whereabouts could not be established. Source: Actas 1918, 317–18, 721. 9 Maria da Fonte, Costa Mota (the elder), Jardim Teófilo Braga, contract 7 August 1916, inauguration 15 September 1920. The work, exhibited at the 1916 exhibition of the National Society of the Fine-Arts, depicts a historical figure of popular revolt in 1846, turned in an allegory of popular resistance. As a picture from 1924 shows the sculpture had initially a circular pedestal, later removed. Sources: Illustração Portugueza (s. II, 535, 22 May 1916, 615). Images: The story of Maria da Fonte with image of the statue, published in Illustração Portugueza (s. II, 943, 15 March 1924). Original placement, undated (Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/NEG/004189]). Three views of the statue in its current setting (Fernando Martinez Pozal / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/POZ/000198]; Arnaldo Madureira / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/ARM/S03776]; © José Manuel Costa Alves 2005 / CML). – 414 – Inventory 10 Portrait Bust of Rafael Bordalo Pinheiro, Raul Xavier, Jardim do Campo Grande, inaugurated in March 1921. A work raised as a tribute to the caricaturist and ceramist in front of a museum dedicated to his work, created in 1916. The bust was a gift by Cruz Magalhães, who also donated the museum to the municipality. A first stone was placed in November 1919. The pedestal was designed by the municipal architect J. A. Soares. Sources: Actas da Comissão Executiva 1919, 440; Actas 1919, 229–30; Illustração Portuguesa (s. II, 788, 26 March 1921, 200). Images: Work in 1929 (Eduardo Portugal / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/POR/001295]). Work around 1960 (Arnaldo Madureira / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/ARM/S00005]). Actual setting (CML). – 415 – Inventory 11 Prometeu, Francisco dos Santos, Jardim Constantino, contract 5 August 1920, placement 1925. Successfully exhibited at the 1920 exhibition of the National Society of the Fine-Arts, it was acquired by the municipality for 8 000 escudos. In 1924, after a few years of rampant inflation, the sculptor complained the quantity was insufficient to cover materials and labour, asking for an additional 8 000 escudos. The request was granted after favourable review by the municipal architect. The sculptor himself chose the garden and directed placement. Originally a small bronze figure stood on the boy's left arm. Sources: Actas da Comissão Executiva 1920, 546–47; 1924, 29; 1925, 537. Images: Plaster model (In Alma Nova, s. III, 4-6, December 1922–March 1923). Work in 1958 (Armando Serôdio / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/SER/I00052]). Present state (CML). – 416 – Inventory 12 Portrait bust of Augusto Rosa, A. Teixeira Lopes, Largo do Sé / Jardim Augusto Rosa, 1918, inaugurated 25 December 1925. The idea of acquiring a bust to be placed in a public space of the city (to be decided by the Commission of Municipal Aesthetics) was first suggested by A. Bermudes in 1918, shortly after the death of the famous actor. The bust was made by Teixeira Lopes and much reproduced. Only in 1925, after the gardened area in front of the Cathedral was given the name of the actor, the bust was placed. The bust still stands there, though the garden has since disappeared. Sources: Actas 1918, 299; Diário de Notícias (1925) Images: Bust in garden, 1959 (Armando Serôdio / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/SER/I00583]). Marble copy of the bust at the National Museum of Contemporary Art, 1969 (Armando Serôdio / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/SER/S05875]). Present setting (CML). – 417 – Inventory 13 Monument to França Borges, Maximiano Alves, Jardim de França Borges, first stone 4 November 1921, inaugurated 4 November 1925. The monument to the Republican Journalist (1871-1915) was the initiative of a commission chaired by the politician Domingos Leite Pereira, financed by public subscription and State support. On the occasion the garden was renamed after França Borges. Maximiano Alves innovated on the traditional commemorative format, placing a medallion on a base simulating natural rock with a figure representing the Republic in front of it paying tribute. Sources: Diário do Governo (s. I, 20 September 1919; 2 May 1921); Diário da Câmara dos Deputados (2 September 1919, 24 February, 8 and 26 April 1921). Images: Work in 1959 (Armando Serôdio / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/SER/I00578]). Present state (© José Manuel Costa Alves 2005 / CML). – 418 – Inventory 14 Monument to the poet Chiado, Costa Mota (the younger), Largo do Chiado, contract 12 September 1919, inaugurated 18 December 1925. The monument, acquired at the exhibition of the National Society of the Fine-Arts in 1919, pays tribute to António Ribeiro, a satirical poet of the 16th century known by the nickname Chiado. In 1920 the site in the high-class Chiado area was already decided, but the work was only placed in 1925 after A. Guisado found the model waiting in a pavilion in the Jardim da Estrela. Guisado also proposed to change the square's name from Largo das Duas Igrejas to Largo do Poeta Chiado, which met with resistance in the Municipal Senate. In the end a compromise was adopted: Largo do Chiado, with additional information on the poet on the street name sign. The pedestal was designed by J. A. Soares. Sources: Actas 1925, 202–5; Actas da Comissão Exeutiva 1919, 127; 1925, 150, 169, 215. Images: Cartoon of Chiado greeting (In O Século Cómico, 22: 1121, 9 June 1919). Site in 1953 (Judah Benoliel / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/JBN/004111]). Work in 1959 (Armando Serôdio / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/SER/I00650]). Work at presentt (© José Manuel Costa Alves 2005 / CML). – 419 – Inventory 15 O Adamastor (The Adamastor), Júlio Vaz Júnior, Miradouro de Santa Catarina, contract 20 March 1922, inaugurated 10 June 1927. Exhibited in 1921, the model was acquired after a proposal of Rodrigues Simões. An agreement was reached with the sculptor to execute the work in stone and bronze at double size for 15 000 escudos, though the Commission of Municipal Aesthetics considered that the sculptor had made other more interesting works, including a bas-relief – Os Humildes – which the artist had donated to the municipality in 1912. In 1924 the Commission indicated the Santa Catarina viewpoint – with a garden dating from the late 19th century – as a proper site. Representing the mythological character of the Northern Wind made famous by Camões in his Lusíades, the work is really an allegory of the daunting labour of sculpture itself, with a small bronze figure representing the sculptor. Sources: Actas 1912, 182; 1921, 260–62, 484–86; Actas da Comissão Executiva 1924, 102. Images: Work, undated (Fernando Martinez Pozal / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/POZ/000205]). Site in 1959 (Fernando Manuel de Jesus Matias / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/FJM/000017]). Os Humildes, bas-relief (In Illustração Portugueza, s. II, 316, 11 March 1912). – 420 – Inventory 16 Portrait bust of Teófilo Braga, A. Teixeira Lopes, Jardim da Estrela, contract 16 November 1915, inaugurated 16 October 1927. The portrait of the Republican Statesman was a commission of the municipality (Teixeira Lopes fondly recalls the posing sessions in his memoirs) but remained a plaster model until it was unearthed by a commission of friends and admirers in 1924, after Braga's death. The municipality accepted the proposed site in the Jardim da Estrela and built the foundations and pedestal. The bust was removed in the late 1930s and is actually installed in Ponta Delgada. Sources: Actas da Comissão Executiva 1926, 381; A. Neves 1927; Lopes 1968, 589–91, 660–62; Elias 2006, 39; Valdemar 2010. A copy of the bust is at the Casa-Museu Teixeira Lopes (Vila Nova de Gaia). Images: Work (Lisbon, Torre do Tombo [PT/TT/EPJS/SF/001- 001/0004/1398A]). Inauguration (Lisbon, Torre do Tombo [PT/TT/EPJS/SF/001-001/0007/1469B]). – 421 – Inventory 17 Portrait bust of Júlio Castilho, Costa Mota (the younger), Jardim de Júlio de Castilho / Miradouro de Santa Luzia, inaugurated 24 July 1929. An example of post-Republican continuity. The intention of creating a public garden with viewpoint at this spot went back to 1914, when the municipal council asked the government for an area of about 840 m2 on top of the historical city wall for the purpose. Initially unsuccessful, the viewpoint was built after 1926 under political direction of Quirino da Fonseca, who also promoted the inclusion of an azulejos pannel by António F. Quaresma Júnior. The idea of the portrait bust was a civic initiative linked to the society of Friends of Lisbon and funded by public subscription. Placemet at the Largo de Santo António da Sé was approved by the still Republican council in 1926; in 1929 it was installed at the present site. The garden was enlarged and redesigned in the late 1950s. Sources: Actas 1914, 313; 1926, 243–44; Diário de Notícias (1928c); Boletim 4 (1930), 7, 14; Relvas 2009; Melo 2011. Images: Model (Estúdio Mário Novais / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/MNV/000277]). Inauguration (Ferreira da Cunha / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/FEC/000110]). Setting, 1929 (Eduardo Portugal / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/POR/052000]). View of the portrait (José Artur Leitão Bárcia / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/BAR/000388]); – 422 – Inventory 18 Monument to Antero de Quental, Diogo de Macedo, Jardim da Estrela, first stone 18 April 1926, inaugurated 18 April 1929. In 1925 the Diário dos Açores and the magazine Alma Nova promoted a public subscription for a monument to Quental, figuring an image in marble of the dying poet by Diogo de Macedo (1889-1959). The municipal council authorized a site in the Jardim da Estrela and built foundations, designed by the architect J. Segurado. A first stone was placed by the head of State (Bernardino Machado); three years later – during the military dictatorship – the monument was inaugurated. It was removed in 1941 and placed in Coimbra (Parque Dr. Manuel Braga) in 1958. In 1948 another monument to the poet by Barata Feyo was inaugurated in the same garden. Sources: Actas da Comissão Executiva 1925, 813; “Antero de Quental.” 1925; Elias 2006, 39; Direcção Regional do Cultura do Centro (http://www.culturacentro.pt/museuit.asp?id=214). Images: Death mask by Diogo de Macedo (In O Domingo Ilustrado, 18 April 1926). Ceremony of the foundational stone (Lisbon, Torre do Tombo [PT/TT/EPJS/SF/001- 001/0002/0614A]). Work (Lisbon, Torre do Tombo [PT/TT/EPJS/SF/001-001/0004/1390A]). – 423 – Inventory 19 War memorials After 11 November 1918 municipal council member Adelino Mendes proposed to open a public subscription for a national monument in Lisbon. However, the idea only took off when a philanthropic war society (Junta Patriótica do Norte, 1916- 1937) started to promote the creation of war memorials. Within the municipal council the idea of a public competition iwas discussed and a site reserved in the Jardim das Albertas (which suitably offered a view over the former boarding point of Portuguese troops), consequently renamed as Jardim 9 de Abril (remembering the Battle of the Lys (In which the Portuguese Second Division was overrun by the German Army). The decision was confirmed in 1924, but the memorial never built. Since 1921 another State commission was promoting the creation of a National War Memorial; a site at the Avenida da Liberdade was granted in 1923 and a foundational stone placed there. The municipality offered the foundations. The memorial, created by the sculptor Maximiano Alves and the architect Guilherme Rebelo de Andrade, was inaugurated in 1931. Sources: Actas 1918, 766; Actas da Comissão Executiva 1920, 98–101, 103–4; 1921, 154; 1923, 121–22; 1925, 260–61; Actas 1924, 455–57; Correia 2011. Image: War Memorial at the Avenida da Liberdade (User: Javier H O / Wikimedia Commons / CC BY 3.0). – 424 – Inventory 20 Monument to Luís Monteiro. Anjos Teixeira, Avenida da Liberdade, inaugurated 15 May 1932. In 1928 a commission promoted by a sports club (Ginásio Clube Português) asked for a site and foundations at the Avenida da Liberdade for a monument to the founder of physical education (1843-1906). A. Guisado presented the requirement. Later the work was moved to the Jardim da Estrela and in 1941 to the headquarters of the Ginásio Clube. Source: Elias 2006, 44. Image: Inauguration (Ferreira da Cunha / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/FEC/000145]). 21 Monument to the Military School. Barata Feyo, Jardim Teixeira Rebelo, inaugurated 3 March 1932. Promoted by former students of the secondary military school (Colégio Militar) to celebrated the institution's 130th anniversary, the monument was placed in the garden in front of the school. The authors – Barata Feyo, who made the three bronze reliefs, and the architect Carvalho Cunha – were former students themselves. Image: Work (© Mafalda Jácome 2014 / SIPA / CC BY-NC- ND-3.0). – 425 – Inventory 22 Statues of Dom Manuel I, Dom João II, Bartolomeu Dias, Vasco da Gama, Dom Henrique and Afonso Albuquerque. Belém In the early 1930s the municipality promoted a gallery of Portuguese “heroes” of the overseas expansion of the 15th and 16th century in Belém, in front of the historical Jerónimos Monastery. Most of the works were recycled from participation at the International Exposition in Seville in 1929. For the two missing kings, Manuel I and João II, the municipality organized a competition in 1930-1931, won by Maximiano Alves and Rui Gameiro. Apparently Alves' work was never placed, awaiting the demolition of a building. In the end the entire gallery was substituted for a much larger transformation of the site for the 1940 Exhibition. The statue of Dom Manuel I ended in the Saint Jorge Castle. Source: Elias 2006, 34–36, 549–50. Images: Future Praça do Império, around 1931-1932 (Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/MBM/000038]). Statue of Dom Manuel I (User: Maragato1976 / Wikimedia Commons / CC BY-SA 3.0). – 426 – Inventory 23 Monument to the Heroes of the Peninsular War. Francisco and José Oliveira Ferreira, Entrecampos, competition and foundational stone in 1908, inaugurated 8 January 1933. Started as the latest royal initiative in Lisbon, the monument was slowly built and only finished in 1932. Image: Work (© José Manuel Costa Alves 2005 / CML). 24 Monument to the Marquis of Pombal. A. Bermudes, A. do Couto and Francisco Santos, Rotunda do Marquês de Pombal, foundational stone in 1882, competition 1914, inaugurated 13 May 1934. Though initially a civic initiative, between 1911 and 1914 the project passed to the hands of the State. A foundational stone had been placed as early as 1882, but the proposal by Bermudes and Santos dates from a public competition in 1914. Along the prolonged chronology of the project the municipality contributed with site, foundations and lobbying. The process is discussed in chapter 3. Image: Work (Arend Vermazeren / Wikimedia Commons / CC BY 2.0). – 427 – Inventory 25 Rosa Araújo. Costa Mota (the younger), corner of the Rua Rosa Araújo and Rua Mousinho da Silveira, inaugurated 25 October 1936. Though only placed in 1936, the intention of paying tribute to Rosa Araújo (1840-1893), the municipal president who pushed through the construction of the Avenida da Liberdade in the 1870s, went back to the 1910s. According to the municipal minutes a bust of him then awaited the conclusion of the Eduardo VII Park to be placed there. The relation with this portrait is unclear. Costa Mota's portrait, with a reverent allegory of the city of Lisbon, was moved in 1945 to a more prominent location at the Avenida da Liberdade; photographs in the Municipal Archive show that at least until the 1960s the work went without the allegorical figure, later replaced. Sources: Actas da Comissão Executiva 1919, 25; CML 1937, 190. Images: Inauguration (In CML 1937). Work (© José Manuel Costa Alves 2005 / CML). – 428 – Inventory 26 Monument to António José de Almeida. Pardal Monteiro and Leopoldo de Almeida, Avenida de António José de Almeida, competition 1933-1934, inaugurated 31 December 1937. A commission promoting the construction of a monument to the Republican president was granted a site in 1930. In 1934 the municipality decided to aid financially; due to recent legislation, this implied the realization of a public competition. The results were inaugurated in 1937. Apparently, there was a lot of State interference in this last of civic initiatives in public art. Source: Elias 2006, 44, 553–55. Images: Monument (CML). – 429 – Inventory Other works (unbuilt, not in public space, etc.) 27 Primavera (Spring). Mathurin Moreau, Jardim da Estrela, creation and placement unknown. The work is a reproduction of La Fée aux fleurs (1851), a work by the French industrial artist Mathurin Moreau (1822-1912) sold by the artistic foundry of Val d'Osne. An unconfirmed story has it that it was a reproduction in faïence produced by the Fábrica de Devesas (Vila Nova de Gaia), placed during the early 20th century in the garden. Images: Work (In M. C. Ramos 1920); Catalogue of the Fonderies d'Art du Val D'Osne, Album 2 (“Fontes d'art”), plate 583, La Fée aux fleurs is the figure in the centre. – 430 – Inventory 28 Monument to António José da Silva The satirical dramatist (1705-1739), popularly known as “the Jew” and condemned to death by the Inquisition, represented to anti-clerical liberals the evils of Catholicism. The Liberal Union (Junta Liberal) promoted a monument to Silva since at least 1909, when it asked a site along the Avenida Cinco de Outubro (actual Jardim Augusto Monjardino). A model was commissioned to Simões de Almeida (the younger) but the process was exceedingly slow. Foundational stones were apparently placed twice (In 1913 and 1920). In 1926 A. Ferreira informed the foundations and pedestal were ready, but the Liberal Union didn't have the resources to cast the model. Subsequently the model and funds (1200 escudos) were handed over to the municipality, but – perhaps due to regime change – the statue was never made. Sources: Actas 1909, 642; T. Braga 1910; Ill. Port. 1920; Actas da Comissão Executiva 1926, 101, 121; J. V. Serrão 1990, 292–93. Images: Model by Simões de Almeida and speech during the ceremony of the foundational stone by municipal councillor Pereira Dias (In Illustração Portugueza, s. II, 399, 13 October 1913). 29 Monument to the Heroes of the Revolution Proposed by Ventura Terra for the Eduardo VII Park. The competition was never held. The process is discussed in chapter 3. 30 Monument to Sidónio Pais In the immediate aftermath of the assassination of Sidónio Pais (In 1918, the municipal council decided to initiate a public subscription for a monument, contributing with 20 000 escudos. After constitutional restoration the idea is abandoned. During the 1930s the idea was again unsuccessfully promoted by the State on parliamentary initiative, apparently with direct involvement of Salazar himself. L. Cristino da Silva elaborated several proposals. Sources: Actas 1918, 827–29; Elias 2006, 47–50, 555–59; A. M. da Silva 2006, 365–66. – 431 – Inventory 31 Noite de Inverno (Winter Night). José Moreira Rato, contract 1920. Though commissioned, there is no further notice on the work. It certainly was never placed in public space. Perhaps it is Rato's “Sem casa e sem pão” (Without Home nor Bread) from 1919, a copy of which is at the Museum of Contemporary Art (MNAC) in Lisbon. Image: J. M. Rato, Sem casa e sem pão, 1916-1919. Marble. (Caldas da Rainha, Museu José Malhoa / Photograph: Pedro Ribeiro Simões / flickr / CC-BY-2.0) 32 Portrait bust of the painter Silva Porto On initiative of the Silva Porto Society a foundational stone was placed in 1921 in front of the park in Benfica, which had received the name of the painter in 1918. The idea, however, had a longer history: Costa Mota (the younger) had modelled a proposal in 1906 on his own initiative, and is said to have completed another one in 1915. In 1926 A. Guisado informed the pedestal had been finished for some time but awaited placement of the bust. It is not clear whether the bust was placed; the present portrait was executed by the same artist but seems to be dated from the 1950s. Later the entire monument was moved to the interior of the park. Sources: A Construcção Moderna (6: 190, 1 June 1906); Illustração Portuguesa (s. II, 475, 29 March 1915, 385); Actas da Comissão Executiva 1921, 188; 1926, 101; CML-AML n.d.-b. Images: Exhibition of the 1906 model (In Illustração Portugueza, s. II, 64, 13 May 1907). The work at its original site (Claudino Madeira / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/MAD/000009]). – 432 – Inventory 33 Funeral monument to António Joaquim de Oliveira. Francisco dos Santos, Ajuda Cemetery, 1923-1924? The municipality contributed with 1 000 escudos to a funeral monument to this Republican notable (1863-1923). Sources: Actas da Comissão Executiva 1924, 194; Actas 1924, 174. 34 Funeral monument to Gomes Leal, Francisco dos Santos, Cemitério do Alto de S. João, inaugurated 17 December 1925. An initiative of A. Guisado after the remains of the poet (1848-1921) threatened to end in the common grave for lack of payment. Between 1923 and 1925 Guisado promoted the realization of a tomb mainly financed by the municipality, with a project by Santos. Sources: Actas da Comissão Executiva 1923, 330–31; 1925, 539; Actas 1924, 29–31; Mega 2006, 127. – 433 – Inventory 35 Monument to Camilo Castelo Branco Already during the 1900s there was a public subscription for a monument to the writer, then to be placed at Príncipe Real. Agostinho Fortes promoted the initiative in the first Republican municipal council, but advances had to wait until 1925; then a new commission invited A. Teixeira Lopes to make a model (kept at the Casa-Museu Teixeira Lopes in Vila Nova da Gaia) but subsequently decided to have a public competition instead. In protest Teixeira Lopes and others boycotted the competition, deemed without worthy results; a second public competition was won by Anjos Teixeira. A first stone was placed in the Eduardo VII Park in 1925; the municipality promised to build foundations; a park design from the 1920s indicates the prominent spot (Figure 281, lower circular square). However, when the model was finally finished in 1935 official taste had changed and the monument remained a plaster model. The actual marble statue in the garden with the writer's name, on the other side of the Rotunda do Marquês do Pombal, is a later work by António Duarte, inaugurated on 25 October 1950. Sources: C. S. 1907, 194; Actas 1908, 457; 1912, 588, 703; Sampaio 1915, 169– 75; C. J. Vieira 1925; Lopes 1968, 650–53; Actas da Comissão Executiva 1924, 153–54, 680; 1925, 160; Elias 2006, 67–69. Image: Anjos Teixeira, Model (Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/AVZ/000001]). – 434 – Inventory 36 Monument to Almeida Garrett In 1925-1926 A. Guisado defended the placement of a monument to the notorious literate (1799-1854) at the Largo Dom João da Câmara, near the National Theatre. The work in question might have been the one proposed a decade earlier by the sculptor Tomás da Costa. Though approved, the work never materialized. During the 1940s a statue of the writer, made by Salvador Barata-Feyo, was placed at the Avenida da Liberdade. Sources: Actas da Comissão Executiva 1925, 169; 1926, 216. Image: Tomás da Costa, Model of a monument to Almeida Garrett (In Illustração Portugueza, s. II, 366, 24 February 1913). 37 Monument to Nuno Álvares Pereira In 1925 the nationalist movement “Cruzada Nacional Dom Nuno Álvares Pereira” (1918-1938) commissioned a project for a monument to the canonised warrior (1360-1431) to the sculptor Francisco dos Santos. Initially the municipal council accepted its proposed placement at the Largo do Carmo, substituting an 18th century fountain. After public outcry, the Cruzada Nacional proposed instead the public garden of Santos, consequently renamed after Nuno Álvares. A foundational stone was placed on 14 August 1925 and the model of the monument exhibited in November 1928, but it was never finished. Sources: Actas da Comissão Executiva 1925, 475–76, 552, 703–3; Mega 2006, 122–23. 38 Monument to António Nobre In 1925 A. Guisado proposed to open a public competition for the creation of a monument to the poet (1867-1900) in the garden which received the latter's name. Though approved, no further notices were found. In 1927 a monument to the poet was inaugurated in Porto. Source: Actas da Comissão Executiva 1925, 929. – 435 – Inventory 39 Monument to João Chagas After the death of the important Republican politician and journalist (1863- 1925) a garden was called after him and the idea of a monument briefly entertained (the municipality contributed 27 000 escudos), but after the military coup in 1926 the idea was dropped. Sources: Actas da Comissão Executiva 1925, 411; 1926, 431; Actas 1925, 699. 40 Monument to Alfredo Keil The placement of a monument to the composer and painter (1850-1907) in the garden at Praça da Alegria, consequently renamed after Keil, was authorized in 1925-1926. A. Teixeira Lopes had made the model, kept at the Casa-Museu Teixeira Lopes (Vila Nova de Gaia). In the end, the proposing commission did not raise enough money to cast the statue. Sources: Actas da Comissão Executiva 1925, 874; Actas 1926, 192–93; Lopes 1968, 622–23. – 436 – Inventory 41 Portrait busts of Bernardino Antonio Gomes, the elder (1768-1823) and younger (1806-1877), Botanical Garden, inaugurated 14 November 1926. The municipality adhered to a civic initiative to pay tribute to both doctors (father and son) in March 1924. In late 1925 the executive commission had collected sufficient funds; the municipality authorized a site at the Avenida da Liberdade and offered foundations and pedestals. However, a year later the works were inaugurated in the botanical garden of the Polytechnical School. The bust and pedestal of the younger of the Gomes are by Costa Mota (the younger) and Álvaro Augusto Machado (municipal architect). authorship of the elder's bust could not be ascertained. A copy of the bust of Gomes the younger was placed in 1930 at the Praça Dr. Bernardino António Gomes (named after his father), at Campo de Santa Clara. Sources: Actas da Comissão Executiva 1925, 439; Actas 1925, 572–73. Images: Inauguration of the bust of Gomes the younger (Lisbon, Torre do Tombo [PT/TT/EPJS/SF/001-001/0003/1276A]). Bust of Gomes the elder (Fernando Manuel de Jesus Matias / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/FJM/000182]). Bust of Gomes the younger, 1968 (J. B. Geraldes / Lisbon, Municipal Archive [PT/AMLSB/CMLSBAH/PCSP/004/JBG/S00885]). – 437 – Inventory 42 Monument to Joaquim Lopes. Paço de Arcos, inaugurated 16 October 1927 A fisherman and lifeguard (patrão de salva-vidas, hence known as Patrão Joaquim Lopes, 1800-1890), much distinguished for saving shipwrecked nationals and foreigners. The municipality contributed with 500 escudos to fund-raising efforts in 1924 (in 1926 the State provided the bronze), even while the monument was constructed in the neighbouring village of Paço de Arcos. Sources: Comissão Executiva 1923; Actas da Comissão Executiva 1924, 391; Diário do Governo (s. I, 3 December 1926). – 438 – G. Verheij Additional note Additional note The acquisition of paintings and small sculptural works between 1921 and 1926. During the 1920s the municipal fund for the acquisition of garden sculptures was used to acquire paintings and, less frequently, small indoor sculptures. For documentary purposes I reproduce here a comprehensive list of acquired works between 1921 and 1926 which, if further studied, could provide interesting insight about official taste in painting. The works were acquired at the yearly Fine-Arts exhibitions or individual exhibitions, excepting the works Salvatore Rosa entre os Salteadores da Calabria and Scena da Rua by the viscount Luís de Menezes (1817-1878), bought directly from his daughter Elisa de Miranda Pereira de Menezes in 1921 for respectively 2 000 and 12 000 escudos (Actas da Comissão Executiva 1921, 290). From 1923 on virtually all proposals for the acquisition of paintings were made by A. Ferreira. • 1921: Bela Madrugada by António Alves Cardoso (1882-1930) for 3 500 escudos and Volta do Caranguejo by Eduardo Viana (1881-1967) for 500 escudos. (Actas da Comissão Executiva 1921, 290) • 1922: Riso, a portrait bust in marble by Simões de Almeida (the younger), water paintings of picturesque Lisbon scenes without indication of authorship (Largo de Santo Estêvão, Recanto da Sé, Claustro quinhentista, Lisboa Velha), and Avó by João Augusto Ribeiro (1860-1932), the latter for 5 000 escudos. (Actas da Comissão Executiva 1922, 200, 213) • 1923: Dinorah by Martinho da Fonseca (1890-1972) for 2 500 escudos, Contra-Luz (Jardim da Estrela) and Trecho de Jardim by Armando de Lucena (1886-1975) for respectively 500 escudos and 1 500 escudos, A Dobadora by Alfredo Miguéis (1883- 1943) for 2 500 escudos, Uma Família Alentejana by Dordio Gomes (1890-1976) for 5 000 escudos, O Ninho by Henrique Franco (1883-1961) for 5 000 escudos and the sculptures Baby by Diogo de Macedo (1889-1959) for 2 500 escudos and Rapariga Francesa by Francisco Franco (1885-1955) for 5 000 escudos. (Actas da Comissão Executiva 1923, 3–4, 415–17) • 1924: Vale Formoso by Fernando dos Santos (1892-1965), Rossio, Lisboa by Lino António (1898-1974), Lisboa ao Sol Poente by Francisco Cervantes de Haro (?) for 1 000 escudos and Viriato by Pedro Guedes (1874-1961) for 10 000 escudos. (Actas da Comissão Executiva 1924, 63, 93, 358, 602) • 1925: Buena Dicha by José Campas (1888-1971), Gente do Mar by Evaristo Catalão (?) for 3 500 escudos, Jardim da Tutoria by F. dos Santos for 800 escudos, Fim da Tarde by Albertino Guimarães (1891-1967) for 700 escudos, No Tejo by Adriano Costa (1888-1949) for 500 escudos, O quebrar da vaga by Alberto Lacerda (1889- 1975) for 300 escudos, A Sopa dos Pobres by Acácio Lino for 5 500 escudos, Lisboa Antiga, Trecho de Santo and Jerónimos, Altar-Mor by João Hermano Baptista (1901- 1971) for respectively 450 escudos and 1 000 escudos, Lisboa Antiga, S. Martinho by Luís Ortigão Burnay (1884-1951) for 700 escudos, Arraial numa rua de Lisboa by E. Viana for 4 000 escudos, La Servante (also known as Menina Cosendo Meias) by – 439 – G. Verheij Additional note Abel Manta (1888-1982) for 4 000 escudos and Casa Antiga by Adriano Costa for 1 500 escudos. (Actas da Comissão Executiva 1925, 122, 197, 234, 251, 301, 954) • 1926: Rapariga dos Diospiros by Joaquim Lopes (1886-1956) for 2 500 escudos and Arredores de Lisboa by Augusto do Nascimento (?) for 1 500 escudos. (Actas da Comissão Executiva 1926, 149) – 440 – G. Verheij Bibliography BIBLIOGRAPHY 100 ANOS do Plano Ventura Terra. Funchal, a cidade do automóvel. 2015. Funchal: Ordem dos Arquitetos. 1ER CONGRÈS International de la Route (Paris, 1908). Compte rendu des travaux du congrès. 1909. Paris: Lahure. “A ACADEMIA. Estatua decorativa do monumento a Souza Martins.” 1903. A Construcção Moderna 4 (115): 245. “A Arte Publica.” 1900. A Construcção Moderna, no. 21 (December): 6. A. B. 1908. “Jardins para crianças.” A Construcção Moderna 9 (267): 19–20. A Capital. 1910a. “O Casal Ventoso,” July 31. ———. 1910b. “Patrões, policias e juizes: eis os inimigos!” September 6. ———. 1910c. “A caturrice d’um engenheiro entrava um melhoramento,” September 11. ———. 1911a. “Não se faz o Bairro Europa?” March 24. ———. 1911b. “Lisboa monumental. A ponte sobre o Tejo,” May 18. ———. 1911c. “Lisboa transforma-se. Vão começar as obras do Parque Eduardo VII. Teremos, finalmente, uma ponte sobre o Tejo,” June 2. ———. 1911d. “Quem vae construir a ponte sobre o Tejo?” June 6. ———. 1911e. “A crise de trabalho está imminente,” September 29. ———. 1911f. “Em Lisboa ha falta de 18 escolas, diz o vereador Sr. Loureiro Nunes,” December 9. ———. 1912a. “Coisas da nossa terra... O Parque Eduardo VII,” May 17. ———. 1912b. “O parque Eduardo VII,” May 23. ———. 1912c. “Pelo turismo. Lisboa vae ter um campo de ‘golf,’” June 25. ———. 1912d. “O monumento ao Marquez de Pombal. As causas por que tem sido retardada a sua execução,” August 14. ———. 1912e. “Parque Eduardo VII. 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Historiographical contexts and critique. An international perspective. Research question and structure. Terminology and translations. Final note: the production of public space................................................................................................................................................17 INTERNATIONAL PLANNING CULTURE(S) Modern planning and urban design The metropolis, urban reform and the roots of modern planning: A view over Portugal from German Städtebau. The rise of the planning discipline and international exchange. Urban growth and metropolitan realities. The late 19th century urban landscape. Intellectual reactions to the metropolis. The “social question.”....................................................................................................................................................32 The challenges of urban design: Dissolution of traditional urban form and new forms of experience. Technology and the image of the modern city. Monotony and urban aesthetics. The Ringstraße and Sitte's “artistic principles.” The aesthetic gaze in Städtebau. Aesthetics and social reform. Planning: art and science........................................................................................................................................................37 Institutions of planning From Städtebau to Town and City Planning: Normative experiences. The “German example.” Early institution of Städtebau. Foreign visions. Institution(s) of planning in Great Britain and the United States. Housing reformers, garden-city enthusiasts, architects, landscape designers, and champions of civic art. International exchange................................................................................................................................48 The birth of French Urbanisme: a) Roots and particularities of Urbanisme. A genealogy: 1) Building by- laws, Hénard's studies and Beaux-Arts architecture. 2) Artistic literatures: “l'ésthetique des villes” and “art social.” 3) The heritage of Le Play and the Musée Social. b) The institution of a discipline. Debates on open space and the creation of the Section d'Hygiène Urbaine et Rural. From open space to comprehensive planning. The creation of the Société Française des Architectes Urbanistes. The originality of Urbanisme. War and the opportunity of reconstruction. From exhibition to educational institution and disciplinary definitions...................................................................................................................................................58 International exchange The internationalization of planning cultures: The international dimension of early 20th century planning. Municipal trading and international organization. The “men of goodwill:” bourgeois reformism..............76 Congresses, exhibitions and institutions: Nodes of the international planning network. International meetings from urban sanitation to town planning. The International Public Art Congresses. The planning exhibition: W. Hegemann and P. Geddes. International planning institutions: The International Union of Cities and the International Association of Garden-Cities and Town Planning. Postwar expert networks...79 Exporting expertise: The exportation of planning traditions. The garden-city model. A case of garden-city exportation: B. Parker's work in Porto and São Paulo. Complexity of cultural transference. The exportation of the linear city. The circulation of expertise: German Städtebau, American City-Planning, French Urbanisme. The example of South America. Informal and institutional networks......................................88 A note on public housing, modernity and modernism: The rise of public housing: Great Britain, Belgium, France, Holland, Austria and Germany. Berlin's Siedlungen. Housing experiments and modernist discourse. The modern city according to Le Corbusier. The ideology of the plan. Corbusier and the CIAM in relation to mainstream Urbanisme..........................................................................................................94 – 501 – G. Verheij Analytical index Portuguese planning culture in international perspective A panorama of urban change: H. Neves' Letters from Berlin. General circulation of images of urban change and the limits of written sources. Urban reform in the specialized press. Absence of a notion of planning. Specialized journals: A Construcção, A Construcção Moderna, Architectura Portugueza. The contribution of Melo de Matos.................................................................................................................101 The international circulation of professionals: The absence of reflection from urban professionals. Circulation of professionals through international congresses: municipality of Lisbon, engineers, architects .................................................................................................................................................................109 Institutional realities: The fragility of personal enthusiasm. The importance of institutions: example from Barcelona. Three cases of failed institution-making in Portugal: affordable housing, tourist promotion and the social sciences....................................................................................................................................113 VIEWS OVER LISBON. ART AND THE CITY AT THE START OF THE 20TH CENTURY Dreams and realities of Lisboa Nova Lisbon and the dilemma of modernity: The conflict between history and modernity. Descriptions by Fialho de Almeida. Urban modernity, aesthetic regime and public space. The city as a conflict between past and present. A porous modernity. Lisbon, an impossible city? Castilho's alternative of a composite city.......145 Reading Fialho de Almeida's “Lisboa monumental:” How to deal with the proliferation of images of the modern city. The city-as-image. “Lisboa monumental”, impact and relevance. Future Lisbon, an urban model? Critique of the existing city. Normative aspects and aesthetic control. Aesthetics and the social question. Relation to French literature on urban aesthetics.......................................................................150 Lights and shadows of Lisboa Nova: Aesthetic dissatisfaction in relation to urban development policies. Plans for Lisbon during the 19th century. Public versus private-led development. The 1904 General Improvement Scheme and its limits. In defence of planning: from urban development to architectural order. Lisboa Nova: Aesthetic failure or aesthetic conflict?.................................................................................160 Aesthetic intentions and urban realities The problem of monumentality: The circulation of images of architectural monumentality. Contrast with Haussmannian order. The failure to monumentalize Lisboa Nova. A sculptural gallery of “Great Men” versus a modest reality of small-scale monuments. Frustration and the end of aesthetic consensus..........167 Between metropolis and monument: The metropolis haunting monumentality. Images of urban modernity. Another urban fiction: Melo de Matos' city of the future. The expressiveness of style. The presence of past and place. Art and regeneration. A public art for the 20th century...........................................................171 The city beyond the plan: Port policies and myths. The tourist gaze and the rediscovery of the city. Nature's blessings versus man-made environment. The waterfront as an aesthetic problem. The paradox of official planning policies. The resistance of landscape and the need to look to public space................................178 Framing the discourse of “urban aesthetic(s)” Aesthetic failure and public control: Criticism of public taste and calls for aesthetic regulation. Campaigning for architectural quality. “Public art” and the “aesthetic of the street” in 1900. The basic elements of the discourse on the “urban aesthetic.” Related themes: urban improvements, housing and the “social question,” building quality and supervision, reception of French debates.....................................187 The architect as expert: Crisis in architecture. Status, training and professional association. Sources of architectural prestige: the Valmor award and the ambiguous relation with Paris. Professional distinction: the architect as aesthetic expert. The impasse of artistic education and the promises of aesthetic control. Architectural lobbying in favour of the “urban aesthetic.” The 1907 petition on the aesthetic of the capital .................................................................................................................................................................194 (In)definitions of “urban aesthetic(s):” Critique of the state of the art. The object and the gaze of urban aesthetics. Terminological vagueness and possible meanings. Aesthetic theories and main assumptions. Experience, judgement and education. Empty normativity and virtual consensus....................................199 URBAN AESTHETICS IN REPUBLICAN LISBON Ventura Terra and “municipal aesthetics” Ventura Terra and Republican Lisbon: Republican ideals and politics. 1908 municipal elections and Republican victory. Relations between municipal council and State. Disillusions and collective dismissal. Ultimate failure of Republican ideals. The program for a Republican city: municipal autonomy, social economy and civic culture........................................................................................................................236 – 502 – G. Verheij Analytical index Urban policies and “municipal aesthetics:” Reorientation of urban policies. Readings of Ventura Terra as utopian architect and critique. The “Commission of Municipal Aesthetics.” Impossibility of aesthetic regulation. An expert commission. The meaning of “municipal aesthetics.” Activity of the commission; indefinition of limits and scope. The practice of municipal aesthetics......................................................241 Conflicting competences. Architects, engineers and aesthetics: “Municipal aesthetics” and Public Works. Hostility between Diogo Peres and Ventura Terra; example of the pavement competition. Reform of the Department of Public Works: separation between architecture and engineering. Reactions to the reform. “Urban aesthetic(s),” architecture and the modern city.............................................................................251 “Municipal aesthetics” in practice Case 1: Aesthetics and public space in the Eduardo VII Park: A testing ground for “municipal aesthetics.” Significance of the site. Ventura Terra's solution. Disagreement with Diogo Peres. Setbacks and final failure of the project. Aesthetic divergence and the place of public space.................................................260 Case 2: Regenerating the urban waterfront: Local aspirations and international examples. Links with contemporary urban regeneration. “Lisboa futura.” An alternative to the visionary reading. Ventura Terra's proposals. Opposition: port development, railways, commercial activity and land ownership. A public space perspective of the waterfront proposals...........................................................................................269 Limits and values of “municipal aesthetics:” Limits of Ventura Terra's notion of public space: housing and private urban development. Casal Ventoso, Rua do Garrido, regulation of courtyards and private streets. A contrasting case of “urban aesthetic(s):” Rua do Carmo. Limitations and virtues in the practice of “municipal aesthetics.”.............................................................................................................................279 Continuity and change from the Republic to the New State The limits of law and the problem of the plan: Architects, artists and municipal organization. Regulating aesthetic control. Marginalization, reappearance, suspension and restoration of the Commission of Municipal Aesthetics. The limits of Republican “municipal aesthetics.”..................................................285 Practices of design: Designing in a plan-less city. Questioning architectural competence: the cases of the Rossio modification and social housing Arco do Cego. Partial municipal schemes in 1920; the example of Penha de França. The paradoxical renewal of municipal planning practices. Gardens, “nature” and design. A Republican policy of municipal green spaces? A pioneering public arts program. Originality, characteristics and relation to site.............................................................................................................296 Domesticating the “urban aesthetic” during the early dictatorship: Salazar's Estado Novo. Architecture, public works and planning. Municipal management. The modernization of planning practices: foreign expertise, public debate and the place of architects. The persistence of “urban aesthetic(s).” Aesthetic regulation and institutions. Relation to the internationalization of planning practices. The transformation of “urban aesthetic(s)” and the dictatorial production of space.....................................................................310 EPILOGUE: AN AESTHETIC OF LISBON? P. Montez and the “Aesthetic of Lisbon.” Montez' role in the diffusion of modern planning. From “urban aesthetic(s)” to planning and back again. Proença's love-song of Lisbon. “Nature” versus “the work of men.” From the object to the gaze. The city as a work of art and the resistance of landscape. The enigma of Lisbon: an unconscious “urban aesthetic”? Lisbon as a garden- city. Plan or place? Concluding remark....................................................................................................359 – 503 –