Two summers ago, I made a trip to Germany in die Zitrone that was among my most memorable, which I wrote about here. While the main aim of that road-trip was to visit some of my many relatives in the country I consider my second home, the return journey included one of the absolute highlights of my classic car experiences, and a long-held ambition fulfilled, as I was finally able to see the fabled Schlumpf Collection, now housed in the Cité de l’Automobile in Mulhouse, and I wrote about this incredible collection here.
I had read about the Schlumpf Collection years ago, how the secretive Italo-Swiss brothers, Fritz and Hans, using the wealth they earned from their woollen mill business, built up an astonishing collection of cars that they then hid from the prying eyes of the rest of the world until an industrial dispute with their workforce revealed over 400 of some of the world’s finest and rarest cars. In among the display of historic cars from the likes of Hispano-Suiza, Mercedes-Benz, De Dion Bouton, Gordini, Renault and Citroën among others were over 120 (not a typo!) Bugatti’s including two – yes, two – of only seven Bugatti Royale’s ever built.
And yet, despite this collection of riches and sheer opulence, even the two Royale’s were not the most amazing cars on show for me; that distinction fell to one car in particular, one that I’d never seen even a photograph of, designed by someone that I had never heard of before, and a second car by the same designer that was in some ways decades ahead of its time.
Born just three years into the 20th Century, Paul Arzens was initially an artist, having studied at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts as a young man, and he made a respectable living from selling his work. In fact he did so well that in later years he became reluctant to sell his paintings, since he didn’t need the money – no starving artist, he. This enabled him to look at other interests, principally in the areas of engineering and design, and in the 1940s and ‘50s he developed a formidable reputation as a designer of locomotives, primarily – but not exclusively – for SCNF, the French national railway, and was involved in the design of the TGV in the 1960s.
However, prior to his work on trains, Arzens had dabbled in the world of automotive engineering. He had already designed a working 6-speed automatic transmission for Peugeot in 1935, although it didn’t find its way into production.
However, a couple of years later, he came up with the car – which seems too ordinary, not to say too short a word to describe it – that astonished me in Mulhouse, and this was “La Baleine” or The Whale, and you can see why – just look at it! It looks like it’s from the future, with its streamlined cabriolet styling, not unlike the giant mammal from which it took its name.
It’s not just this ultra-long, sleek look that gave it its name – the extravagantly-styled radiator resembles the baleen in the mouth of a whale and headlamps integrated behind it give it a very menacing look; imagine seeing those in your rear-view mirror! I think you’d move over…
And it is huge, 7 metres long, in fact – or 23 feet! To put that into context, a Mercedes-Benz 600 “Pullman” limousine is a mere 6.24m or 20ft 5ins in length. Even more remarkably, despite its considerable length, La Baleine seats just two people. The rear overhang alone must be over 1.5metres…it’s hard to believe it handles in any way other than like a boat.
Built in Arzens’ Parisian workshop, this enormous car was based on a 1928 Buick chassis and powered by a moderately sized engine, a 3.5-litre six-cylinder that only produced 68bhp, yet was enough to propel this massive mobile sculpture to a top speed of 160km/h, no doubt aided by it’s aerodynamic design.
Although it seats just two, Arzens made the interior big enough to transport his artist’s materials and a model so that he could paint wherever he wished – it was effectively a transportable studio, and Arzens drove it regularly until his death in 1990 – I should think it attracted attention everywhere he went, and parking must have been quite a lot of fun…for watching bystanders.
La Baleine has starred briefly in Franco-Belgian literature – or more accurately, in a comic-book periodical that has been published since 1938 – coincidentally the year it was built – describing the adventures of bell-boy Spirou and later, his sidekick Fantasio, usually set during wartime. In a reflection of the peculiar one-off nature of La Baleine, it features on the cover of a special Brussels-dialect edition published in 2014 and part of La Femme Léopard (the Leopard Woman) series, called “Le Fetichke du Kongo”, or “The Congo Fetish”. The car is depicted being driven by said Leopard Woman with our hero – and his pet squirrel Spip (the name Spirou means squirrel in Walloon) – standing on the vast bonnet trying to catch a flying robot. At least, that’s what it looks like…
Another remarkable aspect of this spectacular car – one of many – is that it was the first car Arzens designed and built. The second Baleine he built was an attempt to make a battery-powered equivalent, this time using a lighter FIAT chassis, but this was laden with 1100kg of batteries, so never really got going, so to speak – it produced only 10bhp and had a top speed of just c.70km/h, though it had a claimed range of 200km. I should imagine charging it took a while…
However, for his next trick, Arzens went against type and built a much smaller car, again battery-powered, and again, with styling that would make you think it was from the future, not 1942.
Designed in the same year he built the first La Baleine, but not built until 1942, this vision of the future was – perhaps unsurprisingly – quickly christened “L’Oeuf Electrique”, or The Electric Egg. The wheels – two at the front, one at the rear – were tiny, and most of the generally round body was made of curved plexiglass and aluminium, making it very light – it weighed only 60kgs. The rear-mounted electric motor added another 30kgs but the real ballast came – just like with today’s electric cars – from the batteries, which weighed another 260kg, giving a total weight of 350kgs. Although period photos showing the rear of the Egg being seemingly casually lifted to move the car around, I would have thought some strength was required to do so.
The car had a maximum range of 100km at a maximum speed of 70km/h or at 60km/h with two people on board – adequate for city use, and as with La Baleine, Arzens used the car himself until his death, and it too now resides in the Cité de l’Automobile, alongside La Baleine – to say they make a contrasting pair is to understate it!
The two versions of La Baleine and the one-off L’Ouef Electrique were the only cars Arzens ever built – thereafter, he dedicated his design skills to the world of rail travel. While it’s highly unlikely that his extraordinary designs could ever have been adapted for mass, or even specialist, production, it’s a pity that he didn’t create a few more of his uniquely extravagant cars – who knows what he might have come up with!
