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| 1. |  | Lucien Aigner 1930s A typical French couple on the terrace of a sidewalk café. He looks at the passers-by, while Madame is making up. [Paris Cafés: Landmarks of Paris Life] Gelatin silver print 9 1/16 x 6 3/4 ins Courtesy of the Lucien Aigner Estate "When you live in Paris you must have a café where you go regularly. Mine was the 'Deux Magots' where after lunch I took a half hour or so with my friends to sip a café crÞme, talk shop, politics, gossip or literary concernsàMy friend and partner Louis Aczél could talk for hours. I envied him but couldn't imitate him. After half an hour I became restless and bored. The Deux Magots is a famous literary café, but we were not part of the crowd on the inside, where writers, artists and newspapermen congregated. We sat on the 'terrasse' [terrace] facing the big stone church on the opposite corner of the square, built hundreds of years ago to honor the patron saint of meadows and pastures. Around our table gathered our mostly Hungarian friends, some newspapermen like ourselves, others active in a variety of fields: doctors, businessmen, artists and so on. Of course the Deux Magots (literally meaning 'two worms'…) is only one variety of the Paris sidewalk café. There are as many types as there are neighborhoods. Deux Magots itself is surrounded by a number of other cafés which sprang up when its terrasse and interior proved too small for all those who gravitated to it. The terrasse was mainly for sedate area residents, who with their ladies, took their aperitifs mostly in the afternoon, or for tourists from many countries who adventured beyond the confines of the Opera district, the Champs-Elysées or the Montparnasse. Many of us natives of coffee drinking nations were lured to the Deux Magots by the aroma of its strong tasting coffee which in Paris (especially in the pre-espresso days) wasn't easy to find. Around the Deux Magots are the small streets surrounding the legendary Ecole des Beaux-Arts, where budding painters and sculptors prepare themselves to officially join the 'artists' of Paris. These young people don't patronize the Deux Magots, they gravitate to the smaller ones near the school, between the Boulevard St. Germain and the river Seine. When you move east toward the Latin Quarter and the Boul'mich (short for the Boulevard Saint Michel) you move to a more international area. On those terrasses lining that main artery of the Latin Quarter you are likely to meet students from many countries, predominantly from the Middle East, the Balkans and the Orient… The Montparnasse around the Dome [is] that universally famous 'center' which draws more and more crowds not only from the neighboring studios and small hotels but also from far areas of the city: boy meets girl, where professional ladies play their game and where visiting businessmen of the movies and of the export-import trade come for slumming and for local color. Of course the list is endless. The variety is endless. The world of the Paris sidewalk cafés is a jungle of constant growth where new types are surging every year." Lucien Aigner, from his unpublished memoirs |
| 2. |  | Lucien Aigner 1930s This is exactly what people imagine the Bohemian customers of an artists' café look like. A couple of late guest[s] at the Dome Café on Montparnasse. The gentleman with the disheveled hair is especially true to type. [Paris Cafés: Landmarks of Paris Life] Gelatin silver print 6 1/2 x 9 1/4 ins Courtesy of the Lucien Aigner Estate "When you live in Paris you must have a café where you go regularly. Mine was the 'Deux Magots' where after lunch I took a half hour or so with my friends to sip a café crÞme, talk shop, politics, gossip or literary concernsàMy friend and partner Louis Aczél could talk for hours. I envied him but couldn't imitate him. After half an hour I became restless and bored. The Deux Magots is a famous literary café, but we were not part of the crowd on the inside, where writers, artists and newspapermen congregated. We sat on the 'terrasse' [terrace] facing the big stone church on the opposite corner of the square, built hundreds of years ago to honor the patron saint of meadows and pastures. Around our table gathered our mostly Hungarian friends, some newspapermen like ourselves, others active in a variety of fields: doctors, businessmen, artists and so on. Of course the Deux Magots (literally meaning 'two worms'…) is only one variety of the Paris sidewalk café. There are as many types as there are neighborhoods. Deux Magots itself is surrounded by a number of other cafés which sprang up when its terrasse and interior proved too small for all those who gravitated to it. The terrasse was mainly for sedate area residents, who with their ladies, took their aperitifs mostly in the afternoon, or for tourists from many countries who adventured beyond the confines of the Opera district, the Champs-Elysées or the Montparnasse. Many of us natives of coffee drinking nations were lured to the Deux Magots by the aroma of its strong tasting coffee which in Paris (especially in the pre-espresso days) wasn't easy to find. Around the Deux Magots are the small streets surrounding the legendary Ecole des Beaux-Arts, where budding painters and sculptors prepare themselves to officially join the 'artists' of Paris. These young people don't patronize the Deux Magots, they gravitate to the smaller ones near the school, between the Boulevard St. Germain and the river Seine. When you move east toward the Latin Quarter and the Boul'mich (short for the Boulevard Saint Michel) you move to a more international area. On those terrasses lining that main artery of the Latin Quarter you are likely to meet students from many countries, predominantly from the Middle East, the Balkans and the Orient… The Montparnasse around the Dome [is] that universally famous 'center' which draws more and more crowds not only from the neighboring studios and small hotels but also from far areas of the city: boy meets girl, where professional ladies play their game and where visiting businessmen of the movies and of the export-import trade come for slumming and for local color. Of course the list is endless. The variety is endless. The world of the Paris sidewalk cafés is a jungle of constant growth where new types are surging every year." Lucien Aigner, from his unpublished memoirs |
| 3. |  | Lucien Aigner 1930s Monsieur seems bored. Candid shot of late hour patrons at a Montparnasse café. [Paris Cafés: Landmarks of Paris Life] Gelatin silver print 6 3/4 x 9 1/8 ins Courtesy of the Lucien Aigner Estate "When you live in Paris you must have a café where you go regularly. Mine was the 'Deux Magots' where after lunch I took a half hour or so with my friends to sip a café crÞme, talk shop, politics, gossip or literary concernsàMy friend and partner Louis Aczél could talk for hours. I envied him but couldn't imitate him. After half an hour I became restless and bored. The Deux Magots is a famous literary café, but we were not part of the crowd on the inside, where writers, artists and newspapermen congregated. We sat on the 'terrasse' [terrace] facing the big stone church on the opposite corner of the square, built hundreds of years ago to honor the patron saint of meadows and pastures. Around our table gathered our mostly Hungarian friends, some newspapermen like ourselves, others active in a variety of fields: doctors, businessmen, artists and so on. Of course the Deux Magots (literally meaning 'two worms'…) is only one variety of the Paris sidewalk café. There are as many types as there are neighborhoods. Deux Magots itself is surrounded by a number of other cafés which sprang up when its terrasse and interior proved too small for all those who gravitated to it. The terrasse was mainly for sedate area residents, who with their ladies, took their aperitifs mostly in the afternoon, or for tourists from many countries who adventured beyond the confines of the Opera district, the Champs-Elysées or the Montparnasse. Many of us natives of coffee drinking nations were lured to the Deux Magots by the aroma of its strong tasting coffee which in Paris (especially in the pre-espresso days) wasn't easy to find. Around the Deux Magots are the small streets surrounding the legendary Ecole des Beaux-Arts, where budding painters and sculptors prepare themselves to officially join the 'artists' of Paris. These young people don't patronize the Deux Magots, they gravitate to the smaller ones near the school, between the Boulevard St. Germain and the river Seine. When you move east toward the Latin Quarter and the Boul'mich (short for the Boulevard Saint Michel) you move to a more international area. On those terrasses lining that main artery of the Latin Quarter you are likely to meet students from many countries, predominantly from the Middle East, the Balkans and the Orient… The Montparnasse around the Dome [is] that universally famous 'center' which draws more and more crowds not only from the neighboring studios and small hotels but also from far areas of the city: boy meets girl, where professional ladies play their game and where visiting businessmen of the movies and of the export-import trade come for slumming and for local color. Of course the list is endless. The variety is endless. The world of the Paris sidewalk cafés is a jungle of constant growth where new types are surging every year." Lucien Aigner, from his unpublished memoirs |
| 4. |  | Lucien Aigner 1930s A crowd of patrons at a Montparnasse café. [Paris Cafés: Landmarks of Paris Life] Gelatin silver print 6 11/16 x 9 1/4 ins Courtesy of the Lucien Aigner Estate "When you live in Paris you must have a café where you go regularly. Mine was the 'Deux Magots' where after lunch I took a half hour or so with my friends to sip a café crÞme, talk shop, politics, gossip or literary concernsàMy friend and partner Louis Aczél could talk for hours. I envied him but couldn't imitate him. After half an hour I became restless and bored. The Deux Magots is a famous literary café, but we were not part of the crowd on the inside, where writers, artists and newspapermen congregated. We sat on the 'terrasse' [terrace] facing the big stone church on the opposite corner of the square, built hundreds of years ago to honor the patron saint of meadows and pastures. Around our table gathered our mostly Hungarian friends, some newspapermen like ourselves, others active in a variety of fields: doctors, businessmen, artists and so on. Of course the Deux Magots (literally meaning 'two worms'…) is only one variety of the Paris sidewalk café. There are as many types as there are neighborhoods. Deux Magots itself is surrounded by a number of other cafés which sprang up when its terrasse and interior proved too small for all those who gravitated to it. The terrasse was mainly for sedate area residents, who with their ladies, took their aperitifs mostly in the afternoon, or for tourists from many countries who adventured beyond the confines of the Opera district, the Champs-Elysées or the Montparnasse. Many of us natives of coffee drinking nations were lured to the Deux Magots by the aroma of its strong tasting coffee which in Paris (especially in the pre-espresso days) wasn't easy to find. Around the Deux Magots are the small streets surrounding the legendary Ecole des Beaux-Arts, where budding painters and sculptors prepare themselves to officially join the 'artists' of Paris. These young people don't patronize the Deux Magots, they gravitate to the smaller ones near the school, between the Boulevard St. Germain and the river Seine. When you move east toward the Latin Quarter and the Boul'mich (short for the Boulevard Saint Michel) you move to a more international area. On those terrasses lining that main artery of the Latin Quarter you are likely to meet students from many countries, predominantly from the Middle East, the Balkans and the Orient… The Montparnasse around the Dome [is] that universally famous 'center' which draws more and more crowds not only from the neighboring studios and small hotels but also from far areas of the city: boy meets girl, where professional ladies play their game and where visiting businessmen of the movies and of the export-import trade come for slumming and for local color. Of course the list is endless. The variety is endless. The world of the Paris sidewalk cafés is a jungle of constant growth where new types are surging every year." Lucien Aigner, from his unpublished memoirs |
| 5. |  | Lucien Aigner 1938 (Photo story published) Parisians, like all French people, are fond of kissing each other. They do it openly and without restraint in all parts of the city, and nobody minds. [Paris: City of Kisses] Gelatin silver print 6 3/4 x 9 3/16 ins Courtesy of the Lucien Aigner Estate The photo essay "Paris: City of Kisses" (1938) was published in Marianne: Grand Hebdomadaire Politique et Littéraire Illustrée (Paris) and Picture Post (London). |
| 6. |  | Lucien Aigner 1938 (Photo story published) 'Thanks ever so much for the nice ride.' And before climbing down from her pillion [passenger] seat, she gives her friend a hearty kiss. [Paris: City of Kisses] Gelatin silver print 6 7/8 x 9 3/16 ins Courtesy of the Lucien Aigner Estate The photo essay "Paris: City of Kisses" (1938) was published in Marianne: Grand Hebdomadaire Politique et Littéraire Illustrée (Paris) and Picture Post (London). |
| 7. |  | Lucien Aigner 1938 (Photo story published) A French soldier is not too proud to kiss his girl in public, even when he is wearing his uniform. [Paris: City of Kisses] Gelatin silver print 6 5/8 x 9 3/8 ins Courtesy of the Lucien Aigner Estate The photo essay "Paris: City of Kisses" (1938) was published in Marianne: Grand Hebdomadaire Politique et Littéraire Illustrée (Paris) and Picture Post (London). |
| 8. |  | Lucien Aigner 1938 (Photo story published) A Paris side street as it lives in the imagination of movie directors and romantic people: the little hotel entrance, the gas lamp in the corner, and an embracing couple. [Paris: City of Kisses] Gelatin silver print 8 1/4 x 6 7/8 ins Courtesy of the Lucien Aigner Estate The photo essay "Paris: City of Kisses" (1938) was published in Marianne: Grand Hebdomadaire Politique et Littéraire Illustrée (Paris) and Picture Post (London). |
| 9. |  | Lucien Aigner 1932 (or earlier) Sorry, the camera was too small to get the whole figure of a prominent member of The Fat Men's Club on one print. [Le Club des Cent Kilos] Gelatin silver print 9 7/8 x 7 5/8 ins Courtesy of the Lucien Aigner Estate The photo essay "Le Club des Cent Kilos" was published in 1932 in VU (Paris) and in 1934 in Weekly Illustrated (London). "In the span of a second, I found myself in the country of giants that Gulliver had visited several hundreds of years ago. It surprised me just as much that, if I remembered well, I was brought here by bus and I had not been able to be shipwrecked like the famous English navigator. Truth be told, I had not even left the limits of Paris; I had simply entered a convivial café on the rue de la Folie-Méricourt. And yet, these forty men, wearing top hats and gathered around a long table, strangely reminded me of the legendary giants with which my grandmother threatened me when she had wanted to scare me. And I began to regret the stolen jam, grandfather's broken glasses, the pin planted in the doctor's chair, and other crimes committed since then. Nevertheless, the giants did not want to place me at the middle of the table to marvel at my smallness. It seemed that even my race was not completely unknown to them. They contented themselves in wearing their draft beer on their lips, surrounded by huge piles of saucers and emptying them in my honor. After which, a giant, looking very distinguished, with a kind look, approached me, shook my hand with utmost carefulness and told me, 'Welcome to the hundred kilos club.' I prudently shook the hands of all the assistants; they were all charming boys. That atmosphere was very cordial. My hosts sang to me the delights of weighing 100 kilos, delights that otherwise were rather costly. That is, from the tailor to the waiter, everyone charged them double. That's nothing surprising, if you consider that the combined weight of the club was 5,375 kilos, making an average weight of 125 kilos per person. The president, Mr. Armel Duval is, in his own words, the featherweight of the club. He weighs in at barely 121 kilos (266.8 lbs) and he deplores his inferiority. That's nothing compared to the twelve members of the club, each of which surpasses 150 kilos in weight. The president looks pitiful next to Mr. Le Noble, who, at 187 kilos (412.3 lbs), incontestably carries the most weight of all the members. An ordinary taxi doesn't even stop when he hails it, and to accept the load, the driver must first be given a few strong drinks to shake his sense of proportions. In any case, it's out of the question for Mr. Le Noble to accompany a friend, because on his own, he fills even the most spacious car. All of the members of the club, young or old their ages ranging from 23 to 61 very much like to joke around. Some of them are quite ready to pledge to eat everything on the menu in a fancy restaurant. It is said that several of them do not object to the challenge of renewing the feat, starting with dessert. I had the chance to see these men engage in sports. If I said, 'they ran like rabbits,' the comparison would relate rather to their 'style' than to their build. Between them, by the way, there are two champions of France: a champion of wrestling and a champion of weights and dumbbells. And about cycling, as long as the bicycle doesn't give way to their weight, they have nothing to envy of the popular heroes of the Tour de France." Lucien Aigner (Full text from the VU magazine article translated by Charlotte Cutter) |
| 10. |  | Lucien Aigner 1932 (or earlier) Some of the member[s] of the 'Des Cent Kilos' (The Fat Men's Club) leaving for a Sunday party on their peculiar bicycles. [Le Club des Cent Kilos] Gelatin silver print 6 15/16 x 9 3/4 ins Courtesy of the Lucien Aigner Estate The photo essay "Le Club des Cent Kilos" was published in 1932 in VU (Paris) and in 1934 in Weekly Illustrated (London). "In the span of a second, I found myself in the country of giants that Gulliver had visited several hundreds of years ago. It surprised me just as much that, if I remembered well, I was brought here by bus and I had not been able to be shipwrecked like the famous English navigator. Truth be told, I had not even left the limits of Paris; I had simply entered a convivial café on the rue de la Folie-Méricourt. And yet, these forty men, wearing top hats and gathered around a long table, strangely reminded me of the legendary giants with which my grandmother threatened me when she had wanted to scare me. And I began to regret the stolen jam, grandfather's broken glasses, the pin planted in the doctor's chair, and other crimes committed since then. Nevertheless, the giants did not want to place me at the middle of the table to marvel at my smallness. It seemed that even my race was not completely unknown to them. They contented themselves in wearing their draft beer on their lips, surrounded by huge piles of saucers and emptying them in my honor. After which, a giant, looking very distinguished, with a kind look, approached me, shook my hand with utmost carefulness and told me, 'Welcome to the hundred kilos club.' I prudently shook the hands of all the assistants; they were all charming boys. That atmosphere was very cordial. My hosts sang to me the delights of weighing 100 kilos, delights that otherwise were rather costly. That is, from the tailor to the waiter, everyone charged them double. That's nothing surprising, if you consider that the combined weight of the club was 5,375 kilos, making an average weight of 125 kilos per person. The president, Mr. Armel Duval is, in his own words, the featherweight of the club. He weighs in at barely 121 kilos (266.8 lbs) and he deplores his inferiority. That's nothing compared to the twelve members of the club, each of which surpasses 150 kilos in weight. The president looks pitiful next to Mr. Le Noble, who, at 187 kilos (412.3 lbs), incontestably carries the most weight of all the members. An ordinary taxi doesn't even stop when he hails it, and to accept the load, the driver must first be given a few strong drinks to shake his sense of proportions. In any case, it's out of the question for Mr. Le Noble to accompany a friend, because on his own, he fills even the most spacious car. All of the members of the club, young or old their ages ranging from 23 to 61 very much like to joke around. Some of them are quite ready to pledge to eat everything on the menu in a fancy restaurant. It is said that several of them do not object to the challenge of renewing the feat, starting with dessert. I had the chance to see these men engage in sports. If I said, 'they ran like rabbits,' the comparison would relate rather to their 'style' than to their build. Between them, by the way, there are two champions of France: a champion of wrestling and a champion of weights and dumbbells. And about cycling, as long as the bicycle doesn't give way to their weight, they have nothing to envy of the popular heroes of the Tour de France." Lucien Aigner (Full text from the VU magazine article translated by Charlotte Cutter) |
| 11. |  | Lucien Aigner 1932 (or earlier) He has to pay twice as much for a suit, but he is proud to be a member of The Fat Men's Club. [Le Club des Cent Kilos] Gelatin silver print 6 15/16 x 9 3/4 ins Courtesy of the Lucien Aigner Estate The photo essay "Le Club des Cent Kilos" was published in 1932 in VU (Paris) and in 1934 in Weekly Illustrated (London). "In the span of a second, I found myself in the country of giants that Gulliver had visited several hundreds of years ago. It surprised me just as much that, if I remembered well, I was brought here by bus and I had not been able to be shipwrecked like the famous English navigator. Truth be told, I had not even left the limits of Paris; I had simply entered a convivial café on the rue de la Folie-Méricourt. And yet, these forty men, wearing top hats and gathered around a long table, strangely reminded me of the legendary giants with which my grandmother threatened me when she had wanted to scare me. And I began to regret the stolen jam, grandfather's broken glasses, the pin planted in the doctor's chair, and other crimes committed since then. Nevertheless, the giants did not want to place me at the middle of the table to marvel at my smallness. It seemed that even my race was not completely unknown to them. They contented themselves in wearing their draft beer on their lips, surrounded by huge piles of saucers and emptying them in my honor. After which, a giant, looking very distinguished, with a kind look, approached me, shook my hand with utmost carefulness and told me, 'Welcome to the hundred kilos club.' I prudently shook the hands of all the assistants; they were all charming boys. That atmosphere was very cordial. My hosts sang to me the delights of weighing 100 kilos, delights that otherwise were rather costly. That is, from the tailor to the waiter, everyone charged them double. That's nothing surprising, if you consider that the combined weight of the club was 5,375 kilos, making an average weight of 125 kilos per person. The president, Mr. Armel Duval is, in his own words, the featherweight of the club. He weighs in at barely 121 kilos (266.8 lbs) and he deplores his inferiority. That's nothing compared to the twelve members of the club, each of which surpasses 150 kilos in weight. The president looks pitiful next to Mr. Le Noble, who, at 187 kilos (412.3 lbs), incontestably carries the most weight of all the members. An ordinary taxi doesn't even stop when he hails it, and to accept the load, the driver must first be given a few strong drinks to shake his sense of proportions. In any case, it's out of the question for Mr. Le Noble to accompany a friend, because on his own, he fills even the most spacious car. All of the members of the club, young or old their ages ranging from 23 to 61 very much like to joke around. Some of them are quite ready to pledge to eat everything on the menu in a fancy restaurant. It is said that several of them do not object to the challenge of renewing the feat, starting with dessert. I had the chance to see these men engage in sports. If I said, 'they ran like rabbits,' the comparison would relate rather to their 'style' than to their build. Between them, by the way, there are two champions of France: a champion of wrestling and a champion of weights and dumbbells. And about cycling, as long as the bicycle doesn't give way to their weight, they have nothing to envy of the popular heroes of the Tour de France." Lucien Aigner (Full text from the VU magazine article translated by Charlotte Cutter) |
| 12. |  | Lucien Aigner 1932 (or earlier) Some of the members leaving for a Sunday party. [Le Club des Cent Kilos] Gelatin silver print 6 7/8 x 9 15/16 ins Courtesy of the Lucien Aigner Estate The photo essay "Le Club des Cent Kilos" was published in 1932 in VU (Paris) and in 1934 in Weekly Illustrated (London). "In the span of a second, I found myself in the country of giants that Gulliver had visited several hundreds of years ago. It surprised me just as much that, if I remembered well, I was brought here by bus and I had not been able to be shipwrecked like the famous English navigator. Truth be told, I had not even left the limits of Paris; I had simply entered a convivial café on the rue de la Folie-Méricourt. And yet, these forty men, wearing top hats and gathered around a long table, strangely reminded me of the legendary giants with which my grandmother threatened me when she had wanted to scare me. And I began to regret the stolen jam, grandfather's broken glasses, the pin planted in the doctor's chair, and other crimes committed since then. Nevertheless, the giants did not want to place me at the middle of the table to marvel at my smallness. It seemed that even my race was not completely unknown to them. They contented themselves in wearing their draft beer on their lips, surrounded by huge piles of saucers and emptying them in my honor. After which, a giant, looking very distinguished, with a kind look, approached me, shook my hand with utmost carefulness and told me, 'Welcome to the hundred kilos club.' I prudently shook the hands of all the assistants; they were all charming boys. That atmosphere was very cordial. My hosts sang to me the delights of weighing 100 kilos, delights that otherwise were rather costly. That is, from the tailor to the waiter, everyone charged them double. That's nothing surprising, if you consider that the combined weight of the club was 5,375 kilos, making an average weight of 125 kilos per person. The president, Mr. Armel Duval is, in his own words, the featherweight of the club. He weighs in at barely 121 kilos (266.8 lbs) and he deplores his inferiority. That's nothing compared to the twelve members of the club, each of which surpasses 150 kilos in weight. The president looks pitiful next to Mr. Le Noble, who, at 187 kilos (412.3 lbs), incontestably carries the most weight of all the members. An ordinary taxi doesn't even stop when he hails it, and to accept the load, the driver must first be given a few strong drinks to shake his sense of proportions. In any case, it's out of the question for Mr. Le Noble to accompany a friend, because on his own, he fills even the most spacious car. All of the members of the club, young or old their ages ranging from 23 to 61 very much like to joke around. Some of them are quite ready to pledge to eat everything on the menu in a fancy restaurant. It is said that several of them do not object to the challenge of renewing the feat, starting with dessert. I had the chance to see these men engage in sports. If I said, 'they ran like rabbits,' the comparison would relate rather to their 'style' than to their build. Between them, by the way, there are two champions of France: a champion of wrestling and a champion of weights and dumbbells. And about cycling, as long as the bicycle doesn't give way to their weight, they have nothing to envy of the popular heroes of the Tour de France." Lucien Aigner (Full text from the VU magazine article translated by Charlotte Cutter) |
| 13. |  | Lucien Aigner 1930s A throng of elegantly dressed men and women snapped by the photographer. Many fur coats were worn because of the rainy weather. [Night Races at Longchamps, a Gala Event of Paris Society] Gelatin silver print 7 1/8 x 4 3/4 ins Courtesy of the Lucien Aigner Estate "This gala night at Longchamps had very little to do with horses and races. It was a charity affair and like such affairs in general the question who-was-going-to-be-seen-with-whom was much more important than the question of which horse was to win which race. There were plenty of notables to see and to be seen with. Industrialists, financiers, prime ministers and cabinet members past and present, members of the Senate and of the Chamber of Deputies, famous society lions, representatives of the aristocracy, actors and actresses, newspaper magnates and fashion designers. They were the real subjects to be watched, the events that filled the evening: their visits to each other's tables, their chatter and gossip. Whatever happened on the track was just of very secondary importance, a by-product, pretext to be seen here and watched only between social contacts rather than the other way around. àThis kind [of] event is always good for a fashion show of sorts, a competition for the title of the 'best dressed' and the 'most elegant.' There is always room for showing off new creations, the latest models from the latest collections to confirm or break the hegemony of a designer too long in the news or to establish the reputation of a newcomer." Lucien Aigner, from his unpublished memoirs |
| 14. |  | Lucien Aigner 1930s A prominent visitor from London, Mr. Selfridge (white hair, pince-nez). To his left is Mme. Trebor, in the background the Paris banker Lazard and Miss Marcelle Roger, to the right of Mr. Selfridge is Mme. Lazard. [Night Races at Longchamps, a Gala Event of Paris Society] Gelatin silver print 4 11/16 x 7 1/16 ins Courtesy of the Lucien Aigner Estate "This gala night at Longchamps had very little to do with horses and races. It was a charity affair and like such affairs in general the question who-was-going-to-be-seen-with-whom was much more important than the question of which horse was to win which race. There were plenty of notables to see and to be seen with. Industrialists, financiers, prime ministers and cabinet members past and present, members of the Senate and of the Chamber of Deputies, famous society lions, representatives of the aristocracy, actors and actresses, newspaper magnates and fashion designers. They were the real subjects to be watched, the events that filled the evening: their visits to each other's tables, their chatter and gossip. Whatever happened on the track was just of very secondary importance, a by-product, pretext to be seen here and watched only between social contacts rather than the other way around. àThis kind [of] event is always good for a fashion show of sorts, a competition for the title of the 'best dressed' and the 'most elegant.' There is always room for showing off new creations, the latest models from the latest collections to confirm or break the hegemony of a designer too long in the news or to establish the reputation of a newcomer." Lucien Aigner, from his unpublished memoirs |
| 15. |  | Lucien Aigner 1930s The well known French actress Suzy Prim counting her money. We hope she won. [Night Races at Longchamps, a Gala Event of Paris Society] Gelatin silver print 4 11/16 x 7 1/8 ins Courtesy of the Lucien Aigner Estate "This gala night at Longchamps had very little to do with horses and races. It was a charity affair and like such affairs in general the question who-was-going-to-be-seen-with-whom was much more important than the question of which horse was to win which race. There were plenty of notables to see and to be seen with. Industrialists, financiers, prime ministers and cabinet members past and present, members of the Senate and of the Chamber of Deputies, famous society lions, representatives of the aristocracy, actors and actresses, newspaper magnates and fashion designers. They were the real subjects to be watched, the events that filled the evening: their visits to each other's tables, their chatter and gossip. Whatever happened on the track was just of very secondary importance, a by-product, pretext to be seen here and watched only between social contacts rather than the other way around. àThis kind [of] event is always good for a fashion show of sorts, a competition for the title of the 'best dressed' and the 'most elegant.' There is always room for showing off new creations, the latest models from the latest collections to confirm or break the hegemony of a designer too long in the news or to establish the reputation of a newcomer." Lucien Aigner, from his unpublished memoirs |
| 16. |  | Lucien Aigner 1930s Multimillionaire [Raymond] Patenâtre, who is married to an American [and is] Minister of Economics in the Daladier Government, discussing odds with a friend. [Night Races at Longchamps, a Gala Event of Paris Society] Gelatin silver print 4 11/16 x 7 1/8 ins Courtesy of the Lucien Aigner Estate "This gala night at Longchamps had very little to do with horses and races. It was a charity affair and like such affairs in general the question who-was-going-to-be-seen-with-whom was much more important than the question of which horse was to win which race. There were plenty of notables to see and to be seen with. Industrialists, financiers, prime ministers and cabinet members past and present, members of the Senate and of the Chamber of Deputies, famous society lions, representatives of the aristocracy, actors and actresses, newspaper magnates and fashion designers. They were the real subjects to be watched, the events that filled the evening: their visits to each other's tables, their chatter and gossip. Whatever happened on the track was just of very secondary importance, a by-product, pretext to be seen here and watched only between social contacts rather than the other way around. àThis kind [of] event is always good for a fashion show of sorts, a competition for the title of the 'best dressed' and the 'most elegant.' There is always room for showing off new creations, the latest models from the latest collections to confirm or break the hegemony of a designer too long in the news or to establish the reputation of a newcomer." Lucien Aigner, from his unpublished memoirs |
| 17. |  | Lucien Aigner 1939 (published) A member of the Republican Guard delivering an important message at the Foreign Office, maybe a communication from the Prime Minister or another colleague of M. Georges Bonnet. At right are bags with diplomatic mail. [Quai d'Orsay (Inside the French Foreign Office)] Gelatin silver print 6 13/16 x 8 7/16 ins Courtesy of the Lucien Aigner Estate The photo story "Quai d'Orsay" (Inside the French Foreign Office) was published in 1939 in Billed-Bladet (Copenhagen), Match (Paris), and Picture Post (London). "A visit to the French Foreign Office on the historic Quai d'Orsay in Paris one of the nerve centers of world diplomacy." Lucien Aigner |
| 18. |  | Lucien Aigner 1939 (published) The offices are closed, but the two leading men at the Quai d'Orsay still have a last minute conference… [Quai d'Orsay (Inside the French Foreign Office)] Gelatin silver print 6 7/8 x 9 3/16 ins Courtesy of the Lucien Aigner Estate The offices are closed, but the two leading men at the Quai d'Orsay still have a last minute conference: Georges Bonnet, Foreign Minister (at right) and the Quai d'Orsay General Secretary, Alexis Leger. At extreme right is Jules Henri, ambassador to Barcelona. The photo story "Quai d'Orsay" (Inside the French Foreign Office) was published in 1939 in Billed-Bladet (Copenhagen), Match (Paris), and Picture Post (London). "A visit to the French Foreign Office on the historic Quai d'Orsay in Paris one of the nerve centers of world diplomacy." Lucien Aigner |
| 19. |  | Lucien Aigner 1939 (published) M. [Robert] Coulondre, French ambassador to Germany, calls at the Quai d'Orsay. 'You will find me at M. [Jules] Henri's office should the Minister want me,' he is telling attendants. M. Henri was then 'Chief of Cabinet' at the Quai d'Orsay. [Quai d'Orsay (Inside the French Foreign Office)] Gelatin silver print 6 13/16 x 9 3/16 ins Courtesy of the Lucien Aigner Estate The photo story "Quai d'Orsay" (Inside the French Foreign Office) was published in 1939 in Billed-Bladet (Copenhagen), Match (Paris), and Picture Post (London). "A visit to the French Foreign Office on the historic Quai d'Orsay in Paris one of the nerve centers of world diplomacy." Lucien Aigner |
| 20. |  | Lucien Aigner 1939 (published) Two high officials of the French diplomatic service. M. Aimé Leroy, formerly confidential adviser to Aristide Briand and now Minister to Lisbon (left) with M. [Pierre] Bressy, Foreign Minister Georges Bonnet's 'Chief of Cabinet'. [Quai d'Orsay (Inside the French Foreign Office)] Gelatin silver print 9 1/4 x 6 13/16 ins Courtesy of the Lucien Aigner Estate The photo story "Quai d'Orsay" (Inside the French Foreign Office) was published in 1939 in Billed-Bladet (Copenhagen), Match (Paris), and Picture Post (London). "A visit to the French Foreign Office on the historic Quai d'Orsay in Paris one of the nerve centers of world diplomacy." Lucien Aigner |
| 21. |  | Lucien Aigner 1934 (published) A bit of exercise to get used to the masks. [Paris Protects its Inhabitants Against Gas Attacks] Gelatin silver print 7 1/16 x 5 1/8 ins Courtesy of the Lucien Aigner Estate The photo story "Paris Protects its Inhabitants Against Gas Attacks" was published in 1934 in VU (Paris), and in 1935 in L'Illustré: Revue Hebdomadaire Suisse (Lausanne), Munchner Illustrierte Presse (Munich), Pestry Tyden (Prague), and Schweizer Illustrierte Zeitung (Zofingen). "Aerial danger has become the subject of daily conversation. We speak of passive defense at the grocery store, in the metro, and in the salons. A law has been proposed in the Chambers. No, the war is not imminent. But…let's think of defense anyway. Fine, it's been decided. I'm going to buy myself a gas mask. But from where? I read somewhere that they sell them in pharmacies. My pharmacist knows nothing about that yet. In the big stores, maybe? No, they don't have anything yet. You have to go to the factory. Where they make them, they have to be able to sell them. The director calls the head of the laboratory, who directs us to a colleague. At last, we're in a vast room where, on the shelves in an endless line, wait countless masks. Yes, we sell our masks in the factory, for the time being. But we're going to sign a contract with a central agency to distribute the masks to pharmacists, and, afterward, we'll sell them in all of the pharmacies in France and Navarre.* Is it difficult to choose a gas mask? Not really. Currently, among the models approved for civilians by the Minister of War, the ARS mask, provided it is equipped with a Fernez patented cartridge, with partitions, passes all tests, even the classic cigarette test. The fumes don't enter the filtered layers. The pretty saleswoman places the heads of mannequins in front of us. First choose the model you like the best: with an ordinary cartridge, or if you prefer a long rubber tube that links the mask to the cartridge contained in a leather bag. Thereby, instead of dragging the cartridge in front of your nose, you wear it like a camera on your side. Have you made your choice? Well, we can measure you. Be careful; your mask shouldn't be too tight, it's completely resistant to outside elements. Is it too tight? Here's another, a small model like before. Okay? Now, we have to test the cartridge. We go into another room. The cartridges of the masks are, one after the other, screwed on the opening of the gas chamber, where they've burnt, as a test, fumigants that are not noxious. It's okay. We don't smell anything. We breathe easily. We're a little warm. That will pass. Come, let's go into the gas chamber. We encounter fumigants. Like Sioux people around a mysterious camp fire, we squat. A thick smoke surrounds us. It's nothing, we still didn't smell anything. And after a moment, we leave the gas chamber. A bit of fitness, please, commands the friendly director as he smiles. You have to get used to the masks. You have to be able to move without hindering your breathing. All of that is just a matter of habit. Okay? Okay, it's not even that bad. But we're mighty happy to be able to remove them and breathe freely. And so we're equipped. The gas can come." Lucien Aigner * France and Navarre is an expression in French that means "the whole country." (Full text from the VU magazine article translated by Charlotte Cutter.) |
| 22. |  | Lucien Aigner 1934 (published) Trying out the effect of gas in a Paris apartment house. [Paris Protects its Inhabitants Against Gas Attacks] Gelatin silver print 7 3/16 x 9 11/16 ins Courtesy of the Lucien Aigner Estate The photo story "Paris Protects its Inhabitants Against Gas Attacks" was published in 1934 in VU (Paris), and in 1935 in L'Illustré: Revue Hebdomadaire Suisse (Lausanne), Munchner Illustrierte Presse (Munich), Pestry Tyden (Prague), and Schweizer Illustrierte Zeitung (Zofingen). "Aerial danger has become the subject of daily conversation. We speak of passive defense at the grocery store, in the metro, and in the salons. A law has been proposed in the Chambers. No, the war is not imminent. But…let's think of defense anyway. Fine, it's been decided. I'm going to buy myself a gas mask. But from where? I read somewhere that they sell them in pharmacies. My pharmacist knows nothing about that yet. In the big stores, maybe? No, they don't have anything yet. You have to go to the factory. Where they make them, they have to be able to sell them. The director calls the head of the laboratory, who directs us to a colleague. At last, we're in a vast room where, on the shelves in an endless line, wait countless masks. Yes, we sell our masks in the factory, for the time being. But we're going to sign a contract with a central agency to distribute the masks to pharmacists, and, afterward, we'll sell them in all of the pharmacies in France and Navarre.* Is it difficult to choose a gas mask? Not really. Currently, among the models approved for civilians by the Minister of War, the ARS mask, provided it is equipped with a Fernez patented cartridge, with partitions, passes all tests, even the classic cigarette test. The fumes don't enter the filtered layers. The pretty saleswoman places the heads of mannequins in front of us. First choose the model you like the best: with an ordinary cartridge, or if you prefer a long rubber tube that links the mask to the cartridge contained in a leather bag. Thereby, instead of dragging the cartridge in front of your nose, you wear it like a camera on your side. Have you made your choice? Well, we can measure you. Be careful; your mask shouldn't be too tight, it's completely resistant to outside elements. Is it too tight? Here's another, a small model like before. Okay? Now, we have to test the cartridge. We go into another room. The cartridges of the masks are, one after the other, screwed on the opening of the gas chamber, where they've burnt, as a test, fumigants that are not noxious. It's okay. We don't smell anything. We breathe easily. We're a little warm. That will pass. Come, let's go into the gas chamber. We encounter fumigants. Like Sioux people around a mysterious camp fire, we squat. A thick smoke surrounds us. It's nothing, we still didn't smell anything. And after a moment, we leave the gas chamber. A bit of fitness, please, commands the friendly director as he smiles. You have to get used to the masks. You have to be able to move without hindering your breathing. All of that is just a matter of habit. Okay? Okay, it's not even that bad. But we're mighty happy to be able to remove them and breathe freely. And so we're equipped. The gas can come." Lucien Aigner * France and Navarre is an expression in French that means "the whole country." (Full text from the VU magazine article translated by Charlotte Cutter.) |
| 23. |  | Lucien Aigner 1934 (published) Next to the tubes of aspirin and digestive aids, the first gas masks have made their appearance in the windows of Parisian pharmacies. [Paris Protects its Inhabitants Against Gas Attacks] Gelatin silver print 5 1/8 x 6 15/16 ins Courtesy of the Lucien Aigner Estate The photo story "Paris Protects its Inhabitants Against Gas Attacks" was published in 1934 in VU (Paris), and in 1935 in L'Illustré: Revue Hebdomadaire Suisse (Lausanne), Munchner Illustrierte Presse (Munich), Pestry Tyden (Prague), and Schweizer Illustrierte Zeitung (Zofingen). "Aerial danger has become the subject of daily conversation. We speak of passive defense at the grocery store, in the metro, and in the salons. A law has been proposed in the Chambers. No, the war is not imminent. But…let's think of defense anyway. Fine, it's been decided. I'm going to buy myself a gas mask. But from where? I read somewhere that they sell them in pharmacies. My pharmacist knows nothing about that yet. In the big stores, maybe? No, they don't have anything yet. You have to go to the factory. Where they make them, they have to be able to sell them. The director calls the head of the laboratory, who directs us to a colleague. At last, we're in a vast room where, on the shelves in an endless line, wait countless masks. Yes, we sell our masks in the factory, for the time being. But we're going to sign a contract with a central agency to distribute the masks to pharmacists, and, afterward, we'll sell them in all of the pharmacies in France and Navarre.* Is it difficult to choose a gas mask? Not really. Currently, among the models approved for civilians by the Minister of War, the ARS mask, provided it is equipped with a Fernez patented cartridge, with partitions, passes all tests, even the classic cigarette test. The fumes don't enter the filtered layers. The pretty saleswoman places the heads of mannequins in front of us. First choose the model you like the best: with an ordinary cartridge, or if you prefer a long rubber tube that links the mask to the cartridge contained in a leather bag. Thereby, instead of dragging the cartridge in front of your nose, you wear it like a camera on your side. Have you made your choice? Well, we can measure you. Be careful; your mask shouldn't be too tight, it's completely resistant to outside elements. Is it too tight? Here's another, a small model like before. Okay? Now, we have to test the cartridge. We go into another room. The cartridges of the masks are, one after the other, screwed on the opening of the gas chamber, where they've burnt, as a test, fumigants that are not noxious. It's okay. We don't smell anything. We breathe easily. We're a little warm. That will pass. Come, let's go into the gas chamber. We encounter fumigants. Like Sioux people around a mysterious camp fire, we squat. A thick smoke surrounds us. It's nothing, we still didn't smell anything. And after a moment, we leave the gas chamber. A bit of fitness, please, commands the friendly director as he smiles. You have to get used to the masks. You have to be able to move without hindering your breathing. All of that is just a matter of habit. Okay? Okay, it's not even that bad. But we're mighty happy to be able to remove them and breathe freely. And so we're equipped. The gas can come." Lucien Aigner * France and Navarre is an expression in French that means "the whole country." (Full text from the VU magazine article translated by Charlotte Cutter.) |
| 24. |  | Lucien Aigner 1934 (published) A sales[woman] in a drug store, where gas masks are sold, tries to praise the latest 'creations' in gas masks. [Paris Protects its Inhabitants Against Gas Attacks] Gelatin silver print 7 9/16 x 9 7/8 ins Courtesy of the Lucien Aigner Estate The photo story "Paris Protects its Inhabitants Against Gas Attacks" was published in 1934 in VU (Paris), and in 1935 in L'Illustré: Revue Hebdomadaire Suisse (Lausanne), Munchner Illustrierte Presse (Munich), Pestry Tyden (Prague), and Schweizer Illustrierte Zeitung (Zofingen). "Aerial danger has become the subject of daily conversation. We speak of passive defense at the grocery store, in the metro, and in the salons. A law has been proposed in the Chambers. No, the war is not imminent. But…let's think of defense anyway. Fine, it's been decided. I'm going to buy myself a gas mask. But from where? I read somewhere that they sell them in pharmacies. My pharmacist knows nothing about that yet. In the big stores, maybe? No, they don't have anything yet. You have to go to the factory. Where they make them, they have to be able to sell them. The director calls the head of the laboratory, who directs us to a colleague. At last, we're in a vast room where, on the shelves in an endless line, wait countless masks. Yes, we sell our masks in the factory, for the time being. But we're going to sign a contract with a central agency to distribute the masks to pharmacists, and, afterward, we'll sell them in all of the pharmacies in France and Navarre.* Is it difficult to choose a gas mask? Not really. Currently, among the models approved for civilians by the Minister of War, the ARS mask, provided it is equipped with a Fernez patented cartridge, with partitions, passes all tests, even the classic cigarette test. The fumes don't enter the filtered layers. The pretty saleswoman places the heads of mannequins in front of us. First choose the model you like the best: with an ordinary cartridge, or if you prefer a long rubber tube that links the mask to the cartridge contained in a leather bag. Thereby, instead of dragging the cartridge in front of your nose, you wear it like a camera on your side. Have you made your choice? Well, we can measure you. Be careful; your mask shouldn't be too tight, it's completely resistant to outside elements. Is it too tight? Here's another, a small model like before. Okay? Now, we have to test the cartridge. We go into another room. The cartridges of the masks are, one after the other, screwed on the opening of the gas chamber, where they've burnt, as a test, fumigants that are not noxious. It's okay. We don't smell anything. We breathe easily. We're a little warm. That will pass. Come, let's go into the gas chamber. We encounter fumigants. Like Sioux people around a mysterious camp fire, we squat. A thick smoke surrounds us. It's nothing, we still didn't smell anything. And after a moment, we leave the gas chamber. A bit of fitness, please, commands the friendly director as he smiles. You have to get used to the masks. You have to be able to move without hindering your breathing. All of that is just a matter of habit. Okay? Okay, it's not even that bad. But we're mighty happy to be able to remove them and breathe freely. And so we're equipped. The gas can come." Lucien Aigner * France and Navarre is an expression in French that means "the whole country." (Full text from the VU magazine article translated by Charlotte Cutter.) |
| 25. |  | Lucien Aigner 1937 (published) This medical examination is not artifice. The majority of those being examined haven't seen a doctor in their lives. [Guests at Rikers Island Prison] Gelatin silver print 6 5/8 x 9 1/16 ins Courtesy of the Lucien Aigner Estate This medical examination is not artifice. The majority of those being examined haven't seen a doctor in their lives. Consequently, at Rikers Island it's in the infirmary that the greatest care is given. It's a veritable, ultra-modern clinic, outfitted with the latest improvements in hygiene and the art of medicine that the most modern hospitals throughout the world could copy right down to the smallest detail. The photo story "Guests at Rikers Island Prison" was published in 1937 in L'Illustré (Zofingen), Pesti Napló (Budapest), Picture Post (London), and Weekly Illustrated (London). "àJust a few years ago, this island was the landfill for the metropolis of skyscrapers. Its giant mountains, of which we can make out their silhouettes, are made of nothing but filth and any man who would lay down on its banks for a nighttime nap would quickly fall prey to the monstrous rats who still share the ownership of this island with city of New York. But today, the city of New York has constructed a prison here that, as we learned over the course of our visit, holds many surprises for those who make the effort to get to know it. Rikers Island is the "luxury prison" of New York. àAnd over the course of my tour, I will capture with my camera the private life of this curious prisonà We pass by long, luminous corridors that resemble those of a clinic. Large windows allow great streams of light to enter and the stone floor, like a mirror, reflects the sun against a bright and smooth wallà The alarm announces lunchtime. In silent groups the prisoners make their way toward the tables where fellow inmates, dressed in white, distribute the food. It is forbidden to chatter during meals. It is there that one begins to feel as if they were in prison; for the discipline of Rikers Island is strict despite the overall appearance of luxury and comfort. But the food given to prisoners is excellent. We tasted it there. It's appetizing, healthy and goodà The Negro (Black) prisoners do not mix with the Whites. They eat separately but in the same room. The guards pass back and forth between the two camps during the meals. With a discreet gesture, our guide shows us the surveillance tower where, behind unbreakable glass, a guard follows the eyes of the groups who eat in silence. The slightest suspicious gesture, the slightest noise and the thirty tear gas bombs that hang over the silent prisoners would be projected into the roomà àBut why would the inhabitants of Rikers Island want to desert their "home"?à à'It's not exactly a paradise,' Mr. McGee, the director of Rikers Island, tells us. 'We only try to make the lives of the inmates as humane as possible'à à'Don't believe that our "angelic" methods exclude discipline. For those who don't obey, we reserve other, less gentle, means. We have, for example, some inmates who are genuine troublemakersàThose ones live in isolation and are deprived of the little pleasures that help the others pass the time more quickly. They can't take part in games or in exercise organized for those who are "well-behaved." We even go so far as to deprive someone of food for some 24 hours.' Rikers Island is a model prison where only first-time offenders, drunks, blossoming pickpockets and the occasional burglar go. No tried and true criminals, no con artists, no murderers. The inmates are released at the end of three to four years. But after all of this, is it surprising that at the end of a few months they come back again!" Lucien Aigner (Selected text from the article translated by Amy Sweeney.) |
| 26. |  | Lucien Aigner 1937 (published) The cells themselves resemble small, tidy hotel rooms, laid out with taste and a scrupulous pursuit of hygiene. [Guests at Rikers Island Prison] Gelatin silver print 9 1/16 x 6 5/8 ins Courtesy of the Lucien Aigner Estate The cells themselves resemble small, tidy hotel rooms, laid out with taste and a scrupulous pursuit of hygiene. An iron bed covered in several layers of light-colored wool blankets, a ceramic sink, two clean towels, a small table, a bench, a toilet of the latest model, a few knick-knacks. Only the radio and the telephone and the lamp on the table are missing to make this cell the inside of a private room in a surgical clinic. The photo story "Guests at Rikers Island Prison" was published in 1937 in L'Illustré (Zofingen), Pesti Napló (Budapest), Picture Post (London), and Weekly Illustrated (London). "àJust a few years ago, this island was the landfill for the metropolis of skyscrapers. Its giant mountains, of which we can make out their silhouettes, are made of nothing but filth and any man who would lay down on its banks for a nighttime nap would quickly fall prey to the monstrous rats who still share the ownership of this island with city of New York. But today, the city of New York has constructed a prison here that, as we learned over the course of our visit, holds many surprises for those who make the effort to get to know it. Rikers Island is the "luxury prison" of New York. àAnd over the course of my tour, I will capture with my camera the private life of this curious prisonà We pass by long, luminous corridors that resemble those of a clinic. Large windows allow great streams of light to enter and the stone floor, like a mirror, reflects the sun against a bright and smooth wallà The alarm announces lunchtime. In silent groups the prisoners make their way toward the tables where fellow inmates, dressed in white, distribute the food. It is forbidden to chatter during meals. It is there that one begins to feel as if they were in prison; for the discipline of Rikers Island is strict despite the overall appearance of luxury and comfort. But the food given to prisoners is excellent. We tasted it there. It's appetizing, healthy and goodà The Negro (Black) prisoners do not mix with the Whites. They eat separately but in the same room. The guards pass back and forth between the two camps during the meals. With a discreet gesture, our guide shows us the surveillance tower where, behind unbreakable glass, a guard follows the eyes of the groups who eat in silence. The slightest suspicious gesture, the slightest noise and the thirty tear gas bombs that hang over the silent prisoners would be projected into the roomà àBut why would the inhabitants of Rikers Island want to desert their "home"?à à'It's not exactly a paradise,' Mr. McGee, the director of Rikers Island, tells us. 'We only try to make the lives of the inmates as humane as possible'à à'Don't believe that our "angelic" methods exclude discipline. For those who don't obey, we reserve other, less gentle, means. We have, for example, some inmates who are genuine troublemakersàThose ones live in isolation and are deprived of the little pleasures that help the others pass the time more quickly. They can't take part in games or in exercise organized for those who are "well-behaved." We even go so far as to deprive someone of food for some 24 hours.' Rikers Island is a model prison where only first-time offenders, drunks, blossoming pickpockets and the occasional burglar go. No tried and true criminals, no con artists, no murderers. The inmates are released at the end of three to four years. But after all of this, is it surprising that at the end of a few months they come back again!" Lucien Aigner (Selected text from the article translated by Amy Sweeney.) |
| 27. |  | Lucien Aigner 1937 (published) àNow groups of twenty to thirty prisoners file in silence by the barred gates. They make their way toward the reception roomsàIt's a series of rooms that are bright, but not at all pleasant. [Guests at Rikers Island Prison] Gelatin silver print 6 1/2 x 4 7/16 ins Courtesy of the Lucien Aigner Estate àNow groups of twenty to thirty prisoners file in silence by the barred gates. They make their way toward the reception roomsàIt's a series of rooms that are bright, but not at all pleasant. There is a long, wide corridor separated in two by a wall. All along the wall are cellsàEach prisoner can see his visitor, but he can only communicate with him or her by way of a minuscule hole covered several times in metallic mesh. It's a sort of ill-suited telephone and the whole system does not resemble in the least the reception rooms of the prisons one sees in the movies. The photo story "Guests at Rikers Island Prison" was published in 1937 in L'Illustré (Zofingen), Pesti Napló (Budapest), Picture Post (London), and Weekly Illustrated (London). "àJust a few years ago, this island was the landfill for the metropolis of skyscrapers. Its giant mountains, of which we can make out their silhouettes, are made of nothing but filth and any man who would lay down on its banks for a nighttime nap would quickly fall prey to the monstrous rats who still share the ownership of this island with city of New York. But today, the city of New York has constructed a prison here that, as we learned over the course of our visit, holds many surprises for those who make the effort to get to know it. Rikers Island is the "luxury prison" of New York. àAnd over the course of my tour, I will capture with my camera the private life of this curious prisonà We pass by long, luminous corridors that resemble those of a clinic. Large windows allow great streams of light to enter and the stone floor, like a mirror, reflects the sun against a bright and smooth wallà The alarm announces lunchtime. In silent groups the prisoners make their way toward the tables where fellow inmates, dressed in white, distribute the food. It is forbidden to chatter during meals. It is there that one begins to feel as if they were in prison; for the discipline of Rikers Island is strict despite the overall appearance of luxury and comfort. But the food given to prisoners is excellent. We tasted it there. It's appetizing, healthy and goodà The Negro (Black) prisoners do not mix with the Whites. They eat separately but in the same room. The guards pass back and forth between the two camps during the meals. With a discreet gesture, our guide shows us the surveillance tower where, behind unbreakable glass, a guard follows the eyes of the groups who eat in silence. The slightest suspicious gesture, the slightest noise and the thirty tear gas bombs that hang over the silent prisoners would be projected into the roomà àBut why would the inhabitants of Rikers Island want to desert their "home"?à à'It's not exactly a paradise,' Mr. McGee, the director of Rikers Island, tells us. 'We only try to make the lives of the inmates as humane as possible'à à'Don't believe that our "angelic" methods exclude discipline. For those who don't obey, we reserve other, less gentle, means. We have, for example, some inmates who are genuine troublemakersàThose ones live in isolation and are deprived of the little pleasures that help the others pass the time more quickly. They can't take part in games or in exercise organized for those who are "well-behaved." We even go so far as to deprive someone of food for some 24 hours.' Rikers Island is a model prison where only first-time offenders, drunks, blossoming pickpockets and the occasional burglar go. No tried and true criminals, no con artists, no murderers. The inmates are released at the end of three to four years. But after all of this, is it surprising that at the end of a few months they come back again!" Lucien Aigner (Selected text from the article translated by Amy Sweeney.) |
| 28. |  | Lucien Aigner 1937 (published) Completely disrobed in the small, sparkling clinic, the new residents of Rikers Island await their medical exam. [Guests at Rikers Island Prison] Gelatin silver print 4 1/2 x 6 1/2 ins Courtesy of the Lucien Aigner Estate Completely disrobed in the small, sparkling clinic, the new residents of Rikers Island await their medical exam. Their clothes are entrusted to the care of an "ancient" Negro (African American) who, dressed himself in the "uniform" of the detainees, fills the office of physician's assistant. He draws up an inventory of the effects that are entrusted to him then hoses them down with disinfectant. The photo story "Guests at Rikers Island Prison" was published in 1937 in L'Illustré (Zofingen), Pesti Napló (Budapest), Picture Post (London), and Weekly Illustrated (London). "àJust a few years ago, this island was the landfill for the metropolis of skyscrapers. Its giant mountains, of which we can make out their silhouettes, are made of nothing but filth and any man who would lay down on its banks for a nighttime nap would quickly fall prey to the monstrous rats who still share the ownership of this island with city of New York. But today, the city of New York has constructed a prison here that, as we learned over the course of our visit, holds many surprises for those who make the effort to get to know it. Rikers Island is the "luxury prison" of New York. àAnd over the course of my tour, I will capture with my camera the private life of this curious prisonà We pass by long, luminous corridors that resemble those of a clinic. Large windows allow great streams of light to enter and the stone floor, like a mirror, reflects the sun against a bright and smooth wallà The alarm announces lunchtime. In silent groups the prisoners make their way toward the tables where fellow inmates, dressed in white, distribute the food. It is forbidden to chatter during meals. It is there that one begins to feel as if they were in prison; for the discipline of Rikers Island is strict despite the overall appearance of luxury and comfort. But the food given to prisoners is excellent. We tasted it there. It's appetizing, healthy and goodà The Negro (Black) prisoners do not mix with the Whites. They eat separately but in the same room. The guards pass back and forth between the two camps during the meals. With a discreet gesture, our guide shows us the surveillance tower where, behind unbreakable glass, a guard follows the eyes of the groups who eat in silence. The slightest suspicious gesture, the slightest noise and the thirty tear gas bombs that hang over the silent prisoners would be projected into the roomà àBut why would the inhabitants of Rikers Island want to desert their "home"?à à'It's not exactly a paradise,' Mr. McGee, the director of Rikers Island, tells us. 'We only try to make the lives of the inmates as humane as possible'à à'Don't believe that our "angelic" methods exclude discipline. For those who don't obey, we reserve other, less gentle, means. We have, for example, some inmates who are genuine troublemakersàThose ones live in isolation and are deprived of the little pleasures that help the others pass the time more quickly. They can't take part in games or in exercise organized for those who are "well-behaved." We even go so far as to deprive someone of food for some 24 hours.' Rikers Island is a model prison where only first-time offenders, drunks, blossoming pickpockets and the occasional burglar go. No tried and true criminals, no con artists, no murderers. The inmates are released at the end of three to four years. But after all of this, is it surprising that at the end of a few months they come back again!" Lucien Aigner (Selected text from the article translated by Amy Sweeney.) |
| 29. |  | Lucien Aigner 1936 The Emperor of Ethiopia, Haile Selassie arriving in Geneva to ask help from the League of Nations against Mussolini's Fascist invasion of Ethiopia Gelatin silver print, modern 9 1/8 x 13 9/16 ins Courtesy of the Lucien Aigner Estate "My encounter with Haile Selassie was one of my most memorable meetings with a celebrity I can remember. The photographs I took of him I rate among my best. The one included here is perhaps the closest to what I consider an ideal candid photograph. The picture was taken at the Geneva railroad station when he arrived to appear before the General Assembly to plead the case of his country against the Italian invader… Mussolini moved into Ethiopia for several reasons. He had been watching Hitler's success with jaundiced eyes, craving a glorious adventure to enhance his own greatness. Ethiopia appeared a rich prize…The Duce went ahead with the Ethiopian war in spite of British and French protests. The conflict was brought before the League [of Nations] by Ethiopia, asking for protection… There were hardly any newsmen on the platform at the station, perhaps because of the announcement of strict security measures preceding the Emperor's arrival. In fact I was practically alone with the few security guards whom I knew and who knew me. When the train pulled in I had no difficulty approaching the Emperor's railroad carriage… He appeared sorrowful, but full of dignity. A truly imperial figure in his affliction. He acknowledged the few salutes of those on the platform and started his walk toward the exit. No words were spoken. Only glances exchanged. I had never experienced so much meaning in a silent scene…" Lucien Aigner, from his unpublished memoirs |
| 30. |  | Lucien Aigner 1935 Mussolini at Stresa, Italy Gelatin silver print, modern 9 3/16 x 7 3/4 ins Courtesy of the Lucien Aigner Estate Published 1937 in Lilliput (London) and 1939 on cover of Newsweek (New York). "The photograph of Mussolini [which] made the cover of Newsweek and which was called by a reviewer in Popular Photography as 'one of the most unforgettable candid shots of all time'…was the climax to a three-day frustrating pictorial adventure while covering the 1935 Stresa conference. This meeting was a supreme effort of the democracies to block the progress of Hitler. Mussolini at that time was still 'on the fence' between choosing his sides in the European power struggle between Hitler and the French and the British and their allies. Mussolini's war against Ethiopia was in progress and he needed acquiescence of the democracies. On the other hand, Western countries threatened by Hitler were trying to wean the Italian dictator away from a potential Rome-Berlin axis, which Mussolini himself dreaded intensely. He was only too conscious of the danger of his country becoming a neighbor to Hitler's upcoming competing dictatorship. Photography was banned on the arrival of the British and the French statesmen at the railroad station and during the first two days of the conference Mussolini remained closeted in his island castle, Isola Bella, and there were no opportunities to photograph him with his guests for a photographic record of the conference. At the railroad station after the guests were gone, Mussolini lingered for a short while to relax and discuss matters with his intimates. The nose twitching picture was taken then." Lucien Aigner, from his unpublished memoirs |
| 31. |  | Lucien Aigner 1936 Triumphant Léon Blum presenting his government program to the Socialist congress after the 1935 electoral victory of the leftist coalition, Paris [We look in at France's first Socialist cabinet meeting] Gelatin silver print 5 x 7 ins Courtesy of the Lucien Aigner Estate From the photo story "We look in at France's first Socialist cabinet meeting," published 1936 in VU (Paris) and Weekly Illustrated (London). "I could never get excited about Léon Blum, though I respected his qualities. The first socialist and the first Jew to head a French government, Blum was an honest intellectual, a bundle of nerves and a great theoretician. A product of the wealthy middle class, he became a socialist by conviction…a dangerous approach to politics. I recall his appearance before the Socialist party congress after the great election victory of the leftist coalition. Carried away by his emotions, he presented his great vision for a new deal in France in passionate, raptured ranting. It was strange to see this cultured, well-mannered intellectual so carried away by passion. His troops roared their approval in thunderous applause and Léon Blum was basking in the sunshine of popularity. Vanity, his great weakness, dominated his features." Lucien Aigner, from his unpublished memoirs |
| 32. |  | Lucien Aigner 1935 The negotiators hard at work. [Pierre] Laval, [Anthony] Eden, [Franþois] Piétri (Naval Minister), [and Henri] Berenger (Chairman of the Senate Committee on Foreign Affairs), Quai d'Orsay, Paris [Eden-Laval talks: discussing the Anglo-German naval agreement] Gelatin silver print 4 9/16 x 7 1/16 ins Courtesy of the Lucien Aigner Estate From the photo story "Eden-Laval talks: discussing the Anglo-German naval agreement," published 1935 in Blanco y Negro (Buenos Aires), Illustrated London News, L'Illustration (Paris), das Interessante Blatt (Vienna), Munchner Illustrierte Presse (Munich), VU (Paris), and Weekly Illustrated (London). "It started out with a phone call from Carlo [Rim, my editor,] informing me that I would take pictures for VU that afternoon at the Foreign Office on the Quai d'Orsay and that he himself would meet me there to see to it that everything went all right… When I arrived an hour later at the famous landmark on the Quai, Carlo was already waiting for me. In a few minutes we were ushered into a large conference room, where the gypsy-faced Pierre Laval was finishing his after-dinner coffee with Anthony Eden and a number of high French and British officials and French parliamentarians. The presence of the leaders of the Foreign Relations committees of the Chamber and of the Senate indicated that the subject was important. And it was. At this meeting Eden had the painful task of explaining to the French why the British government had seen fit to agree to a naval parity with Germany in certain categories of warships, and why His Majesty's government had done this secretly without even informing the French… From the attitudes of the men around the table you couldn't have guessed that the French were angry and the English embarrassed. Only the hard puffs on their cigarettes and thoughtful sips from their demitasses indicated that they were thinking hard about what they would say. Those were convenient cover-ups for what might have proven embarrassingly long silences." Lucien Aigner, from his unpublished memoirs |
| 33. |  | Lucien Aigner 1930s Untitled [Roulette at le Touquet Casino] Gelatin silver print 4 3/4 x 7 1/8 ins Courtesy of the Lucien Aigner Estate "The last chipàà fortunes are lost at gaming tables but it hurts most people to lose anything at all." Lucien Aigner |
| 34. |  | Lucien Aigner 1937 Mothers at the St. Cyr Military Academy graduation ceremonies, France Gelatin silver print, modern 8 3/4 x 13 1/4 ins Courtesy of the Lucien Aigner Estate |