How many tonnes of iron came through the port of Lisbon in 1910?
In his relentless reflection on the importance of iron in the construction and architecture of 19th-century Paris, Walter Benjamin informs us how much iron ore entered the city successively in 1848, 1862, 1864, and 18671. Iron was the material of the future and the 19th century had accordingly consecrated the dialectic between tradition and progress as a veritable bourgeois marriage of convenience. Commenting on this marriage, Giedion, again referring to France, was to add other intimate details, underlining that whenever it — the 19th century — did not feel watched, it became more daring. In other words, every time that the direct functionality of the constructions freed them from the symbolic representation provided by architectural academicism, the closer they came to the ethical abolition of the mensonge des formes to which van de Velde referred2. As far as the most important industrial countries — Britain, France, the United States and Germany — were concerned, the audacious in this century was thus structurally linked to the response to the demands of new programmes — factory buildings, exhibition pavilions, railway stations — provided that the demand was merely utilitarian, provided that it didn’t seek to satisfy too many requirements in terms of symbolic/artistic representation. In other words, provided it did not sense the critical eye of the architectural judge, in the strictly academic sense. Two paths were being followed simultaneously at the time: that of the development of the potential of construction techniques - buildings conceived and treated as if they were machines, the supremacy of the engineers who designed them; and that of the discussions on style, or the archaeological and artistic meaning of the great monuments, the slow progress in terms of the classic canon, and this is where the architects pontificated. Whenever these two paths crossed, this marriage of convenience was celebrated and the results were generally satisfactory.
In Portugal, however, neither the value of architecture as a representation of the developer, be it political, cultural or economic, nor that of the direct and material expression of the programme justified the celebration of rich and glamorous weddings. The limited, almost insignificant, importance of the growth in industrial production, worsened by both the international competition and the predominance of speculative commercial activity, of which the systematic accommodation of landowning interests was emblematic, did not provide the conditions for development of an architecture that could finally put an end to the unending debate on historicist emulation and assert itself as a productive value in itself and also represent the power of the means of production — a capitalist architecture — as it had in the industrialised world.
When 1910 came around, the presence of the new architectural materials, while also very limited, did nevertheless manage to get noticed, even if it was only because it stood out for being different. Here and there, in infrastructures and in the response to more daring programmes in spatial and functional terms, one can, despite all, find significant examples of this presence. In Porto, in the most important urban-industrial hub, even boasted an exhibition hall in the English style in granite, iron and glass designed by Thomas Dillen Jones — the Crystal Palace (1865). But one could also add the infrastructures — the Eiffel bridges, Maria Pia in Porto (1876-77) and the bridge in Viana do Castelo (1878); or the D. Luís Bridge, also in Porto, by Théophile Seyring (1881-86). In Lisbon the urban expression of the new mobility was manifested in the Santa Justa Elevator (1910) designed by Raoul Mesnier du Ponsard. But the trend towards ample covered spans also needed the technology associated with the new material, starting with the roofs for the railway stations: Rossio Station (1886-87), by José Luís Monteiro and Alcântara Station (1887), both in Lisbon, and São Bento Station (1896) by Marques da Silva in Porto. And then there were the large theatre halls: the Coliseu (1890), for which the contract was awarded to a German firm, and the Politeama (1912-13) by Ventura Terra, both in Lisbon; and the São João (1909) by Marques da Silva in Porto. There were also other institutional and commercial facilities such as the Armazéns Grandella despartment store (1891) and the Great Hall of the Geographic Society (1897) by José Luís Monteiro in Lisbon; the Palácio da Bolsa (1861), Ferreira Borges Market (1885) and Galeria da Paris (1906), also by Marques da Silva, in Porto; and the Armazéns do Chiado store (1910) in Coimbra. The new material thus did appear, in some cases in a more evident way and in other cases more dressed up, and did gain a certain amount of protagonism in the backward context of the construction industry in Portugal.
It was, however, not enough to take the lustre off the omnipresent and literary polemic surrounding the Portuguese character of built structures, or, to put it another way, the Portuguese reproduction of the historicist litany that had dominated the architectural/academic debate in Europe during the whole 19th century. Although the various European cultures were generically regarded as having common roots, the ontological crisis which struck these cultures at the time were diverse in nature. They have also been studied from differentiated, if albeit complementary, perspectives. In some cases they accentuated the cultural vacuity of the arriviste bourgeoisie and their adaptation to the new power systems. In other cases, they focus on the frequently forced artificiality of the territorial expression of the geo-political confrontations of the time, and on the divergences between the cultural and political identities in the maps that were evolving. In other cases again they condensed in a romantic melting pot the panegyric of a beautiful, glorious and emotional past.
In Portugal the terrain for propagation of these identity-related anxieties was very fertile. It had been abundantly fertilised by the decadence of the empire and, in incessant progression, in it germinated the seeds of contestation, in the most diverse forms. Longing [saudade], rage against humiliations and the nostalgic evocation of history were only a few of the more prominent themes that were referenced in the artistic and cultural ideas in the country. Under the auspices of political action, Portuguese republicanism segregated that whole litany of collective sentiments that successive generations of intellectuals had been glossing, each its own way. The exaggerate patriotism that was a common trait at the core of these lines of thought had a reverse side — as Eduardo Lourenço shows us — an occult clause that was to unveil itself gradually over time: it was to mean, above all, the full, contemporary and blame-attributing awareness of a certain dishonoured inferiority that the historic past in no way deserved.
While, in the beginning, that wounded world of ideas emerged raw and manifested itself in the form of an internal bruise, a heroic mark of a struggle for causes predestined for glorification, later on, in the transition from the 19th to the 20th century, and during the republican period itself, it gradually evolved into an assumed and ostentated haemorrage, a transversal wound in which political commitment and cultural action melded, a pledge with such a strong presence that it ran the risk of vanishing if it were not permanently fed, which it was.
Over time, the forms of expression that claimed the need to mould the marks of country’s identity into the architectural output multiplied. The historicist and archaeological preoccupation contributed material to that goal, but it was Raúl Lino who confronted the question in the best field possible, that of the built work with quality architecture.
The architecture of the republican period per se always breathed that climate of constant anxiety, that tense dialectic between the beautiful and the useful, between object and meaning.
The fine arts schools drew up their study plans anew and tried to adapt to the new realities without losing the foundational link to academic tradition. Proximities with the Parisian model were consolidated and technical and cultural themes were also reformulated and the range of disciplines expanded3. José Luís Monteiro took over as director in Lisbon in 1912, and Marques da Silva in Porto in 1913.
At the level of the built work during the republican period, the influences ranged between the eclecticism of whatever was fashionable, matured by the hands of the masters trained in Paris, and the pioneering and experimental urge of contributing to the establishment of genuinely Portuguese architecture.
In the first group of influences the leading figures were: Ventura Terra, who, although he had a — for the most part — built oeuvre, at the end of the monarchic period was to play an unequivocal role in creating the image of republican Lisbon; Norte Júnior, who eloquently manipulated the volumetric movement of the façades, functional articulation and urban order — from this period are the Headquarters of A Voz do Operário (1913), the Apartment Building at Nos. 206-218 Avenida da Liberdade (1915-16) and the Warehouses of the Abel Pereira da Fonseca Company (1916-17), all in Lisbon; Marques da Silva, in Porto, with his Teatro de São João (1910-18), Rodrigues de Freitas/D. Manuel II Grammar School (1918-32) and the Armazéns Nascimento department store (1914-27); Álvaro Machado, whose insistent playing with scale around the Neo-Romanic, as in the National Society of Fine Arts Building (1906-13)
was to become more suave in his House in Campo Grande/Bordalo Pinheiro Museum (1914), both in Lisbon; or even Adães Bermudes, perhaps the most literal in interpreting this taste in his primary schools (1911), Banco de Portugal (1912) in Coimbra, the Arco do Cego neighbourhood (1919-33) in Lisbon and even the Regaleira Palace (1904-12), where the experienced Luigi Manini gave wings to the exuberance asked of him by his client, the Lisbon magnate Carvalho Monteiro, relying, as he did years earlier at Buçaco Palace, on the sculptural mastery of João Machado and his artists from the Free School of Design Arts in Coimbra. But one should also consider a number of approximations, albeit episodic, to the very much en vogue taste of Art Nouveau — it was from Paris, and always from Paris, that the ripples of this new wave of creativity that travelled Europe under various names reached Portuguese shores. For the most part they were decorative interventions that remained in anonymity; the Major Pessoa House (1909) in Aveiro by Ernesto Korrodi and Silva Rocha being representative of all them.
In the second group of influences one must not fail to include the cultural, and above all professional action of Raúl Lino, a figure who, at the time was already very much established in the country’s intellectual circles, particularly in those that had closer links with republican ideals. The construction of his own house, the Casa do Cipreste (1907-13), accompanied the political turbulence of the day, paradoxically set in the bucolic serenity of Sintra, a romantic picture postcard setting worked with rigour, with the wild vegetation of the hills and the see framing the landscape in the background.
Towards the end of the republican period, the predictions and the first waves emanating from the Exposition Universelle des Arts Décoratifs et Industriels Modernes, which took place in Paris in 1925, were to leave their marks on the national scene, both in the affirmation of a new generation of works and in the affirmation of a new generation of architects. The Havas Building (1923-27) in Rua do Ouro, Lisbon by Carlos Ramos, Cais do Sodré Railway Station (1925-28) by Pardal Monteiro, also in Lisbon, amongst other works, represent the tip of a veil that was about to reveal itself in a more explicit way. Parallel to this, as for as building materials are concerned, another material was about to step into the limelight of mass and generalised use — reinforced concrete, a material that had, by the way, already been tested in infrastructures and a number of experimental works, such as the bridges in Mirandela (1906) by the Hannebique company, or the bridge in Sejães, Oliveira de Frades (1907-08) by the engineers Moreira de Sá and Malevez. It was to take its place as the unshakeable replacement for iron, which, due to its tardy emergence in Portugal or its scarcity, or for both reasons, did not come to play so significant a role in the transition from the 19th to the 20th century. New times were being ushered in.
But in Portugal, in a more general context, everyday construction was weak. While in the rural context it was very poor, in the urban sett-
ing repetitive mediocrity that off-
ered next to nothing in terms of technological innovation abounded. A few exceptions were some inventive hygienic solutions for working class housing, a fistful of single-home neighbourhoods and a number of vilas [apartment buildings for working classes built in patios in Lisbon]. Works of quality almost always were the exceptions, things that were achieved in circumstances
which — be it due to a need for social and cultural assertion on the part of the owners or to the specific restrictions of the programme — called for a certified professional or a competent building firm.
When one speaks of the architectural output of the republican period in Portugal, the notion of a relatively short period of time emerges throughout which the re-appearance of themes and ideas that had been dragging along since the 19th century — “the obscure decades”4 — was more significant than the coincidence of work that could, in any way, be seen in a context of political reform or social upheaval.
But it is also true that the symbolist, late-romantic litany of the Portuguese culture of the period was essentially built on desire and, above all, on its objective imponderability. So if there was a, perhaps obscure, object of desire underlying that output, it could be found, in a more direct way, in the centrality of the steps forward that were the steps backwards towards historic utopia5 and, in a less direct way, in the decentering trend that was the insecure and cautious look at the reality which, albeit far from the academic stages, revealed itself with moderate insistence in the concrete universe of the transformation of the cities and territory, affirming itself through the introduction of new programmes, new materials and new building methods. In one and the other case, there is always an object of desire, obscure enough to be stimulating and precious enough not to be achieved.
The man who has gone astray must go back to a place he knows in order to set out on his true road, the path that will take him to his destiny. What may appear to be a going back is, in the end, a step forward.
Teixeira de Pascoaes
The art of being Portuguese, publ. 1915
[1] Cf. Walter Benjamin. The Arcades Project. Trans. Howard Eiland and Kevin McLaughlin. Cambridge, Mass.; London : The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2004, p. 152. Prepared on the basis of the german vol. ed. by Rolf Tiedmann.
[2] Cf. Sigfried Giedion. Space, Time and Architecture. Cambridge, Mass.; London : Harvard University Press, 2008, p. 294. Ed. orig. 1941.
[3] Cf. Maria Calado. A cultura arquitectónica em Portugal, 1880-1920: tradição e inovação. Lisboa :
FAUTL, 2003.
[4] Nuno Portas. A evolução da Arquitectura Moderna em Portugal: uma interpretação. in Bruno Zevi. História da Arquitectura Moderna. Lisboa :
Arcádia, 1978. Reed. Nuno Portas. A arquitectura para hoje seguido de evolução da arquitectura Moderna em Portugal. Lisboa : Livros Horizonte, 2008.
[5] Cf. Paulo Pereira (dir.). História da Arte Portuguesa: do Barroco à Contemporaneidade. Lisboa : Círculo de Leitores, 1995, 3º vol., p. 517.