Of all the traditional French luxury carmakers, the one that could have conceivably survived a bit longer was Hotchkiss. They had a deep industrial roots, a large factory, were still very active in the truck and military vehicle business, had their own body shop and, crucially, money in the bank and talent in their midst. But the top brass were hoodwinked by a narcissistic engineer, who was bleeding the company dry to pursue his pet project. Meanwhile, Hotchkiss tried to keep their car branch afloat with the Anjou.
The Hotchkiss story has been told before on CC, so I’ll just briefly refresh the memories of everyone: the firm was originally a gun manufacturer, founded by an American émigré in the 1860s. They diversified into the car and truck business in the 1900s and developed a great reputation for conservative, but very well-crafted vehicles.
It was tough to produce higher-end cars in post-1945 France. Everything was in short supply, including clients. Unfazed, Hotchkiss simply carried over their 1939 range unchanged – a 2.3 litre 4-cyl., a 3.0 and 3.5 litre 6-cyl. chassis, dressed in a collection of now rather outdated bodies. By 1948, some evolution began to take place with the S49 saloon (above): the body was very timidly modernized, but the chassis got a major makeover, including hydraulic brakes and an independent front suspension. The 3-litre model was dropped, leaving two engines in the running.
The 4-cyl. cars were appreciated for their solidity and sold decently well, especially now that the chassis had caught up to the present-day standards. The 6-cyl. chassis was a pretty accomplished performer at the Monte-Carlo Rally since the early ‘30s, and this carried on after the war. But the issue was the car’s appearance: even dressed in coupé form, the powerful Grand Sport was starting to look beyond passé.
The design team got busy defining what a truly modern Hotchkiss ought to look like, coming up with this “New-Look” clay in 1949. Had it gone into production as planned, there is a chance that this mating of a very modern body and a proven chassis might have been quite competitive, both at home and abroad. Alfa Romeo, BMW and Mercedes-Benz were not yet fully back on their feet, and most British rivals still sported separate fenders. This could have been the French Lancia Aurelia, minus the technological edge.
But no, the Hotchkiss board decided to try their luck with J.A. Grégoire’s engineering wet-dream, which he had developed in the immediate post-war years. It was a front-drive saloon with a 2-litre aluminium flat-4 with an all-independent suspension featuring Grégoire’s patented horizontal springing system, set in a special platform made of Alpax alloy and dressed in a super-slippery body made of both aluminium and steel.
Getting all that into production was going to take some doing (and a lot of bread), so all that could be done for the legacy Hotchkiss chassis was a name change and a thorough body refresh.
The Anjou 13.50 (the 4-cyl.) and 20-50 (the 6-cyl.) were launched at the 1950 Paris Motor Show and, surprisingly enough, did pretty well. It’s anyone’s guess whether the more modern body would have done even better, but at least sales reached about 2700 units for MY 1951.
It may seem like pitifully low numbers, and it was compared to the likes of Peugeot or Simca, but it was better than Bugatti, Delahaye, Delage, Rosengart, Salmson and Talbot-Lago combined. Ford’s French branch – a dangerous rival, with their far more modern-looking and V8-powered Vedette – were only making 4-5000 cars a year. The market was tiny, and very crowded.
The big Citroën was the undisputed king of the segment – with over 10,000 units in 1951 (its best-ever score), it crushed the opposition despite looking older than all of them. Delage and Delahaye, reliant on outside coachbuilders, were increasingly irrelevant, with sales in the dozens. Talbot-Lago filed for bankruptcy that year, but got a stay of execution. Salmson trotted out their new Randonnée and took a massive bath. The Grégoire finally went on sale in the late spring of 1951, but Hotchkiss lost a boatload of money on every car made. It was a grim time to be in the French luxury saloon game in those days, unless you were Citroën.
The sturdy Anjou chassis, in all its naked glory. The engines, be they 4- or 6-cyl., were well-known, having been in production since the early ‘30s. the 4-speed gearbox only had synchromesh on 3rd anf top gear, but an extra FF60,000 would get you the Cotal semi-automatic – a fairly popular option on French cars at the time. Like Delahaye, Delage and Talbot, Hotchkiss mounted the steering wheel on the right.
Like pretty much all Hotchkiss chassis since 1948, the Anjou had a Grégoire suspension setup from new. Devised in the late ‘30s for the Amilcar Compound, this patented device was the brainchild of (who else?) Jean-Albert Grégoire, who made a nice living collecting royalties from it.
Here is the man himself (on the left) inspecting the said “variable-rate” suspension device on the Anjou chassis’s rear axle. It was an additional pair of horizontal coil springs that countered the movement of the axle. Apparently, it was one of Grégoire’s better inventions, and he adapted it to be fitted to the Traction Avant, the Renault 4CV and various heavy-duty chassis.
Aside from the saloon, Hotchkiss proposed a few body variants. The most popular (a very relative term) was the two-door Anthéor cabriolet, made by coachbuilder Chapron from MY 1952 onwards. In keeping with their sporting tradition, Hotchkiss also included a Grand Sport coupé, only available with the 130hp twin-carb 6-cyl. – just 40 of those were built in 1951-52. A six-light limousine also made an appearance in 1951, but was dropped after a literal handful of units were made.
Hotchkiss factory bodies were quite excellent, quality-wise, so very few clients ever bothered just ordering the Anjou chassis for an expensive one-off coachbuilt car. But a few did (usually with the 6-cyl. chassis), including this Chapron cabriolet or this station wagon by Mignot & Billebault. A few foreigners also bought the occasional Hotchkiss: Swiss specialist Worblaufen built two superb four-door drop-tops in 1951-52.
Back to our humble (and somewhat past its prime) 4-cyl. Anjou factory saloon. The ‘30s roots are on full display here, with that huge steering wheel and truck-like gear shifter. This last feature makes our car one of the first thousand Anjous made – after that, a more fashionable column shifter was fitted. The wood on the dash was later substituted for enamel paint, again to try to make the interior seem a little more contemporary.
The rear seat was a very comfortable place to be – not always a given in cars of this generation. Interesting that seatbelts were added there, but not in front. Mind you, that steering wheel would impale the driver right in the sternum in most cases anyway, with or without a belt on.
Despite a good first year on the market, the Anjou’s sales were significantly reduced for MY 1952. By 1953, the model was in free-fall – only about 200 were made, and Hotchkiss decided to retire the slower-selling 6-cyl. model. The company, which merged with the moribund Delahaye in early 1954, found its salvation in trucks and producing Jeeps under license. Civilian car production ground to a halt, never to resume. In total, the Anjou sold over 4000 units, while its parasitic FWD stablemate did not even manage 250.
A final half-hearted attempt at a car was presented at the 1954 Paris Motor Show, but nothing came of it. Jeep and truck production carried on for well over a decade though, so the Hotchkiss name did outlive its competitors, in the end.
The Anjou should have served its purpose as a transitional model. Were it not for the front-drive folly that drained the company’s coffers in the interim, perhaps Hotchkiss could have proposed a truly modern higher-end French saloon for 1952 or 53. In some alternate universe, Hotchkiss would still have been around for a decade or so, probably before merging with Peugeot. As it played out in this reality, the Anjou was one of the marque’s most successful cars, but also its last gasp.
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Definitely has a pre war vibe but also looks graceful and elegant .
-Nate
Yep, the automotive equivalent of “I wouldn’t kick her out of bed for eating crackers.”
Thanks for the history. I knew little of them save for the Hotchkiss Drive and that these were French cars. It really did need a sleek post WWII body more than anything else.
Hum, please excuse another question, with actually little to do with the car itself: who are the two slightly uneasy gentlemen standing in the cabriolet? and is it in Algiers (that would explain the worries…) ?
And I’m afraid I’m not sharing your optimism regarding the possible future of the mark. Even without Monsieur l’Ingenieur Gregoire playing cuckoo in the nest, with a chassis and an engine from the ’30s, they needed to develop a complete new car for a very very slim market.
Were not they close to Peugeot? But that may not have helped.
Well, if they hadn’t spent all their time and money on the Grégoire, a new chassis (in the 2-2.5 litre category) could have been developed to go along with the new-look body. There was some room in this category: Citroën’s Traction was looking mighty outdated (though it was extremely modern underneath), the Ford Vedette was not doing all that great and the Renault Frégate, produced from 1952 onward, turned out to be a major dud.
Hotchkiss were a lot bigger than Delahaye, Talbot or Salmson. More comparable to Panhard, who did the smart thing and switched to small cars. Hotchkiss *might* have had a chance to survive the 50s. But yes, in the end, they would have been gobbled up by Peugeot, who were on the board of directors anyway.
Not sure where the Anthéor convertible was photographed (the number plate is not Algiers, is it?), but French military officials always look like they have IBS.
When you write of a car I’m unfamiliar with, I’m always fascinated by the TatraTable helping me to place an unfamiliar car in an unfamiliar market’s context.
Rather ambitious, weren’t they?
Almost half as much again as the excellent Citroen 15-six, for a car of comparable output (from a considerably smaller engine) and performance, on paper. Much fancier interior, but then you’d expect that for the premium. You’d expect something, not just a name.
And then Delahaye, Talbot and Salmson’s ‘equivalents’ (on paper) were even dearer still. No wonder these companies aren’t around today.
Thanks for your answers.
I did a quick search, I’m afraid I should have done it before.
– the Algerian car registrations used sequences starting with 91 as they were still french departments. Those numbers became available again from 1962 and were used later when the Paris suburbs area was restructured.
– the chubby guy looks like Robert Lacoste, ‘gouverneur et ministre résident pour L’Algérie’, the Hotchkiss was the car he used.
– could not identify the military man who looks as he just received an instant vision of what’s going to happen; anyway they are both already in the History Great Meat Mincer.
– in-town open car parades will soon become ‘démodées’ in this place, yet there is a Getty picture of this car in 1956
Sorry for bringing up those obscure fragments of French History (and not its finest hour).
Nice car though!
Really nice cars. My favourite is the one in the third image. And the Swiss registered convertible ist just … superb. Crème de la crème, so to speak.
It’s very conventional in every way, but somehow it really is gorgeous.
Hope one’s still around.
This must be the French Quarter of Tokyo, non?
I can’t for the life of me make much sense out of Gregoire’s Heath Robinson rear springing. Actually, the man himself looks mildly non-plussed in the pic.
There’s something really handsome, possibly a touch glamourous, about this car, even as this one senesces into the ashphalt. It looks well-bred, as it were. But, surely, it does tempt the fates if you insist on naming your car after a variety of pear: for that is how things ended up shaped for it in just a few years.
This car, which is either amazingly original or long-ago restored, wouldn’t be worth nothing, I’d imagine. Any idea why it’s been left to act as a shelter for roadway horticultural growth there?
I love these final, elegant examples of pre-war European design.