Frankly, this is a little overwhelming. Entering the brightly lit main hall of the Musée National de l’Automobile, I have to stop to take a moment.
Ahead of me sit row after row of historic vehicles, dating back to the very dawn of motoring. The museum houses more than 500 cars, from the truly obscure to the most famous in the world.
However, if the sight of all this is astonishing to today’s visitors, just imagine how the textile workers employed by the Schlumpf brothers felt when they first clapped eyes on the collection back in 1977. The company was bankrupt, and as bitter employees picketed the brothers’ HKC mill in Mulhouse, they soon discovered why.
Italian-Swiss-French industrialists Hans and Fritz Schlumpf had been secretly hoarding historic cars for decades, spending company money building the biggest private car collection in the world.
It was an obsession that had its beginnings in 1936 when wool broker Fritz bought his first Bugatti—a Type 35B. Behind the wheel, Schlumpf competed in local hill climbs, but behind the scenes, he was hatching bigger plans. It was around 1960 that the brothers’ textile business had boomed sufficiently, and it was time for those plans to be put into action.
Over the next three years, the Schlumpfs began to amass automobiles for the collection, stashing them inside the decommissioned Mulhouse mill. Fritz had fixers the world over hunting cars for him. In 1962, he bought close to 50 Bugattis, and then in a single move, he acquired 30 more from John W. Shakespeare of Illinois, and a further 18 examples from Ettore Bugatti’s personal stable. By 1967, it’s reckoned that the Schlumpfs had 105 Bugattis—about one-fifth of the total survivors at the time.
In fairness to the Schlumpfs, their goal was to open the collection to the public. The huge exhibition space was fitted out with 900 Parisian-style lamp posts, and there were plans for a restaurant as well as a workshop to keep the cars functioning.
However, before they could open up, the oil crisis hit, the Schlumpf’s massive debts became too much to bear, and the company was insolvent. Protests erupted as workers sought compensation for their sudden unemployment, and, breaking into the Mulhouse museum, they quickly realized where all the company money had gone.
For two years, the unions occupied the museum, opening it to the public for free, while the legal ramifications were sorted out. The collection, then over 400-strong, was valued at 100 million Francs and seized by the French authorities, who must have been sorely tempted to auction the lot. Instead, they had the foresight to invest further and complete the work of the Schlumpf brothers, finally opening the museum in July 1982. The brothers, meanwhile, were found guilty of fraudulent bankruptcy and embezzlement, but escaped prison by legging it over the border to Basel, Switzerland, where they lived out their days.
Its origins are shady, then, but the Schlumpf Collection is dazzling.
The main hall is structured to take you on a chronological journey that begins in the last years of the 19th century, and the first production car in the world from Panhard & Levassor, but it’s worth taking a quick detour before wandering through the rows and observing the gradual evolution of the automobile.
In a darkened room to the left, accompanied by a gentle 1930s jazz soundtrack, is a display of automotive extravagance the likes of which you’ll never find anywhere else. One row features Bugatti sedans, coupes, and convertibles as far as the eye can see, and yet still barely scratches the surface of the Schlumpf’s Bugatti collection. And then there are Rolls-Royces, Hispano-Suizas, and long-forgotten luxuries from Farman and Voisin.
Back in the main hall, there’s almost too much to take in. One moment you’re staring at an Alfa Romeo 8C, the next it’s a Ferrari 250 MM, a Maserati 250F, or a Mercedes SSK.
Move to the racing hall and amongst the sea of Bugatti blue, you’ll find Formula 1 cars, a Porsche 908, and various lightweight Gordinis and iconic Ferraris.
The collection is just so huge that I find myself strolling past a 300 SLR with a mere shrug, and get distracted by just trying to tally up the number of Ettore’s automobiles. I lose count somewhere north of 80.
An Arzens l’Oeuf (egg) briefly stops me in my tracks, and there are many other marques from Wimille to Ellipsis that I’ve never heard of, let alone seen, until today.
There are exhibits dedicated to the cars of the Tintin comics, the internal workings of Bugatti—even the restaurant has blueprints on display.
On a small test track, visitors can pay to drive assorted classic and sports cars, and there are a variety of interactive experiences dotted throughout to help keep kids entertained.
By the time I leave, my head is spinning, and days later, I’m still seeing Bugattis in my sleep. Perhaps this is what it’s like to be Fritz Schlumpf.
The original curator was determined to be credited for his efforts, despite the associated criminality and loss of his collection, so in 1989 he sued to ensure that the words “Schlumpf Collection” were included in the museum’s name.
The Schlumpf brothers, with no small amount of help from the French local government, did finally achieve their goal. It may well be the best car museum in the world.
This looks like a very cool place with a unique collection. We need more pictures.
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