There are copper pans, and then there are copper pans. The former may be functional, and be of recent, decent manufacture; a high price-tag piece of cookware that both performs and impresses. The latter is something a bit different and the subject of this article; bone-fide antiques, a witness to human stories, seemingly with their own story to tell. Often dirty, dented, unusable and hard to source in the first place, they are almost always an expensive restoration project, their appeal lying in something less tangible than functionality.
Those most coveted and often sought out are the product of the great French ateliers Dehillerin, Jacquotot, Gaillard and Mauviel; admired for their hand-worked craftsmanship and sheer weighty presence, despite often suffering from any number of the hindrances listed above when first ‘discovered’. Why bother sourcing them? Acquiring a matching lid and pan, let alone a matching set, may take years to achieve, and even then they will most likely need some degree of restoration to use safely in the kitchen.
The answer is that as hand-made objects often do, they have ‘spirit’. They bear silent testimony to the relentless and irreversible passing of time. Born gleaming in the ordered social innocence of late 19th Century Europe, dulled by the tragedy of two world wars crashing down around them, only to be forgotten in the post-war years of modernity. Finally, the surviving pieces of good quality end up in the homes of those who discover and appreciate them, not just in Europe but in lands as far afield as America and Australia. Little pieces of turn-of-the-century France, scattered to the four corners of the world in our global 21st Century.
This assertion, that there is something ‘more’ to an old pan than a new one is of course entirely subjective, but it is relevant as it is what attracted me to the world of copper cookware in the first place, not least to my first acquisition two years ago in Paris’ labyrinthine Marche Aux Puces de Saint-Ouen.
Glinting in the sun on top of a pile of very early Louis Vuitton suitcases, in the heat and dirt of a narrow street was a small 16cm casserole, stamped Grands Magasins Du Louvre, Paris. As a student of history, I had never heard of this great French department store, most of which are famous to this day, yet here was an item of great quality and beauty bearing this mysterious monicker. It was the form that was most attractive; delicate hand hammering and a lifetime of patination had created a dappled effect in the sunlight, and the handle was a work of art. I had never considered something so functional as a kitchen pan-handle could have so much attention to detail and craftsmanship lavished upon it; the handle emerged from the pan in a heart-shaped triple-riveted form, curving up in a swan-neck motion in smooth cast metal. It was these particular aesthetics that captured my attention and admiration, right through to the present day. I have since been collecting and studying these little discussed series of pans for two years now, having acquired around twenty pieces altogether and they have a story that is worth telling, which I shall attempt to do here for the first time.
To start-off, the series was made by the great Mauviel for the (then) even greater department store in the years before the first world war, from around 1880 to at least 1914, though also on a smaller scale into the 1920s. Nowadays the name Mauviel commands such respect and admiration in its own right that it is hard to imagine a world where Mauviel was just one of many decent ateliers de cuivre, desperately vying for the business of Paris’ great temples of commerce in order to survive.
The past, as they say, is a foreign country; they do things differently there. Things really were done differently in late 19th Century Paris by the likes of the Grands Magasins Du Louvre, which is a topic worth exploring as it sheds some light on the nature of the copperware bearing its stamp. The great department store was located on Place du Palais-Royal, on the exact geographical centre-point of Paris, itself at the centre of one of the greatest empires ever to have existed. The tricolore flew from Suriname in the Americas to Indochina in the east and Paris was the primary recipient of the material trade and cultural enrichment that resulted. The city was overflowing with silks from the east and spices from the west, as well as a colourful and seemingly never-ending series of visiting representations from around the French Empire; combined with perhaps the most morally lax codes of behaviour in Europe at this point, this state of continuous constructive flux produced a boom in the cultural and pleasure industries. This imagery broadly sums up the world into which the Grands Magasins Du Louvre blossomed, a world of hedonistic satisfaction accompanied by an energetic atmosphere of financial, scientific, cultural and political advancement; a period retrospectively coined the beautiful era.
A blend of pleasure and commerce, public palaces like Du Louvre strived to bring together all the advances in material technology under a single awe-inspiring roof, in order to capture some of the immense wealth pouring into Paris from across the world. Grandeur was a natural by-product of the constant competition between the commercial giants in the city, as is aptly demonstrated by Picture. 2, which shows a flurry of beautiful hand painted horse-drawn delivery vans under the shadow of the Eiffel tower. No expense was spared, no-matter the nature of the object or its purpose, and it is this sentiment which is clearly at work regarding the design, form, and production of Du Louvre copperware.
Shown in the below images is possibly the pride of my personal collection of Du Louvre; made by Mauviel in around 1890, it is a sauteuse with original lid in stunning condition. It exemplifies design considerations that are expensive and difficult to produce, such as the recessed lid flanges and triple riveted heart-shaped handles in smooth metal.
This was copperware that was for more than just cooking; in a market with a healthy number of suppliers, pieces like this were tugging at emotional, aesthetic and even ideological heartstrings in order to gain market share. In fact beginning at around this time across Europe was the Arts & Crafts movement, which rejected mass uniform production of goods and exalted the virtues of hand-made objects that demonstrated true craft. The extra cost was justified firstly by extra quality and also the reward of the social value of honest craft in the late 19th century consciousness.
The example above, like almost all Du Louvre pieces I have encountered, bears the centre-point compass mark of the atelier signifying a truly hand-made piece of copper, confirming quite how expensive the lids alone must’ve been to produce. A Grands Magasins Du Louvre catalogue from 1911 lists the cost of the lid below at 6.25Francs; at a time when the nation was on the gold standard that was over a weeks’ wage for the average Frenchman. The pan was a whopping 27Francs, meaning the pan and lid together at the time of purchase would’ve had a modern day price-tag of around £500 ($650). These were statement pieces, they said something about who you were, your business, your ethos. They differentiated your café from the one across the street, the aesthetic details a potent symbol of your own success and ambition.
Another important development of which to be conscious when discussing French copperware of this era is the growing market-demand for cookware generally that accompanied this period of development in French cuisine. The number of cafés, bistros, and restaurants emerging in Paris alone was astronomical, with the café firmly establishing itself as a social hub within every social strata in France by this time. Additionally, something not often discussed in conjunction with antique french copper is that France’s reputation as a nation of great cuisine was established in large part by the developments taking place in Paris, in this particular time period. The increased quality of the cookware and the newly available spices and ingredients from abroad essentially facilitated the birth of French cooking as we see it today. These two socio-cultural trends created a newly colossal demand for cookware, specifically copper cookware which was seen as the best cookware money could buy. The timing of this new demand was accompanied by advancements in production technique and technology in use by the ateliers de cuivres, which meant thicker copper, purer copper, stronger rivets and the employment of superior grade metals in the production of handles.
This brings us to the second part of this article on Mauviel’s Du Louvre copperware, a closer look at the pans themselves. The vast majority of examples I have encountered are pre-1914, truly artisanal pieces from the Mauviel workshop; they exhibit variation in the thickness of the metal (typically between 2.0mm and 2.4mm), slight inaccuracies in the alignment and orientation of the handles, and generally off-centre or slightly mis-struck stamps (indicating a hand striking).
These indications of artisanal production can be easily seen by comparing the two casseroles in the image below ; the 20cm casserole has its handle centred slightly anti-clockwise whereas the 21cm casserole on the right exhibits a slight clockwise orientation on its handle.
The 20cm is 2.3mm thick and the 21cm is 2.2mm, despite having a larger circumference. These inconsistencies permeate the entire pre-First World War output, giving the pans their character, charm, and unique aesthetic. The hand-hammering is also particularly satisfying on these early Mauviel examples, with a ‘uniformity’ of finish to this inherently unique aspect of each pan.
These thicker, early examples also present a perfectly chamfered lower edge leading to a beautifully planar base, an expensive detail not present in the output of many other workshops even at this early date. I also coined the term ‘art-rivet’ to best sum up the beauty of the handmade and delicately rounded ‘buttons’ present on Du Louvre pans. Even Dehillerin was not concerned with beautifying the simple rivet at this point in time, preferring irregular but perhaps structurally stronger rivets for their usually even thicker pans. In fact, the beauty and delicacy of the rivets on Du Louvre pans may explain their upper-limit thickness of 2.4mm, as these aesthetically pleasing rivets with their small and perfect scale may not have been considered capable of carrying heavier grades of copper.
In my experience they actually perform remarkably well in an everyday kitchen setting. I gradually got rid of all my modern steel pans, replacing them size-for-size as and when possible to the point that I now use these antique copper pans for every piece of on-the-hob cooking. They are equally at home being used for high temperature confectionary making as for traditional slow-cooking of stews, sauces, and soups. They seem to have thicker bases than sides, which may contribute to the fact that I have never burned food in them yet (fingers crossed), even when left on the heat all day without anyone around to stir the contents.
The sauteuses are especially versatile; I regularly use them as frying pans and for risotto as much as for traditional sautéing whilst on the hob, however they also make admirable pies in the oven with the application of a pastry lid. The handles perform especially well as they do not leak or buckle at all when filled to the brim, their strength no doubt deriving partly from the triple riveting applied to even the smallest pans. Whatever alloy the smooth handles are made from was carefully chosen, as they do not get too hot to handle even after extended periods of use, which is a real blessing for those of us familiar with cooking with metal handled cookware.
The seal between lid and pan-body is among the best I have ever encountered among antique French copperware; the sheer weight of the lids combined with the deep inverse flanges results in very little steam escaping from the pans, to the point that they more than hold their own in this area when compared to modern examples.
The pictures below show a run of my smaller casseroles, all with original lids, that display the way in which the lids have been very cleverly designed to ensure a good fit. This consideration is not one which was abandoned in the material and resource poor France of the post war period; the two smallest pans on the left are 1920s examples, among the last copperware made for the Grands Magasins du Louvre, whereas the two on the right are much earlier. Yet, despite varying thickness of copper and manufacturing techniques, they retain the effective design features and quality handles discussed above across the entire timeframe of production.
Finally, a note on my statements and how these pans fit into the wider narrative of the output of the French ‘greats’. My experience with French copper cookware comes almost entirely from this antique series of pans from one maker in a narrow time-frame. I have found their average thickness of 2.0-2.2mm to be a perfectly workable everyday gauge of copper, despite the fact that many will say the thicker the better. Perhaps they are right, but as I have no experience with 3.0mm upwards I cannot say, or indeed draw comparison with regards to their performance. I will also say that despite the fact that these pans see everyday use, their primary attraction to me is the romance of their story and survival. With regards to care I clean them with traditional non-abrasive water-based copper polishes that rely on elbow-grease to make them sparkle, as opposed to chemical or physical attrition. It is a labour of love to do this to dozens of pieces, which explains why many of my pans are allowed to go all the colours of the rainbow!
I would also not necessarily recommend these pans above well-made modern equivalents, which are essentially more disposable and replaceable; antique copper which is by definition not replaceable needs lots of care and attention and I quite understand that this extra work is not for everyone. Indeed, many will favour function over form, but for me the two are inseparable conditions for copper; the kitchen is a hub of creation and this should go hand in hand with beauty, just as in art and architecture.
Craft of this sort retains a special interest today, with the worn yet sturdy aesthetic of these hand-made relics of the past holding a deep allure. In addition to this I will be frank and say that I, among many others, simply could not afford to assemble a full batterie de cuisine of brand-new Mauviel copperware. It is, for some inexplicable reason, cheaper to buy genuine hand-crafted antique Mauviel, perhaps the result of an inconsistent supply entirely reliant on the tenacity (or luck) of the buyer in finding such pieces in the first place. I shall end this article with a montage of images of the pieces not used above in the main article, because at the end of the day it is how these pans perform on the eye, not the stove, that cements their importance to me.
I would like to thank Vintage French Copper for offering me the opportunity to share my area of copper-expertise from the UK with readers from all over the world, it is a great privilege to share your passion in this way. I keenly welcome any comments and questions anyone has, and am especially interested in any experiences anyone else may have with Du Louvre copper, as thus far I have found no one else who even has any.
-T.L., Edinburgh, UK. 21st May 2019.
Reader John Hershey sent in a photo of the baseplate of one of his Grands Magasins du Louvre pans to show what appears to be a silvery coating. It looks to me to be an unusually thick layer of metal. The portion that remains plated looks more mirror-like than other examples I’ve seen. This is definitely not Parkerization or anything like that, but more of a plating or almost chroming.
Folks, what do you think this could be?
What a beautiful piece of writing, and what a pleasure to host it here! Your pans are divine — I never knew about their special history and construction. Thank you so much for sharing your passion and your research!
A marvellously fascinating, eloquent and romantic piece of writing. Hope to read more from the author!
A very interesting and informative article on this vintage brand. I would like to have seen how Mr. Larham determines the ages of his wonderful pans.
Are the still okto cook with?
Lisa, if the tin lining is intact, they absolutely are. If the tin lining is looking worn out, it can be renewed. That’s one of the great things about tinned copper.
I have a small collection of Grands Magasins Du Louvre copperware; how can you tell the approximate age of any given piece? Thanks in advance.
Hey John! I’ve had a tough time finding Grands Magasins du Louvre catalogs or advertisements that would give an idea of what types of pans they were selling when, so I would fall back on looking at the pan construction. Tom Larham says the pans were made from around 1880 into the 1920s; that era spans the transition from hand-crafting to machine-crafting. Pans with irregular hand-crafted elements (e.g., dovetails, hand-hammered rivets, thicker in base) are likely to be earlier in that timeframe, while pans with machine-crafted elements (e.g., seamless construction, uniform thickness, rounded interior rivets, small domed exterior rivets) would be later. I am not aware of the actual date when Mauviel adopted machinery so I can’t tell you for sure when they changed construction methods, but the general rule I use is that machine presses came into use 1890-1900 and riveting machines 1910-1920 or so. But this is an educated guess, really, and I reserve the right to be wrong!
Thanks for the fast response. Do you know if the handles on these pots were originally nickel plated? I have a few with remnants of some sort of plating that looks original.
John, yes, I think they were. I think the “queue nickele” is nickel-plated. I’ve also seen advertisements for Gaillard that talk of “parkerization” of the handles, which is like bluing steel. Have you noticed that certain antique handles have that silvery sheen to them? I have a post in mind on this topic!
Thanks for all the responses. This is more than a silvery sheen – there are areas that are raised above the level of the base iron that are very distinct. At first I thought someone got sloppy with a previous re-tinning but upon closer inspection it looks some some sort of plating. I’d be happy to post images if it is possible.
John, if you would like to email them to me, I’ll show them either here or on a post I’m putting together on this. (Maybe both places!) My email is VFC at vintagefrenchcopper dot com.
Just sent an example photo to your email
Got it — and it looks different from other examples. Readers, please take a look at the end of this post, where I’ve added John’s photo. What do you think this could be?
Thankyou so much, it was a pleasure to write about the history and my experience of these wonderful pans. I would certainly be happy to collaborate again and must find the time to respond to the comments on this post in detail!
That’s very interesting to hear that Gaillard and I am sure others used the parkerization process and it makes sense. To parkerize an iron or steel part, the item is heated in a phosphoric acid solution. This results in a grey to black iron phosphate finish that appears fairly smooth but actually has small pores in the surface. If the part is to be left unpainted it is then treated with a rust preventing oil which soaks into the pores and so retards rusting. If the part is to be painted the phosphate coating serves as a very good base for the paint to adhere. This rust prevention can last for many years before another treatment is necessary.
I went back and found where I saw it: in the 1956 Gaillard catalog, indicated for the steel handles of their aluminum pans. So maybe it was just the steel handles on that line? (I don’t have the entire rest of the catalog to see it it’s mentioned on all their copper lines as well.) “Parkerization” per se is a relatively modern term — post 1912. I know exactly what John means about how some handles are silvery, some are black, and some see to have a silvery layer partially worn away. The iron is coated with something. I’m going to get another nickel test and see if it’s nickel.
Sure looks like a plating was applied at some time. Is there any sign that the handle was replaced/re-riveted in the past?
John sent a few more photos — I added them. Take a look. John, what do the rivets look like on the inside?
Now that I am looking at the other photos it looks like maybe a coating of metallic paint was applied at some time.
On the handle tip the coating has a rough texture which indicates to me that paint was applied over the surface that had started to rust. If plating had been applied by a shop the surface would almost undoubtedly have been polished smooth prior to plating.
John shared some photos of the interior rivets (added to the post). What do you think? They look age-appropriate to me — that is, flattened and not with the domed heads of 20th century mass-produced rivets. That doesn’t rule out replacement, but it would imply that whoever replaced them had the skill and materials to reproduce 19th century rivets. I don’t know enough about metallurgy to tell plate from paint, but to my eye they look like they’ve been chromed, almost.
Yes, the rivets look appropriate for the age. The bottom one looks really beat up so maybe just that one was tightened up at some time? I still lean towards paint rather than plating due to the rough appearance of the coated area.. At the time these pans were made I believe most decorative plating would have been nickel. I have gotten vintage motorcycle parts chrome plated and they have always been highly polished followed by an initial coat of copper plating so that the chrome layer will adhere well.
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