If the Renault 4CV was France’s take on the VW Beetle (which it clearly was), then what we have here is a Gallic Porsche 356. It’s a pity that Alpine never managed to really take off sort-of on its own the way Porsche did. Perhaps that was inevitable given how different the circumstances of their respective births were, as well as how close they were to their respective “parent” carmaker.
There is a compelling argument to be made that Porsche created Volkswagen. It’s quite a bit more complicated than that, of course, and the Porsche 356 did come after the Beetle. For Alpine, the filiation and timeline are crystal clear: first came the 4CV, developed during the Second World War and launched in 1947, the popular little Renault was used by a host of racing enthusiasts, both amateurs and seasoned professionals, to score class wins throughout Europe.
From the late ‘40s onwards, the French small sports car world was divided into two camps: the followers of the 4CV (rear-engine, water-cooled, 4-cyl.) and the devotees of the Dyna Panhard (FWD, air-cooled, 2-cyl.). Simca’s smaller models had limited appeal, and the Citroën 2CV was just too underpowered to be competitive, leaving Renault and Panhard to fight for the 750cc crown throughout the ‘50s against the likes of Fiat/Abarth, Moretti and OSCA.
The first 4CVs seen on the track were stock four-door saloons (top left, at the 1951 Le Mans endurance race), but very quickly, the bulky body was ditched in favour of something more aerodynamic, like this Vernet-Peirard single-seater (top right). The little Renault soon began to garner a bunch of trophies. This led some racing teams to try their hand at manufacturing civilian variants of their re-bodied Renaults: Autobleu tried to sell a sporty 4CV derivative, with a Ghia-designed body manufactured by Chapron. Alas, it was too expensive and petered out after about 80 units (1954-56, bottom left). In parallel, Louis Rosier contracted Brissonneau & Lotz to manufacture a fine GRP-bodied drop-top (1956-59, bottom right). Rosier’s death at the wheel of a Ferrari in late 1956 probably hampered sales – only about 200 were made – but it allowed Brissonneau to gain a foothold in carmaking.
An active member of the postwar Renault racing crowd was Jean Rédélé (1922-2007). Having become the youngest Renault dealer in France in 1946, this Dieppe-born dynamo was racing 4CVs extensively by the early ‘50s. Prior to the Rosier and Autobleu attempts, Rédélé had already figured that a sexy and light-bodied 4CV-powered coupé might prove popular.
He got Michelotti to design something quite pleasant and sought American capital to develop the idea. “The Marquis,” unveiled at the New York Auto Show in April 1954, got plenty of attention. Unfortunately, Rédélé’s financial backers backed out, leaving the car stillborn.
Being nothing if not resilient, Jean Rédélé took the Marquis back to his hometown of Dieppe and reworked the entire project, starting with changing the name to Alpine. Costs were cut by simplifying the car’s design and using more OEM parts, which necessarily altered the Michelotti design significantly. In January 1955, the Alpine A-106 was launched.
There were two significant factors in ensuring the fledgling marque’s immediate survival: securing Renault’s blessing, which Rédélé obtained without too much trouble, and finding an outfit capable of manufacturing GRP bodies. This was a little more challenging, as using this material was still a pretty novel concept in the automotive industry.
But Alpine was not the first French carmaker to do this, so there were a handful of firms that could be contracted. Chappe & Gessalin ended up taking the work on. One of the earliest changes, introduced for MY 1957, were the addition of front turn signals and the creation of a bespoke windshield instead of using the Renault Frégate’s ill-fitting backlight. The improvement, in terms of visibility, was plain to see, so to speak.
The semblance of a range emerged even before these small changes. There was the plain A-106 (also called “Normale”) with its standard-issue 100% stock 4CV engine (21hp) and 3-speed transmission. These were able to reach 115kph thanks to the Alpine being 35kg lighter (and probably quite a bit more aerodynamic) than the 4CV, which barely made it to 100kph in favourable conditions. For a few thousand francs more, the A-106 S was available. Thanks to a larger carb, it churned out 30hp and V-max was in excess of 125kph.
The crème de la crème was the Mille Miles. It kept the 747cc engine of its stablemates, but said motor was given a bit of a makeover, with higher compression and an even larger Weber carburator. A special 5-speed gearbox was mated to this engine, which now produced 40-42hp. The body was made lighter as well, depending on the client’s specific wishes – some cars shed over 40kg. Claimed top speed was between 150 and 155kph, which was pretty good for such a small machine.
The Mille Miles was a real sports car, commanding real sports car prices. The base model Renault 4CV cost FF400k in 1957; the cheapest A-106 was a respectable FF830k and a car like the one above would have set you back at FF1.1m at least. Which was a tidy little sum, but great value when considering that the Autobleu cost just as much (and was a lot slower). The only real domestic rival was the Panhard-powered DB, which was a little dearer (FF1.4-1.5m), but equally fast.
Folks who bought an Alpine Mille Miles typically took part in local racing / rallying / hillclimbing events in their free time. They would put on their gloves, slide in the bucket seat, move their legs waaaaay to the right and off they’d go.
Seat belts? What are those? Again with the tartan fabric, uh. Just like the 2CV we saw a couple days ago. Interesting fashion choices, back in the ‘50s.
By the end of 1957, Alpine added a cabriolet version to the range, though it was only available with the base engine. This cemented the coupé as the “serious” Alpine, something of a tradition for the carmaker – just like the engine in the rear and the plastic body panels, these were features that would come to be synonymous with Alpine until the end of its first incarnation in 1995.
In 1959, Alpine launched the Dauphine-based A-108, the follow-up model, leaving the A-106 on borrowed time. The last examples of the first Alpine were sold in 1961, after a 250-unit production run. It was a modest start, but a promising one.
Unlike Porsche, who did not hesitate to significantly enlarge the flat-4 they inherited to improve performance and had a lucrative sideline in general automotive engineering, Alpine kept to the engines that Renault provided, only squeezing more power through to the ancillaries. And they never ventured into anything independently of their parent company. This necessarily limited the scope of Alpine’s freedom of action, but it was necessary for them to keep Renault’s backing. And ultimately, that was the marque’s downfall.
Not that any of this was clear for the start. Back in the late ‘50s, Alpine brought back a sense of sporting achievement in a French automotive landscape that had seen the passing of nearly all of its great old names, from Delahaye to Talbot. From this point on, most of the blue cars on the podium would be made in Dieppe.
Related post:
Curbside Classic: Alpine A 106 – How We Found One Of The Rarest French Cars Ever
There’s a compelling argument the Porsche created the 4CV! (Of course there isn’t, in fact, I’ve never been able to find out what he did at the Renault meetings, other than cautiously opine about its production readiness. It’s often written too that he helped Renault with the car whilst in prison, but that seems unlikely: how much “work” could he contribute in a prison 320 km from the Regie’s HQ?)
It’s a pretty machine. I did not know Michelotti was the designer of it originally, but it explains how it is that even this version looks more professional than many other small-run fibrous sporties. That said, I do wish the bonnet and doors were more snug.
250 units – this is surely a rare car indeed. Still not entirely clear why the fitted RHD pedals to a LHD car, though.
I will comment on my comment (I mean, someone needs to, they’re often very foolish), offering certain answers. I found this article, and it seems to say Porsche was held in the servants quarters (implied by me, it’s not quite clear) in the Renault villa, and (I guess) helped Renault in the factory for some time, before the actual imprisonment in Diijon.
https://heacockclassic.com/articles/after-the-winds-of-war-porsches-early-days-part-1/
Where would my posts be without your comments, Justy?
It’s rumoured that Ferdinand Porsche did have a look at the Renault 4CV prototype(s) sometime in early 1946 and that the battery was moved to the engine bay on his recommendation, though this has been disputed. Whatever the case may be, the 4CV was otherwise pretty much finalized by this point in time, so Porsche’s influence on it would have been marginal at best.
What is known with more certainty is that the Minister for Industry at the time, Marcel Paul, was keen to ship the entire Beetle production line over to France as war reparations. He was thwarted in this effort by the fact that said factory was in the British zone, but also the French carmakers, especially Renault, were vociferously opposed to the idea.
That article Justy linked too essentially confirmed my understanding of those difficult and controversial years for the Porsche clan right after the war. But it does somewhat contradict certain aspects you’ve written where you painted the Porsches in a drastically more negative light. Are you able to reconcile such different takes?
I understand the natural French antipathy to the Germans during these times, but I do wonder if some of the details have been colored by emotions more than facts.
Sorry, I only saw this reply today.
Paul, I’m assuming you are referencing my 4CV post. Re-read your comment(s) (you said almost exactly the same thing back then) and my reply. Please be specific about how I “painted the Porsches in a drastically negative light” and how this article contradicts anything I wrote.
The article Justy provided is a great read, very detailed. However, it’s only looking at the issue from Porsche’s POV, because I assume it’s using Porsche family sources. That’s not to say it’s not legitimate, but it’s not the whole picture. Some episodes are kind of hazy — you will note, for instance, it is rather evasive as to what the Porsches actually did when forced to work on the Renault 4CV.
The article hints at how French government / society of 1945-46 was extremely chaotic, but I think it underplays it. Marcel Paul’s machinations were met with a lot of pushback, both within government and from industrial leaders (Marcel Paul was a Communist, which means most industrialists didn’t trust him one iota.) The fact that the French were trying to transfer Wolfsburg across the Rhine while forcing Porsche to work on Renault’s own “people’s car” in Paris and trying to indict him for what happened at the Peugeot works in Sochaux during the later stages of the war shows how disjointed and uncoordinated the various factions were within the French camp.
Porsche’s “assignment” to look over the Renault 4CV, by then mere months prior to being unveiled, was (according to this very detailed French source (https://shs.hal.science/halshs-01791769/document), but not made very clear in Justy’s article) pushed by Marcel Paul almost alone and chiefly resented/resisted by Renault’s new leadership. Not because Porsche was “the enemy” or a rival or because of French nationalism, but because it was direct ministerial intrusion into Renault’s internal operations. The company had just been nationalized and Pierre Lefaucheux had to fight tooth and nail against meddling politicians constantly. Porsche’s presence there was a symptom of that.
I would not ascribe “natural antipathy” or emotions to anything done by typical politicians and CEOs, no matter the era or where they hail from. In this case, the whole affair was about power within a French state still under a provisional government and weak from internal strife; the Porsche clan was effectively a pawn in that game.
No, the A106 was not a Michelotti shape. It was by Chappe & Gessalin who scored the gig primarily because they could produce bodies in fibreglass without too much fault, and it is a real, real shame the Michelotti option as shown in the Marquis brochure was not taken up
I have a lot of admiration for Alpine, but realistically, they were never going to be able to give Porsche any serious competition. Porsche had a huge head start over Alpine; by 1955, when Alpine was just barely getting going, the 356 had been around for some 7 years, and its engine enlarged several times to 1600cc and 75 hp, never mind the DOHC Carrera that came out that year. And the base Alpine had…21 hp and a three-speed transmission!?
But beyond that huge gulf in performance perhaps the single biggest issue was the US market. For decades Porsche exported well over half its production to the US, where buyers had the money to snap them up. The were very successful in amateur racing, and America had already fallen in love with the VW, which created a synergistic effect for both brands. Meanwhile Renault struggled in the US; the Dauphine had a couple of good years but quickly imploded. The Renault connection was (would have been) a major liability.
The Alpine was a very “French” car, meaning limited relevance, presence and sales outside its home market. French cars could of course succeed outside France, and even in the US, as Peugeot showed. But the Alpine was simply too underpowered and obscure to generate any meaningful and lasting impact in the US, and in the 1950s that was utterly essential for success for any European sports car, as the domestic markets were still too small.
Yes, Porsche had huge success in the US market and STILL managed to almost go under in the 1990s, frankly it’s amazing that an outfit like Alpine is around and arguably in somewaht better shape than in much of its history, of course Regie’s deep-ish pockets were to thank for most of that. Nevertheless they do seem to be sort of dangling at the edge once again, not really able to expand much and now with Renault having shuttered their F1 engine program and turning to Mercedes to power the Alpine-branded racecars, hmm, things look difficult with last week’s apparently reinstated third-place podium position a rare bright spot.
Porsche was already well-established by the time Alpine got started, but there was enough demand for rear-engined sports cars for two manufacturers to coexist, at least for a while. The A-106 in base trim was all of 21hp, but the first Porsche 356 wasn’t exactly a rocket ship either — 35hp, but over 100kg heavier than the A-106. Porsche were ahead, but Alpine weren’t that far behind: by 1965, the A-110 was up to par with the 912, performance-wise.
The lack of US sales probably stunted Alpine’s potential growth, but they were also considerably cheaper than Porsches. They did try to generate demand from the rest of the world: Alpines were assembled in several unlikely places, including Bulgaria, Spain and Mexico.
The biggest problem, in my view, was that Renault didn’t have a 6-cyl. handy and that Alpine did not have the financial or technical gumption make their own — maybe because they saw what happened to Facel-Vega. The 911 was a real coming of age for Porsche, Alpine never had the legs to get there. They did get a V6 by the late ’70s (the dreaded PRV), but by that point Renault had taken complete control.
What a lovely vehicle, and while nothing in Tokyo is surprising anymore (well, plenty is, but you know what I mean), it’s still astounding to once again see an example of a rare car that frankly looks far better on this street than would be acceptable in most automotive museums of the world. All the little details are delightful, and I believe that you mentioned you had aquired a new phone/camera recently, the results posted here turned out marvelous.
Thank you for the compliment, Klein-san, but it’s hard to mess up a great subject like this little Alpine. I am pretty happy with my new smartphone photos, it’s a joy to use. This post contains both the old and the new, as you might be able to tell from the colour of the car: I first caught the A-106 on a bright winter day with the old phone, so it looks a bit bluer sometimes (e.g. 2nd pic). Then I caught it again on an overcast day this year, which always makes for better photos.
A footnote to the Alpine story is Rootes were allowed to use the Alpine name in France for their roadster (1959-1968) on the basis of “prior use” because their earlier (unrelated) Alpine had first been sold there in 1953 and the corporate identity of Dieppe-based Automobiles Alpine wasn’t formalized until 1955. Grace Kelly drove a 1953 Mark I Sunbeam Alpine (in Sapphire Blue) in To Catch a Thief (1955). In another quirk of the operation of trademark law, the V8 Sunbeam Tigers sold in France, West Germany, Austria, Switzerland & South Africa uniquely were marketed as “Alpine 260” or “Alpine V8” because Panhard was then selling a Tigre and Messerschmitt in the FRG held the trademark to Tiger. European sales of the “Alpine 260” were never high but some were purchased through military PX depots in Germany, part of the deal for deployment being the military shipping the cars back to the US.
I’m beginning to get the impression there’s some kind of uncanny force that sucks up all the world’s interesting cars and deposits them in Tokyo. I have a friend there who drives a ’65 Thunderbird – but that might as well be a VW beetle alongside such a rarity as this!
The Marquis was the brainchild of a person called Zark Reed for a company called Plasticar Inc. Redele was unable to find finance to join Reed’s effort in the US, and so instead licenced the shape and gave Reed the second of the Michelotti bodies he had commissioned for himself.
That body was taken to the US by Reed and the project faltered. Redele discovered it would incur enormous shipping costs to return the second body to France so it stayed stateside. A third body was built in Europe by Redele, which is what he wanted for the Alpine project, but he was overridden by his business partner and father in law Charles Escoffier, who had commissioned a Chappe et Gessalin body which is what became the A106.
Thank you for giving us the backstory of the Marquis. “Zark Reed” sounds like a moustachioed villain played by a Central European character actor in a Moore-era Bond film.
Agreed – about Don’s usual absurdly learned contribution – but also about Zark Reed: he’s either as you describe (and I did laugh), or he’s an extremely long and thin Muppet who looks like part of a wind instrument.
Justy and T87: info courtesy the no-longer-online alpine-passion.com, a much lamented loss for its historical depth and accuracy.
Anyone notice the rear hood in picture seems no closing completely? The radiator can be seen, is it by design?
This is a beautiful car indeed .
The various faulty shut lines, I wonder what condition the car was in before restoration .
One has to try driving a small light weight car at speed to understand their draw, the U.S.A. at that time considered all small cars as penalty boxes, a shame .
Nice to read all the details of the back story in the comments, thanx guys .
-Nate