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I'm continuing my quest to discover 80 of the world's greatest man-made treasures.
I'm on Europe's doorstep,
where East meets West in a glorious explosion of cultures and religions.
My treasures lie underground, or concealed in busy cities.
They come from man's efforts to create,
for better or worse, an ideal world.
Over the last four months I've explored the Americas,
Australia, Asia, the Middle East and Africa.
Now from Egypt I'm about to arrive in Turkey.
I'm floating above Turkey -
- above a fantastical landscape,
a fairy landscape - in which these strange fairy-like chimneys are erupting from the land.
People have burrowed into them, inhabited them as they have the landscape,
the rock itself below these strange great rocky outcrops.
This is a fantastic example of man working creatively with nature.
For thousands of years, this region, called Cappadocia, was no-man's land,
where rival empires clashed.
It's a land of trouble, a battleground for warring factions.
Over the centuries,
people fleeing war and persecution
found sanctuary in this labyrinthine landscape
formed by volcanoes millions of years ago.
My treasure lies beneath my feet, deep underground.
It was the last refuge of the frightened and terrified.
At moments in history, a subterranean safe haven for up to 30,000 people.
This place is - enormous.
It goes on and on.
Different levels, twists and turns,
different staircases.
It's a labyrinth.
But I suppose that's the point.
It's a defence.
Any attacker would be frightfully confused.
Imagine it teeming with men, women, children
and animals,
and nothing but oil lamps for light.
It's like being a termite in a termite mound.
These - are clearly houses, people's homes,
because there are - bed alcoves.
Some say all this was started by the Hittites
three and a half, four thousand years ago.
The Hittites were an ancient and powerful civilisation
at war with the Egyptians.
But they would only have been the first inhabitants.
Fifteen hundred years later
it's thought Christians sought refuge here.
You can imagine the congregation sheltering here,
perhaps from Roman persecutions in the second century AD.
And this is the sort of rock-cut secret space
that forms the early Christian church.
The great church has come - from grottoes like this.
And here - amazing evidence, look. There's a cross.
Here's a cross cut into this recess.
So it clearly has been a church at some time.
Although it feels unplanned,
slowly you realise how well organised it is.
Ah. This was the wine store, or one of them.
I suppose great flagons of the precious liquid
were placed in these recesses.
And this surely was a bar.
Feels like it. Excellent. Amazing. Now -
- ah, now this is what I've been looking for.
Fascinating.
Defence in depth. A great - stone wheel.
That could with not too much difficulty, a couple of people perhaps,
be pushed or rolled down to block the door.
And here is a ramp going to the outside world.
Good Lord, what a huge shaft.
So far down I can't see the bottom.
And so far up - I can't see the top.
It's a ventilation shaft of course.
Getting air into this - place, fresh air,
and the stale air out was a immense problem,
and of course good ventilation
is the secret for the success of this as a refuge.
This must have been a very grim place
in which to live for any length of time.
The smell, the darkness, the noise.
But it's also a monument to man's ability to creatively manipulate nature,
manipulate the landscape.
But it is very strange. And erm, I suppose one would get used to it, would feel safe.
But no, it would have been very difficult to be here.
I need a haircut,
and in town I hear of a man who cuts hair.
He sounds like a barber, but he's not.
He collects the stuff.
I must investigate.
Big scissors up there, a promising sign.
- How do you do? Hair. - Hair.
Hair. My hair?
- Only ladies' hair. - Just ladies' hair.
Just ladies.
Why - why do you erm, silly question perhaps,
why do you collect ladies' hair.
- Why not? - No, why not?
That's a perfectly good answer.
You just have a thing about ladies' hair. So do I actually.
You've got - you've got to volunteer to be -
this is absolutely appalling - I mean, absolutely wonderful.
Every piece of hair has a label on it.
I haven't met so many women in the world actually.
No, look.
They're everywhere.
They all seem to be blonde, and you're both blonde.
This is even more peculiar.
So no, no chaps, no men's hair at all.
No, that - that would break the spell.
I head north to Istanbul,
the capital of modern Turkey,
but once heart of the great empire of Byzantium.
I'm crossing the Bosphorus at Istanbul,
crossing from - Asia, over there on my left - to Europe.
Always an historic and a emotional moment,
this leaping from one world to the other,
but particularly so now for me,
because it means I'm coming - to the end of my epic around-the-world journey.
I'm entering - familiar territory.
I'm nearing home.
When I land I'm going to see one of the greatest buildings in the world,
a building that had a huge influence on Western architecture.
Thank you.
Istanbul still feels like a city where two worlds meet,
the Christian world and the Islamic world.
At its heart is my treasure -
once a church, then a mosque.
Hagia Sophia was built my the emperor Justinian
in the 6th century AD.
When completed, it was the greatest church in the world.
What an astonishing space.
When - Justinian walked in here in 537,
after nearly six years of construction,
he stood - probably - about here,
and said, 'oh, Solomon, I have surpassed thee.'
An incredible statement,
referring of course - to Solomon's temple,
the great temple that had inspired so many churches around the word.
And I must say - Justinian had a point.
This is - remains - one of the greatest sacred places ever.
The name Hagia Sophia means divine wisdom.
And here divine wisdom is made manifest - through elegant scientific construction,
a construction that reveals the forces of nature, the power of god's creation.
And in particular, the manifestation here is revealed through this mighty dome that sits,
appears to float above the space in which I'm standing.
This is how it works.
It's supported by a series of half domes and rises off great masonry piers,
almost concealed in the structure.
So the outward thrust of the dome, the horizontal lateral thrust, is -
- countered by an almost equal thrust -
- from this series of half domes and quarter domes below.
I'm on a gallery immediately below the dome,
and right down there is the er - the area where emperors were crowned.
A long way down indeed.
It's very, very exhilarating being up here.
You see the gallery doesn't feel that it'll take my weight if I toppled against it.
This became a great prototype, a pioneering construction -
- the first time a church had a great dome,
a symbol - of the heavens.
But after this, every great church,
every great cathedral, had to have a dome.
The Duomo in Florence,
St Peter's in Rome,
and of course St Paul's in London.
With the rise of the Ottoman Empire in the 15th century,
Aya Sophia became a mosque.
Today it's a secular space,
with sacred meaning to both Christians and Muslims.
Good evening.
- How do you do? Hello. - Hello. Welcome.
How do you do?
I want to - I've been travelling round the world for four months.
I want a little bit of a haircut.
Please, please.
Wash.
Wash. Okay, wash.
Gentle massage, oh dear.
Oh my god.
Oh my god, what's happening?
Don't worry, sir.
Ow. Ow!
My ear's burnt. The smell of the burning flesh.
Sorry, who asked for this?
Good night.
- A pleasure. - Thank you.
Good evening.
Brain, lamb's brain. Absolutely. Maybe a couple.
Mm, reminds me of the testicles I had outside Petra.
Bit better actually.
Definitely a bit better than testicles.
Ah. Though testicles are very good.
From Istanbul I fly to Russia.
I haven't been here since this was the Soviet Union.
Advertising neon-adorned walls once boasting Communist slogans.
But Red Square remains what it always has been,
a glorious testament to Russia's might and totalitarian history.
And this is where I'm heading.
My treasure is - experienced,
enjoyed by over seven million people a day.
It's a world within a world, and I'm already in it.
Hello.
Er, one ticket...
This is the Moscow metro,
the greatest underground railway in the world.
Construction began in 1931,
and the intention was simple:
to show the world that Soviet technical and artistic excellence
was better than anywhere else.
We're only being allowed down here to film with a guide -
- a charming woman with a lovely red hat.
And now I arrive at this great classical hall,
like a palace ballroom.
Barrel vault, chandeliers, mosaics on the wall -
- and rich and inventive classical detail.
This is the great Komsomolskaya Station.
It sits at the very heart of the network.
You may think that this opulence is associated -
- with the Tsarist times and with at least palace life.
But that is the one thing the Soviet authorities
would have rejected in 1931
when the decision was made to build the metro.
But things were more sophisticated than that.
It was recognised this great palatial decoration had great meaning for ordinary people.
It would enrich their lives,
would make travel through the city a pleasure.
And - within this architecture
is embedded various significant images and symbols about the Soviet triumph.
It really is a very, very - clever piece of work,
presided over and given meaning and pedigree by the great man himself -
Lenin.
This station is only one of the many lavish
and themed stations on the Moscow metro.
One need only pop onto a train
to discover new wonders.
At Mayakovsky Station
you really get the idea of the metro system as an idealised underground city,
clean and beautiful,
because in the vaults above my head are these - mosaics.
Here, your window into the world above.
A worm's eye view of the city. It shows sky, planes and bits of buildings.
I really do feel - I'm walking below the real,
dangerous and rather ugly world above.
Within only 25 years of being commissioned,
the Moscow metro had 41 miles of track,
and 45 stations,
employing only Russian materials,
designers and engineers.
This is Revolution Square, and er,
here is an amazing figure commemorating the October Revolution,
October 1917.
A sailor armed with a gun with the hammer cocked. Incredible stuff.
One can't help but compare these heroic bronze figures
fighting for a better world
with the inheritors of that world.
Only now the struggle is for Capitalism
to deliver a better future.
The Soviet era may have come to grief above ground,
but it certainly lives on down here.
Well, I've come to Mayakovsky Park on the edge -
- of the centre of Moscow.
This is the great Sunday market.
Everything can be purchased here.
I'm looking for a hat,
because this one, I have to admit, after four months is,
well, worn-out and maybe slightly inappropriate
because I'm entering northern Europe and coldness,
even snow.
I know what I want erm,
black hairy hat with ear - earflaps.
- Hello. - Hello.
Okay, thank you.
Too small. My head's too big.
Too - too small.
Ah, hat.
This is more like it.
No, I don't want - I don't want - I don't want mink.
No, I don't want mink.
And this one is -
How much does a proper skin hat cost?
In such good condition.
Oh, you've found a hat.
He really wants to make a sale.
Oh yes, that's very good.
Okay.
Four thousand. Get it - get it down. Let's get it down.
- How much? - Four thousand.
At last I find a hat that fits.
But Russian free trade
seems to depend on confusing the buyer into paying an exorbitant price.
You said a thousand.
Okay, one five.
I'm not - you can't mess me about like this.
You - you gave me a price.
You said one - thousand, you said one thousand.
Why fall out over 50 pence?
Okay, there you go.
We should have shaken - we should have shaken before.
Thank you. Bye.
Been good doing business with you.
What a rogue.
Soothed by Aeroflot chintz,
I head north to St Petersburg.
St Petersburg was the vision of one man:
Tsar Peter the Great, who forced thousands of peasants and prisoners of war to build it.
In 1703 this was bleak marshland.
Just a few decades later
the magnificent city we see today
was rising out of the swamp.
It remains one of the most impressive and ruthless feats
of city building of the modern age.
I'm arriving at St Petersburg much as a Russian nobleman would have done
200 years - or so ago er, give or take the traffic jams.
Erm, this is Nevsky Prospect, which is the backbone of the city, its great street.
And it was erm, commissioned by Peter er, from a French architect -
- and built by Swedish prisoners of war in the very early 1720s, mostly.
It was to be the great showcase of St Petersburg,
lined with palaces and great public buildings.
The point was to reveal to the world
that Russia was no longer a cultural - backwater,
but one of the great powers of Europe - military power
and a great place of culture.
The street's narrowing.
One's whole sense is that one's being directed towards something special,
this funnelling effect.
It's very dramatic, very theatrical.
We're going below this arch,
full of military trophies,
incredible neo-classical details,
lovely masks of ancient - warriors.
One arch, another arch.
And then, this is amazing,
suddenly the space that's been funnelling in like that exposed,
opens up and
one's in this spectacular square.
The palace square.
In front of me - is the Winter Palace of the Tsars.
All these buildings were completed - after Peter's death.
But that's not the point.
They're realising, confirming his vision.
An amazing thought,
less than a hundred years after the plan
was made to create a city here, a city was completed -
a city that is one of the greatest cities in the world.
But, perhaps strangely, none of this is my treasure.
This little building may look rather drab,
but it contains the secret of St Petersburg
hidden like a jewel in a casket.
This - is where it all started.
This simple cabin
is the first building created in St Petersburg.
It was built in the summer of 1703, in three days,
by a party of soldiers.
It was built for Peter the Great;
it was here that he sat imagining,
conceiving the great city of St Petersburg.
This cabin is the smallest palace in Russia,
but to my mind the most moving.
Through these windows Peter would have seen just marshland and forest.
At that desk
he realised his vision for a magnificent city.
This cabin is a - remarkable and moving survival,
but what does it mean?
Well, the key is that Peter himself
ordered its preservation in 1723.
It's very much a political statement.
Its simplicity was meant to create a myth about Peter:
a simple, modest, self-effacing man.
So revered is the structure that no one,
including me, is allowed inside.
This little - sort of closet really - was his bedroom.
Incredible.
The fellow stood six foot eight inches tall.
There's his coat and trousers over there.
And he - well, he'd hardly fit in here.
This shrine shows the almost monkish existence
he lived here while he conceived in his imagination
the great city of St Petersburg.
Surely this must be one of the most beautiful visions of a city any man ever had.
I fly north towards the White Sea,
to a part of Russia that seems like another world.
And the coldest leg
of my journey so far.
I'm a hundred miles south of the Arctic Circle,
and entering a region of myth and folklore.
Ahead of me - lies a group of islands,
and they are my destination,
because there - on one of these islands,
is a place that in itself tells the history of Russia.
In 1429 two monks,
one called Savati, the other called German,
landed here on Solovski Island.
They'd made a two-day trip from the mainland,
a dangerous journey.
They came here because it was deserted, that was the point.
They were hermits really. They wanted to live in solitude,
to contemplate their god alone.
They landed about here,
and somewhere over there they started to build a chapel and two cells in which to live.
Word spread about the two hermits at Solovki,
and a religious community grew up around them.
A little over a hundred years later,
they built a fantastic stronghold to ensure their survival.
In a beautiful and dramatic way
the monastery is a microcosm of Russia.
Many of the great characters
and social events in the nation's history
have left their mark here.
To enter the monastery
is to enter the soul of Russia,
to see its dark side, but also its glory.
It seems more a fortress than a monastery,
but then it is a monastery with a difference.
A place of worldly power,
of trade as well, and of God.
It was the capital of this part of Russia,
and also a great bastion against invasion,
a great defence against the Swedes, the Danes, and indeed against the English,
who in the early 17th century
wanted to seize this area
because this was, they said, the richest place of its date in the world.
The monks became so confident that they rebelled against the Tsar
when he introduced church reforms.
In retaliation, in 1668,
an army was sent from Moscow
and an eight-year siege ensued.
Eventually it was a monk that betrayed the monastery.
He told the Tsarist soldiers about a small door in the wall,
a postern, that was very poorly bricked up.
They went to that door by night -
- and broke it open, just over there, then they entered secretly -
and took the monks entirely by surprise.
The soldiers' blood was up. They were angry.
They attacked the monks
and almost 40 were killed.
Some were hung up by their heels
and beaten till they died,
others were tied behind horses
and dragged to their deaths.
Back under Tsarist control,
Peter the Great used Solovki as a prison.
And though monastic life returned,
Solovki would once again sink into despair.
After the Communist revolution of 1917,
it was here, in and around the monastery,
that the Soviet regime set up the first Gulag -
a concentration camp for political prisoners.
At its peak,
50,000 were held at Solovki,
and very many died here.
This is one of the most infamous rooms in Russian history.
This was built in the mid-19th century
as the cathedral - of the Holy Trinity,
but in 1924 became Company 13.
This was where all male prisoners
who were brought to this Gulag were placed for three months.
In this space, from 1924 to 1937,
lived at any one time 800-850 men,
in bunks tiered up - towards the ceiling.
And below this world of bunks,
living in filth, were children.
They weren't know about, they weren't documented,
weren't fed by the camp authorities.
They skulked in this room below the bunks of the - of the men.
It's a heartbreaking and terrible story.
And here I'm looking at the main altar at the east end,
this was given over to the latrines.
A frightful insult.
And up there, where there had been a picture of Christ,
was a picture of Lenin,
a mockery really, the whole thing.
A form of psychological warfare
to destroy the will and souls of these poor human beings
who for all those years suffered in this space.
And the only way out, of course, was death.
Around the monastery life still seems very bleak.
As if the people are stuck in the dying years of Communism.
This is the - town square, I suppose.
Golly, erm, this - building is one of the Gulag buildings
dating from the late 1920s -
- where prisoners were confined.
There's still the air of a Gulag about this place,
still a sense of people being confined here.
People are emerging. Ah.
Good morning. Hello.
Good morning.
Can I get a drink in there?
No, it's closed.
Ah. No, no good. Closed at the moment.
My goodness, what a bleak place this is.
I say, these people look - look like they're prisoners themselves -
- that they've left - been left over from the Gulag.
Very odd.
Since the fall of the Soviet regime,
monks have returned to the monastery.
History has come full circle.
Life is lived here much as it would have been 400 years ago.
I fly south to Poland.
I'm on a journey into my own past, into my memory.
As a child - a very young child, I lived for some years in Poland.
My father was a - a journalist based in Warsaw.
This is almost 50 years ago.
A very, very different place now.
We came here, Krakow, for a holiday.
Beautiful city.
a dangerous journey.
- as I stand in this delightful square -
it was here that I fell in love with architecture.
Miraculously, Krakow escaped the destruction
of the Second World War.
Legend has it, the German Commandant refused to obey orders from Hitler
in the dying days of the war to flatten the city.
There's a sound that cuts through me like a knife,
brings back such memories.
Every hour, that chap up there playing his bugle,
the sound of that very haunting little tune.
The story is in the 13th century
there was a watchman up there looking around at the fields, the plains around the town,
watching for attackers,
and when the attackers came,
these fearsome nomadic warriors, the Tartars,
he sounded a warning note,
but a Tatar arrow got him in the throat
just as he was finishing the warning,
and that's why that note ends on a haunting broken note
as the arrow severs his neck.
I must head to the edge of town,
to find a treasure that transports me back in time
to Communist Poland of 1957,
when I was eight years old.
This is the Wieliczka salt mines
a few miles from the centre of Krakow.
This is a very exciting moment for me.
When I came here as a child,
this place absolutely gripped my imagination,
and indeed has haunted my imagination - ever since.
Will this - experience I'm about to have now live up to my memories,
or will it be a bitter disappointment?
The Wieliczka salt mine began operating in the 13th century.
At one point it created 30 per cent of Poland's income.
The mine is 327 metres deep,
and the chambers and passages stretch for over 300 kilometres.
It's not the size of the mine that is so haunting,
but the extraordinary art that the miners have created inside it.
This is the Chapel of the Blessed Kinga,
the patron saint of Polish miners.
Started in 1896,
everything here is carved out of salt by miners.
Including the walls, floor, statues and chandeliers.
Memories coming back.
This is incredible.
This is erm, yes, St Anthony's Chapel.
From the late 17th - century.
This is where I discovered that er, fairyland is real.
Look at this fantastic stuff. From the salt, architecture, classical architecture,
really from primitive salt, lovely, been carved.
And figures of saints.
Look at this - a chandelier of salt. Salt crystals.
Isn't that absolutely brilliant?
All made by the miners, that's the thing.
This is working man's art - not the art of artists,
but ordinary people celebrating their god in their place of work.
It's fantastic.
Yes - yes, this is - this is it.
But as I penetrate deeper, there are more new additions.
Well, I said this place was like fairyland,
when I first came here, but I didn't mean like - this, sort of gnomeland.
This is quite astonishing.
What on earth is going on?
What was so moving is now in danger of
being tarnished to attract more tourists.
Only Snow White is missing.
- Ah - excuse me. - Yeah.
I can see by your tie that you are a guide.
Yes, I am.
We are from the BBC
making a little programme about the salt mines,
and I have memories of this place many years ago and erm,
I remember it slightly less presented as a museum.
Are there still parts of the mine which are more authentic,
which are more as it would have been when it was a living, working mine?
Of course, if you would like to,
I can take you to another point of the mine
which is not so beautiful.
It's part of the tour, and you will be really satisfied.
Oh well, lovely. Satisfaction.
Excellent, thank you very much. Er, lead on.
Commercial salt production at Wieliczka stopped ten years ago.
But one part of the mine
is still being used by mineralogists.
We walk for an hour.
I'm hoping to see more carving.
Obviously the miners felt in some state of peril,
asking for protection as they worked the salt.
This is the power of nature.
The power of nature.
Yes. The mine - such huge props,
they were cracked, they are cracked like matches here.
I think I'll move on.
- Not sure what's happening up here. - Yeah, of course.
- That's cracked too. - Yeah.
Well, the whole thing's in movement. And look at this, the - the er -
Yeah, salt crystallised. Yeah.
That's fantastic. That's coming out of the rock.
There is a seepage of the salt.
It's salty, I think.
- Beautiful stalagtite, if you look in here. - Yeah.
This is erm, this crystal is - salt - white gold.
In the past, salt was as valuable as gold or silver
because of the huge demand but limited supply.
Poles take great pride in them,
what they represent, the industry, the activity and the natural beauty.
They are, in their strange way, the heart of the nation.
I fly to Germany,
the country which more than any other has shaped the modern world
through its catastrophic embrace of fascism and genocide.
No European city has endured
such upheavals as Berlin.
Its pre-war innocence shattered by Hitler,
its fabric smashed by allied bombing,
it's post-war years caught up in a Cold War nightmare.
After the wall came down in 1989,
the city began a frantic reinvention of itself.
I want a treasure here that's contemporary yet
also transports me unflinchingly back into this country's dark past.
I've come to Berlin to see a car,
that most problematic, emblematic of modern objects.
But this is not just any car.
It was commissioned by Adolf Hitler,
who in 1934 ordered the production of a car
that all could afford to use and to run.
It was to contain two adults and three children,
the ideal family, I suppose,
and toot along at 60 miles an hour.
And its form was to be inspired by natural history.
And this is it.
The Volkswagen beetle is a familiar sight for all road users,
and it's easy to forget that the love bug,
as it later became known, was a Nazi prestige project.
Hitler said to Ferdinand Porsche, the designer,
the car should look like a beetle -
- look to nature to find out what streamlining's all about.
Nature being the inspiration for functional design.
And erm, on that note of functional design and -
- economic design, of course, the engine is at the back.
Here it is, a beautiful little thing, at the back,
immediately above the rear wheels, the driving wheels,
to make construction cheaper.
And erm, what a lovely little engine it is.
Look at it. Beautiful thing. Very elegant.
Now I shall give this wonderful machine a road test.
Oh, bit of a tight fit,
but when I get my leg under the steering wheel,
it's actually rather spacious.
And indeed, here's me, my wife here, three children in the back -
and there's room for storage.
Very spacious.
Indicators. Yes.
Windscreen wipers, yes.
Okay, well, let's take it - for a spin.
It works.
The beetle first rolled off the production line in 1941.
This particular car I'm driving
was made during the war and belonged to Reichsminister Alfred Rosenberg,
a member of Hitler's inner circle
in control of the conquered Eastern territory.
After the war, Rosenberg was found guilty of crimes
against humanity at the Nuremberg trials and was executed.
By the way, this particular model is erm, a delight to drive,
except there appears to be virtually no footbrake.
I guess all old cars are like this,
but erm, when one puts one's foot down to stop very little happens, at first anyway.
There we are.
I've now halted this machine, using partly the handbrake.
The Volkswagen beetle is a wonderful,
wonderful machine that's risen above its troubled origins, its troubled history.
It is a great monument to utilitarian,
practical, functional design.
And I, along with millions of people in the world,
love it.
But I am aware that er, cars are entirely problematic creations,
leading to pollution of the cities and their roads,
the roads on which they run wrecking the countryside and damaging historic places.
So it's a bit worrying to love something like this, I guess,
something which is ultimately rather devilish.
Last of all, but no less importantly,
the beetle is also the means of transport to my next treasure.
I've driven to the Bauhaus in Dessau.
This epoch-making, inspirational design school -
- that during the 1920s,
until it was closed by the Nazis in 1933,
really - did much to forge the modern world.
Many objects we now take for granted
originated - here.
Also the spirit of this place inspired designers,
architects - interior designers, designers of furniture - throughout the world.
I've come here to find one object
that captures the spirit of this truly extraordinary
and amazing institution, the Bauhaus.
The Bauhaus school opened in 1919.
It rejected history as an inspiration for creativity.
Instead, students here embraced the technological age.
They wanted function to define architecture and design,
and they wanted to use new materials.
This building, constructed in 1926,
captures their ideas perfectly.
But my treasure is not a building,
it's something small and commonplace.
It's a chair.
Before Bauhaus no one had dreamt of starting a revolution
with a chair.
But that's exactly what happened.
So which chair to choose?
Herr Messerschmitt, the Bauhaus archivist,
has granted me exclusive access to the Bauhaus archives,
just here through this secure door.
Ah now, yeah, an old favourite.
Danke schoen.
The Wassily chair, designed in 1925.
Very pioneering indeed.
It was the first time tubular steel was used in the construction of a chair.
It's great - in many ways,
but now looks a little clumsy.
A bit like a bird's nest, a lot going on,
and not quite the elegance and simplicity I'm looking for.
So erm, come back to perhaps.
Herr Messerschmitt, next one please.
For me to inspect.
Ah yes.
Danke schoen, thank you.
A simpler design.
A bit later, 1929.
I choose this really because it is so simple.
It's a chair we've all seen and used, I think.
Making the point that er, the Bauhaus succeeded in its aim
of providing elegant, functional, simple objects for everyday use,
for ordinary people like you and me to enjoy.
Here you have a very - simple chair, designed, as I say, in 1929 -
and still in use and still looking entirely modern.
So a glorious example of the Bauhaus ideal being achieved.
Herr Messerschmit - the third one.
I am now all a-tremble, because I know what this is.
I hope. Ah, yes.
What can I say? One or two things, actually.
Designed by a different Bauhaus master, Mies van der Rohe.
Designed 1929-1930.
Mies was - the last director of the Bauhaus in 1930,
so this is a very appropriate -
monument to him and to the Bauhaus.
Just look at this thing.
The steel had to be manufactured and tested,
so research was, as I say, very much part of the modern tradition.
Cantilever principle,
very simple construction,
but the weight of the person, in a sense, holds the chair steady,
makes it work as a - as an object.
Look at the simplicity of it. Just look.
What elegance. What function. What pure joyful simplicity.
A beautiful thing to handle, to hold.
God, just look at the form, the shape,
as one - turns it round.
The thing - comes alive, doesn't it?
Put it down. And now the great test,
to sit in it and see really - if it is functional.
It looks functional, it looks beautiful, minimal and simple.
But will it take the mighty load?
Oh, gosh. The chair's a-tremble and vibrating
with my weight and movement.
This without doubt, because of its functional qualities,
because of its minimalism, because it really works - does its job,
and of course at the end looks terrific and beautiful,
has got to be, and is, my Bauhaus treasure.
In 1933 the Nazis closed down the Bauhaus
believing it had Communist sympathies.
But within 20 years designs inspired by the Bauhaus
would define the modern world.
It's a strange thing,
although Hitler closed down the Bauhaus,
he was instrumental in the creation of an object
that follows the true principles of the Bauhaus.
In fact, I think it's fair to say the Volkswagen beetle,
because of its social purpose, utilisation of mass production techniques,
is the greatest object the Bauhaus never made.
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