Just Because: A Quick Look At A Unique 1929 Platinum Cartier Tortue Monopusher

This year it's Turtles all the way down for Cartier (not just a Hindu and Chinese phrase referring to the "World-bearing Turtle," but also the name of one of my favorite bars in Brooklyn). While Cartier released other things beside a new set of Tortues, it certainly was the centerpiece Cartier Privé release at Watches & Wonders. Tony did a great job covering the release in a story worth reading, but I felt it's worth revisiting the original – no, not the 25-year-old CPCP piece, but the real original. It was also the most photographed watch on a wrist at Watches & Wonders, I'm nearly certain.

Photo: John Goldberger

When I was in Parma in March, it was clear that the Tortue was the next thing coming from Cartier. I had heard rumblings for a few months, but I still voted with my heart when I "predicted" Cartier for 2024. I still hold out hope that the Maxi Oval will come back. So, while I was there, I asked Mr. Auro Montanari (a.k.a. John Goldberger) if he would be willing to bring out a watch I'd long hoped to see in person: a 1929 Platinum Cartier Tortue Monopusher chronograph – the only one made.

There are eight known Cartier Monopusher chronographs from the era known, seven in yellow gold and this one in platinum. The watch comes with interesting provenance. The watch formerly belonged to Giorgio Serganoli, the man behind the "White Cartier" collection that exists in (very rare) book form. For Cartier collectors, a former Seragnoli watch is often quickly noted by its blue Alcantara strap (though obviously it's no guarantee). Montanari pursued this watch for a while, but at the time, Seragnoli had unlimited resources and liked to use them to ensure he had things no one else did. Eventually, he had to let the watch go. Let that be a lesson: it's never the last chance.

1929 Platinum Cartier Tortue Monopusher belonging to Auro Montanari.

While we didn't open the watch in the hotel lobby, the watch is powered by a European Watch Co. movement, a photo of which can be seen below. The movement is a mass of bridges and levers that makes it remarkable the thing even still works. But it does. I got to start, stop, and reset the watch as much as I like. The minute counter doesn't jump, but rather slowly, incrementally moves forward, as he showed to me. What's the use of having a watch if you can't use it?

The EWC movement. Photo: courtesy John Goldberger

The dial is obviously in rough condition. It's also great evidence why Cartier dials were so often replaced in the 1950s '60s by their original owners. This, frankly, is in pretty good condition for a Cartier from the 1920s with a case that was far from climate (let alone water) proof. Now, it’s occasionally possible to preserve original dials on important watches and ask Cartier to make a separate, new replacement. You'll still see below a number of hallmarks, including for the platinum case, serial number for the case and movement, and a platinum hallmark for the "D" buckle. It also comes with a blue, faceted crown (unlike current platinum models with ruby cabochon).

One of my favorite things about the watch is the story behind it.

"The Tortue was owned by a woman in Milano before it was put in an auction at Sotheby's Geneva at the end of the 1990s," Montanari told me. "Then he put the watch in the book by Osvaldo Patrizi. Five years ago, I purchased the watch. Initially, it was hard to find the record and get a Cartier extract. There was no evidence."

"We discovered the lady was a lover of an important Fascist minister in Italy, who had ordered the watch for her [putting her age in the 80s or 90s at the time of the auction]. Cartier has special, separate records for all the sales to royal families, politicians, and leaders in this strange period from the 1920s and '30s. But eventually, more recently, they found the record. It's only now been confirmed by Cartier as a unique piece, the only known in platinum." Interesting provenance, to say the least.