Geographers Biobibliographical Studies Volume 32 9781472512352, 9781474227230, 9781472509338

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GEOGRAPHERS Biobibliographical Studies VOLUME 32

GEOGRAPHERS BIOBIBLIOGRAPHICAL STUDIES This volume is part of a series of works, published annually, on the history of geography undertaken on behalf of the Commission on the History of Geography of the International Geographical Union and the Commission of the International Union on the Philosophy and History of Science. Chair: Professor Jacobo García-Álvarez, Universidad Carlos III de Madrid, Departamento de Humanidades: Geografia, Historia Contemporánea y Arte, C/Madrid 133, Edificio 17, Despacho 17.2.14, Getafe 28093, Spain. Other full members: Professor Michael Heffernan, School of Geography, University of Nottingham, University Park, Nottingham NG7 2RD, UK; Professor Jean-Yves Puyo, Département de Géographie, Laboratoire Société, Environnement, Territoire, Université de Pau et des Pays de l’Adour, Domaine Universitaire, 64000 Pau, France; Professor Tamami Fukuda, School of Environmental System Sciences, Osaka Prefecture University, 1–1 Gakuen-cho, Naka-ku, Sakai, Osaka 599–8531, Japan; Professor Joao Carlos Garcia, Departamento de Geografia, Facultade de Letras, Universidade do Porto, via Panorâmica s/n, 4150–564 Porto, Portugal; Professor Guy Mercier, Centre interuniversitaire d’études sur les lettres, les arts et les traditions (CELAT), Département de géographie, Université de Laval, Pavillon Charles-De Koninck, Local 6259, Québec G1K 7P4, Canada: Professor Judite do Nascimento, Departamento de Ciència e Tecnologia, Universidade de Cabo Verde, Campus do Palmarejo, Praia, Santiago, Cabo Verde; Professor Leon Vacher, Department of Geography, Morrill Hall 118A, Southern Connecticut State University, 501 Crescent Street, New Haven, CT 06515–1355, USA; Professor Perla Zusman, CONICET/Instituto de Geografía, Universidad de Buenos Aires, Puán 480, 4to piso, CP 1406, Ciudad Autónoma de Buenos Aires, Argentina; Professor Jan Vandermissen, National Committee for Logic, History and Philosophy of the Sciences, Paleis der Academiën, Hertogsstraat 1, B-1000 Brussels, Belgium: Professor Charles W. J. Withers, Co-Editor Geographers Biobibliographical Studies, Institute of Geography, University of Edinburgh, Drummond Street, Edinburgh EH8 9XP, UK. Honorary Chairs: Professor Anne Buttimer, University College Dublin, School of Geography, Planning and Environmental Policy, Newman Building, Belfield, Dublin 4, Ireland; Professor Vincent Berdoulay, Département de Géographie, Laboratoire Société, Environnement, Territoire, Université de Pau et des Pays de l’Adour Domaine Universitaire, 64000 Pau, France.

GEOGRAPHERS Biobibliographical Studies VOLUME 32 Edited by Hayden Lorimer and Charles W. J. Withers on behalf of the Commission on the History of Geography of the International Geographical Union and the International Union of the History and Philosophy of Science

Bloomsbury Academic An imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc LON DON • OX F O R D • N E W YO R K • N E W D E L H I • SY DN EY

Bloomsbury Academic An imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc 50 Bedford Square London WC1B 3DP UK

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www.bloomsbury.com BLOOMSBURY and the Diana logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc First published 2013 © Hayden Lorimer, Charles W.J Withers and Contributors, 2013 © International Geographical Union/Unione Internationale Geographique, 2013 Hayden Lorimer and Charles W. J. Withers and contributors have asserted their right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Editors and Authors of this work. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers. No responsibility for loss caused to any individual or organization acting on or refraining from action as a result of the material in this publication can be accepted by Bloomsbury or the author. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. ISBN: Hardback: 978-1-4725-1235-2 ePDF: 978-1-4725-0933-8 ePub: 978-1-4725-1164-5 Series: Geographers: Biobibliographical Studies, volume 32

Contents

The Contributors

vi

Introduction

Hayden Lorimer and Charles W. J. Withers

1

Raoul Blanchard (1877–1965)

Hugh Clout

6

Emmanuel de Margerie (1862–1953)

Hugh Clout

33

Pierre Monbeig (1908–1987)

Hugh Clout

54

Charles Robequain (1897–1963)

Hugh Clout

79

Richard Lawton (1925–2010)

Colin G. Pooley

104

William John Talbot (1908–1995)

Michael E. Meadows

124

Antonín Strnad (1746–1799)

Jan Kalvoda and Eva Novotná

137

Sir Arthur de Capell Brooke (1791–1858)

Elizabeth Baigent

149

Index

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The Contributors

Elizabeth Baigent is Reader in the History of Geography at the University of Oxford. Hugh Clout is Professor Emeritus in the Department of Geography at University College London and a Fellow of the British Academy. Jan Kalvoda is Professor of Physical Geography at Charles University in Prague. Eva Novotná is Head of the Geographical Library and Director of the Map Collection of the Faculty of Science at Charles University in Prague. Michael E. Meadows is Head of the Department of Environmental and Geographical Science at the University of Cape Town and Secretary General and Treasurer of the Executive Committee of the International Geographical Union. Colin G. Pooley is Professor of Social and Historical Geography at Lancaster University, UK.

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Introduction

This volume of Geographers: Biobibliographical Studies brings together essays on four Frenchmen, a Czech, and three Englishmen, one of whom became a South African by prolonged residence and the focus of his work. The lives of our eight subjects extend from the late Enlightenment (in the case of the Czech astronomer-mathematician and ‘physical geographer’ Antonín Strnad), incorporating the early nineteenth century and that era of ‘polite science’ in metropolitan Regency Britain in which Sir Arthur de Capell Brooke was active, to the first decade of the twenty-first century, in whose closing year Richard ‘Dick’ Lawton died, the British historical and population geographer. For the Frenchmen, Raoul Blanchard, Emmanuel de Margerie, Pierre Monbeig and Charles Robequain, and also for William (‘Bill’) Talbot, English-born (in 1908) but based in South Africa from 1936, their lives embraced – and in several ways profoundly shaped – the institutionalized establishment and professionalization of geography as a university discipline, particularly, for the majority of them, after 1945. In terms of subject matter, no clear distinctions between ‘human’ and ‘physical’ geography are apparent in our subjects’ work, nor, in a sense, is such a distinction appropriate to historiographical analysis of it. True, each had an emphasis to their work that might, with hindsight, mark them as more or less one or the other: the independent scholar Emmanuel de Margerie was so much a physical geographer that he was a geologist in the eyes of some contemporaries, and Lawton practised a resolutely human geography with historical emphases, albeit that, post mortem, he is taken to merit the term ‘complete geographer’. In most instances and if any single label is to be used, our essay subjects in this volume were regional specialists, either by doctoral training (a distinguishing feature of the French), or from later career emphases, or both. Even de Capell Brooke, so evidently not a geographer by profession but someone who professed geography’s importance in an age when notions such as professionalization, disciplinary identity and subject bodies were taking their modern shape, was a regional expert, on Scandinavia. As preface to the individual appraisals which follow, we outline here the salient features of our subjects’ lives and works in the order in which they appear before commenting on four themes – the idea of networks; the place of fieldwork; the role of regionalism as method; and the development of institutional homes for the subject – that thread through the lives of our eight subjects. Raoul Blanchard was a committed Alpinist: not in the sense of a mountain climber, but in terms of the region, the city, Grenoble, on whose geography he authored a major work and the journal Revue de Géographie Alpine over which he had much influence. Having produced his doctoral thesis on Flanders, Blanchard turned to Grenoble and to study of the Alps from 1906, using his ‘labo’ there (regional laboratory) to promote geography as a form of public discourse, to establish a geographical centre that, in time, would come to challenge the Sorbonne in Paris and to produce pioneering works of urban

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geography and regional review. Blanchard also undertook studies of Quebec and other parts of Canada. There, in his Alpine work and in his doctoral enquiries, Blanchard followed a ‘formula’ that drew directly upon his tutelage under Vidal de la Blache, starting his geographical analysis with reference to the physical environment and its influence upon human life before examining the evolution of regional character over time and ending with attention to the area’s present-day economy and social circumstances. Like Blanchard but for an earlier period, the life and work of Emmanuel de Margerie was shaped by his involvement in the development of the geographical and geological sciences in North America, as a translator and compiler and as a field scientist. He was recognized by the American political and scientific communities for his contribution to their role in the peace negotiations at the end of World War I. But de Margerie’s greater impact lay as a conduit into French and European geography of those ideas in the earth sciences then emanating from America in the final decades of the nineteenth century and early twentieth century. William Morris Davis praised de Margerie’s monumental La Face de la Terre which was published in several volumes between 1897 and 1918, but as a compendium and synthesis more than as a work of original research. Pierre Monbeig is one of several of our subjects whose geographical career was affected by war. Unlike Blanchard (exempt from active service for health reasons) who used his doctoral knowledge of Flanders to write geographical accounts of the region during World War I, or Charles Robequain, a prisoner of war for nearly two years in World War II, Monbeig’s intended doctoral work on the Balearics was interrupted by the Spanish Civil War. He turned instead to study of the rapidly changing economic and social geography of Brazil. In this he was tremendously successful, undertaking work on what we might think of as ‘pioneer geographies’, both historically and in the contemporary context of Brazil’s rapid transformation from the 1930s and early 1940s, before returning to France in 1947. In this, he helped establish strong bonds between the Brazilian and French geographical communities. In France, Monbeig pioneered new approaches in geography that built upon Vidalian method and these, while no less regional in focus, helped him to embrace the then emergent social sciences in advancing in the 1960s what might now be called ‘development geography’. Like that of Monbeig, Charles Robequain’s testing ground for his geographical research lay beyond France, in his case the Far East, notably the colonies of French Indochina, Malaysia and Indonesia. ‘Context matters’ is an instructive axiom for all historical and biographical study of geography and geographers: Robequain’s life and work is a pertinent reminder of why this is so. His doctoral work, Le Thanh Hoá, published in 1929, and some of his later works on French Indochina, should be seen as transpositions into that setting of the regional methods associated with the ‘traditional’ Vidalian approach. In his integrative vision of geography based upon understanding a region’s physical dimensions before turning to its sequential human occupation, and in his recognition of the importance of cultural difference, Robequain effected a sensitive engagement with the colonial-tropical world of the Far East. One commentator has spoken of his doctoral work as the ‘birth certificate of tropical geography’. But Robequain’s work was at all times mediated by a view of colonialism as beneficent, of France as the arbiter of others’ development and by a faith in the application of European, notably Vidalian, geographical regional method in explanation of countries and peoples who, by the later 1950s, were straining against Europe’s political and intellectual hegemony. This is not to consider Robequain’s work ‘dated’. It must be read against the grain of its own making, not by others’ later and different standards. That Robequain’s work illustrates the ‘end game’ for a certain sort of regional approach even as it helped establish a new sort of geography altogether is an interpretive position afforded only in hindsight.

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Richard Lawton was a one-institution geographer, remaining at the University of Liverpool throughout a 35-year-long academic career, although he continued to publish well into ‘retirement’. Lawton was an historical geographer whose specialist focus lay in studies of population and of cities. Nineteenth-century Britain, particularly its census enumerators’ records from 1851, provided fertile research terrain for both topics, often in combination. Lawton helped establish new perspectives on rural–urban migration, on urban ethnic identity and on city life during a formative period in that country’s geographical transformation. Lawton also worked tirelessly to develop geography – in Liverpool, and throughout the United Kingdom – through the various administrative offices he held. William Talbot’s career, like that of Lawton in Liverpool, Blanchard in Grenoble and Monbeig in Brazil, involved development of geography’s institutional status, in Talbot’s case in the University of Cape Town, in South Africa. And like Robequain in the French Far East, Talbot’s engagement with the question of colonial-settler relations in the hey-day of apartheid was ‘politically neutral’. Talbot’s interests lay in investigating through contract research the tacit environmental accord being at once established and threatened between white farmers, stock holders, government bodies and soil erosion more than they did with helping to engineer new social contracts for the country as a whole. This is to report, not to condemn. In other respects, Talbot’s vision was national and improving: his Atlas of the Union of South Africa in 1961 is testimony to the value of geographical information in planning for national economic development: geography applied as a form of future land use. Antonín Strnad was equally motivated by the application of geographical knowledge. But his was an age before departments and the subject boundaries they presume, an age wherein academic study of geography embraced the Classical distinctions of chorography, geography and cosmography and when the study of geography, strictly description of the earth as a whole, incorporated mathematical geography and astronomical geography as well as physical geography, the identification of the different physical features making up the terraqueous globe. Strnad’s intellectual world looked to early modern compendia and to others’ assumed truths, expressed in atlases and almanacs. It looked, too, to Enlightenment reason, when what was to become science as method depended upon first-hand observation, shared recognition of mathematics as surrogates for phenomena that could not be seen (such as Prague’s temperature and atmospheric readings, for example), and to teaching his students that the world’s geography depended less upon God than the Jesuits either proclaimed or supposed. Like Emmanuel de Margerie – with whom we might expect there to have been little by way of common ground in other respects – Arthur de Capell Brooke was no professional geographer, being both a traveller and of independent means. But he was no less committed to geographical insight obtained through first-hand encounter and by credible sources than his counterparts here. For Brooke, his was an age in which categories we too commonly take for certain – ‘science’, ‘profession’ and ‘professional’, ‘academic discipline’ and, even, ‘geography’ (in its ‘modern’ institutional associations) – were nascent, in formation, rather more than agreed-upon categories. Brooke’s literary works may not be books of geography in disciplinary terms, though they are important accounts of travel and geographical description. But his role as a leading figure in helping establish one of the key institutions of British geography is of paramount importance. We have cautioned above about the inappropriate use of simple terms to define these proponents of geography given its different dimensions in different places at different times. We would likewise caution about any unwarranted teleological interpretation in terms of geography’s chronology. And we would, of course, resist forcefully any temptation to see Strnad’s work as the necessary forerunner to geography’s ‘modern’

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development with de Capell Brooke, British geography’s hitherto unheralded midwife, as some sort of peculiarly sociable agent of transition between what geography had earlier been and was then, and later disciplinary declarations as to what it is and should in future be. The term ‘network’ (as a noun and, less properly, a verb) has had considerable currency in recent years in the social sciences. Things and people are said to be ‘networked’, to have epistemic and personal connections of varying strengths effective over different geographical distances and social spaces. Networks presume connectivity. Networks are intimate but may transcend proximity. Yet, if so much is networked – information, commodities, cultures of financial exchange, social interaction and so on – there is a danger that nothing is gained by the term: it is in danger of losing analytic purchase precisely because it enjoys widespread currency. Networks have to be shown to have content and to do something with that content. What is clear from assessment of our subjects here is how much geography, whatever it was taken to be and by whom, depended upon the activities of individuals working in networks of social association one with another. For de Capell Brooke, geography was a form of sociable and convivial exchange. His network was elite white men, their medium polite conversation and the informed display of artefacts. The object was collective self-improvement. Intellectual exchange and companionship was its own reward. For Strnad, geographical knowledge came not only from instrumental readings and textual exegesis, but it came also from weak links over distance – networks of distant associates, from men who in all probability he never met face to face. Their medium was correspondence. For the French geographers here, their associative networks were formative and direct, personal and pedagogic: Raoul Blanchard from Vidal de la Blache and as teacher of Charles Robequain who, when absent from the Sorbonne in the later 1950s, had his classes taught by Pierre Monbeig. Their medium was a shared method. Talbot was lauded by Lyde, supported by Sauer. De Margerie had little by way of such networks to work within, in France at least: without formal training and a teaching position, his networks were sustained by engagement with others’ works further afield. His medium was translation. These observations are to make a simple yet important point: documenting the making of geography as something undertaken somewhere sometime by some people requires knowing and showing the somehow. For many geographers, that somehow is fieldwork. If it is true, still, that ‘being in the field’ has a certain epistemic cachet – that is, being in the outdoors rather than the library or the archive carries with it associations of work in the ‘real world’ – then it is also true that we need to take seriously within our histories of geography’s somehow the development of those practices in the field that shaped the subject, the field so to say, of geography. We could do worse than study walking in geographical enquiry. Like others, Blanchard walked to collect information. He used the act of walking to order his facts when talking: the cadence of his walking even echoed in the rhythm of his written prose. Robequain’s work in French Indochina, detailed as much of it was, was dependent upon native interlocutors and translation in the field. Pierre Monbeig may well merit the description offered of him here as ‘the founding father of modern geography in Brazil’, but his geographical parenthood was shaped in different languages and by walking and talking with his students in the streets of São Paulo. Simply, these essays illustrate (although they do not exemplify) the different means by which geographical knowledge was secured and this topic requires further attention. Our essay subjects here also collectively illustrate the once central place of regionalism as a method and as an end in view, notably in academic geography. This is especially so of the French, and of the Vidalian School in particular. In his promotion of an Alpine or Grenoble ‘School’, Blanchard saw the regional overview as one high form of the geographer’s art; Lawton, for all his historical interests, turned, like Talbot in

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South Africa, to study of his home region, Merseyside, in contemporary economic context; Robequain’s application of European regional methods to document the changing circumstances of a then rapidly-changing French IndoChina came too late. But even there, as well as in the colonized and tropical world of Brazil, the application of regional method helped ensure that geography, perhaps especially in Europe between the end of World War I and the mid-1950s, was distinguished from within, and recognized from without, as the subject of areal differentiation. Here, we can see how and where this was so and trace the interplay between method and discipline, individuals and national communities, in particular context. Our subjects also demonstrate the complexities of geography’s institutional origins. Modern Brazilian geography owes much to French geographers, and to Monbeig perhaps especially. French geography was coloured by its exposure to the effects of colonialism, in Africa as well as in the Far East. In France, the growth of a Grenoble ‘School’ of local geography was always part of Blanchard’s vision for the subject, arriving as he did in what he took to be a ‘geographical desert’. In Cape Town, the establishment of the department owes much to Bill Talbot’s efforts, and, for Liverpool, a debt is owed to Dick Lawton. In Britain, one leading geographical institution owes much to men, hitherto neglected, who sat down together to dine and to converse. In Prague, the teaching of geography in Charles University in the later eighteenth century bore signs of its early modern roots and heralded new beginnings for the subject as part of a more evidently utilitarian naturphilosophie. In these institutional settings no less than in individuals’ lives and works, context matters. Hayden Lorimer University of Glasgow

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Charles W. J. Withers University of Edinburgh

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Raoul Blanchard 1877–1965

Hugh Clout

Raoul Blanchard belonged to the small group of men who were direct disciples of Paul Vidal de la Blache. After doctoral research on Flanders, Blanchard devoted a large part of his career to the French Alps, where he headed the Institut de Géographie Alpine, edited the Revue de Géographie Alpine and prepared doctoral students to occupy university chairs in France. In so doing, he challenged the Parisian hegemony of French academic geography. His studies of Grenoble and Annecy were pioneering works in urban geography. Starting in 1917, Blanchard taught for part of the year in North American universities, while retaining his chair in Grenoble. Sojourns at Harvard and in Québec led to a massive research project on French Canada. At the age of 60, he started a major investigation into the geography of the Western Alps, making this the most studied region of France. In retirement, he moved to Paris continuing his remarkable productivity as an author, and received high academic honours. Among his final books were two autobiographical volumes that covered the first four decades of his life.

Education, Life and Work Born on 4 September 1877 at Orléans, Raoul Blanchard was the son of Léon Blanchard (b. 1850), who started work as a draughtsman in the town hall of Orléans in 1871 and soon moved to the municipal service for water supply and street lighting (Blanchard 1961, 17). Raoul’s paternal grandfather had worked on the Belgian railways at Namur and then moved to Fives, the railway suburb of Lille in northern France. His maternal grandparents, the Badiniers, were small farmers and vine growers on a property 15 km north-east of Orléans, where Raoul’s mother, Emilienne, had been born. After early education from an order of nuns, Raoul progressed through primary school to the lycée (state secondary school) in the city. There he was taught geography, history and German by Louis Gallouédec (1864–1937), who would abandon doctoral work for a career as

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inspector of schools and successful author of numerous textbooks (Joumas 2006). In his baccalauréat (school-leaving) examination, Raoul did well on his written papers and excelled in the orals. His examiner, the colonial geographer Marcel Dubois (Geographers Vol. 30), gave him a mark of 19/20 for history and geography that were studied jointly, remarking that 20/20 was given ‘only to God’ (Blanchard 1961, 130). A score of 38/40 in science made him one of the leading scholars in the cohort for 1895, outdoing pupils in the most fashionable lycées in Paris. He then left Orléans to study at the Lycée Louisle-Grand in Paris and to prepare for entry to the prestigious Ecole Normale Supérieure (ENS), in the rue d’Ulm, which trained the nation’s intellectual elite. Having passed the extremely demanding entrance examinations, Blanchard became a pupil at the ENS in the autumn of 1897, embarking on ‘the last three years of my youth . . . that I remember as the most agreeable of my life’ (Blanchard 1961, 170). Among his various tutors, no-one impressed as much as Vidal de la Blache [1845–1917: Geographers Vol. 12]. He had greying hair, a well-trimmed beard, and magnificent eyes beneath thick eyebrows. In a calm, slow voice, he gave his classes with his eyes raised to the heavens. I think this was through shyness, since Vidal was a shy man, but that added to the magic of his delivery. But what impressed us even more than his physical appearance, provoking our respectful admiration, was his teaching. A new science was arising before us, spelled out in harmonious phrases. I discovered true geography . . . that was a description in vigorous terms and, at the same time, an explanation drawing on the natural sciences and the human sciences. The whole world was revealed to us . . . The class on Saturday mornings became the centre of my week, to the point of letting me forget about lunch. Vidal, for whom time did not exist, sometimes kept us until 12.30, instead of letting us go at the set hour of noon. Hence, I arrived at the refectory to find that my friends had eaten my share of the dessert, of which I was especially partial, but I scarcely cared. (Blanchard 1918a, 1961, 197) Blanchard also attended classes in physical geography given by geologist Charles Vélain (1845–1925) in the science faculty of the Sorbonne, and it was Vélain who took him on his first fieldtrip, a three-day excursion to the Pays de Bray at Easter time in 1898. The chair and laboratory for physical geography were created in the Faculté des Sciences in 1895, and Vélain was its first incumbent. His teaching dealt with the application of geology to the interpretation of landforms. The Vidalians, including Emmanuel de Martonne (Geographers Vol. 12) who would gain an international reputation as a physical geographer, were based in the Faculté des Lettres of the Sorbonne. Blanchard found ‘the same enthusiasms that Vidal’s lessons had inspired [and] the joy of understanding, this time in the natural environment. Vidal participated on the excursion, peacefully smoking his pipe, and also Lucien Gallois (1857–1941), his future successor (Geographers Vol. 24). Together with Joseph Blayac (1865–1936, future professor of geology), Emmanuel de Martonne (1873–1955) and Maurice Zimmermann (1870–1950), we formed a dynamic little group’ (Blanchard 1961, 199). With his first degree completed, Blanchard sought a topic for his diplôme d’études supérieures, the equivalent of a masters degree by research. Vidal rejected his idea of studying the Sologne area in central France, so Blanchard turned to Lucien Gallois for advice, since he would replace Vidal at the ENS on 1 January 1899. Blanchard believed him to be ‘a sympathetic, obliging and profoundly good man’. Gallois suggested ‘The central provinces of British India’ as an alternative (Blanchard 1961, 215). This proved impossible since Blanchard had ‘not a single word of English’ at that time. Finally

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came agreement on the ‘Val d’Orléans’, with Raoul completing the dissertation to such acclaim that Vidal published it in the prestigious Annales de Géographie (Blanchard 1903). Blanchard and his fellow students were greatly impressed by Gallois. We were a little unsettled, the first time we encountered our teacher, a large, strong man, with a massive head, a beard and moustache, and thick eyebrows. But we were reassured by his blue eyes that expressed his candour and goodness; this was the true man; Gallois had goodness engraved on his heart. At the same time, he was very aware of his duties as a teacher; among all our teachers he was, undoubtedly, the most committed to giving us serious and complete lessons that covered the whole programme. I will not speak of his modesty, which was almost excessive, or of his kindness toward us; in all, he was what we called a fine chap (un chic type). . . . He would continue to encourage me and help me in my career. (Blanchard 1961, 226) True to form, Blanchard did very well on the written part of his agrégation examination (for those wishing to teach at the highest level in lycées) and excelled in the lesson on a prescribed topic that was delivered before a panel of examiners; indeed, he came first among all historians and geographers in 1900 (Blanchard 1961, 236). With this result, he could have claimed an ‘Autour du Monde’ travel grant made possible by the banker Albert Kahn, but he had not decided a topic for his doctorate and feared that globetrotting might be a waste of money. He decided instead to move straight into lycée teaching. He wanted ‘a change of air’ beyond Paris and would have welcomed a school near Orléans, but there were no vacancies in the area and he was offered a post either in the Ecole Navale in Brest, or in the lycée at Douai, some two-and-a-half hours’ train journey north of the capital. Declaring that he had no knowledge of oceanography, he opted for Douai, which was ‘not unpleasant, since my father had been born in Lille, and Belgium, the homeland of my dear grandmother, was very close’. With secure employment, he endeavoured to ‘seek a thesis topic and work on it relentlessly to become a university teacher as soon as possible’ (Blanchard 1961, 237). In October 1900, Blanchard arrived in Douai to start teaching. Being ‘a great walker and a geographer’, he wanted to explore the surrounding countryside but soon gave up exploring the muddy roads that ran between ‘insipid plough lands. On the horizon, there was the threatening silhouette of pit heaps and the tall chimneys of coal mines. Everywhere, the sickening smell of sugar beet wafted out of the silos . . . I missed the Val de Loire and confined myself to the town’ (Blanchard 1963a, 13). The new teacher needed somewhere to live and followed up an advertisement by M. de Lauwereyns who, it transpired, had an attractive daughter named Jane as well as an empty apartment. Just a few months later, the young couple married on 10 April 1901; they would have three daughters and a son. To obtain advice on doctoral research, Blanchard approached Edouard Ardaillon (1867–1926), professor of geography at the University of Lille, who had been one of his agrégation examiners (Blanchard 1961, 29; Carré 1991). The promise of assistance from Ardaillon had contributed to Blanchard’s decision to teach at Douai; within a few months, he had agreed to provide teaching cover at the university while Ardaillon undertook fieldwork in Crete. When the professor returned from his Mediterranean research, he suggested ‘The northern plain of France’ as a potential thesis topic, but Blanchard soon learned that his mentor knew little about the area (Blanchard 1963a, 34). Eventually, Blanchard focused on ‘Flanders’ for his doctoral work, but he felt ‘desperately alone. I could not seek advice from my patron, since he was hostile to my subject and would scarcely be able to guide me since he knew almost nothing about it. I went to Paris to consult my old teachers; Vidal de la Blache remained sibylline, and Gallois, with his customary modesty, declared that he

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knew nothing about the topic. Hence, I had to gird my loins and walk, alone, into the night’ (Blanchard 1963a, 35). This reaction was hardly surprising since, by choosing Ardaillon, Blanchard had committed himself to an academic positioned outside the Vidalian entourage at the Sorbonne. Having found his topic, Blanchard decided that he needed time for research and realized that he should move, together with his wife and infant daughter, to Lille where archival and library resources were found. All this required funding and he turned once again to Gallois for help. To his delight, ‘this excellent man argued my case with the administration of higher education’ (Blanchard 1963a, 37). A bursary was forthcoming, which allowed Blanchard to devote his time to research, while taking on some new teaching assignments that helped the family’s finances. Ardaillon arranged for him to teach economic geography at the Institut Industriel du Nord, and Charles Petit-Dutaillis (1868–1947), then director of the Ecole de Commerce, hired him to give classes, which were timed to suit his research agenda. At Lille and Grenoble, Charles Petit-Dutaillis played an important role in promoting Blanchard’s career. The two men became firm friends and hiking companions in the Alps; Blanchard later dedicated his second volume of memoirs to the memory of Petit-Dutaillis. Nonetheless, funds remained scarce and Blanchard always walked from his suburban home in the faubourg Saint-Maurice into central Lille rather than take the tram. He had strong legs and prided himself on being able to overtake any pedestrian on the pavement. The municipal library contained many publications on Flanders, but Blanchard needed to visit his study area, ‘to discover its landscapes with my own eyes, and try to explain them, and to undertake the largest possible number of enquiries’ (Blanchard 1963a, 47). He devised a questionnaire to structure his interviews but soon had to simplify it. He tried cycling through the countryside but the roads were so poor that this practice had to be abandoned. Thereafter, he made all his ‘journeys on foot, wearing strong shoes, carrying a rucksack, and spending the night in modest inns. These times of direct contact with people and objects were among the best moments during these years of uncertainty’. He estimated that he walked 4,000 km in northern France, Belgium and Holland, but admitted that researching his thesis was nothing short of ‘purgatory’ (Blanchard 1963a, 47, 39, respectively). Despite having obtained official letters of recommendation, his enquiries were viewed sometimes with suspicion, and in Belgium he was briefly imprisoned on suspicion of being a spy. Nonetheless, he completed over 400 detailed investigations throughout Flanders. In 1904, he was welcomed by Fernand Van Ortroy (1856–1934), professor of geography at the University of Ghent, and spent over a month working on Dutchlanguage materials in its library. This was only achieved with very considerable help from a bilingual assistant librarian, since Blanchard did not speak Flemish (Lentacker 1978, 14). By early 1905, the bursary was exhausted and in March Blanchard returned to teaching, this time at the Lycée Faidherbe in Lille. Starting work at 5 o’clock each morning, writing up proved to be surprisingly enjoyable. He explained this by his ‘happy disposition: I write without hesitation or second thoughts; I do not prepare drafts, and I do not massacre my lines with crossings out; whatever comes from my pen goes directly to the printer’ (Blanchard 1963a, 66). This self confidence, combined with a formidable power of detailed and accurate recall, would define the whole of his career. At this time, doctoral candidates in France were required to submit a minor thesis – but no longer in Latin – in addition to a major one. Blanchard thought about preparing a well-illustrated study of the area surrounding Orléans but this was rejected in favour of an analysis of changes in population density in the département of the Nord during the nineteenth century (Letters from Blanchard to Demangeon, 26 September 1905; 12 October 1905). Assistance was found to perform the necessary 6,670 divisions (involved in dividing the population of each commune by its area for successive censuses

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throughout the century), and to prepare the detailed maps (Letter from Blanchard to Demangeon, 19 October 1905). Blanchard decided that he would submit his work at the University of Lille rather than at the Sorbonne, ‘as had always been done, since this would be a way of expressing my gratitude for the welcome and the help I had received from Northerners’ (Blanchard 1963a, 72). However, to be successful his career would need the blessing of the Sorbonne and he had the temerity to send a draft copy of his thesis to Vidal, requesting that he read it and prepare a report for the examining panel in Lille (Letters from Blanchard to Demangeon, 28 July 1905; 15 August 1905). Not surprisingly, Vidal indicated that he was too busy and declared that ‘the task should fall on Demangeon, Ardaillon’s successor as new professor of geography at Lille’ (Blanchard 1963a, 74). Having completed his exemplary thesis on La Picardie only one year previously, Demangeon was a close friend (un camarade) from the ENS and the two men addressed each other informally (nous nous tutoyions). Blanchard believed that Demangeon’s ‘judgement would be frank, vigorous and objective’, and was reassured to learn: ‘This will be a great thesis, old chap’ (Blanchard 1963a, 75). Under the chairmanship of the dean, philosopher Georges Lefèvre (1862–1929), an examining panel was assembled, comprising Ardaillon (by now recteur of the académie of Besançon), Charles Barrois (1851–1939) the professor of geology at Lille, historians and good friends Charles Petit-Dutaillis and Alexandre de Saint-Léger (1866–1944), and Demangeon (Geographers Vol. 11) as the rapporteur. Vidal declined an invitation to participate and proposed Gallois, who agreed to serve on the panel. Blanchard believed that he had ‘a jury of gold: all friends, and I was on informal terms with two of them’ (je tutoyais deux d’entre eux). One the eve of the examination, Ardaillon interrogated Blanchard about the thesis and then ‘responded vaguely about what he might say on the following day’ (Blanchard 1963a, 75). On 8 May 1906, members of high society in Lille packed the examination hall, since a doctoral defence, which was – and still is – held in public, was a rare event in the city (Davy 1966, 45; Lentacker 1992). Members of the jury duly probed and praised, with Demangeon behaving more formally than Blanchard had expected. However, Ardaillon proclaimed that the candidate did not display ‘the geographical spirit’ in his work (Blanchard 1963b, 76). Blanchard was dumbfounded, ‘since no-one could say anything more cruel; this was condemnation with no hope of reprieve’. His halting response was cut short by his mentor, who then proceeded to ‘praise my talent, and expressed whole-hearted confidence in my success. Reading the consternation on the faces of other members of the jury, I recognized what they – like me – now understood: he had not read the thesis (underlined in the original). From that day, everything was over between Ardaillon and me’ (Blanchard 1963b, 76). Others did not share Blanchard’s opinion, with Ardaillon being described as ‘a distinguished professor, a scholar for the future’ and ‘a brilliant teacher’ who, during his tenure at Lille, had fought tirelessly to acquire funds to establish a geographical laboratory in three rooms of the University, and to furnish it with maps, books, periodicals and equipment, making it a model of its kind (Cantineau 1901, 115). Having trained as an historian, Ardaillon subsequently subscribed to the Vidalian conception of ‘modern geography’ and Vidal praised him for his energy and intelligence (Ardaillon 1901; Carré 1991, 117). Despite this embarrassing incident, Blanchard was proclaimed ‘doctor of letters, with all possible honours’. Several newspapers carried abstracts and maps from his thesis of which many copies were purchased, with the print run of 2,100 copies being sold out by 1909 (Houbron 1906, 278). After celebrations with family and friends, Blanchard returned to the Lycée Faidherbe. He was disappointed not to be appointed at the University of Rennes, but soon he was presented with a choice between two newly created lectureships in geography, at Clermont-Ferrand and Grenoble (Hamelin 1959, 13).

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In the autumn of 1906, Raoul, Jane and their children, Henriette and Guillaume, moved to the Alpine city, where its small university had under a 1,000 students in its three faculties of law, science and letters. ‘As a man of the plains’, Blanchard ‘felt a little disarmed by the mountains; [he was] ready to like them . . . but barely understood them’ (Blanchard 1963a, 105). To resolve this shortcoming, he attended classes and fieldtrips given by geologist William Kilian, who was a poor lecturer but excelled in the field, indeed ‘no-one knew the Alps better than he did’. Despite being appointed to teach geography, Raoul was shocked to learn that the dean, Jean de Crozals, had suspended instruction in history and geography since he believed applicants were inadequately prepared to study for that degree. Hence, the new lecturer in geography was charged with teaching a special course to foreign students, mainly Germans, who were ‘the real hope of the faculty’ of arts, and with instructing 200 army officers preparing for the entry examination for the Ecole Supérieure de la Guerre (Blanchard 1963a, 91, 97, respectively). Dean de Crozals even paid for a ‘fine new projector’ but Blanchard had few illustrations and had to request copies from Demangeon (Letters from Blanchard to Demangeon, 10 November 1906; 20 December 1906). The dean was duly satisfied: however Blanchard wanted to create an Institut de Géographie Alpine. He even persuaded Kilian to allow him to use a room despite the fact that he had no students. To promote geography, Blanchard delivered a public course of evening lectures about the population of France, with the audience swelling from a dozen to over 100 (Blanchard 1963a, 104). The fortunes of this ‘very tall, slim young man with laughing eyes and a thin, intelligent face’ continued to improve, as he undertook his first Alpine enquiry into settlement in the high Queyras area, and as the newly appointed recteur, Petit-Dutaillis, his doctoral examiner from Lille, reinstated teaching of history and geography in the autumn of 1907 (Daniel-Rops 1958, 7; Allix 1966, 17). The Collection Perpillou-Demangeon, housed in the Bibliothèque Mazarine in Paris, contains a number of letters sent by Blanchard to his friend Demangeon during the first decade of the twentieth century. Despite all the challenges and disappointments that had confronted him in Grenoble, Blanchard declined invitations for vacant university chairs in Lille and Lyon. Still living on a lecturer’s salary, Raoul and Jane had ‘acquired a taste for Grenoble and its fine mountainous environment’; indeed the young geographer felt that he was ‘already devoted to the Alps’ (Blanchard 1963a, 117). Even ‘more curious’ was the reaction of his wife, ‘a daughter of the North, who was as resolute as myself in refusing [to leave]; she simply preferred to live in the Dauphiné’. Other attractive invitations would come Blanchard’s way in future years, including two to become a recteur (with overall charge of all aspects of state education in a particular region), a chair at the Sorbonne and a full-time position at Harvard, but his response remained resolutely negative. In October 1908, Blanchard found space for his proposed ‘labo’ in six rooms on the rue Très-Cloîtres in property adjacent to the cathedral, which had been used by the Bishop of Grenoble prior to the legal separation of church and state in France in 1902. In addition to strengthening academic contacts by meeting geographers in Switzerland and Germany, including Albrecht Penck in Berlin, he spread the word about the ‘new geography’ during visits to schools and teacher-training colleges in south-eastern France, and through his lectures to local army officers. Lacking knowledge on English at this stage, he did not venture across the English Channel and would never visit Britain (Guichonnet and Masseport 1975, 133). Continuing to start work at 5 o’clock each morning, he prepared research publications and devised courses for his students but the number of geographers in each annual cohort was only about half a dozen in these early years (Blanchard 1963b, 5). His teaching methods embraced questioning his pupils about topics under discussion, encouraging them to interrogate him, undertaking map work and going on fieldtrips when copious notes had to be taken by

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participants. These day-long or half-day trips were made on foot in the countryside surrounding Grenoble every other Sunday. In addition, at Easter a full week was devoted to an annual excursion in a part of south-eastern France when long distances were covered on foot. Blanchard recalled that in the years preceding World War I, he was ‘young of heart and spirit; liking to laugh, sing and joke; and the students greatly appreciated the way their patron (boss) behaved’ (Blanchard 1963a, 144). In a more serious vein, he required his pupils to read and discuss recent geographical publications in various European languages. This demanding immersion into the discipline of geography proved very effective and some of Blanchard’s earliest disciples proceeded to doctoral work and eventually would become university professors. This early cohort comprised: Philippe Arbos at Clermont-Ferrand (Geographers Vol. 3); André Allix at Lyon; Ernest Bénévent at Aix-en-Provence; Daniel Faucher at Toulouse (Geographers Vol. 31); Charles Robequain at Rennes (Geographers, this volume); Jules Blache at Nancy (Geographers Vol. 1); Henri Onde at Lausanne; Jean Robert at Poitiers; and Maurice Pardé, Paul Veyret and Germaine Vernier who remained at Grenoble. In 1911, Blanchard completed his study of Grenoble that was a pioneering work of urban geography and initiated contacts with the Touring Club de France, which requested him to address its members in Paris about the geography of tourism (Blanchard 1911; Berdoulay 2001). This presentation proved highly successful and the Touring Club funded him to go on a research mission in Corsica to investigate the island’s potential for tourism (Blanchard 1963a, 149). In January 1913, he produced the first issue of the Recueil des Travaux de l’Institut de Géographie (known as the Revue de Géographie Alpine from 1920), which presented research by himself and his advanced students on many aspects of the Alps (Chamussy 2011). After so much hard work, he was delighted to learn that funds had been allocated to create a professorial chair for him from the autumn of 1913. Relations with Vidal had improved and Blanchard responded positively to a request to write a volume on ‘Western Asia’ for the great, multi-volume Géographie Universelle that Vidal was coordinating for the Armand Colin publishing house. Using a memorable phrase, Blanchard declared: ‘Vidal, like God the Father, divided the world amongst his disciples, serving the oldest ones first’ and giving them the choicest morsels, such as parts of Europe (Blanchard 1963a, 153). There was no question of visiting the Near East, so Blanchard worked entirely from publications in German, English and Italian as well as French. ‘Sitting at my table morning and evening, and smoking countless cigars, it was forced labour’. By the spring of 1914, the manuscript was handed to Vidal, who required some excisions. On 1 July, it was delivered to the publisher who did nothing with it once war was declared. Blanchard felt that ‘Armand Colin lacked flair and courage, since if they had published my book in 1915, one would have found descriptions of theatres of war in the Middle East, the Dardanelles, Arabia, Mesopotamia, Palestine; it would have sold like hot cakes’ (Blanchard 1963a, 153). A decade later he would receive a grant to spend three months in the Middle East during 1925, thanks to the ingenuity of Gallois, Vidal’s successor as academic editor of the Géographie Universelle (Blanchard 1926a; 1963a, 154). His much-delayed volume was greatly improved by inclusion of his field observations (Blanchard 1929). In 1914, Blanchard was exempted from military service because of asthma, emphysema and myopia (Blanchard 1963a, 178). In addition to his university duties, he helped in the local military hospital and at the préfecture, and taught in the lycée to cover for young teachers who had been mobilized. During the war, most of his students were young women, who duplicated their lecture notes for their male counterparts in the army. Blanchard ensured that the Revue de Géographie Alpine continued to appear each quarter and was proud that his was the only French geographical journal to come out without interruption. In 1915, he published a seminal article on the

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structure of the Alps, and used his detailed knowledge to trace military operations in Flanders for readers of the Revue de Paris (Blanchard 1915a,b). He followed this with five accounts of other theatres of war, and delivered a series of public lectures on the relationship between geography and war, which drew large audiences. His second urban geography monograph, on Annecy, was published in 1916. During 1916, Petit-Dutaillis invited him to spend the term between February and June 1917 as exchange professor at Harvard University (Blanchard 1963a, 189). Blanchard was well aware of the dangers associated with crossing the Atlantic at this time, especially the presence of German submarines off the west coast of France, but to teach in the United States came as a unique chance. He recalled, ‘I was 39 years old, I had seen only part of Europe, and my only sea crossing had been to Corsica! It was impossible to turn down this opportunity’ (Blanchard 1963a, 189). Leaving his wife and four children in Grenoble, and entrusting Maximilien Sorre to cover his teaching (on Sorre, see Geographers Vol. 27), he sailed first class from Bordeaux, arriving at New York on 8 February. There were then few students of geography at Harvard and even fewer able to follow his lectures delivered in French. Among a handful of followers were Roderick Peattie (1891–1955), future professor at the University of Ohio, and Millicent Todd (1880–1968), who would collaborate with Blanchard on The Geography of France, a small textbook for use by American servicemen in Europe, and who would translate Vidal’s essays on the principles of human geography (Blanchard and Todd 1919b; Blanchard 1963a, 193; Berman 1980) (on Millicent Bingham Todd, see Geographers Vol. 11). Upon his return to Grenoble, Blanchard made the acquaintance of Aimé Bouchayer, a powerful local industrialist, and turned some of his energy to analysing economic activities in the French Alps and the hydro-electric resources of the mountains, as well as investigating criteria for the definition of an ‘Alpes’ region. Blanchard was 41 years of age when the armistice was signed. In his own words: ‘I had ceased being a young man and had reached maturity. My apprenticeship was over’ (Blanchard 1963a, 213). His experience at Harvard proved decisive in shaping the remainder of his career, opening a new field of research in Québec to complement his sustained commitment to the western Alps. During the period from 1927 to 1936, his calendar years were organized in three parts; teaching, writing and editing at Grenoble during the second and third university terms, undertaking research in Québec during the summer months, and then teaching at Harvard during the forthcoming first term, when classes at Grenoble were covered by the hydro-geographer Maurice Pardé and by other colleagues (Hamelin 1959, 19). From 1937, his North American visits were directed more especially to research; he also delivered guest lectures to a wide range of audiences. This routine was broken during World War II but resumed in 1948 and 1949, when Blanchard taught at Montréal for a couple of months, with further teaching being delivered at the Université Laval, in Québec City, in 1952 and 1958. During these North American adventures, he travelled alone, leaving his family in France. With remarkable chauvinism, he declared: ‘Since our marriage, I have become used to my wife sparing me all the little duties and irksome jobs, and taking upon herself all the unwelcome tasks so that I may devote myself to my work as a professor and a scholar’ (Blanchard 1963a, 162–3). With a total of 15 visits to North America and sustained periods of fieldwork in French Canada, as well as in the French Alps, the second half of the career of Raoul Blanchard was highly productive. He had the great satisfaction of seeing doctoral candidates complete their theses and move into university posts, and he would call upon their support for his great project detailing the geography of the western Alps. His patronage was not restricted to scholars working on French or Alpine topics, since he supported others who researched distant lands that he had never visited (notably Charles Robequain in Indochina). In addition, he trained numbers of future teachers

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who would work in schools across southern France. The Institut de Géographie Alpine remained in the cramped quarters secured in 1908, and the Revue de Géographie Alpine continued to appear four times a year despite wartime censorship and shortages of paper. Blanchard’s ‘labo’ served as the examination centre for agrégation candidates in the ‘zone libre’, who would normally have been examined in Paris, prior to the German occupation of southern France in 1942 (Perrin 1966, 107). Having been active in Resistance work, in 1944 Blanchard succumbed to pressure to serve as dean of the faculty of arts for the next four years (Derruau 1965, 176; Dussart 1966, 80). Jean Robert had been taught by Blanchard during World War I, when he had the privilege of being his student. From the very start, Raoul Blanchard made an impression on his disciples. ‘With his eyes shining behind his spectacles, his gaze penetrated you, judged you and intimidated you. But rapidly, you gained your confidence. Few teachers have merited the title of “Patron” (the boss), which we all gave him . . . Having just a few pupils allowed our professor to get to know each one of them, to guide their efforts, to direct their work, and to enthuse them by his talents as an educator . . . Those who had the fortune of hearing his lectures have never forgotten them and remain proud to have belonged to his “Grenoble School”’ (Robert 1965, 216). In 1932, 30 of those students contributed to a 670-page volume of essays in his honour, which also marked the first quarter century of the Institut de Géographie Alpine (Anon. 1932). Evoking the crowded classroom in the ‘labo’, heated by a smoky, coalburning stove that was nonetheless welcome in the depths of the Alpine winter, Jacques Bethemont recalled his first encounter with Blanchard in 1946, three decades after Robert’s experience and less than two years before the professor’s retirement. I found a very old gentleman, whose thin body and moustaches impressed us as much as the fact that he had returned from the USA. The quality of his American clothes showed up the mediocrity of European clothing at that time. He had only just returned to Grenoble at the beginning of December, and the new students spoke about him as if they were awaiting the Messiah. I was disappointed when he started his course on the USA and declared that the most recent statistics related to the disturbed wartime years and that the preceding ones were gathered during the crisis years and, similarly, had little meaning. The only ones that were reliable were those of 1928, the final year of prosperity. I felt a discrete murmur of incomprehension pass around the room, and I realised that the notion of ‘a great man’ was a relative term. How wrong I was. As he delivered his course, our professor re-established his masterly status, by quoting precise information and summarizing different opinions . . . He had the reputation of being difficult at times (un personage truculent) and he certainly was just that so on some occasions. For most of the time, he impressed us, even intimidated us, but he was a model for us in many ways. (Bethemont, cited in Daudel 2010, 64–5) At this stage in his life, Blanchard suffered from arthritis. Writing was difficult, so he dictated his latest work for two hours each afternoon and checked through the manuscript the following morning. He explained his facility with words and his memorable turns of phrase by the fact that he prepared his texts in his head during long hours spent walking, observing and thinking, and even when he was walking between his house and the office. Bethemont maintained: ‘This practice of walking explained the rhythm of his words, based on the rhythm of his paces, and it was this rhythm and rigour that could be found in his teaching’ (Bethemont, cited in Daudel 2010, 65). Required by educational policy to take retirement in 1948, Blanchard passed the direction of the Institut de Géographie to his disciple, Paul Veyret (1912–88). However,

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he remained in Grenoble, continuing to give classes for a few more years, editing the Revue de Géographie Alpine (with Veyret 1948–54), and completing his great project on the western Alps. Despite having rejected the attractions of a post in Paris (‘la Parisianite’ as he called it) on at least one occasion, he moved to ‘a fine villa’ at Sèvres, a western suburb of the capital (Blanchard 1963a, 16). Apparently, his relations with Paul Veyret and fellow geography professor Madame Germaine Veyret-Vernier (1913–73) had become strained, and in his final years he sent book reviews to journals other than the Revue de Géographie Alpine (Rougier 1996, 120). Nor did he frequent the fine new building on the sunny slope rising up to the Bastille that Veyret designed for the Institut de Géographie Alpine, which was opened in 1961 (Vallade 2007, 212–13). In Paris, he was an active member of the Council of the Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique, which allocated bursaries to enable doctoral candidates to complete their theses and provided several support facilities, including a cartography unit and a documentation centre that were of particular importance to geographers. In May 1958, he was honoured by titular membership of the Académie des Sciences Morales at Politiques, having been a corresponding member since 1929 (Dussart 1966, 82). During his retirement in Paris, Raoul Blanchard remained remarkably productive, writing a new study of the town of Annecy, completing summary volumes of his research in the Alps and in Québec, assembling two volumes of memoirs, researching the urban geography of Nice at the request of its mayor Jean Médecin, and finally producing a little book on French Canada for general readers (Blanchard 1958a, b, 1960a, b, 1961, 1963a, 1964). His health was failing, however, and he died in Paris on 24 March 1965, aged 87. Daniel Faucher, a disciple and long-serving professor of geography at the University of Toulouse (Geographers Vol. 31), recalled that his mentor remained ‘a terrible worker’, still getting up very early and working late into the night, even though he said that his day would end at 9 o’clock (Faucher 1965, 159). With understandable emotion, Faucher continued: I knew he was ill: he had undergone several operations . . . A little while ago, I saw him and his family at Sèvres. He told me that his legs were weak, but he was alert. I feared the worst, and the worst has happened . . . For me, and for many of his former students, it is a terrible loss . . . We shall miss him terribly, [he was] like a father to his children . . . I feel like a very old orphan . . . He allowed me to enter into the circle of his family and it is very painful for me to realise what we have lost, his children, grandchildren, great grandchildren . . . He was our guide and model; We owe him so much and [must try] to remain faithful to his spirit and his teaching’. (Faucher 1965, 159) Daniel Faucher was only five years younger than Blanchard, and their relationship had been one of friendship rather than as master and pupil. Faucher spent his last two decades as a widower and his only child lived away from Toulouse, hence to be welcomed into the Blanchard clan was especially appreciated.

Scientific Ideas and Geographical Thought As a pupil of Vidal, Raoul Blanchard adopted an holistic view of the ‘new geography’ and was, in essence, an empiricist who gathered vast quantities of information through direct observation, personal interviews, questionnaires and meticulous reading of published sources. Then he distilled his information into syntheses, on the future of the Alps, on French Canada, and many other topics (Blanchard 1958b, 1960b, 1964). He

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was not a theorist and rejected over-arching explanations, such as the cyclical vision of landscape development proposed by William Morris Davis (1850–1934) (on Davis, see Geographers Vol. 5). Working in such challenging locations as the wetlands of Flanders, the mountains of the Alps, and the northern milieu of Québec, he placed considerable emphasis on the significance of physical factors in understanding human activity, nonetheless human geography was his preferred specialism (Pardé 1957, 160). In the words of Bernard Debarbieux: His thesis on Flanders is considered as one of the best products of the French school of geography that renewed the discipline at the beginning of the 20th century. His work was strongly influenced by the scientific and intellectual context of the time; attached first of all and above all else to studying the influence of the environment on human societies, adept at deploying an analytical method in a regional setting, concerned to promote a ‘new geography’ . . . to the detriment of the old dominant geography [of facts and figures] on the one hand and of geology and history on the other, sensitive to the regionalist and agrarian influences of his time, he battled for a scientific and ideological cause that was applied especially to the Alps’ and to Québec. (Debarbieux 1993, 116) Published a year after Demangeon’s Picardie, Blanchard’s doctoral thesis was entitled La Flandre: étude géographique de la plaine flamande en France, Belgique et Hollande, contained 530 pages, and was illustrated with 48 photographic plates, 76 maps and diagrams and 2 fold-out maps. It bore the dedication: ‘To Paul Vidal de la Blache and Lucien Gallois, my teachers at the Ecole Normale Supérieure. With respectful homage.’ His appreciation was extended to Barrois, Petit-Dutaillis and, with what would prove to be supreme irony, to his problematic mentor Ardaillon, who was mentioned ‘among personal friends’ (Blanchard 1906a, viii). Thanks were also expressed to the Société Dunkerquoise pour l’Encouragement des Lettres, des Sciences et des Arts, that he had approached upon Ardaillon’s advice, which paid for the printing of La Flandre, and to the Société de Géographie de Lille, which published his minor thesis. Acknowledging that additional fieldwork and archival study would have produced a fuller result, Blanchard first defined Flanders as a natural region and then devoted five chapters to its physical geography. In a brief chapter of only five pages at the heart of the book, he drew a fundamental distinction between the maritime plain and the interior, before devoting four chapters to the formation of the cultural landscape of Flanders through wetland drainage, fixation of shifting dunes and the creation of harbours. The remaining six chapters focused on agriculture, industry, settlement, communications, trade and ‘the problem of overpopulation’. He concluded that ‘the prosperity of the area is the work of its people. Elsewhere, one could exploit resources offered by nature; here one has to wrench them out, and this prolonged effort has not proved sufficient; victim of its overflowing population, Flanders must continue to struggle and suffer to make this unfavoured land more and more habitable’ (Blanchard 1906a, 521). In his report for the Annales de Géographie, Gallois praised ‘this intelligent, patiently conducted study, which is inspired by good geographical methods’ (Gallois 1906, 388). Historian Lucien Febvre found the thesis ‘lively and alert’, declaring that monographs being written by the Vidalians ‘clearly form a very interesting collection and merit close attention by historians’ (Febvre 1907, 92). Conversely, François Simiand complained that Blanchard was not analysing a single region but two – maritime Flanders and interior Flanders – and that the first five monographs written by Vidal’s disciples varied considerably in approach and thereby failed to demonstrate a clearly recognizable methodology to differentiate human geography from sociology and other nascent social sciences (Simiand 1906–9, 724).

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To a later critic, Blanchard’s inability to communicate directly with Flemings and his reliance on the testimony of educated French-speakers – and overwhelmingly on the evidence contained in French-language publications – meant that he had no genuine appreciation of the condition of Flemish workers in either town or country, and was unaware of their political and cultural aspirations (Lentacker 1978, 15, 19). His views on Flemish country people reflected his position as a representative of large, rich and powerful France confronting rural poverty in Flemish-speaking parts of Belgium. According to geographer Firmin Lentacker, they echoed the ‘superiority complex’ displayed by many French commentators towards their much smaller northern neighbour. After publishing a handful of articles on northern France, Blanchard focused his research on the Alps, beginning with commissioned research on settlement in the Queyras area, several geomorphological studies and a long essay on Grenoble (Blanchard 1909, 1911). This last was a pioneering example of urban geography, which drew on detailed observation and scrutiny of archival information, before highlighting the importance of situation and site in explaining where the city was located and how it evolved through time. The appearance of buildings in various neighbourhoods was given preference over people living or working there. During World War I, Blanchard employed a similar approach to chart the growth of the town of Annecy, and investigated how the industrial economy of Grenoble and its Alpine surroundings had flourished by virtue of distance from the battlefields of northern France and of growing provision of hydro-electric power (Blanchard 1916, 1917a, 1918b). In August 1917, Etienne Clémentel, the Minister for Trade and Industry, proposed dividing France into economic regions, of which one would cover much of south-eastern France and be known as ‘Les Alpes’ (Veitl 1996, 127). Such a region would have Grenoble as its chief town and was favoured by powerful entrepreneurs in the city, including the metallurgist Aimé Bouchayer and the banker Georges Charpenay, who together founded the Comité régional des Alpes françaises in 1918, which would be renamed the Association des Producteurs des Alpes françaises two years later (Veitl 1994, 2001). Upon his return from the entrepreneurial milieu of New England, Blanchard appreciated that geographical principles might be applied to régional issues in the Alps. Starting in 1919, he served as rapporteur to several Alpine organizations and traced the variable support in local chambers of commerce for a proposed region stretching southward from Lake Geneva. In 1920, he became president of the previously somnolent Société de Statistique du Département de l’Isère, which he and Bouchayer revitalized to promote regional development. Blanchard’s enquiries revealed that support for a large Alpes region was uneven, with some groups of industrialists preferring to be associated with Marseille, Lyon or Nice rather than Grenoble (Blanchard 1922a). Blanchard took his findings to meetings in Paris, and prepared reports on manufacturing industries in the Alps and the potential of hydro-electricity to stimulate further industrialization (Blanchard 1923a, 1924a,c, 1926b, 1928a,b). His application of academic geography to the cause of Alpine modernization remained vibrant for a decade but began to wane in the late 1920s as circumstances changed. These included his commitment to teach at Chicago in 1927 and then at Harvard for eight years beginning in 1928, the death of his close friend and backer Bouchayer that same year and the financial crash of 1929 which curtailed the availability of funds. Raoul Blanchard made his first visit to Ontario in 1927, but it was his appointment at Harvard that formed the entrée into French Canada. Consultation of books and articles in the university library convinced him that this was ‘virgin terrain, as was the whole of the Dominion where geographical studies were unfortunately neglected’, unlike the good work in geology and ‘abundant historical studies, which were sometimes full of interest’ (Blanchard 1935a, 7). Having commenced library work and having learned ‘how to beg’ for assistance, he began a programme of field research in 1929, supported

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by the Milton Fund at Harvard, which would come to occupy the summer and early autumn months each year until 1933 (Crist 1965, 602). Travelling widely, on foot and with a knapsack on his back, as he did back in the Alps. Armed with his enthusiasm, his notebook, a strong pair of boots and his characteristic long ‘Gaulish’ moustache, he visited hills and valleys . . . observing landscapes, taking notes, questioning priests, agricultural advisors, lawyers, administrators, landowners and farmers. Some received him with open arms, whilst others rejected his intrusion, but gradually his good humour helped him to gain their friendship. This wandering Frenchman had won a psychological battle. (Dagenais 1964, 134) The novelty of the territory ‘for a man used to things in Europe’ and the sympathetic welcome he received from the Québécois ‘filled him with joy as he undertook his explorations and wrote up his work’ (Blanchard 1935a, 8). With the exception of occasional car trips, his approach was very similar to that adopted in Flanders a quarter century earlier. The result was his first series of ‘Canadian studies’ (Etudes canadiennes), comprising five long regional essays on the component parts of eastern Québec. These appeared initially in the Revue de Géographie Alpine and were then brought together as L’Est du Canada français, a double volume of 700 pages published by Beauchemin in Montréal (Blanchard 1930a, 1931, 1932, 1933a, 1934b, 1935a). Although headings varied, each essay began with a discussion of physical features, then proceeded to trace the historical geography of settlement, and concluded with an examination of current economic activities. Even the fifth essay, on Quebec City, was structured in a similar way before summarizing the urban landscapes that Blanchard had visited on foot. His second Canadian series covered the centre of southern Québec and also came out as articles (Blanchard 1936, 1937, 1938a). They were written fast, their author being driven by ‘the joy of discovery since, apart from the geological features, everything remained to be said’ for the first time (Blanchard 1947b, 10). The text had been prepared for Beauchemin early in 1939 and the proofs corrected in 1940 but ‘they disappeared in a torpedo raid’. Blanchard was back in Grenoble and cut off from Canada for the duration of the war, hence work on the volume could not recommence until 1945. Nonetheless, this ‘war victim’ eventually appeared as Le Centre du Canada français in 1947 (Blanchard 1947b, 10). In 1938, Blanchard completed fieldwork on the plain of Montréal for the first part of the final series and a 200-page article was published in the following year (Blanchard 1939). International events caused his study of the city of Montréal to be postponed until 1946. This was a larger topic than anything he had tackled before and required sustained library research and numerous visits to different neighbourhoods on foot and, increasingly, by car (Blanchard 1953, 7; Tessier 1960, 6). His long article in the Revue de Géographie Alpine followed the conventional sequence from physical geography to current landscapes and activities, including ‘the drama of the races’ whereby Blanchard contrasted predominantly French-speaking districts with those that were mainly Englishspeaking (Blanchard 1947a). The final element in the Canadian project involved the country around Ottawa, and was undertaken in the summer of 1948, with the help of Albert Tessier who drove around the 70-year-old author and assisted with enquiries. The last articles came out in 1949; the two-part book on L’Ouest du Canada français did not appear until 1953–4 (Blanchard 1953, 1954b). This lapse allowed Blanchard to incorporate results from the 1951 census and to incorporate more information on the social geography of the city of Montréal. His essay Montréal: esquisse de géographie urbaine was republished in 1992 as a separate monograph, with redrawn artwork and a long introduction by Gilles Sénécal (Berdoulay and Sénécal 1996). Appearing over a quarter

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of a century, these monumental studies exceeded 2,000 pages of detailed description and analysis, with Blanchard’s last essays being published when he was well into retirement (Sanguin 1986). Blanchard’s first Canadian essays were rural in character and were written at a time of economic depression, but the latter ones emphasized urbanization, industrialization and economic modernization (Augustin 1997; Berdoulay 1997; Di Méo 1997). In 1937, Raoul Blanchard had embarked on a major Alpine project that he had conceived on the eve of World War I. In the preface to the first of seven volumes (of which four came in two parts), he wrote of the remarkable contribution of his disciples in furthering geographical research in the mountains that gave rise to many articles in the Revue de Géographie Alpine as well as an impressive array of doctoral monographs. Early in 1937, he joyfully put on his mountaineering boots to walk in the mountains once again. It had been a long time since I had visited [the region] in its entirety; I do not think that there is a single village in the western Alps that I have not at least glimpsed. But I had much to gain by seeing the landscapes once again; and during my recent hikes, I made very many enquiries. I believe more than ever in the value of verbal enquiries . . . I operated at the rate of two enquiries for every three communes, and I think I managed that rate. I have not neglected my bibliography, which I kept up to date over twenty-five years. Finally, whenever I could, I used archival documents. (Blanchard 1938b, i–ii) Here was his tried and tested methodology being called into use once again. With the wisdom of age and hindsight, he declared ‘I dare to say that this book is sincere, that is to say that I have not tried to hide what I do not know or have not succeeded in understanding . . . being at the age when one is roughly sure of what one is capable. Too often, young people are afraid of revealing what escapes them, for fear of being judged harshly. [Aged fifty] I am no longer at that stage; I can proceed more squarely and declare my ignorance, and there is much of that. Work still remains for my successors’ (Blanchard 1938a, iii). The first volume in the Alpine series was ‘written with an enthusiasm that makes those around me smile. First of all, this is because I love Geography and I love the Alps; it is also because I was happy to start on new work . . . I returned joyfully to fieldwork and to personal research, the only things, it seems to me that can procure true satisfaction’ (Blanchard 1938b, iii). Over the next two decades, Blanchard ‘became known to village priests in the Maurienne and to inn-keepers in the Oisans. He was the friend of a thousand schoolteachers in the mountains and of countless shepherds taking their flocks on the annual transhumance. He had contacts everywhere from Geneva to Menton; not to mention the valleys of the Piedmont’ (Gaillard 1965, 8). He duly wrote about each area of the western Alps, using his trusted formula of natural conditions, historical geography and the present economy. The first volume was produced by the Arrault publishing house in Tours, while all the others came from Arthaud, based in Grenoble. Fieldwork for the second volume, containing 50 pages on Grenoble, was undertaken before the outbreak of hostilities in September 1939, but the text was not published until 1941. Conditions worsened during the German occupation of the former ‘free zone’ (zone libre) from spring 1942 to the winter of 1944–5, when the fourth volume on the southern pre-Alps was in preparation. Blanchard declared, ‘This was a truly difficult period, scarcely propitious to intellectual work, when the security of one’s person and one’s goods was far from assured, especially at Grenoble. Going out to make enquiries had become impracticable and, at times, dangerous. I had to interrupt my visits on 6 June

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1944 and not restart them until the early winter. Dispatch of documents that I needed was prevented or delayed. Some civil servants refused me access to information. I often became very impatient’ (Blanchard 1945, 9). At the best of times, this southern area was ‘a sort of scientific desert about which geographical studies were extremely rare’ (Blanchard 1945, 9). Although conditions in the Alps improved after the war, Blanchard felt compelled to complete his Canadian work and was laid low by ‘a major surgical operation’ in 1947 (Blanchard 1949d, 9). In 1950, he started to investigate conditions in the adjacent Italian Piedmont and undertook 200 enquiries in the next two years (Blanchard 1952, 8). Travelling on foot, he was – once again – accused of being a spy, and the challenge of the Italian language and of local dialects required help from interpreters. In 1956, he completed the seventh and final volume that synthesized all his Alpine work. He concluded that the northern Alps displayed remarkable modernization, thanks to manufacturing, hydro-electric power, commerce, and tourism, and recorded population increase. The depopulated southern Alps, however, remained problematic, but introduction of tourism and innovations in agriculture showed promising signs (Blanchard 1956). By contrast, most of the Italian Piedmont was backward when compared with adjacent areas of France. Throughout these Alpine volumes, Blanchard frequently acknowledged help from academics he had trained, past students, secretaries who calculated his statistics, took down his dictation, and typed his manuscripts, and cartographers and photographers who illustrated his work. Only in the final volume, when he was approaching 80 years of age and ‘was uncertain about the future’, did he dedicate his work: ‘To my wife, whose self sacrifice (abnégation) has allowed me to come to the end of this heavy task’ (Blanchard 1956, 9). And heavy it certainly was, exceeding 5,000 pages of meticulous work, enhanced by 641 maps and diagrams, 36 fold-out maps and 603 pages containing photographs. Yet, this was far from being his final work.

Influence and Spread of Ideas From the moment he was appointed at Grenoble in 1906, Raoul Blanchard determined that geography should have an identity of its own, appropriate premises in the university and suitable facilities for scientific research. The installation of his Institut de Géographie Alpine in premises in the rue Très-Cloîtres two years later marked an important first step in achieving these goals. It was there that Blanchard taught students who demonstrated interest in and aptitude for geography, while ensuring that those lacking commitment would be admonished and move to other studies (Gaillard 1965, 9). In his private office, he mentored advanced students who completed doctoral degrees prior to occupying university chairs across the French provinces, and even at the Sorbonne. Charles Robequain and Marcel Larnaude both taught at the Sorbonne, having been Blanchard’s students at Grenoble. He called these men his ‘marshals’, just as he referred to the student body, past and present, as his ‘family’ (Derruau 1965, 175). It was in the same room that he edited the Revue de Géographie Alpine, that appeared under a more cumbersome title from 1913 to 1919, as the first geographical periodical to emerge from a provincial university in France. In these and many other ways he worked tirelessly to enhance his own visibility and to ensure that the Institut de Géographie Alpine should compete successfully with the metropolitan focus of Vidalian geographers at the Sorbonne (Broc 1993). It could not be denied that ‘this is indeed a complete school of local geography whose organization is as advanced as that of the Parisian school – a very rare circumstance in France, where rather excessive centralization is the rule. It is explained by favourable circumstances, of which a

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young teacher [Blanchard], who is gifted with special organizing ability, has made the most’ (De Martonne 1924, 44). The rivalry between the ‘Grenoble school’ and the ‘Paris school’ of geography was partly due to scientific differences, with Blanchard stressing the importance of geological structure and glacial activity in explaining the physiography of the Alps, whereas de Martonne placed less stress on glacial erosion and favoured the ‘cyclical’ ideas of W. M. Davis (Claval 1998, 209). The rivalry needs also to be appreciated in personal terms, and reference made to the mutual dislike between Blanchard and de Martonne, Vidal’s son-in-law and successor. Both men were highly intelligent and had studied at the Ecole Normale Supérieure, but de Martonne came from an intellectual family while Blanchard originated from a petit-bourgeois background not far removed from manual workers and peasants. The shy, rather cold son of an archivist had a totally different character from Blanchard the extrovert. As André François-Poncet recalled: Blanchard ‘spoke loudly and said what he thought. He was naturally jovial and cordial, living well and enjoying good food and good wine. He loved to laugh .. . . He found joy and optimism in his own work and also in that of his pupils’ (François-Poncet 1966, 57). He could, however, ‘“don a mask of severity” when he thought fit’ (Larnaude 1966, 77). The breaking point in relations between the two men occurred soon after the sixth inter-university excursion in 1910 that Gallois had asked Blanchard to lead in the western Alps (Perrin 1966, 105). About 50 geographers from universities throughout France and from abroad were in attendance, and tensions soon emerged. Antoine Vacher (1873–1920), always something of a rebel, tried to drown Blanchard’s explanation of the landscape by shouting rude words (on Vacher, see Geographers 31). To quote Blanchard’s words, ‘the attitude of de Martonne displeased me even more; he chose to ignore me and made the excursion with two or three others quite separately from the rest of the group, whilst taking advantage of the accommodation I had found . . . I was profoundly humiliated’ (Blanchard 1963a, 156). Blanchard wrote up his report on the excursion for the Annales de Géographie and de Martonne replied ‘with a charming letter . . . in which he congratulated me for my knowledge of the French Alps and informed me that he would not work on the region any more, except to applaud my own success’ (Blanchard 1963a, 156). Less than two years later, new articles on the development of Alpine valleys were appearing from de Martonne, advocating theories derived from the work of W. M. Davis. Blanchard reminded de Martonne of his promise but was informed that he ‘regretted that he was so interested in the Alps that he could not give up work on them. This was war between what would soon be called the Grenoble school and the Paris school (more precisely de Martonne and his pupils, since I have always maintained cordial relations with Demangeon); it would last throughout my career. Not that this state of belligerence pleased me; I am a man of peace as long as I am not attacked’ (Blanchard 1963a, 157). The state of war was expressed through Blanchard’s harsh reviews of doctoral work by de Martonne’s disciples, especially when their research echoed the ideas of Davis, and in sharp denunciation of work by any ‘Parisian’ researcher who dared to invade the western Alps, which Blanchard and his students claimed as their own territory (Dresch and George 1966; Broc 2003; Clout 2009). A further example of Blanchard’s feisty character involved his relations with Wilfrid Kilian since the professor of geography was interested in glaciated landforms, which the professor of geology regarded as his own preserve. Blanchard insisted ‘I was placed in the wrong when I did not share his views. But Kilian was very jealous of his reputation and took criticism badly . . . We lived under a regime of armed peace; whenever I published work in human geography, Kilian expressed warm congratulation; when it was physical geography, I was greeted with glacial silence and he soon made cutting remarks. But I must admit that I and my pupils expressed harsh views about some of Kilian’s work’ (Blanchard 1963a, 158).

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In addition to promoting his own version of Vidalian geography in France, Blanchard carried this approach to the United States, starting with the exchange professorship at Harvard in 1917 and continuing through short appointments at Columbia (1922), Chicago (1927), Berkeley (1932), Middlebury College, Vermont (1935), and the professorial position held at Harvard from 1928 to 1936, whose president was impressed by Blanchard’s out-going personality and attractive lecturing style (Anon. 1966, 11; G. J. Martin, pers. comm.). He took advantage of his new contacts to publish several articles in the Geographical Review and other American journals, as well as co-authoring two textbooks (Blanchard 1917b, 1921, 1924a,b). A Geography of France, written with and translated by Millicent Todd, was prepared for servicemen of the American Expedition Force and did not appear in French; A Geography of Europe, co-authored and translated by Raymond E. Crist (1904–94), was aimed at the undergraduate audience in the United States (Blanchard and Todd 1919b; Blanchard and Crist 1935). Fluent in French, Millicent Todd was Blanchard’s liaison person and translator at Harvard. She interrupted her studies in 1918 to go to France where she performed volunteer work in a YMCA canteen at Angers for six months. After the Armistice, she lectured at the University of Grenoble under the aegis of the United States Army Education Corps, and it was at this time that she prepared the textbook with Blanchard. She then returned to the United States to undertake doctoral work and married Walter Van Dyke Bingham, a psychologist. Her dissertation, ‘An investigation of geographical controls in Peru’, earned her a PhD in 1923 from the Geology and Geography Department of Harvard (Berman 1980, 200). Her later life was devoted to editing the papers of Emily Dickinson. Raymond E. Crist spent the academic year 1932–3 at the University of Grenoble as American Field Service Fellow under the auspices of the Institute of International Education, having been a field geologist in Mexico and Venezuela from 1926 to 1931. In 1937, he obtained a doctorate at Grenoble, for a thesis entitled ‘Etude géographique des llanos du Venezuela occidental’. He taught at the universities of Illinois, Puerto Rico, Maryland and Florida, and undertook research in various parts of Latin America. In French Canada, Blanchard not only undertook extensive field research but also presented a wide range of lectures on French, Alpine and Canadian topics to learned societies, undergraduates (e.g. at the Ecole des Hautes Etudes Commerciales in Montréal) and members of the general public (Beauregard 1986). His first Canadian essay, dealing with the Gaspé Peninsula, appeared in 1930 and was followed four years later by a small text entitled La Géographie de l’industrie published by Beauchemin in Montréal (Blanchard 1930a, 1934a). That contract began a long association with that publishing house, which brought out his two-volume textbook on Géographie générale, a well-illustrated book entitled Le Québec par l’image, and three important volumes that assembled his essays on the various regions of Québec (Blanchard 1935a, 1938–9, 1947b, 1949b, 1953, 1954b). In addition, Blanchard wrote a study of the territory of La Mauricie for another publisher (Blanchard 1950a). Through his writings and well-received lectures, he became known in academic circles in French Canada and was keen to establish a regular teaching commitment there. On 30 September 1930, he informed the recteur of the University that he ‘would like to interest the Université Laval in the captivating geographical study of Québec, following the example of poor Jean Brunhes’, his friend who had just died (Hamelin 1959, 21) (Geographers Vol. 25). Three years later, he approached the Université de Montréal, declaring ‘Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to train a Canadian-French school of geography.’ The financial crisis and subsequent wartime disruptions meant that his ambitions passed unheeded, and it was not until the late 1940s that geography departments were created in these two universities. In 1947, Blanchard was invited to inaugurate teaching in the new department at Montréal but was unable to leave France

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because of a surgical operation. Upon retirement in Grenoble, he was free to teach in Montréal in 1948 and 1949, and subsequently at the Université Laval in 1952 and 1958. Despite the brevity of his courses and his commitment to gather information for his study of Montréal City and for another book on the province of Québec, Blanchard exercised an important influence of academics and students alike (Blanchard 1953, 1960b). He suggested research topics for advanced scholars but did not supervise doctoral candidates or sit on examining juries (Hamelin 1959, 23). In addition, he suggested the names of French geographers to occupy visiting positions in Québec. He declared to a former student, Louis-Edmond Hamelin, that he had not ‘been called or sent’ to French Canada, but arrived ‘all alone, drawn by curiosity as a geographer’ and because the people were French speakers (Hamelin 1959, 18). He rapidly felt accepted, remarking on several occasions that Québec was his ‘second homeland’; indeed he was recognized by some as ‘the leading craftsman in the creation of geographical teaching in our universities’ in Québec (Blanchard 1960b, 8; 1964, 8; Dagenais, cited in Hamelin 1959, 20). To mark their appreciation, French Canadian geographers brought out a volume of 40 essays in his honour (Institut de Géographie de l’Université Laval 1959). Without doubt, Raoul Blanchard exerted great academic influence on his students in Grenoble and Québec and, to a lesser extent, in the United States. His textbooks on France and Europe were appreciated by English-language readers, and his volume on L’Amérique du Nord informed francophone students on both sides of the Atlantic. His research on the Alps and on French Canada was unparalleled in its meticulous investigation and intricate expression. His work on the Council of the CNRS and his presidency of its committee for geography helped many young researchers (Guichonnet 1984, 251). He was honoured on both sides of the Atlantic, receiving the Charles P. Daly Gold Medal of the American Geographical Society and the gold medal of the Société de Géographie de Paris (both in 1956), the Osiris Prize of the Institut de France (1957) and the gold medal of the CNRS (1960) (Anon. 1958; Perpillou 1965). Honorary doctorates were received from the Universities of Ghent, Laval and Montréal (Hamelin 1959, 25). In the heart of Grenoble, the former rue du Lycée was renamed ‘rue Raoul Blanchard’. The 1,158 m summit on the private estate of the Seminary of Québec in the Laurentian Highlands was named after him, and the geography department of the University of Nice, in the city where he conducted his final research project, was given his name, thanks to Jean Miège, its professor and his former student (Hamelin 1973, 484). Many who knew Raoul Blanchard personally admired him greatly. Raymond E. Crist, who had worked with him in Grenoble, insisted: He found his inspiration in the fresh air of field observations; he shunned the miasma of methodology. A day in the field with le Maître was a never-to-be-forgotten experience; he communicated his enthusiasm to his students as he carefully deciphered the cultural landscape, the palimpsest presented by the successive outcroppings of cultural strata superimposed on the physical background. He could analyse the historical evolution of the cultural landscape in much the same way that a palaeographer interprets an ancient piece of parchment . . . [For many students] he was the ideal, their shining example, an ever-present source of counsel and encouragement. We still have in our mind’s eye the rugged frame of this great oak of a man, the eyes alight with learning and humour; and in our ears the echoes of his booming eloquence in faultless and picturesque French, filled with telling adjectives and apt metaphors, given savour by a certain highly individualized mixture of caustic comments, spicy jokes, and innocent persiflage. (Crist 1965, 602–3)

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Yet, almost half a century after his death, the intellectual legacy of Blanchard has faded, partly because he never wrote a major textbook that would influence a generation, but also because of his unwavering empiricism, exhaustive attention to detail, avoidance of theorizing and rejection of methodological debate (Guichonnet and Masseport 1975, 134).

Conclusion Raoul Blanchard lived a long and remarkably productive life, having over 300 research articles and books to his name, together with countless notes, review articles and briefer book reviews (Anon. 1959; Grivot 1966). He drove himself hard, both in the study and in the field, having learned from his father to take pleasure in tasks well done, and from his mother to select words effectively (Rougier 1996, 118). The vigour with which he expressed opinions and his penchant for sarcasm made him enemies as well as friends (Gaillard 1965, 9). His formidable memory that rarely required a manuscript to be modified, and his physical stamina, which held firm well into his eighties were, arguably, unique (Blache 1966, 27). Blanchard ensured that Grenoble was not only the leading centre of geographical education in provincial France but was also a place where scholars dared to challenge views emanating from the Sorbonne (Fourny and Sgard 2007). In his own words, ‘There is only one place where one can really do geography: Grenoble’ (cited by Rougier 1996, 123). His pupils occupied university chairs and taught in high schools across France and Québec. His copious studies on Flanders, French Canada and the Alps exemplify the traditions of Vidalian regional geography, whereas his work in urban geography and his involvement with Alpine regionalism were pioneer ventures in their time. Never one for modesty, he was fond of saying, ‘Some geographers spend their lives trying to define geography. As for myself; I make it’ (Crist 1965, 602).

Acknowledgements My sincere thanks to Hugh Prince, Ian Thompson and John Tuppen for advice and encouragement.

Bibliography and Sources 1. OBITUARIES AND OTHER REFERENCES ON RAOUL BLANCHARD

Allix, A. (1966), ‘L’Ecole de Grenoble’, in Association des Amis de l’Université de Grenoble, In Memoriam. Raoul Blanchard, 1877–1965. Grenoble: Université de Grenoble, 17–9. Anon. (1932), Mélanges géographiques offerts par ses élèves à Raoul Blanchard. Grenoble: Institut de Géographie Alpine. — (1958), ‘Presentation of the Charles P. Daly Medal to Raoul Blanchard’, Geographical Review 48, 106–7.

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— (1959), ‘Liste des travaux de Raoul Blanchard’, Cahiers de Géographie du Québec 3, 35–45. Ardaillon, E. (1901), ‘Les principes de la géographie moderne’, Bulletin de la Société de Géographie de Lille 35, 269–90. Association des Amis de l’Université de Grenoble (1966), In Memoriam. Raoul Blanchard, 1877–1965. Grenoble: Université de Grenoble. Augustin, J.-P. (1997), ‘De la description de Montréal à l’ébauche d’une géographie urbaine’, in J.-P. Augustin and V. Berdoulay (eds), Modernité et tradition au Canada. Paris: L’Harmattan, 137–51. Augustin, J.-P. and Berdoulay, V. (1997), ‘Introduction: un monde nouveau: modernité, tradition and jeux de miroirs’, in J.-P. Augustin and V. Berdoulay (eds), Modernité et tradition au Canada. Paris: L’Harmattan, 9–19. Berdoulay, V. (1997), ‘Raoul Blanchard observateur de la modernisation québécoise’, in J.-P. Augustin and V. Berdoulay (eds), Modernité et tradition au Canada. Paris: L’Harmattan, 37–50. — (2001), ‘Dire la ville comme un tout: la stratégie narrative de Raoul Blanchard à propos de Grenoble’, in V. Berdoulay and P. Claval (eds), Aux débuts de l’urbanisme français. Paris: l’Harmattan, 83–93. Berdoulay, V. and Sénécal, G. (1996), ‘Raoul Blanchard au Québec: continuité ou rupture?, in P. Claval and A.-L. Sanguin (eds), La géographie française à l’époque classique, 1918–1968. Paris: L’Harmattan, 133–46. Berman, M. (1980), ‘Millicent Todd Bingham’, Professional Geographer 32, 199–204. Blache, J. (1965), ‘Raoul Blanchard, 1877–1965’, Revue de Géographie Alpine 53, 361–70. — (1966), ‘Raoul Blanchard à l’œuvre’, in Association des Amis de l’Université de Grenoble, In Memoriam. Raoul Blanchard, 1877–1965. Grenoble: Université de Grenoble, 20–31. Beauregard, L. (1986), ‘Raoul Blanchard à travers sa géographie de Montréal’, Cahiers de Géographie du Québec 30, 271–9. Broc, N. (1993), ‘Homo geographicus. Radioscopie des géographes français de l’entredeux guerres, 1919–1939’, Annales de Géographie 102, 225–54. — (2001), ‘Ecole de Grenoble contre école de Paris: les Alpes enjeu scientifique’, Revue de Géographie Alpine 89, 95–105. Cantineau, E. (1901), ‘Une visite à l’Institut de Géographie de l’Université de Lille’, Bulletin de la Société de Géographie de Lille 36, 114–35. Carré, F. (1991), ‘Edouard Ardaillon, 1867–1926’, Hommes et Terres du Nord 113–19. Chamussy, H. (2011), ‘Une invention des Alpes’, Géocarrefour 86, 169–78. Claval, P. (1998), Histoire de la Géographie française de 1870 à nos jours. Paris: Nathan. Clout, H. (2009), Patronage and the Production of Geographical Knowledge in France. The Testimony of the First Hundred Regional Monographs, 1905–1966. London: RGS/IBG, Historical Geography Research Series, 41. Crist, R. E. (1965), ‘Raoul Blanchard, 1877–1965’, Geographical Review 55, 602–3.

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Dagenais, P. (1964), ‘Hommage à la mémoire de Raoul Blanchard’, Revue de Géographie de Montréal 18, 133–5. Daniel-Rops (1958), ‘Préface’, in R. Blanchard (ed.), Les Alpes et leur déstin. Paris: Fayard, 5–6. Daudel, C. (2010), Jacques Bethemont: géographe des fleuves. Paris: L’Harmattan. Davy, G. (1966), ‘Témoignage’, in Association des Amis de l’Université de Grenoble, In Memoriam. Raoul Blanchard, 1877–1965. Grenoble: Université de Grenoble, 45–7. De Martonne, E. (1924), ‘Geography in France’, American Geographical Society Research Series 4(a), 1–70. Debarbieux, B. (1993), ‘La nomination des espaces géographiques dans les Alpes entre 1880–1930’, in P. Claval (ed.), Autour de Vidal de la Blache. Paris: CNRS, 109–22. Derruau, M. (1965), ‘Raoul Blanchard’, L’Information Géographique 29, 175–6. Di Méo, G. (1997), ‘L’analyse du phénomène industriel et de ses implications géographiques au Canada français, d’après Raoul Blanchard’, in J.-P. Augustin and V. Berdoulay (eds), Modernité et tradition au Canada. Paris: L’Harmattan, 177–89. Dresch, J. and George, P. (1966), ‘Raoul Blanchard, 1877–1965’, Annales de Géographie 75, 1–5. Dussart, F. (1966), ‘Raoul Blanchard, 1877–1965’, Bulletin de la Société Géographique de Liège 2, 79–82. Faucher, D. (1965), ‘Raoul Blanchard, 1877–1965’, Revue Géographique des Pyrénées et du Sud-Ouest 36, 159–60. Febvre, L. (1907), ‘Une région géographique: la Flandre’, Revue de Synthèse Historique 14, 92–4. Fourny, M.-C. and Sgard, A. (eds) (2007), Ces géographes qui écrivent les Alpes. Grenoble: Ascendances. François-Poncet, A. (1966), ‘Témoignage’, in Association des Amis de l’Université de Grenoble, In Memoriam. Raoul Blanchard, 1877–1965. Grenoble: Université de Grenoble, 57–66. Gaillard, L. (1965), ‘Raoul Blanchard, 1877–1965’, Hommes et Terres du Nord 8–9. Gallois, L. (1906), ‘La Flandre, par Raoul Blanchard’, Annales de Géographie 15, 383–8. Grenier, F. (1965), ‘Raoul Blanchard, 1877–1965’, Canadian Geographer 9, 101–4. Grivot, F. (1966), ‘Bibliographie des publications de R. Blanchard’, Annales de Géographie 75, 5–25. Guichonnet, P. (1984), ‘Raoul Blanchard, 1877–1965’, in P. Pinchemel, M.-C. Robic and J.-L. Tissier (eds), Deux siècles de géographie française: choix de textes. Paris: CTHS, 252–62. Guichonnet, P. and Masseport, J. (1975), ‘Raoul Blanchard, 1877–1965’, in P. George (ed.), Les géographes français. Paris: CTHS, 133–44. Hamelin, L.-E. (1959), ‘Raoul Blanchard’, Cahiers de Géographie du Québec 3, 13–26. — (1961), ‘La géographie de Raoul Blanchard’, Canadian Geographer 5, 1–9.

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— (1973), ‘Connaissance de Raoul Blanchard’, Cahiers de Géographie du Québec 17, 483–8. Houbron, G. (1906), ‘Bibliographie: La Flandre, par Raoul Blanchard’, Bulletin de la Société de Géographie de Lille 46, 277–9. Institut de Géographie de l’Université Laval (1959), Mélanges géographiques canadiens offerts à Raoul Blanchard. Québec: Presses Universitaires Laval. Joumas, G. (2006), Gallouédec, géographe de la IIIe République. Orléans: Paradigme. Larnaude, M. (1966), ‘Une réconfortante amitié’, in Association des Amis de l’Université de Grenoble, In Memoriam. Raoul Blanchard, 1877–1965. Grenoble: Université de Grenoble, 77–9. Lentacker, F. (1978), ‘La Flandre de Raoul Blanchard’, De Frans Nederlanden/Les Pays-Bas Français 11–23. — (1992), ‘Aux premiers temps de l’Institut de Géographie de Lille, 1899–1906’, Acta Geographica 91, 24–34. Pardé, M. (1957), ‘L’activité géographique en France: le maître Raoul Blanchard’, Cahiers de Géographie du Québec 2, 153–65. Perpillou, A. (1965), ‘Raoul Blanchard’, Acta Geographica 57, 1. Perrin, C.-E. (1966), ‘Témoignage’, in Association des Amis de l’Université de Grenoble, In Memoriam. Raoul Blanchard, 1877–1965. Grenoble: Université de Grenoble, 105–8. Robert, J. (1965), ‘Raoul Blanchard, 1877–1965’, Norois 12, 215–17. Rougier, H. (1996), ‘Raoul Blanchard, 1877–1965 et l’Ecole de Grenoble’, in P. Claval and A.-L. Sanguin (eds), La géographie française à l’époque classique, 1918–1968. Paris: L’Harmattan, 117–24. Sanguin, A.-L. (1986), ‘Le paradigme régional, la pensée géographique et l’œuvre québécoise de Raoul Blanchard’, Cahiers de Géographie du Québec 30, 176–88. Sénécal, G. (1992), ‘Présentation. Du ‘Montréal’ de Blanchard à la reconquête de la ville’, in R. Blanchard (ed.), Montréal: esquisse de géographie urbaine. Montréal: VLB, 9–43. Simiand, F. (1906–9), ‘Bases géographiques de la vie sociale’, L’Année Sociologique 11, 723–32. Tessier, A. (1960), ‘Une amitié précieuse’, in R. Blanchard (ed.), Le Canada Français. Province de Québec. Paris: Fayard, 5–6. Vallade, O. (2007), ‘Le reflet d’une identité’, in M.-C. Fourny and A. Sgard (eds), Ces géographes qui écrivent les Alpes. Grenoble: Ascendances, 203–16. Veitl, P. (1993), ‘Un géographe engagé. Raoul Blanchard et Grenoble, 1910–1930’, Genèses 13, 98–117. — (1994), ‘Raoul Blanchard: dire et faire les Alpes’, Revue de Géographie Alpine 84, 81–94. — (1996), ‘Raoul Blanchard, un géographe engagé, 1918–1928’, in P. Claval and A.-L. Sanguin (eds), La géographie française à l’époque classique, 1918–1968. Paris: L’Harmattan, 125–31.

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— (2001), ‘Entre étude scientifique et engagement social. L’Institut de Géographie Alpine de Raoul Blanchard, laboratoire de la Région économique alpine’, Revue de Géographie Alpine 89, 121–31. 2. SELECTED WORKS BY RAOUL BLANCHARD

1902

‘La pluviosité de la plaine du Nord de la France’, Annales de Géographie 11, 203–20.

1903

‘Le Val d’Orléans’, Annales de Géographie 12, 307–23.

1906a

La Flandre: étude géographique de la plaine flamande en France, Belgique et Hollande. Dunkirk: Société Dunkerquoise pour l’avancement des Lettres, des Sciences et des Arts (reprinted by Famila et Patria, Handzame in 1970).

1906b

La densité de population du département du Nord au XIXe siècle. Lille: Société de Géographie de Lille & Danel.

1906c

‘Le Jura’, Bulletin de la Société de Géographie de Lille 44, 141–8.

1907

‘La Flandre’, Bulletin de la Société de Géographie de Lille 47, 78–86.

1908

‘Le Queyras’, Bulletin de la Société de Géographie de Lille 50, 206–11.

1910

‘Sixième excursion géographique interuniversitaire (Alpes occidentales, 1910)’, Annales de Géographie 19, 412–39.

1911

Grenoble: étude de géographie urbaine. Paris: Armand Colin.

1914

‘Les genres de vie en Corse et leur évolution’, Recueil des Travaux de l’Institut de Géographie Alpine 2, 187–238.

1915a

‘La Flandre, théâtre d’opérations militaires’, Revue de Paris 22, 104–27.

1915b

‘Au long du front occidental’, Recueil des Travaux de l’Institut de Géographie Alpine 3,111–43.

1915c

‘La structure des Alpes’, Recueil des Travaux de l’Institut de Géographie Alpine 3, 163–227.

1916

‘Annecy’, Recueil des Travaux de l’Institut de Géographie Alpine 4, 369–463.

1917a

‘L’industrie de la houille blanche dans les Alpes françaises’, Annales de Géographie 26, 15–41.

1917b

‘Flanders’, Geographical Review 7, 417–33.

1918a

‘Vidal de la Blache’, Recueil des Travaux de l’Institut de Géographie Alpine 6, 371–3.

1918b

‘Les transformations économiques dues à la guerre, Grenoble et sa région’, Revue de Paris 25(1), 742–62 [Part I]; 25(2) 161–89 [Part II].

1919a

(with P. Arbos) Abrégé-manuel de géographie. Paris: Belin.

1919b

(with M. Todd) Geography of France. Chicago and New York: Rand McNally.

1921

‘The natural regions of the French Alps’, Geographical Review 11, 31–49.

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1922a

Etude économique sur la région des Alpes françaises. Grenoble: Chambre de Commerce.

1922b

‘L’houille blanche dans le Massif Central français’, Revue de Géographie Alpine 10, 353–96.

1923a

Les forces hydro-électriques pendant la guerre. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France.

1923b

(with D. Faucher) Cours de géographie: La France et ses colonies. Paris: Gédalge.

1924a

‘Geographical conditions of water power development’, Geographical Review 14, 88–100.

1924b

(with D. Faucher) Cours de géographie. L’Europe, Les grands pays du monde. Paris: Gédalge.

1924c

‘L’électro-métallurgie et l’électro-chimie dans les Alpes françaises’, Revue de Géographie Alpine 12, 363–421.

1925

Les Alpes Françaises. Paris: Armand Colin (revised editions 1929, 1934).

1925

(with D. Faucher) Cours de géographie: cours élémentaire. Paris: Gédalge.

1926a

‘Le relief dans l’Arabie centrale’, Revue de Géographie Alpine 14, 765–86.

1926b

‘L’industrie des chaux et ciments dans le Sud-Est de la France’, Revue de Géographie Alpine 14, 5–186.

1926c

La Corse. Grenoble: Rey.

1928a

‘L’industrie de la papeterie dans le Sud-Est de la France’, Revue de Géographie Alpine 16, 225–376.

1928b

‘La grande industrie chimique dans le Sud-Est de la France’, Revue de Géographie Alpine 16, 561–624.

1928c

‘Une méthode de géographie urbaine’, Revue de Géographie Alpine 16, 193–214.

1928d

Les Alpes françaises à vol d’oiseau. Grenoble: Arthaud.

1929

L’Asie occidentale, in P. Vidal de la Blache and L. Gallois (eds), Géographie Universelle, vol. 8. Paris: Armand Colin.

1930a

‘Etudes canadiennes: I, La presqu’île de Gaspé’, Revue de Géographie Alpine 18, 5–112.

1930b

‘La répartition de la vigne dans les Alpes françaises’, Revue de Géographie Alpine 18, 219–60.

1931

‘Etudes canadiennes: II, Le rebord Sud de l’estuaire du Saint-Laurent’, Revue de Géographie Alpine 19, 5–143.

1932

‘Etudes canadiennes: III, Le rebord Nord de l’estuaire du Saint-Laurent’, Revue de Géographie Alpine 20, 407–531.

1933a

‘Etudes canadiennes: IV, Le Saguenay et le lac Saint-Jean’, Revue de Géographie Alpine 21, 5–174.

1933b

L’Amérique du Nord: Etats-Unis, Canada et Alaska. Paris: Fayard.

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1933c

‘Notes sur les côtes de Colombie britannique et d’Alaska’, Revue de Géographie Alpine 21, 271–87.

1934a

La Géographie de l’industrie. Montréal: Beauchemin.

1934b

‘Etudes canadiennes: V, Québec, esquisse de géographie urbaine’, Revue de Géographie Alpine 22, 261–413.

1934c

‘En Haut-Piémont et Ligurie’, Revue de Géographie Alpine 22, 485–510.

1934

(with A. de Saint-Léger) Le Nord: géographie, histoire. Paris: Bourrelier.

1935a

L’Est du Canada français. Province de Québec. Montréal: Beauchemin.

1935b

Grenoble: étude de géographie urbaine, 3rd edn. Grenoble: Didier and Richard.

1935

(with R. E. Crist) A Geography of Europe. New York: Henry Holt.

1936

‘Etudes canadiennes, deuxième série: I, La région du fleuve Saint-Laurent entre Québec et Montréal’, Revue de Géographie Alpine 24, 1–189.

1937

‘Etudes canadiennes, deuxième série: II, Les Cantons de l’Est’, Revue de Géographie Alpine 25, 1–210.

1938a

‘Etudes canadiennes, deuxième série: III, Les Laurentides’, Revue de Géographie Alpine 26, 5–187.

1938b

Les Alpes occidentales. I, Les Préalpes françaises du Nord. Tours: Arrault.

1938–9

Géographie générale, 2 vols. Montréal: Beauchemin.

1939

‘Etudes canadiennes, troisième série: I, La plaine de Montréal’, Revue de Géographie Alpine 27, 247–432.

1941a

Les Alpes occidentales. II. Les cluses préalpines et le sillon alpin, 2 vols. Grenoble: Arthaud.

1941b

‘Lucien Gallois’, Revue de Géographie Alpine 29, 505–12.

1943

Les Alpes occidentales. III. Les Grandes Alpes françaises du Nord; massifs centraux; zone intra-alpine. Grenoble: Arthaud.

1944

Déboisement et reboisement dans les Préalpes françaises du Sud. Revue de Géographie Alpine 32, 335–88.

1945

Les Alpes occidentales. IV. Les Préalpes françaises du Sud, 2 vols. Grenoble: Arthaud.

1947a

‘Etudes canadiennes, troisième série: II. Montréal, esquisse de géographie urbaine’, Revue de Géographie Alpine 35, 133–328.

1947b

Le Centre du Canada français. Montréal: Beauchemin.

1949a

‘Etudes canadiennes, troisième série: III. Les pays de l’Ottawa’, Revue de Géographie Alpine 35, 133–328.

1949b

Le Québec par l’image. Montréal: Beauchemin.

1949c

‘Etudes canadiennes, troisième série: IV. L’Abitibi-Témiscamigue’, Revue de Géographie Alpine 37, 421–555.

1949d

Les Alpes occidentales. V. Les Grandes Alpes françaises du Sud, vol. I. Grenoble: Arthaud.

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1950a

La Mauricie. Trois-Rivières: Editions du Bien-Public.

1950b

‘Montréal. Esquisse de géographie urbaine’, Revue Canadienne de Géographie 4, 31–46.

1950c

Les Alpes occidentales. V. Les Grandes Alpes françaises du Sud, vol. II. Grenoble: Arthaud.

1951

‘L’agriculture du versant piémontais des Alpes occidentales. Les basses vallées’, Revue de Géographie Alpine 39, 231–87.

1952

Les Alpes occidentales. VI. Le versant piémontais, vol. I. Grenoble: Arthaud.

1953

L’Ouest du Canada français. Province de Québec, vol. I. Montréal et sa région. Montréal: Beauchemin.

1954a

Les Alpes occidentales. VI. Le versant piémontais, vol. II. Grenoble: Arthaud.

1954b

L’Ouest du Canada français. Province de Québec, vol. II. Les pays de l’Ottawa, L’Abitibi-Témiscamingue. Montréal: Beauchemin.

1956

Les Alpes occidentales. VII. Essai de synthèse. Grenoble: Arthaud.

1957

‘L’Amérique anglo-saxonne’, in G. Chabot, R. Clozier and J. BeaujeuGarnier (eds), La géographie française au milieu du XXe siècle. Paris: Baillière, 245–7.

1958a

Annecy. Essai de géographie urbaine. Annecy: Société des Amis du Vieil Annecy.

1958b

Les Alpes et leur déstin. Paris: Fayard.

1960a

Le Comté de Nice: étude géographique. Paris: Fayard.

1960b

Le Canada Français. Province de Québec, étude géographique. Paris: Fayard.

1961

Ma jeunesse sous l’aile de Péguy. Paris: Fayard.

1963a

Je découvre l’université: Douai, Lille, Grenoble. Paris: Fayard.

1963b

‘Les débuts géographiques de Jules Blache’, in J. Blache (ed.), Pages Géographiques. Gap: Institut de Géographie d’Aix-en-Provence, 5–9.

1964

Le Canada français. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France.

Chronology 1877

Born on 4 September at Orléans

1888–97

Secondary education at Orléans and in Paris

1897–1900

Studied at the Ecole Normale Supérieure, rue d’Ulm in Paris

1900

Passed agrégation d’histoire et de géographie, heading the list

1900–6

Taught in lycées in Douai and Lille

1901

Married Jane de Lauwereyns on 10 April; the couple had four children: Henriette (b. 1902), Guillaume (b. 1904), Antoinette (b. 1907) and Colette (b.1915)

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1906

Defended doctoral thesis, La Flandre; appointed to lectureship in geography at the University of Grenoble

1913

Elevated to the chair of geography at the University of Grenoble; founded the Receuil des Travaux de l’Institut de Géographie (renamed the Revue de Géographie Alpine in 1920)

1917

Taught at Harvard as visiting professor

1922–35

Taught in the United States: Columbia (1922), Chicago (1927), Harvard (1928–36), Berkeley (1932) and Middlebury College (1935)

1925

Visited the Middle East for three months

1930–49

Publication of ‘Etudes canadiennes’ as articles

1935–54

Publication of ‘Province de Québec’ in book form

1938–56

Publication of volumes of Les Alpes occidentales

1944–8

Served as Dean of the Faculté des Lettres at Grenoble

1948

Retired from the University of Grenoble

1948–50

Taught at Université de Montréal

1952, 1958

Taught at Université Laval, Québec

1955

Moved to Sèvres (3 rue Maréchal-Gallieni)

1965

Dies on 24 March, in Paris

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Emmanuel de Margerie 1862–1953

Hugh Clout

Emmanuel de Margerie was an independent scholar who was tutored at home but went on to receive many distinctions for his achievements. He developed remarkable skills as an analyst of published works in English and German, a physical disability having limited his participation in fieldwork. Apart from his two earliest books, his main publications involved translation and elaboration, or critical compilation. De Margerie’s masterpiece was La Face de La Terre, which brought the ideas of Eduard Suess and his own digest of subsequent theories to French readers. As an independent spirit, he was unsuited to administrative work, and his directorship of the Service de la Carte géologique de l’Alsace et de la Lorraine was a disappointment. De Margerie’s later books were idiosyncratic compendia; however the second part of his Etudes américaines provides a valuable history of geological exploration in the United States during the nineteenth century. De Margerie was on the editorial board of the Annales de Géographie for almost 60 years, but his preference was for geology and his conception of geography was essentially physical. With urbane manners and blessed with a formidable memory, he shared his erudition with scientists young and old but, without university training, did not gather disciples. His publications remain a remarkable testament in the history of environmental science.

Education, Life and Work Marie-Pierre-Martin-Emmanuel Jacquin de Margerie was born on 11 November 1862 in the family home at rue de Bellechasse in the fashionable Faubourg Saint-Germain in Paris, adjacent to the house occupied by veteran geologist Elie de Beaumont (1798–1874) (De Margerie 1943, 102). His father was 42-year-old Eugène-Marie-François Jacquin de Margerie (1820–1900), who was recorded on the birth certificate as a ‘property owner’, and his mother was 35-year-old Thérèse-Charlotte (née Denion) (1827–1911).

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The couple had married on 8 April 1847. Eugène was a model of piety, Commander of the Pontifical Order of Saint-Gregory-the-Great, author of books on the virtues of Christian faith and very active in a number of Catholic societies (Vogt 1999, 3). Emmanuel’s uncle Amédée wrote on philosophical, political and religious issues, and was professor at the University of Nancy before becoming Dean of the Faculty of Arts of the Institut Catholique in Lille (Jacob 1954a, 21). The Jacquin de Margerie family originated from the village of Margerie near Vitry-le-François in the Champagne area but, despite the form of their name, did not belong to the nobility. Long settled in Paris, the dynasty produced an impressive array of politicians, magistrates, diplomats, academics and writers (Jacob 1954, cxxiii; Auffray 1976). Emmanuel’s paternal grandfather Armand Jacquin de Margerie (1790–1867) had spent all his career working in the land registry of the affluent Parisian suburb of Neuilly and brought up his children to obey ‘the firmest and most orthodox Catholic religion’ (De Margerie 1943, 97). His maternal grandfather Charles Dennion (1787–1871) originated from Nantes, served as a book keeper with some legal training, and rose through the ranks to administer the estates of several members of the upper aristocracy, including the Prince de Talleyrand and the Duc de Montmorency. Investing his savings in the purchase of land around the capital, he owned substantial areas that would be sold for building during the phase of urban growth that accompanied the Second Empire from 1852 to 1870. As the wife of a profoundly Catholic husband, Thérèse-Charlotte gave birth to 13 children of whom only 3 survived infancy. Like his older siblings, Elisabeth-Rose (1852–1910) and Charles-Marie-Eugène (1855–1934), Emmanuel enjoyed a privileged childhood with annual visits to the family’s property in the Savoie Alps and other holidays in Normandy, Brittany and the Pyrenees. The children did not attend school but were taught at home by a succession of private tutors, with Emmanuel developing a particular aptitude for learning languages, drawing and nature study (Fourmarier 1954, 282; Tobien 2008). Much later in life, he would single out Albert Dupaigne (science), Victor Tockert (German) and Helen de Veer (English) for particular gratitude (De Margerie 1943, 109, 115). As a result of his unconventional training, he did not take the school-leaving certificate (baccalauréat) and hence was not qualified to enroll at a state university or to develop a career as an academic. On the advice of his father and of Albert Dupaigne, he indulged his teenage interest in mountain scenery by attending lectures delivered at the Institut Catholique by Albert de Lapparent (1839–1908) who had just been appointed to a chair of geology after having worked for the Service de la Carte géologique de la France for many years. De Lapparent was a Catholic believer who, in 1877, accepted the newly created chair of geology and mineralogy at the Institut Catholique de Paris that had been opened in 1875 (then called the Université Catholique) as an alternative form of higher education to the state university in the capital, the Sorbonne. De Lapparent rapidly discovered his true vocation as a teacher in the lecture room, the laboratory and in the field. After 1890, his interests turned increasingly towards geography, as he sought to turn this subject towards the natural sciences and away from its traditional close link with history in France (Broc 1977b, 274–5). Emmanuel de Margerie was captivated by this introduction to the principles of geology and early in 1877, while not yet 15 years of age, was admitted to the Société géologique de France, with a strong recommendation from de Lapparent, and he remained an active member for the rest of his life (Fourmarier 1954, 282). He contributed to many of its publications, received its Prestwich Prize in 1912 and was elected its president in 1899 and 1919. During his second term of office, he chaired an investigation into alleged falsification of evidence by Jacques Deprat (1880–1935), former head of the Service géologique de l’Indochine, which found against the defendant (DurandDelga 1990; Osborne 2000). In 1878, during his sixteenth year, he had attended the

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First International Geological Congress at Paris, arguably on the strength of his linguistic skills rather than his scientific knowledge (Beckinsale and Chorley 1991, 139). Thereafter, he would attend geological conferences virtually every year and would be present at every international congress. In 1880, when only 18, he had been involved in a serious carriage accident in Berry which fractured his left leg and, after surgery, left it slightly shorter than the other. This disability made walking long distances painful, but not impossible, and certainly exempted him from military service. It also required him to devote less time to fieldwork and hiking than he would have liked and accentuated his early disposition towards reading and compilation. Nonetheless, armed with his stick and displaying a slight limp, ‘he did not hesitate to walk along difficult tracks’. Belgian geologist Paul Fourmarier recalled that, despite de Margerie’s infirmity and rather sickly appearance, he was still able ‘to follow his companions during excursions to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of the Swiss Geological Society, when he was more than seventy years of age’ (Fourmarier 1954, 282; Durand-Delga 1990). In 1882, he joined the Société de Géographie de Paris and attended five international congresses prior to World War I: Paris (1889), London (1895), Berlin (1899), Geneva (1908) and Rome (1913). Between the two world wars he attended international geographical congresses in Cairo (1925) where he chaired the section on physical geography, Cambridge (1928), Paris (1931) where he was on the organizing committee, and Amsterdam (1938). He also became involved with the great project launched by Albrecht Penck (1858–1945) (Geographers Vol. 7) to produce a world map at the scale on 1:1,000,000, and organized an international meeting in Paris in December in order to advance this venture (De Margerie 1914a). Unlike most French geographers at that time, de Margerie was a man of independent means, who had no formal academic qualifications, never had to seek employment and used his time and his talents as he wished. He joined countless learned societies, attended meetings, served on committees and both summarized and reviewed scholarly work. He commanded personal funds enabling him to attend conferences in France and abroad, thereby ensuring his participation in international networks of professional geologists and geographers, and serving as a link between them. He undertook fieldwork in the Pyrenees and the Jura, and travelled widely. Between 1879 and 1915, he went abroad on 27 occasions, mostly to Europe and also to North America (1891, 1912, 1913), the Urals (1897) and even to Spitsbergen (1910) (De Margerie 1938, 11–12). De Margerie’s real talent was as a translator of and critical commentator on Germanand English-language publications, working initially with Albert Heim (1849–1937) and more especially with Eduard Suess (1831–1914) (Broc 1977a, 81–3). He was competent in several more European languages and made his encyclopaedic knowledge available to other researchers, who were sometimes daunted by his erudition. Fourmarier recalled his youthful experience of de Margerie’s visits to the University of Liège to see geologist Max Lohest (1857–1926), when ‘he liked to inform me of the latest books and articles that had appeared and were relevant to me; he was anxious to know if I, too, was aware of them. At that time when I was at the start of my career [and] I spent all my free time on fieldwork for my research. I could not devote time to reading everything that had appeared abroad. Often I had to reply in the negative, but now I confess to telling the occasional white lie to avoid causing too much disappointment to my interrogator’ (Fourmarier 1954, 282). During the first decade of his publishing career extending from 1882 to 1892, de Margerie placed his articles, critical notes and reviews almost exclusively in geological journals, but in 1894 he was invited by Paul Vidal de la Blache (Geographers Vol. 12) to join the editorial board of the fledgling Annales de Géographie in place of the

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colonial geographer Marcel Dubois (Geographers Vol. 30) who had been its co-founder in 1891. Lucien Gallois, a disciple and colleague of Vidal’s, also joined the board in 1894 and was an obvious choice (Claval 1998, 80) (on Gallois, see Geographers Vol. 24). However, the selection of de Margerie, who had no formal educational qualifications of any kind, did not teach in a university or other institution of higher learning, and published mainly in geological periodicals, is less easy to explain. In addition, the traditional Catholicism that had been imparted to him by his father was very different from the lay, Republican sentiments shared by Vidal and his immediate disciples. Two possible explanations may be advanced for this surprising appointment. First, by the early 1890s, de Margerie was well known in international scientific circles and Vidal was anxious that his ‘new geography’ should be recognized as scientific, and different from the study of administrative units and the memorization of population, products, capitals, capes and bays that had passed as ‘geography’. Second, de Margerie was acquainted with the publisher Auguste Armand Colin (1842–1900) and was friendly with Max Leclerc (1864–1932), his dynamic son-in-law and manager of the business (Anon. 1900; De Margerie 1931). Armand Colin was already committed to publishing the Annales de Géographie and was well aware that de Margerie’s bibliographic talents and scientific contacts might be of value to the journal. There is no way of knowing precisely how the editorial relationship between Vidal and de Margerie came about, but Colin and Leclerc had sufficient faith in the geologist-geographer of independent means and spirit to commit their firm to many of his publishing ventures. Emmanuel de Margerie became a member of the editorial board of the Annales de Géographie from 1894 until shortly before his death in 1953, serving as a faithful companion in its development and success. His opinion was always listened to with respect. The breadth of his erudition, and his astonishing intellectual curiosity enabled him to keep up to date with the progress of knowledge in all the areas intimately related to geography: geological sciences, cartography, etc. [These characteristics] explained the quality of his advice and the exceptional value of his collaboration. (Anon. 1953, 1) Over the years, de Margerie contributed numerous book reviews to the Annales de Géographie, including commentaries on the doctoral monographs of some of Vidal’s immediate disciples such as Emmanuel de Martonne (1873–1955), who researched the physiography of the Transylvanian Carpathians, and Antoine Vacher (1873–1919), who analysed the physical geography of the province of Berry in central France (De Margerie 1908a, 1909) (on de Martonne and Vacher, see Geographers Vols 12 and 31, respectively). He also provided an even-handed review of the regional geography of France authored by Jean Brunhes (1869–1930), finding plenty to praise in the text, and stressing its likely appeal to a wide readership, but criticizing some of the illustrations (De Margerie 1921) (on Brunhes, see Geographers Vol. 25). Some of the close disciples of Vidal de la Blache were critical of the aspects of the work of Brunhes, hence the selection of de Margerie to review his book may have been a strategic choice (Clout 2003b, 348). In fact, the reviewer apologized to readers that his appraisal came out a year after the book had been published (De Margerie 1921, 379). By virtue of his position in scientific networks, de Margerie was well placed to write obituaries of distinguished geologists and physical geographers who died in old age, such as de Lapparent, Suess and General Gaston de la Noë (1836–1902) (De Margerie 1908b, 1914b, 1902a). He also used his sensitivity and tact to record the death of Vidal’s students (e.g. Lucien Marc, 1877–1914) and of Vidal’s own son Joseph (1872–1915) who were killed during World War I (De Margerie 1915, 1916). Lucien Marc completed doctoral work on West Africa, and was the son-in-law of Franz Schrader, having married his second daughter,

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Marie. Joseph Vidal de la Blache served in the Section historique de l’Etat-Major de l’Armée and wrote a thesis on the valley of the Meuse. In 1912, de Margerie had recommended Brunhes to the banker Albert Kahn, who appointed him to Director of the Archives de la Planète project and funded the chair that Brunhes occupied at the prestigious Collège de France (Letter from de Margerie to Brunhes, 26 January 1912, reproduced in Beausoleil 1993, 91–3). By contrast, de Margerie contributed only three major articles to the Annales de Géographie, dealing with international cartographic ventures, the significance of river profiles for interpreting landscape formation and the characteristics of two ‘crater accidents’ (Crater Lake, Oregon and Meteor Crater, Arizona) that he visited in 1912 on the occasion of the Transcontinental Geographical Expedition across the United States under the direction of William Morris Davis (1850–1934) (De Margerie and Raveneau 1900b; De Margerie 1910, 1913a; Clout 2004) (on Davis, see Geographers Vol. 5). His pertinent observations, acute questioning and formidable knowledge of the literature led Davis to declare: ‘Mr. de Margerie is better informed in the geography and geology of the United States than most Americans, not excepting members of the Geographical and Geological Surveys’ (cited by Fourmarier 1954, 287). By the outbreak of World War I, de Margerie had passed 50 years of age and remained in Paris to work on various projects. He became a member of the Commission de Géographie du Service Géographique de l’Armée and presumably undertook cartographic work to assist the war effort, although no trace of that activity has been found (De Margerie 1938, 5; Berdoulay 1981, 32). In 1919, he was awarded the Cullum Geographical Medal of the American Geographical Society, with the ceremony in Paris being attended by members of the American Commission to Navigate Peace, including geographers Mark Jefferson and Major Douglas W. Johnson. When presenting the medal, Ambassador Hugh Campbell Wallace declared: ‘No geographer or geologist in France has given so much assistance to the American Expeditionary Forces, and his co-operation with the Geographical Section of the Army will not be forgotten by any who have come in contact with it’ (Anon. 1919, 416). Accepting the award, de Margerie praised American geological science and then commented: During the last three years I had the pleasure of receiving the visit of friends from the other side of the ocean, most of them members of the [American Geographical] Society, but not always identified at once under the military dress of the time. The very meager help I could give them in matters connected with their official duty gave me occasion to see something of what American efficiency could be, in those heroic days. I shall never forget the enthusiasm and unselfishness of these gallant men. Major Johnson . . . can take for himself a good part of that compliment. Let me name also my friend Dr. Isaiah Bowman, whose departure from Paris, a short while ago, remains a source of deep regret to me. (Anon. 1919, 417) From these remarks one may infer that de Margerie assisted the American geographers who provided cartographic evidence at the Peace Conference. Following the return of Alsace and northern Lorraine to France after the conclusion of World War I, Emmanuel de Margerie responded to a request to head the Service de la Carte géologique de l’Alsace et de la Lorraine that replaced the German Geologische Landesanstalt von Elsass-Lothringen. Following an order from Maréchal Ferdinand Foch (1851–1929), he had already reported to the French government on the mineral resources of the region and its surroundings, and his glowing reputation was reinforced by receipt of the Cullum Medal (De Margerie 1938, 109). De Margerie’s fluency in German was a further recommendation for him to fill the post, and many

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believed that ‘the French government could not have made a better choice’ (Fourmarier 1954, 287). Under the direction of Luxemburger Dr L. Van Werweke, the Geologische Landesanstalt had produced a number of geological maps and had drafted accompanying reports for parts of what, once again, became north-eastern France. By 1919 the map coverage was incomplete and the Service de la Carte géologique was charged with integrating German evidence with results from French surveys to produce a consistent geological record across the whole of Alsace and Lorraine and surrounding areas (Vogt 1999, 8). De Margerie found that 35 detailed geological maps (1:25,000) had been published (most with an explanatory brochure) by the Geologische Landesanstalt out of anticipated total of 143, together with three of eight maps at the scale of 1:200,000. In addition, several sheets were at an advanced state of preparation and many more were at a preliminary stage (De Margerie 1938, 110). At the age of 57, de Margerie was offered the post of director of this new Service that was based in the Science Faculty of the University of Strasbourg where offices, specimen stores and drafting facilities were located. The directorship was at the civilservice grade of a research (non-teaching) professorship and, in addition to a salary at that level, carried a special payment – the so-called colonial supplement – for living in Alsace that amounted to almost half his salary. The annual budget to be allocated to the director was substantially less, however, than Van Werweke had received from the German authorities (De Margerie 1938, 111). Undoubtedly flattered by the offer and the opportunity of being affiliated with the prestigious and well-equipped University of Strasbourg – thanks to German investment after 1871 – that would serve as a flagship for French science and higher education, de Margerie accepted the post in the spring of 1919 (De Margerie 1938, 910). He was well aware that personal difficulties might arise, admitting ‘This is a very heavy burden for me, especially since I have never done any administration, but patriotic duty must take precedence over personal convenience’ (Vogt 1999, 9, citing document in Archives Départementales du Bas-Rhin, W 1045/61). Compared with his long-established lifestyle as a well-respected, independent scholar in the capital, the provincial civil service post involved ‘sacrifices in terms of work, time and money’. From the very start, de Margerie requested – and presumably was given – an open warrant enabling him to travel between Strasbourg and Paris ‘to satisfy the necessities of service’ (Vogt 1999, 9). The new director set out an ambitious plan of work for the Service de la Carte géologique, whose ‘essential role will be to continue to prepare and publish additional maps at the scales of 1:25,000 and 1:200,000, building on the work of our [German] predecessors, and to enrich the geological literature of the region with new documents. I hope to publish a Bulletin, in place of the previous Mitteilungen der Geologische Landesanstalt, which will serve as the geological archive of the restored Provinces and of surrounding areas’ (cited by Vogt 1999, 9). Despite an initial unwillingness to employ local staff trained under the German regime, he managed to acquire a cartographer, a secretary, a curator and several assistant geologists to work towards these goals. In 1921, he received in his premises all the participants of the thirteenth inter-university geographical excursion that was being led in Alsace by the professor of geography at Strasbourg, Henri Baulig (1877–1962) (Baulig 1922, 59) (on Baulig, see Geographers Vol. 4). De Margerie’s reputation with the University authorities remained high and in 1923 Sébastien Charléty, rector of the academy of Strasbourg (with administrative responsibility for all levels of state education in Alsace), presented him as Officier de la Légion d’Honneur: he had enjoyed the lesser position of Chevalier de la Légion d’Honneur since 1912. De Margerie argued that ‘before starting a new programme of research, it seemed essential to summarize our existing knowledge [hence] I decided to prepare a summary map at the scale of 1:200,000, on which would be shown the various geological outcrops

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across the whole of Alsace-Lorraine and neighbouring territories. With the limited funds at my disposal, there was no question of continuing in the fine cartographic style that Van Werweke had used’ (De Margerie 1938, 111). He recalled that wall maps for use in schoolrooms, prepared under the direction of Vidal de la Blache, had met with great success and endeavoured to follow that model, but progress was slow since further information had to be obtained about the geology of the Vosges mountains. Apart from publishing several reports summarizing earlier work, the Service failed to deliver new material during most of the 1920s. De Margerie’s repeated absences to attend meetings in Paris became a point of contention in the University of Strasbourg, especially in January 1927 when he voiced his wish to move back to his house in the capital. In fact, he continued to occupy his residence in Strasbourg, which ‘despite numerous inconveniences, had the real advantage of forcing me to withdraw from a host of administrative and scientific committees that would have ended up absorbing all my time, if I were in Paris’ (Vogt 1999, 11). Nonetheless, during the summer of that year he managed to obtain permission to live in the capital – nominally for one year only. By this time, the Service de la Carte géologique was being roundly criticized and, in order to save face, several maps at 1:25,000 and 1:50,000 were published using drafts and reports prepared by the Germans (Vogt 1999, 10). In 1930, Edmond Rothé (1873– 1942), newly elected Dean of Science at the University of Strasbourg, determined to put an end to what members of his faculty regarded as nothing less than a scandal. Discussions and formal visits to the premises of the Service failed to improve matters, with Rothé declaring ‘in a democracy, it is unacceptable that certain civil servants, for reasons of pure convenience, are not compelled to execute duties that their position requires. Conforming to their obligations, with regard to residence, is especially serious the higher the grade of the civil servant’ (cited by Vogt 1999, 11). Despite his protestations, de Margerie was excluded from the province’s new hydrological committee in 1930. Complaints mounted about low productivity, failure to deliver a special geological map of the Moselle département and authorization of expenditure in excess of the allocated budget at a time of international financial crisis. De Margerie strove to defend himself, but Rothé insisted that ‘his residence in Paris was fatal for the Service whose output was nil and whose staff were at a loose end’ (Vogt 1999, 12). It was resolved that de Margerie should retain his title – and be allowed to live in the capital – until 1932 when he would reach the civil service retirement age of 70. By 1930, all his responsibilities had been transferred to the Professor of Geology, Georges Dubois (1890–1953), who headed the Service for more than 30 years (Tricart 1958, 62). In this way, the ‘anarchy that seems to have characterized the reign of Emmanuel de Margerie at the Service de la Carte géologique came to an end’ (Vogt 1999, 12). Printing of the long-awaited wall map of Alsace-Lorraine was hindered by the financial collapse of 1929 and was only made possible by a special parliamentary grant in the following year (De Margerie 1938, 111). Technical problems in colour printing caused further delay and its four component sheets were not put on sale until 1933. Covering an area from Luxembourg City and the Saarland in the north to Montbéliard in the south, and from Saint-Mihiel in the west to Karlsruhe in the east, it showed main geological outcrops, contours at 100-m intervals, watercourses, lakes, towns and main roads. In addition to the name of de Margerie, it bore those of a cartographer and of five geologists, who supplied ‘corrections and additions’, and it acknowledged help with the contours from Emmanuel de Martonne and the Service Géographique de l’Armée. While remaining silent on the circumstances leading to its compilation, about which he must have been well aware, Baulig declared that it was ‘a fine map’, and Fourmarier described it as ‘a very remarkable document, which brings honour to its author and to his collaborators’ (Baulig 1954, 86; Fourmarier 1954, 287). Gallois found it ‘not only valuable for teaching, but also excellent as a working instrument . . . . It will

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be complemented by other studies but . . . they will not change its essentials’ (Gallois 1933, 309–10). Other scholars were less complimentary, with geologist Charles Jacob dismissing it as ‘a pretty map’, and environmental scientist Bernard Gèze regretting that ‘twelve years’ work only produced the lamentable wall map of Alsace-Lorraine, that is only tolerable for use in primary schools’ (Jacob 1954a, 22; Gèze cited in Vogt 1999, 2). Appointment to a senior post without the slightest academic qualification, frequent absenteeism and poor productivity of his Service work undoubtedly contributed to the scandal surrounding de Margerie. Yet he was not idle during his Strasbourg years, nor did he fail to attract high honours. In 1920, he presided over the physical geography section of the French Comité National de Géographie, and was vice president of the new Association de Géographes Français. He chaired the committee preparing the Atlas de France, and in 1922 responded to an invitation jointly from the ministries of education and foreign affairs to lecture at seven prestigious universities in the United States, where he discussed recent progress in topography, cartography and geology in France. His lectures comprised a series of ten presentations that were given at Columbia University (New York), the University of Pennsylvania (Philadelphia), Johns Hopkins (Baltimore), Cornell (Ithaca), Harvard and the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (Cambridge), and Yale (New Haven) (De Margerie 1938, 156). In 1922, at the Thirteenth International Geological Congress in Brussels, he chaired the committee charged with preparing geological maps of Africa at the scale of 1:5,000,000 (Jacob 1954a, 23). The project was completed in time for the International Geological Congress in Algiers in 1952, when de Margerie was elected honorary president (Jacob 1954a, 23). In 1923, he was made a corresponding member of the Académie des Sciences, Institut de France, and eventually became a full member in 1939 at the sixth attempt, having been known as ‘the perpetual candidate’ (Gèze 1991, 1; Durand-Delga 1990). In 1925, he was made president of the geography section of the Comité des travaux historiques et scientifiques. He attended the Twelfth International Geographical Congress at Cambridge in 1928, and was on the organizing committee of the Congress in Paris in 1931. In addition to receiving honorary doctorates from the Universities of Lausanne and Toronto, he was awarded the Conrad Malte-Brun Prize by the Société de Géographie de Paris for La Face de la Terre (1920), the Lyell Medal by the Geological Society of London (1921), the Mary Clark Thomson Medal of the American National Academy of Sciences (1923) and the Victoria Medal of the Royal Geographical Society in London (1930). As he made that award ‘for distinguished contributions to the Science of Land Forms’, the President of the RGS stressed that ‘the Victoria Medal is given especially for scientific studies rather than for exploration or discovery. The high place which M. de Margerie now occupies in the records of geomorphology makes him a most worthy recipient’ (Anon. 1930, 182). In 1931, he was further rewarded by election as a foreign member of the Royal Society. Although de Margerie had lost the respect of his colleagues in Alsace and of some geologists in Paris, he was certainly not without acclamation elsewhere (Gèze 1991, 1). Adding ‘professeur honoraire de l’Université de Strasbourg’ to his list of honours in 1933, Emmanuel de Margerie returned to the lifestyle he had enjoyed prior to 1919 and had never really renounced while directing the Service de la Carte géologique de l’Alsace et de la Lorraine. As he had done before, he attended conferences in France and abroad, and continued to work on his study of the geological history of the Jura. As time passed, he travelled abroad less frequently and devoted most of his time to writing. In the years before and during World War II, he assembled many of his reviews, notes and other writings for inclusion in a remarkable work of compilation entitled Critique et Géologie. Contributions à l’histoire des Sciences de la Terre, 1882–1942. This scientific testimony ran to four idiosyncratic volumes totalling over 2,000 pages (De Margerie 1943, 1946,

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1948). It was followed after the war by a further two volumes entitled Etudes américaines: géologie et géographie that contained 820 pages of writings and reflections (De Margerie 1952, 1954). At the age of 91, Emmanuel de Margerie died at his home at 110, rue du Bac, Paris, on 21 December 1953, after ‘a long life devoted entirely to the cult of science and erudite research’ (Baulig 1954b, 600). Three days later, many members of the Société géologique de France, which he had joined at the age of 14, and of other learned societies attended his funeral at the Church of Saint-François Xavier in the shadow of Les Invalides. He was survived by Renée (née Ferrère), his wife of 50 years.

The Published Works of Emmanuel de Margerie Excluding numerous book reviews, Emmanuel de Margerie published over 300 items between 1882 and 1954, which ranged from scholarly notes covering a couple of pages to massive works of compilation, reflection and criticism, of which two exceeded 2,000 and 3,000 pages respectively. In 1888, when he was 25 years of age, his first two books appeared, both being written with established scholars. The first of these was Les dislocations de l’Ecorce terrestre. Essai de définition et de nomenclature with Swiss geologist Albert Heim (1849–1937) (Heim and de Margerie, 1888). The book contained jointly drafted text on tectonics, diagrams prepared by Heim and a discussion of documentary sources assembled by de Margerie. It also provided a trilingual vocabulary of equivalent geological terms, which emerged from de Margerie’s frustration at reading scientific works in German and English and being unable to discover precise translations. The net result was a glossary of 725 terms in French, 825 in German and 460 in English. De Margerie’s second book, Les Formes du terrain, was an ambitious work that sought to describe and explain the major landforms of France, with military surveyor Gaston de la Noë being responsible for describing features and de Margerie offering explanatory ideas and hypotheses drawn from his assimilation of a wide international literature, including recent work in the United States (De la Noë and de Margerie 1888; Meynier 1969, 14). The two men ‘formed an ideal combination; the elder erudite on traditional lines, and the younger a scholar and insatiable reader, capable of grasping the significance of landform literature and of seeing the main gist of an argument’ (Beckinsale and Chorley 1991, 139). Their book was heralded as a pioneering text in the development of geomorphology that offered not only a classification of landforms but also demonstrated the fundamental role of running water in shaping them, thereby ‘opening the way for modern geomorphology’ (Cailleux 1954, 41). In the words of another scholar: ‘More than a century after it was written one is still struck by the rigour of the quest to identify the processes sculpting slopes and drainage basins, and the realization that the resultant forms display long-term equilibria’ (Werritty 1994, 356–7). The ideas of de Margerie and de la Noë are summarized in the first and third volumes of A History of the Study of Landforms (Chorley et al. 1964, 627–34; Beckinsale and Chorley 1991, 141). Four years later, de Margerie published an Aperçu de la structure géologique des Pyrénées with his friend Franz Schrader (1844–1924), the mountaineer, cartographer and painter (Schrader and de Margerie 1892) (on Schrader, see Geographers Vol. 1). At less than 70 pages, this volume presented a summary of ideas about the formation of the Pyrenees and then described four component parts of the mountain chain. It was illustrated by a coloured geological map at 1:800,000, compiled from French and Spanish sources by both men, and a companion hypsometric map and fragments of panorama as of Pyrenean mountain peaks sketched by Schrader. By this time, de Margerie was planning a massive project that would absorb a large share of his energies until the end of

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World War I. Its starting point was Das Antlitz de Erde by Eduard Suess, professor of geology at the University of Vienna and expert on the Alps, whose qualities of description and powers of explanation were attracting attention from physical scientists throughout the world (Beckinsale and Chorley 1991, 73–7). From his base in Austria, Suess hypothesized an ancient connection between Africa and Europe, concluding that the Alps had once been at the bottom of an ocean, of which the Mediterranean Sea was a surviving fragment. He argued that across geologic time the rise and fall of sea level could be mapped across the globe, and periods of ocean transgression and regression correlated from one continent to another. Sea levels gradually rose as sediments filled ocean basins; however rapid subsidence on the ocean bottom increased the capacity of the oceans and caused marine regression through what would be known as eustasy. Suess’s recognition that distinctive fern fossils were found in South America, Africa and India gave rise to a second great theory that hypothesized that these land masses had once been connected in a super-continent (Gondwanaland) that was subsequently fragmented by invading oceans (Davis 1919). Appearing in three volumes between 1885 and 1908, Das Antlitz de Erde was greeted as a masterpiece of scientific exposition (De Lapparent 1902; Termier 1910). Marcel Bertrand declared: ‘The creation of a science, like the creation of the world, requires more than one day; but when our successors come to write the history of our science [of geology], I am persuaded that the work of Suess will mark the end of the first day in that history, the one in which there was light’ (Bertrand in de Margerie 1897, xv). Following the death of Suess in April 1914, Pierre Termier described Das Antlitz de Erde as ‘a magnificent temple whose outer courts we have crossed slowly, and then with growing admiration and joy we have visited its shrines, analysed its architecture, and savoured its marvels’ (Termier in de Margerie 1918, 1711). Other readers regretted that the ideas of Suess were only available in German and noted the relative paucity of illustrations, with only 110 maps and diagrams in his three volumes. De Margerie sought to tackle these problems by offering to produce a clear and accurate translation into French, and incorporating a much enlarged array of maps, diagrams and pictures. In addition, he wished to draw on his vast range of reading to revise and qualify the ideas of Suess, to introduce alternative explanations where appropriate, and to present a greatly increased bibliography covering scientific works in all the major European languages. He enjoyed ‘excellent personal relations’ with the Hachette publishing house, ‘through the intermediary of Franz Schrader’, and had felt that this firm would accept his ambitious project. Their response was negative, however (De Margerie 1943, 378). Instead it was his friend Max Leclerc to whom he turned and ‘was indebted for escaping from this impasse’. Monsieur Armand Colin agreed to publish the translation ‘at his own risks and perils’, giving de Margerie ‘entire responsibility for drafting the text, choosing necessary collaborators, and preparing bibliographical notes and illustrations’ (de Margerie 1943, 379–80). Once the agreement was signed, Leclerc acted as intermediary between translator and publisher, ‘throwing himself body and soul into this new task’ and allowing de Margerie ‘carte blanche’ on many practical issues. From the start, it was clear that the task of translation was too great for one person to undertake and de Margerie enlisted the help of 16 French geologists and geographers who were competent German speakers to translate three-fifths of the text. By contrast, the English version prepared by Herta B. C. Sollas was ‘an exact translation, paragraph by paragraph, without note or comment added, reference or figure, and therefore showed the state of the science of geology, as it existed just prior to the publication of the German volumes . . . without taking into account the vast advances in the intervening period’ that were covered by de Margerie in La Face de la Terre (Anon. 1909, 588). As he explained: ‘I had to make a great effort to ensure that all the manuscripts

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submitted to me were approximately uniform, without allowing the personality of each translator to disappear. The whole text was submitted to scrupulous revision [by myself], not allowing any misinterpretation to slip by and ensuring the exact equivalence of special terms employed throughout the book’ (De Margerie 1938, 75). The geographers were Lucien Gallois (Paris), Louis Raveneau (Paris), Henri Schirmer (Lyon), Augustin Bernard (Algiers), Achille Six (Saint-Omer), Maurice Zimmermann (Lyon), Henri Baulig (Rennes) and Antoine Vacher (Lille). The geologists were Charles Depéret (Lyon), Emile Haug (Paris), Wilfrid Kilian (Grenoble), L. Marillier (Paris), Auguste Michel-Lévy (Paris), G. Poirault (Antibes), Paul Lemoine (Paris) and Charles Jacob (Bordeaux). Under its French title, La Face de la Terre was published in three volumes between 1892 and 1918, with the third volume comprising four parts, the last of which was a comprehensive index. The order of discussion was the same as that in the German original, beginning with ‘movements of the external crust of the globe’, proceeding to ‘mountains’ (considered by continent) and ‘seas’, and concluding with ‘the face of the Earth’. The whole work ran to 3,600 pages and contained 9 coloured maps and 476 black and white maps and diagrams, three-quarters of which had been selected by de Margerie and drawn specially for the French edition. In this way, value was added to the original work (Dominian 1912). Pierre Termier believed that readers would marvel . . . at the magnificent prodigality with which this disciple has enriched [italics in original] the work of Eduard Suess. The further one proceeds into this book, the greater this enrichment becomes apparent. Instead of tiring and exhausting himself, the translator displays his erudition and expands his enthusiasm; to every fact quoted by the author ten other facts are added that complement and illuminate the first. The French version . . . offers the reader a wealth of new documents, notes, maps and cross-sections, each of which is well placed and conveys a useful lesson. (Termier in de Margerie 1918, 1723) Many years later, Herbert John Fleure (1877–1969) (Geographers Vol. 11) recalled: Some of us who studied the Antlitz and then found the great volumes of La Face de la Terre have kept a warm feeling of gratitude to de Margerie as well as to Suess. This work brought out de Margerie’s remarkable gift of detailed remembrance. Often, when asked, he would tell a colleague to look up an article quoting from memory the title, date and journal and, at times the relevant sentences. He seemed to have read everything, in many languages . . . [His translation was] a unique tribute to Suess, a tribute, moreover, of a French scientist to a colleague of German speech and this a very unusual contribution in the geopolitical environment following the Franco-Prussian War of 1870–71, which was also a time when German science, technology and manufacturing were forging ahead. (Fleure 1954, 131) Like other reviewers, W. M. Davis praised La Face de la Terre and the value added to the original text by de Margerie’s translation and elaboration. He declared: this ‘is not the work of a mere bilinguist, but of . . . a scholarly geologist, to whom the literature of his science is known by content as well as by title as to no other man living’ (Davis 1919, 236). Armed with the broad sweep of information assembled by de Margerie, Davis envisaged an attack on those territories that had not yet been investigated, in order ‘to transform them from geological barbarism to geological civilization. . . . But for such a movement a commander-in-chief of international reputation is needed to direct the operation of the new offensive . . . It is a great good fortune for geological

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science that precisely such a commander is now living in the person of Emmanuel de Margerie . . . He can better than anyone [else] living, point out the districts in which new observations are needed’ (Davis 1919, 239). To advance this movement, he proposed that de Margerie be invited to the United States to visit ‘various universities and to talk with their professors and advanced students in geology on such questions concerning the framework of the Earth as he regards most interesting’ (Davis 1919, 241). Davis was correct in praising de Margerie’s erudition but his vision of him as a ‘commander-in-chief ’ was seriously misplaced. As the final part of La Face de la Terre was reaching completion, de Margerie published a remarkable 68-page list of his publications, membership of learned societies and honours received; two decades later, a second version – doubtless prepared to support his case for election to the Académie des Sciences – covered 216 pages (De Margerie 1917, 1938). Despite having assumed directorship of the Service de la Carte géologique de l’Alsace et de la Lorraine in 1919, he found time to complete a report on the geological history of the Jura, an area that he had explored many years earlier in the company of Gaston de la Noë (De Margerie 1922b). His 642-page volume, enriched with 183 maps, diagrams and illustrations, was modestly entitled ‘a brief bibliography’, but analysed and reproduced extracts from 3,000 printed documents on the orogeny, tectonics and morphology of the mountain range on both sides of the Franco-Swiss frontier. It had the additional virtue of setting evidence from the Jura into the ever-widening body of scientific knowledge in geology, hydrology and geomorphology (Chabot 1924, 174). Three years into retirement from his post in Strasbourg, de Margerie brought out a companion 900-page volume that examined each of the geological sheets covering the French Jura (De Margerie 1936). With 260 maps and diagrams, it was described as ‘a monumental work, so richly presented, that it is really a work of art’ (Blache 1938, 625). Mid-way between these two publications on the Jura, de Margerie delivered a digest of the lengthy memoirs written by the Swedish explorer Sven Hedin concerning his travels through Tibet in 1922 and his ideas about mountain building (De Margerie 1929). An American reviewer noted: ‘The descriptions of the topographical discoveries are reduced [by de Margerie] to the proportions of the time and understanding of one who wishes to follow Asiatic exploration but has not the expert’s interest . . . in boundless, in fact almost monumental detail. The geological interpretations are also reduced to handy proportions. But it is not condensation merely that de Margerie’s volume has supplied: its greater value lies in the comments upon Hedin’s work, and in this respect alone it stands as a model critique’ (Anon. 1930, 523). Hedin’s memoirs exceeded 3,700 pages in nine volumes and sold for so high a price that few scholars could have access to them. As the reviewer remarked, Hedin’s pro-German activities during World War I alienated many scientists and led to scant attention being paid to his work in Tibet, the published results of which hitherto were scattered among various publications. De Margerie also managed to edit the geological writings of Marcel Bertrand (1847–1907) which ran to 1,950 pages in three volumes (De Margerie 1907, 1927, 1928, 1931). By the summer of 1933, de Margerie had retired – officially – from his civil service post and had both the time and energy to review his past writings and to explore the voluminous content of his personal archives. The objective of this, his last major project, was to make a ‘contribution to the history of earth sciences’ from his own perspective (De Margerie 1943). This biography of scientific progress appeared in four volumes of Critique et Géologie from 1943 to 1948, and in two volumes of Etudes américaines in 1952 and 1954. In the former collection, covering 2,108 pages, de Margerie provided a structured account of his scholarly interests and writings, and identified geologists and scholars to whom he was particularly indebted: these are listed as Elisée Reclus (1830–1905) (Geographers Vol. 3), Andrew Crombie Ramsay (1814–1891), James Dwight

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Dana (1813–95) (Geographers Vol. 15), Archibald Geikie (1835–1924) (Geographers Vol. 3), Franz Schrader, Gaston de la Noë and Albert Heim, Marcel Bertrand (1847–1907), Ferdinand von Richthofen (1833–1905) (Geographers Vol. 7), Eduard Suess, Joseph Peter Lesley (1819–1903), Grove Karl Gilbert (1843–1918) (Geographers Vol. 1) and Albrecht Penck (De Margerie 1943, I; 1946, xxv). In addition to reproducing extracts of reviews and reports that he had drafted, he included biographical sketches of leading scientists (complete with portraits), and facsimiles of letters both sent and received. For example, the first volume of Critique et Géologie contained no fewer than 350 portraits. After a chronological list of his 300 publications up to 1941 (46 pages) and his reviews (50 pages), he presented a 40-page autobiography, and then analysed his early books and the intellectual context in which they were written. Subsequent volumes focused on the Pyrenees and the Jura and were presented in the same vein. At the age of 85, de Margerie concluded with a touch of regret that his ‘ambitious project [for the Jura] conceived in youth, that would comprise a synthesis of the two other parts, will never appear. Younger forces must revive the flame, and transmit it to our descendants’ (De Margerie 1948, lxvi). Like La Face de la Terre, all four volumes of Critique et Géologie were produced by Armand Colin and were illustrated lavishly, despite restrictions on publishing activity during the German occupation and severe shortages of paper that continued after 1945. Although brought out by the same firm, the funding of de Margerie’s later titles required financial support from their author who parted with a share of his library in 1941, sold his weekend home at Sceaux (to the south of Paris) and allocated funds associated with his receipt of the Grand Prix of the Papal Academy of Sciences (Cailleux 1954, 43; Dainelli 1954, 4). In the final years of his life, he was close to financial ruin, with publication of the two volumes of Etudes américaines. Géologie et géographie being made possible by grants from the Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique and UNESCO (Gèze 1991, 2). Like many Europeans, Emmanuel de Margerie was fascinated by the majestic scenery of the American West, so different in scale and origin from that of the eastern states or of the Mid-West where most American geologists learned their field science. Furthermore, he was inspired by the ideas that those scientists developed to explain the genesis and evolution of western landforms. His Etudes américaines contained ‘geography’ in its subtitle although his volume sought to convey ‘the substance of American geology’, and was dedicated ‘to the glory of the members of the United States Geological Survey whose fertile activity, during the last century, revealed so many new and importance facts for Science in the West’ (De Margerie 1952, v, xiii). The first volume duly explored the history and activities of the USGS through an analysis of its scientific monographs (1882–1929), annual reports and professional papers (1882–1950), and critique of the geologic, tectonic, glacial and soil maps of the United States. Discussion of bibliographies produced by the Geological Society of America preceded de Margerie’s notes on stratigraphy and natural resources, and his exchange of letters with Emile-Félix Gautier (1864–1940) in a debate over whether the United States contained ‘real deserts’ (Gautier 1925). A dozen portraits of eminent geologists, including James Dwight Dana, Grove Karl Gilbert, John Wesley Powell (1834–1902) (Geographers Vol. 3) and William Morris Davis, completed the first volume. Its companion was structured regionally, with de Margerie summarizing the geology of the Appalachians, the Mid-West, the West, the Northern Rocky Mountains, and the Pacific Slope, with an appreciative chapter devoted to The Geological and Geographical Atlas of Colorado (Hayden, 1877). The ‘geographical’ characteristics of de Margerie’s Etudes américaines were muted and some might argue that its sub-title was inappropriate. Their author checked the proofs of his ‘link between American geology and the geologists of France’ but did not live to see its publication (Fallot, in de Margerie 1954, v). Readers were informed that as he started

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to draft the preface, ‘the pen fell from his hand [and] in a few days the life drained out of his fragile body that had been sustained for so long by such a vibrant soul’ (Fallot, in de Margerie 1954, vi).

The Influence of Emmanuel de Margerie De Margerie was showered with honours during his lifetime and his achievements were acclaimed following his death. In the opinion of Baulig: He was an outstanding figure in geological and geographical circles, unique in his own time, a great scholar and critic who for three-quarters of a century unselfishly placed his immense reading, infallible memory, and untiring energy at the service of his fellow workers and of science in general. His personal contribution [involved] critical examination of ideas and facts, diffusion of results, elaboration of principles and methods . . . De Margerie readily undertook the exacting kind of work that, requiring devotion and patience, knowledge and discrimination, he alone was able to carry out to perfection. (Baulig 1954b, 601) Fourmarier stressed that ‘as well as being a very great geologist and geographer, he was an exceptional critic; he made works accessible to scientists that would have been unknown without him. His remarkable work and his simple, cordial welcome encouraged young researchers and mature geologists to examine problems of great importance’ (Fourmarier 1954, 290). André Cailleux insisted that de Margerie’s welcoming spirit came from ‘the rules that his faith dictated, and from the traditions of his family. Regardless of position or origin, no geologist or geographer who approached him came away without being informed, advised, helped and supported. Young scholars were sure of receiving the most benevolent welcome’ (Cailleux 1954, 43). Guillaume Grandidier recalled the warmth of that welcome, extended to French and foreign scientists alike, ‘in the curious apartment, filled with books and interesting objects, in the great courtyard behind his historic house on the rue du Bac’ (Grandidier 1954, xxiii). Fleure evoked the experience of ‘those of us who had the privilege of accompanying him in the field [who] will specially feel that we have lost one of the great masters in the interpretation of scenery, as well as a kindly, humble and humorous personality’ (1954, 1313). At this time, a veil of silence was drawn over his Strasbourg years, but a careful reading of obituaries and commentaries reveals that certain aspects of his work were outdated (Vogt 1999, 2). For example, Georges Chabot maintained that ‘studies of the Jura did not gain much’ from the shoal of letters reproduced in this otherwise ‘marvellously successful’ volume (Chabot 1950, 222). Doubtless, some scientists were offended by the self-promotional tone of de Margerie’s personal bibliographies, autobiography and published correspondence, and by the honours that he received without having obtained even a school-leaving certificate. In Grandidier’s gentle words, he enjoyed ‘a sense of liberty and independence that was no longer compatible with the exigencies of our own time’ (Grandidier 1954, xxiii). Bernard Gèze delivered a much more savage judgement: Margerie was not really a geologist since he had never done fieldwork or genuinely personal research, but he read everything and retained everything . . . In his gigantic Critique et Géologie there is really no criticism or geology but only the reproduction of the abundant correspondence he exchanged with all the notable geographical and geological personalities throughout the world. Undoubtedly, he

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thought that in this way he could build a monument to his own glory, but experience shows that no-one is interested in it and I believe that most of his published work will end up being pulped. Perhaps the historians, even now, may find some useful documents among his publications. (Gèze 1991, 1–2) More than half a century after his death, the name of Emmanuel de Margerie has indeed faded from the collective memory of geologists and physical geographers. Lacking formal qualifications, he was not able to teach in a French university and hence could not supervise doctoral candidates. It is unlikely that he would have wished to do so. The independent status of this scholar was not understood by foreign scientists who addressed him as ‘Professor’ or ‘Dr de Margerie’ in their correspondence (De Margerie 1954). He presented many papers to meetings of learned societies but only addressed students during his lecture series in the United States. His audience found ‘his expression clear, even elegant, but his flow was a bit too rapid for those whose intellectual agility was not equal to his own’ (Baulig 1954a, 82). His copious writings were eclectic and gave rise to vast compendia of information that historians of science have quarried but do not offer a succinct, coherent read. After Les Formes du Terrain he chose not to write anything resembling a textbook. To quote Davis: ‘it is not a textbook for even the most advanced university classes that La Face de la Terre best serves. The book is a compendium of earth structure for the use of mature geologists . . . The study of its learned pages will inspire the exploring geologist to new efforts’ (Davis 1919, 238). By 1937 18,000 copies had been sold in France and abroad (De Margerie 1943, 380), although it is not clear whether this figure referred to complete sets or to individual volumes. Despite his reception among the geographical community in France, and his very Vidalian wish to see geography move from being a descriptive body of knowledge to becoming an explanatory science, de Margerie continued to believe in the superior power of geology. In his own words: ‘I gave myself the task of showing that geography, directed for so long to the representation and then to the description of the Globe, must draw more and more widely on the results obtained by geology if it is to become explanatory’ (cited by Fourmarier 1954, 284). On countless occasions, when he mentioned ‘geography’, he meant ‘physical geography’ or simply ‘location’. In addition to making advances in German environmental science available to readers of French, de Margerie was one of the first European scholars to appreciate the significance of the work of American geologists in the Far West during the 1870s. He argued that their ideas on the formation of scenery were more illuminating than the cumulative, earlier work of earth scientists in Europe (Baulig 1954b, 602). The principles established by Powell, Gilbert and others were injected into Les Formes du terrain, and for the rest of his life de Margerie monitored the progress of American geology and geomorphology, and transmitted new trans-Atlantic ideas to the benefit of European science. To quote Baulig: ‘Emmanuel de Margerie was witness to, and interpreter of, a glorious and fortunate time, when it was still possible for one man, with no doubt, exceptional gifts, to embrace the whole of a complex science’ (Baulig 1954b, 602). Yet in the last resort, that ‘complex science’ was not the new, holistic geography that Vidal had preached and his disciples had practised, embracing human and physical geography, and the mystical interaction of people with their natural and cultural environments to shape regions whose configuration was captured on maps. It was, instead, physical geography and arguably no more than geomorphology. In 1908, Vidal and Max Leclerc identified de Margerie as the senior author of an holistic volume on North America for their great project to produce a Géographie Universelle (Clout 2003a, 566). His interests and aptitudes were elsewhere, however, and the testimony of his written work suggests that he was not interested in integrating physical, human and spatial themes. His role was assumed by the original junior author, Henri Baulig, whose two volumes

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on L’Amérique du Nord were acclaimed as being among the best in the whole series by independent commentators and by de Margerie himself (Baulig 1935, 1936; Siegfried 1936; de Margerie 1952, 190–1).

Conclusion As a man of independent means without formal education, Emmanuel de Margerie was a gentleman scholar in a world of science that was fast becoming institutionalized and based in universities and government services rather than being the preserve of enthusiastic amateurs. His preferred milieu was that of the learned society: in his later writings he listed membership, or corresponding membership, of as many as 60 organizations. Until advanced age, he was a familiar figure at international conferences, where his linguistic skills, broad erudition, remarkable memory, genial personality and willingness to help and to advise continued to command respect. However, some field scientists were critical of his compilations and did not share positive opinions of the man or his work. The honours that he received on both sides of the Atlantic were of the highest order and ensured his presence in important networks of science. In return, de Margerie was a generous donor of copies of his books to numerous learned societies, inscribing them with warm and grateful dedications. Those volumes are rarely consulted any more as de Margerie’s insightful publications on the history of environmental science have themselves become part of that very history: the first volume of the Etudes américaines donated to the Geological Society of London and inscribed by him in 1952 had never been borrowed until the present author consulted it almost 60 years later.

Acknowledgements For their help and advice, I extend my thanks to John Catt and to Hugh Prince.

Bibliography and Sources 1. OBITUARIES AND OTHER ACCOUNTS RELATING TO EMMANUEL DE MARGERIE

Anon. (1953), ‘Monsieur Emmanuel de Margerie’, Annales de Géographie 62, 1. Baulig, H. (1954a), ‘Emmanuel de Margerie, 1862–1953’, Annales de Géographie 63, 81–7. — (1954b), ‘Emmanuel de Margerie’, Geographical Review 44, 600–2. Cailleux, A. (1954), ‘Nécrologie: ‘Emmanuel de Margerie, 1862–1953’, Revue de Géomorphologie Dynamique 5, 41–3. Dainelli, G. (1954), ‘Emmanuel de Margerie’, Bollettino della Società Geografica Italiana 8, 1–4. Fleure, H. J. (1954), ‘Emmanuel de Margerie, 1862–1953’, Geographical Journal 120, 130–1.

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Fourmarier, P. (1954), ‘Emmanuel Jacquin de Margerie, 1862–1953’, Bulletin de la Société Géologique de France 6, 281–302. Grandidier, G. (1954), ‘Emmanuel de Margerie, 1862–1953’, Comité des Travaux Historiques et Scientifiques. Bulletin de la Section de Géographie 67, xxii–xxiv. Jacob, C. (1954a), ‘Notice nécrologique sur Emmanuel-Marie-Pierre-Martin Jacquin de Margerie’, Comptes-Rendus Hebdomadaires des Séances de l’Académie des Sciences 238, 20–3. — (1954b), ‘Obituary notice: Emmanuel Jacquin de Margerie’, Proceedings of the Geological Society of London 151, cxxiii–cxxiv. Tobien, H. (2008), ‘Margerie, Emmanuel-Marie-Pierre-Martin Jacquin de’, Complete Dictionary of Scientific Biography. 2. REFERENCES TO THE LIFE AND WORK OF EMMANUEL DE MARGERIE AND TO HIS SCIENTIFIC MILIEU

Anon. (1900), ‘Armand Colin’, Annales de Géographie 9, 289. — (1919), ‘Presentation of the Cullum Geographical Medal to Emmanuel de Margerie’, Geographical Review 7, 416–17. — (1925), ‘Obituary: Franz Schrader’, Geographical Review 15, 324. — (1931), ‘Max Leclerc’, Annales de Géographie 41, 337–8. Auffray, B. (1976), Pierre de Margerie (1861–1942) et la vie diplomatique de son temps. Paris: Klincksieck. Baulig, H. (1922), ‘La XIIIe excursion géographique interuniversitaire’, Annales de Géographie 31, 59–64. — (1935–6), L’Amérique du Nord, 2 vols. Paris: Armand Colin. Beausoleil, J. (ed.) (1993), Jean Brunhes: autour du monde. Boulogne-sur-Seine: Musée Albert Kahn. Beckinsale, R. P. and Chorley, R. J. (1991), The History of the Study of Landforms, vol. 3. London: Methuen. Berdoulay, V. (1981), La formation de l’école française de géographie. Paris: Comité des Travaux Historiques et Scientifiques. Broc, N. (1977a), ‘La géographie française face à la science allemande, 1870–1914’, Annales de Géographie 86, 71–94. — (1977b), ‘De la géologie à la géographie, Albert de Lapparent, 1839–1908’, Revue de Géographie de Lyon 52, 273–9. Chorley, R. J., Dunn, A. J. and Beckinsale, R. P. (1964), A History of the Study of Landforms, vol. 1. London: Methuen. Claval, P. (1998), Histoire de la géographie française de 1870 à nos jours. Paris: Nathan. Clout, H. (2003a), ‘The Géographie Universelle . . . but which Géographie Universelle?’, Annales de Géographie 112, 563–82.

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— (2003b), ‘In the shadow of Paul Vidal de la Blache: Albert Demangeon and the social dynamics of French geography in the early twentieth century’, Journal of Historical Geography 29, 336–55. — (2004), ‘Lessons from experience: French geographers and the transcontinental excursion of 1912’, Progress in Human Geography 28, 597–618. Davis, W. M. (1919), ‘The framework of the Earth’, American Journal of Science, Series 4, 48, 225–41. Durand-Delga, M. (1990), ‘L’affaire Deprat’, Travaux du Comité Français d’Histoire de la Géologie 4, 117–212. Gautier, E.-F. (1925), ‘Déserts comparés, Amérique et Afrique’, Annales de Géographie 34, 146–62. Gèze, B. (1991), ‘Présidents à gratter’, Travaux du Comité Français d’Histoire de la Géologie 5, 1–15. Hayden, F. V. (ed.) (1877), Geological and Geographical Atlas of Colorado. Washington, DC: Department of the Interior, United States Geological and Geographical Survey. Meynier, A. (1969), Histoire de la pensée géographique en France. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France. Osborne, R. (2000), The Deprat Affair: Ambition, Revenge and Deceipt in French Indo-China. London: Pimlico. Siegfried, A. (1936), ‘Les Etats-Unis, par Henri Baulig’, Annales de Géographie 45, 632–7. Tricart, J. (1958), ‘La Géologie d’Alsace’, Annales de Géographie 67, 62–3. Vogt, J. (1999), ‘A propos d’Emmanuel de Margerie et de son équipée strasbourgeoise, 1919–1930’, Travaux du Comité Français d’Histoire de la Géologie 11, 1–13. Werritty, A. (1994), ‘Valley-side slopes and drainage basins. Geometry and evolution’, in T. P. Burt, R. J. Chorley, D. Brunsden, N. J. Cox and A. S. Goudie (eds), A History of the Study of Landforms, vol. 4. London: Geological Society, 353–93. The birth certificate of Emmanuel de Margerie and documents relating to his career are accessible on the Légion d’Honneur website: www.culture.gouv.fr/documentation/leonore/pres/htm (dossier: 19800035/19/2411). 3. SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY OF WORKS OF EMMANUEL DE MARGERIE

1888

(with A. Heim) Les Dislocations de l’Ecorce terrestre. Zurich: Wurster.

1888

(with G. de la Noë) Les Formes du terrain. Paris: Imprimerie Nationale.

1892

(with F. Schrader) Aperçu de la structure géologique des Pyrénées. Paris: Chamerot and Renouard.

1897

(with E. Suess) La Face de la Terre, vol. I. Paris: Armand Colin.

1900a

(with E. Suess) La Face de la Terre, vol. II. Paris: Armand Colin.

1900b

(with L. Raveneau) ‘La cartographie à l’Exposition universelle de 1900’, Annales de Géographie 9, 463–6.

1902a

‘Le général G. de la Noë’, Annales de Géographie 11, 463–4.

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1902b

(with E. Suess) La Face de la Terre, vol. III(i). Paris: Armand Colin.

1907

‘Marcel Bertrand’, Annales de Géographie 16, 178–9.

1908a

‘Albert de Lapparent’, Annales de Géographie 17, 344–7.

1908b

‘L’évolution morphologique des Alpes de Transylvanie (Karpathes méridionales)’, Annales de Géographie 17, 404–12.

1909

‘La géographie physique du Berry,’ Annales de Géographie 18, 390–406.

1910

‘L’étude du profil en long des cours d’eau français’, Annales de Géographie 19, 318–42.

1911

(with E. Suess) La Face de la Terre, vol. III(ii). Paris: Armand Colin.

1912

‘The debt of geographical sciences to American explorers’, in Memorial Volume of the Transcontinental Excursion of 1912 of the American Geographical Society of New York. New York: American Geographical Society, 105–13.

1913a

‘Deux accidents cratériformes: Crater Lake (Oregon) et Meteor Crater (Arizona)’, Annales de Géographie 22, 172–84.

1913b

(with E. Suess) La Face de la Terre, vol. III(iii). Paris: Armand Colin.

1914a

‘La carte internationale du Monde et la Conférence de Paris’, Annales de Géographie 23, 97–108.

1914b

‘Eduard Suess’, Annales de Géographie 23, 371–3.

1915

‘J. Vidal de la Blache’, Annales de Géographie 23–4, 451–2.

1916

‘Lucien Marc’, Annales de Géographie 25, 231–2.

1917

Notice sur les travaux scientifiques d’Emmanuel de Margerie. Paris: GauthierVillars.

1918

(with E. Suess) La Face de la Terre, vol. III(iv) Paris: Armand Colin.

1921

‘Une nouvelle géographie humaine de la France’, Annales de Géographie 30, 379–83.

1922a

‘Une nouvelle carte géologique du Monde’, Annales de Géographie 31, 109–31.

1922b

‘Le Jura: Première Partie: Bibliographie sommaire du Jura français et suisse. Orographie, tectonique et morphologie’, Memoires pour servir à l’explication de la carte géologique détaillée de la France. Paris: Ministère des Travaux Publics.

1927

(editor) Recueil des Œuvres géologiques de Marcel Bertrand, vol. I. Paris: Dunod.

1928

(editor) Recueil des Œuvres géologiques de Marcel Bertrand, vol. II. Paris: Dunod.

1929

L’œuvre de Sven Hedin et l’orographie du Tibet. Paris: Imprimerie Nationale.

1930

‘Pierre Termier’, Annales de Géographie 40, 98–100.

1931

(editor) Recueil des Œuvres géologiques de Marcel Bertrand, vol. III. Paris: Dunod.

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1936

‘Le Jura: Deuxième Partie: Commentaire de la carte structurale. Description tectonique du Jura français’, Memoires pour servir à l’explication de la carte géologique détaillée de la France. Paris: Ministère des Travaux Publics.

1938

Notice sur les travaux scientifiques d’Emmanuel de Margerie. Paris: Gauthier-Villars

1943

Critique et géologie, vol. I. Paris: Armand Colin.

1946

Critique et géologie, vols II and III. Paris: Armand Colin.

1948

Critique et géologie, vol. IV. Paris: Armand Colin.

1952

Etudes américaines. Géologie et géographie, vol. I. Paris: Armand Colin.

1954

Etudes américaines. Géologie et géographie, vol. II. Paris: Armand Colin.

Full bibliographies to date, including de Margerie’s geological articles, may be found in de Margerie (1943, 1–46) and Fourmarier (1954, 290–302). 4. SELECTED REVIEWS OF THE WORKS OF EMMANUEL DE MARGERIE

Anon. (1909), ‘The Face of the Earth, by Eduard Suess’, Bulletin of the American Geographical Society 41, 588–90. — (1930), ‘Sven Hedin’s work on Tibet’, Geographical Review 20, 522–3. Baulig, H. (1953), ‘Les études américaines, géologie et géographie’, Annales de Géographie 62, 68–70. Blache, J. (1938), ‘Bibliographie, structure et relief du Jura’, Revue de Géographie Alpine 26, 623–6. Chabot, G. (1924), ‘Une bibliographie du Jura’, Annales de Géographie 33, 173–6. — (1950), ‘Le Jura, d’après M. Emm. De Margerie’, Annales de Géographie 59, 221–2. Dominian, L. (1912), ‘La Face de la Terre’, Bulletin of the American Geographical Society 44, 706. Gallois, L. (1933), ‘Une carte géologique d’Alsace et de Lorraine’, Annales de Géographie 42, 309–10. Lapparent, De A. (1902), ‘Les grands traits du continent asiatique, d’après M. Ed. Suess’, Annales de Géographie 11, 451–6.

Chronology 1862

Born in Paris, 12 November

1877

Attended lectures by Emmanuel de Lapparent; admitted to the Société géologique de France

1880

Suffered carriage accident and subsequent disability

1882

Admitted to the Société de Géographie de Paris; publication of Les Dislocations de l’Ecorce terrestre, and of Les Formes du terrain

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1894

Joined the editorial board of the Annales de Géographie

1897

Publication of the first volume of La Face de la Terre (1897–1918)

1903

Married Renée Ferrère

1912

Participated in the Transcontinental Geographical Expedition across the United States; appointed Chevalier de la Légion d’Honneur

1914

Involvement with the Commission de Géographie du Service Géographique de l’Armée

1919

Appointed director of the Service de la Carte géologique de l’Alsace et de la Lorraine

1922

Publication of the first part of Le Jura (1922–36)

1923

Appointed Officier de la Légion d’Honneur

1927

Publication of first volume of Recueil des Œuvres géologiques de Marcel Bertrand (1927–31)

1933

Official retirement from the Service de la Carte géologique de l’Alsace et de la Lorraine

1939

Elected to membership of the Académie des Sciences

1943

Publication of the first volume of Critique et géologie (1943–8)

1952

Publication of the first volume of Etudes américaines (1952–4)

1953

Dies in Paris, 21 December

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Pierre Monbeig 1908–1987

Hugh Clout

Pierre Monbeig was a pioneer geographer who worked in the pioneering nation of Brazil. Having been trained at the Sorbonne by the immediate disciples of Vidal de la Blache, he spent his early career at the University of São Paulo where he devised and implemented a comprehensive programme of study from introductory to doctoral levels. His research focused on zones of pioneer settlement in São Paulo state that had been stimulated by rapid increases in demand for coffee, and on the growth of São Paulo city that energized the economy of its rural hinterland. He drew on ideas from economics, sociology and psychology to explore linkages between coffee plantations and the global commodity trade, and to analyse the work of adventurers and pioneer settlers. A rudimentary form of systems thinking, expressed through the ‘geographical complex’, was at the heart of his research. It was his belief that geographers should direct their studies towards promoting the common good. After returning to France, Monbeig taught at several institutions of higher education, including the Sorbonne, headed a new institute for Latin American studies and served as a senior administrator in the national organization for research funding. His position in French academic geography was a transitional one between Vidalian convention and the innovations inspired by cognate social sciences that would reshape the discipline in the middle of the twentieth century. His academic legacy was both to regional geography and to development studies.

Education, Life and Work Pierre Monbeig was born on 15 September 1908 at Marissel in the outer suburbs of Beauvais (Oise département), 70 km to the north of Paris. His parents Georges and Angèle (née Fouque) both taught the youngest pupils in the local lycée (state high school). Money was short in this household where learning was valued greatly. Pierre was a bright youngster who displayed considerable promise in his early years and this continued to develop during his secondary schooling in Paris during World War I, first at the Lycée

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Montaigne and then at the Lycée Louis-le-Grand. At the age of 16, he made his first trip to southern France that was a ‘real revelation’ for this ‘little blond barbarian’ from the north (Monbeig in Bataillon 1991, 29). His teenage discovery of the Mediterranean world and its Roman, Latin-based civilization would leave a lasting impression in his interests. Pierre hesitated between reading English at the Sorbonne, which his mother would have liked, or taking a degree in history and geography, which his father favoured. He chose the second option, with three-quarters of his time devoted to history and only a quarter to geography. Among his history professors, the economic historian Henri Hauser (1866–1946), who was very well disposed towards geography, made a strong impression, as did the human geographer Albert Demangeon (1872–1940) (Geographers Vols 26 and 12, respectively). By contrast, Pierre was much less receptive to the teaching of physical geography by Emmanuel de Martonne (1873–1955) (Geographers Vol. 12). Both of these scholars were direct disciples of Paul Vidal de la Blache (1845–1917) (Geographers Vol. 12) and were the acknowledged leaders of academic geography in France between the two world wars; however they had very different personalities. Pierre explained that ‘Demangeon attracted many students by the clarity of his teaching and also, undoubtedly, by his affability toward them. I never found physical geography to be without interest, but I was not immediately stimulated by it. There was a major problem since I could not draw very well, and with de Martonne you had to be able to draw.’ More significant than poor draughtsmanship was Pierre’s abiding interest in ‘political, economic and social questions’, and his reaction to the rather cold personality of de Martonne (Monbeig in Bataillon 1991, 28). During the 1920s, history and geography complemented each other well, with Hauser recommending his students to take their geography classes seriously and to attend all the field classes that were offered, and the geography professors often invoked historical factors to explain the phenomena they were studying. Demangeon’s field classes were particularly memorable, involving visits to farms and factories, as well as the interpretation of different rural landscapes. Pierre appreciated making contact with the real world during these excursions, a reaction that he shared with many of his fellows. After completing his first degree (licence ès lettres, histoire et géographie) in 1927, Pierre undertook research for his diplôme d’études supérieures (equivalent to a masters degree by research), which focused on the rural landscape and economy of the Pays d’Yveline, an area with large stretches of woodland that was coming increasingly under the influence of Paris for weekend retreats and commuter residences. This work was supervised by Demangeon and gave rise to Pierre’s first publication that appeared in the leading geographical journal in France, the Annales de Géographie (Monbeig 1929). Like the majority of graduates in history and geography at this time, Pierre envisaged that his future would be in teaching at one level or another. Along with a group of young men at the elite Ecole Normale Supérieure – where he was not a pupil but was enabled to become involved through the good offices of Demangeon – he prepared for the demanding agrégation examination for scholars wishing to teach at the highest level in a state lycée or in a university in France (Bataillon 1991, 34; Burgel 1991, 43). One of these young men was Jean Dresch (1905–94) with whom he maintained a life-long friendship (Dresch 1991, 51) (Geographers Vol. 31). The wives of both men had also been friends at the Sorbonne. Jean Dresch recalled that he and Pierre Monbeig both had large families ‘that stretched family resources’ and had undertaken their doctoral research ‘far away from France, and from supervisors and libraries’, and had experienced difficulties in organizing their work in the field (Dresch 1991, 47). In 1956, they travelled together across central Brazil to Bolivia and Peru, with funding from the Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique (CNRS).

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Monbeig passed his agrégation with glowing colours at the tender age of 21, and was the youngest agrégé in history and geography at that time (Bataillon 1991, 31). Demangeon encouraged him to think about undertaking further research for a state doctorate (doctorat d’état) necessitating many years of preparation. Master and pupil discussed Pierre’s teenage fascination with the Mediterranean world and agreed that a study of the human geography of the Balearic Islands would be an appropriate topic for a major thesis. At this time, candidates for the doctorat d’état were required to demonstrate their competence across the discipline by submitting a major thesis and a minor (or secondary) thesis dealing with different parts of geography. To accelerate learning Spanish and to initiate his field and archival research, Pierre was awarded a two-year fellowship (1929–31) based at the French institute for advanced Spanish studies (the Casa de Velasquez) in Madrid (Broc 1997, 362–3). During this time, he made several research visits to the Balearics, and in 1930 married Juliette Janet (born September 1906), a fellow history student at the Sorbonne and daughter of the physicist Paul André Janet (1863–1937). During the summer of 1931, Monbeig’s grant came to an end and he returned to France to teach history and geography at the Lycée Malherbe in Caen. Thereafter, he went back to the Balearics several times, but at his own expense, and pursued his research in spare moments, since the couple’s first child had been born in 1932. Pierre and Juliette had four children: Marianne (b. 1932), Jean Paul (b. 1934), Catherine (b. 1937) and Laurent (b. 1943). After almost three years of teaching in Normandy, Pierre and Juliette were confronted with an exciting new opportunity. During the early twentieth century, the French government had entered into an agreement with its counterpart in Brazil to send lecturers – usually referred to as ‘professors’ – to the country’s nascent universities. Their role was to modernize higher education by introducing foreign methods and approaches. One of the vacancies was for an historian-cum-geographer at São Paulo. Pierre recalled the afternoon when Juliette was waiting for him at the gates of the Lycée Malherbe, clutching two letters in her hands (Bataillon 1991, 29). One was from Hauser and the other was from Juliette’s father, a friend of Hauser’s. Both explained the scheme that Georges Dumas (1866–1946), professor of psychology at the Sorbonne, was running to send teachers to Brazil for short periods; however Hauser stated that he needed a reply within 48 hours, since the departure date was only a fortnight away. Eight French geographers taught in Brazil between 1934 and 1952 under the Franco-Brazilian agreement: Pierre Deffontaines (1934–5), Pierre Monbeig (1935–46), Roger Dion (1946–8), Pierre Gourou (1948–50), Louis Papy (1950–52) at the University of São Paulo; Pierre Deffontaines from 1936 to 1939, Philippe Arbos (1939–41), Francis Ruellan (1941–52) at the Federal University at Rio de Janeiro; and André Gibert (1939–45) at the University of Brazil, Rio de Janeiro (1939–45) (Lefebvre 1990; Droulers 1991b, 95) (on Deffontaines, Monbeig, Dion and Gourou, see Geographers Vols 30, this volume, 18 and 25, respectively). It should be noted that the scheme for modernizing teaching in higher education was not exclusively Franco-Brazilian, hence lecturers from the United States and various European countries also taught in Brazil. Other French geographers who taught in Brazilian universities in later years included Paul Claval, Maurice Le Lannou, Michel Rochefort, Hervé Théry and Jean Tricart. Juliette was expecting the couple’s second child but she and Pierre realized that the chance of spending what they thought would be six months in Brazil could not be allowed to slip by. As Monbeig recalled: ‘We were young, and I signed the contract’, which turned out to be for three years in the first instance. The family moved to São Paulo where Monbeig occupied the chair of geography at the city’s newly created Faculty of Philosophy, Sciences and Arts, which complemented

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the established faculties of Law, Engineering and Medicine (De Queiroz 1991, 57). His predecessor had been Pierre Deffontaines (1894–1978), who came to the university in 1934, the year after de Martonne had visited Brazil in his capacity as president of the International Geographical Union. Deffontaines initiated teaching in the subject and wrote about São Paulo state, but stayed for only a few months before moving to the University of Rio de Janiero, where he taught between 1936 and 1939 (Deffontaines 1936). Deffontaines and Monbeig were certainly pioneers in Brazilian higher education but concern for the teaching of geography in schools had been expressed much earlier by Carlos Delgado de Carvalho (1884–1980). He had studied in Paris between 1906 and 1908, and became acquainted with textbooks, atlases and wall maps prepared by Vidal de la Blache and his disciples (James and Martin 1981, 256). He proceded to prepare comparable teaching materials for Brazil, and later studied at the London School of Economics (1919–20). On the physical side of the discipline, proto-geographers were to be found among the staff of the School of Mines at Ouro Preto, founded in 1876, the Geological Commission of São Paulo, established in 1886, and the Geological and Mineralogical Commission, dating from 1907, who all soon became concerned with matters of economic development as well as with scientific research. Monbeig’s French colleagues at São Paulo included the historian Fernand Braudel (1902–85), the economists François Perroux (1903–87), René Courtin (1900–64) and Pierre Fromont (1894–1959), the sociologist Roger Bastide (1898–1974), and the ethnologist Claude Lévi-Strauss (1908–2009), but none would remain in Brazil for as long as he would (Lefebvre 1990). Immersing himself in his teaching duties, Pierre continued with his doctoral research as best as he could: this experienced a severe setback when the Spanish Civil War broke out in July 1936. Since there was little or no chance of returning to Spain to make further investigations, his thesis on the landscapes and economy of the Balearic Islands, examined in their physical and historical setting, ground to an unwelcome halt. Four years earlier, Monbeig had published his one and only article on the topic (Monbeig 1932). He contacted his teachers at the Sorbonne to explain his dilemma and also approached the distinguished historians Lucien Febvre (1878–1956) – who developed research interests in Latin America in the late 1920s – and Marc Bloch (1886–1944), both of whom edited the influential Annales d’Histoire Economique et Sociale (later known as Annales, Economies, Sociétés, Civilisations), with which Demangeon was also associated (Droulers 1991a, 38). The thrust of their advice was that Monbeig should find a new focus for his doctoral research and that this should be in Brazil, rather than attempting to continue work on Spain. The American geographer Isaiah Bowman (1878–1950) had assembled a book about pioneer settlement across the globe, a topic that was of great interest to Demangeon (Bowman 1931; Demangeon 1932) (on Bowman, see Geographers Vol. 1). In 1937, Hauser visited São Paulo and encouraged Monbeig to draft a thesis proposal on pioneer settlement in Brazil (Droulers 1991a, 37). This was formally approved by Demangeon and Monbeig set to work exploring various parts of the hinterland of the city with his students and colleagues. He was also joined by de Martonne, who spent three months undertaking field research around São Paulo during 1937, from which he produced an article on the tropical geomorphology of Brazil (De Martonne 1940, 1943–4; Monbeig 1957a, 250). Many of Monbeig’s first students were primary school teachers who needed to obtain a university degree in order to advance to posts in secondary schools. In order to do this, they were given financial support from the government, and were strongly motivated to succeed. Many were from the interior of São Paulo state and were the children of recent immigrants to Brazil who had been pioneer settlers in the backwoods (sertão) (Monbeig 1991b, 228). In these early years, many were older than their young professor, who gave his initial lectures in French, with phrase-by-phrase translation by a

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Brazilian colleague (Ab’Saber 1994, 223). After a while, he became fluent in Portuguese and this time-consuming process was no longer necessary. As he recalled many years later: ‘The difference in age between them and me was small, which facilitated dialogue between us. For myself, leading field work, coping with harsh climatic conditions, and driving vehicles along old roads allowed me to establish affectionate links with them that did not diminish as the years passed, or after I was far away’ [in France] (Ab’Saber 1994, 230). Monbeig’s fundamental approach to instruction involved a revised version of what he had been taught at the Sorbonne, encompassing an holistic expression of geography that embraced physical and human parameters, stressed cartographic expression and regional integration, and accentuated the importance of historical factors to account for the contemporary scene. It soon became clear, however, that this retrospective approach to explanation was unsuited to the remarkable dynamism of Brazil during the 1930s. Monbeig turned increasingly to economics, political science, sociology and psychology for inspiration. Underpinning his teaching was his idea of the ‘geographical complex’ of interacting factors, which involved a rudimentary form of systems thinking very similar to the geographical combinaison devised by André Cholley (1886–1968) (Geographers Vol. 31). Monbeig introduced his students to the writings of Vidal de la Blache and his disciples, especially their doctoral monographs on regions of France, but he did not hesitate to discuss the works of anglophone scholars including members of the ‘Chicago School’ of sociology. Nor did he ignore urban studies in his lectures and field classes; indeed his own research now embraced both the rural milieu of pioneers and coffee planters in the distant ‘pioneer areas’ of São Paulo, and the urban environment of the rapidly growing city whose merchants, landowners and investors energized change in western Brazil as well as in their immediate surroundings (Théry 1991b, 87). During the early years, Monbeig’s title had been ‘professor of geography’ but in 1937 this was changed to ‘professor of human geography’, with a chair of physical geography being awarded to João Dias da Silveira (Droulers 1991b, 95). A further chair of the geography of Brazil would be created for Aroldo de Azevedo. Following the initiative of Pierre Deffontaines, Monbeig chaired the Associaçao de Geografos Brasileiros (modelled on the Association de Géographes Français) that had been established with support from geologists, historians and medical doctors in São Paulo, with the objective of spreading geographical knowledge through meetings, excursions and a regular publication, and through contact with similar organizations abroad (Zusman 1997, 5). It was, in fact, the first organization in Brazil to be devoted to professional geographers and was supported by business leaders concerned with promoting the national economy (Petrone 1994, 144). Monbeig duly contributed to its scholarly journal and annual conferences, and led field trips for its members. He also wrote articles for O Estado de São Paulo, the serious newspaper that was read by investors and industrialists in the city. The outbreak of World War II, with German submarines attacking shipping off the coast of Brazil, dispelled any idea that Pierre and Juliette may have had of going back to Europe. In any case, more research had to be undertaken before his doctoral theses could be completed. The restoration of peace in 1945 enabled the couple to think about returning to France and having their four children educated in the French state system. Unfortunately, there was no immediate promise of a university post for Pierre Monbeig and, even if one were to be found, it would be below the level of professor since the doctorate remained unfinished. In 1946, Monbeig led his last field excursion in Brazil, with colleagues and students from São Paulo, not only from geography but also from botany, geology and history, exploring pioneer settlements in northern parts of Paraná state (Petrone 1994, 147).

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In the following year, he received funding from the French government through its CNRS to enable him to write up his research, and the family duly returned to Paris. Shortly afterwards, a post in colonial geography became vacant at the University of Strasbourg that had previously been held by Jean Dresch, but since Monbeig still had not completed his theses this position could only be at lecturer grade. The family were renting an apartment in the capital, but there was no chance of obtaining accommodation in war-torn Strasbourg. With understandable bitterness, Monbeig recalled how he commuted by train from Paris to Strasbourg each week during the teaching terms for three years, restricting himself to the minimum number of nights in an hotel in order to save money. ‘Having spent the night in a third-class train seat, I was not in very good shape when I arrived in Strasbourg to teach my classes’ (Picard 1991, 199). To his surprise, he found that relationships between academic disciplines had become more strained than in the early 1930s, since each subject was struggling to establish its own autonomy (Droulers 1991a, 38). In 1950, Monbeig successfully defended his theses at the Sorbonne and his post was transformed to that of a full professor. With his family still living in Paris, he sought a university post in the capital; however nothing suitable was available. Two years later, Dresch informed him that the chair of economic geography had been vacated at the Conservatoire National des Arts et Métiers (CNAM; the national school of engineering) for which Monbeig applied eagerly. This was perhaps a strange decision since it was a free-standing post and did not have a supporting department; however it enabled Monbeig to be with his wife and children. Looking back, he ‘was not disappointed: the students at the Conservatoire were absolutely great. They were an excellent audience, and liked to come to discuss their problems with unbelievable confidence and spontaneity, but they were [also] disappointing since one could not get any research work out of them, at least in economic geography’ (Bataillon 1991, 32). Monbeig thoroughly enjoyed teaching at Sciences-Po, where students came because they were interested in Latin America. By contrast, lecturing at the business school was ‘one of the worst memories’ in his teaching career, since his course was made compulsory for over 250 students who appeared to have not the slightest interest in Latin America (Picard 1991, 203). Pierre Monbeig remained at the engineering school for nine years during which he assumed many additional, external responsibilities. During 1955–6, he delivered lectures on the geography of the tropical world at the Sorbonne, in the place of Charles Robequain (1897–1963) (Geographers, this volume) who was on secondment, and, in 1957, was appointed director of a new interdisciplinary Institut des Hautes Etudes de l’Amérique Latine (Institute for Advanced Latin American Studies), which was in the gift of the rector of the académie de Paris, Jean Sarrailh (1891–1964), who had responsibility for all levels of state education in the capital. Sarrailh was an Hispanicist who had researched his doctoral thesis at the Casa de Velasquez at the same time as Monbeig, and had been impressed by his recent proposal to run a special seminar series on Latin America. Pierre Monbeig retained the directorship for 20 years, despite having moved in 1961 from the engineering school to a professorial post at the Institut de Géographie at the Sorbonne where the former chair of colonial and tropical geography was transformed into a chair of human geography. In addition to lecturing to undergraduates and supervising advanced students at the Sorbonne, Pierre Monbeig taught at other higher education institutions in Paris, including ‘Sciences-Po’ (the college of political science) and the Ecole des Hautes Etudes Commerciales (business school). In 1963, he responded to an invitation to become assistant director of the CNRS, with responsibility for allocating research funds to each of the social and human sciences throughout France (Picard 1991, 194). He attributed this to his administrative success in running the Institut des Hautes

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Etudes de l’Amérique Latine, and the fact that the out-going assistant director of the CNRS, Michel Lejeune, had important links with Rector Sarrailh. Once again, Pierre felt that this position would be ‘a new experience, and a chance to do something different’, even though it added greatly to his work load (Bataillon 1991, 32). In 1972, he resigned from his chair at the Sorbonne to become a director of research at the CNRS, holding that position for five years until he assumed emeritus status (directeur de recherche honoraire) at the age of 69. In 1976, he had suffered a heart attack that prevented him from presiding over the centennial conference of the Société des Américanistes that he had organized (Dollfus 1987, 287). Throughout his career, it seems that he never refused an opportunity to ‘escape from the rather narrow world of colleagues in higher education’ by taking on something new (Revel-Mouroz 1987, 6). He even declared that this reaction was ‘a constant feature’ of his life (Bataillon 1991, 32). During his last decade, Pierre Monbeig maintained an active interest in Latin American studies and continued to attend the editorial board of the Annales de Géographie to which he had belonged since the late 1960s, serving as an astute reviewer of manuscripts across a wide spectrum of the discipline, and stimulating discussion with ‘his succinct and pertinent remarks’ (Anon. 1987, 657; George 1991, 209). Within his own family, Pierre thoroughly enjoyed being a grandfather, and ‘practised that art’ to perfection (Dollfus 1987, 287). In his final years his health deteriorated, and he died at Cavalaire on the Côte-d’Azur, on 22 September 1987.

Scientific Ideas and Geographical Thought Pierre Monbeig had studied both history and geography at the Sorbonne and his early writings revealed his conviction of the importance of history as a means of explanation. He also had a lively interest in current affairs that was illuminated by his familiarity with ideas in economics, sociology and political science. His article on the Balearic Islands examined conditions during the eighteenth century, but his other articles on Spain dealt with contemporary issues, including the growth of the city of Madrid, economic changes in the eastern provinces, agricultural activity and land reform (Monbeig 1930, 1932, 1933, 1934a,b; Monbeig and Guinard 1932; Ferras 1991). The historical section of the article on Madrid was written by the historian Paul Guinard (1895–1976), lecturer in history of art and future director of the Institut Français in Madrid, with Monbeig concentrating on the form and functions of ‘modern Madrid’, its population and neighbourhoods and the relationship between the capital city and provincial Spain. Interestingly, his first article on ‘pioneer zones’ in the state of São Paulo did not appear in a geographical journal but in an historical one, the Annales d’Histoire Economique et Sociale (Monbeig 1937). In his Ensaios de geografia humana brasileira (Essays on Brazilian human geography), published early in World War II, Monbeig drew together a score of early writings and lecture scripts that reviewed various aspects of contemporary Brazil (Monbeig 1940b). He began by charting the diversity of pioneer settlements not only in the hinterland of São Paulo but also in more distant regions, with some new settlements being unplanned and apparently chaotic, while others were carefully arranged and organized. Railways and all-weather roads were the essential lifelines for these newly occupied areas. In this way, he showed how the great interior of Brazil was being brought into the ever-expanding hinterlands of the chief commercial centres: São Paulo, Salvador and Belém (James 1942a, 338). Then he turned to the state and city of São Paulo, focusing on its rapidly growing population, much of which comprised recent immigrants, the challenge of

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assimilation and the role of roads as axes for new settlement. He followed these essays with rather disparate notes on aviation, trade, immigration, climate and other topics of particular interest to Brazilian students. He concluded his Ensaios by describing the work of the Associaçao de Géografos Brasilieros, explaining how the Conselho Nacional de Geografía functioned as an agency of the federal government (James and Martin 1981, 257). As a British reviewer noted, Monbeig demonstrated ‘an essentially realistic and practical view of geography’ that included a plea for the assimilation of recent immigrants who had been welcomed as a source of labour on the coffee plantations during periods of economic boom but were placed on the land as smallholders during periods of slump (Anon. 1941, 52). He made the case ‘for allowing them the opportunity of using their individual talents to the benefit of their new country’, arguing that this was ‘the most effective way of making them real citizens of Brazil’ (Anon. 1941, 52). Preston Everett James also praised the volume but regretted that it contained only two maps (on James, see Geographers Vol. 11). Nonetheless, he insisted that ‘Monbeig’s descriptions are by no means vague or lacking in precision of location. He obviously has not forgotten the map and has its image clearly in his mind as he writes. This paucity of maps is all the more to be regretted because Pierre Monbeig must be recognized as one of the most important contemporary writers on the human geography of Latin America’ (James 1942a, 338). This was praise indeed from a scholar who had already published important articles on Brazil including the state of São Paulo, and was on the point of bringing out his comprehensive textbook, Latin America (James 1932, 1933, 1938, 1940, 1942b; Robinson 1980). Monbeig’s concern for practical issues confronting Brazil shone through the school textbook entitled Geografía de hoje (Geography of Today) that he assembled with the help of Brazilian teachers (Monbeig 1944). It also characterized both his major and minor theses, and the cluster of supporting articles that he published in Portuguese or French (Monbeig 1949, 1951, 1952a). By virtue of his training at the Sorbonne in the late 1920s, it was expected that he would write an holistic regional monograph for his doctorate, embracing the physical geography, historical development and contemporary geography of his chosen region. According to this formula he was expected to describe various ‘ways of life’ (genres de vie) – a much favoured Vidalian concept – that were in harmony with the natural and cultural environments in which they were set, and which changed only slowly. Life was moving fast in the backwoods of the state of São Paulo, however, and in the city that orchestrated investment in the ‘pioneer zone’. Rather than accepting the traditional approach to writing his doctoral monograph, Monbeig had to devise his own structure that suited the rapidly changing conditions he was analysing (Abreu 1999, 360–1). Late in 1937, Demangeon had approved ‘the pioneer zones of São Paulo’ as Monbeig’s working title, but Demangeon died less than three years later and André Cholley, director of the Institut de Géographie at the Sorbonne, agreed to support the work (Monbeig 1952b, 7) (on Cholley, see Geographers Vol. 31). After dedicating his work to his wife and explaining his long stay in Brazil in the first pages of his major thesis, Monbeig thanked two geographers (Cholley and de Martonne) and two historians (Febvre and Braudel), recalling ‘long conversations with my colleague Braudel that were extremely profitable to me’. Monbeig explained that while researching the pioneer zones he had encountered many practical difficulties, including the great distance between the city in which he was based and his study areas (up to 600 km away), the problem of travelling across territory where roads were few, and the near impossibility of going into the field during the long vacation which corresponded with the rainy season. Of course, ‘at this time, neither universities nor university teachers had

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cars. One took the train as far as it went into the pioneer fringe, stopping in market villages. Plantations were reached on horseback’ (Dresch 1991, 49). Monbeig’s problems were compounded by the fact that cartographic coverage of the Brazilian backwoods was incomplete and many published maps were inaccurate. Official statistical sources appeared to be reliable but were, in fact, also inaccurate. Thus, the census of 1934 was not published because of inaccuracies, and only some of the results of the social survey conducted six years later were released (Monbeig 1952b, 8). As the process of pioneer settlement advanced so administrative boundaries were revised and place names changed, thereby making comparison through time extremely hazardous. For all these reasons, direct enquiry in the field had been essential for his thesis, involving interviews with settlers, plantation owners and officials, and the mapping of rapidly changing landscapes, as forest was cleared for cultivation, and exhausted coffee plantations were allowed to revert to rough grazing. With typical generosity, Monbeig thanked not only his colleagues at the University of São Paulo but also his students ‘whose personal contacts enriched the content of my records made in the field’ (Monbeig 1952b, 9). Not surprisingly, he declared that his doctoral monograph would of necessity be different from those that preceded it. In the state of São Paulo, ‘changes are so rapid that everything one writes about is already history. Also it is that very movement that I have tried to describe and explain. It was not possible to produce a [conventional] regional monograph, hence rather than a study of genres de vie I have sought to examine a society undergoing rapid change’ (Monbeig 1952b, 9). To illustrate his point, he noted that the estimated population of the state had risen from 165,000 in about 1810 to almost 8 millions in 1944, and that coffee production had more than doubled from 8 million sacks in 1900 to 18 million in 1927, only to fall back to 7 million in 1944. Despite this desire to be innovative and different in his presentation, certain traditional features were found in his thesis. It began with a discussion of the natural environment, but concentrated on climate, soils and forest cover rather than geomorphology. It then sketched the evolution of settlement during a short period of less than a century, rather than across many centuries as was the case in most monographs dealing with regions of France. Monbeig showed how the years between 1860 and 1880 had formed ‘a turning point’ in coffee production on the western plateaux of São Paulo state (Monbeig 1952b, 92). Rapidly rising consumption of the beverage in Europe and North America stimulated demand and attracted investment from consuming nations and droves of immigrant workers from Mediterranean Europe. Coffee planters (fazendeiros) grew rich, at the production end of a long economic chain that extended far beyond Brazil. As soils on pioneering land became exhausted, so further stretches of forest were burned over or felled for new coffee plantations. However, the fortunes of the fazendeiros were fickle. Very good harvests outstripped demand and brought down coffee prices in the short term, while major external events, such as disruptions to trade during both world wars and in the aftermath of the global economic crisis of 1929, dampened demand and led to plantations being abandoned completely or converted to other uses. In addition to portraying how external linkages, mediated through the coffee business, affected the local economy of São Paulo state, Monbeig demonstrated how the operation of economic cycles affected well-being – or ruin – in its pioneering zones. In a highly innovative section of only seven pages, Monbeig examined the role of what he called ‘bandeirante psychology’ in stimulating the advance of settlers into the backwoods (sertão). The relationship between geography and psychology was a tense one at that time, since Demangeon had written a blistering critique of Georges Hardy’s Géographie et psychologie (Hardy 1939; Demangeon 1940; Ozouf-Marignier 2006). This attack was probably on Hardy’s treatment of the topic, which Demangeon believed was important in pursuing lines of explanation in human geography, rather than a declaration of incompatibility between the disciplines. Monbeig related how in the sixteenth

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century, the bandeirantes had formed expeditions to hunt native Indians, then in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries to search for diamonds or gold and in subsequent centuries to get rich by acquiring land. Each group of adventurers carried its own banner or flag, from which the word was derived. When used adjectivally, bandeirante conveyed courage, initiative and passion, and could be applied to a fazendeiro, an entrepreneur clearing forest, or the founder of a new settlement. This myth of the pioneering spirit was embedded so firmly in the life of São Paulo state that ‘when one calls a man “a real bandeirante” one has said everything’ (Monbeig 1952b, 108). Monbeig would later complain that his doctoral examiners passed over this section without comment during the public defence of his thesis; however its importance was not lost on reviewers of the published version that appeared in 1952 as Pionniers et planteurs de l’Etat de São Paulo. Charles Robequain ‘savoured the pages where the author displays the role of “bandeirante psychology”: the taste for risk and gambling, the passion for making money, the attraction of the great open spaces of the West, all familiar sentiments to post-Columbian America but which take on a distinctive expression in this part of Brazil’ (Robequain 1952, 459). With characteristic perspicacity, Jean Gottmann (Geographers Vol. 25) identified trade and settler psychology as the two guiding themes of the whole thesis, the one moulding the economy of the pioneer zones and the other shaping the behaviour of its inhabitants (Gottmann 1954, 902–3). Not surprisingly, he wished that the tantalizingly brief discussion of ‘bandeirante psychology’ might be greatly enlarged. In recent years, scholars have returned to this topic and have shown how the myth of the bandeirantes was used by successive governments to justify their policies of internal colonization, whereas Monbeig interpreted the work of the bandeirantes in more libertarian and individualistic terms (Gonçalves 1998; Brandão and Anselmo 2007). Having set his research in context, Monbeig devoted the central part of his thesis to the advance of settlement, dealing first with the various types of pioneer involved and then with the areas involved in the ever-changing pioneer zones. He argued that native Indians and early adventurers in search of precious stones and metals (mineiros) had been few in number, and were overtaken by the mass of coffee growers who started to arrive in the 1870s and 1880s. Rich families with capital of their own to invest, or to marshal from other – often distant – sources, formed the first plantation owners (fazendeiros) who attracted large quantities of labour to clear and work the land. Some became known as coronels (literally, colonels) for the political leadership they exercised under the ‘Old Republic’ (1889–1930). Following legislation passed in 1850, all fazendeiros needed to possess formal deeds that demonstrated their right to own the land that they occupied. This vital topic was the domain of the grileiros who provided the required documents one way or another, but always for a hefty fee. As Monbeig explained, ‘The requirement to present old documents suggested the possibility of fabricating them. The forgers possessed diabolical imagination and skill. They procured sheets of paper stamped with the arms of the Emperor of Brazil, imitated old-fashioned handwriting, detached old stamps, yellowed the papers they were using, and even ripped out pages from legal registers’ (Monbeig 1952a, 127). Finally, there were land merchants whose quest for enrichment was as strong as that of the planters and counterfeiters; however wealth could only be generated if labour supplies could be found. Before 1914, the majority of the colonos, contracted to work on plantations, came from Spain, Portugal or Italy. During the 1920s, migrants from other parts of Brazil were most numerous, followed by those of Mediterranean origin; and, in the 1930s, Brazilians maintained the lead, followed by recently arrived immigrants from Japan. When coffee prices remained high there were fortunes to be made; some colonos used their savings to become fazendeiros in their own right. Conversely, harsh economic conditions led to ruin, with plenty of former fazendeiros being reduced to manage the plantations of others.

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After this analysis of pioneer society, Monbeig traced the changing spatial configuration of pioneer zones from the triple perspective of coffee production, labour and transportation. Like earlier regional monographs, he provided a series of descriptions at particular moments, but rather than being spread across several centuries these were focused on 1900, 1929 and the 1940s. Using a wide variety of source materials, he devised maps showing areas of coffee cultivation, the pattern of railways lines and the location of pioneer settlements along these transport routes that encroached further across the western plateaux of São Paulo state as the years passed. At the start of the century, plantations manned by teams of colonos were all important, but by 1929 there were many examples of soil exhaustion on land where coffee had once been supreme, and which had been converted to other forms of cropping, cattle ranching or hog rearing (by safristas). Smallholdings (sitios) became more numerous but the pioneer fringe continued to push westward to compensate for areas of exhaustion in a ‘hollow frontier’ (James 1938, 361–2). Not surprisingly, Monbeig examined the situation in the 1940s in considerable depth and incorporated his own observations from the field. The morphology of plantation settlements and planned towns ( patrimonios) contrasted with looser arrangements of smallholdings along seasonal and all-weather roads beyond the railway arteries. Stretches of forest continued to be felled, often by German or Slavic woodcutters, leading once again to ‘a considerable reduction in forest resources’. Coffee remained the main driver of the rural economy in the pioneer zones but other forms of land use gained ground. Immigrants from Japan had extended cotton cultivation, stock rearing was expanding, and sugar beet, mulberries and various food crops were being produced. A remarkable map summarized the situation in 1946, revealing how land use had diversified and the margin of continuous forest had moved further westward. In Monbeig’s words: ‘The fragile forest, mistreated by people in a hurry to get rich, is the leading example of instability’ in the environment of the pioneer zone (Monbeig 1952a, 295). Wealth most certainly could be made, but malaria and other diseases were prevalent, and photos from Monbeig’s own camera recorded misery as well as well-being. Functional regions could be recognized around newly founded towns, but the pioneer zones were not populated in a uniform zone by groups of recent immigrants. Rather, there were distinct ‘networks’ inhabited by migrants from different parts of the world. By the 1940s, most settlers of Mediterranean origin were thinking of themselves as Brazilians, and ‘had fused in the melting pot’ of the nation, but immigrants from Japan tended to retain their individuality. Pierre Monbeig concluded his thesis with an historical reference, looking back to the processes of forest clearance, settlement foundation and population migration in medieval times, which had shaped the traditional rural landscapes not only of France but of the whole of Europe. Certainly there were similarities with what he had analysed in Brazil but there were also differences, with respect to compression in time, vast spatial extent and dependency on linkages within the global system of commodity trading, as well as with nearby towns and cities. Widespread cultivation of coffee had given rise not only to wealth but also to uncertainty. The legendary riches of the tropical environment had been exploited ruthlessly and continued to be devastated. Many former plantations had reverted to scrub, but coffee growing continued to advance, with two-fifths of the coffee bushes in São Paulo state in 1949 having been planted since the mid-1930s. New settlements, railways and roads were seen as positive achievements in the pioneer zones, but at mid-century ‘the problem of conservation of natural resources and the restoration of old [rural] regions is now being considered by urban dwellers and by forwardlooking coffee planters. Genuine anxiety has succeeded the quiet optimism that was in evidence in 1935’. Beyond that prophetic note of alarm, Monbeig would not proceed,

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‘since the future is too uncertain to hazard prognostication. It is better to stick to the present’ (Monbeig 1952a, 364). Monbeig’s work was published in 1952, having received a prize from the Fondation Nationale des Sciences Politiques for the best doctoral thesis in the previous year. The jury responsible for awarding this prize was chaired by André Siegfried (Geographers Vol. 30), who had written about Latin America. In 1953, Monbeig received the Michel Perret Prize from the Académie des Sciences Morales, and the Auguste Logerot Prize from the Société de Géographie de Paris (of which he became the vice president) for Pionniers et planteurs. Not until three decades later would it come out in Portuguese translation. As its author had claimed, it was an unconventional monograph in several ways. It examined a part of the world that was undergoing rapid transformation, and while it drew inspiration from established frames of reference in history and the natural sciences, it also developed new lines of reasoning through the teachings of economics, sociology and psychology (Andrade 2011). Louis Papy found it to be ‘an excellent study’ and stressed that it was ‘the first thesis by a French geographer to be devoted to a South American country’ (Papy 1954, 196). This was not correct strictly speaking since Pierre Denis had written a rather cursory doctoral thesis on Argentina in 1920, as well as Le Brésil au XXe siècle (1909) and the volume on L’Amérique du Sud (1927) in the great Géographie Universelle series, conceived in 1908 by Vidal de la Blache. Monbeig’s doctorate had involved over a decade of residence in Brazil and much detailed field investigation; these facts were probably in Papy’s mind when he made this remark. Displaying ‘rigorous thought and written in an alert style’ [it] ‘made an extremely valuable contribution to the geography of Brazil’ (Papy 1954, 203). Paul Veyret was especially impressed by the author’s ‘personal familiarity with the region that strongly supported’ the argument of his thesis (Veyret 1952, 534). In the judgement of Jean Gottmann, Monbeig had managed to ‘follow in the fine tradition of the French school of geography, and yet also wrote the first monograph devoted entirely to a pioneer region’ (Gottmann 1954, 902). With innovative approaches derived from the social sciences, it was ‘a great study in human geography’. Charles Robequain was more nuanced in his praise, for while it was ‘a fine study’, the treatment of recent immigrants appeared rushed and no comparisons were offered with pioneer zones elsewhere in the world (Robequain 1952, 460). The combination of tradition and innovation in the composition of Pionniers et planteurs was also found in Pierre Monbeig’s minor thesis that examined the growth of São Paulo from a small town of 26,000 inhabitants in 1870 to a city of 1,300,000 in 1940, at the heart of a conurbation of 2,300,000, representing one-third of the population of São Paulo state (Monbeig 1953a, 59; Abreu 1994, 37). The major part of this work was an explanatory narrative, beginning with urban origins in the 1550s and stressing that ‘São Paulo differed radically from other towns in Brazil and Latin America. It was not the result of chance, nor was it founded by adventurers in search of gold, or by merchants seeking a well-placed entrepôt. In fact, it was a religious and scholastic foundation, created by the Jesuits who wanted to teach children’ (Monbeig 1953a, 67). During the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, adventurers (bandeirantes) used it as a starting point for expeditions into the interior, but the settlement remained small until the coming of the railway in the mid-nineteenth century heralded growth and modernization. Located at an altitude of 800 m, São Paulo provided an attractive climate for European immigrants and soon became the power base of plantation owners (fazendeiros) who attracted funds to invest in coffee growing in pioneer zones inland from the city. From its initial focus around three religious houses, São Paulo expanded rapidly through planned developments as well as suburban sprawl. Generation of hydro-electric power encouraged manufacturing and stimulated foreign investment. Immigration from southern and central Europe created a large and adaptable workforce. Speculation in real estate

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during the 1930s ‘destroyed what remained from the past’ and produced high-rise housing and office premises (Monbeig 1953a, 282). In the remainder of his study, Monbeig adopted a more analytical approach using ideas from the Chicago School of urban ecology to identify and explain a variety of zones in the conurbation determining that ‘each radial, and the group of streets attached to it, has its own landscape and distinct social and functional characteristics’. Analysis of social survey data showed that recent immigrants had distinctive residential and commercial clusters; however this was not confirmed for those of Italian origin. Hence, ‘one hears Italian being spoken, or rather one rapidly recognizes an Italian accent, across the whole of São Paulo, without there being an Italian neighbourhood’. With its high-rise districts and modern highways, São Paulo was North American in appearance, albeit with a proliferation of bars, cafés and small shops that was more characteristic of Mediterranean cities. There was, in short, ‘a flagrant clash between a city that is morphologically American, and its lifestyle that remains European’ (Monbeig 1953, 294, 296, 302, respectively). Immediately after completing his doctoral theses, Monbeig wrote a brief but comprehensive text on the geography of Brazil that was well received and was translated immediately into Portuguese (Veyret 1954; Le Lannou 1955; Sorre 1955). As he summarized the modernization of the country, he asked whether Brazil had ‘rejected its old tunic in European colours for new clothes made in America’ (in English in the original) (Monbeig 1954, 4). Monbeig also wrote overview articles on the economic geography of Brazil, the impact of North American investments across South America and on the variable expression of ‘under-development’ in Latin American countries (Monbeig 1955a,b,c; 1967). His Novos estudos de geografía humana brasileira (New Studies in Brazilian Human Geography) were dedicated to his ‘good companions’ among the geographers of São Paulo and assembled a dozen essays of which some had been published already in French or Portuguese (Monbeig 1957b). After rehearsing the challenge of explanation in geographical work, he emphasized that geographers should study not only the natural environment but also ‘the formation and evolution of ways of thinking, and the influences that they have on ways of life’. He reiterated his argument that ‘the geographical complex’ of interacting phenomena – natural and cultural, past and present – was at the very heart of the discipline (Dantas 2009; Vitte 2009, 2011). As many before and after him, Monbeig believed geography to be a holistic, integrative discipline, while demonstrating his preference for the human side. This was born out in a long review of recent work in urban studies that included the writings of members of the ‘Chicago School’ and of Georges Chabot, Pierre George, Robert Eric Dickinson and Griffith Taylor (Abreu 1994, 28) (on George, Dickenson and Taylor, see Geographers Vols 29, 8 and 3, respectively). He then exemplified aspects of urban form and urban function in the São Paulo conurbation, before turning to the challenge of defining dynamic, urbanbased regions as opposed to historic, administrative ones. Remaining essays explored the human geography of several parts of Brazil, concluding with a piece on the role of banks and large financial corporations in promoting regional well-being through spatially differentiated investment policies. As the final phase of his career became more managerial, so his volume of academic writing declined as more of his energy was directed to drafting administrative documents.

Influence and Spread of Ideas Unlike many geographers of his generation, Pierre Monbeig did not spend his whole career in a single university where he might have built up a large group of disciples,

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nor did he write textbooks that were used by large numbers of school children, teachers or undergraduates. In fact, he was not a particularly prolific author and almost all his books and articles were focused on Brazil. He did, however, contribute numerous notes and reviews bringing his total volume of publications to more than 200 items (Théry 1991a, 5; Angotti-Salguiro 2002). He exerted his influence on the development of geography and the social sciences in three distinct environments: the University of São Paulo, the University of Paris and the CNRS. Many of the undergraduates reading for a combined degree in history and geography at the University of São Paulo during the 11 years that Pierre Monbeig taught there, ‘admired and even revered’ their energetic young professor, who was ‘of medium height, well dressed, with a well-formed face, rosy complexion, and glossy hair’ (Ab’Saber 1994, 221, 223). They accepted that his initial teaching was in French, and some even welcomed the chance to become familiar with the language that introduced them to international developments in scholarship, but all were grateful when he became fluent in Portuguese. Rather than relying on formal lectures, he incorporated fieldwork and seminars in his teaching programme, cited his own research in his classes and encouraged senior students to make their own enquiries in the city or in the countryside of São Paulo state. Unlike some teachers elsewhere in the new Faculty, who simply directed students to textbooks, he expected pupils to read articles in learned journals and to study appropriate articles in newspapers, especially in the pages of O Estado de São Paulo, to which he and his fellow lecturers contributed material on current affairs. Of necessity, his geographers had to familiarize themselves with material in French and also in English and German, since geographical work in Portuguese was largely of local interest only at this time. With each new cohort of students, he started as he intended to go on, taking them on an excursion on foot through parts of the city on the first day of term. Aziz Ab’Saber recalled how this experience introduced him and fellow students to the art of landscape interpretation and to understand how the cumulative history of socio-economic processes produced distinct townscapes and different neighbourhoods. For some students, this carefully planned excursion confirmed ‘their choice of subject, which would be cultivated during the rest of their lives’ and made them into geographers, despite the fact that many would be required to teach both subjects in Brazilian schools (Ab’Saber 1994, 225). Monbeig’s undergraduates spent a share of their time studying history and were also exposed to the rudiments of geology and anthropology. Students felt that examinations in history were quite straightforward and could be passed through book learning, whereas their geography professor demanded more. His standards were high and his usual demeanour was calm and benevolent, but submission of poor work could cause him to lose his temper. His fundamental approach was always to grasp real-world issues ‘in the geographical theatre of human activity, whether in town or countryside’, since he argued ‘unless we make enquiries and study the actual relations of people to the land, and of people to the society in which they belong, it is impossible to speculate’ (Ab’Saber 1994, 226). An example of professor and students working in the field on real issues may be found in Monbeig’s article on Barão de Antonina, which incorporated findings made in September 1938 by a group of students from the University of São Paulo (Monbeig 1940a). It is illustrated by a score of photographs of settlers and house types; a wider view of Monbeig’s photography is provided by Heliana Angotti-Salguiero (2005). Such empirical grounding was important in the training of young Brazilian geographers, of whom some, in later life, would have to address serious regional issues in their country, ranging from the Amazon rain forest to arid interior regions, and from coastal plains to inland plateaux. In addition to introducing students to the diverse rural environments of Brazil, through field classes, projects and lectures, Monbeig discussed the ideas and methods

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of urban geography (Droulers 1991a). The conurbation of São Paulo formed an excellent laboratory and young geographers were thoroughly exposed to the work of the Chicago School before undertaking their own projects. Despite his empirical orientation, Monbeig also provided methodological seminars for advanced students that covered geographical work on Brazil and the substance of geography as a whole. In these sessions he explored the ideas and writings not only of Vidal de la Blache and the Vidalians (Demangeon, De Martonne, Max. Sorre, Jules Sion), but also of younger French geographers, such as Jean Dresch and ‘the young genius’ Pierre George (Ab’Saber 1994, 227) (on Sorre and Sion, see Geographers Vols 27 and 12, respectively). Monbeig also scrutinized the work of Pierre Deffontaines, his predecessor, on Brazil and right across the field of human geography (Deffontaines 1946). The work of selected foreign geographers, such as Carl Sauer (Geographers Vol. 2), Preston James and Clarence Jones, was also considered, and the frame was widened further to explore the ideas of historians and political scientists who had influenced Monbeig, including Lucien Febvre (Geographers Vol. 23), Marc Bloch and André Siegfried. With such a rigorous preparation behind them, a handful of Monbeig’s most able students proceeded to doctoral research on Brazilian topics under his supervision (Ab’Saber 1994, 228). Despite his youth, Pierre Monbeig had responded to the difficult challenge of replacing Deffontaines, the ‘brilliant founding professor of geography, who had remained only a few months in São Paulo, before transferring to the University of Brazil in Rio de Janeiro. Indeed, it seemed that Deffontaines might be an irreplaceable personality’. Nonetheless, over a period of 11 years, and in his own calm, methodical and rigorous way, Monbeig consolidated what his predecessor had started. He devised and implemented a programme of instruction in the classroom and in the field, extending from freshman to doctoral level, and introduced senior students to the latest research findings of geographers in other parts of the world. In this task, he worked closely with his small team of Brazilian colleagues in his department and with members of other disciplines in the Faculty of Philosophy, Sciences and Arts. While he was not the first French geographer to teach in a Brazilian university, Pierre Monbeig was in many respects the founding father of modern geography in Brazil, and he shared the distinction of staying the longest with Francis Ruellan, who taught at Rio de Janeiro from 1941 to 1952. In his inaugural lecture at the CNAM in November 1952, Monbeig characterized scholarly geography as being concerned with the interaction of ‘things, living beings, and other phenomena with the land’ expressed in the form of ‘geographical complexes’ (Monbeig 1991a, 219). Geography was, indeed, ‘a way of seeing’ and its gaze extended from the local to the global. It sought to interpret landscapes as the material manifestation of explanatory ‘complexes’, and it was ‘a modern tool’ to be used to help tackle many of the problems confronting mankind on the face of the Earth (Monbeig 1991, 225). Monbeig stressed the potential of geography to ‘serve the community’ to his Brazilian colleagues, and he would write ‘a defence of applied geography’ many years later, partly stimulated by the problem-solving environment of the engineers among whom he had worked (Monbeig 1953, 1961; Robic 2009, 11–13). This article was also prompted by the appearance of Michel Philipponneau’s textbook entitled Géographie et action. Introduction à la géographie appliquée (Armand Colin, 1960). His early tenure of the chair of economic geography at the engineering school represented years in waiting, but the fact that he was selected to write about the achievements of French geographers in Latin America for La Géographie française au milieu du XXe siècle reflected the esteem in which he was held among the geographical community in France (Monbeig 1957a). He also served on the panel of examiners for candidates for the agrégation and other examinations for schoolteachers. Monbeig’s visibility improved rapidly after he was appointed director of the Institut des Hautes Etudes de l’Amérique

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Latine in 1957. This graduate-level institution was part of the University of Paris and had been created by government decree in 1954, taking possession of specially constructed premises in 1956 (Chonchol 1991, 180). Monbeig’s task was to group together researchers from various disciplines who were working on Latin America in this new, multi-disciplinary organization, to provide seminars, and to ensure supervision of doctoral candidates. His brief as director also embraced encouraging cooperation between French and Latin American scholars, and concentrating appropriate documentation at what would become known as the ‘Bibliothèque Pierre Monbeig’. Under his management, the periodical Cahiers des Amériques Latines was launched, as was the series entitled Travaux et Mémoires de l’Institut des Hautes Etudes de l’Amérique Latine. Advanced courses were provided on Latin American literature and civilization, geography, ethnology, history, history of art and sociology. He also established two research centres, one focusing on political, economic and social conditions, and the other on the natural environment of Latin America. Within the Institut, he headed a research laboratory (Laboratoire Associé 111) that was funded by the CNRS. As the elder statesman of the geography of Latin America in France, he ran his own seminar, recruited new geographical researchers and directed doctoral theses (Pebayle 1994). Monbeig’s fellow geographers who taught at the Institut des Hautes Etudes de l’Amérique Latine were Claude Collin Delavaud and Olivier Dollfus, while Claude Bataillon, Yves Leloup and Jean RevelMouroz were researchers at the Laboratoire Associé 111. Between 1968 and 1977, Monbeig recruited Hélène Rivière d’Arc, Anne Collin Delavaud, Martine Droulers, Graciela Schneier, and Hervé Théry as new researchers on the geography of Latin America (Revel-Mouroz 1991, 185–6). In his role as director of the Institut, he was not particularly hierarchical, and delegated many tasks and responsibilities to colleagues: [H]e knew how to reserve time for what was essential: to listen and to encourage researchers to speak up, not to operate from behind his director’s desk but rather sitting in one of the red armchairs of the Institute or in his library [in his own apartment] on boulevard Saint-Michel for a ‘family chat’. His scientific direction, even his management of conscience [like that of a father confessor], raised questions and doubts, and employed discrete irony. (Revel-Mounoz 1991, 189) Further qualities included his ‘choice of people, and his art of putting them in competition – not in opposition – so that very different personalities could live together’ day by day at the Institute (Revel-Mounoz 1991, 190). Retaining his directorship of the Institute, Monbeig moved from the CNAM in 1961 to a chair of geography at the Sorbonne, where he taught the largest cohort of undergraduate geographers in France and advised doctoral researchers. These included four scholars working on tropical Africa who had been guided by Robequain prior to his death in 1963, and Monbeig’s own students working on Brazil and other parts of Latin America. The Africanists were Gérard Brasseur, Jean Cabot, Jean Gallais and Guy Sautter; and Monbeig’s last two doctoral students working on Brazil were Hervé Théry and Martine Droulers (RevelMouroz 1991, 186). However, Monbeig ‘did not have the personality of a “leader” (in English in the original) in tropical geography, unlike Pierre Gourou’ (Da Costa Gomes and Droulers 1996, 264) (on Gourou, see Geographers Vol. 25). Pierre Monbeig’s penultimate career move took him for five years to the highest level of scientific management, as assistant director of the CNRS with responsibility for all the human and social sciences (Charle 1987). His role involved the allocation of government funds to a range of disciplines in competition for scarce resources to finance research units, assist individual scholars and support scientific publications. His interpersonal skills were tested to the limit as he chaired seemingly countless committees,

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intervened between warring scholars, calmed many troubled scientific waters and dispelled allegations that he was giving preferential treatment to geography. Certainly, he felt free to criticize them, as when he declared: ‘The geographers have been stupid, only being able to write for their students and their colleagues’, unlike the historians who reached a very wide, non-academic audience (Picard 1991, 205). One of his successes involved his support for a project to create a Centre de Géographie Tropicale (CEGET) at the University of Bordeaux (Lasserre 1991; Rivière d’Arc 2007). The decision to fund the CEGET was taken in February 1968, and Monbeig sat on its management committee and attended many of its research colloquia, beginning with a conference on how the regional concept might be applied in Brazil (Denis 1968). His role at the CNRS was aggravated by numerous changes that followed in the wake of the minirevolution in French society that occurred in the early summer of 1968. Three years later he relinquished his post as assistant director of the CNRS and left his chair of geography to become a director of research for the CNRS, while retaining his position as director of the Institut des Hautes Etudes de l’Amérique Latine until 1977. A colloquium organized in his honour four years later explored differing experiences of pioneering colonization in various parts of the globe, with Monbeig reviewing the process across the whole of Latin America (Monbeig 1981).

Conclusion Following his death in 1987, geographers on both sides of the Atlantic Ocean rehearsed Pierre Monbeig’s career and expressed their admiration for his personal qualities. Pierre George, his former colleague at the Sorbonne, evoked his ‘talent as a manager, ensuring efficient running of meetings and organizations by his patient and benevolent authority’, and stressed how these skills had been displayed when Monbeig was a vice president of the International Geographical Union after 1960 (George 1988, 446). The election of Pierre Monbeig as vice president followed a request from Latin American geographers that a European with experience of Latin America should hold the post (Sorre 1961, 449). His life-long friend, the former Communist Jean Dresch, recalled his ability to ‘gain the confidence and friendship of his colleagues young and old, and of his students’ (Dresch 1991, 48). He was concerned for the poor, the underprivileged and those in search of justice, but Dresch noted that he did not have ‘the spirit of a militant’, unlike himself (Dresch 1991, 50): ‘In his own discrete but joyful way, he demonstrated a real joie de vivre, which he shared with his family and his many friends’ (Dresch 1991, 51). Fellow Latin Americanist, Jean Revel-Mouroz insisted that Monbeig had been fiercely opposed to ‘Europocentrism’ and ‘Ethnocentrism’, and had taken personal action to assist Latin American academics, who had been victims of authoritarian regimes at home, to find posts in Europe (Revel Mouroz 1987, 6). He remembered ‘his extraordinary ability to listen and to understand, his openness to the ideas of others, including young people who came to him for advice. With a smile on his face, he encouraged others to develop their thoughts … He was a personality, a true Master’ (Revel-Mouroz 1987, 7). Guy Burgel remembered those very qualities, declaring: ‘He had the capacity to listen, despite his apparent bonhomie, and really encouraged ideas. In his little office [in the Institut de Géographie] in the rue Saint Jacques or in his big office [at the CNRS] on the banks of the Seine, the professor, the administrator, knew how to find time – often late in the day – to receive, to listen, to reassure, and to advise’ (Burgel 1991, 45). To Olivier Dollfus, Pierre Monbeig was ‘a real gentleman (un honnête homme), whose kindness exceeded the smoke from his pipe’, and his ‘apartment on boulevard Saint Michel was a truly welcoming place’ to his

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colleagues and friends, where Pierre, Juliette and their children practised ‘the art of living as a family’ (Dollfus 1987, 285, 287). One of his former students at São Paulo declared that Pierre Monbeig was ‘an excellent teacher and an excellent researcher, of really great importance’ for the development of academic geography in Brazil (Petrone 1994, 143). Another stressed that he was a true intellectual, ‘a man of culture, without personal vanity, [who] by favouring his Brazilian disciples, delayed achieving his goal of making a career in the French university system’ (Ab’Saber 1994, 228). Through his long tenure at São Paulo, Monbeig introduced Brazilian scholars to European and American ideas in geography and in cognate social sciences, and enabled them to enter and to play their part in the international community of geographers. Although it was held in Rio de Janeiro, the Eighteenth International Geographical Congress in 1956 – the first to be held in a tropical country – owed much to foundations laid by him a decade or more earlier. In recent years, the formative role of Pierre Monbeig has encouraged much research and debate among Brazilian geographers, expressed through exhibitions, a colloquium, monographs and many articles (Da Silva 2002; Dantas 2005; Angotti-Salgueiro 2006; Lemos and Galvani 2009; Vitte 2009, 2011; Perehouski and Rigon 2010; Alves and Ferreira 2011; De Andrade 2011; Fernandes 2011). The life and work of Pierre Monbeig was celebrated at the University of São Paulo in December on the centenary of his birth, and again in 2009 to mark 150 years of Franco-Brazilian cooperation. Of particular interest is the project at the University of São Paulo to classify and analyse his personal archives, to which a chronological biobibliography provides accessible introduction (Angotti-Salguiro 2002).

Bibliography and Sources 1. OBITUARIES AND OTHER ACCOUNTS RELATING TO PEIRRE MONBEIG

Anon. (1987), ‘Pierre Monbeig’, Annales de Géographie 96, 657. Dollfus, O. (1987), ‘Pierre Monbeig, 1908–1987’, Journal de la Société des Océanistes 73, 285–7. George, P. (1988), ‘Pierre Monbeig, 1908–1987’, Annales de Géographie 97, 444–9. Revel-Mouroz, J. (1987), ‘Pierre Monbeig, 1908–1987’, Cahiers des Amériques Latines 6, 5–7. 2. REFERENCES ON PIERRE MONBEIG AND HIS INTELLECTUAL MILIEU

Abreu, M. A. (1994), ‘O estudo geográfico da cidade no Brasil: evolução e avaliação. Contribuição à história do pensamento geográfico brasileiro’, Revista Brasileira de Geografia 56, 21–122. — (1999), ‘Cultural geography in Brazil’, Ecumene 6, 360–2. Ab’Saber, A. (1994), ‘Pierre Monbeig: a herança intellectual de un géografo’, Estudos Avançados 8, 221–32. Alves, F. D. and Ferreira, E. R. (2011), ‘História da geografia agrária brasileira: Pierre Monbeig e Leo Waibel’, Mercator 10, 87–102.

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Andrade, de J. C. (1991), ‘Pierre Monbeig e o Brasil’, in H. Théry and M. Droulers (eds), Pierre Monbeig: un géographe pionnier. Paris: Institut des Hautes Etudes de l’Amérique Latine, 53–5. — (2011), ‘Pierre Monbeig, un francês diante de geografia do movimento: un estudo sobre e obra Pioneirose fazendeiros do Estado de São Paulo’, Revista IEB 52, 43–68. Angotti-Salgueiro, H. (2002), ‘Biobibliografia cronológica de Pierre Monbeig, período 1929–1985’, Cybergeo 211, 1–35. — (2005), ‘A construção de representações nacionais: os desenhos de Percy Lau na Revista Brasileira de Geografia e outras visões icongraficás do Brasil moderno’, Anais du Museu Paulista, São Paulo 13, 21–72. — (ed.) (2006), Pierre Monbeig e a geografia humana brasileira. A dinâmica da transformação. São Paulo: EDUSC. Barreira, C. C. M. A. (1995), ‘O papel de Pierre Monbeig na análise da ocupação da frente pioneira do centro-oeste, 1930–1940’, Boletim Goiano de Geografia 15, 89–107. Bataillon, C. (1991), ‘Les années de formation, un entretien’, in H. Théry and M. Droulers (eds), Pierre Monbeig: un géographe pionnier. Paris: Institut des Hautes Etudes de l’Amérique Latine, 27–34. Bowman, I. (1931), The Pioneer Fringe. New York: American Geographical Society. Brandão, B. M. and Anselmo, R. C. M. S. (2007), ‘O pensamento geografico no Brasil: Pierre Monbeig e a psicologia bandeirante’, in P. W. Gonçalves (ed.), I Simposio de pesquisa em ensino e História de Ciécias da terra, III. Universidade de Campinas: Campinas, 377–81. Broc, N. (1997), ‘Les géographes français en Espagne, 1920–1950’, Annales de Géographie 106, 355–72. Burgel, G. (1991), ‘Un frontalier à la rue d’Ulm’, in H. Théry and M. Droulers (eds), Pierre Monbeig: un géographe pionnier. Paris: Institut des Hautes Etudes de l’Amérique Latine, 43–5. Charles, C. (1987), ‘Le personnel dirigeant du CNRS, 1937–1966’, Cahiers pour l’Histoire du CNRS 4, 1–30. Chonchol, J. (1991), ‘L’Institut des Hautes Etudes de l’Amérique Latine’, in H. Théry and M. Droulers (eds), Pierre Monbeig: un géographe pionnier. Paris: Institut des Hautes Etudes de l’Amérique Latine, 179–82. Costa Gomes, da P. C. and Droulers, M. (1996), ‘Pierre Monbeig, 1908–1987, et la modernité géographique’, in P. Claval and A. L. Sanguin (eds), La Géographie française à l’époque classique, 1918–1968. Paris: L’Harmattan, 259–65. Dantas, A . (2005), Pierre Monbeig: um marco da geografia brasileira. Porto Alegre: Sulina. — (2009), ‘Monbeig e a noção de Complexo Geográfico’, Confins 7, 1–17. Deffontaines, P. (1936), ‘Pays et paysages de l’Etat de Saint-Paul, Brésil’, Annales de Géographie 45, 50–71, 160–74.

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Demangeon, A. (1932), ‘Pionniers et fronts de colonisation’, Annales de Géographie 41, 631–6. — (1940), ‘La géographie psychologique’, Annales de Géographie 49, 134–7. Denis, P.-Y. (1968), ‘Le concept de région appliquée au Brésil’, Cahiers de Géographie du Québec 12, 347–63. Dresch, J. (1991), ‘Un homme de terrain dans les Andes’, in H. Théry and M. Droulers (eds), Pierre Monbeig: un géographe pionnier. Paris: Institut des Hautes Etudes de l’Amérique Latine, 47–51. Droulers, M. (1991a), ‘L’école française de géographie’, in H. Théry and M. Droulers (eds), Pierre Monbeig: un géographe pionnier. Paris: Institut des Hautes Etudes de l’Amérique Latine, 35–41. — (1991b), ‘Le développement de la géographie brésilienne’, in H. Théry and M. Droulers (eds), Pierre Monbeig: un géographe pionnier. Paris: Institut des Hautes Etudes de l’Amérique Latine, 95–7. — (1991c), ‘L’étude géographique des villes’, in H. Théry and M. Droulers (eds), Pierre Monbeig: un géographe pionnier. Paris: Institut des Hautes Etudes de l’Amérique Latine, 111–15. Fernandes, F. M. (2011), ‘Pierre Monbeig e o Brasil: texto e contexto’, Revista de Geografia 1, 1–6. Ferras, R. (1991), ‘L’Espagne des années trente’, in H. Théry and M. Droulers (eds), Pierre Monbeig: un géographe pionnier. Paris: Institut des Hautes Etudes de l’Amérique Latine, 67–74. George, P. (1991), ‘Les Annales de Géographie’, in H. Théry and M. Droulers (eds), Pierre Monbeig: un géographe pionnier. Paris: Institut des Hautes Etudes de l’Amérique Latine, 209–10. Gonçalves, J. H. R. (1998), ‘Em torno de uma refeitura liberal do mitema bandeirante: Pierre Monbeig e as frentes pioneiras nos anos 30 e 40’, Revista de Historia Regional 3, 37–64. Hardy, G. (1939), La Géographie psychologique. Paris: Gallimard. James, P. E. (1932), ‘The coffee lands of south-eastern Brazil’, Geographical Review 22, 225–44. — (1933), ‘Rio de Janeiro and São Paulo’, Geographical Review 23, 271–98. — (1938), ‘The changing patterns of population in São Paulo state, Brazil’, Geographical Review 28, 353–62. — (1940), ‘The expanding settlements of southern Brazil’, Geographical Review 30, 601–26. — (1942a), Latin America. New York: Odyssey. James, P. E. and Martin, G. J. (1981), All Possible Worlds: A History of Geographical Ideas, 2nd edn. Chichester: Wiley. Lasserre, G. (1991), ‘Le Centre de Géographie Tropicale’, in H. Théry and M. Droulers (eds), Pierre Monbeig: un géographe pionnier. Paris: Institut des Hautes Etudes de l’Amérique Latine, 207–8.

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Lebebvre, J.-P. (1990), ‘Les professeurs français des missions universitaires au Brésil, 1934–1944’, Cahiers du Brésil Contemporain 12, 1–10. Lemos, de A. I. G. and Galvani, E. (eds) (2009), Geografia, tradições e perspectivas – a presença de Pierre Monbeig. São Paulo: Expressão Popular. Martonne, de E. (1940), ‘Problèmes morphologiques du Brésil tropical atlantique’, Annales de Géographie 49, 1–27, 106–29. — (1943–44), ‘Problemas morfológicos do Brasil tropical atlâtico’, Revista Brasileira Geografia 5, 3–26, 523–50. Ozouf-Marignier, M.-V. (2006), ‘Un dominio contestado: a geografia psicologica no tempo de Pierre Monbeig’, in H. Angotti-Salguiero (ed.), Pierre Monbeig e a geografia humana brasileira. A dinâmica da transformaçao. Baura: Edusc, 57–85. Pazera, E. (1988), ‘A contribuição francesa e anglo-saxã na formação do pensamento geografico brasileiro’, Boletim de Geografia UEM 6, 33–6. Pebayle, R. (1994), ‘Dix années de géographie française sur le Brésil’, in P. Vennetier (ed.), Géographie des espaces tropicaux: une décennie de recherches françaises. Talence: Centre de Géographie Tropicale, 79–86. Perehouskei, N. A. and Rigon, O. (2010), ‘Os estudos geográficos na perspective de Pierre Monbeig’, Revista Percurso 2, 155–68. Petrone, P. (1994), ‘Pasquale Petrone e a Geografia na USP’, Estudos Avançados 8, 139–50. Picard, J. F. (1991), ‘Pierre Monbeig et le CNRS: un entretien’, in H. Théry and M. Droulers (eds), Pierre Monbeig: un géographe pionnier. Paris: Institut des Hautes Etudes de l’Amérique Latine, 193–205. Picard, J. F. and Mounier-Kuhn, P. E. (2007), ‘Entretien avec Pierre Monbeig, le 16 mai 1986’, Confins 1, 1–12. Queiroz, de M. I. P. (1991), ‘La recherche géographique au Brésil’, in H. Théry and M. Droulers (eds), Pierre Monbeig: un géographe pionnier. Paris: Institut des Hautes Etudes de l’Amérique Latine, 57–64. Revel-Mouroz, J. (1991), ‘Le Laboratoire Associé 111’, in H. Théry and M. Droulers (eds), Pierre Monbeig: un géographe pionnier. Paris: Institut des Hautes Etudes de l’Amérique Latine, 183–91. Rivière d’Arc, H. (2007), ‘Le réseau Amérique latine’, Revue pour l’Histoire du CNRS 18, 1–6. Robic, M.-C. (2009), ‘La crise des années trente et la tension vers l’expertise géographique: expériences françaises et internationales. Une nouvelle frontière?’, Confins 5, 1–16. Robinson, D. J. (1980), ‘On Preston James and Latin America: a biographical sketch’, in D. J. Robinson (ed.), Studying Latin America: Essays in Honor of Preston E. James. Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 1–101. Silva, da A. A. D. (2002), ‘Monbeig, paisagem e geografia estigmática’, Mercator 1, 71–8. Sorre, M. (1961), ‘Le XIXe Congrès international de géographie, Stockholm, août 1960’, Annales de Géographie 70, 449–51.

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Théry, T. (1991a), ‘Le sens de l’ouvrage’, in H. Théry and M. Droulers (eds), Pierre Monbeig: un géographe pionnier. Paris: Institut des Hautes Etudes de l’Amérique Latine, 5–7. — (1991b), ‘Les franges pionnières, un complexe géographique’, in H. Théry and M. Droulers (eds), Pierre Monbeig: un géographe pionnier. Paris: Institut des Hautes Etudes de l’Amérique Latine, 81–90. Théry, T. and Droulers, M. (eds) (1991) Pierre Monbeig: un géographe pionnier. Paris: Institut des Hautes Etudes de l’Amérique Latine. Vitte, A. C. (2009), ‘Breves consideraçoes sobre o papel de Pierre Monbeig na formação do pensamento geomorphológico uspiano’, Climatologia e Estudos da Paisagem 4, 50–69. — (2011), ‘Breves consideraçoes sobre o papel de Pierre Monbeig na formação do pensamento geomorphológico uspiano’, Confins 11, 1–16. Zusman, P. B. (1997), ‘La geografía y el proyecto territorial de la élite ilustrada paulista. La Associoçâo de Geógrafos Brasileiros, 1934–1945’, Scripta Nova 7, 1–15. 3. SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY OF WORKS BY PIERRE MONBEIG

1929

‘Le Pays d’Yveline au sud-ouest de Paris’, Annales de Géographie 38, 384–90.

1930

‘Les transformations économiques dans les Huertas et la région entre Alicante et Murcie’, Annales de Géographie 39, 597–606.

1932a

(with Paul Guinard) ‘Madrid’, Annales de Géographie 41, 481–99.

1932b

‘Vie de relations et spécialisations: les Baléares au XVIIIe siècle’, Annales d’Histoire Economique et Sociale 4, 538–48.

1933

‘La réforme agraire en Espagne’, Annales d’Histoire Economique et Sociale 5, 541–60.

1934a

‘Madrid, son urbanisation, son rôle, son avenir’, in Union Géographique Internationale, XIIIe Congrès International de Géographie, Comptes Rendus, vol. III. Paris: Armand Colin, 466–9.

1934b

‘Quelques aspects de l’économie agricole espagnole’, Annales de Géographie 43, 299–306.

1937

‘Les zones pionnières de l’Etat de São Paulo’, Annales d’Histoire Economique et Sociale 7, 343–65.

1940a

‘The colonial nucleus of Barão de Antonina’, Geographical Review 30, 260–71.

1940b

Ensaios de geografia humana brasileira. São Paulo: Martins.

1943

La crise des sciences de l’homme. Rio de Janeiro: Casa do Estudante do Brasil.

1944

(editor) Geografia de hoje. Rio de Janeiro: José Olympio.

1945–6

‘A divisao regional de São Paulo’, Anais da Associçao dos Geografos Brasileiros 1, 19–36.

1949

‘Evolution des genres de vie ruraux traditionnels dans le sud-est du Brésil’, Annales de Géographie 58, 35–43.

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1950

‘La ville de Saint Paul’, Revue de Géographie de Lyon 25, 330–7.

1951

‘Les structures agraires dans la frange pionnière de São Paulo’, Cahiers d’Outre-Mer, 4, 1–22.

1952a

Pionniers et planteurs de l’Etat de São Paulo. Paris: Armand Colin (translated into Portuguese as Pioneiros e fazendeiros no Estado de São Paulo. Sao Paulo, Hucitec, 1984).

1952b

‘Les petits cultivateurs de l’Etat de São Paulo’, Cahiers d’Outre-Mer 4, 289–96.

1953a

‘La croissance de la ville de São Paulo’, Revue de Géographie Alpine 41, 59–97, 261–309.

1953b

‘Os modos de pensar na geografia humana’, Boletim Paulista de Geografia 15, 46–51.

1954

Le Brésil. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France (translated into Portuguese as O Brasil. São Paulo, Européia, 1954).

1955a

‘Fer et métallurgie au Brésil’, L’Information Géographique 19, 48–56.

1955b

‘Les tendances actuelles de l’agriculture de São Paulo’, Bulletin de l’Association des Géographes Français 251–2, 148–56.

1955c

‘Les investissements nord-américains et l’évolution économique de l’Amérique latine’, Annales de Géographie 65, 106–19.

1957a

‘Les géographes français et l’Amérique latine’, in G. Chabot, R. Clozier and J. Beaujeu-Garnier (eds), La Géographie française au milieu du XXe siècle. Paris: Baillière, 249–56.

1957b

Novos estudos de geografia humana brasileira. São Paulo: Européia.

1961

‘Une défense de la géographie appliquée’, Annales, Economies, Sociétés, Civilisations 16, 1225–9.

1962

‘Les paysans du Guatemala’, Bulletin de la Société Royale de Géographie d’Anvers 74, 3–12.

1967

‘Points de vue géographiques sur le sous-développement en Amérique latine’, Annales de Géographie 76, 704–13.

1981

‘Les mouvements pionniers en Amérique latine’, Travaux et Mémoires de l’Institut des Hautes Etudes de l’Amérique Latine 34, 49–58.

1991a

‘Leçon inaugurale, le 6 novembre 1952, CNAM’, in H. Théry and M. Droulers (eds), Pierre Monbeig: un géographe pionnier. Paris: Institut des Hautes Etudes de l’Amérique Latine, 219–25.

1991b

‘Aula magna. Pour le cinquantenaire de l’Université de São Paulo’, in H. Théry and M. Droulers (eds), Pierre Monbeig: un géographe pionnier. Paris: Institut des Hautes Etudes de l’Amérique Latine, 227–31.

A full list of Monbeig’s publications, including minor notes in French and in Portuguese and articles in Brazilian newspapers, is provided by Angotti-Salgueiro (2002). Other lists of his publications may be found in George (1988), and Théry and Droulers (1991, 14–24).

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4. SELECTED REVIEWS OF THE WORKS OF PIERRE MONBEIG

Anon. (1941), ‘Ensaios de geografia humana brasileira’, Geographical Journal 98, 52. Gottmann, J. (1954), ‘Pionniers et planteurs de São Paulo’, Revue Française de Science Politique 4, 901–4. James, P. E. (1942b), ‘Ensaios de geografia humana brasileira’, Geographical Review 32, 337–8. Le Lannou, M. (1953), ‘Une frange pionnière’, Revue de Géographie de Lyon 28, 121–5. — (1955), ‘Trois livres sur le Brésil’, Revue de Géographie de Lyon 30, 47–48. Papy, L. (1954), ‘Au pays des plantations caféières de São Paulo’, Cahiers d’Outre-Mer 7, 195–203. Robequain, C. (1952), ‘Une étude de front pionnier au Brésil’, Annales de Géographie 61, 458–60. Sorre, M. (1955), ‘Deux livres sur le Brésil’, Annales de Géographie 64, 300–2. Veyret, P. (1952), ‘Pionniers et planteurs de São Paulo’, Revue de Géographie Alpine 40, 534–7. — (1954), ‘Le Brésil’, Revue de Géographie Alpine 42, 802.

Chronology 1908

Born on 15 September at Marissel (Oise)

1920–5

Secondary schooling at the Lycée Montaigne and the Lycée Louis-leGrand in Paris

1925–7

Studied history and geography at the Sorbonne

1927

Obtained first degree (licence) in history and geography

1928

Obtained diplôme d’études supérieures for research on the Pays d’Yveline

1929

Passed the agrégation examination in history and geography

1929–31

Studied at the Casa de Velasquez in Madrid; fieldwork on the Balearic Islands

1930

Married Juliette Janet

1931–4

Taught history and geography at the Lycée Malherbe in Caen

1935–46

Taught geography at the University of São Paulo, as professor of physical and human geography (1935–7), then as professor of human geography (1938–46)

1947–8

Held research fellowship in Paris, awarded by the CNRS

1948–50

Lectured in colonial and tropical geography at the University of Strasbourg

1950

Awarded state doctorate; elevated to chair of colonial geography at Strasbourg

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Pierre Monbeig

1952

Publication of major thesis, Pionniers et planteurs de l’Etat de São Paulo; appointed professor of economic geography at the CNAM in Paris

1953

Publication of minor thesis, La croissance de la ville de São Paulo

1957–77

Director of the Institut des Hautes Etudes de l’Amérique Latine

1961–72

Occupied a chair of human geography at the Institut de Géographie of the Sorbonne; served as assistant director of the CNRS with responsibility for human and social sciences

1972–7

Appointed as a director research at the CNRS

1977

Made honorary research director at the CNRS

1987

Dies at Cavalaire (Var) on 22 September

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Charles Robequain 1897–1963

Hugh Clout

Charles Robequain was a pioneer of colonial and tropical geography who produced the first field-based doctoral monograph on a region in the tropical world. After this study of northern Annam, he wrote books on Indochina, Malaya and Indonesia, Madagascar, and the territories of the French Union. He was a passionate traveller who visited many parts of the globe about which he wrote scholarly articles. His preferred methodology was regional description combined with systematic discussion that began with the physical environment and worked through economic activities to capital flows. He was a consistent defender of benevolent colonialism, whereby France and other imperial nations had a moral duty to improve the lot of the inhabitants of their dependent territories. Occupying a chair at the Sorbonne for a quarter century, Robequain taught generations of geographers. During the 1950s, however, independence movements proliferated across the colonial world, and geographers placed less emphasis on climatic explanations for levels of development. In addition, Robequain’s health began to fail, and his influence also waned as benevolent colonialism started to fall out of favour. As a result, the academic legacy of Charles Robequain is much less than that of Pierre Gourou, his contemporary, friend and fellow tropical geographer.

Education, Life and Work Born on 23 June 1897 at Die (Drôme), Charles-Edouard was the son of Adolphe Edouard Robequain, a 31-year-old tax official, and of 21-year-old Aline Filix Marie (née Viogeat), whose father, Adrien, was a timber merchant (Archives de l’Ecole Française d’Extrême-Orient, D-P, P-106, Charles Robequain: état-civil; Singaravélou 1999, 348). Both sides of the family were Protestant, with the Robequains coming from Mens in the Trièves area some 40 km south of Grenoble, and the Viogeats coming from Die (Blanchard 1964, 5). At the time of the birth of their son, the couple were living at Auberives in the Isère département. After primary schooling, Charles attended the lycée (state high school) in Grenoble where he was taught in his final year by Raoul

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Blanchard, professor of geography at the city’s university, who gave some classes in place of teachers who had been conscripted to fight in World War I (Geographers this volume). Blanchard remembered Charles as ‘a tall young man, with sharp features, who was serious and honest, the best pupil in the class’ (Blanchard 1964, 5). After passing the baccalauréat (school-leaving) examination in July 1915, Charles served in the French army from 1916 to the summer of 1919, having risen to the rank of lieutenant in the artillery and returning to civilian life with the Croix de guerre and two citations for bravery. He obtained a scholarship to study for a licence (first degree) and entered the University of Grenoble in the autumn of 1919 to study history and geography. Demonstrating his dedication to hard work, doubtless influenced by his Protestant upbringing, he completed the requirements for his degree in 12 months, wrote a short article on the climate of La Croix-Haute, and then responded to Blanchard’s encouragement to embark on a diplôme d’études supérieures (comparable to a master’s degree by research) (Robequain 1921). A topic was soon identified in the form of an holistic study of Le Trièves, the small area centred on Mens. Robequain started work straight away ‘with his characteristic firm resolution’, and on several occasions was accompanied by Blanchard who recalled how ‘it was a pleasure to work with him since he rapidly assimilated research techniques. Our trips were very happy since this parpaillot (Protestant) was not straight-laced and enjoyed a joke as much as I did’ (Blanchard 1964, 5). Robequain demonstrated that he was ‘a very solid geographer’ and was rewarded by an invitation to accompany Blanchard on the ‘unforgettable inter-university excursion to Algeria’ that brought together academics and advanced geography students from universities throughout France in the autumn of 1921 (Robequain 1950a, 198–9). Robequain’s research on ‘Le Trièves’ would be published in full in the Revue de Géographie Alpine (Robequain 1922). After his success at the University of Grenoble, Charles Robequain transferred to the University of Lyon to prepare for the demanding agrégation examination that had to be passed by candidates aspiring to teach at the highest level in a state lycée or in a French university. Among his tutors, Charles would have encountered Maurice Zimmermann (1870–1950) who taught colonial geography both at the university and in the école de commerce (business school) (Clout 2012). Although Zimmermann had a reputation for leaving his students to their own devices, that contact may well have been critical in shaping Robequain’s subsequent career (Gourou in Bréelle 2002, 328). During each academic vacation, he visited Blanchard who had struck up a friendship with his parents and who offered unfailing support to the young scholar. After just one year of preparation, Robequain passed the national competitive examination (concours) in July 1922, coming at the top of the list of candidates for the agrégation in history and geography. On the strength of this, he was appointed to teach at the lycée in Nice alongside Ernest Bénévent (1883–1967), another of Blanchard’s former students (Broc 1993, 237; Clout 2009, 61). Charles Robequain enjoyed living in this Mediterranean city and spent many weekends hiking in the southern Alps, which Blanchard thought might provide an appropriate region for his doctoral research (Blanchard 1964, 6). However, the young geographer had developed something of a wanderlust, travelling to the Tatra mountains in Poland during the long vacation of 1923, and in the following year, he submitted an application to study at the Ecole Française d’Extrême-Orient (EFEO) in Hanoï (Robequain 1924). This institution of research and higher learning had been established in 1898, when Paul Doumer was governor-general of Indochina, and promoted scholarship in archaeology, philology, history and the discovery of ancient monuments (Gourdon 1931, 137; Bréelle 2002, 32). It also had an impressive library and formed an essential academic base for researchers working in Indochina. Robequain’s application was successful and on 10 April 1924 a two-year secondment to the EFEO began, at which time his state

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of health was ‘absolutely normal’ (Archives de l’EFEO, D-P, P-106, Etat de santé, 29 December 1923). While welcoming this development, Blanchard feared for the future health of his protégé in the malarial tropics and regretted ‘not being able to help him in the preparation of his thesis, since I was poorly informed on Indochina. However, he did not need me and got on with research by himself ’ (Blanchard 1964, 6). As was the custom of the time among French geographers, Robequain decided to write an holistic regional monograph to acquire his doctorat d’état (state doctorate). After exploring the opportunities available, he selected the Thanh Hoá province of northern Annam, to the south-west of Hanoï. Lying just to the south of the border with Tonkin, the Thanh Hoá comprised low-lying rice fields inhabited by Annamites (Vietnamese) and a mountainous hinterland occupied by the Muong, Thaï and other groups. It was an historic Annamite province created at the end of the fifteenth century (Bréelle 2002, 91). During the colonial period, it was the northern province of the French Protectorate of the Empire of Annam, part of the Union of Indochina. In 1885, the first resistance against French authority had mobilized mandarins and peasants in the mountains of Thanh Hoá in defence of the emperor. Working without advice from Blanchard, but with welcome support from scholars at the EFEO, Robequain ‘developed his own research methods, and familiarized himself with local languages and a very new environment’ (Blanchard 1964, 6). According to local conditions, he travelled around by car in the plains and by horseback or on foot in the mountains (Archives de l’EFEO, D-P, P-106, letter to the director, 5 January 1925). He did not become fluent and relied on paid interpreters when making ‘oral enquiries among canton chiefs and mayors of the principal villages’ (Archives de l’EFEO, D-P, P-106, letters to the director, 1 March 1925, 22 November 1925; Bréelle 2002, 204). When his secondment to the EFEO came to an end in April 1926, the director of the EFEO suggested that he might move into a permanent post as director of studies in ethnography (Archives de l’EFEO, D-P, P-106, letter from L. Finot dated 4 May 1926). This did not materialize and Robequain taught history and geography at the Lycée Albert-Sarraut in Hanoï, where the academic elite of Indochina were trained (Van Thao 1995, 246). His successor was Pierre Gourou (Geographers Vol. 25) who taught at the Lycée Albert-Sarraut until 1936. He devoted a further two years to field research and completing his thesis, and managed to obtain six months of study leave, beginning September 1927, to add the finishing touches (Archives de l’EFEO, D-P, P-106, letters from the Recteur de l’Académie de l’Indochine, 14 January 1927, and from the Gouverneur-Général de l’Indochine, 26 August 1927). He also found time to write a third article from earlier visits to Luang Prabang and Vientiane in Laos, and to the Chinese province of Yunnan (Robequain 1925a; 1925b; 1927). In each case he had written a letter to the director of the EFEO to recount his impressions of the sites visited and to argue a geographical case for travelling beyond his study area (Archives de l’EFEO, D-P, P-106, letters to the director dated July 1924 and July 1926). Early in 1928, Blanchard tried to persuade Robequain to join him at Harvard University (where he held a part-time professorship), but Robequain declined this opportunity since his thesis still required attention. A year later, he delivered his monograph to his patron who ‘marvelled at the two volumes of this superb thesis’, which appeared in the research series published for the EFEO (Blanchard 1964, 6; Robequain 1929a). At the age of 32, Robequain defended his work before a panel of examiners composed of Jean Brunhes (1869–1930) (Geographers Vol. 25), professor of human geography at the Collège de France who had travelled in Indochina; Jules Sion (1879–1940), professor of geography at the University of Montpellier and author of two volumes on ‘Monsoon Asia’ in the great Géographie Universelle conceived by Paul Vidal de la Blache (1845–1917) – despite never having visited the Orient; Maurice Gignoux (1881–1955), professor of geology at Grenoble; and, of course, Blanchard (Brunhes 1923; Blanchard

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1929, 466; Sion 1929). (On Vidal de la Blache, see Geographers Vol. 12). The discussion was filled with praise for the candidate who, ‘displaying his customary modesty, was declared “doctor of letters” (docteur-ès-lettres) with the highest honours’ (Blanchard 1929, 466). Not surprisingly, Blanchard insisted that he should write a summary article for the Revue de Géographie Alpine (Blanchard 1929). Early in 1929, Robequain requested formal permission not to return to Indochina because of ‘two deaths in the family’ (one of whom was his brother) but expressed his willingness ‘to serve Indochina in Paris’ (Archives EFEO, D-P, P-106, telegram dated 9 January 1929; Cornevin 1965, 75). At this time, there were few university posts in geography in France, with the whole subject being the responsibility of lone academics in most universities. In October 1929, the name of Charles Robequain was added to the official list of candidates who were qualified to teach in institutions of higher education. However, no appropriate post was vacant, and Charles spent the next two years in Paris as head of the documentation service of the Agence économique de l’Indochine. This period enabled him to amass a great deal of information on the territory, to write two short texts on Indochina that appeared before the great Exposition Coloniale Internationale to be held in Paris in the summer of 1931, to draft two communications for the Thirteenth International Geographical Congress of 1931, to publish several scholarly articles and to prepare eight short notes on aspects of trade and economic development in south-east Asia for the Bulletin de l’agence économique de l’Indochine (Robequain 1931; 1932; 1934a; 1934b; 1935a; Gourou 1964, 4). He may also at this time have delivered some classes at the Sorbonne (Singaravélou 1999, 262). In 1931, a teaching post became available at the university in Poitiers, where geography had been the responsibility of the economist-cum-historian Prosper Boissonade (1862– 1935) (Anon 1932; Broc 1993, 228). Robequain remained in this quiet city for two years before moving in 1933 to the chair of geography at the University of Rennes, following the departure of René Musset (1881–1977) to the University of Caen (Geographers Vol. 31). At this time, Charles was still a bachelor, but at Rennes he married the daughter of Commandant Graf, who had been a star pupil at the Ecole de Guerre (military academy), having previously been taught by Blanchard (Blanchard 1964, 7; Cornevin 1965, 76). The couple would have three sons and a daughter (Delvert 1964, 614). During the 1930s, Robequain strengthened his links with geographers at the Sorbonne, by collaborating with Albert Demangeon (1872–1940) (Geographers Vol. 11) and André Cholley (1886–1968) (Geographers Vol. 31) on the Collection d’enseignement de la géographie par l’image, which made abundant use of photographs, by submitting a number of notes, book reviews and articles to the Annales de Géographie that was edited by Emmanuel de Martonne (1873–1955) (Geographers Vol. 12) (director of the Institut de Géographie at the Sorbonne) and Demangeon, and by writing a text on Indochina for the Armand Colin publishing house, whose geographical series was co-ordinated by Demangeon (Robequain 1935b). In addition, Robequain delivered lectures on colonial geography at the Sorbonne during 1935 and 1936, following the retirement of Professor Augustin Bernard (1865–1947) (Anon. 1937, 263; Robequain 1948a) (on Bernard, see Geographers Vol. 3). In 1937, Robequain left Rennes for a full-time teaching post in colonial geography at the Sorbonne, which, in the following year, was transformed into a professorial chair that he would occupy for the rest of his life. In the summer of 1938, Robequain presented a paper at the Fifteenth International Geographical Congress at Amsterdam and took advantage of the post-conference excursion to the Dutch East Indies to extend his knowledge of south-east Asia, adding on a visit to Malaya (Robequain 1938). During the academic session of 1938–9, his students received an entirely new course on the basis of this field experience. Jean Delvert, his pupil and eventually his successor at the Sorbonne, noted that these precise and formal lectures ‘revealed a fascinating world,

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coloured by many attractive features that concealed difficult problems’ (Delvert 1975, 146). They made an ‘unforgettable impression’ on this student and would orientate his own research to the Far East (Delvert 1975, 146). Robequain would incorporate material from these presentations into two articles on the Dutch East Indies and a textbook on Le monde malais (Robequain 1941; 1946). Despite having passed 40 years of age, Robequain was called up to serve the military until the outbreak of World War II in 1939 until 21 August 1941 (Battistini 1964, 2). In addition, Robequain was called up to serve in the second colonial artillery regiment on 2 September 1939 (Cornevin 1965, 77). On 24 June 1940, he was taken prisoner of war in Lorraine and remained in captivity until 21 August 1941. In addition to Robequain, André Cholley, Marcel Larnaude and Pierre Birot were mobilized in 1939, leaving the teaching of a reduced programme of geography at the Sorbonne in the hands of de Martonne (aged 66) and Demangeon (aged 67), with support from Jean Gottmann and two foreign scholars, the Egyptian Hassan Awad and the Portuguese Orlando Ribeiro (Daveau 2007) (on Ribeiro, see Geographers Vol. 31). The death of Demangeon on 25 July 1940, the return of Ribeiro to Portugal and the departure of Gottmann – on the advice of de Martonne and Demangeon – to the United States in order to escape persecution as a Jewish citizen, further weakened the teaching of geography at the Sorbonne during World War II. Once returned to civilian life, Robequain continued his teaching at the Sorbonne and was elected to the Académie des Sciences Coloniales in 1943 (Faivre 1964, 106). Twelve years later, Robequain would present the newly elected Pierre Gourou to members of the Académie (Robequain 1955). When peace was restored in 1945, Robequain began an important series of visits to various parts of the tropical world. In the following year, he made his first trip to Madagascar (and the island of Réunion), where he chaired the panel of examiners for the baccalauréat examinations and then undertook fieldwork with the assistance of local geographers, which led to a particular attachment to the landscapes and people of the extreme south of the island (Battistini 1964, 2). After a couple of visits, he wrote a lengthy article on Tananarive (Antananarivo), the capital of Madagascar, and gathered further information that would be incorporated into articles and two books (Robequain 1949a; 1949b; 1953a; 1958b). In 1950, Robequain visited the French West Indies, Puerto-Rico, Haïti, India and Cambodia, but by this time his health was deteriorating and an unspecified ‘grave crisis’ soon followed (Delvert 1975, 151). Nonetheless, he attended the Seventeenth International Geographical Congress at Washington, DC, in 1952, where he delivered a paper on French research in tropical Africa, and two years later visited Hong Kong and Japan (Dresch and Robequain 1957b; Robequain 1958a). As a member of the French Communist Party, his co-author Jean Dresch was barred from entry to the United States and was unable to attend the Congress. Despite his anti-colonial beliefs, he occupied the chair of geography and colonization of North Africa at the Sorbonne from 1948 to 1956 (see Geographers Vol. 31). Despite worsening health and declining vigour, Robequain continued his courses at the Sorbonne and gave lectures to future overseas administrators at the Ecole de la France d’Outre-Mer (formerly known as the Ecole Coloniale, or ‘Colo’) to business students at the Ecole des Hautes Etudes Commerciales, to social scientists at the Institut d’Ethnologie and to trainee statisticians at the Ecole d’application du service national des statistiques (Mus 1948, 18). François Gay, who attended geography classes at the Sorbonne in the early 1950s, recalls that Robequain appeared tired and that some of his lectures had become dry and encyclopaedic. Raoul Blanchard remarked that this hard worker was surely ‘overworked’ (Blanchard 1964, 7). As the bibliography of his Madagascar et les bases dispersées de l’Union Française reveals, Charles Robequain remained a voracious reader, and continued to review publications on aspects of tropical geography for the Annales de Géographie (Robequain 1958b, 536–70; Gourou 1964, 7). He even

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summoned the strength to visit some of his doctoral students in their distant research areas. For example, in 1958 he visited Jean Gallais in the Niger, ‘despite extreme fatigue, which we supposed was due to overwork or depression, [but] he already harboured a much graver disease’ (Gallais 1968, 3). Two years later he had become so seriously ill that he was unable to undertake his normal professional activities (Battistini 1964, 1). Charles Robequain died on 28 September 1963 at the age of 66 and was buried in the family vault in the Protestant section of the graveyard at Mens in his beloved Trièves.

Scientific Ideas, Geographical Thought and Published Legacy As the pupil of Raoul Blanchard and Maurice Zimmermann, who were both direct disciples of Vidal de la Blache, Charles Robequain was exposed to an holistic vision of geography that integrated physical and human factors, embraced the utility of fieldwork and mapping and found its finest expression in the writing of regional monographs. His thesis Le Thanh Hoá: étude géographique d’une province annamite was in many respects a tropical reflection of the early doctoral monographs that had been written about regions of France by Demangeon, Blanchard and other geographers (Clout 2009). There were, however, several differences in approach and it must be understood that ‘the province of Thanh Hoá [was] one of the most studied and best known parts of French Indochina’ (Chassigneux 1927, 232). Topographic maps at 1: 100,000 covered the whole province, with maps at 1: 25,000 for the delta of the Song Ma but not for higher terrain (Bréelle 2002, 160–2). Aerial photographs had been taken of some areas by the French military, and the censuses of 1921 and 1926 afforded rough approximations of population numbers. At the time of Robequain’s research, and with the exception of Japan, ‘all statistics [throughout the Far East] were false, civil registration lists of births, deaths and marriages were inexistent, and population censuses were works of fantasy – as a consequence only direct contact can allow one to reach the truth’ (Delvert 1975, 150). In addition, French scholars had published research on the geology, history, economy and water management of the province, with a 20-page article on the plain and irrigation works of the Thanh Hoá appearing in the Annales de Géographie for 1927. This was the work of Edmond Chassigneux (1875–1967), who had received an ‘Autour du Monde’ travel scholarship from the banker Albert Kahn. In 1908, he had enrolled at the EFEO in Hanoï and undertook various enquiries in Tonkin and Annam over the next two years, returning to France in 1910 for a teaching career that would be crowned by the chair of the history of colonization at the Collège de France (Singaravélou 2011a, 15; 2011b, 92; Chassigneux 1912; 1913). Robequain had contacted him before he left France for Hanoï and would quote several of his articles in his thesis (Archives de l’EFEO, D-P, P-106, letter to director, 19 February 1924). Rather than treating the Thanh Hoá as a single unit, Robequain highlighted the contrast between the thinly settled uplands, occupied by the Muong and other groups, and the low-lying, densely populated delta lands that were largely occupied by Annamite (Vietnamese) and Chinese groups. The two territories were discussed in separate volumes of the thesis, with the first focusing on the uplands after a 40-page discussion of the climate of the province, and the second examining the ‘natural regions’, cultural landscapes and human activities of the delta, before offering a 30-page appraisal of changes following the presence of French administrators, soldiers, missionaries and colonists (Singaravélou 2011b, 262).

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The second distinctive characteristics of Le Thanh Hoá was Robequain’s limited discussion of physical parameters that had been charted by other French scholars including Chassigneux, and the strong emphasis placed on human topics (see footnotes in Chassigneux, 1927). These included ethnic groups, temporary cropping and settlement forms in the uplands and the construction of irrigation canals and drainage ditches, rice farming, fishing, craft activities and trade in the delta. Robequain’s positive endorsement of French activity in the province during the preceding half century also distinguished his thesis from monographs about regions in metropolitan France and would be a characteristic feature in his subsequent work (Bréelle 2002, 250). Robequain concluded: Our policies have tended to enrich the country . . . The work is yet incomplete, but the first results are visible everywhere; brick houses replace straw huts, increasingly products are imported. The taste for cleanliness and comfort is spreading thanks to the purchase of petrol, soap and quinine; meat is eaten more frequently . . . It is certain that we have reduced the number of ragged, hungry beggars; we have brought more justice to the resolution of law suits; [and] we have allowed every farmer to work in peace. I have not really discussed all that has been done to reduce disease and suffering; hospitals, leper colonies, infirmaries and maternity units, doctors and nursing sisters. Also, should one not evoke the continuing extension of modern education which, with necessary adaptations, must be the most certain instrument for improving the lot of the poor and the most generous expression of our influence? How can one say that our [colonizing] work is bad? We do not see that argument. Our work is an expression of goodwill. (Robequain 1929a, 611–12) For example, new roads built by the French facilitated trade between delta and hinterland to ‘confirm the unity of the province . . . Increasing peaceful interaction between ethnic groups is favouring the expansion of Annamite civilization . . . The Annamite would seem to be the only possible monitor, working under our direction, for the other peoples of French Indochina’ (Robequain 1929a, 613). Finally, he asked, was ‘the vast irrigation network . . . not a magnificent symbol of unification’ involving different natural regions and ethnic groups in the province? This benevolent vision of the impact of French colonialism on the people and economy of Indochina would not be shared by later commentators (Karnow 1984, 125–30). A further distinguishing feature of Le Thanh Hoá was Robequain’s abundant use of illustrations, comprising 33 maps and diagrams within the body of the text, several foldout maps and 48 pages of photographs, with two, three or four images to each page (Anon. 1929, 80). Settlement features in the delta were depicted by extracts from the official 1: 25,000 maps, while landscapes and members of various ethnic groups were recorded in photographs. Most of these images bore the legend ‘EFEO’ but it is not clear whether they came from Robequain’s camera or were the work of official photographers. One wonders whether the European man shown in the pictures on pages 208 and 330 was in fact Robequain. Remaining images were supplied by the state services for agriculture, forestry and air photography. The service aéronautique de l’Indochine was certainly responsible for the handful of striking vertical views of villages, of flooded rice fields, of the fifteenth-century citadel of Ho and of the citadel, royal place and barracks of the town of Thanh Hoá. Such luxurious illustration was only possible through financial support from the EFEO, which bore the cost of publishing Robequain’s monograph in its prestigious series. For example, in November 1927, a sum of 1,000 piastres was allocated to this effect (Archives de l’EFEO, D-P, P-106, letter from the Chef du Bureau de l’EFEO, 28 November 1927). By contrast, most doctoral scholars working in France at this time had no funding other than their personal resources, rendering lavish

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cartography and photographic illustration beyond their means. It was a requirement that doctoral monographs be published, and in many cases the author had to bear the costs of printing. In an encouraging three-page note, Jules Sion reviewed Le Thanh Hoá for the Annales de Géographie, thereby presenting Robequain and his work not only to academics in France but to the intellectual community worldwide also. Despite its size and density, this was a ‘lively book’ that ‘does honour to French scientific knowledge and especially to the Institut de Géographie in Grenoble’ (Sion 1929, 513). While recognizing Robequain’s ‘broad understanding of local people, perhaps we await from him an indication of how their social condition and their way of thinking changed following contact with us’ (Sion 1929, 516). Early recognition for this author came with the award of the Drouyn de Lhuys Prize by the Académie des sciences morales et politiques in 1931. Pierre Gourou insisted that the monograph demonstrated how Robequain ‘had the fieldworker’s skill of knowing how to knock on the right doors, of obtaining what information was needed, and never giving anyone any reason to regret having helped. This was a great thesis, which [three decades later] has lost none of its value and interest’ (Gourou 1964, 2). Le Thanh Hoá was indeed a creation of its time both ideologically and methodologically. The prosperous 1920s were a ‘golden age’ for European colonization during which few Frenchmen questioned their nation’s civilizing mission to its colonial subjects (Bréelle 2002, 148). The monograph was a pioneering study, being the first geographical monograph to involve sustained field work and library research in a tropical region (Gottmann 1964, 594). Other French geographers had written doctoral monographs before Robequain, but most of these were compiled in Paris from existing publications, and few involved fieldwork overseas (Clout 2011). The only possible contender was Emile-Félix Gautier (1864–1940) whose Madagascar, essai de géographie physique emerged from the author’s travels as director of education on that island (Gautier 1902). Having concentrated for five years on a single province, Charles Robequain then used his knowledge of Indochina in four publications during the 1930s. The first two of these preceded the Exposition Coloniale Internationale of 1931, and displayed the author’s holistic, Vidalian approach to geography and his faith in the virtues of benevolent colonization. As a contributor to the lavishly illustrated ‘Horizons de France’ series, the text of his Indochine française examined culture, history, economic activities and regional diversity. While demonstrating the territory’s varied resource base and historical experience, the author looked forward to ‘a serene and profitable transfiguration’ of the Indochinese Union to ‘a peaceful renovation under French patronage’ that would be ‘no less beautiful and noble, and would release a poetry no less profound than surviving remnants from an age that will never return’ (Robequain 1930a, 252). This text was translated and republished in 2001 as Photographic Impressions of French Indochina. Governor-General Pierre Pasquier stressed that Robequain portrayed mines, factories and railways as well as pagodas, elephants and palanquins, and that after describing traditional life, he evoked ‘a young Indochina, awakening to every expression of progress – under the gaze of France – and ready to take action for an admirable renewal’. Georges Coedès (1886–1969), archaeologist and head of the EFEO, praised this short book, ‘composed by a geographer with a direct view of the country and its inhabitants, solidly supported by historical documentation and very up-todate economic and social information’, declaring it to be ‘a perfect example of a work of popularization . . . presenting precise information in a brief, attractive and lively form’ (Coedès 1931, 225). Robequain’s second essay, entitled ‘The land and people of Indochina’, appeared in a two-volume collection edited by Sylvain Lévi, professor of Sanskrit at the Collège de France, to accompany the Exposition Coloniale. This

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time, a consideration of climate, landforms and population was followed by a succinct discussion of each of the component territories of the Indochinese Union: Annam, Cambodia, Cochin-China, Laos and Tonkin (Robequain 1930b). Robequain’s third contribution, again entitled L’Indochine française, was written as part of the geography series edited by Demangeon for the Armand Colin publishing house. It reflected its author’s lived experience and knowledge of statistical information, and drew on official material assembled for the Exposition Coloniale. Robequain strove to capture ‘the astonishing variety of the country, larger in area than France and populated by 21 million inhabitants’, while also seeking ‘to show the solidarity of the five countries of the Indochinese Union, which was, of course, an artificial organization, assembled rather at random’ (Robequain 1935b, 5). He stressed his belief that ‘the will, strength and intelligence of metropolitan France remain the most certain guarantees of its survival. Moreover, these factors have consolidated relationships, created increasingly solid links, and developed a system of general interest and mutual assistance that receives reasoned approval’. Physical geography, population and regional characteristics were reviewed in the first third of the book, which then focused on three main themes. Under ‘The traditional economy’, the widespread practice of temporary cultivation on burnt-over land (rây) in the uplands was contrasted with rice cultivation, fisheries, crafts and flourishing commerce on the coastal plains and in the deltas, with due acknowledgement of the role of the Chinese ‘as the real masters of trade over a very long time’. ‘Recent changes’ emphasized European investment in water management, plantations of coffee and rubber, mines and factories. ‘Migration and trade’ focused on intense overpopulation in the northern deltas, controversial attempts to resettle northerners in reclaimed parts of the Mekong delta, and the overwhelming importance of rice exports in the international trade economy that was suffering effects of global depression after 1929. Despite some detractions from ‘noble aspirations, and the fact that speculators were found alongside apostles’, Robequain insisted on the beneficial outcomes of French activity. ‘That the lot of the native has been improved in Indochina cannot be denied; human life is better as hunger is less frequent, work can be carried out in peace, and the chance of escaping terrible epidemics is greater than in the past. It is certain that these results are due to our activity, which we must extend even more’. However, the future well-being of the peoples of Indochina could not ‘be based only on cement and reinforced concrete’ but also on more delicate and patient improvements’ to land ownership, employment, provision of credit and education. As part of France’s benevolent colonialism, steps should be taken to involve ‘more local people in administering their own country’ (Robequain 1935b, 125, 215, 216, 218 respectively). While regretting its relative brevity, Gourou welcomed this ‘substantial and solid’ book that ‘gave a precise, accurate and lively depiction’ of ‘the eternal features of the country and of rapid changes in the present day’ (Gourou 1936, 95). In his estimation, ‘After the flood of generally mediocre and often frankly detestable books on Indochina that have been published on the occasion of the Exposition Coloniale of 1931, one is happy to draw attention . . . to this elegant and honest work’ (Gouou 1936, 97). Robequain’s fourth text on Indochina focused on ‘the changes effected in the economy of Indochina as a result of French occupation’, being commissioned by the Institute of Pacific Relations and published by the Centre of the Study of Foreign Policy (Centre d’Etudes de Politique Etrangère) (Robequain 1939, vii). Funds from the French Ministry of National Education, the Ministry for the Colonies and from the Government-General of Indochina had enabled its author to travel widely, make enquiries in the field and acquire the latest information. Appearing in 1939 as L’Evolution économique de l’Indochine française, it developed many of the issues presented in 1935, but it was, however, entirely thematic. Regional variations were not treated

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in their own right and only appeared within systematic chapters. It accompanied a text by Gourou, entitled L’Utilisation du sol en Indochine française, which presented physical conditions and spatial variations in land use and traditional activities (Gourou 1940; 1945). Making reference to Robequain’s book, he stated, ‘I shall neglect all forms on new activity bound up with European intervention in French Indochina’, and Robequain explained how he and Gourou had ‘worked together so that our two books are complementary’ (Gourou 1940, iii; Robequain 1939, vii). In this spirit of mutuality, Robequain touched only briefly on the political background and geography of Indochina before devoting eight chapters, of varying length, to its peoples, communications, economy, availability of capital, colonization, agriculture, industries and trade. An English translation, together with a supplement on developments from 1939 to 1943, was published in order to inform readers about ‘a territory that is bound to be of unusual significance in any Far Eastern peace settlement’ following World War II (Robequain 1944a, v). Robequain admitted that, despite public works, plantations and mines, ‘Indochina’s lack of demographic balance is just as extreme as it was when the French occupation took place’ (Robequain 1944a, 59). He showed that densely populated regions offered little opportunity for European activity, since in the deltas of Tonkin and northern Annam ‘practically every bit of cultivable land is already utilized . . . It is not possible to start brand new projects . . . as it would be in open country or new territory; all that can be done is to restore, correct and develop’ agricultural activities. Attempts to relocate Annamite settlers to relatively empty areas was hindered by psychological factors as well as by the occurrence of malaria, for ‘according to popular belief, both forested and mountainous regions are very unlucky, a belief in which superstition and actual experience are inextricably linked’. By contrast, ‘settling Annamites in the southern deltas [of Cochin-China] seems much easier, since it is merely the continuation of a migration that has been going on for many years, [but] there must be a definite colonization program’ to complement the water-management projects organized by the French. Progress had been achieved in opening schools throughout Indochina and in providing advanced education in Hanoï and Saigon, but ‘fears still persist [over] the prospect of unemployed intellectuals, doomed to all the rancour resulting from unfulfilled hopes. Just as much as rural overpopulation, the overproduction of college graduates is a subject of constant anxiety’. Frustration among the intelligentsia would indeed play a notable part in the quest for independence in the years ahead. Investment by France had already created new industrial employment but Robequain was not convinced that this was the solution to overpopulation. ‘If well planned, industrialization could help improve the natives’ lot. It should not, however, be regarded as the single or the most efficacious remedy . . . More can be expected from agricultural progress which in turn depends on the colony’s internal prosperity, continued improvement of irrigation and farming methods, and the effectiveness of popular credit and cooperative systems’ (Robequain 1944a, 53, 61, 64, 88, 304 respectively). Robequain concluded his analysis by stressing that ‘the average standard of living of the Indochinese has risen in fifty years. The size of the increase cannot be computed exactly, but . . . there can be no doubt about it’. Nonetheless, ‘poverty has not disappeared and visitors to the northern deltas see plenty of evidence, particularly if they leave the highways and wander into market places and penetrate into the intimacy of villages hidden behind tall bamboo hedges’. Then, he maintained, they would ‘no longer want to boast (as some still do) of the riches of the Annamite plains’. With pacification, medical aid and other changes introduced by the French, the population of the northern plains continued to grow ‘as fast as the opportunities offered to them’, as was the case on many lowlands of monsoon Asia. Robequain maintained:

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Overpopulation is the fundamental problem, the one on whose solution depend all the others. The education of the native masses can succeed only when there is a minimum of material comfort. While people are hungry, no social changes can be accomplished – no matter how desirable. Politics and economics are closely linked: the native must, of course, have a growing share in governing his own country; but also, in order to carry out these duties, he must have a large daily ration of rice, supplemented by other foods, to build up his physical strength. This is a difficult problem to solve and is one of the white man’s greatest burdens. (Robequain 1944a, 345) All colonial powers had to confront the ongoing challenge of enlarging the means of livelihood open to the indigenous population. Echoing the views of many critics, Robequain asked if tackling such responsibilities would repay the mother country, ‘since their profits are uncertain and in any case would not mature for many years’. He believed that ‘many of the enterprises which are indispensable to the progress of Indochina and to that of the other colonies will not pay immediate dividends. Perhaps they never will, measured in purely financial terms. But they should be considered as long-term investments, like money put into an annuity. In the long term, colonization must have aims others than the mere balancing of accounts to truly justify it’ (Robequain 1944a, 347, 348 respectively). L’Evolution économique and its English translation were welcomed for providing a clear statement of the challenges confronting France and Indochina on the eve of World War II and prior to the Japanese invasion of south-east Asia, however conditions changed so fast that even the supplement in the translation was out of date before it was printed (Anon 1940; McCune 1941). Historian M. M. Knight observed that ‘the book goes well beyond the specific promise of its title . . . Quite incidentally, and without ostentation, Charles Robequain sketches in the more general background of overpopulated monsoon Asia and the still deeper background of European colonization in tropical areas’ (Knight 1945, 265). Political scientist Amry Vandenbosch argued that ‘while he is never the vigorous critic, he does not close his eyes to certain weaknesses in French policy. [Even so,] some readers will disagree with a few of the positions taken, and others will be annoyed by his failure to point up certain problems found in all colonial societies’ (Vandenbosch 1945, 200–1). Several years later, he would take the opportunity to sketch out the changing position of Indochina in the overall economy of south-east Asia (Robequain 1950b; 1951a; 1951b). Robequain’s next book, entitled Le monde malais, moved away from the French sphere to explore the imperial activities of Great Britain, the Netherlands, Spain and the United States in Malaya, the East Indies and the Philippines (Robequain 1946; 1954a). Evidence from over 250 references, in English, German, Dutch and French, was complemented by the author’s own observations in the summer of 1938. Robequain apologized to his Dutch colleagues for omitting many Dutch-language references from his printed bibliography, arguing that most French readers would be unable to translate them (Robequain 1946, 485). Part of this visit comprised Robequain’s participation in the two-week excursion to Java, Bali and Sumatra that took place after the Fifteenth International Geographical Congress under the direction of J. Van Hinte, of the Colonial Institute in Amsterdam, and A. N. Van Der Hoop, director of the Ethnological Museum in Batavia (Djakarta), who proved to be ‘very competent guides’ (Robequain 1941, 37). Robequain also spent a short time in Malaya but he did not visit the Philippines. As well as incorporating his impressions of the Far East in lectures, he prepared a 40-page article on problems of colonization in the Dutch East Indies for the Annales de Géographie. Illustrated with his own photographs, this was due to appear in 1940 but was delayed by his mobilization and subsequent captivity, and by restrictions

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on publishing imposed during the German occupation (Beaugitte 2008). Eventually appearing in two parts in 1941, it served as the starting point for the 510-page book that he compiled in Paris during the second half of World War II. This was brought out by the Payot publishing house in 1946, once restrictions had been lifted and paper supplies had eased. Illustrated with over 30 maps and 32 photographs from Robequain’s own camera, Le monde malais was structured into five unequal parts. It began by discussing the physical geography of this vast region, historic trends of migration (notably of Chinese and Europeans) and traditional ways of life, contrasting densely populated, rice-growing lowlands with relatively empty uplands where low-yielding temporary cultivation was practised on burnt-over areas. Then came a depiction of seven main regions of le monde malais, which occupied two-fifths of the whole book and placed particular attention on Java. The remainder of the text explored how traditional economies and societies had changed following colonization, including the development of trade, building of roads, railways and ports, creating plantations and settling small numbers of Europeans, improving indigenous agriculture, investing in mining, manufacturing, education and health and bringing Christianity to these islands and peninsulas. In the final 25 pages, Robequain compared the impact of the European powers and the United States across the region, and, in a rare comment about ‘the current war’, noted how the Japanese sought ‘to realize a policy in which control of the land base of le monde malais . . . was a principal objective’ (Robequain 1946, 473). Robequain’s book was greeted with acclaim by French reviewers. Writing of his former student, Blanchard declared that he had produced a pioneering ‘work of the first order [that] brings honour to our house’ – by which he meant the Institut de Géographie Alpine (Blanchard 1947, 773). Blanchard considered that the book was ‘an excellent and lively example of regional geography, well nourished with information and colourful depiction’ (Blanchard 1947, 774). Only one point detracted from ‘this fine book, which brings honour to the French school of geography and to the author’, namely Robequain’s failure to discuss ‘the redoubtable contemporary problems’ facing the region. ‘The name of the Republic of Indonesia is not mentioned, and the Japanese occupation is only alluded to. The book is concerned with le monde malais in 1939. The author is within his rights to impose this limitation but we would have liked him to declare this more explicitly in his preface’. Gourou, however, was unstinting in his praise, remarking that ‘the book unites all the qualities that the French school of geography proposes to its members. Everything is praiseworthy about this book, which is attractive to read thanks to an abundance of new information and the author’s clarity of exposition. It is simply the best book about le monde malais’ (Gourou 1948, 257). The chapter dealing with the Chinese achieved ‘a rare degree of perfection’ and the text as a whole was ‘lively and well balanced’. Political scientist Roger Levy praised Robequain’s powers of observation and description, his use of quotations from Michelet, Kipling and Conrad and his ability to combine rigorous precision with ‘an underlying sense of poetry’ (Levy 1946, 587). In a similar vein, ethnologist Jeanne Cuisinier was impressed by Robequain’s ‘sparkling descriptions and lively details’ and his ability to prevent personal observations being stifled by a flood of information (Cuisinier 1947, 137). She would have welcomed more evidence of ‘direct contact with the local people’ but this was scarcely possible from a short excursion. Geographer Norman Pounds (Geographers Vol. 30) found the book ‘eminently readable’ and its maps excellent but its photographs mediocre (Pounds 1947, 246). He argued that the author ‘was overwhelmed by the civilizing achievement of the white peoples . . . He saw little amiss in the colonial empires of the three nations and his book reads a little oddly now. Independence movements are dismissed as the aspirations of a small minority of intellectuals’. Arguably, the ‘very competent guides’

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who had informed Robequain in the summer of 1938 were ‘a little too competent; their complacency is all too clear . . . The book’s fault lies in the fact that it is the record and recollection of a rather hasty tour. Too many problems are raised and left in the air; too many issues are avoided’ (Pounds 1947, 246). Despite these criticisms, an English translation by E. D. Laborde appeared in 1954 from Longmans Green as Malaya, Indonesia, Borneo and the Philippines, being published in co-operation with the Institute of Pacific Relations (Robequain 1954a). As Laborde explained, following 1939 ‘the rising tide of Japanese ambition brought the region into the political arena, and the war of 1941–45 together with the subsequent Communist activities has made it one of the danger spots to world peace’ (Laborde, in Robequain 1954a, v). Nonetheless, the essential structure of Le monde malais was retained, statistics were revised, the independence of Indonesia and the Philippines was recognized, maps were redrawn (albeit in a virtually identical style) and all of Robequain’s photographs were replaced by 39 images from picture libraries. Fourteen bibliographical references were added, bringing the total to 267. The main change was the deletion of the final 25 pages and their replacement by a postscript by the author, dating from April 1954. This summarized political emancipation, economic production and population, focusing on poverty, food supplies, revival of trade and the quest for alternatives to agricultural employment through foreign investment in manufacturing. The magnitude of recent events obliged Robequain to declare: ‘It would be extraordinary if the work of the Western peoples did not tend to make the local population want to lighten and throw off their tutelage and to give them the means of so doing; for it is the fate of all colonization . . . No-one is surprised to find in most of the nationalist thinkers and champions persons brought up on Western ideas’ (Robequain 1954a, 418). Reviewers praised the English-language text for its breadth, updated statistics and faithful rendering of the author’s ‘particularly vivid and absorbing’ description of local detail (Anon 1955, 520). However, ‘it may appear that the author has eulogized the colonial systems; but while he rightly acknowledges their undoubted economic success judged by production and commerce, he is not unmindful of their shortcomings and the local problems they create’ (Anon 1955, 520). Political scientist Ernest Schein was also favourably impressed and argued that the book ‘should contribute invaluably to the equipment of those who are charged with the responsibility of cementing friendly relations between the Western and Eastern worlds’ (Schein 1955, 175). On the strength of the book’s favourable reception, a second and updated English-language edition appeared in 1958. In 1949, Charles Robequain completed a text that celebrated the achievements of European colonization in an increasingly uncertain world, ravaged by World War II and with Europe divided into two geopolitical units, one dominated by the United States and the other by the USSR. His opening sentences were heroic: ‘European expansion on other continents is the greatest fact in the history of the world since the fifteenth century. From this peninsula of Asia, people, techniques and ideas have been propagated across the whole globe. There are no settled regions that have escaped the curiosity of white peoples’ (Robequain 1949a, 7). To some observers, the colonial era had peaked between 1885 and 1914, rendering the survival of great empires open to question in the aftermath of World War II. However, Robequain retained his faith in benevolent colonialism as he declared: ‘In 1949, the great metropolitan nations – Great Britain, France, the Netherlands, Belgium, Portugal – have been shaken and ravaged but remain confident in their destiny. The end of their colonial activity would be the most striking demonstration of the downfall of Europe. The success of their efforts to maintain themselves in this role, by adapting to changing conditions, would provide the most certain evidence of the rejuvenation of the continent’ (Robequain 1949a, 9).

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Having painted this bold scenario, Robequain proceeded to focus on Les Richesses de la France d’Outre-Mer. After outlining the diversity of ‘overseas France’, still embracing North Africa, various tropical lands (‘Black Africa’, Madagascar, Indochina) and many dispersed territories, he examined the challenge of raising the productivity of indigenous agriculture and the very limited impact of European settlement in French colonies, with the exception of parts of North Africa. Then he briefly discussed the challenges of stock rearing, fisheries, forestry, mining and manufacturing in overseas France, before summarizing the creation of the French Union in October 1946 – in place of the French Empire – and the flows of capital and commodities within it. His title stressed the riches of overseas France but he did not hide its misery and poverty, declaring that ‘colonization has its dark shadows as well as its bright patches’. Anti-colonial sentiments were becoming widespread, but he insisted ‘it is unjust and absurd to condemn colonialism as a whole, and illusory to think that by erasing the word from the vocabulary one suddenly halts the consequences of this enormous process that has been dominant in the history of the world’. The colonial system had wrought many beneficial changes for the inhabitants of overseas France, however poverty remained widespread in overpopulated regions and in others that supported too few people for economic advance. Education, research and application of improved techniques to food production were the ways ahead: ‘Rather than criticizing our colonial settlers, we should marvel that so much has been achieved over such a short time and by so few people. Does a difficult task lie ahead? Most certainly, but it is a passionate one that will require energy and devotion if we are to fulfil our duty across the world. This is one of the great opportunities remaining to France and to the other countries of Western Europe. It must be tackled against all obstacles and in spite of all scepticism’ (Robequain 1949a, 219). As with his earlier books, reviewers praised Robequain’s clarity of expression, his grasp of material and his sympathetic understanding of problems in regions that he had visited. Gourou was ‘fully satisfied’ with the author’s analysis and his vision of the continuing responsibility of France to its overseas territories (Gourou 1950, 288). Despite the rise of independence movements, there was an implication throughout Les Richesses that ‘whatever happens, all French territories must remain for ever in the French Union’ (Harrison-Church 1950, 239). For Adrienne Ackerman, ‘It is in this reliance on tradition and past geographical patterns that one finds Robequain’s thinking somewhat disappointing; for it is an emphasis that seems incompatible with the nature of our Western democratic thought’, in particular with the issue of self-determination (Ackerman 1951, 688). Robequain’s final book was conceived as part of a vast series entitled ‘Overseas countries: colonies, empires, autonomous countries’, which embraced colonial policies, the practice of colonization, the history of French expansion overseas, art, literature and culture overseas and the geography of the French Union. The whole collection was directed by Sorbonne historian Charles-André Julien (1891–1991), with the geographical sub-series being edited by Julien and Jean Dresch (1905–94), his geographer colleague (Geographers Vol. 31). Six geographical titles were planned, covering French North Africa (Jean Despois), the French Sahara (Robert Capot-Rey), ‘French Black Africa’, ‘French Asia’, Madagascar and remaining parts of overseas France and the French Union as a whole. Only the first, second and fifth of these appeared, with Dresch, who was a fervent supporter of independence movements, failing to deliver on ‘Black Africa’ or on the French Union, and the proposed volume on L’Asie française, to be written by Gourou, being removed from the lists of the Presses Universitaires de France. Working to the title of Madagascar et les bases dispersées de l’Union Française, Charles Robequain produced a text that ran to 586 pages, drew on a bibliography exceeding 1,000 items, and was illustrated by three dozen maps and a dozen photographs, many of which were from his own camera. He acknowledged that the book’s content was

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something of a ‘catch-all’ imposed by the publisher and that the only rationale for discussing so many territories in a single volume was their dependent relationship to France (Robequain 1958b, 1). Three-fifths of his text was allocated to Madagascar, which he had visited several times (Robequain 1953a). After discussing physical resources, he reviewed the island’s indigenous population, traditional farming systems and crafts and the limited impact of French settlers and investment in plantations, mines and factories. Colonization had brought advantages to a few but most of the rural population of the island – some nine-tenths of the total – remained undernourished and impoverished. Improving their lot was the main challenge confronting the ‘sustainable and fruitful cooperation between France and Madagascar’ that he envisaged for the years ahead (Robequain 1958b, 354). ‘Whatever may be the interest in mines, industrialization and fisheries, it is certain that farming must remain at the forefront of development programmes, when one considers the enormous place that it occupies in the activities of the island’s population’ (Robequain 1958b, 352). As early as 1934, he had offered a similar defence of the rural economy in his largely positive critique of Géographie et colonisation by Georges Hardy, at that time director of the Ecole coloniale (Robequain 1934c, 310). In the remaining 200 pages, Robequain summarized the geography and challenges facing territories as diverse as the French Antilles, Réunion, Saint-Pierre et Miquelon and Terre Adélie in the Antarctic, incorporating many personal observations about areas he had visited (Robequain 1948b; 1953b; 1954b; Robert 1958). After stressing the importance of these territories to the global strategy of France, he concluded: ‘In the end, we must return to the people who remain the real wealth of these dispersed lands, to whom we must bring – with our experience as the older partner (d’aîné) – not only the possibility of being better nourished and clothed, but also of advancing intellectually and technically. These improvements will allow each territory, without losing originality, to participate in its own renewal and to contribute to the life of the world. The success of this task, in the years ahead and within the continuing framework of the French Union, will be the best demonstration of the vitality of France’ (Robequain 1958, 535). Once again, Gourou responded very positively and declared that, on reading the book, ‘the island [of Madagascar] comes alive before our eyes, its landscapes fill with people, and its problems impose themselves upon our attention’ (Gourou 1958, 464). Regardless of the theme under discussion, ‘Monsieur Robequain manages to provide impeccable and brilliant summaries’, and demonstrates ‘finesse and sensitivity’ in describing the French Antilles and other areas he knows well. American geographer William Hance was particularly impressed by Robequain’s cultural-geographical survey of the tribal communities of Madagascar and declared that ‘his summaries and syntheses are often masterly’ (Hance 1959, 451). Robequain’s geopolitical vision of benevolent capitalism proved only partially accurate. Within two years of his book appearing, Madagascar, like the bulk of French Africa, had acquired independence, while retaining cultural and financial links with France. By contrast, the small dispersed territories remained within the French Union.

Influence and Spread of Ideas Writing long before Robequain’s death, Raoul Blanchard expressed his pride in his former student who had authored an impressive array of publications and was teaching colonial geography at the Sorbonne: ‘Robequain conveys honour on our house [the Institut de Géographie Alpine]. Despite having “arrived” as an academic, he is not resting on his laurels and just writing a greater accumulation of books and articles;

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each year he travels to some part of the world and brings back the results of his studies. What a fine career for a geographer, which merits being held out as an example to young scholars’ (Blanchard 1947, 773). Indeed, Robequain was a long-serving member of the Société des Océanistes. Following his death in 1963, Blanchard declared: ‘With his passing French geography has experienced the loss of one of its uncontested masters’ (Blanchard 1964, 8). Pierre Gourou remembered his friend Charles Robequain as a rather reserved man who was ‘an indefatigable researcher, with a scientific career distinguished by a taste for exactitude. Charles Robequain exuded natural authority and good will . . . He worked prodigiously to help the research of others; tropical geographers throughout the world are greatly in his debt; all who called upon him retain the memory of his intelligence and efficiency’ (Gourou 1964, 1). Many of his former pupils in Hanoï remembered him as a friend as well as teacher (Pham Duy Kiem, cited by Cornevin 1965, 79–80). Jean Gottmann (Geographers Vol. 25), who first knew Robequain at the Sorbonne in the 1930s, recalled his ‘intellectual integrity, professional modesty, and great human warmth . . . He was deeply devoted to his profession and to his friends. He was a kind and helpful person with high moral and intellectual standards, one of the better men I have had the privilege of knowing’ (Gottmann 1964, 594, 596). During his lifetime, Charles Robequain wrote substantial volumes and scholarly articles on the many territories he visited, and contributed book reviews on colonial and tropical topics to the Annales de Géographie. His doctoral work would be acclaimed as nothing short of ‘the birth certificate of tropical geography’ (Solotareff 1996, 248). His books received good notices from reviewers, and were praised consistently by Gourou. He taught for a quarter century at the Sorbonne, presenting his knowledge and experience of France overseas to the largest cohort of students in any geography department in the country. He took that responsibility very seriously and never advised his students to walk down the rue Saint-Jacques to attend Gourou’s classes at the Collège de France which, admittedly, were not intended for a student audience. The handful of Sorbonne geographers who did listen to Gourou learned about his lectures from other sources (Clout 2011). Robequain also lectured to future colonial administrators, businessmen and statisticians. He supervized advanced students who undertook tropical research for their diplôme d’études supérieures, and he advised at least eight doctoral candidates on the preparation of their major theses. Candidates for the state doctorate were required to write both a major thesis and a secondary, or minor, thesis. In addition to advising on major theses, Robequain advised other geographers on their secondary theses. René Battistini’s minor thesis on southern Madagascar was one such example; other scholars influenced by Robequain are mentioned by Cornevin (1965, 80). These scholars included Jacques Dupuis (whom Robequain had taught in Rennes) and Emmanuel Adicéam both working in India, Jean Delvert in Cambodia, Paul Moral in Haïti and Jean Gallais, Gilles Sautter, Jean Cabot and Gérard Brasseur in various parts of ‘Black Africa’. Delvert insisted that Robequain’s discussion of indigenous agriculture in Les Richesses and in several articles opened the way for many subsequent studies of rural Africa (Robequain 1937a; 1937b; 1939; 1944b; 1944c; Delvert 1975, 146). By the time of Robequain’s death in 1963, only Delvert, Moral and Dupuis had gained their doctorates; the remaining five scholars would be assisted by Pierre Monbeig (1908–87) (Geographers this volume) or Jean Despois (1901–68) to bring their work to completion (Clout 2011). René Battistini, who had studied under Robequain, recalled ‘a tall, rather thin man, with a somewhat serious face that broke into a warm smile as he saw me approach, who ushered me into his office [in the Institut de Géographie] to talk about Madagascar and its tropical landscapes for which he expressed a genuine nostalgia on this cold, grey November morning in Paris’ (Battistini 1964, 3).

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Despite his many accomplishments and being a teacher who, according to Delvert, was ‘not only liked and admired, but one who strongly influenced the French school of geography’, Charles Robequain has become a rather forgotten figure (Delvert 1975, 145). Paul Claval devoted a single sentence to him in his history of French geography since 1870, and little more in his reviews of the development of tropical geography in France (Claval 1998; 2005; 2008). Dany Bréelle examined the doctoral theses of both Robequain and Gourou in her doctorate on ‘The regional discourse of French geography in the context of Indochina’, but she placed particular emphasis on the latter (Bréelle 2002; 2009). The academic amnesia that surrounds the legacy of Robequain may, perhaps, be explained by reference to the man himself, the changing reception of colonial and tropical geography in scholarly circles and the relative importance of other French geographers teaching about tropical environments and colonial – and increasingly ex-colonial – territories. Charles Robequain had been in failing health for many years before his death in 1963 at the age of 66. Whether this was cancer, a tropical illness or some other condition remains unknown. The Académie des Sciences d’Outre-Mer expressed the condolences of its members to Madame Robequain in a letter dated 2 October 1963 (C. Robequain personal file, Académie des Sciences d’Outre-Mer). During the final three years of his life, he had withdrawn from lecturing and many other professional activities. His last book appeared in 1958, and his subsequent publications were book reviews. Had he enjoyed robust, good health he may well have continued to teach until the age of 70, and might have continued to publish new material well into retirement. His specialism, whether described as colonial geography, the geography of overseas France or as tropical geography, was falling out of academic favour during the 1950s as the drive for national independence reached fruition in many territories. Robequain’s preferred methodology, starting with a consideration of physical parameters, working though various elements of human geography and concluding with a statement about the responsibility of France to improve the lot of her dependent subjects, appeared outdated by scholars in search of overarching explanatory theories and being particularly attracted by the allure of Marxism. In such a context, isolation of the inter-tropical zone as a discrete object of study seemed inappropriate at a time when ‘underdevelopment’ and ‘the third world’ were becoming touchstones for geographical enquiry rather than ‘zonal geography’ defined by climatic characteristics. To quote Bréelle: ‘With the Viet Nam wars and decolonization, Charles Robequain’s representations of Indochina [and of other regions], where geographical thought and colonial action were intertwined, became provocative and increasingly irrelevant’ (Bréelle 2002, 239). Within the specific domain of French geography, and especially that of the Sorbonne, the importance of Jean Dresch as a teacher of undergraduates and adviser to doctoral researchers during the 1950s and the 1960s cannot be underestimated. As a longstanding Marxist with a profound commitment to independence movements, Dresch not only interpreted global inequalities for undergraduates from his own ideological perspective, but also attracted the largest cluster of non-metropolitan researchers preparing doctorates in geography for defence in the University of Paris (Clout 2011). As director of the Institut de Géographie – and eventually president of the International Geographical Union – his influence was great. It may well have been that his appealing explanatory logic helped to overtake and then erase the traditional colonial and tropical routines of Charles Robequain. Finally, attention must be drawn to the profound difference between the reception of Robequain’s work and that of Pierre Gourou. Born three years apart, Robequain in 1897 and Gourou in 1900, both studied in Lyon under Maurice Zimmermann, with Robequain passing the agrégation examinations in 1922, and Gourou one year later. Both men conducted doctoral research in Indochina, with Gourou completing his thesis of

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the peasantry of the Tonkin delta in 1936, seven years after Robequain (Gourou 1936). The two men were personal friends, collaborating as they drafted texts for the Centre of Foreign Policy and the Institute for Pacific Studies, and writing appreciative, encouraging reviews of each other’s books (Delvert 1975, 145; for example, Robequain 1936; 1948c; 1957a). Gourou found a university position in Belgium in 1936, and Robequain managed to secure a post at the Sorbonne one year later. Both men saw military service in 1939–40, but whereas Robequain was a prisoner of war who returned to the Sorbonne under the German occupation of Paris, Gourou taught at universities in Montpellier (1940–2) and Bordeaux (1942–5), where he influenced a cluster of young geographers who would undertake research in Africa, Asia and Latin America and eventually become influential academics in their own right (Clout 2011). In 1945, Gourou returned to his chair in Brussels and two years later was appointed professor of ‘Tropical world study’ at the Collège de France in Paris, holding the two posts jointly until he retired aged 70. His longevity and continuing intellectual energy enabled him to achieve very much more than Robequain managed in his much shorter life span that was dogged by ill-health. In terms of student contact, Robequain attracted much larger classes in Paris than Gourou drew in Brussels; Gourou had the added opportunity of addressing interested members of the general public at the Collège de France, a privilege that Robequain did not enjoy. Of course, Gourou’s own manifestations of ‘tropical geography’ were not exempt from powerful criticism and even rejection by some scholars, but his writings have continued to serve as a stimulus for debate and research in a way that has eluded the geographical legacy of Charles Robequain (Théry 1987; Bowd and Clayton 2005; Claval 2005; Singaravélou 2008; VelascoGraciet 2008). Articles in a special issue of the Singapore Journal of Tropical Geography for 2005 and Paul Claval’s bio-bibliographical study of Pierre Gourou provide convenient introductions to this challenging and continuing debate (Geographers Vol. 25).

Conclusion The life of Charles Robequain spanned what has been called the ‘classic age’ of French geographical scholarship, with his training coming from Blanchard and Zimmermann, both of whom were taught by Paul Vidal de la Blache (Sanguin and Claval 1996). The major part of his career exemplified the application of Vidalian regional geography to French territories overseas, with an important injection of his profound commitment to the virtues of benevolent colonialism and of France’s civilizing mission to her colonial subjects. His first university posts involved responsibility for the whole discipline. At the Sorbonne he focused initially on colonial geography but his position was renamed the ‘Chair of Overseas France and the Tropical Regions’ once colonial fervour started to wane. In his final years, his preferred approaches were challenged by scholars who employed new methodologies, often tinged with Marxism, that were more appropriate for investigations of decolonization and the challenges of socio-economic development in the Third World. Without doubt, Robequain’s pioneering thesis, Le Thanh Hoá, and his many subsequent publications made substantial contributions to geographical knowledge and also introduced tropical geography into the repertoire of French academics. As the ‘pioneer of tropical geography and master of comparative geography, [he] also, in his moderate and reserved way, drafted large syntheses that were not just collections of facts but contained his own carefully matured views’ (Gourou 1964, 3). Nonetheless, the work and reputation of Pierre Gourou overshadowed – even eclipsed – the career and publications of his slightly older friend Charles-Edouard Robequain.

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Acknowledgements I extend my thanks to the archivists of the Maison de l’Asie (Paris) for allowing me to consult materials in the Archives de l’Ecole Française d’Extrême-Orient relating to Charles Robequain (1924–9) and to Paul Claval, François Gay, Gérard Joly, Jean-Robert Pitte and Hugh Prince for advice. I recall with gratitude a conversation many years ago with the late Jean Delvert about French tropical geography. Thanks are also due to the staff of the Académie des Sciences d’Outre-Mer (formerly des Sciences Coloniales) who allowed me to consult Robequain’s personal file.

Bibliography and Sources 1. OBITUARIES AND REFERENCES ON CHARLES ROBEQUAIN

Anon. (1932), Histoire de l’Université de Poitiers: passé et présent, 1432–1932. Poitiers: Nicolas, Renault. —. (1937), ‘Rapport annuel: Institut de Géographie’, Annales de l’Université de Paris 12, 262–8. Battistini, R. (1964), ‘Charles Robequain, 1897–1963’, Madagascar Revue de Géographie 4, 1–3. Beaugitte, L. (2008), ‘Publier en temps de guerre: les revues de géographie française de 1939 à 1945’, Cybergeo 428, 1–20. Blanchard, R. (1929), ‘Chronique de l’Institut de Géographie: premier semestre 1928– 1929’, Revue de Géographie Alpine 17, 465–6. — (1964), ‘Charles Robequain, 1897–1963’, Cahiers d’Outre-Mer 17, 5–8. Bowd, G. and Clayton, D. (2005), ‘Tropicality, Orientalism, and French colonialism in Indochina: the work of Pierre Gourou, 1927–1982’, French Historical Studies 28, 297–327. Bréelle, D. (2002), ‘The regional discourse of French geography in the context of Indochina: the theses of Charles Robequain and Pierre Gourou’. Unpublished PhD in Geography, Flinders University, South Australia. — (2009), ‘Les géographes et la pensée coloniale française: L’Indochine à travers les thèses de Charles Robequain et Pierre Gourou’, Cybergeo 442, 1–19. Broc, N. (1993), ‘Homo Geographicus: radioscopie des géographes français de l’entredeux-guerres, 1918–1939’, Annales de Géographie 102, 225–54. Brunhes, J. (1923), ‘Les routes nouvelles de l’Annam au Laos’, Annales de Géographie 33, 426–50. Chassigneux, E. (1912), ‘L’irrigation dans le delta du Tonkin’, Revue de Géographie Annuelle 6, 1–121. — (1913), ‘Les dépressions continentales et le climat du Tonkin’, Revue de Géographie Annuelle 7, 1–121. — (1927), ‘La plaine et les irrigations du Thanh Hoá’, Annales de Géographie 36, 232–53.

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Claval, P. (1998), Histoire de la géographie française de 1870 à nos jours. Paris: Nathan. — (2005), ‘Colonial experience and the development of tropical geography in France’, Singapore Journal of Tropical Geography 26, 289–303. — (2008), ‘Réflexions sur la géographie de la découverte, la géographie coloniale et la géographie tropicale’, in P. Singaravélou (ed.), L’Empire des géographes: géographie, exploration et colonisation, XIXe–XXe siècle. Paris: Belin, 7–26. Claval, P. and A-L. Sanguin (eds) (1996), La géographie française à l’époque classique. Paris: L’Harmattan. Clout, H. (2009), Patronage and the production of geographical knowledge in France. The testimony of the first hundred regional monographs, 1905–1966. London: Royal Geographical Society – Institute of British Geographers. — (2011), ‘Professorial patronage and the formation of French geographical knowledge. A bio-bibliographical exploration of one hundred non-metropolitan regional monographs, 1893–1969’, Cybergeo 549, 1–37. — (2012), ‘Geographical pioneers at Lyon, 1874–1927: a bio-bibliographical essay’, Géocarrefour 86, 189–99. Cornevin, R. (1965), ‘Réception de Robert Cornevin’, Comptes Rendus Mensuels des Séances de l’Académie des Sciences d’Outre-Mer 25, 70–81. Daveau, S. (2007), ‘La géographie, ça peut survivre à la guerre’, Finisterra 62, 5–20. Delvert, J. (1964), ‘Nécrologie: Charles Robequain’, Annales de l’Université de Paris 34, 611–15. — (1975), ‘Charles Robequain, 1897–1963’, in P. George (ed.), Les géographes français. Paris: Comité des Travaux Historiques et Scientifiques, 145–51. Faivre, J-P. (1964), ‘Charles Robequain, 1897–1963’, Journal de la Société des Océanistes 20, 105–6. Gallais, J. (1968), Le delta intérieur du Niger. Dakar: Institut Français de l’Afrique Noire. Gautier, E-F. (1902), Madagascar, essai de géographie physique. Paris: Challamel. Gourdon, H. (1931), L’Indochine. Paris: Larousse. Gourou, P. (1940), L’Utilisation du sol en Indochine française. Paris: Centre d’Etudes de Politique Etrangère and Hartmann. — (1945), Land utilization in French Indochina (trans. S. H. Guest and E. A. Clark). New York: Institute of Pacific Relations. — (1964), ‘Charles Robequain, 1897–1963’, Annales de Géographie 73, 1–7. Gottmann, J. (1964), ‘Charles Robequain, 1897–1963’, Geographical Review 54, 594–5. Karnow, S. (1984), Vietnam: a history. New York: Penguin. Mus, P. (1948), ‘La formation des cadres administratifs d’Outre-Mer’, La Revue Administrative 1, 16–23. Singaravélou, P. (1999), L’Ecole française d’Extrême-Orient ou l’institution des marges, 1898– 1956. Paris: L’Harmattan.

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— (2008), ‘Charles Robequain’, in F. Pouillon (ed.), Dictionnaire des Orientalistes de langue française. Paris: Karthala, 831. — (2011a), ‘The institutionalisation of colonial geography in France, 1880–1940’, Journal of Historical Geography 37, 149–57. — (2011b), Professer L’Empire: les sciences coloniales en France sous la IIIe Republique. Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne. Sion, J. (1929), Géographie Universelle. L’Asie des Moussons, 2 vols. Paris: Armand Colin. Solotareff, M. (1996), ‘Naissance et évolution de la géographie tropicale, 1930–1960’, in P. Claval and A-L. Sanguin (eds), La Géographie française à l’époque classique. Paris: L’Harmattan, 243–57. Théry, H. (1987), ‘Tropiques et Tiers Monde, un débat toujours actuel pour les géographes?’, Tiers-Monde 28, 813–22. Van Thao, T. (1995), L’Ecole française en Indochine. Paris: Karthala. Velasco-Graciet, H. (ed.) (2008), Les Tropiques des géographes. Pessac: Maison des Sciences de l’Homme d’Aquitaine. 2. SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY OF WORKS BY CHARLES ROBEQUAIN

1921

‘Le col de la Croix-Haute constitue-t-il une limite climatique ?’, Revue de Géographie Alpine 9, 625–34.

1922

‘Le Trièves’, Revue de Géographie Alpine 10, 4–126.

1924

‘Trois jours dans les Tatras polonaises: Zakopane’, Revue de Géographie Alpine 12, 157–60.

1925a

‘Notes sur Luang Prabang’, Revue de Géographie Alpine 13, 707–38.

1925b

‘Deux villes du Mékong: Luang Prabang et Vieng Chane’, Cahiers de la Société de Géographie de Hanoï 3, 1–24.

1927

‘Yunnanfou en 1926’, Annales de Géographie 36, 436–50.

1929a

Le Thanh Hoá: étude géographique d’une province annamite, 2 vols. Paris and Brussels: Van Oest (Publications de l’Ecole française d’Extrême-Orient 23 and 24).

1929b

‘Le Thanh Hoá’, Revue de Géographie Alpine 17, 771–80.

1930a

L’Indochine française. Paris: Horizons de France.

1930b

‘Les pays et les hommes’, in S. Lévi (ed.), Indochine. Paris: Société d’études géographiques, 7–43.

1931

‘Notes sur la région de Chapa, province de Lao-kay, Haut-Tonkin’, Revue de Géographie Alpine 20, 307–33.

1932

‘La civilisation annamite’, Bulletin de la Société de Géographie de Lyon 63–73.

1934a

‘Notes sur les modifications du peuplement de l’Indochine française depuis cinquante ans’, in Congrès International de Géographie, Paris, 1931, vol. III (IV). Paris: Armand Colin, 491–500.

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1934b

‘Le développement des voies ferrées et des routes en Indochine française et au Siam’, in Congrès International de Géographie, Paris, 1931, vol. III (IV). Paris: Armand Colin, 513–20.

1934c

‘Géographie et colonisation, d’après M. Georges Hardy’, Annales de Géographie 43, 309–11.

1935a

‘L’originalité de l’agriculture chinoise’, Bulletin de la Société de Géographie et d’Etudes Coloniales de Marseille 4, 50–61.

1935b

L’Indochine française. Paris: Armand Colin.

1936

‘Indochine française. Pierre Gourou, Les Paysans du Delta Tonkinois’, Bulletin de l’Ecole Française d’Extrême-Orient 36, 491–7.

1937a

‘Problèmes de l’économie rurale en Afrique Occidentale Française’, Annales de Géographie 46, 137–63.

1937b

‘A travers le Fouta-Djalon’, Revue de Géographie Alpine 25, 545–82.

1938

‘Le développement industriel de l’Indochine française’, in Congrès International de Géographie, Amsterdam, 1938, vol. II (IIIc). Leiden: Brill, 590–3.

1939

L’Evolution économique de l’Indochine française. Paris: Centre d’Etudes de Politique Etrangère & Hartmann.

1941

‘Problèmes de colonisation dans les Indes néerlandaises’, Annales de Géographie 50, 37–57, 114–36.

1942

‘Le problème de la main d’œuvre dans l’Indochine française et les pays voisins’, Comptes Rendus Mensuels des Séances de l’Académie des Sciences Coloniales 2, 691–704.

1944a

‘La répartition des hommes en Afrique occidentale et équatoriale : présentation d’une carte au 5,000,000’, Comptes Rendus Mensuels des Séances de l’Académie des Sciences Coloniales 4, 609–15.

1944b

The economic development of French Indochina (trans. I. A. Ward). Oxford: Oxford University Press and Institute of Pacific Relations.

1944c

‘La densité de la population dans l’Afrique occidentale et équatoriale’, Bulletin de l’Association de Géographes Français 165–6, 96–101.

1945

‘La conférence de Hot Springs’, Comptes Rendus Mensuels des Séances de l’ Académie des Sciences Coloniales 5, 111–19.

1946

Le monde malais. Paris: Payot.

1948a

‘Augustin Bernard’, Comptes Rendus Mensuels des Séances de l’Académie des Sciences Coloniales 8, 49–50.

1948b

‘Le sucre dans l’Union Française’, Annales de Géographie 57, 322–40.

1948c

‘Les pays tropicaux d’après P. Gourou’, Annales de Géographie 57, 70–3.

1949a

Les Richesses de la France d’Outre-Mer. Paris: Payot.

1949b

‘Saint-Barthélemy, terre française’, Cahiers d’Outre-Mer 2, 14–37.

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1949c

‘Une capitale montagnarde en pays tropical: Tananarive’, Revue de Géographie Alpine 37, 273–330.

1950a

‘Réception de M. le professeur Marcel Larnaude’, Comptes Rendus Mensuels des Séances de l’Académie des Sciences Coloniales 10, 196–206.

1950b

‘Problèmes d’Asie’, Comptes Rendus Mensuels des Séances de l’Académie des Sciences Coloniales 10, 746–55.

1951a

‘L’économie de l’Asie des Moussons et son évolution récente’, Annales de Géographie 60, 241–54.

1951b

‘Etudes géographiques’, Bulletin de la Société des Etudes Indochinoises 26, 420–30.

1953a

‘Géologie et morphologie à Madagascar’, Annales de Géographie 62, 60–7.

1953b

‘Maurice, Ile de France’, Comptes Rendus Mensuels des Séances de l’Académie des Sciences Coloniales 13, 691–704.

1954a

Malaya, Indonesia, Borneo and the Philippines (trans. E. D. Laborde). London: Longmans Green. (2nd edn 1958).

1954b

‘Destin d’une île à sucre: l’économie et le peuplement de l’île Maurice’, Annales de Géographie 63, 255–73.

1955

‘Réception de M. Pierre Gourou à l’Académie des Sciences Coloniales’, Comptes Rendus Mensuels des Séances de l’Académie des Sciences Coloniales 15, 63–8.

1957a

‘Asie de moussons et Asie centrale’, in G. Chabot, R. Clozier and J. Beaujeu-Garnier (eds), La géographie française au milieu du XXe siècle. Paris: Baillière, 257–60.

1957b

(with J. Dresch) ‘Progrès de la géographie dans les territoires français de l’Afrique tropicale, y compris Madagascar’, in Proceedings Eighth General Assembly and Seventeenth International Congress of the International Geographical Union, Washington 1952. Washington: National Academy of Sciences, 81–5.

1958a

‘La géographie française dans les terres africaines de l’Union Française au sud du Sahara’, L’Information Géographique 22, 22–7.

1958b

Madagascar et les bases dispersées de l’Union Française. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France.

2001

Photographic impressions of French Indochina. Vietnam, Cambodia and Laos in 1930 (trans. W. E. J. Tips). Bangkok: White Lotus.

A fuller list of the publications of Charles Robequain may be found in Gourou (1964).

3. SELECTION OF REVIEWS OF THE WORKS OF CHARLES ROBEQUAIN

Ackerman, A. (1951), ‘Les richesses de la France d’Outre-Mer’, Geographical Review 41, 687–9. Anon. [O. R.] (1929), ‘Le Thanh Hoá: étude géographique d’une province annamite’, Geographical Journal 74, 80.

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— [V. T.] (1940), ‘L’Evolution économique de l’Indochine française’, Geographical Journal 95, 65. — [E. P.] (1955), ‘Malaya, Indonesia, Borneo, and the Philippines’, Geographical Journal 121, 520–1. Blanchard, R. (1947), ‘Le monde malais’, Revue de Géographie Alpine 35, 773–5. Coedès, G. (1931), ‘Charles Robequain: L’Indochine française’, Bulletin de l’Ecole Française d’Extrême-Orient 31, 225. Cuisinier, J. (1947), ‘Charles Robequain: Le monde malais’, Journal de la Société des Océanistes 33, 136–7. Gourou, P. (1936), ‘Une géographie de l’Indochine française’, Annales de Géographie 45, 95–7. — (1948), ‘Le monde malais, d’après M. Charles Robequain’, Annales de Géographie 57, 257–8. — (1950), ‘Un inventaire de la France d’Outre-Mer’, Annales de Géographie 59, 287–9. — (1958), ‘Madagascar et les bases dispersées de l’Union Française, d’après M. Charles Robequain’, Annales de Géographie 67, 463–5. Hance, W. A. (1959), ‘Madagascar et les bases dispersées de l’Union Française’, Geographical Review 49, 450–1. Harrison-Church, R. J. (1950), ‘Les richesses de la France d’Outre-Mer’, Geographical Journal 115, 238–9. Knight, M. M. (1945), ‘The economic development of French Indochina’, Journal of Economic History 5, 265–7. Lévy, R. (1946), ‘Charles Robequain: Le monde malais’, Politique Etrangère 11, 584–7. McCune, S. (1941), ‘French Indochina’, Geographical Review 31, 340–1. Pounds, N. J. G. (1947), ‘Le monde malais’, Geographical Journal 109, 246. Robert, J. (1958), ‘Charles Robequain. Madagascar et les bases dispersées de l’Union Française’, Norois 19, 337–41. Schein, E. (1955), ‘Malaya, Indonesia, Borneo, and the Philippines’, Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science 300, 174–5. Sion, J. (1929), ‘Le Thanh Hoá’, Annales de Géographie 38, 513–16. Vandenbosch, A. (1945), ‘The economic development of French Indochina’, Journal of Politics 7, 199–201.

Chronology 1897

Born 23 June at Die (Drôme)

1908–15

Secondary education at Grenoble

1916–19

Served in French army, receiving the Croix de guerre

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1920

Obtained licence degree at University of Grenoble

1921

Visited Algeria on inter-university geographical excursion

1922

Passed agrégation in history and geography

1922–4

Taught at lycée in Nice

1923

Visited Poland

1924–6

Seconded to the Ecole Française d’Extrême-Orient, Hanoï; began doctoral research

1926

Visited Yunnan province, China

1926–8

Taught at Lycée Albert-Sarraut, Hanoï

1929

Defended doctoral thesis, Le Thanh Hoá, at University of Grenoble

1929–31

Appointed head of the documentation service of the Agence économique de l’Indochine in Paris

1931

Appointed lecturer in geography at the University of Poitiers; attended International Geographical Congress in Paris

1933

Appointed professor of geography, University of Rennes

1935

Publication of L’Indochine française

1936

Visited French West Africa

1937

Appointed lecturer in colonial geography at the Sorbonne in Paris

1938

Attended International Geographical Congress in Amsterdam; visited Dutch East Indies, Malaya, Siam and Indochina; elevated to Professorial Chair at the Sorbonne

1939

Mobilized for military service

1940–1

Prisoner of war

1944

Publication of The Economic Development of French Indochina

1945

Visited the United States

1946

Visited Madagascar and Réunion; publication of Le monde malais

1947

Visited the United States

1949

Publication of Les Richesses de la France d’Outre-Mer

1950

Visited French West Indies, Puerto-Rico, Haïti, India and Indonesia

1952

Attended International Geographical Congress at Washington, DC

1954

Visited Hong Kong and Japan; publication of Malaya, Indonesia, Borneo and the Philippines (2nd edn in 1958)

1958

Visited several French territories in West Africa and in Central Africa; publication of Madagascar

1963

Dies 28 September; buried at Mens (Isère)

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Richard Lawton 1925–2010

Colin G. Pooley

Richard (Dick) Lawton was a British geographer who spent most of his career in the Department of Geography at the University of Liverpool. His research had and has significant impact across historical and population geography, and through his teaching and mentoring he influenced, and advanced the careers of, many students and younger colleagues. Throughout his academic career, he also contributed significantly to the wider geographical community, in the United Kingdom and elsewhere. This essay describes and contextualizes his academic life, and assesses his contribution to British geography. I was an undergraduate and postgraduate student at Liverpool where I was taught by Dick, and I continued to work with him periodically thereafter. The first part of the essay draws on the excellent obituary written by Paul Laxton and John Dickenson (Laxton and Dickenson 2011).

Education, Life and Work Dick Lawton was born on 9 March 1925 in the mining community of Newbottle, County Durham. An obviously bright boy, he went in 1936 from the local board school to the grammar school in Houghton-le-Spring, and then, in 1942, to study geography at Liverpool University. Like many of his generation his undergraduate studies were interrupted by war service (as a sub-lieutenant in the Royal Navy, 1943–6), but following his discharge he returned to Liverpool and completed his degree (with First Class Honours) in 1948. He proceeded immediately to postgraduate work completing his MA thesis, on population migration to and from Warwickshire and Staffordshire, 1841–1901, in 1950. His interest in population history was to be a major feature of subsequent work and had, in fact, begun with his undergraduate BA dissertation on population migration to and from County Durham (1948). Lawton was appointed to the post of Assistant Lecturer in Geography at Liverpool University in 1949: he remained at Liverpool throughout his academic career. He was promoted to Senior Lecturer in 1962, Reader in 1966 and to a Professorship in 1970. He retired from the university in 1983 after 35 years of active and influential service to both the department and the wider geographical community. Many of Dick’s colleagues were surprised when he not only retired at a relatively young age, but also five years later left Liverpool (his home for

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46 years – interrupted only by war service) to move to the small village of Marton, near Pickering, North Yorkshire. However, this move enabled Dick and his wife Margaret to be closer to their family while being sufficiently near to Merseyside not to sever connections with the university. In ‘retirement’ Dick remained very active both academically and in the life of the local community where he continued his life-long enthusiasms for cricket and music. He held the position of External Professor in Geography at Loughborough University (1986–90), and continued to publish and to contribute to wider geographical activities. Dick Lawton died in York on 22 March 2010 following a short period of illness. Academic life is demanding with the rigours of research, teaching and administrative responsibilities requiring very different skills. Many academics excel at one aspect of the job but are less visible in others. What was distinctive about Dick Lawton’s academic career was his ability to contribute at the highest level to research, teaching, university administration and the wider geographical community over a sustained period. Relatively few modern academics do this successfully. Dick Lawton’s published academic output was extensive, especially so when considered in the context of a career that also committed large amounts of time to teaching and administration, and in the less pressured research environment of the pre-research assessment era. Over his career Dick authored (or co-authored) 4 books, edited a further 9 volumes, produced 36 journal articles and 30 book chapters. He also co-wrote four departmental working papers and was a series editor for David and Charles, responsible for the production of 15 volumes in the Problems in Modern Geography series between 1970 and 1980. Four principal themes run through his published output, all being present to some degree for most of his career. First, Dick Lawton undertook and published a wide range of research in population geography (both historical and contemporary) that pioneered the use of new approaches and data sources, and which set an agenda for decades to come. Although modern computational and GIS techniques allow more sophisticated analyses to be undertaken, subsequent research has confirmed rather than challenged results produced by Dick from the 1950s onwards using much more rudimentary methods. Second, Dick was at the forefront of urban historical geography, leading research projects and publishing work that explored the patterns and processes of urbanization in Britain and continental Europe, especially in the nineteenth century. His professorial inaugural lecture ‘An age of great cities’ (Lawton 1972a) remains a masterly overview of nineteenth-century British urbanization. Third, and related to the first two themes, Dick’s enduring relationship with Liverpool and Merseyside was reflected in his published output. His publications on the city in which he spent his entire academic career span a period of almost 50 years, from his contribution to the British Association Scientific survey of Merseyside in 1953 to a co-authored volume on life in nineteenth-century Merseyside published by Liverpool University Press in 2010, shortly after Dick’s death. A final, but important, strand to Dick’s writing were those publications aimed primarily at student audiences. Dick was a committed and life-long educator, a fact reflected in his text book Britain 1740–1950: An Historical Geography (1992), and in the chapters he contributed to the Atlas of Industrialising Britain (1986) and to two editions of the Historical Geography of England and Wales edited by Dodgshon and Butlin (1978, 1990). There are in my view five principal features that are distinctive about Dick Lawton’s research. First, all of his writing was characterized by strong empirical research based on detailed analysis of the available evidence. He understood and appreciated theory, but always ensured that what he had to say could be backed up with evidence. Second, much of his research and writing was collaborative. This reflects the nature of the man: he was always generous to and supportive of his students and colleagues all of whom gained much from working with Dick. Third, his research was strongly interdisciplinary in an era when interdisciplinarity was not fashionable. Although a staunch defender

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of Geography as a discipline, his own research embraced economic and social history, demography, sociology and politics among other subject areas and was instrumental in building research links between the disciplines. Fourth, Dick’s research extended over a wider range of themes and time periods than is common in the more specialized academic world of today. He carried out original research on urbanization and population change in both the past and the present; he combined quantitative, archival and qualitative research methods; and he wrote for a variety of different audiences. Lastly, Dick’s writing was always extremely accessible. He never used three words where one would do and his meaning and message was always crystal clear. In combination these are powerful attributes that produced publications that have been well read and widely used. Dick Lawton was a natural teacher and he inspired students to become enthusiastic about geography. If Dick’s research canvas was wide, his teaching covered an even larger range. He taught courses not only on areas close to his research interests, but also ranged more widely taking in ancient civilizations, frontiers of European settlement and geographical thought among other topics. He was equally comfortable teaching in the classroom or in the field, dealing effectively but kindly, both with (the occasional) disinterested students in the lecture theatre and young local hecklers when teaching in the field. His lectures were not models of organization, and certainly would not conform to modern pedagogic expectations, but they inspired and challenged and, above all, meant that students left the lecture theatre wanting to know more. From early in his career Dick also mentored and inspired his postgraduate students – too many to mention individually – many of whom went on to achieve significant academic success themselves, in Britain and overseas. Dick’s commitment to teaching, and the high regard in which he was held, is also demonstrated by the large number of visiting appointments that he held all over the world. These included stints at three North American institutions: Southern Illinois University (1963–4), University of Maryland (1968), York University Toronto (1972 and 1981); and Visiting Lecturer positions at the universities of Cambridge (1970–1) and Oxford (1974), with other shorter visits elsewhere in North America, Australia and New Zealand. After retirement from Liverpool he also continued to deliver a course at Loughborough University during the tenure of his External Professorship. Although less tangible than his research output, the impact of Dick’s teaching on the undergraduate and postgraduate students with whom he came into contact had a lasting effect on many individuals and is, arguably, no less important than his research. The third strand of Dick Lawton’s academic life was his commitment to departmental management, University business and to promoting geography beyond his own institution. This was demonstrated both through the many formal positions that he held, and in the support and encouragement he unfailingly gave to colleagues. Departmental colleagues remember his fairness, decisive leadership and meticulous preparation for meetings. In the University of Liverpool, Dick served as Head of Department (1974–80) and held several Faculty positions (sub-Dean, 1960–63; Chairman, Faculty of Arts, 1968–9; Dean Faculty of Social and Environmental Studies, 1977–80) and served extensively on the University Senate (1970–83) as well as on other institutional committees. He was Director of the Liverpool Institute of European Population Studies, 1983–6. His interests were not purely academic. He also had a strong interest in student recreation and welfare, serving on a number of relevant university committees. This reflected his own deep commitment to family life and to wider sporting and cultural activities, particularly his life-long love of, and participation in, music and cricket. Beyond the University of Liverpool, Dick was active in all the major geographical organizations. He was a member of Council of the Institute of British Geographers (1961–2), serving as Honorary Secretary (1972–6), Vice President (1984–5) and

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President (1986). He also chaired the IBG Population Geography Research Group in its early years (1968–71). He was a member of Council at the Royal Geographical Society (1986–9) and chair of the Yorkshire Regional sub-committee of the RGS (from 1998 to 2002). He was equally active in the Geographical Association where he served as a Council member (1975–83), Vice-President (1980–2) and President (1982–3) and on the Council for British Geography which he chaired between 1986 and 1989. Dick also represented geography more widely, serving as President of Section E (Geography) of the British Association for the Advancement of Science (1982–3), on the Human Geography committee of the Social Science Research Council (1975–8) and on the Council for National Academic Awards (1975–85). This exhausting list of commitments demonstrates the high regard in which Dick was held by his peers (and leaves one wondering how he managed to fit in so much research, teaching and administration). Recognition of his contribution to geography came through a number of awards and honorary positions including the Royal Geographical Society Murchison Award (for publications judged to contribute most to geographical science in preceding years) in the year of his retirement (1983), an honorary degree (Doctor of Letters) from Loughborough University in 1985, honorary life membership of the Institute of British Geographers (1992) and Honorary Fellow of the Royal Geographical Society (1995).

Contribution to Geographical Research and Scholarship In focusing on the contribution of his research to geographical scholarship, let me highlight a small number of publications that reflect the breadth and depth of his scholarship and which were, in many ways, ahead of their time. Inevitably, there are aspects of them that now seem dated, but Dick Lawton was pioneering approaches and researching problems that were at the cutting edge of scholarship at the time and which, in many cases, remain equally relevant today. The first, and by far the largest and most significant of these, was his research on population change in the past and present. This encompassed migratory experiences, daily travel to and from work, changing population structures and vital rates, together with the implications of these processes for economy and society. The second was Dick’s interest in processes of urbanization and the ways in which this transformed society, especially in the nineteenth century. These interests combined to provide a focus on the region in which Dick worked. His contribution to understanding the geography and history of Merseyside was enormous. The study of population mobility has undergone a massive transformation in the past decade or so. The publications of John Urry and colleagues (Urry, 2000, 2007; Sheller and Urry, 2006 for instance) have both stimulated debate and generated new ways of theorizing and analysing human mobility, leading to an extensive range of outputs from many disciplines, and to the establishment of journals dedicated solely to the study of mobility (see, for instance, papers in Mobilities and Transfers). Human mobility, in all its forms and at a variety of spatial scales, is firmly established at the centre of social science research. The movement of people, things and ideas is recognized as a central process in both global and local social, economic, cultural and environmental change. This was not the case over half a century ago when Lawton started publishing research on population movement. His research did of course have precedents. Like others at the time, he was influenced by the early work of Torsten Hägerstrand (Hannerberg et al. 1957), but some of his strongest influences had Liverpool associations (on Hagerstrand, see Geographers

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Vol. 26). The influence of H. C. Darby on Dick’s interests in population geography was probably substantial, as too was that of Wilfred Smith and Stan Gregory in providing early examples of quantitative geography (Roxby 1912; Darby 1943; Smith 1951; Gregory 1963) (on Darby, see Geographers Vol. 26; for Smith, Geographers Vol. 9). A series of publications during the 1950s and 1960s established Richard Lawton as a leading exponent of meticulous quantitative population geography at a time when few others were working in this area. As he stated in a 1968 paper, the mobility of population reflects ‘a changing economy and society and, as such, was a key to the understanding of the impact of new technologies and new forms of economic organisation on the numbers, distribution and characteristics of the people’ (Lawton 1968a, 55). While lacking theorization, such sentiments are not a world away from John Urry’s conception of mobilities (in all their forms) as central processes within society (Urry, 2000), and certainly Lawton’s early work provides empirical evidence that supports some of the arguments encapsulated in the ‘new mobilities paradigm’ (Sheller and Urry, 2006). Dick Lawton’s first paper was a modest contribution on population migration that appeared in 1952 in an obscure Indian publication, but thereafter he produced an outstanding series of data-rich articles on migration and mobility that set new standards for historical population geography. Re-reading these papers today, what is most striking is the sheer amount of work that went into producing them. These articles engaged in detail with both published and unpublished census and related sources to produce meticulously researched novel accounts of population change in Britain. We should remember that this was in an era when there was no access to computers or electronic calculators: all data extraction and analysis was undertaken laboriously by hand. Tasks that today can be completed in a few hours by downloading data files and using GIS took weeks to accomplish in the 1950s. That Dick was producing such papers on an almost annual basis, alongside his teaching and administrative commitments, is testimony to his skill and dedication. These outputs not only are examples of hard graft, but also have stood the test of time and remain as key statements about the population history of Britain. These qualities are amply reflected in Dick’s 1968 paper on population changes in England and Wales (Lawton 1968a). Lawton here utilized published vital registration and census data for England and Wales, analysing the components of population change by Registration District from 1851 to 1911. Although later computer-based research has carried out similar calculations for smaller spatial units and a more disaggregated population (Gregory, 2000), the framework provided in this paper remains unchallenged. Lawton’s main conclusions highlighted not only the numerical extent of rural to urban migration, with one-third of Registration Districts experiencing actual population decline (1851–1911), but also the fact that those areas that gained most significantly from in-migration were relatively few in number and were concentrated on London and the major industrial centres. Moreover, he also demonstrated that despite large-scale rural to urban movement migration gain alone accounted for only 17.5 per cent of the total urban population increase (1851–1911), with natural increase the dominant demographic factor in all but a few locations. Lawton went on to identify what he called cycles of migration-related population change and suggested a classification of five types of migratory change across the 60- year study period. Finally, and importantly, he demonstrated clearly that he recognized the limitations of the data available to him and predicted in future more sophisticated analyses. While this paper encapsulates many of the qualities of Dick Lawton’s work, others were in a similar vein. His early published research includes detailed analyses of rural depopulation, Irish migration to Britain and a pioneering examination of the economic geography of Craven in the nineteenth century published in 1954.

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Before the early 1950s, census analysis had been confined to use of the published census statistics: essentially the same material that E.G. Ravenstein (1885, 1889) had utilized in the late nineteenth century. Richard Lawton was one of the first scholars to make extensive use of the unpublished census enumerators’ books when the 1851 returns became publicly available a century after they were collected. Utilizing the enumerators’ books in his study of rural parishes in Craven (Lawton 1954), Dick Lawton went on to undertake the more arduous task of analysing the population of Liverpool using the 1851 manuscript census returns (1955). Dick was the first to make extensive use of the unpublished census enumerators’ books for demographic and social research and was publishing this material almost two decades prior to what would now be seen as classic pioneering census-based studies of urban communities (Anderson 1971; Armstrong 1974). Understandably, when dealing with a city of over 375,000 people in 1851, Lawton took a sample of the population from different parts of the urban area, but his careful analysis of 13,932 individual records drawn from 17 localities across Liverpool produced an insightful portrait of the social geography of the city. He especially highlighted the impact of migration and the spatial and social inequalities that were present in the mid-nineteenth century city. This work became a model used by many later scholars of nineteenth-century cities, especially from the 1970s as improved computational facilities allowed large-scale census studies to be undertaken more easily (Warnes 1972; Ward 1975, 1980; Dennis 1977, 1984; Pooley 1977, 1979, 1984; Cowlard 1979; Gordon 1979; Shaw 1979; Carter and Wheatley 1982). While Dick’s early work, whether carried out at national, regional or local scales, essentially focused on quantitative historical population geography, his research on Liverpool also led rapidly to a much broader interest in the processes of population change and urbanization. This chimed well with other changes that were taking place in the historical social sciences at the time and led to an increased engagement with interdisciplinary studies. Dick was involved from the outset with the establishment of the British Society for Population Studies, formally constituted in 1973 but with its origins in the 1960s. In 1963 Jim Dyos, then a lecturer in Economic History at the University of Leicester, convened the first meeting of British urban historians. With annual meetings and a regular Urban History Newsletter, the Urban History Group became a vibrant interdisciplinary meeting place for those interested in urban society, economy, culture and environment in the past (Sutcliffe, 1983). Although not involved in its earliest meetings (Laxton 2008), Dick Lawton later engaged fully with this group and encouraged his research students to do likewise. The fertile interchange of ideas and experiences between historical social scientists from a variety of different disciplinary backgrounds informed Dick’s own work which led, in turn, to strong and enduring links between urban history and historical geography. From its beginnings in the early 1960s, urban history blossomed in the 1970s with a wide range of locality-based studies, frequently using the sorts of census-based analysis pioneered by Dick in the 1950s. One product of this boom in urban history was the large (by the standards of the time) project led by Dick Lawton on the social geography of nineteenth-century Liverpool (1972–5), funded by the Social Science Research Council (established in 1965). At this time large funded projects on historical topics were relatively rare, although the SSRC had made a major investment in historical demography with the funding from 1974 of the already well-established (1964) Cambridge Group for the History of Population and Social Structure (Gaber et al. n.d.). The Liverpool project was unusual at the time in that it combined both quantitative and qualitative analysis of a range of census, directory and archival data to produce a comprehensive snapshot of Liverpool in the second half of the nineteenth century. A series of publications arising from the project followed during the 1970s. Dick’s interests in the

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processes of urbanization continued throughout his career, with his early work summarized in his inaugural lecture (Lawton, 1972a), and sustained during the later phases of his career through his involvement in Liverpool University’s Institute of European Population Studies. This work led to three edited volumes and one book chapter on aspects of urbanization, all appearing from 1983 onwards and after his retirement from the University of Liverpool. While the study of migration is of long standing – with notable publications from the nineteenth century – everyday mobility such as travel to work, to school, to shop or for leisure had received much less attention. In his seminal paper on the mobility transition, Wilbur Zelinsky (1971) highlighted the importance of short-distance everyday circulation as well as longer-distance residential migration, and everyday travel is central to much contemporary research on mobilities. Lawton had realized the significance of everyday travel for urban spatial structure and regional planning at a much earlier date. His first paper on the journey to work was in 1959, followed by two more in 1963 and 1968 and a substantial book chapter on ‘People and work’ published in 1973. The only scholarly studies of the journey to work that pre-date Dick’s first paper are (so far as I am aware) analyses by Liepmann (1944) and Westergaard (1957), together with material contained in early planning documents such as the Barlow Report (1940) and in some early twentieth-century social surveys such as that of Merseyside by Caradog Jones (1934). In his papers Dick carried out characteristically painstaking analyses of the (limited) census data available at the time, produced a detailed picture of daily population flows (1921–61), and demonstrated their implications for twentieth-century economy, society and urban structure. Later work has used new sources of data and expanded Dick’s original research, but it has not added substantially to the core messages that the research contained. In addition to providing detailed spatial and statistical analyses of daily commuting flows, in his 1968 paper Dick Lawton criticized the available data and argued for the need to collect more thorough statistics on daily population movements rather than the simple flows between local authority areas that were at that time available from the census. In doing so he recognized the impact of such everyday travel for urban planning arguing perceptively that ‘Social changes are likely to add to economic changes in loosening up the patterns of settlement in the industrial regions of Britain in the next generation’ and that ‘With continuing job concentration there is a challenge to planners to integrate public and private transportation so as to ease commuting to both central areas and peripheral growth points’ (Lawton 1968b, 39). Regrettably, in most parts of the United Kingdom, we are still a long way from having integrated transport systems. Dick’s research on the journey to work also illustrates his ability to move between historical and contemporary analyses, and his recognition of the importance of an historical perspective for contemporary planning. This is something that is too often forgotten as new policies fail to take account of lessons from the past (but see the History and Policy website). Although best known for his historical demographic research, Lawton also produced several publications on contemporary urban and social problems. These were mostly focused on studies of Merseyside and the surrounding region and extended his deep and long-standing research association with the locality in which he spent his entire academic career. As a committed geographer Dick Lawton had a genuine interest in the study of place, but one which was more akin to the (mainly rural) locality studies that emerged in the 1980s (Bradley and Lowe 1984; Marsden and Lowe 1992) than to regional geography of the 1950s. He returned to this theme later in life to research and publish on the geography and history of the Yorkshire parish to which he had retired (Lawton 2009).

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Lawton’s concern with contemporary planning issues began with several jointly authored chapters in the 1953 Scientific Survey of Merseyside published by Liverpool University Press for the British Association meeting in the city, but it was later projects that really cemented this commitment to the region and its modern problems of planning. Dick was centrally involved with the large Merseyside Social and Economic Survey that was carried out through cooperation between four Liverpool University departments (Civic Design, Economics, Geography, Social Science) in the 1960s, with the main research period (1965–9) directed by Professor Robert Steel (John Rankin Professor of Geography) and funded through the Department of Scientific and Industrial Research (later the SSRC). Dick led several strands of the large, multi-disciplinary, project and (with Catherine Cunningham) edited the book that was published from the project in 1970. The aim of the research was to build on earlier social surveys of Merseyside and especially to assess post-war changes in the social and economic structure of Merseyside in the light of crucial changes during the 1950s and 1960s. In his conclusion, Lawton struck a cautiously optimistic note (in retrospect probably too optimistic) that demonstrated both his understanding of the complex issues of social, economic and political changes which faced Merseyside and his commitment to the Mersey region: The next decade will show to what extent the foundations have truly been laid for continuing prosperity on Merseyside. The region will certainly show a much changed shape and face to the world; it will certainly be bigger and more complex in terms of population, government and economic organization. But it will – if things go well – also speak with a stronger and more assured voice not only within the North-west but within the nation. The Mersey sound which roused the sixties has reverberated into the seventies: it must not be permitted to die away into a mere echo of what it was. (Lawton and Cunningham 1970a, 495) Although not on the same scale, the Merseyside Social and Economic Survey was followed by further projects that focused on contemporary planning issues as well as those that examined key periods of historical change (such as the social geography of nineteenth-century Liverpool project outlined above). One result of Lawton’s fascination with the interplay between past and present social and economic processes was a series of publications that deliberately linked the two, including a substantial study of the development of Ellesmere Port (funded by Ellesmere Port Borough Council in the early 1970s but not published until 1982), and a co-authored chapter on the development of Liverpool and Merseyside (1890–1980 published in 1986). Although in some ways traditional urban histories – in his review of the Ellesmere Port volume, John Walton praised the concept and the attention to detail, but criticized the ‘Whiggish’ interpretation of economic development and saw the hand of too much civic patronage (Walton, 1983) – Lawton was again ahead of many of his contemporaries in recognizing the need to marry historical analysis with a concern for contemporary social and economic issues. Four papers perhaps sum up Dick Lawton’s academic career and provide an overview of his contribution to geographical scholarship over more than half a century. The professorial inaugural lecture, delivered in March 1972 and subsequently published in Town Planning Review provided an early overview of Dick’s wide-ranging vision of research on Victorian cities (Lawton 1972a). This was written before he undertook his major project on the social geography of nineteenth-century Liverpool, but drew on previous work by himself, colleagues and research students (all meticulously acknowledged and referenced) to outline what he saw as the main dimensions of Victorian

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urbanism (especially as reflected in Liverpool) and some of the implications of these processes. Characteristically, his concern with the past was firmly linked to the present arguing that the great Victorian cities ‘still offer a living laboratory of economic, social and planning problems to understand which we must generally begin in the past’ (Lawton 1972a, 199). Following a sweeping review of processes of urbanization and their implications in the nineteenth century, in conclusion Lawton again stressed the significance of the past for the present: So far as the utility of such work is concerned, we should remember that in the palimpsest of the city, the nineteenth century is a dense layer which still covers much of the present surface and is inseparable from many of the environmental and social problems of the day. In replanning and rebuilding the cities of our Victorian forebears we have much to learn from their mistakes. Yet it would be wrong to dismiss them as wholly irrelevant to present-day needs. (Lawton 1972a, 220–1) Seven years later Lawton drew together much of his (and several of his research students’) work on urban population history in a wide-ranging essay on ‘Mobility in nineteenth-century British cities’ (Lawton 1979). This paper, drawing heavily on research on Liverpool, focused on migration to towns in the nineteenth century, the characteristics of urban populations and the role of intra-urban movement within towns. Characteristically, he also focused attention on the opportunities and limitations of working with population data: a theme he pursued further in his edited volume The Census and Social Structure (Lawton 1978a). He concluded the essay by calling for more ‘broadly-based studies’ to ‘wrest more and more comparable information from the voluminous but incomplete evidence’ (Lawton 1978a, 223). The overwhelming majority of Dick Lawton’s published work is empirical, but he occasionally strayed into other territory. In 1983, in his presidential address to the Geographical Association, he set out his thoughts on the relationships between space, place and time in the context of geographical pedagogy (Lawton 1983b). His argument was in many ways a traditional one: that geography as a discipline should focus on the integration of space, place and time to produce a holistic subject, rather than fragmenting into different themes: ‘we do need to reassert firmly the view that geographical synthesis is more necessary for geography than separate process studies or spatial analysis, important though these approaches are in particular cases, and that, interchangeably, space, place and time act and work together both in the real world of nature and the often imaginary world of man’ (Lawton 1983, 205; original emphasis). This sums up Dick’s approach to his discipline throughout his career: although, inevitably, he specialized in the study of particular topics and means of analysis, he was a complete geographer who believed passionately in the importance of the discipline as a whole rather than of its component parts. One of Dick’s last articles was the published version of his presidential address to the Institute of British Geographers (Lawton 1987). Here he returned to the topics that characterized almost all of his research: population movement, demographic change and urban society. He skilfully wove together the themes of almost 40 years research to produce a wide-ranging paper that combined census, vital registration, archival and diary evidence and, in an unusually reflective mood, ended with a brief account of his personal journey from a County Durham pit village to the local grammar school and on to university as an example of social change within society. In weaving together so many themes he was also practicing what he preached: the art of being a complete geographer.

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Wider Influences: The Geographical Legacy It is often hard to fathom exactly why some research papers become highly cited, even ‘classics’, and why others almost disappear from view. It is not always because the former are better researched or more original than the latter. Much has to do with academic fashion. Work that was ground-breaking at the time can rapidly disappear from view if the discipline prioritizes different concerns. To some extent Dick Lawton’s work has suffered in this way. As has been shown, most of his output was strongly empirical and predominantly quantitative in its approach to studying both past and present society. At the time that he was publishing some of his most significant work, geography was already moving away from such approaches to adopt a more cultural and critical stance. This was something that Dick was well aware of, and which to some extent he embraced, but it was not primarily what he did, and certainly not what he did best. His research thus remains as an outstanding example of (mainly) quantitative historical population geography that was innovative at the time it was published, but which was rapidly overtaken by changes within the discipline. The problem was summed up well in Richard Dennis’s review of Dick’s co-authored text book on the historical geography of Britain. While praising the book for being ‘an impressive and valuable empirical survey’, Dennis quite reasonably criticized it for a lack of engagement with contemporary debates within the discipline and, especially, a failure to link the empirical material to critical discussion of theory, culture and society (Dennis 1983, 151). One should use citation indices with caution, especially in the humanities and the social sciences, but it is true to say that none of Dick’s journal articles would be seen as highly cited by contemporary standards. Perhaps more significantly, however, they are still being cited more than half a century after they were published: using the (admittedly imperfect) measure of Google Scholar, Lawton’s 1959 paper on Irish immigration has already been cited in 2012, as are his 1968 paper on the journey to work and his 1979 article on mobility in nineteenth-century cities (and not by Dick’s former PhD students or colleagues). Other papers have also been cited within the past few years, for instance his 1968 paper on population change has a 2009 citation. What this conveys is a feeling that although this work is not heavily used, it is still being read, and is still seen as valuable by those working on similar topics to those studied by Dick several decades ago. One reason why his work has stood the test of time is the fact that it does provide an accurate account of (for instance) demographic change which can hardly be bettered. As such it is a reference point to which other scholars return as a starting point for other work in a related vein. A second reason may be because throughout his career Dick Lawton engaged with researchers across a wide range of disciplines, thus extending the profile of his work well beyond geography. It is also worth remembering that although Dick is best known for his work in quantitative historical demography, he was also utilizing qualitative sources including diaries in the early 1970s, though not within the theoretical context of later more culturally focused historical work. In assessing the legacy of Dick’s research, it is worth remembering that things can come full circle as some approaches go out of fashion and others return. It is not impossible that future urban historians may appreciate the research done in the 1960s and 1970s more than has been the case in recent years. It can be argued that Richard Lawton’s legacy as a geographer is as much about his teaching, postgraduate supervision and administrative work as it is about his research. He was a central figure in building and maintaining the reputation of the Liverpool Geography department through the 1960s and 1970s, and contributed enormously to the wider university. He served in positions of responsibility in most of the major geographical organizations, and was unceasingly energetic in maintaining their good health. His legacy is also remembered and appreciated by former colleagues and

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students to whom he was always willing to give time. While some former students have followed academic careers, I know that many others working outside of academia would also feel that they owe Dick Lawton a real debt of gratitude for what he gave them though their geographical education. He was an excellent example of a purveyor of the broad geographical education that he advocated in his 1983 Geographical Association Presidential Address (Lawton 1983b).

Conclusion This essay has focused primarily on the academic research and reputation of Richard Lawton as a geographer, but has said relatively little directly about the man himself. The obituary by Laxton and Dickenson conveys Dick’s personality well and it is not necessary to repeat this material in focusing on his contribution to the discipline. I would argue, however, that much of the personality of the individual is conveyed clearly through his research and through his contribution to the wider geographical community. This essay has demonstrated through his research and engagement with academia the qualities that encapsulated Dick Lawton’s approach to life. He was energetic, hardworking, diligent, responsive, collaborative and original in his thinking. He had a strong sense of duty which meant that he never prioritized research over teaching or departmental administration, and never placed personal gain above the greater good of the community in which he worked. While his research has certainly stood the test of time, it is in the combination of these qualities that we can capture Dick Lawton’s academic career and his contribution to geography.

Acknowledgements Many thanks to Paul Laxton for his comments on this text and for the detailed information about Dick Lawton which he generously provided: I am grateful too to Paul for the bibliographical material which follows. Former colleagues and students of Dick provided comments on the essay and/or further insights into his work: Ron Bordessa, Robin Butlin, Bruce Campbell, Colin Clarke, John Dickenson, Bill Gould, Jack Langton, Robert Lee, Marilyn Pooley, Gina Porter, Mansell Prothero and Peter Taylor. I am grateful to them all. Any errors or omissions of course remain my own responsibility.

Bibliography and Sources 1. OBITUARY NOTICES ON THE LIFE OF RICHARD LAWTON

Laxton, P. and Dickenson, J. (2011), ‘Professor Richard Lawton, 1925–2010’, The Geographical Journal 177, 189–91. 2. BIBLIOGRAPHY OF WORKS BY RICHARD LAWTON

1948

Some Aspects of the Population Migrations to and from County Durham, 1851– 1901. Unpublished BA dissertation, Department of Geography, Liverpool University.

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1950

Population Migration to and from Warwickshire and Staffordshire, 1841–1901. Unpublished MA thesis, Liverpool University.

1952

‘The geographical analysis of population movements’, in G. Kuriyan (ed.), The Indian Geographical Society Silver Jubilee Souvenir and N. Subrahamanyan Souvenir Volume. Madras: Indian Geographical Society, 60–4.

1953a

‘Genesis of population’, in W. Smith (ed.), A Scientific Survey of Merseyside. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press for the British Association, 120–31.

1953b

(with S. Gregory and A. T. A. Learmonth) ‘The Middle Mersey and the chemical area’, in W. Smith (ed.), A Scientific Survey of Merseyside. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press for the British Association, 251–67.

1953c

(with W. Smith) ‘The West Lancashire Coalfield’, in W. Smith (ed.), A Scientific Survey of Merseyside. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press for the British Association, 268–77.

1953d

(with W. Smith) ‘The North Wales Coalfield and Chester’, in W. Smith (ed.), A Scientific Survey of Merseyside. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press for the British Association, 278–88.

1954

‘The economic geography of Craven in the early nineteenth century’, Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers 20, 93–111.

1955

‘The population of Liverpool in the mid-nineteenth century’, Transactions of the Historic Society of Lancashire and Cheshire 107, 89–120.

1958

‘Population movements in the West Midlands, 1841–1861’, Geography 43, 164–77.

1959a

‘Irish migration to England and Wales in the mid-nineteenth century’, Irish Geography 4, 35–54.

1959b

‘The daily journey to work in England and Wales’, Town Planning Review 29, 241–57.

1961a

‘Industrial archaeology’, Geographical Journal 128, 121–2.

1961b

‘The 1961 census of England and Wales’, Geography 46, 238–40.

1963a

‘The journey to work in England and Wales: forty years of change’, Tijdschrift voor Economische en Sociale Geographie 54, 61–9.

1963c

‘Recent trends in population and housing in England’, Sociological Review 11, 303–21.

1963d

‘Population trends in Lancashire and Cheshire from 1801’, Transactions of the Historic Society of Lancashire and Cheshire 114, 189–213.

1964a

‘Problems of population mobility in contemporary Britain’, Geography 49, 273–9.

1964b

(with R. K. Gresswell) Merseyside. A Description of the O.S. One-inch Sheet 100: Liverpool. Sheffield: Geographical Association.

1964c

‘Liverpool and the tropics’, in R. W. Steel and R. M. Prothero (eds), Geographers and the Tropics: Liverpool Essays. London: Longman, 349–75.

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1964d

‘Historical geography: the industrial revolution’, in J. Wreford Watson and J. B. Sissons (eds), The British Isles: A Systematic Geography. Edinburgh: Nelson, 221–44.

1965

‘The British case: a comment’, in W. D. Wood and R. Thomas (eds), Areas of Economic Stress. Kingston, ON: Queens University, 159–64.

1967a

(with Robert W. Steel) (eds), Liverpool Essays in Geography: A Jubilee Collection. London: Longmans.

1967b

‘Rural depopulation in England and Wales’, in R. Lawton and R. W. Steel (eds), Liverpool Essays in Geography: A Jubilee Collection. London: Longmans, 227–55.

1967c

‘Vital Liverpool’, Geographical Magazine 40, 299–312.

1968a

‘Population changes in England and Wales in the later nineteenth century: an analysis of trends by registrations districts’, Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers 44, 55–74.

1968b

‘The journey to work in Britain: some trends and problems’, Regional Studies 2, 27–40.

1968c

‘A map of overcrowding in the British Isles’, Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers 43, 19–23.

1969a

‘Resources for Britain’s future: putting people in their place’, Geographical Magazine 41, 927–36.

1969b

‘The Redcliffe-Maud Report: changing population’, Area 1, 9–11.

1969c

(with Colin G. Clarke) ‘Population growth in urban areas’, Area 1, 55–6.

1969d

‘Putting people in their place’, Geographical Magazine XLI, 927–36.

1970a

(with Catherine M. Cunningham) (eds), Merseyside: Social and Economic Studies. London: Longmans.

1970b

‘Introduction’ and ‘Conclusion’, in R. Lawton and C. M. Cunningham (eds), Merseyside: Social and Economic Studies. London: Longmans, xii–xv and 484–96.

1970c

‘The origins of population’, ‘Housing and social structure’, and ‘The journey to work’, in J. A. Patmore and A. G. Hodgkiss (eds), Merseyside in Maps. London: Longman, 30–5.

1970d

‘The population of Liverpool in the mid-nineteenth century’, reprinted with supplementary note in A. R. H. Baker, J. Hamshere and J. Langton (eds), Geographical Interpretations of Historical Sources. Newton Abbot: David and Charles, 381–415.

1970e

‘Population: basic trends and problems’, in M. Chisholm (ed.), Resources for Britain’s Future: A Series from the Geographical Magazine. Newton Abbott: David and Charles, 23–35.

1971a

‘Preface to the census results’, Geographical Magazine 43, 730–1.

1971b

(with Colin G. Clarke) ‘Beyond the fringe’, Area 3, 24–7.

1971c

‘The 1971 British census’, Area 3, 107–10.

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1972a

‘An age of great cities’, Town Planning Review 43, 199–224 [inaugural lecture, University of Liverpool].

1972b

(with Colin G. Clarke) ‘Quantitative techniques in population geography’, Area 4, 125–7.

1973a

‘Rural depopulation in nineteenth-century England’, in D. Mills (ed.), English Rural Communities. London: Macmillan, 195–219.

1973b

‘People and work’, in J. W. House (ed), The U.K. Space: Resources, the Environment and the Future, 1st edn. London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 75–163.

1973c

(with Colin G. Pooley) The Social Geography of Nineteenth-Century Merseyside. Social Geography of Nineteenth-Century Merseyside Project, Working Paper No. 1. Department of Geography, University of Liverpool.

1973d

(with Colin G. Pooley) Methodological Problems in the Statistical Analysis of Small Area Data. Social Geography of Nineteenth-Century Merseyside Project, Working Paper No. 2. Department of Geography, University of Liverpool.

1974a

‘England must find room for more’, Geographical Magazine 46, 179–84.

1974b

(with Colin G. Pooley) ‘The social geography of nineteenth-century Merseyside: a research project’, Historical Methods Newsletter 7, 276–84.

1975a

‘Mayhew and models: nineteenth-century British cities’, Journal of Historical Geography 1, 99–103.

1975b

(with Colin G. Pooley) ‘David Brindley’s Liverpool: an aspect of urban society in the 1880s’, Transactions of the Historic Society of Lancashire and Cheshire 125, 149–68.

1975c

(with Colin G. Pooley) Individual Appraisals of Nineteenth-Century Liverpool. Social Geography of Nineteenth-Century Merseyside Project, Working Paper No. 3. Department of Geography, University of Liverpool.

1975d

(with C. G. Pooley) The Urban Dimensions of Nineteenth-Century Liverpool. Social Geography of Nineteenth-Century Merseyside Project, Working Paper No. 4. Department of Geography, University of Liverpool.

1977a

‘People and work’, in J. W. House (ed.), The U.K. Space: Resources, the Environment and the Future, 2nd edn. London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 109–213.

1977b

‘Regional population trends in England and Wales, 1750–1971’, in J. Hobcraft and P. Rees (eds), Regional Demographic Development. London: Croom Helm, 29–70.

1978a

(ed.), The Census and Social Structure: An Interpretative Guide to Nineteenth Century Censuses for England and Wales. London: Frank Cass.

1978b

‘Introduction’ in R. Lawton (ed.), The Census and Social Structure: An Interpretative Guide to Nineteenth Century Censuses for England and Wales. London: Frank Cass, 1–27.

1978c

(with Colin G. Pooley) ‘Problems and potentialities for the study of internal population mobility in nineteenth-century England’, Canadian Studies in Population 5, 69–84.

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1978d

‘Population and society 1730–1900’, in R. A. Dodgshon and R. A. Butlin (eds), An Historical Geography of England and Wales. London: Academic Press, 313–66.

1979

‘Mobility in nineteenth-century British cities’, Geographical Journal 145, 206–24.

1981

(with Colin G. Clarke) ‘Liverpool celebrates an academic century’, Geographical Magazine 53, 498–503.

1982a

‘People and work’, in J. W. House (ed.), The U.K. Space: Resources, the Environment and the Future, 3rd edn. London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 103–203.

1982b

(with P. J. Aspinall and D. M. Hudson) Ellesmere Port: The Making of an Industrial Borough. Neston, South Wirral: Borough Council of Ellesmere Port.

1982c

‘Questions of scale in the study of population in nineteenth-century Britain’, in A. R. H. Baker and M. Billinge (eds), Period and Place: Research Methods in Historical Geography. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 99–113.

1982d

‘The distribution and structure of population since 1951’, in W. T. S. Gould and A. G. Hodgkiss (eds), The Resources of Merseyside. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 147–62.

1983a

‘Urbanisation and population change in nineteenth-century England’, in J. Patten (ed.), The Expanding City: Essays in Honour of Professor Jean Gottmann. London: Academic Press, 179–224.

1983b

‘Space, place and time’, Geography 68, 193–207. [Presidential address, Geographical Association, 7 April 1983.]

1983c

‘Planning for people’, Geographical Magazine 55, 390–2.

1986a

(with W. T. S. Gould) (eds), Planning for Population Change. London: Croom Helm.

1986b

‘Planning for people’, in W. T. S. Gould and R. Lawton (eds), Planning for Population Change. London: Croom Helm, 9–38.

1986c

‘The role of the External Examiner’, Journal of Geography in Higher Education 10, 41–51.

1986d

‘Guest editorial: unity or diversity’, Area 18, 1.

1986e

‘Population’, in J. Langton and R. J. Morris (eds), Atlas of Industrializing Britain 1780–1914. London: Methuen, 10–29.

1986f

(with Colin G. Pooley) ‘Liverpool and Merseyside’ in G. Gordon (ed.), Regional Cities in the UK 1890–1980. London: Harper and Row, 59–82.

1987

‘Peopling the past’, Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers 12, 259–83. [Presidential address, Institute of British Geographers.]

1988

(with Colin G. Pooley) ‘The social geography of nineteenth-century British cities: a review’, in G. Shaw and D. Denecke (eds), Urban Historical Geography: Recent Progress in Britain and Germany. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 159–74.

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1989a

(with R. Butlin) ‘Clifford Darby: an appreciation’, Journal of Historical Geography 15, 14–9.

1989b

(ed.), The Rise and Fall of Great Cities: Aspects of Urbanization in the Western World. London: Belhaven Press.

1989c

‘Introduction: aspects of the development and role of great cities in the Western World in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries’, in R. Lawton (ed.), The Rise and Fall of Great Cities: Aspects of Urbanization in the Western World. London: Belhaven Press, pp. 1 –19.

1989d

(with Robert W. Lee) (eds), Urban Population Development in Western Europe from the Late-eighteenth to the Early-twentieth Century. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press.

1989e

(with Robert Lee) ‘Introduction: the framework of comparative urban population studies in Western Europe, c.1750–1920’, in R. Lawton and R.W. Lee (eds), Urban Population Development in Western Europe from the Lateeighteenth to the Early-twentieth Century. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 1–26.

1989f

‘Population mobility and urbanization: nineteenth-century British experience’, in R. Lawton and R. W. Lee (eds), Urban Population Development in Western Europe from the Late-eighteenth to the Early-twentieth century. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 149–77.

1990

‘Population and society 1730–1914’, in R. A. Dodgshon and R. A. Butlin (eds), An Historical Geography of England and Wales, 2nd edn. London: Academic Press, 285–322.

1991

‘The role of migration in the development and structure of British cities in the nineteenth century’, in Société Belge de Démographie (ed.), Historiens et populations: Liber Amicorum Etienne Helin. Louvain-le-Neuve: Academia, 359–90.

1992

(with Colin G. Pooley) Britain, 1740–1950: An Historical Geography. London: Edward Arnold.

1995

‘Historische-geographische Entwicklung’, in G. Voppel, H. Zielske and A. Hüttermann (eds), Britisch Insel: England, Wales, Schottland, Irland. Dortmund: Harenberg, 30–45.

1996

An untitled memoir of his time as a student in the Faculty of Arts, 1942–3 and 1946–7 and an untitled memoir of his time as Dean of the Faculty of Social and Environmental Studies, 1977–80, in P. E. H. Hair (ed.), Arts– Letters–Society:A Miscellany Commemorating the Centenary of the Faculty of Arts at the University of Liverpool. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 40–5 and 112–19.

2001

‘Textbooks that moved generations. Two economic geography textbooks’, Progress in Human Geography 25, 303–6 [on Wilfred Smith’s An Economic Geography of Great Britain].

2002a

(with Robert W. Lee) (eds), Population and Society in Western European Port Cities, c. 1650–1939. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press.

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2002b

(with Robert W. Lee) ‘Port development and the demographic dynamics of European urbanization’, in R. Lawton and R. W. Lee (eds), Population and Society in Western European Port Cities, c. 1650–1939. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 1–36.

2002c

‘The components of demographic change in a rapidly growing port-city: the case of Liverpool in the nineteenth century’, in R. Lawton and R. W. Lee (eds), Population and Society in Western European Port Cities, c. 1650–1939. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 91–123.

2003

(with William J. Sheils) ‘North Yorkshire, c.1500–1900’, in R. A. Butlin (ed.), Historical Atlas of North Yorkshire. Otley: Westbury Publishing.

2003

(with William J. Sheils) ‘Introduction to section 7’; ‘Population change, 1700–1900’; ‘The religious census of 1851’; ‘Textiles’, in R. A. Butlin (ed.), Historical Atlas of North Yorkshire. Otley: Westbury Publishing, 106, 123–6, 137–9, 186–8, respectively.

2004

‘Robin Butlin: an appreciation’, in A. R. H. Baker (ed.), Home and Colonial: Essays on Landscape, Ireland, Environment and Empire in Celebration of Robin Butlin’s Contribution to Historical Geography. London: Historical Geography Research Group, 10–8.

2009

Marton: A Short History. Malton: Ryedale District Council.

2010

(with W. T. Rees Pryce) ‘Andrew Thomas Amos Learmonth (1916–2008)’, Geographers Biobibliographical Studies 29, 97–126.

2010

(with Colin G. Pooley and Siân K. Pooley) (eds), The Diary of Elizabeth Lee: Growing Up on Merseyside in the Late Nineteenth Century. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press.

Lawton was also the general editor for the Problems in Modern Geography series published by David and Charles. The following 15 volumes were published between 1970 and 1980: 1970

J. Alan Patmore, Land and Leisure in England and Wales.

1971

Patrick Lavery, Recreational Geography.

1972

David T. Herbert, Urban Geography: A Social Perspective.

1973

Kenneth Warren, Mineral Resources.

1974

John R. Tarrant, Agricultural Geography.

1974

Kenneth L. Wallwork, Derelict Land: Origins and Prospects of a Land-use Problem.

1975

Kenneth Warren, World Steel: An Economic Geography.

1975

Peter G. Hall, Urban and Regional Planning.

1975

John R. V. Prescott, The Political Geography of the Oceans.

1976

Keith Chapman, North Sea Oil and Gas: A Geographical Perspective.

1978

Andrew W. Gilg, Countryside Planning.

1978

Andrew T. A. Learmonth, Patterns of Disease and Hunger.

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Richard Lawton 1979

Gerald T. Bloomfield, The World Automotive Industry.

1979

G. J. Lewis, Rural Communities.

1980

Christopher M. Law, British Regional Development since World War I.

121

3. OTHER REFERENCES CITED

Anderson, M. (1971), Family Structure in Nineteenth-Century Lancashire. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Armstrong, A. (1974), Stability and Change in an English County Town. A Social Study of York 1801–1851. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bradley, T. and Lowe, P. (1984), Locality and Rurality: Economy and Society in Rural Regions. Norwich: Geobooks. Caradog Jones, D. (1934), The Social Survey of Merseyside. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press. Carter, H. and Wheatley, S. (1982), Merthyr Tydfil in 1851. Cardiff: University of Wales Press. Cowlard, K. (1979), ‘The identification of social (class) areas and their place in nineteenth-century urban development’, Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers 4, 239–57. Darby, H. C. (1943), ‘The movement of population to and from Cambridgeshire between 1851 and 1861’, The Geographical Journal 101, 118–25. Dennis, R. (1977), ‘Inter-censal mobility in a Victorian city’, Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers 2, 349–63. — (1984), English Industrial Cities of the Nineteenth Century. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. — (1983), ‘Review of Lawton, R. and Pooley, C. Britain 1740–1950: An Historical Geography’, Urban History 20, 150–1. Gaber, A., Gaber, I. and Fox, S. (n.d.), SSRC/ESRC: The First Forty Years. Swindon: ESRC. Available at: www.esrc.ac.uk/_images/ESRC-40-years_tcm8–6369.pdf (accessed 29 June 2012). Gordon, G. (1979), ‘The status areas of early to mid-Victorian Edinburgh’, Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers 4, 168–91. Gregory, I. (2000), ‘Longitudinal analysis of age- and gender-specific migration patterns in England and Wales: a GIS-based approach’, Social Science History 24, 471–503. Gregory, S. (1963) Statistical Methods and the Geographer. London: Longman. Hannerberg, D., Hägerstrand, T. and Odering, B. (1957) (eds), Migration in Sweden: A Symposium. Lund: Gleerup. History and Policy website at: www.historyandpolicy.org/ (accessed 29 June 2012). Laxton, P. (2008), ‘“Round table discussions and small conferences”: reflections on the slow gestation of the Urban History Group’, Urban History 35, 275–87.

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Marsden, T. and Lowe, P. (1992), Labour and Locality: Uneven Development and the Rural Labour Process. London: Fulton. Pooley, C. (1977), ‘The residential segregation of migrant communities in mid-Victorian Liverpool’, Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers 2, 364–82. — (1979), ‘Residential mobility in the Victorian city’, Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers 4, 258–77. — (1984), ‘Residential differentiation in Victorian cities: a reassessment’, Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers 9, 131–44. Ravenstein, E. (1885, 1889), ‘The laws of migration’, Journal of the Royal Statistical Society 48, 167–227 [Part I] and 52, 214–301 [Part II]. Roxby, P. (1912), ‘Rural depopulation in England during the nineteenth century’, The Nineteenth Century and After 71, 174–90. Shaw, M. (1979), ‘Reconciling social and physical space: Wolverhampton 1871’, Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers 4, 192–213. Sheller, M. and Urry, J. (2006), ‘The new mobilities paradigm’, Environment and Planning A 38, 207–26. Smith, C. T. (1951), ‘The movement of population in England and Wales in 1851 and 1861’, The Geographical Journal 117, 200–10. Sutcliffe, A. (1983), ‘Whither urban history?’, History Today 33, 48–9. Urry, J. (2000), Sociology beyond Societies: Mobilities for the Twenty-first Century. London: Routledge. — (2007), Mobilities. Cambridge: Polity Press. Walton, J. (1983), ‘Review of Aspinall, P., Hudson, D. and Lawton, R. (1982) Ellesmere Port: the making of an industrial borough’, Urban History 10, 199–200. Ward, D. (1975), ‘Victorian cities: How modern?’, Journal of Historical Geography 1, 135–52. — (1980), ‘Environs and neighbours in the “Two Nations”: residential differentiation in mid-nineteenth century Leeds’, Journal of Historical Geography 6, 133–62. Warnes, A. (1972), ‘Residential patterns in an emerging industrial town’, in B. Clarke and M. Gleave (eds), Social Patterns in Cities. London: Institute of British Geographers, 169–89. Zelinsky, W. (1971), ‘The hypothesis of the mobility transition’, Geographical Review 61, 219–49.

Chronology 1925

Born 9 March, Newbottle, County Durham

1936–42

Pupil at Houghton-le Spring Grammar School

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1942–3, 1946–8

Undergraduate student, University of Liverpool. Graduated 1948 with First Class Honours in geography

1943–6

Sub-lieutenant, Royal Navy

1948

Married 24 June to Margaret Edith Click

1948–9

Postgraduate student, Liverpool University

1949

Appointed as assistant lecturer, then lecturer, in Geography, Liverpool University

1950

Completed MA degree, Liverpool University

1952

Published first academic paper

1962

Promoted to senior lecturer in geography, Liverpool University

1966

Promoted to reader in geography, Liverpool University

1970

Promoted to professor of geography, Liverpool University

1974–80

Head of Department of Geography, Liverpool University

1982–3

President of the Geographical Association

1983

Retired from Liverpool University

1983

Awarded Murchison Award, Royal Geographical Society

1985

Honorary degree of Doctor of Letters, Loughborough University

1986

President of the Institute of British Geographers

1988

Moved from Liverpool to Marton, North Yorkshire

2010

Last published work

2010

Dies 22 March, in York

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William John Talbot 1908–1995

Michael E. Meadows

Although not the first professor of geography in South Africa, William (Bill) Talbot was a significant figure both in the academic discipline and in its applications to a range of issues in the country. Born and raised on the Isle of Wight, Talbot studied geography and geology at University College, London, and, following a Commonwealth Fund Fellowship at Berkeley, he took up appointments in Glasgow. He immigrated to South Africa following the establishment of a chair in the discipline at the University of Cape Town and arrived, in 1936, as a relatively young man with no real senior academic leadership experience. Talbot immediately set out to build the teaching and research capabilities of the fledgling department. In developing his own research profile, Talbot built on his training at the three, quite different, schools of geography in England, Scotland and the United States to forge a publication profile in what we would today describe as ‘human–environment relations’. Talbot’s volume of publications is modest by contemporary standards but several of his works were highly influential both within and beyond the academy in South Africa. His most significant contributions were directed at an understanding of the complex set of relationships between people and their environments, most particularly as expressed in agricultural landscapes. His magnum opus is undoubtedly the monumental Atlas of the Union of South Africa compiled over several decades with his wife, Anna-Marie, and published by the Government Printer in 1960. Talbot’s works on the south-western Cape region, especially the classic Swartland and Sandveld (Talbot 1947), reveal attention to detail and an impressive breadth of understanding. Talbot devoted the great majority of his working life to the University of Cape Town and the project that was manifest as an increasingly influential and productive Department of Geography; he retired in 1975. His life and work is remembered in the naming of the Talbot Library housed in the Department of Environmental and Geographical Science at the University of Cape Town.

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125

Education, Life and Work There are no known records of Bill Talbot’s early life other than those referred to in the documentation that accompanied his application for a position at the University of Cape Town. William John Talbot was born on the Isle of Wight, at Ryde, on 27 April 1908. He attended the Upper Grade School in the village and was awarded, following a competitive examination in 1919, a scholarship to the County Secondary School in Sandown. Subsequently, he passed the Cambridge Senior Examination ‘with exemption from London Matriculation’ (in 1923) and then succeeded in the London Intermediate BSc examination (1925), in the process winning an Isle of Wight County Scholarship to the University of London. In reading geography with a subsidiary in geology at University College, Bill Talbot emerged as a top student and won the Mary Broderick Prize for Distinction in Geography and obtained the BSc (Special) with First Class Honours in 1928. Some indication of the measure of his performance, and the esteem in which he was held by his teachers, can be gleaned from a testimonial letter written by Lionel W. Lyde (Geographers Vol. 30), who was professor of economic geography at the University of London during Talbot’s years there. The letter was included in Talbot’s 1936 application for the Cape Town chair but was written in 1928 at the conclusion of his undergraduate studies, presumably as a recommendation for the position he took up at the University of Glasgow: Mr Talbot is a most unselfishly enthusiastic worker, thinking first – if not only – of the work, (not examination!), and with something of a flair for research work. He is never content with superficial knowledge, and not often content with anything that lacks primary authority. His seminar work is the best that we have ever had. (University of Cape Town, personal file of W. J. Talbot) High praise indeed, since Lyde had been teaching at the University College for some 25 years. He went on to heap further accolades upon this young protégé: ‘I would like to emphasise that he won the Mary Broderick Medal, which is given to the best Geographer of the year, if, but only if, of outstanding merit’ (University of Cape Town, personal file of W. J. Talbot). His other London professors were similarly impressed. In another testimonial letter included in the Cape Town application, M. T. M Ormsby, Reader in Surveying, comments that Talbot demonstrated sound grasp of the methods of map making and map projections – skills that were to endure and stand him good stead in his later research. These highly positive impressions of Talbot persuaded the Department of Geography at the University of Glasgow to take him on as an assistant to the lecturer in geography in 1928, and from 1929–32 he taught at the Glasgow and West of Scotland Commercial College. In Glasgow, he fell under the mentorship of Alexander Stevens, who had distinguished himself as geologist and chief of the scientific staff on the Shackleton Antarctic Expedition from 1914 to 1917 (Stevens was one of those marooned for two years on the Ross Shelf). Talbot impressed Stevens enormously. In supporting his application for the Cape Town chair, Stevens compiled a testimonial (Talbot included this in his actual submission) and wrote letters of recommendation to the dean of the Faculty of Science as well as to General Jan C. Smuts, the then-prime minister of the Union of South Africa, garnering further support for Talbot. Smuts reacted by writing to the university vice-chancellor endorsing Stevens’s strongly positive reference for Talbot as a candidate for the new post. The prime minister, although he could not have known it at the time, would prove to be a most appropriate proponent, since Talbot’s subsequent

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research work (see section below) was to take him into the realm of soil conservation policy and Smuts himself was a vigorous advocate of attempts to curb the ‘evils’ of accelerated soil loss in South Africa. Stevens does not mince his words in respect of his young assistant: William J. Talbot came to me on strong recommendation from one of his teachers when he was so young that I felt some misgiving in taking him. He proved to be a youth of surprising maturity who retained those qualities of youth the barter of which for the attributes of manhood may be a doubtful bargain. (University of Cape Town, personal file of W. J. Talbot) While in Glasgow, Talbot embarked on his first real research work, in agriculture, an interest that was to flourish in the years to come. Talbot made a study of the Clydeside fruit-growing area and this had an economic geography focus, doubtless due at least in part to Lyde’s earlier teachings. This was followed in 1930 by a field crop survey of the entire Isle of Wight, although this had to be abandoned prior to completion due to Talbot’s taking up a Commonwealth Fund Fellowship in the following year. The fellowship was awarded for the University of California, at Berkeley. During his time at Berkeley, Talbot was strongly influenced by the presence in that school of Carl Ortwin Sauer (Geographers Vol. 2), and accompanied him on field excursions in what was in those days known as Alta California. As was typical of Talbot, his field observations were supported by an exhaustive library search in the United States, Mexico and even Spain known, in his own words, ‘to contain original material relevant to the subject’. That subject appears to have been the historical geography of settlements, both Spanish and Mexican and, while the results seem to have been aimed at forming part of a doctoral thesis to be submitted to the University of Glasgow, the PhD itself was never completed. Despite this, the work itself was outstanding: consider the enthusiastic words of support from Alexander Stevens who, in lauding Talbot for the quality of his research, takes something of a sideswipe at what he perhaps considered a rival department: The written accounts of Talbot’s research would undoubtedly qualify for the London PhD (I speak from experience as an examiner therefore). Cases are known in which theses in geography proposed for the Glasgow degree but declined have been awarded the London Ph.D. (University of Cape Town, personal file of W. J. Talbot) Little else is recorded of Talbot’s time at Berkeley, excepting perhaps that, since the annual fellowship was twice renewed, he clearly satisfied the conditions of the award. Sauer himself was favourably impressed and wrote a glowing testimonial for him submitted as part of the application for the Cape Town chair: Of the students from abroad who have worked with us, none is remembered more pleasantly than William J Talbot. He spent three years with us, and I had the additional pleasure of having him as a companion in the field in Mexico during one summer . . . He worked at this task intelligently and carefully, acquiring an entirely adequate body of historical source materials both here and in Mexico. (University of Cape Town, personal file of W. J. Talbot) By this stage, Talbot had learned to spread his wings intellectually and, as his later work was to reveal, was very clearly influenced by the historical and cultural geographical

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traditions espoused by Sauer who, at the time of Talbot’s Berkeley sojourn, was working on The Morphology of Landscape in which the ‘natural’ and the ‘cultural’ are integrated and expressed in the landscape, in particular at the regional scale (Leighly 1976). Sauer proved an influential and globally significant theorist on the characteristics of landscape and what they reveal of history and the dynamic nature of the human-environment nexus. These ideas remained with Talbot for the rest of his academic working life and are reflected in a number of his publications. In 1935, Talbot returned to Scotland and took up a lectureship the University of Glasgow and, in so doing, renewed his working relationship with Alexander Stevens. Here he developed a course, among others, in African geography and seems to have been especially popular and successful in his teaching. In his notes, solicited by the selection committee for the Cape Town chair, Stevens wrote, ‘Talbot has specialised in teaching African geography here. He is also the first man I have had who has made reasonable progress in conducting second-year classes in geography. It is a very common experience that in their second year in geography students usually progress much less than in their first and subsequent years’ (University of Cape Town, personal file of W. J. Talbot). And so Bill Talbot was encouraged to apply for the newly established professorship in geography at the University of Cape Town. Geography had been taught at the Universities of the Witwatersrand (initially the South Africa School of Mines) and at the University of Stellenbosch, where Professor Piet Serton had been inaugurated as the first professor of geography in South Africa more than a decade earlier. But the University of Cape Town, which already had a thriving Geology Department, was keen not to be upstaged and received government Education Department authorization to establish a Department of Geography; the search for a chair commenced in 1935. The advertisement elicited enthusiastic responses and there were 18 applicants for the position, including some who were at the time, or were eventually to become, distinguished geographers in their own right. Gordon Manley, then the curator of the observatory at Durham, E. Estyn Evans from the University College of Wales (Geographers Vol. 25), Walter Fitzgerald at Manchester, Reginald Pelham at Birmingham, Robert E. Dickinson at Leeds (Geographers Vol. 8) and Stanley Jackson from the University of the Witwatersrand were all applicants and each went on to successful academic careers in the discipline. Unlike the modern era where, at the very least a telephone interview would be conducted before an offer of appointment was made, the university selection committees of the day had to rely purely on written evidence of achievement and potential. In this regard, Talbot ensured he was well prepared and he submitted eight such testimonials in support of the application, including those by Sauer and Leighly at Berkeley, Stevens from Glasgow, Lyde from the University of London and even letters written in French (from Raoul Blanchard at Grenoble: Geographers this volume) and in German (from Pfeifer at Bonn). These were credible and high-profile referees and their arguments were persuasive, none more so than the views offered by Stevens, with whom Talbot had forged a close working relationship over the preceding years in Scotland. Stevens’s praise for Talbot is extraordinary and is matched in intensity of tone only by his somewhat bluntly expressed negative views of others that he assumed might be rivals for the position. Of S. W. Wooldridge (Geographers Vol. 8) who, just a few years earlier, had been one of the founder members of the Institute of British Geographers, he noted: ‘purely a geologist who has no geographical outlook’. He dismissed another possible candidate as follows: ‘has written an indifferent book on climatology to show his ignorance of the literature of the subject and want of grasp of the significance of modern views in its field’ (University of Cape Town, personal file of W. J. Talbot).

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For Talbot, however, Stevens offers an unfailingly complimentary view that must have surely swayed the selection committee: I consider Talbot one of the two best of the younger British geographers: the other will not be a candidate and is in any case less reliable. He has reasonable experience of travel for his age, as well in Europe as in America, and in this essential for geography most of the Britishers are lacking. They have no cultivated sense of proportion. (University of Cape Town, personal file of W. J. Talbot) Most tellingly, Stevens concluded his testimonial thus: ‘There are six members of my staff, and I could more easily [re]place any or all of them than Talbot. If, having left here, he were at any time to be out of employment, I should move heaven and earth to have him back to Glasgow’ (University of Cape Town, personal file of W. J. Talbot). As Davies (1996) put it, Stevens was aspiring ‘to another outpost of his Glasgow based empire’ having successfully managed to see one of his former senior lecturers into the newly established chair in Sydney. But it was surely a risk for a university to take on such a young and junior academic to lead a new department, more especially in another continent and one with which the candidate had no direct prior experience. Talbot’s former director at the Glasgow and West of Scotland Commercial College Tom Pettigrew Young offered these words of encouragement to the committee: ‘It may be of use to you to know that he is largely attracted to Africa by the fact that it offers so much room for original research in his subject. He would have every tendency to settle in the country for a long time and perhaps for good. At all events, he certainly would not look on any appointment as being merely a stepping-stone to something in Europe or America’ (University of Cape Town, personal file of W. J. Talbot). No doubt the note from General Smuts would also have caught the attention of the members of the selection committee. Talbot’s own letter of application indicates a strong commitment to and prospect for the position – not only in terms of taking up a chair and constructing a department from scratch, but also in the sense that he doubtless saw the move to Cape Town and South Africa as an exciting opportunity for interesting new research directions. He expressed a vision for the post that is redolent of the philosophy developed by his former mentor, Carl Sauer, in suggesting that he would develop a school characterized by a ‘coherent geography’, a reference surely to the holistic view of the discipline that his former mentor espoused. He wrote of the possibilities of joining the academic ranks at the University of Cape Town, that ‘Its chair of geography offers to a serious worker an opportunity to enter upon an attractive field of teaching and research in which a man would be well content to employ the whole of his active life’ (University of Cape Town, personal file of W. J. Talbot). These proved to be prophetic words, for that is exactly what he did. Talbot saw his main task at the university to establish the department. The first cohort of undergraduates was admitted in the first term of the year following his arrival in May 1936. He was in time joined by his wife (Anna-Marie, herself a master’s graduate of Berkeley). The university at the time was staffed very substantially by expatriates and the senate had, according to Davies (1996), already learned that these younger ‘missionaries’ were readily acclimatized to what at the time must have seemed like a rather colonial-like environment. Talbot quickly established a curriculum which was rooted in a regional framework, a situation that resulted in ‘a thread by which one could string together geomorphology and evolution of the physical landscape with the cultural geography and the evolution of the cultural landscape, the evolution of the economic structure and so on’ (Phillips 1993, 360). The first cohort of ten undergraduates enrolled in 1937 and graduated two years later. Talbot proved an effective and popular

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teacher and, as Phillips (1993, 360–1) notes, ‘students had no difficulty in following his carefully crafted lectures which rarely failed to engage their attention, despite his gently spoken, undemonstrative presentation . . . to all it was clear that here was a professor who took his teaching seriously’. The responsibility of teaching geography I, II and III plus the new master’s course must have been taxing, especially as Talbot performed these duties with only a demonstrator to assist, until, in 1943, a Junior Lectureship was established. In 1946, a second permanent position was established to free up the professor to engage in more intensive research activities. One of the two new posts was occupied by the department’s first MA graduate, while the other was taken up by the indomitable Mrs Talbot who, having spent the wartime years as relief geography teacher at one of the local high schools, could only be appointed as ‘temporary lecturer’, being ineligible for a permanent lectureship in her husband’s department. The physical infrastructure for the department was, at the outset at least, rudimentary. Happenstance saw to it that it was the professor of geology, Andrew Young, who had been at the Cape Town harbour to greet Talbot as he disembarked from the Windsor Castle. That meeting evolved into friendship and, ultimately, into a ‘symbiosis’ (Talbot 1973) so that geography became the natural choice of departments to occupy the newly constructed third floor of the Geology Building in 1938. The department remained there until 1965 when, aided by the fact that Talbot had been elected Dean of Science in 1961, it was transferred to more spacious office and laboratory accommodation on the top floor of the new Beattie Building, complete with its own roof-top meteorological instrument deck (Talbot 1993) and there became ‘the envy of all South African geographers’ (Davies 1996, 54). Talbot’s nurturing of the department was matched by a determined and effective campaign to glean resources from a ‘close-fisted’ University Council (Phillips 1993); this led to a gradual but steady increase in student numbers, staffing and facilities. The lectureship post was occupied, albeit never for a sustained period, by individuals who themselves were destined to make an impact in geography: Monica Cole, Jack Mabbutt and Peter Scott all spent time in the department in the late ‘forties and early ‘fifties. These teaching posts were supplemented by a technical officer (1939) and, in 1956, a secretary – all of which enabled the Talbots to spend more of their time on research. The research and its subsequent publication was facilitated by modest grants from the university and appropriate research funding bodies and was given intellectual impetus by periods of sabbatical leave. The United States always retained Talbot’s interest and he took up a visiting position there in 1949 back at Berkeley. In 1957, he accepted an invitation to serve as visiting professor at the University of Michigan and a teaching position over the following summer at Berkeley. In 1965, he and Anna-Marie returned to Berkeley for a further summer session and Bill took on a visiting professorship for the fall and spring semesters at the University of Oregon. The expanding department also received its fair share of visitors, no doubt attracted by the beautiful university campus and its surrounding mountains and ocean vistas, but also by the intellectual resource that the expanding department offered. Among the geographers who spent time in the department during these years were Don Vermeer of the University of Colorado, Charles Alexander of the University of Illinois at Urbana and Gottfried Pfeiffer from the University of Heidelberg, along with visiting students from universities such as Utrecht and Munich (Talbot 1973). Talbot’s efforts were recognized beyond the academy. His work extended to fostering activities within both the Royal Society of South Africa (he was honorary secretary from 1951 to 1964 and president in 1974), and the South African Geographical Society of which body he was elected president in 1964 and a gold medallist in 1978. By the time he retired in 1973, the department had an academic staff complement of six, supplemented by several administrative and technical positions including a

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cartographer. From humble beginnings, Talbot had seen to it that it was well positioned to expand further following the appointment of his successor, Professor Ron Davies from the University of Natal.

Scientific Publications, Geographical Thought and Influences Talbot’s best-known works emanated from what would be called today ‘contract’ research insofar as it was conducted at the behest of a government authority or agency. This was true of his first substantive project following arrival in Cape Town, being a survey of the environmental characteristics of the wheat lands of the south-western Cape initiated by the Social and Economic Research Council. This appeared ultimately as Swartland and Sandveld (Talbot 1947), although Talbot complained that, because the provincial minister responsible would not pay for its translation into Afrikaans (the dominant first language among the farming community), those for whom it had primarily been compiled would be most unlikely to have read it. Of particular interest is the fact that the work arose at a time – and was strongly influenced by – a strong body of opinion among the agricultural bureaucrats of the day, that soil erosion was a significant blight in the country and that this ‘evil’ must be exorcised. Indeed, the colonial-soil scientists Jacks and Whyte had identified South Africa as an erosion ‘hotspot’ just a few years before in their Rape of the Earth (1939). This view, which was not exactly novel since the dangers of inappropriate farming had been known for many decades (Phillips 1999), was nevertheless given significant impetus and credibility by the 1944 official visit to South Africa of the Chief of the United States Soil Conservation Service, Hugh Hammond Bennett (Dodson 2004; 2005). Bennett was an outspoken and forceful character, who had become almost evangelical about the ‘menace’ of soil erosion since his appointment to the relevant government department in 1903 (Dodson 2005), and who had emerged as a prominent public figure at the time of the 1930s’ ‘dust bowl’ crisis in the United States. His invitation to South Africa appears to have been supported at the highest level of government, and Smuts’s own passion for nature and ideas of ‘holism’ (Powell 2005) was undoubtedly a factor in the visit. Dodson (2005) argues that the entire ‘event’ – it was given wide media coverage and Bennett was afforded what would today be regarded as celebrity status – was politically motivated. There is no direct evidence to suggest that Talbot was involved in either the invitation or the sponsored two-month tour of South Africa but, given the focus of Swartland and Sandveld and the extent to which Bennett’s work is referenced there, it is hard to believe the two did not meet, or spend time together in the field. Dodson’s (2005) critique of Bennett’s time in South Africa (his safari as she calls it) is aimed at highlighting the extent to which the government of the day viewed this as an opportunity, not only to promote an environmental ethic but also to curry political favour in rural South Africa. Whether or not there was an element of political expediency here, Talbot’s review of soil erosion in the region was without doubt influenced by Bennett’s call to arms and the argument in Swartland and Sandveld strongly endorses the official position. That the Bennett tour focused on commercial (white-owned) farmland around the country – and thus ignored the circumstances of the black majority living in marginalized, ecologically fragile and increasingly degraded ‘native areas’ in the eastern parts of the country (and, indeed, the adjacent Protectorates of Basutoland and Swaziland) – reflects the politics of the time and, possibly, as Dodson (2004; 2005) suggests, even more besides.

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The arrangement may well have been aimed at consolidating United States, British and South African diplomatic relationships as much as it was aimed at highlighting an environmental blight. Whatever was the case, the 1946 promulgation of the Soil Conservation Act and subsequent implementation of highly subsidised soil conservation measures by the wheat farmers of the south-western Cape certainly averted a crisis on the scale of the dust bowl (Meadows 2003). These policies can be criticized for dealing with erosion only in the relatively affluent, white-owned commercial farming areas. Widespread degradation in the native reserves was either completely ignored (Dodson 2004; 2005) or, worse still, was attributed to neglect and ignorance on the part of the black population. Talbot too is guilty, if that is the right word, of considering soil erosion only from the perspective of the commercial wheat lands. He may well have been aware of the political dimensions of soil erosion but chose to remain silent on the native land question, as for the most part did Bennett (Dodson 2005). This story nevertheless demonstrates that severe environmental problems can be addressed through timely intervention and action. The wind and water erosion assessments that form the core theme in Swartland and Sandveld were facilitated by Talbot’s good working relations with the national Trigonometrical Survey and with the military in the guise of the South African Survey Corps. Here Talbot’s map-making and interpretation skills honed under Stevens at Glasgow were put to practical use. The departmental map collection, assiduously compiled by Talbot in the pre-war years, was actually commandeered by the army corps as the ‘most comprehensive collection of African and European topographic survey maps in the country’ (Talbot 1973). When, years later, they were returned to the department, they were accompanied by a letter of appreciation by the director of the Trigonometrical Survey extolling their virtues as ‘the only maps of French North Africa available to the South African Forces after the fall of France’ (Talbot 1973, vii). The collection was returned ‘with interest’ in the form of a large number of army surplus maps and a set of 1938 aerial photographs that were to form the basis of the soil erosion assessment work written up in Swartland and Sandveld. A second major project began shortly after the war, again as part of a survey initiated by state authorities. Talbot found himself on the Committee for Economics, Commerce and Geography, a constituent of the National Council for Social Research, from 1946 to 1972. In his 1942 memorandum, he observed how, ‘When charged with the analysis of social and economic conditions and policies . . . and required to formulate plans for raising production and living standards, the most fundamental difficulty . . . encountered was . . . the absence of full knowledge of the country’s resources and existing social structure’ (Talbot 1993, x). Thus was hatched the idea for a comprehensive national atlas that culminated in the publication, in 1960, of The Atlas of the Union of South Africa – an enormous work (physically and conceptually) that contains almost 600 hand-drawn maps and as many accompanying graphs and other diagrams. Such a work would usually be considered the responsibility of a national body, but Talbot and his fledgling department of a devoted few took on the task themselves with only minimal financial support from the university and the government. In his own words: ‘It is doubtful if any comparable national atlas in the history of cartography has been produced on so small a budget and such a “do it yourself ” basis’ (Talbot 1973, xi), but emerge it did – and just in time to represent the nation at the exhibition of national atlases at the Nineteenth International Geographical Congress in Stockholm appropriately enough, for a South African work, resplendent in the green and gold of the Springboks. This work was 13 years in the making and was a lasting testimony to thousands of hours of painstaking research and cartography, the majority of its beautifully crafted black-and-white maps drawn by Bill and Anna-Marie. In recognition of its breadth of concept and meticulous attention to detail, the University of Cape Town

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awarded Talbot a fellowship. As an example of South African cartographic work, it has, arguably, been emulated but never superseded. Talbot’s third significant contribution emanated from an invitation by L. Dudley Stamp (Geographers Vol. 12) to contribute to the UNESCO-sponsored History of Land Use in Arid Regions. Talbot compiled two chapters on the region, dealing with South Africa and what was then South West Africa respectively (Talbot 1961). The remit was clearly to describe and account for land use across large areas of southern Africa but Talbot, perhaps typically given his studies under Sauer, adopted a historical and cultural approach. He outlined the dynamic nature of the human-environment relationships as these arid landscapes changed from supporting hunter-gatherer and herder communities to being home for European colonists with their modern agricultural methods and technologies. His writing reflects the dominant, conservative (reactionary, some might say) political views of the day; he was dispassionate and uncritical about the demise of the aboriginal people in the face of European colonization – the ‘advance of the graziers’ into the Cape Town hinterland: The Hottentots, never great warriors, offered little effective opposition to European encroachment upon their territory at all after 1689. After some hostilities in the early years of the settlement they either withdrew as tribal groups before the Whites or became economically dependent upon them as individuals, serving as shepherds, hunters, guides, and interpreters. (Talbot 1961, 303) Talbot rationalized what others have portrayed as the destructive and murderous occupation of the South African interior by noting that the colonial land tenure system was legalized nomadism and merely enabled the colonists to move on to new pastures as often as need or desire might dictate ‘as the Hottentot had done’ (Talbot 1961, 303). Talbot was, of course, not necessarily a proponent of such practices, for we know nothing directly about his political philosophy, but he was clearly a ‘man of his time’ in this apartheid era of racial segregation and oppression in the nation. His position is pointedly colonialist in tone and this is reflected in his other works that focus largely on ‘man-land’ relationships where it is taken for granted that ‘man’ in the South African context is both male and white. This view is also mirrored in his presidential address to the South African Geographical Society in 1965 in which he referred to the ‘backwardness’ of Africa, its ‘fundamental indigenous problems’ (Talbot 1965). His conservative perspective resurfaced in his concluding remark that ‘the influence of communist powers that have made a science of manipulating and exploiting poverty to promote revolution and that have already infiltrated an estimated 50,000 trained agitators into the continent is yet another of Africa’s complex problems’ (Talbot 1965, 10). Notwithstanding these musings on politics, Talbot’s works demonstrate a broad and holistic perspective on the geography of his adopted land. While much of his focus remained on agriculture, he also became interested in his urban surroundings, and he presented a paper on ‘Cape Town as a World City’ at the Thirty-Second Deutschen Geographentag in Berlin in 1959 that was eventually published, in German (Talbot 1959). This work provided a descriptive snapshot of the city in the late 1950s, tracing its development from a ‘refreshment station’ to the expanding urban complex over three centuries and making the claim for it to be recognized as a world city based on its diverse geographical and historical roots. Here too, Talbot expounds the view that the landscape, in this case the urban one, is a product of history and culture – his Berkeley pedigree again revealed. In 1967, Talbot was approached by the Cape Provincial Administration to undertake a regional planning survey of Greater Cape Town. His resultant report dealt with a wide range of fundamentally geographical issues – the natural landscape, population,

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land use and the economy – which Talbot was comfortable in researching and able to integrate into a comprehensive understanding of the ‘region’ as a whole. The report was intended as the first in what was supposed to become a series of monographs on the South African landscape (Talbot 1971). The 50-page booklet is a lucid and elegantly written summary of the geography and economy of the region that deserved to be repeated for other South African regions but, sadly, it never was. His last published work was his 1978 presidential address to the Royal Society of South Africa, entitled ‘Some South African Challenges to Science and Technology’ (Talbot 1978). His focus here is again on ‘man-land’ relationships, and he outlined issues that demonstrated the ‘ambivalent role’ of the environment in relation to human activities, meaning that the connections are both a challenge and an opportunity. He went on to illustrate a number of key problems for the country (avoiding politics altogether) including insect pests such as locusts, stock diseases, fungal infections of crops and exotic plants, as well as issues associated with mining. It is understandable that Talbot should concentrate on agriculture and mining – primary economic activities that, at the time, were at the heart of the nation’s development. Perhaps of most interest, however, is that he made no mention of the soil erosion problem that had blighted the regional landscape so conspicuously in the 1930s and the 1940s. By 1978, accelerated soil loss – at least as far as the south-western Cape wheat belt was concerned – was a distant memory due to the successful implementation of a substantial governmentfunded soil conservation and educational effort that had been enthusiastically championed by Talbot himself in Swartland and Sandveld (Meadows 2003).

Conclusion Bill Talbot’s research publication output was not prolific and the international impact of his ideas is rather limited, in part at least due to the fact that he focused his efforts on his adopted homeland which was not only geographically remote but also increasingly politically and intellectually isolated during his tenure. There are, nevertheless, two aspects of his work that can be considered noteworthy. The first is the fact that he saw academic geography as a unifying and holistic discipline. The progressive subdivision of the subject that took place over the succeeding decades, for example in the development of distinctive ‘human’ and ‘physical’ geographies and even separate departments in some institutions, would have seemed very artificial and certainly undesirable to Talbot. In this sense, and probably in others too, he was a ‘traditional’ geographer. Indeed, Talbot was recorded in an interview as saying that the chief strength of the discipline lay in the attribute that ‘it does not take apart that which nature has put together’ (Ferrario 1980). It is impossible to understand the nature of a ‘region’ without considering all of its constituent elements. The demise of ‘regional geography’ in the curricula at many university departments around the world during the 1970s and the 1980s, and the accompanying fragmentation and division as specialized sub-disciplines emerged, would in all likelihood have distressed Talbot. How ironic then is the rebirth of integrated and holistic thinking, in the guise of ‘sustainability studies’ for example, albeit that it is not ‘geography’ in name? Were Talbot still working today, he would surely have found himself collaborating in regional and local projects that fall under the ‘sustainable development’ label. The second noteworthy aspect of his work is that he saw one of his key tasks as serving the policy and practical needs, not only of the south-western Cape Province in particular, but also of his adopted nation as a whole. The painstaking mapping work that was the hallmark of Swartland and Sandveld and The Atlas of the Union of South Africa was

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embedded in the needs of the authorities to understand more deeply not only the various geographic phenomena but also the nature of the functional connections between them. Talbot was masterful in making these connections and illustrating them both conceptually and physically for those who charged him with the brief. As with a more integrated approach to the discipline, applied geography too has had a resurgence. Talbot is perhaps best remembered not so much for his contributions to global scholarship but for his gentle but relentless cultivation of a rich and fertile foundation on which his department grew and, eventually, flourished. From those humble beginnings in 1937 when the first ten undergraduate students enrolled for his lectures in geography, the academic department grew in numbers and in strength and now has an annual intake of more than 300 first-year students. Ron Davies, in penning his 1996 obituary of Talbot, wrote the following: Here was a quiet, gentle man with a deep commitment to his academic life, his discipline and the Department – somewhat difficult to know intimately, for in many was he was a very private person. But he enjoyed a hidden sense of humour that would come to endear him to generations of students and those who had the good fortune of knowing him a little more closely. (Davies 1996, 54) This traditional and perhaps, in some senses, even conservative man devoted most of his working life to building the department that he had established. That it flourished rather than foundered is testimony not only to his tireless efforts but also to the importance of the discipline he professed.

Bibliography and Sources 1. OBITUARY NOTICES ON BILL TALBOT

Davies, R. J. (1996), ‘Obituary: Professor William (Bill) John Talbot 1908–1995’, South African Geographical Journal 78, 53–4. 2. SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY OF WORKS BY BILL TALBOT

1947

Swartland and Sandveld. A Survey of Land Utilization and Soil Erosion in the Western Lowland of the Cape Province. Cape Town: Oxford University Press.

1959

‘Kapstadt als Welstadt’, in J. H. Schultze (ed.), Zum Problem der Weltstadt. Berlin: Festschrift zum 32 Deutschen Geographen.

1960

(with A. M. Talbot), Atlas of the Union of South Africa. Pretoria: Government Printer.

1961

‘Land utilisation of the arid regions of southern Africa. Parts I and II: South Africa’, in L. D. Stamp (ed.), History of Land Use in Arid Regions. Paris: UNESCO, 299–338.

1965

‘The “Basement Complex” of African problems’, South African Geographical Journal 47, 3–10.

1968

(with A. M. Talbot). The Greater Cape Town Region. Planning Report no. 4, Cape Town: Cape Provincial Administration.

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1971

South Western Cape Province. Braamfontein: South African Geographical Society.

1973

‘Lest we forget . . . Annals of the University of Cape Town Department of Geography, 1936–1973’, Earthworm, Newsletter of the University of Cape Town Student Geographical Society 1973, iii–xviii.

1978

‘Some South African challenges to science and technology’, Transactions of the Royal Society of South Africa 43, 95–105.

1979

‘The morphogenesis of the Cape Town conurbation’, Zeitschrift Wirtschaftsgeographische 5, 213–24.

1980

‘Vernacular regions in a colonial landscape: de Kaapcolonie in the eighteenth century’, in H. H. Boesch and H. Kishimoto (eds), Geography and Its Boundaries. Bern: Kümmerly and Frey, 115–20.

3. OTHER REFERENCES CITED

Dodson, B. J. (2004), ‘Above politics? Soil conservation in 1940s’ South Africa’, South African Historical Journal 50, 49–64. —. (2005), ‘A soil conservation safari: Hugh Bennett’s 1944 visit to South Africa’, Environment and History 11, 35–53. Ferrario, F. (1980), Interview with W. J. Talbot. International Dialogue Project, University of Lund, Sweden. Jacks, G. V. and Whyte, R. O. (1939), The Rape of the Earth: A World Survey of Soil Erosion. London: Faber and Faber. Leighly, J. (1976), ‘Carl Ortwin Sauer, 1889–1975’, Geographers Biobibliographical Studies 2, 99–108. Meadows, M. E. (2003), ‘Soil erosion in the Swartland, Western Cape Province, South Africa: implications of past and present policy and practice’, Environmental Science and Policy 6, 17–28. Phillips, H. (1993), The University of Cape Town 1918–1948: The Formative Years. Cape Town: University of Cape Town Press. Phillips, S. T. (1999), ‘Lessons from the Dust Bowl: dryland agriculture and soil erosion in the United States and South Africa, 1900–1950’, Environmental History 4, 245–66. Powell, J. M. (2005), ‘The Empire meets the new deal: encounters in conservation and regional planning’, Geographical Research 43, 337–60. Talbot, W. J. (1993), ‘Geography at the University of Cape Town 1936–1993’, Earthworm, Newsletter of the University of Cape Town Student Geographical Society i–xiii.

Chronology 1908

Born at Ryde, Isle of Wight, Hampshire, England

1915

Attended Upper Grade School, Ryde, Isle of Wight

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William John Talbot

1919

Attended County Secondary School, Sandown, Isle of Wight

1925

Passed the London Intermediate BSc examination and enrols at University College, London

1928

Awarded the degree of BSc with Honours

1928

Assistant to lecturer, University of Glasgow

1931

Awarded a Commonwealth Fund Scholarship to the University of California, Berkeley

1932

Appointed as research associate in geography, University of California

1934

Appointed as lecturer, University of Glasgow

1936

Accepted chair in geography, University of Cape Town, South Africa

1939

First cohort of students graduate from the Department of Geography, University of Cape Town

1947

Publication of Swartland and Sandveld

1949

Visiting professor, University of California, Berkeley

1957

Visiting professor, University of Michigan and University of California, Berkeley

1960

Publication of Atlas of the Union of South Africa

1961

Dean of the Faculty of Science, University of Cape Town

1964

Department of Geography moves to purpose-built accommodation in the Beattie Building

1964

Elected president of the South African Geographical Society

1965

Visiting professor, University of California, Berkeley, and University of Oregon

1974

Elected as president of the Royal Society of South Africa

1978

Awarded Gold Medal of the South African Geographical Society

1973

Retired from the University of Cape Town

1995

Dies in Vienna, Austria

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Antonín Strnad 1746–1799

Jan Kalvoda and Eva Novotná

The later eighteenth century was a period of significant progress in the natural sciences, in Europe more widely and at Charles University in Prague. Antonín Strnad (1746–99), the subject of this essay, was an outstanding mathematician, astronomer and physical geographer in the University’s Arts Faculty. This essay deals with his life, his main professional activities, methodological approaches and work in physical geography. There were geographical lectures and related publications informing the curriculum at Charles University in Prague soon after its foundation by Charles IV in 1348. The fundamentals of mathematical geography were included in the philosophically and theologically oriented lectures of Stanislav of Znojmo and Křišťan of Prachatice in the later fourteenth century and in the fifteenth century. The Czech traveller, philosopher and Church reformer Jerome of Prague (Hieronymus Pragensis, 1378–1416) drew upon his extensive geographical experience from Europe and Palestine in his theological sermons and works. The context of English–Czech contact is important to note here: the period following the foundation of Charles University in Prague (Goudie and Kalvoda 2007), was one in which the Czech princess Anne of Luxemburg (1366–94) became Queen of England. Jerome of Prague, the master and later professor of the Faculty of Liberal Arts (or Artistic Faculty) of Charles University, brought copies of the works of the reforming English theologian and university professor John Wycliffe (1320–84) to Prague from his studies at Oxford. Jerome was also a follower of the theological teaching of Master Jan Hus and, like him, was burnt at the stake after the Council of Constance (1414–16). Geography was taught at Charles University within the astronomical, philosophical and historical lectures: for instance by Jan Ondřej Šindel (1375–1456), Vavřinec of Březová (1370–1437), Jan Zahrádka of Prague (1501–57), Daniel Adam of Veleslavín (1545–99) and Tadeáš Hájek of Hájek (1525–1600). The last of these, the physician, astronomer, botanist and geographer Tadeáš Hájek was the most eminent Czech natural scientist in the sixteenth century (Horák 1954). He helped promote works by Nicolaus Copernicus, especially his De revolucionibus orbium coelestium (1543). As personal physician to Emperor Rudolf II, Tadeáš Hájek had arranged the invitation to Prague extended to the Danish astronomer and geographer Tycho Brahe (Geographers Vol. 27) and for the German astronomer Johannes Kepler. At the start of the seventeenth century, geography

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was taught by Martin Bacháček of Nauměřice (1539–1612). In 1724, Honorius Martin Czechura (1688–1726), professor of philosophy and theology at Charles University, published an extensive work with chapters dedicated to physical geography. An astronomical and meteorological observatory was established in 1752 at the Jesuit Faculty of Philosophy at Charles University in Prague, and meteorological measurements were taken there without interruption since 1771, being first begun by Professor Josef Stepling (1716–78). This work was continued by Professor Antonín Strnad, who, following the general reforms of Emperor Maria Theresia, was appointed professor of mathematics and physical geography in 1778 (Čornejová 1995). Following further reforms by the Emperor Josef II in 1784, natural science and physical geography became regular auxiliary subjects taught at the Faculty of Philosophy (Häufler 1967; Munzar 1996). At that time, mathematical geography and cartography were taught at the University as part of mathematics and astronomy as was commonly the case in, for example, the university curriculum in the Scottish universities and in Oxford and Cambridge in the early modern period (Withers and Mayhew 2002). These reforms and Czech moves towards national revival in the first half of the nineteenth century set the basis for changes in the study of geography, at Charles University in particular, and in the Czech countries in general. These were brought to fruition by natural scientists in the second half of that century. In 1856, Jan Kašpar Palacký (1830– 1908) lectured in regional and physical geography as docent (Reader) of geography at the Faculty of Arts. His habilitation thesis focused on aspects of the geomorphology of Central Africa. Jan Kašpar Palacký was later appointed extraordinary professor in 1885 and full professor of geography in 1891 (Horák 1954; Häufler 1967). Dionys Wilhelm Grün (1819–96) was extraordinary professor of geography at Prague University from 1876. The geographical work of Palacký and Grün at Charles University in Prague was to provide the foundation for what would become, from the early twentieth century, a thriving Geographical Institute.

Education, Life and Work Antonín Strnad was born on 10 August 1746 in Náchod (eastern Bohemia) and acquired an extensive education as a student of the Jesuit Order in Brno, Uherské Hradiště and Olomouc (Schuster 1931; Šolcová 1999; Vlčková 1999). On 13 August 1746, he was christened as Antonín Josef Václav by his uncle, Father Jan Strnad. Antonín Strnad came from a middle-class family; his grandfather was a burgher master, his father a merchant and town councillor. The Austro-Prussian Wars and the Seven Years War caused great damage in Bohemia and the Strnad family suffered large financial losses in Náchod and, according to the land register, had to sell property there. Antonín Strnad was able to study at grammar school in Hradec Králové thanks to the financial backing of his uncle Jan Strnad, Dean in Náchod and canon of Hradec Králové Chapter. On 21 October 1763, Antonín Strnad joined the Jesuit order as a novitiate in Brno, and studied there until 1765. There, he learned rhetoric, spoke both Czech and German and was taught music. In 1766, he left for further studies to the Jesuit St. Francis Xavier College in Uherské Hradiště, where he followed courses in literature, languages and the sciences of the ancients. At that time, Jesuit colleges offered the best education in Central Europe. In 1767 and 1768, Strnad studied philosophy and mathematics at the Jesuit College in Olomouc. In all likelihood, one of his teachers was Štěpán Schmidt (1720–82). This Jesuit mathematician had published several papers on mathematical demonstrations and systematic tables for use in architectural styles and for the construction of military

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forts, and was active, in a time of metrological reform, in converting old Bohemian and Moravian measures to new Vienna measurements. In the Jesuit programme of studies, mathematics was an obligatory subject in the second year: this mandatory mathematical education proved widely effective and was influential upon Strnad. In 1769, Antonín Strnad was selected to join the Clementinum College in Prague (founded by the Jesuits in 1562) to further develop his knowledge in mathematics and theology. He was taught there by Jan Tesánek (1728–88), doctor in theology and philosophy and professor of theoretical physics and higher mathematics at Prague University. Tesánek had introduced special lectures in higher mathematics (from 1763) and was the author of an edition of Isaac Newton’s Philosophiae naturalis principia mathematica (1687) with his own additional commentary. The students of the Theological Faculty of Prague University were divided into two groups: nostri, that is, young Jesuits, and other students, the so-called externi. These students lived in the St. Clement College and numbered about 60 in total. They came mostly from Bohemian bourgeois or noble families, although a few were foreign. At the faculty, the nostri took part in lectures, repetitions and disputations with the other students, but had their own course elements and church services in addition. During normal study days, the theology students helped to run the college, fulfilling domestic tasks such as helping in the kitchen, chopping wood, fetching water and so on. When the Jesuit order was abolished, this privileged group of students ceased to exist. Antonín Strnad began his teaching in syntax (grammar, Greek and Latin) at the St. Ignatius Jesuit College in Jičín in 1770 (the College had been founded by Albrecht Wallenstein in 1622). Strnad spent his last two years in the Jesuit order (from 1771 to 1773) in Prague working as assistant to the prefect of astronomy, the Jesuit Josef Stepling. Stepling (1716–78) helped disseminate Newtonian precepts, experimented with electricity and, in 1748, observed solar and lunar eclipses. He also founded a mathematical library, mainly with his own funds, and was the founder of the astronomical and meteorological observatory in the Clementinum College (1751). Antonín Strnad was also employed in teaching the fundamentals of religious doctrine at the primary school in Prague, at Bubny, at this time and was probably destined to take holy orders and join the Jesuit order (Richterová and Čornejová 2006). In 1773, however, the Jesuit order was suppressed by Pope Clement XIV and its possessions passed to the hands of the Habsburg monarchy. The suppression of the order was largely welcomed by the Habsburg court as it helped to limit the influence of the Church and the Jesuit financial reserves ended up in the Treasury. Former Jesuits could work as priests or enter another order. Only three of them, the mathematicians Jan Tesánek, Josef Stepling and Stanislav Vydra, were allowed to teach at Prague University. Antonín Strnad did not terminate his theology studies upon the suppression of the Jesuit order and was secularized. He was employed at the astronomical and meteorological observatory and in the mathematical museum and entered the Artistic Faculty at Prague University. He further advanced his mathematical knowledge in classes led by Stepling who taught his students not only differential and integral calculus, knowledge of numeric calculation and geometric construction, but also astronomy and elements of geography, such as meteorology. Antonín Strnad was appointed director of the Clementinum observatory in 1781, at a time when the institution lacked much of the the necessary resources, including laboratories and a fully functioning library. In addition to initiating the rescue and general repair of the Prague Astronomical Clock in 1781, Strnad worked as administrator of the Mathematical museum (1774–85) and was director of the Royal Bohemian Society of Science in 1787 and 1788. In 1784, Antonín Strnad was nominated as a member of the Meteorological Scientific Society in Mannheim. He was appointed as professor of

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mathematics and physical geography (1778), dean of the Artistic Faculty (1792) and, finally, in 1795, chancellor of Charles-Ferdinand University. In 1784, Antonín Strnad married Kateřina Marsanová, an Italian living in Prague. They had four children: Kateřina, Leopold, Antonín and Aloisie. Although the family lived modestly, they were part of the circle of leading Prague intellectuals and Czech revivalists. The Czech historian and patriot Josef Jungmann, for instance, used to think back gratefully to Strnad’s lessons and support, which helped him secure a teaching post at a grammar school in Litoměřice. Although Strnad was greatly valued throughout Bohemia and in Central Europe, he lived in modest, even poor, circumstances. At that time, the average pay of a university professor was 1,000 guilders per year: Strnad received only 600 guilders annually before 1791. Much of this he used to buy books. Given the range of his activities, this was too little to support his wife and four children: he was given a pay rise, but only after repeated entreaties to the university authorities. Exhausted by his duties and distressed by his low income, Antonín Strnad’s health detiorated and he developed tuberculosis. As a result of these health problems, he submitted his resignation from the post of secretary of the Royal Bohemian Society of Science, but it was not accepted. At the invitation of Prince Ferdinand Kinský (1781– 1812), he left Prague for Sazená Castle near Velvary in central Bohemia to recuperate. Unfortunately, his illness worsened over time and this, plus an acute pleural inflammation, led to his death at the age of 53, on 23 September 1799, in Sazená. He was buried in the St. Clement parish churchyard in Chržín. His death inspired many contemporaries, patriots and friends to pen speeches and literary works reminding people of his scientific, human and patriotic qualities. In the 1790s, he was painted by Jan Jakub Quirin Jahn (1739–1802), the Baroque portrait painter who specialized in paintings of Czech intellectuals. In this painting, Antonín Strnad is shown with one hand on a globe. His successor at Prague University was Professor Alois Martin David (1757–1836) who specialized mainly in astronomy, cartography and meteorology.

Scientific Thought and Geographical Works Antonín Strnad was important in a number of ways in promoting geography and the related sciences in Prague and in the Czech lands and beyond in the later eighteenth century. He systematically collected and studied written materials, both as valuable sources of data on the natural environment and in order to preserve wider cultural values. Strnad also tried to gather primary data on the natural environment in order to analyse them correctly and to interpret them in line with the laws of nature. He systematically published the results of his work and transmitted them through his teaching to his university students. In this, he was typical of the time in stressing the important utilitarian bases to learning and to natural philosophy (Daston 1999; Novotná and Kalvoda 2012). His approach to research and pedagogy resulted both from his own talent and assiduity as well as from that systematic universal education obtained during his long period of studies. He drew upon his astronomical training and employment to write a number of works on astronomy and celestial geography (Pejml 1975). He outlined the significance of the observatory (Figure 1) and its geographical position in his Astronomische Beobachtung des oberen Sonnenrandes und daraus gezogene Polhöhe der hiesigen Sternwarte (1777) and his Berichtigung der geographische Länge der Stadt Prag (1786). During his regular meteorological observations, Antonín Strnad measured temperature, air pressure and humidity and magnetic declination several times a day. Thanks to Strnad’s work, meteorological stations were established outside Prague, the most

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Figure 1: Klementium astronomical tower in 1905. Source: Archives of the National Library of the Czech Republic.

important of them being Žitnice near Litoměřice, at Telč and at Teplá Monastery near Mariánské Lázně. Strnad was influential in building up the university’s library collections following the death of Stepling in 1778, the great part of which is now deposited in the Premonstratensian Library at Strahov (Seydl 1939). Some prints are in the library of the Astronomical Institute of the Academy of Sciences of the Czech Republic and the others are in different castle libraries. Strnad’s books show that he was abreast of contemporary thought in the natural sciences and knew particularly well the works of early modern and ancient authors. Among his library was the work of the German natural scientist Athanasius Kircher (1602–80) which dealt with optics, acoustics and magnetism (among other things), and included his China monumentis qua sacris qua profanis, nec non variis natura & artis spectaculis, aliarumque rerum memorabilium argumentis illustrata, published in Amsterdam in 1667. This was accompanied by engraved maps of countries of the Orient and contained descriptions of missions to Oriental countries and of the Silk Road.

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The Premonstratensian Library at Strahov still has a rare geographically oriented incunabulum from Strnad’s library (Kouklová 1989), namely, the work of the third- to fourth-century Greek geographer Dionisius Periegetes, his commentary to the work De situ orbis, in which he describes the Earth’s surface in hexameters. Another unique book of the former Strnad library is the oldest Latin geography book De chorographia (1521), the work of Pomponius Mela, the first century ad Roman geographer from southern Spain. Strnad’s library collections point to someone who would have been very familiar with the ancients’ geographical texts and with the work of early modern European figures. Strnad had an incunabulum of 1491 by Bartholomeus de Glanville De proprietatibus retum published in Strasbourg. The fifteenth chapter of this book deals with regional geography and mentions Bohemia. The work of the Swiss humanist and music theoretician Heinrich Glareanus (1488–1563) was also represented in the library in three different editions (1591, 1551 and 1528) of his De geographia liber unus. The Flemish geographer, mathematician and medical doctor Rainer Gemma (1508–55) was represented by the work De astrolabo catholico liber, published in Antwerp in 1556, and which was oriented to the production and interpretation of globes. The French mathematician, astronomer and geographer Orontius Finaeus (1494–1555) – who had been professor of mathematics at the Collège de France since 1532 – was represented by his De Mundi Sphaera sive Cosmographia (Paris 1524). Antonín Strnad possessed a first edition (published in Antwerp in 1570) of Teatrum orbis Terrarum, the maps collected by Abraham Ortelius (1527–98) which was published and translated on numerous occasions. Another rare atlas in Strnad’s collection was the Atlas novus of William Blaeu (1571–1638), published in Amsterdam between 1642 and 1655. The Italian mathematician and astronomer Joannes Baptista Riccioli (1598–1671) was represented in Strnad’s collection by his work Geographiae et hydrographiae reformatae. In short, this selection of books and atlases proves that Strnad was well informed about the nature of early modern European geographical and chorographical thought, that he was able to read them in the original given his command of Latin, German and Greek and that he drew upon them in his teaching. Antonín Strnad was also in charge of the collections in the Clementinum Mathematics Hall, and, from 1784 to 1785, he was custodian of the Mathematical Museum which had been founded in 1722 as the first public museum in the Czech lands. The aim of the Mathematical Museum was to instruct in the latest inventions and methods of science. Although the museum was called mathematical, it also possessed a large variety of different instruments and objects. According to Strnad’s complete list of instruments, the museum had optical, meteorological, hydrostatical, aerostatical, magnetical, electrical, physical, astronomical, chronological and gnostical instruments, geometrical and physical models as well as curiosities from the field, flora and fauna brought by Jesuits from their missions, stuffed birds, mechanical toys, automata and musical figures, books and pictures of eminent personalities. The Museum and its collections was one of the major attractions of Prague and counted among its visitors members of the ruling family. Strnad lectured on practical astronomy and physical geography following his appointment to succeed his mentor, Josef Stepling. In addition to his regular lectures, Strnad organized Thursday seminars on mathematical geography, meteorology and astronomy – a classical combination in the chorographical, geographical and cosmographical traditions (Mayhew 2001). From 1781, he collaborated with several European meteorological societies, for example, those of Mannheim, Berlin, Vienna and Leipzig. In Mannheim, he published Witterungsbeobachtungen (1781–91). His astronomical observations were published in Vienna from 1786 until his death, and in the Berlin Astronomical Calendars and in the treatises of the Royal Society of Science (Munzar 1996, 2001). He observed eclipses of the Sun and the Moon, observed the moons of Jupiter and undertook other astronomical work. He published on temperature and on the mean barometric altitude of Prague in his Betrachtung über die verschiedenen Grade der

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Wärme ihren Nutzen, aus Versuchen und Beobachtungen. In 1788, he published a physical and meteorological calendar. In total, Antonín Strnad wrote 23 meteorological studies, 31 works, reports and treatises on astronomy, 4 speeches and 4 popular works; he also published translations of Josef Stepling´s Latin studies. Strnad’s involvement with the restoration of the Prague astronomical clock built upon others’ earlier work (Figure 2). In 1760, the mathematician and manufacturer of astronomical instruments Jan Klein (1684–1762) had tried to draw attention to this uniquely important piece of apparatus and to the necessity of its reconstruction. Prague’s civic authorities were convinced, however, that it was nothing more than scrap iron and intended to destroy it (Horský 1988). Strnad initiated a commission charged to establish the extent of damage to the device and the sum needed for its reparation. Strnad’s initiative was successful. The Prague astronomical clock was repaired (for 800 golden coins) under Strnad’s supervision between 1778 and 1791. In 1788, he wrote a study of the astronomical clock Von der Prager Uhr auf dem Altstädter Rathause aus Balbins Miscellaneen, mit Zusätzen und Anmerkungen. Another work describing famous clockmaker’s and artistic works in Prague Old Town City Hall and in Prague Observatory was published by him in Prague (1791) and in Dresden (1794). The Prague City Council later acknowledged Antonín Strnad’s work on their behalf and he and his sons were made freemen of Prague in 1793.

Figure 2: Old Town astronomical clock. Source: Prague City Museum.

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Antonín Strnad was one of the founder members of the first Bohemian Learned Society, in whose journal he published his first article on meteorology in 1775. He also worked as archivist, librarian and custodian of collections of this Society. In 1787 and 1788, Antonín Strnad was the director of the Bohemian Learned Society (the eighth such). From 1790, the body was known as the Royal Bohemian Society of Science. In total, Antonín Strnad published 18 articles in the Abhandlungen of the Royal Bohemian Society of Science, most of which dealt with meteorological subjects. In 1790, Antonín Strnad published his Chronologische Verzeichnis der Naturbegebenheiten in Königreiche Böhmen von Jahr 663–1700 mit einigen ökonomischen Aufsätzen auf das Jahr 1790 (Figure 3). Inspired by chronicles and analysis of historical manuscripts, he described historically interesting natural phenomena, lists of comets, solar and lunar eclipses, hard winters and hot summers, crop failures, meteorite falls, floods and other catastrophes. In 1791, Antonín Strnad lectured on the phenomenon of the solar eclipse to the Royal Bohemian Society of Science in which the Emperor Leopold II took part: the emperor presented him with an honorary golden coin to mark the occasion. In the mid-1790s, however, the Royal Bohemian Society of Science dismissed Antonín Strnad from his role as administrator of what had in effect become a meteorological observation network. The decision was motivated by their suspicion that Strnad was a Freemason. Many scientists and enlightened people in his circle of associates claimed to be masons. Strnad had confirmed in writing that he was not a member of any secret or prohibited society but was dismissed nevertheless. Antonín Strnad was involved with the popularization of science and had, since 1789, cooperated with the Patriotic Economic Society (Seydl 1947). He was at pains to stress the pragmatic and utilitarian side of science, both in his specialized and in his popular lectures. His handbook Physikalisches Taschenbuch auf das Jahr 1789 für Freunde der Ökonomie und Witterungskunde was intended for farmers. From 1749 until his death, he reviewed Housekeeping Calendars published in Czech, although his own scientific works were published in German and Latin. The first of them, published by the Czech patriot V. M. Kramerius in 1793, is at the same time a pioneering work of what we might now call agrometeorology. In his housekeeping calendars, Strnad also wrote about the position of the Sun, planets, about animals’ behaviour before rain and storm, and he proferred advice what to do each month in the field, vineyard, forest and garden. Antonín Strnad occupied himself also with questions of what constituted a healthy diet and instructed lecturers on suspicious and poisonous plants and mushrooms. He wrote about beekeeping and about their treatment. In popular articles and lectures, he explained the spontaneous ignition of hay, described smut fungus and how to remove it and wrote about conservation of eggs. He also paid attention to heating with bituminous coal, the use of which (in contrast to lignite) was then only little known in society. In this respect, as well as in his meteorological work, Strnad was typical of that physiocratic, even cameralist, element within much later eighteenth-century natural philosophy and he shared, too, those ideas of economic benefit that was a feature of the landeskunde movement within the German-speaking lands of Europe at that period (Withers 2007, 74–5, 216–17).

Conclusion Progress in physical geography, in the later eighteenth century or at other times, is a consequence of an expansion in theoretical conceptions and development in the technological means used to study the earth and the sciences of the atmosphere. We have become familiar with developments in the terrestrial, atmospheric and oceanographic sciences

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Figure 3: Front page of the book by Antonín Strnad from 1790: Chronologisches Verzeichniss der Naturbegebenheiten im Königreiche Böhmen vom Jahre Christi 633 bis 1700 mit einigen ökonomischen Aufsätzen sammt der periodischen Witterung auf das Jahr 1790, Prague [Royal Bohemian Society of Science]. Source: Geographic Library of the Faculty of Science, Charles University in Prague.

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from the later eighteenth century and the need to examine this work in comparative context, over time as well as with regard to the differences between practitioners and in the curriculum (e.g. Church 2011; Elden and Mendietta 2011; Withers 2011). The work of Antonín Strnad, perhaps especially not only in his methodological approaches but also in his work on meteorology, agriculture and physical geography and in the networks of correspondents he helped create, is illustrative of those industrious individual scholars and of the erudite correspondence that sustained the Enlightenment’s ‘Republic of Letters’ more than it is of the work of leading conceptual thinkers or synthesizers, such as that of his contemporaries the German Immanuel Kant (1724–1804), the Frenchman Georges-Louis le Clerc, compte de Buffon (1707–88) or the Scot James Hutton (1726–97). Strnad sought to apply mathematical and physical methods with specialized techniques and devices to determine, describe and measure the components of the natural environment. In this respect, he was typical of many speculative natural philosophers in the decades before ‘science’ became formalized in professions and in its disciplines. Strnad emphasized systematic and precise observations of natural processes and phenomena, cultivated and taught mathematics and physical geography as a part of natural sciences and published numerous papers on meteorology and mathematical geography. Widely recognized in his lifetime in the Czech lands, if overlooked until now, Antonín Strnad is now recognized as one of the most significant personalities of Charles University in Prague during the Enlightenment.

Acknowledgements We thank PhDr Ivana Čornejová and PhDr Anna Fechtnerová for their valuable remarks on an earlier draft. The engraved portrait of Strnad is taken from Peřina and Frič (1884).

Bibliography and Sources REFERENCES CITED IN THE TEXT

Church, M. (2011), ‘Immanuel Kant and the emergence of modern geography’, in S. Elden and E. Mendietta (eds), Reading Kant’s Geography (New York: State University of New York Press), 19–46. Čornejová, I. (ed.) (1995), Dějiny Univerzity Karlovy. 2. sv. 1622–1802. Praha: Karolinum. Daston, L. (1999), ‘Afterword: the ethos of Enlightenment’, in W. Clark, J. Golinski and S. Schaffer (eds), The Sciences in Enlightened Europe (Chicago: University of Chicago Press), 495–504. Elden, S. and Mendietta, A. (eds) (2011), Reading Kant’s Geography. New York: State University of New York Press. Goudie, A. A. and Kalvoda, J. (2007), ‘Variable faces of present-day geomorphology’, in A. S. Goudie and J. Kalvoda (eds), Geomorphological Variations. Prague: P3K, 11–17. Häufler, V. (1967), Dějiny geografie na Universitě Karlově 1348–1967. Praha: Univerzita Karlova. Horák, B. (1954), Dějiny zeměpisu I. a II. Praha: ČSAV.

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Horský, Z. (1988), Pražský orloj. Praha: Panorama. Kouklová, M. (1989), Knihovna astronoma Antonína Strnada. Astronomický ústav Ondřejov. Praha: ČSAV. Mayhew, R. J. (2001), ‘Geography, print culture and the Renaissance: the road less travelled by’, History of European Ideas 27, 349–69. Munzar, J. (1996), ‘Antonín Strnad (1746–1799): průkopník české meteorologie’, Meteorologické zprávy 49, 161–6. — (2001), ‘200. výročí úmrtí astronoma Antonína Strnada (1746–1799)’, Bibliotheca Strahoviensis 4–5, 269–71. Novotná, E. and Kalvoda, J. (2012), ‘Antonin Strnad (1746–1799) – the first professor of physical geography at Charles University in Prague’, Poster and Abstracts of the Fifteenth International Conference of Historical Geographers, 6–25 August, Prague, Czechia. Pejml, K. (1975), 200 let meteorologické observatoře v pražském Klementinu. Praha: SNTL. Peřina, F. J. and Frič, C. (1884), Slavín: sbírka podobizen, autografů a životopisů předních mužů československých. Oddíl 2. Praha: F. Bartel. Richterová, A. and Čornejová, I. (2006), Jezuité a Klementinum. Národní Knihovna. Praha: ČR. Seydl, O. (1939), Knihovna Antonína Strnada ředitele pražské hvězdárny (1746–1799): podle rukopisu knihovny královské kanonie premonstrátů na Strahově v Praze a jiných pramenů. Praha: Prometheus. — (1947), ‘Vědecká a buditelská činnost král. Astronoma Antonína Strnada: k dvoustému výročí jeho narozenin. Praha: Říše hvězd, 1947, Zvláštní otisk časopisu Říše hvězd 27, 7–9. Schuster, F. (1931), ‘ Život a dílo astronoma Antonína Strnada’, Říše hvězd 12, 97–107. Sommervogel, C. (1890–1913), Bibliothéque de la Compagnie de Jésus, 11 vols. Brussels: Oscar Schepens. Šolcová, A. (1999), Život a zásluhy matematika, astronoma a meteorologa Antonína Strnada (1746–1799). Náchod: Okresní muzeum v Náchodě. Vlčková, V. (1999), Antonín Strnad: náchodský rodák (1746–1799): astronom, meteorolog, matematik: 200 let výročí úmrtí. Náchod: Město Náchod. Withers, C. W. J. (2007), Placing the Enlightenment: Thinking Geographically about the Age of Reason. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. — (2011) ‘Kant’s Geography in comparative perspective’, in S. Elden and E. Mendietta (eds), Reading Kant’s Geography. New York: State University of New York Press, 47–68. Withers, C. W. J. and Mayhew, R. (2002), ‘Rethinking “disciplinary” history: geography in British universities, c.1580–1887’, Transactions of the Institute of British Geography 27, 11–29. Zemek, M. (2001), ‘Dějiny jezuitské koleje v Uherském Hradišti. K 300. výročí založení koleje’, in J. Čoupek, M. Zemek, and J. Koláček (eds), Kniha o Redutě. Praha: Velehrad, 5–238.

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Chronology 1746

Born in Náchod on 10 August

1763

Graduated from grammar school in Hradec Králové

1763

Entered Jesuit noviciate in Brno on 21 October

1764–5

Jesuit novice in Brno

1766

Studied at the Jesuit College in Uherské

1767–8

Studied philosophy at the Jesuit College in Olomouc

1769

Deepened his knowledge in mathematics at Prague Jesuit College Klementinum

1770

Taught syntax at the Jesuit College in Jičín

1771–3

Worked at the Klementinum as assistant to the prefect of astronomy, studied mathematics, Jesuit theology and was catechist in Bubny

1773

Abolition of the Jesuit Order (Antonín Strnad was not yet ordained as priest)

1774

Became assistant of the Klementinum Observatory

1774–85

Custodian of the Mathematical Museum

1775

Undertook his first recorded meteorological observations

1778

Appointed prefect of the Mathematical Museum, professor of mathematics and astronomy; taught physical geography at the university

1781

Appointed as prefect of the Observatory

1781–91

Periodically sent his meteorological observations to the Meteorological Scientific Society in Mannheim

1781

Contributed to preservation and reparation of the Prague Old Town astronomical clock

1784

Married Kateřina Marsanová

1784

Became member of meteorological scientific societies in Mannheim and Prague

1787–8

Appointed as director of the Royal Bohemian Learned Society

1789–97

Lectures in practical astronomy, physical geography and knowledge of heavens at the Faculty of Arts in Prague

1792

Became dean of the Faculty of Arts of the Charles-Ferdinand University in Prague

1795

Appointed as rector, Charles-Ferdinand University in Prague

1796

Became secretary of the Royal Bohemian Learned Society

1799

Dies on 23 September from tuberculosis and interred at the castle of the Kinský family in Sazená near Velvary at the age of 53

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Sir Arthur de Capell Brooke 1791–1858

Elizabeth Baigent

Sir Arthur de Capell Brooke was a well-known traveller and polite scientist of the early nineteenth century. He was keenly interested in the institutions which brought together similarly minded men for serious but congenial conversation about science, including that about ‘philosophical’ or scientific travel. A founder member of the Travellers’ Club, and a fellow of the Royal and Linnean societies, he founded the Raleigh Club (of Travellers), and was one of the founders and first council members of the Royal Geographical Society which sprang from the Raleigh Club. He was long regarded as an authority on Scandinavia, particularly its northern regions. His travel there is most accurately seen in the tradition of Enlightenment ‘philosophical’ travel and his participation in scientific institutions is best seen as part of Regency polite science – an underexplored aspect of the history of British geography.1

Education, Life and Work Sir Arthur de Capell Brooke was born Arthur Supple in Bolton Street, Mayfair, Westminster, on 22 October 1791. He was from a landed family originally from Cheshire but the main family seat was by the nineteenth century at Great Oakley, Northamptonshire, and the family held additional estates in county Cork (Debrett 1815). He was the elder son of Sir Richard de Capell Brooke (1758–1829) and Mary (d. 1846), only child and heir of Major-General Richard Worge; they also had four daughters. Arthur’s father was the first baronet (created 1803) and in 1797 had adopted the name of Brooke in accordance with his uncle’s will and in addition changed his first surname from Supple to de Capell by royal licence. Arthur was educated at Magdalen College, Oxford, from where he graduated BA on 20 May 1813 and proceeded MA on 5 June 1816 (Baigent 2004). In 1813 Brooke purchased a commission in the army (Era, 12 Dec. 1858) and was later stationed with his regiment at Waterloo (letter of 26 Nov. 1816 from John Hamborough, NRO, Bmss, catalogue no. BW 52, box no. X5644), but it is not clear

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whether he saw action there. At the end of the Napoleonic wars he was put on half pay and remained a half-pay officer for most of his life, mostly in the very fashionable regiment the 17th Light Dragoons (Lancers), being known for most of his life as ‘Captain Brooke’ (he got his captaincy around 1820: a letter of 14 Nov. 1819 to Mlle de Toiet, Brussels, from Lady Vavasour, referring to ‘Capt Brooke’; letter of 29 Apr. 1820 to ‘Lieut Brooke’, both in NRO, Bmss, catalogue no. BW 52, box no. X5644). Amply supplied with funds and enjoying ‘the profound repose of half pay’ (Travels through Sweden, 1), he divided his time in Britain between fashionable London addresses and the family estates in Northamptonshire, but soon turned to the foreign travel which made his name. His first journey, in or after 1819, was through Holland, to Brussels and Paris, revisiting some of the places ‘where he was for some time with his regiment of Horse Guards after the battle of Waterloo’ (letter of 14 Nov. 1819 from Lady Vavasour, NRO, Bmss, catalogue no. BW 52, box no. X5644). He published nothing as a result of this and it is known only through surviving letters of introduction to the well placed in those countries (e.g. letter of 26 Nov. 1816 from John Hamborough, NRO, Bmss, catalogue no. BW 52, box no. X5644). This early journey established in Brooke a taste both for travel and for the company of travellers, particularly those who took travel seriously. In 1819 he was a founder member of the fashionable Travellers’ Club. Travellers had to have ventured at least 500 miles from London, which requirement he fulfilled through his experience on the continent during the war (Cunningham 1850; Ward 1926; FitzRoy 1927). Brooke’s first civilian journey of note, and the one on which his status as a traveller rested, was that in 1820 to Scandinavia, notably its little known northern regions. From this tour he published Travels through Sweden, Norway and Finmark to the North Cape . . . in 1820 (1823), A Winter in Lapland and Sweden (1827) and Winter Sketches in Lapland . . . Intended to Exhibit a Complete View of the Mode of Travelling with Reindeer (1827). On the strength of the first he was in 1823 elected fellow of the Royal and Linnean societies (RS, election certificate; LS, election certificate). In 1826, feeling strongly that many of the newly elected members of the Travellers’ Club had little interest in foreign travel, Brooke founded the Raleigh Club, of which he was the president for many years. The dining club which met at the Thatched House in London attracted many of the most distinguished travellers and geographers of the day and had both geographical and convivial aims. It was to be ‘composed solely of Travellers’ – indeed of ‘the most distinguished Travellers of the day’. The founders proposed ‘That the Globe should be mapped out into so many divisions corresponding with the number of members, and that each of those parts, or divisions should be supposed to be represented by at least one of the members . . . so that the Society, collectively, should have visited every, or nearly every part of the known Globe’. Its ‘principal object’ was ‘the attainment, at a moderate expense, of an agreeable, friendly, and rational Society formed by persons who have visited every part of the Globe’. Brooke, was joined by several founder Travellers, including Charles Cockerell, Colonel [William Martin] Leake, John Cam Hobhouse and a coterie of other genuine travellers. Guests at Raleigh dinners were often experienced and adventurous travellers. It is through the founding of the Raleigh Club that Brooke exerted most influence on geography (described below in the section ‘Influence and Spread of Ideas’) (RGS, RC, minute book of the RC 1826–7; Markham 1881, 15–18; 1905; Marshall-Cornwall 1976, 2011; Mill 1930, 8–9; Collier 2011; Tooley 2011). In 1828 Brooke briefly came to wider public notice when, as second to a Mr de Crespigny in the latter’s duel with Mr Long Wellesley at Calais, he succeeded in halting the duel before either party was injured (Times, 30 Jun. 1828). More importantly, that year he travelled in Spain and Morocco, during which time he was established as the British vice consul at Tetuan, publishing Sketches in Spain and Morocco (2 vols, 1837) several

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years later. A projected visit of unknown date to south and central America, taking in Mexico, Colombia, Peru, Brazil and Argentina apparently came to nothing (undated letter from ?Stokes, NRO, Bmss, catalogue no. BW 4, box no. X5642). By 1828 Brooke was a member of the Société de Géographie of Paris (1828 certificate of membership, NRO, Bmss, catalogue no. BW 52, box no. X5644) and two years later, with other Raleigh men, Brooke was heavily involved in establishing a Geographical Society, which became the Royal Geographical Society. He was not part of John Britton’s scheme for a Geographical Institute projected in May 1830 (‘The original prospectus for the establishing of the Royal Geographical Society’, RGS, AP/1, in fact, the printed prospectus for the establishment of the alternative scheme for a London Geographical Institution), but, although rarely named as a prime mover in the RGS scheme, he was central to it. He was present at the Raleigh Club meetings where the idea of the RGS was mooted, and chaired the provisional committee established in May 1830 ‘to draw up certain leading principles, as the ground on which such a Society [i.e., the RGS] may be established’ and so materially influenced the direction which the RGS took (RGS, minutes of first meeting of the Geographical Society, AP/3). After about 1830 Brooke seems to have had little to do with either the Raleigh or the RGS. Although a life fellow and on the RGS council from its foundation to 1842 or 1843 (Journal of the RGS, 1831–44), he attended only one council meeting – its 33rd, on 21 May 1831 (RGS, council minute book, Oct. 1830–Jul. 1841). If he attended any evening meetings, his contribution did not warrant an entry in the minute book (RGS, evening meeting minute book, Nov. 1830–Jun. 1837). Similarly, though on his return from Scandinavia he rapidly published three volumes on the results of his journey, the memoir from his Spanish and Moroccan travels was not published until 1837. His retirement may have been connected to an undated anonymous and mysterious letter which warns him to be on his guard and sets up a meeting so that the correspondent can tell him something in person – a letter important enough to have been kept in an otherwise patchy collection of family papers (NRO, Bmss, catalogue no. BW 4, box no. X5642). More probable explanations are that he was preoccupied with estate matters having succeeded to his father’s title and estates in 1829, something which was attended with financial and legal complexities (letter from his father, 23 Oct. 1824, NRO, Bmss, catalogue no. BW 48, box no. X5644), and that he came under the influence of evangelicalism (Lord 1859). He was not previously irreligious (verses with a devotional slant written in Lapland, NRO, Brooke mss, catalogue no. BW 12, box no. X5642), but had some kind of sudden quickening of religious feeling – being ‘brought under the influence of saving truth’ as his funeral sermon has it (Lord 1859, 13) – which coloured his life thenceforward. Brooke forsook foreign travel and, it seems, London society, scientific and otherwise, for the life of a country landowner (various letters about estate management, NRO, Bmss; Moore-Colyer 1997). Brooke lived in what Hilton (1988) has described as ‘the age of atonement’, when evangelical doctrine permeated many aspects of social and economic policy, and its influence on Brooke’s public life is clear. His evangelicalism and science combined to make him an ‘improving landlord’ who applied reason and science to reform how the estate’s lands were managed and how the tenantry conducted themselves in economic, social and spiritual matters. In 1833 Brooke was on the committee of the northern division of the Northamptonshire Labourers’ Friend Society, a body on which the agricultural improver Arthur Young also sat. The society sought to provide allotments for labourers and get landlords to improve their cottages, but particularly to reform labourers’ morals, notably their drinking habits, poaching and sabbath breaking, and overall ‘to revive the feelings of independence and forethought once so conspicuous among the English peasantry’ by discouraging pauperism

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and confining charity rigidly to the deserving (Cobbett’s Weekly Political Register, 1 Feb. 1834). Brooke attempted to enclose part of Rockingham Forest, which was close to his country seat, in similar spirit, being vexed by the alleged depredations of the forest deer (letter of 16 Nov. 1822 from John Hamborough, NRO, Bmss, catalogue no. BW 12, box no. X5642) and the lawlessness that forestal rights allegedly engendered in agricultural labourers (Cobbett’s Weekly Political Register, 1 Feb. 1834), but met opposition from the other principal landowner in the area, the Duke of Buccleuch (Moore-Colyer 1997, 152; letter of 12 Oct. 1852 from Buccleuch, NRO, Bmss, catalogue no. BW 12, box no. X5642). He followed his father in a vigorous programme of estate expansion, buying up copyholds awarded at the enclosure of part of Rockingham Forest in 1828 (Moore-Colyer 1997). He was also much exercised about the intemperate habits of the poor, urging the incumbent of an estate church to preach on temperance (letter of 12 Feb. 1833 from J. Hogg of Kettering, NRO, Bmss, catalogue no. BW 12, box no. X5642), and seeing no contradiction between this and his own connoisseurship of spirits and sherry which began in his youth and continued to his old age (e.g. letter of 8 Feb. 1833 concerning sherry ordered from Xerez, NRO, Bmss, catalogue no. BW 12, box no. X5642; unsigned letter from Göteborg, 25 Oct. 1850 mentioning Swedish brandy, NRO, Bmss, catalogue no. BW 48, box no. X5644). As one of the principal landowners in the county he served as deputy lieutenant and later sheriff (London Gazette, 1 Feb. 1843) of Northamptonshire. The public actions of Brooke’s later life suggest a rather stuffy, censorious figure, but at least in youth Brooke was a pleasant companion and correspondent, and one of discerning taste. He played the harp and flageolet, and was ‘very fond of music’ (letter of 14 Nov. 1819 to Mlle de Toiet, Brussels, from Lady Vavasour, NRO, Bmss, catalogue no. BW 52, box no. X5644). One of his first actions on inheriting the estate was to fit up a fine library at his family seat Great Oakley (17 Aug. 1830, quotation and designs for the library, NRO, Bmss, catalogue no. BW 48, box no. X5644). As well as his connoisseur’s interest in wines and spirits, he had a remarkable interest in food which was in part linked to his travels. He ordered carp from Sweden and kept recipes for stockfish pudding and egg nog, and instructions for the cooking of venison; he kept recipes for the Spanish dish olla (the correspondent, A. F. Mornay (the geologist who had worked in Brazil), thinks his recipe much superior to Brooke’s), and other Spanish food (these and other recipes in NRO, Bmss, catalogue no. BW 48, box no. X5644; catalogue no. BW 52, box no. X5644; catalogue no. BW 12, box no. X5642). In September 1846 Brooke sold his half-pay captaincy in the 17th Light Dragoons and was gazetted brevet major in the 27th regiment of foot (Morning Post, 9 Sep. 1846) with the aim eventually of acquiring an unattached half pay majority (undated letter from father, NRO, Bmss, catalogue no. BW 48, box no. X5644). On 18 December 1851 he married Elizabeth Zilpah, widow of J. J. Eyre of Endcliffe, near Sheffield: they had no children (Baigent 2004). He gave much time and energy in his final years to evangelical mission work in his home area, directing and funding preaching campaigns which involved both church and dissenting ministers (Lord 1859; Moore-Colyer 1997). Brooke continued to be an authority on northern affairs. The map of Sweden, Norway and Lapland by Lt. Col. Hagelstam, which he had translated from the Swedish and updated with details from his own travels, was republished in 1850, and in 1858, just three months before his death, his support was solicited by various eminent ‘Protestants of Great Britain’ in support of religious liberty in Sweden and deprecating repression of Roman catholics (Morning Chronicle, 2 Sep. 1858). Brooke died at Oakley Hall, Great Oakley, Northamptonshire, on 6 December 1858 after a painful final illness and was buried on 14 December. Being childless he was succeeded by his brother William (Lord 1859; Baigent 2004).

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Scientific Ideas and Geographical Thought The famous traveller, novelist and letter writer Catherine Hutton wrote to Brooke after having read his works on Scandinavia to exclaim: ‘You are an intrepid traveller for you fear nothing. You are an attentive traveller for you observe every thing. You are a philosophical traveller for you trace effects to their causes’ (13 Sep. 1834, NRO, Bmss, catalogue no. BW 48, box no. X5644). Inasmuch as Brooke can be said to have had ‘scientific ideas and geographical thought’, Hutton’s encomium epitomizes them in the language of the early nineteenth century. Brooke was intrepid in that he travelled independently and to then little known and climatically fairly extreme areas of Scandinavia and Morocco. British writers had a ‘tireless tendency to introduce Sweden as if it were located at the end of one of Captain Cook’s voyages rather than just across the North Sea’ (Davies 1999, 60, 162, 290), but Brooke’s claim to intrepidness is more plausible than those of many other Scandinavian travellers since he was noted particularly for travel to the north of the peninsula. He was attentive in the sense that the prose and sketches which Hutton saw give a detailed account of the appearance, customs, ethnology and natural history of Scandinavia (his tour in Spain and Morocco is similarly detailed, and the second volume of his books on those countries includes extensive factual notes on Morocco at the end of the second volume). He was philosophical, that is, scientific, in that he tried to account for what he saw of natural history and ethnology within the tradition of scientific and rational travel in which he situated himself. Footnotes, sometimes extensive, in Travels through Sweden refer to the works of Olaus Magnus (?1490–1557) and Linnaeus (1707–78), a copy of whose northern travels Brooke carried with him (Travels through Sweden, 51). He knew of the northern visits in 1798–9 of the Italian traveller Giuseppi Acerbi (1773–1846) and his Swedish companion Anders Fredrik Skjöldebrand (1757–1834), and that in 1799 by (Thomas) Robert Malthus (1766–1834) (Geographers Vol. 20), the political economist; William Otter (1768–1840), later bishop of Chichester; Edward Daniel Clarke (1769–1822), antiquary and mineralogist, and John Marten Cripps (1780–1843), Clarke’s pupil and, later, antiquary and naturalist (Clarke 1810–23; Malthus 1966). Brooke took advice about travelling in the north from Skjöldebrand (Travels through Sweden, 32). Far from being anxious to stress the novelty of his journey – something which Davies suggests was a characteristic of northern travellers whose motives were primarily commercial (1999) – the wealthy and scientifically inclined Brooke positioned his journey within the preexisting scientific tradition and made clear what he owed previous travellers. Like Acerbi’s and Skjöldebrand’s, his travel accounts were complemented by numerous illustrations, and he seems to have chosen his titles to emphasize his position in the tradition. His Travels through Sweden, Norway, and Finmark to the North Cape in the Summer of 1820 (1823) was strikingly reminiscent of Acerbi’s Travels through Sweden, Finland, and Lapland, to the North Cape, in the Years 1798–1799 (1802) and, like this and Skjöldebrand’s Voyage pittoresque au Cap Nord (1801), Brooke’s title emphasized the Arctic destination of his voyage. Similarly Brooke’s map of the north (1823, 1850) explicitly built on the work of others, notably those of Carl Pontoppidan (1748–1822) (Travels through Sweden, 34) and Lt. Col. Otto Julius Hagelstam (1787–1870). Brooke consulted others for information on the natural history of the north (letter of 25 Feb. 1824 from J. A. Knight of Downton Castle, Ludlow, with ornithological information NRO, Bmss, catalogue no. BW 4, box no. X5642). Fjågesund and Symes (2003, 16) note the tendency for travellers to the north to strike the pose of the brave, lone hero. Not only does Brooke avoid this in descriptions of the facts of his travel – he makes clear that he travels in company, and mixed, pleasant

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company at that – but the way in which he cites the results of his travel makes clear that he is aware of the method of the scientific tour which Linnaeus had done much to establish (Sörlin 1989). As well as declining the pose of the lone traveller, he declined that of the suffering traveller who endured hardship in alien climes (Thompson 2007) and instead described travelling in the north in winter as a pleasant and sociable affair. He makes clear, though he could have pretended otherwise to a British audience, that winter in Scandinavia was ‘the season of social enjoyment’ and describes his local male and female travel companions as a ‘merry . . . party’; and details opportunities for conversation and conviviality, around punch bowl and pipes, to the accompaniment of fiddle music (A Winter in Lapland and Sweden, 593, 335, 409, 608). The pleasantness and collective and sociable nature of both his tour and his science, proved important in his later participation in the wider world of scientific society on his return to England. As he was a ‘philosophical’ traveller, it is ironic that it is his comments on the kraken (the northern sea monster) which have attracted popular notice (in Wikipaedia, for example), despite their sobriety and his obvious aim of avoiding sensationalism. Brooke was of course influenced by contemporary aesthetics and ideologies. His descriptions of the landscape owe much to contemporary notions of the sublime and the picturesque (while also reflecting his interest in estate management and agricultural improvement), and those of the Sami people owe much to contemporary ideas of the exotic (while also reflecting his religious bent, the Sami’s being simultaneously primitive, close to nature and Christian). He includes a picture of a Sami woman – ‘a fair stranger’ – as the frontispiece to his 1823 work and generally his descriptions of the Sami people are free from the censoriousness of some later travellers’ descriptions – and indeed of his own later descriptions of feckless forest dwellers in Northamptonshire (Brooke’s works; Davies, pers. comm., 25 Nov. 2012).

Influence and Spread of Ideas Brooke’s influence was felt in two ways: in print he was a very significant early traveller to Scandinavia whose observations continue to be cited; in person he was a leading figure in shaping the institutions of British geography. When Scandinavia was ‘discovered’ in the nineteenth century by foreign visitors (Barton 1998, 2007; Fjågesund and Symes 2003; Wells 2008) it was ‘toured, appraised, and textually portrayed by . . . author-travellers’ (Davies 1999, 11). Although such travellers regularly claimed to be discoverers of an unknown land, the writings of each shaped the expectations and experience of their successors (Davidsson 1975; Davies 1999; Fjågesund and Symes 2003; Baigent 2008), and there were in any case strong bonds between Britain and the area the travellers claimed to be discovering through, for example, trade and industry, evangelicalism and temperance and literature (Fahey 1996; Wawn 2000; Hodacs 2003; Baigent 2008). Nonetheless, when Brooke published his travel books about Scandinavia he had relatively few competitors and his accounts established him as one of the few Britons and indeed western Europeans who could speak confidently about the region, particularly the north. His Scandinavian works were extracted in a French set of travel works (1826) and translated into German (1829). They were adapted and translated into Norwegian (1836 and 1938) for a local audience curious to see what an outsider made of their land. His later work on Spain and Morocco is similarly observant, being cited for example for careful observation about the Basque regions (Leoné 2008). It was not, however, in print that Brooke’s influence was greatest, but in forming institutions which set travel and geography within the tradition of polite science and

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whose offspring – the RGS and the Geographical Club – remain key institutions of British geography. ‘Polite science’ describes the way in which science was practised in late eighteenth- and early nineteenth-century Britain when scientific ideas were shared and refined through interactions at social gatherings. The gatherings might be institutional or domestic, open to women or reserved for men, but they were an integral part of elite sociability in terms of personnel and calendar – as county, provincial and London society came together for the London season – and in the medium of interaction, namely conversation (Secord 2007). Jim Secord notes that ‘informal conversation in the clubs, salons, and soirées of the English social elite’ was in the early nineteenth century an important and serious way in which knowledge could circulate and be tested through ‘conversation – the unplanned, easy talk of the well bred – [which] was central to sociability’ (Secord 2007, 131). Where such conversation was institutionalized in societies or clubs it provided a way of forging particularly strong bonds among men of science (Gay and Gay 1997; Hughes 2007). The Raleigh Club, although generally regarded in histories of geography as simply a pleasant prelude to the serious business of founding a British geographical society (e.g. Mill 1930, 8–9), can instead be seen within this tradition of polite science as one of the first systematic attempts at a British forum for geographical discussion, combining pleasure, erudition and experience. Brooke was interested in the company of serious travellers: nomination slips at the Travellers’ Club showed that he supported the election to the club of untitled men who had travelled, but took no part in the nomination of titled men who were elected because of their social status (TC, election papers). Unable to have much impact on the Travellers’ Club membership, he instead formed the Raleigh Club for real travellers and for serious but pleasant geographical discussion. The Raleigh Club was to be ‘composed solely of Travellers’, and fulfilled its purpose by ‘assembling in social converse Travellers who have visited . . . such countries in particular as have been little explored’, that is, by enabling discussion of otherwise unavailable geographical knowledge (minute of 9 May 1827, RGS, RC, minute book of the RC 1827–54, emphasis added). Recruiting travellers systematically from all parts of the globe, Brooke evidently intended that the Raleigh Club whole would be more than the sum of its parts and that the men would represent particular experience which might be pooled – rather as the members of the Sette of Odd Volumes, the exclusive literary dining club formed in 1877, were together ‘to form a perfect sette’ by being ‘eminently representative men’ (‘The Sette of Odd Volumes’, Illustrated London News, 9 May 1891, 614). Comprehensive geographical information was thus to be available at the club. Under Brooke’s guidance the Raleigh Club had one common table, unlike the individual dining tables of other clubs and resembled an officers’ mess, captain’s table or college high table. At such common tables knowledge was exchanged and social capital built up (Hughes 2007, 235). The Raleigh Club’s internal geography plus the careful selection of members gave rise to geographical conversation of a striking kind. On 16 June 1829 the Morning Post reported that at one of its meetings, ‘The conversation, as may be supposed, did not dwell on the usual queries of the season, respecting the Zoological Gardens, Tam O’Shanter, or even the discoveries of St. James’s-street or Pall-mall travellers [this is a dig at the Travellers’ Club], but took a somewhat wider range, sometimes touching upon the rocky mountains of Tartary, or at others seeking its flight from the icebergs of the South Polar Ocean to Spitzbergen and the mouth of the Coppermine River’. The dinner table of the Raleigh was a rule governed site where information was exchanged, its meaning considered and its impact discussed. Conversation at the Raleigh Club under Brooke was, as often practised in the institutions and homes where polite science was practised (Secord 2007), aided by curiosities of a particularly varied kind. Raleigh diners ate and drank produce provided by members from the countries they were connected with. At the first regular dinner of

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the club (there had been one preliminary one) on 7 February 1827 Brooke provided ‘a Haunch of Rein Deer Venison from Spitzbergen[,] a Jar of Swedish Brandy, Rye Cake (Hadbröd) baked near the N. Cape, A Norway Cheese (Gammel Ost)[,] Preserved Cloud Berries from Lapland’ and it was agreed that members should bring back food from their travels ‘as a means of adding greatly to the interest of the dinners . . . from . . . the observations they will be the means of giving rise to’ (RGS, RC, minute book of the RC). On Monday 19 February 1827, Captain James Mangles, RN, produced for the diners ‘Hesh-bon bread, made from wheat brought by him from Hesh Bon on the Dead Sea’ while Brooke gave a brace of Cappercaille from Sweden (RGS, RC, minute book of the RC). On 5 March 1827, ‘A ham from Mexico was presented . . . by Mr Morier’ (James Justinian Morier, 1790–1849) (RGS, RC, minute book of the RC). At this point mentions of food and drink stop in the minutes and it has been assumed that the practice itself stopped (Marshall-Cornwall 2011, 28), but a survey of newspapers shows it to have continued. On 1 July 1828, The Morning Post reported that: ‘The Duke of Sussex honoured the Raleigh Club of Travellers . . . with his company to dinner at the Thatched House. Among the dishes presented by the Members for the occasion was the Moorish Kuskusu and Pemican, the latter of which was much relished by the Polar travellers present. The dessert, which was composed of scarce foreign fruits and preserves, made its appearance on a service of Moorish ware, of Fez manufacture, and attracted much notice.’ It seems then that this was a characteristic trait of the Raleigh. There are two points to note here: first that this was almost certainly Brooke’s idea. He provided the first fare, and the recipes and correspondence about importing food and drink in his family papers show, as noted above, his keen and enduring interest in food and drink. Second, this was not just a mild eccentricity, or merely pleasurable as is often implied in histories of geography (e.g. Mill 1930, 9), but was a simultaneously serious attempt to recreate geographical knowledge through sensory and social experience. At least two other London scientific clubs, the Zoological Club ([Zoological Club] 1948) and the British Acclimatisation Society (Lever 1992) practised ‘gustatory geography’ as Livingstone (2003, 57) has it, so the Raleigh Club practice of learning by eating was not unique, but it was very early (some 40 years before similar practice elsewhere) and the Raleigh Club made routine what other societies did only on special feasts. The Raleigh Club’s curiosities took the recreation of travel yet further in serious attempts to stimulate conversation. The Morning Post on 1 July 1828 noted that at a Raleigh dinner characteristic china was used to recreate a local effect and that ‘After dinner numerous curious specimens and productions from different countries, particularly from Barbary, were handed round and excited considerable interest’. It is difficult to know quite how prevalent was the introduction of curiosities. Mention of them in the club’s minutes is confined to 1834–5, when a particular record keeper briefly takes over. At the meetings recorded in his hand he notes the exhibits that were shown to the members after diner. For example, on 5 May 1834 ‘were exhibited in the Evening Drawings by Sir Grenville Temple, Bart, commissioned by Mr Murray’; on 19 May 1834 ‘were exhibited in the Evening Sketches of African scenery, by Lieutenant Allen, a copy of Mr Arrowsmith’s new Atlas communicated by the Publisher and Drawings of Indian Temples on the Island of . . . by Capt Chapman’; on 16 June 1834 ‘were exhibited in the Evening Illustrations of Captain Thomas’ intended publication, communicated by Mr Murray’; on 7 July 1834 ‘were exhibited in the Evening Drawings intended for Illustrations of on N . . . by Mr Bird, A Chinese Compass from the Royal Geographical Society, a volume of Sketches in and near Buenos Ayres, by Mr Mulliner P . . .; on 1 December 1834 ‘were exhibited in the Evening Sketches of Scenery and Antiquities in the Beylake [beylik] of Tunis, by Sir Grenville Temple Bart’; while on 2 February

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1835 ‘were exhibited in the Evening a number of views of Scenery and Antiquities in Nubia by Mr Hoskins’ (RGS, minute book of the RC, 1834–5). The record then stops as the hand changes and the report return to lists of diners and bills, but the very fact that the practice is introduced in the record without comment and that it happens so often during the record keeping of one particular man suggests that it was a very common if not universal Raleigh practice, and, though the curiosities had changed from being objects to representations of them, they remained clearly geographical and indeed were at the cutting edge of geographical knowledge. Benefitting from the membership of publisher John Murray and map maker John Arrowsmith, the Raleigh diners saw prepublication views of matter which was in press. Of the illustrations seen by Raleigh members in 1834 Temple’s were included in his book on Tunis published in 1835 and Hoskins’s were included in his books on Egypt and Nubia, published in 1835 and 1837, while Arrowsmith’s ‘new Atlas’ was probably his London Atlas of Universal Geography of 1835. Sometimes the originators of the views or maps were at dinner and could provide an authoritative gloss: such was the case for example with William Bird’s views. By 1834 Brooke had rather little to do with the club, but it seems that it continued his practice of stimulating conversation through the provision of curiosities after he ceased to attend. The objects shown to the Raleigh members formed a mobile cabinet of curiosities and enabled them to hold sedentary conversaziones, passing round objects rather than circulating among the curiosities themselves. In the intimate confines of the club, as in private homes, objects were ‘conversation pieces’, stimuli to polite scientific conversation among the knowledgeable, unlike curiosities in the museum where ‘the admiring visitor paid the collector the sincerest compliment of speechlessness’ (Datson 1988). What the Raleigh Club is primarily known for is that the Geographical Society of London, later the Royal Geographical Society, originated at a meeting of the Raleigh Club on 24 May 1830: It was submitted that, among the numerous literary and scientific societies established in the British metropolis, one was still wanting to compete the circle of scientific institutions, whose sole object should be the promotion and diffusion of that most important and entertaining branch of knowledge, GEOGRAPHY [:] . . . that the interest excited by this department of science is universally felt; . . . its decided utility . . . must be obvious to everyone; and is the more enhanced by this species of knowledge being attainable without much difficulty, while at the same time it affords a copious source of rational amusement. (Minute of 24 May 1830, RGS, RC, minute book of the RC) There is much of the Raleigh spirit here, notably in the description of geography as ‘entertaining’ and a source of ‘rational amusement’, fusing sociable pleasure and knowledge making. And there is remarkable candour in the statement that geographical knowledge might be obtained without much difficulty. There is similarly much Raleigh spirit in that of the intended society’s six objects three concerned travel: it was ‘to accumulate . . . a library of . . . the best Voyages and Travels . . . to procure . . . instruments . . . useful to . . . a traveller [and] to prepare brief instructions for those who are setting out on their travels’. (Minute of 24 May 1830, RGS, RC, minute book of the RC.) By the time of its inaugural meeting on 16 July 1830 the Royal Geographical Society had the patronage of the king and some 400 members (Baigent 2004). But much less was heard about travel, and much more about ‘geographical science’, commercial application, empire building. Gone too was the ‘without much difficulty’ as the RGS

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aimed to establish geography professional credentials among the other learned societies, presenting geography as something which required specialist training and equipment. Other than Brooke, only 37 of 70 Raleigh Club members joined the new society (Marshall-Cornwall 2011, 34). The Raleigh Club itself changed, the parent coming to be dominated by its child, the RGS, until, in 1854, the Raleigh Club was dissolved and the Geographical Club instituted as a dining society with Murchison as president, fully aligned with the RGS (Marshall-Cornwall 2011). Because it faded so rapidly after the RGS was formed, because the RGS rapidly defined how geography was understood, and because its successor, the Geographical Club, was explicitly the convivial complement of the serious RGS (Marhsall-Cornwall 2011), the Raleigh Club has been regarded in the history of geography as ephemeral and not serious (e.g. Mill 1930, 8–9). In fact Brooke’s conception of the club was as part of the polite science he knew from the Royal Society and the Linnean Society, and from his correspondence (NRO, Bmss). Membership of the club was systematically compiled to give members access to comprehensive and current information, and some of its events showed a systematic approach to geographical knowledge exchange: an example is the dinner of 8 June 1829, when ‘the officers of the different Northern Expeditions now in London’ met with club members. Sir John Franklin and Captains Parry, Beechey, Beaufort (Geographers Vol. 19), and Sabine invited Commander Back and Dr John Richardson for a special meeting (minutes of 25 May and 8 June 1829, RGS, RC, minute book of the RC). The Raleigh Club was a sociable place for the exchange of geographical knowledge through conversation and the viewing of curiosities, where pleasure (not yet revalorized by Victorians to appear antithetical to serious endeavour (Erdozain 2010)) was unapologetically linked to knowledge production and sharing (Baigent in progress).

Conclusion Sir Roderick Murchison in his obituary of Brooke for the RGS described him as ‘of retiring and unostentatious habits’, with no desire to participate in public life, yet with ‘all the spirit of an adventurous traveller’ (Journal of the Royal Geographical Society, 1859). Brooke was indeed a spirited and adventurous traveller (Marshall-Cornwall 1976), but much of the rest of this obituary is untrue. Brooke’s travel memoirs and club membership (he may well also have been a member of Boodle’s) show him to have been extremely sociable, and he seems to have sown a modest quantity of wild oats as one might have expected of an officer in a very fashionable regiment. As well as the duel and mysterious letter referred to above, he won 100 guineas in a wager in which he risked his life (undated ‘Travellers List’ of names of members of the Travellers’ Club and Boodle’s; undated letter entreating Brooke to spend the profits of his wager on the poor, NRO, Bmss catalogue no. BW 48, box no. X5644. There is nothing to suggest that he took the suggestion). He was also much involved in the public life of his county. That Murchison either did not know or did not choose to name these things, shows how far the institutions of geography had shifted since Brooke helped to found them. Murchison was a guest at and then joined Brooke’s dining club, and was a member of the geographical society whose rules Brooke helped to draw up. But Murchison, the high Victorian imperial scientist (Stafford 1989), had a very different idea of what those institutions would look like and their public role, and by 1859 he was in the ascendant and Brooke’s ideas of polite science had been eclipsed. Brooke’s life and

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works epitomize an underexplored moment in geography’s history. His works still command interest as perceptive and early accounts of Scandinavia, but his greatest and longest lasting contribution to the discipline of geography was to formalize the bringing together of purposeful travellers for geographical discussion. ‘For this service’, as Clements Markham remarked, ‘the geographers of England are indebted to the happy inspiration of Sir Arthur de Capell Broke’ (Markham 1881, 18).

Acknowledgements I am grateful to Mark Davies of Lund University; to the staff of the Northamptonshire Record Office, the Royal Geographical Society, the Bodleian Library, the Royal Society, the Linnaean Society, the Travellers’ Club, the Natural History Museum and the British Library; and particularly to the officers of the Geographical Club for permission to consult and cite the Raleigh Club mss.

Note 1

Brooke sometimes spelt his name ‘Broke’. There is no consistency in the practice and the longer form ‘Brooke’ is used in this essay. The following abbreviations are used in this essay: Bmss for Brooke family papers, all of which have the Northampton Record Office accession no. 1968/252, which number is consequently not given in individual manuscript citations; GC for the Geographical Club and GCmss for its papers; LS for Linnaean Society of London; NRO for Northamptonshire Record Office; Oxford DNB for H. C. G. Matthew and B. H. Harrison (eds) (2004), Oxford Dictionary of National Biography. Oxford: Oxford University Press, continuing online edition L. Goldman (ed.) (2004–); RC for Raleigh Club records all of which have the accession number RGS Add Papers 115.AR28, which number is consequently not given in individual citations; RGS for Royal Geographical Society; RS for Royal Society; and TC for Travellers’ Club.

Bibliography and Sources 1. BIOGRAPHIES OF ARTHUR BROOKE

Baigent, E. (2004), ‘Broke, Sir Arthur de Capell’, Oxford DNB. The Era, 12 December 1858 [obituary]. Marshall-Cornwall, J. (1978), ‘An early Scandinavian traveller’, The Geographical Journal 144, 250–3. Murchison, R. I. (1859), Journal of the Royal Geographical Society 29, cxxviii [obituary]. Lord, T. (1859), The Future of All who “die in the Lord”. A Sermon [on Rev. xiv. 13] Occasioned by the Lamented Death of Sir Arthur de Capell Broke (sic). Northampton: J.T. Notcutt. Wikipedia, ‘Brooke, Sir Arthur de Capell’ (accessed 29 November 2012).

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2. WORKS BY ARTHUR BROOKE

1823

Travels through Sweden, Norway, and Finmark, to the North Cape, in the Summer of 1820. London: Rodwell and Martin.

1823–4

Northern Scenery, Illustrative of a Tour through Sweden, Norway, and Finmark, Drawn on Stone by J. D.Harding (from Travels through Sweden, Norway and Finmark, to the North Cape in the Summer of 1820]. London: no publisher.

1826

Winter Sketches in Lapland, or Illustrations of a Journey from Alten . . . to Torneå. London: John Murray.

1826

Extrait du voyage de Brooke au Cap-Nord en 1820: vol. 1. In Nouvelles annales des voyages, de la géographie et de l’histoire, vol. 30, pp. 38–57.

1827

A Winter in Lapland and Sweden: With Various Observations Relating to Finmark and its Inhabitants Made During a Residence at Hammerfest, Near the North Cape. London: John Murray.

1829

Ein Winter in Lappland und Schweden. Weimar: Im Verlage des Grossh. S. priv. Landes-Industrie-Comptoirs.

1831

Sketches in Spain and Morocco, 2 vols. London: H. Colburn and R. Bentley.

1850

‘Map of Sweden, Norway and Lapland . . . by Lt. Col. Hagelstam’; translated from the Swedish by Arthur de Capell Brooke, F.R.S.

1936

En engelskmanns skildriger fra Finnmark for vel 100 år siden; ed. A. B. Wessel. Kirkenes.

1938

Reiser i Finnmark. Ophold på Hammerfest, 1820–21; translated, introduced and edited by A. B. Wessel [selections from Travels through Sweden, Norway and Finmark to the North Cape in the Summer of 1820; A Winter in Lapland and Sweden with Various Observations Relating to Finmark and its Inhabitants; Made during a Residence at Hammerfest Near the North Cape; Northern Scenery, Comprising the Most Remarkable Features of Sweden, Norway, and Lapland; Winter Sketches in Lapland]. Hammerfest: Hagen.

3. CONTEXTUAL REFERENCES MENTIONED IN THE TEXT

Acerbi, G. (1802), Travels through Sweden, Finland, and Lapland, to the North Cape, in the Years 1798–1799, 2 vols. London: Mawman. Baigent, E. (2004), ‘Founders of the Royal Geographical Society of London (act. 1828– 1830)’, Oxford DNB. — (2008), ‘Sweden discovered and Sweden invented: the representation of Sweden in the Dictionary of National Biography’, in M. Wells (ed.), The Discovery of NineteenthCentury Scandinavia. Norfolk: Norvik Press, 99–116. — (in progress), ‘“Numerous curious specimens . . . were handed round and excited considerable interest”: conversation, curiosities, and knowledge making in the sociable spaces of Regency geography’. Barton, H. A. (1998), Northern Arcadia: Foreign Travellers in Scandinavia 1765–1815. Carbondale, IL: Southern Illinois University Press.

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— (2007), ‘The discovery of Norway abroad, 1760–1905’, Scandinavian Studies 79, 25–40. Clarke, E. D. (3 parts, 6 vols, 1810–23), Travels in Various Countries of Europe, Asia, and Africa. London and Cambridge: various publishers. Cobbett’s Weekly Political Register, 1 February 1834. Collier, P. (2011), ‘The first fifty’, in M. J. Tooley (ed.), The History of the Geographical Club 1826–2002, 8–14 [pdf accessible only by permission of the Geographical Club]. Cunningham, P. (1850), Hand-Book of London, www.victorianlondon.org/entertainment/ travellersclub.htm (accessed 10 May 2012). Daston, L. (1988), ‘Reviews on artifact and experiment: the factual sensibility’, Isis 79, 452–67. Davidsson, Å. (1975), Med utländska resenärer i svenska bibliotek, Acta Academiae Regiae Scientiarum Upsaliensis 17. Davies, M. A. (1999), A Perambulating Paradox: British Travel Literature and the Image of Sweden c.1770–1865. Lund: Historiska institutionen, Lunds Universitet. Debrett, J. (1815), Debrett’s Baronetage of England. London: Rivington. Erdozain, D. (2010), The Problem of Pleasure: Sport, Recreation, and the Crisis of Victorian Religion. Woodbridge: Boydell. Fahey, D. M. (1996) Temperance and Racism: John Bull, Jonny Reb, and the Good Templars. Lexington: University Press of Kentucky. FitzRoy, A. W. (1927), History of the Travellers’ Club. London: Travellers’ Club. Fjågesund, P. and Symes, R. A. (2003), The Northern Utopia: British Perceptions of Norway in the Nineteenth Century. Amsterdam: Rodopi. Gay, H. and Gay, J. (1997), ‘Brothers in science: science and fraternal culture in nineteenth-century Britain’, History of Science 35, 425–53. Hilton, B. (1988), The Age of Atonement: The Influence of Evangelicalism on Social and Economic Thought, 1795–1865. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Hodacs, H. (2003), Converging World Views: The European Expansion and Early NineteenthCentury Anglo-Swedish Contacts. Uppsala: Studia Historica Upsaliensia 207. Hughes, L. (2007), ‘A Club of Their Own: The ‘Literary Ladies’, new women writers, and fin-de-siècle authorship’. Victorian Literature and Culture 35, 233–60. Leoné, S. (2008), ‘Before and after the First Carlist War: changing images of the Basques’, BIBLID, 54–74. www.euskomedia.org/PDFAnlt/rievcuadernos/02/02055074. pdf (accessed 29 November 2012). Lever, C. (1992), They Dined on Eland: The Story of the Acclimatisation Societies. London: Quiller. Livingstone, D. (2003), Putting Science in its Place: Geographies of Scientific Knowledge. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Malthus, T. R. (1966), The Travel Diaries of Thomas Robert Malthus, ed. P. James. London: Cambridge University Press for the Royal Economic Society.

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Markham, C. R. (1881), The Fifty Years’ Work of the Royal Geographical Society. London: J. Murray. Marshall-Cornwall, J. (1976), History of the Geographical Club. London: The Geographical Club. — (2011), The History of the Geographical Club 1826–1975; an enlarged online version of the 1976 book of the same title incorporated into M. J. Tooley (ed.), The History of the Geographical Club 1826–2002 [pdf accessible only by permission of the Geographical Club]. Mill, H. R. (1930), The Record of the Royal Geographical Society, 1830–1930. London: Royal Geographical Society. Moore-Colyer, R. (1997), ‘Land and people in Northamptonshire: Great Oakley, c.1750–1850’, Agricultural History Review 45, 149–64. Secord, J. A. (2007), ‘How scientific conversation became shop talk’, Transactions of the Royal Historical Society (sixth series) 17, 129–56. Skjöldebrand, A. F. (1801), Voyage pittoresque au Cap Nord, 2 vols. Stockholm: Deleen and Forsgren, with supplement of 1802. Stafford, R. A. (1989), Scientist of Empire: Sir Roderick Murchison, Scientific Exploration and Victorian Imperialism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Sörlin, S. (1989), ‘Scientific travel – the Linnean tradition’, in T. Fränsmyr (ed.), Science in Sweden: The Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences 1739–1989. Canton, MA: Science History Publications, 96–123. Thompson, C. E. (2007), The Suffering Traveller and the Romantic Imagination. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Tooley, M. J. (ed.), The History of the Geographical Club 1826–2002, 8–14 [pdf accessible only by permission of the Geographical Club]. Ward, T. H. (1926), History of the Athenaeum 1824–1925. London: Athenaeum. Wawn, A. (2000), The Vikings and the Victorians: Inventing the Old North in Nineteenth-Century Britain. Woodbridge: D.S. Brewer. Wells, M. (ed.), The Discovery of Nineteenth-Century Scandinavia. Norfolk: Norvik Press. Zoological Club (1948), The Zoological Club 1866–1948. London: Zoological Club.

Chronology 1791

22 October, born Arthur Supple in Bolton Street, Mayfair, Westminster

1797

Changed name from ‘Supple’ to ‘de Capell Brooke’ (or ‘Broke’)

1813

20 May, graduated BA from Magdalen College, Oxford

1813

Entered the army

1815

At Waterloo

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1816

5 June, proceeded MA

1819

Founder member of the Travellers’ Club of London

c.1820

Promoted captain

1820

Travelled widely in Scandinavia, notably in the north

1823

Elected fellow of the Royal Society of London

1823

Elected fellow of the Linnean Society of London

1826

Founded the Raleigh Club

1823

Travels through Sweden, Norway, and Finmark to the North Cape . . . in 1820

1827

A Winter in Lapland and Sweden

1827

Winter Sketches in Lapland . . . Intended to Exhibit a Complete View of the Mode of Travelling with Reindeer

1828

Travelled in Spain and Morocco

1828

Elected member of the Société de Géographie of Paris

1829

27 November, succeeded his father in title (as second baronet) and estates

1830

Founder member of the London Geographical Society, later the Royal Geographical Society of London

1831

On first council of RGS

1833

Committee member of the northern division of the Northamptonshire Labourers’ Friend Society

1837

Sketches in Spain and Morocco

1843

1 February, gazetted sheriff of Northamptonshire

1846

Gazetted brevet major in the 27th regiment of foot, transferred from a half-pay captaincy in the 17th Light Dragoons

1851

18 December, married Elizabeth Zilpah, widow of J. J. Eyre of Endcliffe, near Sheffield

1854

The Raleigh Club becomes the Geographical Club

1858

6 December, dies at Oakley Hall, Great Oakley, Northamptonshire; succeeded by brother

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Index

The index is divided into two parts: 1. A general index, including personal names, organizations, conferences societies, and geographical concepts, theories, and research. 2. A cumulative index of biobibliographies which includes all the geographers listed in volumes 1–32. 1. GENERAL INDEX Africa 5, 83, 92, 94, 96, 124, 138 agriculture 16, 62–5, 84–5, 86–7, 88, 89, 90, 93, 131, 133, 144, 146 Alpine geography 1, 4, 12–14, 18–19, 20 Alps 1, 6, 9, 10, 13, 15, 16, 17, 18–19, 33, 42, 80 American Geographical Society 23, 37 Amsterdam 43, 82, 89 Annales de Géographie 8, 16, 21, 33, 35, 36, 37, 55, 60, 83, 84, 86, 89, 94 applied geography 68, 131–2 astronomy 3, 137, 140, 142 Atlas of the Union of South Africa 3, 124, 131, 133 Balearics 56, 57, 60 Baulig, Henri 38, 41, 43, 46, 47–8 Belgium 9, 17, 96 Berlin 11, 34, 142 Blanchard, Raoul 1, 2, 3, 4, 6–32, 79–80, 81–2, 84, 127 Bowman, Isaiah 37, 57 Brazil 2, 3, 4, 5, 55, 57–8, 59, 60–1, 62–6 British Association for the Advancement of Science 107, 111 Brooke, Sir Arthur de Capell 1, 3–4, 149–63 Brunhes, Jean 22, 36, 37, 81 cameralism 144 Canada 2, 17–18 Cape Town 5, 130 census 9–10, 84, 108, 110

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Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique 15, 45, 59, 60, 67, 69, 70 Charles University (Prague) 137–8 Chicago School 66, 68 Cholley, André 61, 82 coffee 54, 62, 63–4, 65–6 colonial geography 7, 54, 62, 64–5, 79, 82, 84–5, 87–9, 90, 94–5 colonialism 62–3, 82, 84–5, 87–8, 89, 90, 91 cultural geography 128 Czech lands 138, 139, 140, 143–5 Darby, H. C. 108 Davis, William Morris 2, 16, 21, 37, 43, 45 Deffontaines, Pierre 56, 58, 67 Demangeon, Albert 10, 11, 55, 57, 61, 82, 84, 87 de Margerie, Emmanuel 1, 2, 4, 33–53 de Martonne, Emmanuel 7, 21, 36, 55 development geography 2, 54, 66 Dresch, Jean 55, 59, 62, 67, 70, 92, 95 Dubois, Marcel 7, 36 economic geography 58, 59, 65, 66, 68, 108 Enlightenment 1, 3, 146, 149 Faucher, Daniel 12, 15 Febvre, Lucien 16, 57, 61, 67 fieldwork 4, 7, 12, 16, 19, 20, 33, 34, 35, 46–7, 55, 58, 125, 126 Flanders 1, 2, 9, 13, 16–18, 24

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Index

Fleure, H. J. 43 France 2, 4, 5, 6, 9, 21, 22, 24, 33, 34, 35, 37, 40, 41, 54, 83, 87 freemasonry 144 French Canada 12, 15, 22, 24 Gallois, Lucien 7, 8–9, 16, 21, 36, 40, 43 Geographical Institute of London 151, 155, 157, 158 geological congresses 33, 40 geology 7, 17, 18, 33, 34, 38, 39, 40, 41, 43–4, 46, 47, 58, 67, 81 geomorphology 7, 17, 39, 40, 41, 43, 44, 47, 62 Gilbert, Grove Karl 45 glaciation 21 Gottman, Jean 63, 65, 83, 94 Gourou, Pierre 56, 69, 79, 81, 86, 94, 95–6 Grenoble 6, 10, 11, 18, 19–20, 21, 22–3, 79, 81, 127 Hägerstrand, Torsten 107–8 Harvard University 6, 13, 17, 22, 40, 81 historical geography 18, 104, 109, 112, 113 human geography 1, 16, 58, 133 IndoChina 2, 4, 5, 79, 80–1, 82–3, 85, 86–7 Indonesia 2, 79, 88, 89–90 industry 16, 40, 111, 112 Institut de Géographie Alpine 6, 11, 14, 20, 93 Institute of British Geographers 106, 107, 112, 127 international geographical congresses 34, 40, 71, 82, 83, 89, 131 International Geographical Union 70, 95 Java 89 Jesuits 3, 138–9 Jura 34, 44, 45, 46 Kahn, Albert 8, 37, 84 Lawton, Richard 1, 3, 4, 5, 104–23 Liverpool 3, 5, 105, 108, 109, 110, 111–12 London 34, 124, 125, 151, 154, 155 Lyde, Lionel W. 4, 125, 127 Madagascar 79, 83, 92–3, 94 Malaysia 79 mapping 10, 20, 34, 37–8, 39, 41–2, 43, 61, 84, 85–6, 131, 138, 150, 156, 157 Markham, Sir Clements Markham 159

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mathematical geography 3, 137 mathematics 3, 137, 139, 140, 142, 146 Merseyside 5, 105, 107, 110 meteorology 3, 144, 146 methodology 11, 24, 95, 105, 112, 113, 137 migration 64, 65–6, 104, 107–8, 109, 110–12, 113 mobility 64, 65–6, 107, 108, 109, 110–12, 113 modernization 17, 20 Monbeig, Pierre 1, 2, 4, 54–78, 94 Montreal 18–19, 22–3 natural philosophy 140 networks, ideas of in geography 4, 64 North America 2, 13, 34, 47–8, 62, 106 Paris 1, 6, 7, 8, 10, 11, 12, 15, 33, 34, 37, 45, 54, 57, 59, 67, 69, 96 Penck, Albrecht 11, 34, 45 physical geography 1, 3, 7, 21, 40, 43, 44–7, 61, 87, 132, 133, 138, 139–40, 142, 146 pioneers 60, 62, 63–4, 65 pioneer settlement 54, 57, 58, 60, 62–4 population 10, 36, 87, 88, 89, 90, 104, 105, 108, 110–11 population geography 16, 20, 36, 87, 88, 89, 93, 104, 105, 106, 108, 110–11 Powell, John Wesley 45 Prague 3, 5, 137, 141, 142, 143 psychology 56, 58, 62–3, 65, 88 Pyrenees 33, 34, 41–2, 43, 45 Quebec 2, 6, 13, 15, 16–18, 22 Raleigh Club of Travellers 149, 150, 155, 156, 157–8 regional geography 54, 87–8, 96, 138, 142 regionalism 87–8, 96 Revue de Géographie Alpine 1, 6, 12, 14, 15, 18, 19, 20, 82 Robequain, Charles 1, 2, 4, 5, 13, 20, 59, 63, 79–103 Royal Geographical Society 40, 107, 149, 151, 155, 157, 158, 159 São Paulo 4, 54, 61, 65–6, 70–1 Sauer, Carl Ortwin 67, 127, 128, 132 Scandinavia 1, 149, 152, 153, 154, 159 Service de la Carte géologique 37–8, 39, 40–1 settlement geography 16, 18, 58, 60, 62–4, 85 Siegfried, André 65, 67

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Index Smuts, General Jan C. 125, 128 sociability 3, 4, 154–6, 157–8 social geography 109, 111–12 Société de Géographie de Paris 34, 40 sociology 16, 58, 60, 65–6, 69, 106, 111 soil erosion 130, 131–2 Sorbonne 1, 4, 9, 10, 21, 24, 33, 54, 55, 59, 60, 61, 69, 82, 83, 94, 95 Sorre, Maximilien 13, 67 South Africa 3, 5, 124, 125–34 Spanish Civil War 2, 57 Strnad, Antonin 1, 3, 4, 137–48 Sweden 150, 152–3, 154 Talbot, William John 1, 3, 4, 5, 124–36 teaching 11–12, 20, 22–3, 39, 57–8, 67, 68, 69, 70–1, 82–3, 95, 104–5, 124, 129 Todd, Millicent 13, 22 translation 2, 33, 35, 42–3, 44, 67, 86 Travellers’ Club 149, 150, 155 tropical geography 79, 83–4, 94, 95, 96 United States Geological Survey 45 United States of America 33, 37, 40, 44, 128, 129 University of California at Berkeley 124, 129

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167

University of Cape Town 3, 124, 125, 126–7, 128, 129, 130, 131–2 University of Glasgow 124, 125, 126–7, 128 University of Grenoble 12–14, 15, 21, 22, 80 University of Liverpool 104, 105, 106–7 University of London 124, 125, 127 University of Rio de Janeiro 56, 67 University of São Paolo 54, 56–7, 66, 67, 70–1 University of Strasbourg 38, 59 urban geography 13, 17, 66–9, 105, 106 urbanisation 17, 105–6, 107, 109–10, 111, 112 Vacher, Antoine 36, 43 Vidal de la Blache, Paul 2, 4, 6, 7, 8, 10, 15, 16, 35, 36, 54, 57, 67, 81, 82, 96 Vidalian tradition 2, 21–2, 96 walking 7, 19 World War I 2, 5, 12, 17, 19, 34, 36, 37, 42, 54, 80 World War II 2, 13, 14, 58, 61, 83, 89, 91 Zimmermann, Maurice 7, 43, 80, 84, 95

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168

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2. CUMULATIVE LIST OF BIOBIBLIOGRAPHIES ADAIR, John (1660–1718) 20, 1–8 AL-BIRUNI (Abu’Rayhan Muhammad) (973–1054) 13, 1–9 AL-HASAN, see LEO AFRICANUS AL-KINDI (801–873) 17, 1–8 ALMAGIA, Roberto (1884–1962) 13, 11–15 AL-MUQADDASI (c. 945–c. 988) 4, 1–6 ANCEL, Jacques (1882–1943) 3, 1–6 ANUCHIN, Dmitry Nikolaevich (1843–1923) 2, 1–8 APIANUS, Peter (1495 or 1501–1552) 6, 1–6 ARBOS, Philippe (1882–1956) 3, 7–12 ARDEN-CLOSE, Charles Frederick (1865–1952) 9, 1–13 ARMSTRONG, Terence Edward (1920–1996) 18, 1–9 ARQUÉ, Paul (1887–1970) 7, 5–9 ASCHMANN, Homer (1920–1992) 24, 1–27 ATWOOD, Wallace Walter (1872–1949) 3, 13–18 AUROUSSEAU, Marcel (1891–1983) 12, 1–8 BABER, Mary Arizona (Zonia) (1862–1956) 30, 68–79 BAINES, Thomas (1820–1875) 23, 1–13 BAKER, John Norman Leonard (1893–1971) 16, 1–11 BAKER, Samuel John Kenneth (1907–1992) 22, 1–11 BANSE, Ewald (1883–1953) 8, 1–5 BARANSKIY, Nikolay Nikolayevich (1881–1963) 10, 1–16 BARBOUR, George Brown (1890–1977) 23, 14–34 BATES, Henry Walter (1852–1892) 11, 1–5 BAULIG, Henri (1877–1962) 4, 7–17 BEAUFORT, Francis (1774–1857) 19, 1–15 BEAUJEU-GARNIER, Jacqueline (1917–1995) 28, 133–148 BECKINSALE, Robert Percy (1908–1998) 22, 12–27 BERG, Lev Semenovich (1876–1950) 5, 1–7 BERNARD, Augustin (1865–1947) 3, 19–27 BINGHAM, Millicent Todd (1880–1968) 11, 7–12 BLACHE, Jules (1893–1970) 1, 1–8 BLANCHARD, Raul (1877–1965) 32, 6–32 BLAUT, James Morris (1927–2000) 27, 107–130 BLODGET, Lorin (1823–1901) 5, 9–12 BOBEK, Hans (1903–1990) 16, 12–22 BONNEY, Thomas George (1833–1923) 17, 9–16 BOSE, Nirmal Kumas (1901–1972) 2, 9–11 BOWEN, Emrys George (1900–1983) 10, 17–23 BOWMAN, Isaiah (1878–1950) 1, 9–18

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BRAHE, Tycho (1546–1601) 27, 1–27 BRATESCU, Constantin (1882–1945) 4, 19–24 BRAUDEL, Fernand (1902–1985) 22, 28–42 BRAWER, Abraham Jacob (1884–1975) 12, 9–19 BRIGHAM, Albert Perry (1855–1929) 2, 13–19 BROEK, Jan Otto Marius (1904–1974) 22, 43–62 BROOKS, Alfred Hulse (1871–1924) 1, 19–23 BROOKS, Charles Franklin (1891–1958) 18, 10–20 BROWN, Ralph Hall (1898–1948) 9, 15–20 BROWN, Robert Neal Rudmose (1879–1957) 8, 7–16 BRUCE,William Speirs (1867–1921) 17, 17–25 BRUNHES, Jean (1869–1930) 25, 1–12 BUACHE, Philippe (1700–1773) 9, 21–7 BUJAK, Franciszek (1875–1953) 16, 23–30 BUSCHING, Anton Friedrich (1724–1793) 6, 7–15 CAMDEN, William (1551–1623) 27, 28–42 CAMENA d’ALMEIDA, Pierre (1865–1943) 7, 1–4 CAPOT-REY, Robert (1897–1977) 5, 13–19 CARANDELL Y PERICAY, Juan (1893–1937) 30, 107–33 CAREY, Henry Charles (1793–1879) 10, 25–8 CARTER, George F. (1912–2004) 26, 27–49 CAVAILLÈS, Henri (1870–1951) 7, 5–9 CHATTERJEE, Shiba P. (1903–1989) 18, 21–35 CHISHOLM, George Goudie (1850–1930) 12, 21–33 CHOLLEY, Andre (1886–1968) 31, 104–18 CHORLEY, Richard John (1927–2002) 28, 67–90 CHRISTALLER, Walter (1893–1969) 7, 11–16 CHULALONGKORN, King of Siam (1853– 1910) 21, 65–71 CHURCH, James Edward, Jr (1869–1959) 22, 63–71 CLAPPERTON, Hugh (1788–1827) 28, 149–167 CLARK, Andrew Hill (1911–1975) 14, 13–25 CLEMENTS, Frederic Edward (1874–1945) 18, 36–46 CODAZZI, Augustin (1793–1859) 12, 35–47 COLAMONICO, Carmelo (1882–1973) 12, 49–58 COLBY, Charles Carlyle (1884–1965) 6, 17–22 CONEA, Ion (1902–1974) 12, 59–72 COOK, James (1728–1779) 20, 9–23 COOLEY, William (1795–1883) 27, 43–62

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Index COPERNICUS, Nicholas (1473–1543) 6, 23–9 COPPOCK, John Terence (Terry) (1921– 2000) 26, 6–26 CORNISH, Vaughan (1862–1948) 9, 29–35 CORTAMBERT, Eugène (1805–1881) 2, 21–5 COSGROVE, Denis Edmund (1948–2008) 29, 127–50 COTTON, Charles Andrew (1885–1970) 2, 27–32 COWLES, Henry Chandler (1869–1939) 10, 29–33 CRESSEY, George Babcock (1896–1963) 5, 21–5 CUISINIER, Louis (1883–1952) 16, 96–100 CUMBERLAND, Kenneth (1913–2011) 31, 137–60 CVIJIĆ, Jovan (1865–1927) 4, 25–32 D’ABBADIE, Antoine (1810–1897) 3, 29–33 DALY, Charles Patrick (1816–1899) 28, 107–120 DANA, James Dwight (1813–1895) 15, 11–20 DANTÍN-CERECEDA, Juan (1881–1943) 10, 35–40 DARBY, Henry Clifford (1909–1992) 26, 79–97 DARWIN, Charles (1809–1882) 9, 37–45 DAVID, Mihai (1886–1954) 6, 31–3 DAVIDSON, George (1825–1911) 2, 33–7 DAVIS, William Morris (1850–1934) 5, 27–33 DE BRAHM, William Gerard (1718–1799) 10, 41–7 DE CAPELL BROOKE, Arthur (1791–1858) 32, 149–164 DE CHARPENTIER, Jean (1786–1855) 7, 17–22 DEFFONTAINES, Pierre (1894–1978) 30, 175–97 DE MARGERIE, Emmanuel (1862–1953) 32, 33–53 DE MARTONNE, Emmanuel (1873–1955) 12, 73–81 DEE, John (1527–1608) 10, 49–55 DEMANGEON, Albert (1872–1940) 11, 13–21 DÍAZ COVARRUBIAS, Francisco (1833–1889) 19, 16–26 DICKEN, Samuel N. (1901–1989) 13, 17–22 DICKINSON, Robert Eric (1905–1981) 8, 17–25 DIMITRESCU-ALDEM, Alexandre (1880– 1917) 3, 35–7 DION, Roger (1896–1981) 18, 47–52 DOKUCHAEV, Vasily Vasilyevich (1846–1903) 4, 33–42 DOUGHTY, Charles Montagu (1843–1926) 21, 1–13 DRAPEYRON, Ludovic (1839–1901) 6, 35–8 DRESCH, Jean (1905–1994) 31, 81–103 DRYER, Charles Redaway (1850–1927) 11, 23–6

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169

DRYGALSKI, Erich von (1865–1949) 7, 23–9 DUBOIS, Marcel (1856–1916) 30, 134–51 DUNBAR, William (1749–1810) 19, 27–36 ELTON, Charles Sutherland (1900–1991) 21, 14–27 ERATOSTHENES (c. 275–c. 195 bc) 2, 39–43 EVANS, Emyr Estyn (1905–1989) 25, 13–23 EVEREST, Sir George (1790–1866) 15, 21–36 EYRE, Edward John (1815–1901) 15, 37–50 FABRICIUS, Johann Albert (1668–1736) 5, 35–9 FAIRGRIEVE, James (1870–1953) 8, 27–33 FAUCHER, Daniel (1882–1970) 31, 119–36 FAWCETT, Charles Bungay (1883–1952) 6, 39–46 FEBVRE, Lucien (1878–1956) 23, 35–49 FEDCHENKO, Alexei Pavlovich (1844–1873) 8, 35–8 FENNEMAN, Nevin Melancthon (1865–1945) 10, 57–68 FITZROY, Robert (1805–1865) 11, 27–33 FLEURE, Herbert John (1877–1969) 11, 35–51 FORBES, James David (1809–1868) 7, 31–7 FORMOZOV, Alexander Nikolayevich (1899–1973) 7, 39–46 FORREST, Alexander (1849–1901) and FORREST, John (1847–1918) 8, 39–43 FOX, Cyril (1882–1967) 23, 50–60 FRANZ, Johann Michael (1700–1761) 5, 41–8 FREEMAN, Thomas Walter (1908–1988) 22, 72–90 FRESHFIELD, Douglas William (1845–1934) 13, 23–31 GALLOIS, Lucien (1857–1941) 24, 28–41 GANNETT, Henry (1846–1914) 8, 45–9 GARCIA CUBAS, Antonio (1832–1912) 22, 91–8 GAVIRA MARTIN, José (1903–1951) 19, 37–49 GEDDES, Arthur (1895–1968) 2, 45–51 GEDDES, Patrick (1854–1932) 2, 53–65 GEIKIE, Archibald (1835–1924) 3, 39–52 GENTILLI, Joseph (Giuseppe) (1912–2000) 25, 34–41 GEORGE, Pierre (1909–2006) 29, 35–56 GERALD OF WALES, see GIRALDUS CAMBRENSIS GERASIMOV, Innokentii Petrovich (1905–1985) 12, 83–93 GILBERT, Edmund William (1900–1973) 3, 63–71 GILBERT, Grove Karl (1843–1918) 1, 25–33 GILLMAN, Clement (1882–1946) 1, 35–41 GIRALDUS CAMBRENSIS (c. 1146–1223) 21, 28–45

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170

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GLACKEN, Clarence James (1909–1989) 14, 27–41 GLAREANUS, Henricus (1488–1563) 5, 49–54 GMELIN, Johann Georg (1709–1755) 13, 33–7 GOBLET, Yann-Morvran (1881–1955) 13, 39–44 GOODE, John Paul (1862–1932) 8, 51–5 GOULD, Peter Robin (1932–2000) 24, 42–62 GOUROU, Pierre (1900–1999) 25, 60–80 GOTTMANN, Jean (1915–1994) 25, 42–59 GOYDER, George Woodroffe (1826–1898) 7, 47–50 GRADMANN, Robert (1865–1950) 6, 47–54 GRANO, Johannes Gabriel (1882–1956) 3, 73–84 GREELY, Adolphus Washington (1844–1935) 17, 26–42 GREGOR, Howard F. (1920–2000) 27, 131–142 GREGORY, Augustus Charles (1819–1905) 23, 61–72 GREGORY, Francis Thomas (1821–1888) 23, 61–72 GREGORY, John Walter (1864–1932) 23, 73–84 GREY, George (1812–1898) 22, 99–111 GRIGORYEV, Andrei Alexandrovich (1883–1968) 5, 55–61 GUYOT, Arnold Henry (1807–1884) 5, 63–71 HÄGERSTRAND, Torsten (1916–2004) 26, 119–57 HALL, Robert Burnett (1896–1975) 25, 81–92 HARE, F. Kenneth (1919–2002) 25, 93–108 HASSERT, Ernst Emil Kurt (1868–1947) 10, 69–76 HATT, Gudmund (1844–1960) 28, 19–40 HAUSER, Henri (1866–1946) 26, 50–66 HAUSHOFER, Karl (1869–1946) 12, 95–106 HEPPLE, Leslie Wilson (1947–2007) 29, 73–96 HERBERTSON, Andrew John (1865–1915) 3, 85–92 HERDER, Johann Gottfried (1744–1803) 10, 77–84 HETTNER, Alfred (1859–1941) 6, 55–63 HEYLEYN, Peter (1599–1661) 28, 1–18 HIMLY, Louis-Auguste (1832–1906) 1, 43–7 HO, Robert (1921–1972) 1, 49–54 HÖHNEL, Ludwig von (1857–1942) 7, 43–7 HOLMES, James Macdonald (1896–1966) 7, 51–5 HOWITT, Alfred William (1830–1908) 15, 51–60 HUGHES, William (1818–1876) 9, 47–53 HUGUET DEL VILLAR, Emilio (1871–1951) 9, 55–60 HULT, Ragnar (1857–1899) 9, 61–9 HUTCHINGS, Geoffrey Edward (1900–1964) 2, 67–71

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IBN BATTUTA (1304–1378) 14, 1–11 IGLÉSIES-FORT, Josep (1902–1986) 12, 107–11 IIZUKA, Koji (1906–1970) 28, 57–66 ILEŠIĆ, Svetozar (1907–1985) 11, 53–61 ISACHSEN, Fridtjov Eide (1906–1979) 10, 85–92 ISIDA, Ryuziro (1904–1979) 15, 61–74 JAMES, Preston Everett (1899–1986) 11, 63–70 JOBBERNS, George (1895–1974) 5, 73–6 JOHNSTON, Alexander Keith (1844–1879) 26, 98–109 JONES, Llewellyn Rodwell (1881–1947) 4, 49–53 KANT, Edgar (1902–1978) 11, 71–82 KANT, Immanuel (1724–1804) 4, 55–67 KECKERMANN, Bartholamäus (1572–1609) 2, 73–9 KELTIE, John Scott (1840–1927) 10, 93–8 KENDREW, Wilfrid George (1884–1962) 17, 43–51 KIM, Chong-ho (c. 1804–1866) 16, 37–44 KINGSLEY, Mary Henrietta (1862–1900) 19, 50–65 KIRCHOFF, Alfred (1838–1907) 4, 69–76 KOMAROV, Vladimir Leontyevitch (1862–1914) 4, 77–86 KRAUS, Theodor (1894–1973) 11, 83–7 KROPOTKIN, Pyotr (Peter) Alexeivich (1842–1921) 7, 57–62, 63–9 KRÜMMEL, Johann Gottfried Otto (1854– 1912) 10, 99–104 KUBARY, Jan Stanislaw (1846–1896) 4, 87–9 LARCOM, Thomas Aiskew (1801–1879) 7, 71–4 LATTIMORE, Owen (1900–1989) 20, 24–42 LAUTENSACH, Hermann (1886–1971) 4, 91–101 LAWTON, Richard (1925–2010) 32, 104–123 LEARMONTH, Andrew Thomas Amos (1916–2008) 29, 97–126 LEFÈVRE, Marguerite Alice (1894–1967) 10, 105–10 LEICHHARDT, Friedrich (1813–1848?) 17, 52–67 LEIGHLY, John (1895–1986) 12, 113–19 LELEWEL, Joachim (1786–1861) 4, 103–12 LENCEWICZ, Stanislaw (1899–1944) 5, 77–81 LEO AFRICANUS (Al-Hasan ibn Muhammad al Wazzân az-Zayyâtî) (c. 1499–1550) 15, 1–9 LEOPOLD, Luna Bergere (1915–2006) 30, 80–106

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Index LEPEKHIN, Ivan Ivanovich (1740–1802) 12, 121–3 LEVASSEUR, Emile (1828–1911) 2, 81–7 LEWIS, William Vaughan (1907–1961) 4, 113–20 LHWYD (LHUYD), Edward (1660–1709) 24, 63–78 LI DAOYUAN ( fl c. ad 500) 12, 125–31 LINTON, David Leslie (1906–1971) 7, 75–83 LLOBET I REVERTER, Salvador (1908–1991) 19, 66–74 LOBECK, Armin Kohl (1886–1958) 22, 112–31 LOMONOSOV, Mikhail Vasilyevich (1711– 1765) 6, 65–70 LYDE, Lionel William (1863–1947) 30, 1–21 MacCARTHY, Oscar (1815–1894) 8, 57–60 McGEE, William John (1853–1912) 10, 111–16 McNEE, Robert Bruce (1922–1992) 25, 109–21 MACKINDER, Halford John (1861–1947) 9, 71–86 MAGELLAN, Ferdinand (c. 1480–1521) 18, 53–66 MAKAROV, Stepan Osipovich (1848–1904) 11, 89–92 MAKIGUCHI, Tsunesaburo (1871–1944) 20, 43–56 MALTHUS, Thomas Robert (1766–1834) 20, 57–67 MARSDEN, Kate (1859–1931) 27, 63–92 MARTINEAU, Harriet (1802–1876) 21, 46–64 MARX, Karl (1818–1883) 19, 75–85 MASON, Kenneth J. (1887–1976) 18, 67–72 MATHER, Cotton (1918–1999) 23, 85–96 MATTRES, François Emile (1874–1948) 14, 43–57 MAURY, Matthew Fontaine (1806–1873) 1, 59–63 MAY, Jacques M. (1896–1975) 7, 85–8 MEHEDINTI, Simion (1868–1962) 1, 65–72 MELANCHTHON, Philipp (1497–1560) 3, 93–7 MELIK, Anton (1890–1966) 9, 87–94 MENDÖL, Tibor (1905–1966) 28, 41–56 MENTELLE, Edmunde (1730–1815) 11, 93–104 MENTELLE, François-Simon (1731–1799) 11, 93–104 MEURIOT, Paul (1861–1919) 16, 45–52 MIHAILESCU, Vintila (1890–1978) 8, 61–7 MIKLOUHO-MACLAY, Nikolai Nikolaevich (1846–1888) 22, 132–40 MILL, Hugh Robert (1861–1950) 1, 73–8 MILNE, Geoffrey (1898–1942) 2, 89–92 MILOJEVIĆ, Borivoje ZÆ . (1885–1967) 23, 97–104 MITCHELL, Thomas Livingstone (1792– 1855) 5, 83–7 MONBEIG, Pierre (1908–1987), 32, 54–78

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171

MONGKUT, King of Siam (1804–1868) 21, 65–71 MUELLER, Ferdinand Jakob Heinrich von (1825–1896) 5, 89–93 MUIR, John (1838–1914) 14, 59–67 MUNSTER, Sebastian (1488–1552) 3, 99–106 MUSSET, René (1881–1977) 31, 74–80 MUSHETOV, Ivan Vasylievitch (1850–1902) 7, 89–91 MYRES, John Linton (1869–1954) 16, 53–62 NAKANOME, Akira (1874–1959) 20, 68–76 NALKOWSKI, Waclaw (1851–1911) 13, 45–52 NANSEN, Fridtjof (1861–1930) 16, 63–79 NELSON, Helge (1882–1966) 8, 69–75 NEUSTRUEV, Sergei Semyonovich (1874–1928) 8, 77–80 NEWBIGIN, Marion Isabel (1869–1968) 28, 121–132 NIELSEN, Niels (1893–1981) 10, 117–24 OBERHUMMER, Eugen (1859–1944) 7, 93–100 OBRUCHEV, Vladimir Afanas’yevich (1863– 1956) 11, 105–10 ODAUCHI, Michitoshi (1875–1954) 26, 110–18 O’DELL, Andrew Charles (1909–1966) 11, 111–22 OESTREICH, J.W. Karl (1873–1947) 28, 91–106 OGAWA, Takuji (1870–1941) 6, 71–6 OGILBY, John (1600–1676) 20, 77–84 OGILVIE, Alan Grant (1887–1954) 29, 1–34 ORGHIDAN, Nicolai (1881–1967) 6, 77–9 ORMSBY, Hilda (1877–1973) 5, 95–7 PALLAS, Peter Simon (1741–1811) 17, 68–81 PARK, Mungo (1771–1806) 23, 105–15 PARSONS, James Jerome (1915–1997) 19, 86–101 PARTSCH, Joseph Franz Maria (1851–1925) 10, 125–33 PAULITSCHKE, Philipp (1854–1899) 9, 95–100 PAVLOV, Alexsei Petrovich (1854–1929) 6, 81–5 PAWLOWSKI, Stanislaw (1882–1940) 14, 69–81 PEEL, Ronald (1912–1985) 25, 122–39 PENCK, Albrecht (1858–1945) 7, 101–8 PENNANT, Thomas (1726–1798) 20, 85–101 PERPILLOU, Aimé Vincent (1902–1976) 31, 56–63 PERRON, Charles-Eugeène (1837–1909) 20, 102–7 PETERMANN, August Heinrich (1822–1878) 12, 133–8 PHILIPPSON, Alfred (1864–1953) 13, 53–61 PINCHEMEL, Philippe (1923–2008) 29, 57–72

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Index

PITTIER, Henri-François (1857–1950) 10, 135–42 PLATT, Robert Swanton (1891–1964) 3, 107–16 PLAYFAIR, James (1738–1819) 24, 79–85 PLEWE, Ernst (1907–1986) 13, 63–71 POEY, Felipe (1799–1891) and POEY, Andés (1825–1919) 24, 86–97 POL, Wincenty (1807–1872) 2, 93–7 POLO, Marco (1254–1324) 15, 75–89 PORTER, Revd Professor Josias Leslie (1823–1889) 26, 67–78 POUNDS, Norman John Greville (1912–2006) 30, 22–45 POWELL, John Wesley (1834–1902) 3, 117–24 PRED, Allan (1936–2007) 29, 151–75 PRICE, Archibald Grenfell (1892–1977) 6, 87–92 PUMPELLY, Raphael (1837–1923) 14, 83–92 PUTNAM, Donald Fulton (1903–1977) 21, 72–84 RAFFLES, Thomas Stamford (1781–1826) 24, 98–108 RAIMONDI DEL ACQUA, Antonio (1826–1890) 16, 80–7 RAISZ, Erwin Josephus (1893–1968) 6, 93–7 RATZEL, Friedrich (1844–1904) 11, 123–32 RAVENSTEIN, Ernst Georg (1834–1913) 1, 79–82 RECLUS, Elisée (1830–1905) 3, 125–32 RECLUS, Paul (1858–1941) 16, 88–95 REISCH, Gregor (c. 1470–1525) 6, 99–104 RENNELL, James (1742–1830) 1, 83–8 REVERT, Eugène (1895–1957) 7, 5–9 RHETICUS, Georg Joachim (1514–1573) 4, 121–6 RIBEIRO, Orlando (1911–1997) 31, 30–55 RICHTER, Eduard (1847–1905) 10, 143–8 RICHTHOFEN, Ferdinand Freiherr von (1833–1905) 7, 109–15 RITTER, Carl (1779–1859) 5, 99–108 ROBEQUAIN, Charles (1897–1963) 32, 79–103 ROE, Frank Gilbert (1878–1973) 18, 73–81 ROE, John Septimus (1797–1878) 21, 85–96 ROMER, Eugeniusz (1871–1954) 1, 89–96 ROSBERG, Johan Evert (1864–1932) 9, 101–8 ROSIER, William (1856–1924) 10, 149–54 ROXBY, Percy Maude (1880–1947) 5, 109–16 RÜHL, Alfred (1882–1935) 12, 139–47 RUSSELL, Richard Joel (1895–1971) 4, 127–38 RYCHKOV, Peter Ivanovich (1712–1777) 9, 109–12 SALAZAR ILARREGUI, José (1823–1892) 23, 116–25 SALISBURY, Rollin D. (1858–1922) 6, 105–13

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SÁNCHEZ GRANADOS, Pedro C. (1871–1956) 20, 108–18 SAUER, Carl Ortwin (1889–1975) 2, 99–108 SAWICKI, Ludomir Slepowran (1884–1928) 9, 113–19 SCHLÜTER, Otto (1872–1959) 6, 115–22 SCHMITHÜSEN, Josef (1909–1984) 14, 93–104 SCHMITTHENNER, Heinrich (1887–1957) 5, 117–21 SCHRADER, Franz (1844–1924) 1, 97–103 SCHWERIN, Hans Hugold von (1853–1912) 8, 81–6 SCORESBY, William (1789–1857) 4, 139–47 SEMËNOV-TYAN SHANSKIY, Pëtr Petrovich (1827–1914) 12, 149–58 SEMËNOV-TYAN SHANSKIY, Veniamin Petrovich (1870–1942) 13, 67–73 SEMPLE, Ellen Churchill (1863–1932) 8, 87–94 SHALER, Nathaniel Southgate (1841–1906) 3, 133–9 SHEN KUO (1033–1097) 11, 133–7 SHIGA, Shigetaka (1863–1927) 8, 95–105 SIBBALD, Robert (1641–1722) 17, 82–91 SIEGFRIED, André (1875–1959) 30, 152–74 SIEVERS, Wilhelm (1860–1921) 8, 107–10 SINGH, Chandra Pal (1939–2000) 23, 126–39 SION, Jules (1879–1940) 12, 159–65 SMITH, George Adam (1856–1942) 1, 105–6 SMITH, Joseph Russell (1874–1966) 21, 97–113 SMITH, Wilfred (1903–1955) 9, 121–8 SMITH, William (1769–1839) 23, 140–51 SMOLENSKI, Jerzy (1881–1940) 6, 123–7 SÖLCH, Johann (1883–1951) 7, 117–24 SOLÉ I SABARÍS, LluÍs (1908–1985) 12, 167–74 SOMERVILLE, Mary (1780–1872) 2, 100–11 SORRE, Max (1880–1962) 27, 93–106 SPENCE, Catherine Helen (1825–1910) 22, 141–56 SPENCER, Joseph Earle (1907–1984) 13, 81–92 STAMP, Laurence Dudley (1898–1966) 12, 175–87 STEINMETZ, Sebald Rudolf (1862–1940) 24, 109–24 STÖFFLER, Johannes (1452–1531) 5, 123–8 STOKES, John Lort (1811–1885) 18, 82–93 STRNAD, Antonin (1746–1799) 32, 137–148 STRZELECKI, Pawel Edmund (1797–1873) 2, 113–18 TALBOT, William John (1908–1995) 32, 124–136 TAMAYO, Jorge Leonides (1912–1978) 7, 125–8 TANSLEY, Arthur George (1871–1955) 13, 93–100

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Index TATISHCHEV, Vasili Nikitich (1686–1750) 6, 129–32 TAYLOR, Eva Germaine Rimington 31, 1–29 TAYLOR, Thomas Griffith (1880–1963) 3, 139–43 TEILHARD DE CHARDIN, Pierre (1881–1955) 7, 129–33 TELEKI, Paul (1879–1941) 11, 139–43 TENISON-WOODS, Julian Edmund, see WOODS, Julian Edmund Tenison TERAN-ALVAREZ, Manuel de (1904–1984) 11, 145–53 THOMPSON, David (1770–1857) 18, 94–112 THORNTHWAITE, Charles Warren (1899–1963) 18, 113–29 TILLO, Alexey Andreyevich (1839–1900) 3, 155–9 TOPELIUS, Zachris (1818–1898) 3, 161–3 TORRES CAMPOS, Rafael (1853–1904) 13, 102–7 TOSCHI, Umberto (1897–1966) 11, 155–64 TROLL, Carl (1899–1975) 3, 111–24 TULIPPE, Omer (1896–1968) 11, 165–72 ULLMAN, Edward Louis (1912–1976) 9, 129–35 VACHER, Antoine (1873–1920) 31, 65–71 VALLAUX, Camille (1870–1945) 2, 119–26 VALSAN, Georg (1885–1935) 2, 127–33 VAN CLEEF, Eugene (1887–1973) 9, 137–43 VAN PAASSEN, Christiaan (1917–1996) 22, 157–68 VAVILOV, Nikolay Ivanovich (1887–1943) 13, 109–16, 117–32 VEDOVA, Giuseppe Dalla (1834–1919) 23, 152–62 VERNADSKY, Vladimir Ivanovich (1863– 1945) 7, 135–44 VICENS VIVES, Jaume (1910–1960) 17, 92–105 VIDAL DE LA BLACHE, Paul (1845–1917) 12, 189–201 VILA I DINARES, Pau (1881–1980) 13, 133–40

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173

VIVEN DE SAINT-MARTIN, Louis (1802–1896) 6, 133–8 VOLZ, Wilhelm (1870–1959) 9, 145–50 VOYEIKOV, Alexander Ivanovich (1842–1916) 2, 135–41 VUIA, Ramulus (1881–1980) 13, 141–50 VUJEVIC, Pavle (1881–1966) 5, 129–31

WAIBEL, Leo Heinrich (1888–1951) 6, 139–47 WALLACE, Alfred Russel (1823–1913) 8, 125–33 WANG YUNG (1899–1956) 9, 151–4 WARNTZ, William (1922–1988) 19, 102–7 WARD, Robert DeCourcy (1867–1931) 7, 145–50 WATSON, James Wreford (1915–1990) 17, 106–15 WELLINGTON, John Harold (1892–1981) 8, 135–40 WEULERSSE, Jacques (1905–1946) 1, 107–12 WHEATLEY, Paul (1921–1999) 24, 125–45 WHITTLESEY, Derwent Stainthorpe (1890–1956) 25, 128–58 WILKES, Charles (1798–1877) 15, 91–104 WILLIAMS, Michael (1935–2009) 30, 46–67 WISSLER, Clark (1870–1947) 7, 151–4 WOODS, Julian Edmund Tenison (1832–1889) 21, 114–122 WOOLDRIDGE, Sidney William (1900–1963) 8, 141–9 WRIGHT, John Kirtland (1891–1969) 22, WU SHANG SHI (1904–1947) 13, 151–4 XU HONGZU (1587–1641) 16, 31–6 YAMASAKI, Naomasa (1870–1928) 1, 8, 141–9 113–17 YI CHUNG-HWAN (1690–1756) 21, 169–81 123–130 YONEKURA, Jiro (1909–2002) 27, 143–151 ZHENG HE (1371–1433) 20, 119–25

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