Transnational Cultures of Expertise: Circulating State-Related Knowledge in the 18th and 19th centuries 9783110553734, 9783110551808

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Transnational Cultures of Expertise

Colloquia Augustana

Edited on behalf of the Institute of European Cultural History of the University of Augsburg by Ulrich Niggemann, Bernd Oberdorfer, Lothar Schilling, Silvia Serena Tschopp, and Gregor Weber Editorial staff Jessica Schreyer

Volume 36

Transnational Cultures of Expertise Circulating State-Related Knowledge in the 18th and 19th Centuries Edited by Lothar Schilling and Jakob Vogel

ISBN: 978-3-11-055180-8 e-ISBN (PDF) 978-3-11-055373-4 e-ISBN (EPUB) 978-3-11-055184-6 ISSN 0946-9044 Library of Congress Control Number 2019946030 Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data are available from the Internet at http://dnb.dnb.de. © 2019 Walter de Gruyter GmbH, Berlin/Boston Typesetting: Integra Software Services Pvt. Ltd Printing and binding: CPI books GmbH, Leck Cover image: August Ludwig von Burgsdorf[f]: Versuch einer vollständigen Geschichte vorzüglicher Holzarten in systematischen Abhandlungen zur Erweiterung der Naturkunde und Forsthaushaltungs-Wissenschaft, Berlin 1783–1800, 2nd volume (front page). www.degruyter.com

About the Cover Image The cover of this volume reproduces the picture on the front page of the second of three volumes by August Ludwig von Burgsdorf[f], entitled Versuch einer vollständigen Geschichte vorzüglicher Holzarten in systematischen Abhandlungen zur Erweiterung der Naturkunde und Forsthaushaltungs-Wissenschaft (“Attempt to Present a Complete History of Excellent Types of Wood in Systematic Treatises for the Enhancement of Natural and Forestry Sciences”) that were published between 1783 and 1800 at Joachim Pauli publishers in Berlin. The second volume, printed in 1787, deals with “native and foreign oak species”. The copper represents a Native American who hands over acorns in a basket to a European merchant on the coast of North America. On the right are seed bags with the inscription “Red-Oak” (Quercus rubra) and “Chest nut-Oak” (Quercus montana); the legend (not reproduced here) is “Enriching Europe” (Europen zur Bereicherung). It is Europe that benefits from plants and knowledge of other continents. The author, August Ludwig von Burgsdorf[f] (1747–1802), a descendent of a Gotha noble family, had finished his formation for the forestry service in 1770 at the newly founded Forstschule in Berlin, the first public forestry school in the Holy Roman Empire. In 1777 he became, thanks to the intervention of the royal chamberlain Alexander Georg von Humboldt (the father of Alexander and Wilhelm), chief forestry officer (Oberforstrat) in Tegel. Nine years later, he also succeeded the renowned botanist Johann Gottlieb Gleditsch (1714–1786) as director of the Berlin Forestry Academy, which he himself had attended earlier. He was thus actively involved in the increasing state engagement in the forestry sector. Burgsdorf distinguished himself with forestry and natural history publications, in which he repeatedly advocated the use of “foreign” species, not last from outside Europe, in order to counter the shortage of wood that he repeatedly invoked. In 1782, he became a member of the Gesellschaft der Naturforschenden Freunde zu Berlin (“Society of the Friends of Natural Science in Berlin”) and in 1786 a corresponding member of the Göttingen Academy of Sciences and Humanities. Besides his forestry and publishing activities, Burgsdorf was a successful seed trader. His Burgsdorf’sche Kisten (“Burgsdorf boxes”), each containing 100 seeds of different (not last “foreign”) trees, were distributed throughout Europe. The engraving thus refers on the one hand to a “scientific” position aimed at the circulation of resources and knowledge, which is associated with Burgsdorf until today. On the other hand, it reflects the tangible interests of an actor who promoted his career and economic success by attributing “usefulness” and “state relevance” to his knowledge, which included non-European forest botany. At the lower edge of the copper can be found a signature (which is not reproduced on the cover either): Halle deli[neavit] et sculps[it] (“Halle has drawn and engraved it”). “Halle” refers to Johann Samuel Halle[r] (1727–1810), born in https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110553734-201

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Ermland and since 1760 professor of history at the Royal Prussian Cadet Institute in Berlin. Halle was a well-connected scholar, scientist, and populariser of science in various fields: He translated and edited French books, published on art history and art production, on natural history, on “state history”, on plant, animal and mineral poisons, on the “magic powers of nature”, on manufactories and technologies. Furthermore, he worked as a copper engraver who, among other projects, contributed to the illustration of the German edition of Buffon’s Natural History.

Preface The present volume draws largely on the discussions of the project group “Eurosciencia – localisation et circulation des savoirs d’État en Europe, 1750–1850”, jointly led by the editors and Christine Lebeau (Paris), funded from 2011 to 2015 by the Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft and the Agence Nationale de la Recherche. In a summer school, in numerous conferences, workshops and roundtables, the members of this group have intensively discussed questions of the circulation of state-related knowledge between France and the German territories as well as on a European and global scale. We thank all those who have contributed to this extraordinarily diverse and stimulating exchange in Paris, Augsburg, Strasbourg, Cologne and Berlin. Our thanks also go to the institutions that have supported us, in particular the Universities of Paris 1 PanthéonSorbonne, Augsburg, Cologne and Strasbourg, the German Historical Institute Paris, Sciences Po and the Centre Marc Bloch Berlin. We would like to thank especially our colleague Christine Lebeau who took the initiative to discuss the concept of savoirs d’État, used in French historical and social science research, and to further develop it together with the participants of the project group. We are convinced that this concept has a high potential, especially in a transnational perspective, because it offers the chance to re-conceptualise fundamental questions of the emergence and development of the state. With the present book, we hope to contribute to this discussion. We also thank the Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft for financing this volume, the editors of the Colloquia Augustana for admitting it in their series, and, of course, our copy-editor Linda Needham for revising and polishing all drafts. Saarbrücken, 15.3.2019 Lothar Schilling and Jakob Vogel

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110553734-202

Contents About the Cover Image Preface

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Lothar Schilling / Jakob Vogel State-Related Knowledge: Conceptual Reflections on the Rise of the Modern State 1

Part I: Defining the Fields of the State Jani Marjanen State and Civil Society in the Diffusion of Agricultural Knowledge in Sweden and Finland, 1739–1830 21 Helge Wendt Transfer of Knowledge, the State, and Economy in the Cuban Coal Question (Nineteenth Century) 34 David Do Paço Patronage and Expertise: The Creation of Trans-Imperial Knowledge, 1719–1848 48

Part II: Circulating State-Related Knowledge Lothar Schilling ‘Intelligencers’ (advertisement sheets) as Media of State-Related Knowledge? 65 Jean-Luc Chappey The Société des Observateurs de l’homme (1799–1804) and the Circulation of State-Related Knowledge under Napoléon 88 Hjalmar Fors / Jacob Orrje Describing the World and Shaping the Self: Knowledge-Gathering, Mobility and Spatial Control at the Swedish Bureau of Mines 107

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Jakob Vogel Lost in Imperial Translation? Circulating Mining Knowledge between Europe and Latin America around 1800 129

Part III: Negotiating Scales and Spaces of the State Isabelle Laboulais Territorialisation and Logistics of Knowledge and Learning: The Case of Mineral Resource Surveys in France in the Eighteenth Century 149 Regina Dauser / Niels Grüne “Political-Economic Principles” and Local Interests of Reception: Peripheral Authorisation of Knowledge in the Agrarian Policy of the Electoral Palatinate (ca. 1750–1800) 166 Alexander van Wickeren Territorialising Atlantic Knowledge: The French State Tobacco Monopoly and the Globalisation of the Havana Cigar around the Mid-Nineteenth Century 181 Index of Persons

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State-Related Knowledge: Conceptual Reflections on the Rise of the Modern State The rise of the modern state is without any doubt a “classical” topic in history and social sciences. Renowned authors like Max Weber1 and Michel Foucault2 attribute (each with a different accent) a leading role to knowledge as an important condition and key element of state building.3 The second half of the eighteenth and the first decades of the nineteenth century, characterised as Sattelzeit by Reinhart Koselleck,4 are widely considered as the culminating period of a process, which is marked by an increasing number and variety of data and reform propositions collected for state use and by broad reforms of the structures assigned to assemble, to store and to exploit them.5 However, as recent research shows, the considerable increase in interest for knowledge of early modern rulers and states in the eighteenth century cannot be interpreted as a factor and resource of gaining in power and modernisation per se.6 Rather it seems mandatory to choose a knowledge history approach7 and to take into account the different contexts of this knowledge, its institutional, social and cultural constellations, the modes of constituting and authorising it, and also its actual uses by the actors who provided, handled and relied on it.8

1 Weber, Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft, 1st part, III § 5: “das große Mittel der Überlegenheit der bureaukratischen Verwaltung ist: Fachwissen” (128); “Die bureaukratische Verwaltung bedeutet: Herrschaft kraft Wissen: dies ist ihr spezifisch rationaler Grundcharakter” (129). 2 Foucault, Sécurité, territoire, population, 111 f.: “par ‘gouvernementalité’, j’entends la tendance, la ligne de force qui, dans tout l’Occident, n’a pas cessé de conduire, et depuis fort longtemps, vers la prééminence de ce type de pouvoir qu’on peut appeler le ‘gouvernement’ sur tous les autres: souveraineté, discipline, et qui a amené, d’une part, le développement de toute une série d’appareils spécifiques de gouvernement, et, d’autre part, le développement de toute une série de savoirs.” 3 As a “resource” in a power politics aimed at increasing fiscal revenues knowledge is analysed by Reinhard, Geschichte der Staatsgewalt, 314–316 and 398–405. 4 Koselleck, Einleitung, XV–XVI; a critical review of the concept: Fulda, Sattelzeit. 5 Brian, La Mesure de l’État; Perrot, Les premières statistiques; Soll, The Information Master; Hoppit, Political Arithmetic; Behrisch, Die Berechnung der Glückseligkeit; Hilaire-Pérez, État, science et entreprise. 6 Scott, Seeing like a State; Brendecke [et al.] (eds.), Information in der Frühen Neuzeit; Brendecke, Empirical Empire. 7 Shapin, A Social History of Truth; Vogel, Von der Wissenschafts- zur Wissensgeschichte; Van Damme, Le temple de la sagesse; Kaschuba (ed.), Wissensgeschichte als Gesellschaftsgeschichte 2008; Speich Chassé/ Gugerli, Wissensgeschichte; Renn, From the history of science to the history of knowledge. 8 Cf. Brendecke, Empirical Empire, 7 f., who insists on the importance of the “communicative” and “epistemic settings” i.e. the structures of conditions within which actors could interact and “know something.” https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110553734-001

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In contrast to a classical Weberian perspective, the authors of this book do not consider the modern state as a more or less clearly defined, monolithic entity responding to a number of given, functionally modulated tasks (Staatsaufgaben).9 In this vision, the development of the “state” and its actual fields of intervention have to be seen as the outcome of an historically contingent process in which specific actors (and groups of actors) used existing power relations including patronage ties to impose their particular interests in and visions of the state’s organisation and tasks. The actual shape of the state in a specific historical setting therefore depended – besides other factors not discussed here such as historical traditions or geographical, climatic and socio-economic conditions – very much on the ability of actors (or groups of actors) to convince political decision makers of the practical utility and benefits of their proposed innovations, which were based on specific knowledge. Thus, social, political, economic and cultural configurations influenced very much the institutional forms and cultural practices in which statehood came into being in the Sattelzeit. A good example for this dynamic are the ways in which expertus of agriculture, forestry, mining, technology and other economically relevant fields tried to convince princes and ministers to incorporate their respective fields of expertise in the realm of the state. It is indeed in this context that the figure of the “expert”10 occurred more and more frequently.11 In

9 Foucault, La gouvernementalité, 656: “Mais l’État, pas plus actuellement sans doute que dans le cours de son histoire, n’a eu cette unité, cette individualité, cette fonctionnalité rigoureuse et je dirais même cette importance; après tout, l’État n’est peut-être qu’une réalité composite, une abstraction mythifiée, dont l’importance est beaucoup plus réduite qu’on ne croit.” 10 Recent research on the role of experts is very broad; cf. for example: Reich [et al.] (eds.), Wissen, maßgeschneidert; Rexroth/ Schröder-Stapper (eds.), Experten, Wissen, Symbole; Füssel [et al.] (eds.), Höfe und Experten; Hitzler [et al.] (eds.), Expertenwissen; Turner, What is the Problem with Experts?; Engstrom [et al.] (eds.), Ambivalenzen der wissenschaftlichen Expertise; Ash (ed.), Expertise; Rabier (ed.), Fields of Expertise; Damay [et al.] (eds.), Savoirs experts et profanes; Klein/ Spary (eds.), Materials and Expertise. 11 One of the reasons why the discussion about the history of the expert role is anything but simple is that not always a clear distinction is made between the term found in the sources and the analytical term aimed at designating a specific social role. It should be noted that already in texts by medieval scholars such as Albertus Magnus, the assertion “expertus sum” can be found – particularly where the statements of authoritative authors such as Aristotle or Avicenna are juxtaposed with own observations (cf. Wegmann, Naturwahrnehmung, 46). The use of this formula, however, remained essentially restricted to the learned world (and thus also to the Latin language) until the 17th century (Ash, Introduction, 6; Dear, Mysteries, 207–209; Rexroth, Systemvertrauen, 33–42). On the other hand, since the late Middle Ages, in politicaladministrative or judicial decisions, competent actors with practical experience, but without a corresponding office (not least physicians) were consulted on a case-by-case basis if the knowledge available in an institution or in a procedure was judged insufficient. The contexts in which such a demand for experience-based knowledge developed are diverse. However, the fact that in the course of the early modern period the spectrum of governmental fields of activity

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specific situations,12 the expert was identified with a specific knowledge relevant for government and state, but which, usually, was neither subject of traditional scholarship nor provided by established procedures of the classical academic curriculum. This was the reason why most of the new programmes for the formation of a bureaucratic elite introduced by European states in the eighteenth century were created outside the old universities. In this constellation, shared knowledge was a particularly important background upon which actors built in order to convince deciders of the utility of their proposed practical solutions and of their ability to improve not only the welfare of the population but also the power of the ruler and the state. Thus, the establishment of institutions, in which knowledge was collected, systemised, authorised and disseminated was considered particularly important. With memoirs, project-papers, pamphlets, scientific and popular publications circulating in Europe and beyond, experts also contributed to a broader discourse in which the actual missions of the state and its concrete organisation were discussed. This broader discussion also integrated the more fundamental questions about the “limits of state action” (W. v. Humboldt)13 and the challenges set to an all-state-centred vision by arguments raised in the growing debate around liberalism.14 For this reason, it is not adequate to analyse exclusively the consolidated knowledge of the state, but also the knowledge about and for the state, developed in projects and propositions outside the institutions and official procedures of state use. We propose to call it by a term used (but scarcely theorised) by French social scientists and historians following Foucault: savoirs d’État – “state-related

expanded undoubtedly contributed to this demand. The corresponding role was more and more designated by vernacular nouns derived from the Latin expertus. So in French, by the end of the 17th century, it referred to experienced practitioners in court proceedings: “[L’adjectif expert] se met quelquefois au substantif. Si les parties ne s’accordent pas pour estimer la bonté de cet ouvrage, de cette besogne, qu’ils prennent des experts, le Juge a donné des experts pour visiter l’ouvrage des Maçons, des Couvreurs & c.” (Dictionnaire de l’Académie (1694), vol. 1, 418). This type of actor has to be distinguished from the older scholarly expertus insofar as it related to knowledge which, until then, had not been systematically used and authorised by scholarly institutions or the state. This did not exclude a later institutional consolidation of the relevant knowledge. Indeed, many actors claiming expert status strove for the incorporation of their knowledge into (existing or new) institutions – ideally in combination with the assumption of an office by themselves. This is one of the reasons why the field of knowledge surrounding the ‘state’ also attracted countless ‘projectors’ (Defoe) claiming expert status (Krajewski [ed.], Projektemacher; Ash, The Draining of the Fens). 12 On the context-dependency of expertise, cf. Walton, State Building through Building for the State. 13 Humboldt, Versuch; Humboldt, The Limits of State Action. 14 Leonhard, Liberalismus; for the Spanish origins of the debate about Liberalism see Späth, Revolution.

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knowledge”.15 The concrete fields of this knowledge were usually not very well defined, but rather dependent on the interests and perspectives of the respective actors engaged in the discussions about the shape of the state. State-related knowledge covered a very broad spectrum from the classical fields of governance, like public finance or law, up to more practical areas of possible state action on agronomy, forestry, mining, and the promotion of art and culture or diplomacy. Not only state institutions and officials, but also subjects and citizens, village communities, patriotic societies and other groups contributed to the debate about the actual scope of these large, diverse fields of knowledge.16 Apart from the contents also the status, order and institutional constitution of this multiple knowledge were contentious and underwent considerable changes in the course of the early modern period and then, in particular, during the Sattelzeit. They varied also considerably in spatial terms. While in the Holy Roman Empire around the middle of the eighteenth century, scholars and professors tried to systematise state-related knowledge within the framework of an academic field, the Policeywissenschaft, there were no comparable attempts in France and other countries at that time.17 However, the different concepts of the state that were discussed in the context of the German states did not derive solely from a “national” discussion.18 In fact, they emanated from a broader European debate to which contributed also politicians, scientists and administrators from other countries like France, Spain, Portugal, Naples, Tuscany, Sweden and even Russia. In fact, many of the “German” texts were themselves echoes of specific practices in other countries, thus reflecting on and contributing to a wider European discussion about the utility and forms of the state’s prerogatives and its interventions in the different fields of action. Moreover, in the transition to the nineteenth century, cameral sciences disintegrated in the German states in favour of new disciplines such as national economics and administrative sciences.19 In France, on the other hand, the respective knowledge became institutionalised under the auspices of the Académie des sciences morales et politiques.20

15 Collin/ Horstmann (eds.), Das Wissen des Staates; Lebeau, Circulations internationales; Lebeau/ Margairaz, Les savoirs d’État; Delmas, Instituer des savoirs d’État; Delmas, Savoirs experts; Montel, Pour une histoire concrète (URL); Dauser/ Schilling, Einleitung (URL). 16 The participation of various social groups and actors in rule and administration has so far been examined particularly for the field of legislation and “public policy” (Policey) of the Ancien régime; cf. f.i. Kümin/ Würgler, Petitions, gravamina and the early modern state; Holenstein, Die Umstände der Normen. 17 Stolleis, Geschichte des Öffentlichen Rechts; Napoli, Naissance de la police moderne, 251–286. 18 Laborier [et al.] (eds.), Les sciences camérales. 19 Tribe, Governing Economy; Lindenfeld, The Practical Imagination; Matsumoto, Polizeibegriff im Umbruch. 20 Delmas, Instituer des savoirs d’État.

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Thus, in the course of the Sattelzeit, a variety of clearly distinguishable cultures of expertise developed in the field of state-relevant knowledge. Their development, however, did not take place in isolated national spaces, but was the result of intensive transnational exchanges of concepts and knowledge. Investigating the channels and forms of these circulations in a broader European and sometimes even global setting is therefore one of the main goals of this book in order to present a more nuanced vision than in the classical historiography on “German” cameralism.21

I The Multiple Facets of State-Related Knowledge Rather than assuming that certain types of knowledge were objectively relevant for the state, this book focuses on the variability and heterogeneity, the contentious character and the latent contradictory nature of the knowledge declared as state-relevant by specific actors and groups of actors. It questions who decided which knowledge in which context was considered significant for a state, who was judged by whom as competent, how knowledge was ascertained, how it was delimited, ordered and classified, consolidated and authorised, and which power and design options arose from it in each case for the involved actors. In short: we examine the expertise cultures of the Sattelzeit in their diversity and specificity. Instead of the undifferentiated assumption that the availability of knowledge has always benefited the state formation, our approach encourages interpretations that are more complex. It aims at the representations as well as at the media and technical methods of storing, representing and passing on state-related knowledge, its dissemination, its (often symbolic) uses, and also at the circumstances and reasons under which knowledge was used or not used or could even be considered dysfunctional. How to define knowledge and how to distinguish it from information? We propose to consider information as a transformation of knowledge for transmission purposes. The addressees re-embed and re-contextualise, adapt and accommodate it with respect to their spatial, social and material conditions to use it as a base of orientation and action. They constitute knowledge by linking information to previous experiences, to established knowledge, to their “local” context, to aims and options for future action – in short: by attributing them a specific sense.22 As studies

21 Dittrich, Die deutschen und österreichischen Kameralisten; Brückner, Staatswissenschaften, Kameralismus und Naturrecht. 22 A different distinction is proposed by Burke, A Social History of Knowledge, vol. 1, 11: According to him, information “is relatively ‘raw’, specific and practical, while ‘knowledge’ denotes what has been ‘cooked’, processed or systemised by thought.” This definition is not very clear and bears the risk of an essentialist distinction. Cf. further on (critical to the broad concept of

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on the construction of scientific “facts” have shown,23 the analysis of the contexts and conditions of attributing sense to information, of local practices and cultures of verifying and establishing truth, of actors’ expectations and horizons open up the opportunity of a complex reconstruction of historical knowledge. This is the reason why the contributions of this volume attempt to analyse not only the collected and transferred state-related information, but also the conditions and contexts of its generation, its circulation, and its locally and personally specific use. It is, of course, necessary to integrate also the specific interpretations and cultural visions, which formed the basis of the knowledge formulated by the actors. Knowledge indeed is not an immaterial phenomenon, and it is not free floating for all who only open up to it and have sufficient mental capacity to capture it. Rather, it is always related to material and social (and consequently linked to geographic) conditions – to persons or groups, to their relative legal status, to their material possibilities, their social contacts, their mobility, and so forth. This observation is particularly true for the societies of orders of the European Old Regime, in which specific knowledge was generally identified with specific social groups.24 The Sattelzeit is marked by the questioning of the corporative encapsulation of knowledge by liberal arguments used by both entrepreneurs and state elites. Nevertheless, as the development of the administration shows, the access to knowledge remained the privilege of certain leading groups in society.25 Investigating the circulation of staterelated knowledge in the Sattelzeit thus means also to integrate the social hierarchies and differentiations characterising the European societies at the end of the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries in the general picture.

II The Historical Momentum of the Sattelzeit If the Sattelzeit has been identified widely as an era in which the development of the modern state coincided with the generalised quest for the production of “useful knowledge”, the relation of both of these processes is less clear. A number of authors have interpreted the collection of information and knowledge in Foucauldian terms as a genuine top-down project by which “the state” tried to inforce control

knowledge often prevailing in the history of knowledge) Brendecke [et al.], Information in der Frühen Neuzeit; Dauser [et al.], Einleitung, 7–9. 23 Latour/ Woolgar, Laboratory life; Latour, Science in Action; Knorr Cetina, The Manufacture of Knowledge; Knorr Cetina, Epistemic Cultures. 24 Dauser/ Schilling, Einleitung; Withers, Placing the Enlightenment, 5. 25 Armstrong, The European Administrative Elite; Bleek, Von der Kameralausbildung zum Juristenprivileg; Henning, Die deutsche Beamtenschaft; Laborier [et al.] (eds.), Les sciences camérales; Raphael, Recht.

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and obedience in the society (for the twentieth century this perspective is also that applied by James C. Scott).26 Others have presented the development of a culture of useful knowledge as a more or less bottom-up process driven mainly by private actors such as entrepreneurs or scientists (Mokyr).27 Contrary to these more or less schematic visions of the historical evolutions of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, the authors of this book follow a more nuanced and more historicised vision of the complex interrelations between the changes in the fields of knowledge on the one hand and the evolutions of the modern state on the other. Indeed, as the articles of this volume show, the Sattelzeit was characterised by rapid changes and advancements in different fields of knowledge and the reappraisal of fields which traditionally had been neglected by the territorial governments (like the agronomy brought to the fore not only by the physiocrats).28 These fundamental changes led to the development of a broad, knowledge-based culture of innovation, which cannot be seen unilaterally as the achievement of a small group of “enlightened” experts, but rather as the result of a complex negotiation process, which was anything but purposeful, involving farmers and other subjects as well as public officials and economic societies.29 This negotiation process concerned not only economic and technical innovations, but also new structures and visions of the state. Four general trends can be distinguished, which characterised the evolution in almost all European states at least since the second half of the eighteenth century under the auspices of enlightened reform, regardless of the already mentioned diversity of expertise cultures: First, under the influence of a political philosophy that for the benefit of both the monarch and the society propagated the extension of state activities to new fields, technical elites tried to inscribe their own professional knowledge in a broader project of the state claiming the particular usefulness of the state’s grip over specific fields of competence. They even often presented their expertise as part of a general organisational schema of the state, thus trying to become themselves agents of the state as part of a newly formed administration.30 In the context of the cameralist movement that was particularly strong in the German states but affected also many other European countries, sectors like mining, forestry or industry were therefore presented as areas in which the state, relying on the knowledge of experts, could generate

26 Scott, Seeing Like a State. 27 Mokyr, The Enlightened Economy. 28 Jones, Agricultural Enlightenment; Vivier (ed.), The State and Rural Societies; Richter, Pflug und Steuerruder; Lacour, La République naturaliste; Popplow, Landschaften. 29 Popplow, Die ökonomische Aufklärung als Innovationskultur; cf. on the debate on “culture of innovation” and “economic enlightenment” Wakefield, Butterfield’s nightmare; Popplow, Nightmares in Disneyland. 30 Wakefield, The disordered Police State, explores this connection, but tends to denounce it by measuring it by anachronistic standards.

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specific and more useful forms of knowledge than private actors. Corresponding arguments were repeatedly put forward to legitimate the growing activity of public institutions in these fields. Thus, Heinrich Cotta, the founder and first director of the Royal Saxon Academy of Forestry in Tharandt, argued in 1822: “Only the state manages things for eternity”, which meant for him that only the state was able to conduct a sustainable forestry.31 Medical doctors and other professional groups made similar arguments. It is particularly interesting for historians to analyse the complex factors determining whether these efforts were successful or not but also how “private”, nonstate actors coped with the claims of state-oriented actors to regulate and transform the particular fields of action with respect to the general public interest. Second, the ongoing process of academisation that affected both the formation of the administrative personnel and the education of the political elites clearly increased the importance of scientific knowledge and its practices inside the bureaucracy of the still mostly monarchical states in Europe. While academic titles and training became more and more compulsory for higher posts in the administration (culminating for instance in the famous Juristenprivileg in Prussia and other German states),32 scientific practices triggered down also to the lower levels of public service: map making, statistics, cadastres and other techniques altered the activities of bureaucracies even on the local level. If this academisation process induced a certain formalisation and institutionalisation of the structures and the functioning of public administrations, nevertheless it should not be equated with a general loss of importance of the actors and the social logics of their interactions. Third, if these general evolutions often came out from parallel initiatives that occurred at the same time in different countries out of similar constellations, they were also widely discussed in an unfolding European public sphere. Observation and comparison of administrative practices in other countries were therefore from the very beginning important impulses for the state reformists in Europe. However, if this circulation of knowledge for and about the state and its organisation characterised already the debates of the early modern times, the Sattelzeit became a period of particular intensive exchange of administrative practices and knowledge under the signs of almost permanent warfare and the processes of forced territorialisation. The drawing of new boundaries and the occupation or acquisition of new territories forced the state bureaucracies to re-evaluate their existing administrative practices and to integrate new local knowledge. This also explains striking similarities of the actual shape of the modern state in different parts of Europe.33

31 Cited by Radkau, Wood, 150; the book clearly identifies the link between “State reform and forest reform” (ibid, 149–152). 32 Bleek, Von der Kameralausbildung zum Juristenprivileg. 33 Beaurepaire/ Pourchasse (eds.), Les circulations internationales; Raj/ Terrall (eds.), Circulation and Locality; Dauser/ Schilling (eds.), Grenzen und Kontaktzonen (URL); Hilaire-Pérez [et al.] (eds.), L’Europe des sciences et des techniques.

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Fourth, it seems evident that in the course of the Sattelzeit the modes of communication and knowledge circulation, the practices associated with knowledge and the social formations and networks supporting them changed fundamentally. Even though these processes of change have not been sufficiently studied to this day, it seems obvious that they cannot be reduced to the replacement of the traditional “Republic of letters” by primarily national knowledge cultures.34 It is to be expected that the study of the spatial reference of concrete knowledge and the social practices associated with it will contribute to the critical examination and possibly revision of this model. In this context, questions that have been examined in studies on “cultural transfer” and histoire croisée, particularly with a view to literary and traditional cultural exchange processes, are of great interest for inquiries on the circulation of state-related knowledge.35 Did contemporary actors consider state-related knowledge to be equally valid in any state, or rather to be only applicable to one territory or even to small-scale local situations? Where and by whom was state-related knowledge collected, discussed and published? How was it exchanged, compared and formalised? What about the interfaces between social groups, respectively between social groups and state institutions? How important was the origin of knowledge – for example, from Paris, which was widely considered to be one of the centres of the intellectual life in Europe – for its reception in other spaces of knowledge? To what extent did the revolutionary wars and the Napoleonic occupation alter the circulation of state-related knowledge in different regions? Did new knowledge landscapes and cultures emerge, or did they remain intact in their previous structures beyond the threshold of the revolutionary era?

III Axes of Investigation The book pursues these general questions in three different directions: 1.

Defining the fields of the state The first part addresses the ways and forms by which experts and expertise intervened in the definition of specific areas of state action in the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. As we have indicated above, the specific “functions” of the modern state and its concrete competences in the various fields were not defined from the very beginning but became shaped in a complex process by historical actors. The articles in this part highlight the various forms in which

34 Füssel/ Mulsow, Gelehrtenrepublik; Daston/ Otte, The Ideal and Reality of the Republic of Letters; Jessen/ Vogel (eds.), Wissenschaft und Nation. For the older literature see: Kanz, Nationalismus und internationale Zusammenarbeit. 35 Espagne/ Werner (eds.), Transferts; Werner/ Zimmermann (eds.), De la comparaison à l’histoire croisée; Werner/ Zimmermann, Beyond Comparison.

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expert knowledge was mobilised in this context, and that not only in a classical functional perspective as a practical tool that helped the actors to actually develop specific fields, like technology, agriculture or mining, but also as a rhetorical resource to claim specific competence over different fields of action. Whether or not specific areas were accepted as “public” missions and therefore as a legitimate part of the state’s prerogative was in itself a part of the struggle. The analysis of the different historical configurations in which these debates took place reveals that the claim of a particular scientific expertise and its general acceptance in the academic context did not necessarily mean also a practical competence in a given field. “Expertise” was in itself a contested concept and could be ascribed to actors not least because of a certain “practical knowledge”.36 In the context of the state and its growing administration, this “practical knowledge” could embrace very different elements from a more “technical” competence of non-academic specialists to the ability of actors to mobilise specific social relations in the political field. To this general tension between scientific experts and “practitioners” came also the rivalries between different state administrations or groups of experts that sometimes tried to invest the same areas.37 It is therefore particularly interesting for the historian to analyse the often very complex struggles by which the effective “competence” over a certain field of state action was ascribed to particular actors. 2.

36 37 38 39

Circulating state-related knowledge The contributions in the second part of this book focus on the circulation of state-related knowledge. The number and diversity of the media, processes, forms and institutions of exchange serving or even established for this purpose was considerable – and it increased significantly since the eighteenth century. In addition to the corresponding activities of administrations, we have to consider those of corporations, enlightened societies, academies and courts as well as a wide variety of printed matter ranging from calendars and journals to scholarly treatises, but also correspondence and travel activities of different kinds of project makers and experts, howsoever authorised. From this multiplicity, this volume highlights four examples of how and along which lines of orientation concrete media, social practices and institutions promoted (but also limited, controlled or even prevented) the acquisition and establishment of specific forms and assets of state-related knowledge.38 We use the model of circulating knowledge,39 which implies continuous but not necessarily symmetrical processes of exchange, since institutional and social

Cf. notes 10–13; Becker/ Clark (eds.), Little Tools of Knowledge. Laborier [et al.] (eds.), Les sciences camérales. Würgler, Medien. Raj, Relocating Modern Science.

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hierarchies shape these processes as well as target strategies of obfuscation and agnotology.40 However, the exchange and implementation of knowledge cannot be understood as one-way communication processes. For example, attempts to initiate innovations in the Age of Enlightenment in rural societies, which had been largely traditional up to then, are difficult to grasp with one-sided models of communication and impact, which presume “enlightened” experts on the one hand and more or less innovation-averse farmers on the other.41 3.

Negotiating scales and spaces of the state The third part examines the granularity and scale at which actors developed knowledge, how they considered local, regional and other space-related specificities and how they integrated different levels of the state’s action. In the period under study in this volume, the expansion of governmental activities often led to an increasing interference of state authorities in previously largely autonomous spheres that were either peripheral to the state centres because of their geographical distances and isolation or characterised by a strong political independence based on powerful social actors. Of course, the different actors and groups could have very divergent positions on the question to which extent the intervention of central administrations should homogenise normative orders and living conditions or whether they had on the contrary to take into account local conditions and local knowledge.42 These controversies occurred in particular in composite monarchies and global empires, which not only had to integrate a great number of geographically, politically, socially and culturally very diverse spaces but also were very closely entangled one with each other.43 Territorial change in the wake of dynastic inheritances of the late Old Regime and the upheaval of the European political landscape in the revolutionary era also repeatedly raised the question of the relationship of local and regional political entities to the states and empires into which they were incorporated. These situations not only imposed transfer and circulation of state relevant knowledge (and often its “bearers” as well) but also raised the question of its adaption (and adaptability) to specific local and regional conditions. How did experts, governments and states interact in this process with local societies, peripheral areas and frontier spaces where they hardly had been present until then; and to what extent and in which ways were local knowledge and expertise taken in account?44 Each vision of the

40 Proctor/ Schiebinger (eds.), Agnotology. 41 For some examples cf. Dauser [et al.] (eds.), Wissenszirkulation auf dem Land. 42 Raj/Terrall (eds.), Circulation and locality; Vogel, Locality and Circulation. 43 Elliott, A Europe of Composite Monarchies; Wendehorst (ed.), Die Anatomie frühneuzeitlicher Imperien. For an application of these questions see e.g. Cañizares-Esguerra (ed.), Entangled Empires; Delbourgo/ Dew, Science; Lebeau, Quel gouvernement. 44 Rublack, Frühneuzeitliche Staatlichkeit; Holenstein, Die Umstände der Normen; Eibach, Der Staat vor Ort. The classical quote for the concept of “local knowledge” is Geertz, Local Knowledge,

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scales and the spaces of a state, its tasks and structures corresponded to a specific vision of the delimitations, scales and spaces of state-relevant knowledge. It is therefore necessary to integrate into the analysis of the historian, besides the often shifting political shape of the different territories, also the specific “mental maps”45 of the historical actors involved in the creation and circulation of this state-relevant knowledge. The chapters of this book explore these and other important questions concerning the very complex role that shared and circulating knowledge played in the shaping of the modern state. They intend to give a somewhat more nuanced and historically contextualised vision of the evolution of the state and its knowledge order. This “modern state” should not be interpreted as the reflection of a more or less “functional” order but as the outcome of a multi-layered, historically bounded, most of the times heavily disputed and sometimes even contradictory historical process. It is this historicity of the evolution and the multiple circulations of staterelated knowledge that in the end explains both the striking similarities of the knowledge order between most European states since the end of the eighteenth century and the specificity of its concrete forms in each territory. It is the interesting task of the historian to unravel these very complex entanglements and to ensure a multi-faced, open vision of the historical processes of the construction of the individual states and their administration. As such, the contributions to this book challenge both conventional national narratives of the evolution of particular states and more general political science or sociological explanations of the rise of “the modern state” in Europe.

References Secondary Works Armstrong, John Alexander, The European Administrative Elite, Princeton (NJ) 1973. Ash, Eric H., Introduction: Expertise and the Early Modern State, in idem (ed.), Expertise, 1–24. Ash, Eric H., The Draining of the Fens. Projectors, Popular Politics, and State Building in Early Modern England, Baltimore (MD) 2017. Ash, Eric H. (ed.), Expertise. Practical Knowledge and the Early Modern State, Chicago 2010 (Osiris 25). Beaurepaire, Pierre-Yves/ Pourchasse, Pierrick (eds.), Les Circulations internationales en Europe, années 1680 – années 1780, Rennes 2010. Becker, Peter/ Clark, William (eds.), Little Tools of Knowledge. Historical Essays on Academic and Bureaucratic Practices, Ann Arbor (MI) 2001.

although the book does not provide many elements for a clear definition of the concept. For some elements of a critique of the term, see Vogel, Locality and Circulation. 45 Schenk, Mental Maps (URL).

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Behrisch, Lars, Die Berechnung der Glückseligkeit. Statistik und Politik in Deutschland und Frankreich im späten Ancien Régime, Sigmaringen 2015 (Francia. Beiheft 78). Bleek, Wilhelm, Von der Kameralausbildung zum Juristenprivileg. Studium, Prüfung und Ausbildung der höheren Beamten des allgemeinen Verwaltungsdienstes in Deutschland im 18. und 19. Jahrhundert, Berlin 1973. Brendecke, Arndt, The Empirical Empire. Spanish Colonial Rule and the Politics of Knowledge, Berlin/ Boston (MA) 2016. Brendecke, Arndt [et al.] (eds.), Information in der Frühen Neuzeit. Status, Bestände, Strategie, Münster 2008 (Pluralisierung & Autorität 16). Brian, Éric, La Mesure de l’État. Administrateurs et géomètres au XVIIIe siècle, Paris 1994. Brückner, Jutta, Staatswissenschaften, Kameralismus und Naturrecht. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der politischen Wissenschaft im Deutschland des späten 17. und frühen 18. Jahrhunderts, Munich 1977. Cañizares-Esguerra, Jorge (ed.), Entangled Empires. The Anglo-Iberian Atlantic, 1500–1830, Philadelphia (PA) 2018. Collin, Peter/ Horstmann, Thomas (eds.), Das Wissen des Staates. Geschichte, Theorie und Praxis, Baden-Baden 2004. Damay, Ludovine [et al.] (eds.), Savoirs experts et profanes dans la construction des problèmes publics, Brussels 2011, 27–53. Daston, Lorraine/ Otte, Michael, The Ideal and Reality of the Republic of Letters in the Enlightenment, in Science in Context 4 (1991), 367–386. Dauser, Regina [et al.], Einleitung, in Dauser [et al.] (eds.), Wissenszirkulation, 7–14. Dauser, Regina/ Schilling, Lothar, Einleitung. Raumbezüge staatsrelevanten Wissens, in idem (eds.), Grenzen und Kontaktzonen, http://www.perspectivia.net/content/publikationen/ discussions/7-2012/dauser-schilling_einleitung (last access 1.3.2018). Dauser, Regina/ Schilling, Lothar (eds.), Grenzen und Kontaktzonen – Rekonfigurationen von Wissensräumen zwischen Frankreich und den deutschen Ländern 1700 – 1850. Erster ‘Euroscientia’-Workshop, 15./ 16.09.2011, discussions 7 (2012), http://www.perspectivia.net/ content/publikationen/discussions/7-2012/ (last access 1.3.2018). Dauser, Regina [et al.] (eds.), Wissenszirkulation auf dem Land vor der Industrialisierung, Augsburg 2016. Dear, Peter, Mysteries of State, Mysteries of Nature: Authority, Knowledge and Expertise in the Seventeenth Century, in Sheila Jasanoff (ed.), States of Knowledge. The Co-production of Science and Social Order, London/ New York 2004, 206–224. Delmas, Corinne, Instituer des savoirs d’État. L’Académie des sciences morales et politiques au XIXème siècle, Paris 2006. Delmas, Corinne, Savoirs experts, expertises profanes et malaise des cadres, in Damay [et al.] (eds.), Savoirs experts et profanes, 27–53. Delbourgo, James/ Dew, Nicholas (eds.), Science and Empire in the Atlantic World, New York 2008. Dictionnaire de l’Académie françoise, dédié au Roy, 2 vols., Paris 1694. Dittrich, Erhard, Die deutschen und österreichischen Kameralisten, Darmstadt 1974. Eibach, Joachim, Der Staat vor Ort. Amtmänner und Bürger im 19. Jahrhundert am Beispiel Badens, Frankfurt a.M. 1994 (Historische Studien 14). Elliot, John H., A Europe of Composite Monarchies, in Past & Present 137 (1992), 48–71. Engstrom, Eric J. [et al.] (eds.), Ambivalenzen der wissenschaftlichen Expertise im ausgehenden 18. und frühen 19. Jahrhundert, Frankfurt a.M. 2005. Espagne, Michel/ Werner, Michael (eds.), Transferts. Les relations interculturelles dans l’espace franco-allemand (XVIIIe et XIXe siècle), Paris 1988.

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Foucault, Michel, La gouvernementalité [1978], last published in idem, Dits et écrits 1954–1988, vol. 3, Paris 1994, 635–657. Foucault, Michel, Sécurité, territoire, population. Cours au Collège de France (1977–1978), ed. Michel Senellart, Paris 2004. Füssel, Marian/ Mulsow, Martin (eds.), Gelehrtenrepublik, Hamburg 2015 (Aufklärung 26). Füssel, Marian [et al.] (eds.), Höfe und Experten. Relationen von Macht und Wissen in Mittelalter und Früher Neuzeit, Göttingen 2018. Fulda, Daniel, Sattelzeit. Karriere und Problematik eines kulturwissenschaftlichen Zentralbegriffs, in Elisabeth Décultot/ idem (eds.), Sattelzeit. Historiographiegeschichtliche Revisionen, Berlin 2016, 1–18. Geertz, Clifford, Local Knowledge. Further Essays in Interpretive Anthropology, New York 1983. Henning, Hansjoachim, Die deutsche Beamtenschaft im 19. Jahrhundert. Zwischen Stand und Beruf, Wiesbaden 1984. Hilaire-Pérez, Liliane [et al.], État, science et entreprise dans l’Europe moderne, in Stéphane Van Damme (ed.), Histoire des sciences et des savoirs, vol. 1: De la Renaissance aux Lumières, Paris 2015, 411–429. Hilaire-Pérez, Liliane [et al.] (eds.), L’Europe des sciences et des techniques. Un dialogue des savoirs, XVe–XVIIIe siècle, Rennes 2016 (Histoire. Série Techniques, savoirs, sociétés). Hitzler, Ronald [et al.] (eds.), Expertenwissen. Die institutionalisierte Kompetenz zur Konstruktion von Wirklichkeit, Opladen 1994. Holenstein, André, Die Umstände der Normen – die Normen der Umstände. Policeyordnungen im kommunikativen Handeln von Verwaltung und lokaler Gesellschaft im Ancien Regime, in Karl Härter (ed.), Policey und frühneuzeitliche Gesellschaft, Frankfurt a.M. 2000, 1–46. Hoppit, Julian, Political Arithmetic in Eighteenth-Century England, in Economic History Review 3 (1996), 516–540. Humboldt, Wilhelm von, Ideen zu einem Versuch, die Grenzen der Wirksamkeit des Staates zu bestimmen [written in 1792], Stuttgart 2002. Humboldt, Wilhelm von, The Limits of State Action, ed. with an introduction and notes by J.W. Burrow, Cambridge 1969. Jessen, Ralph/ Vogel, Jakob (eds.), Wissenschaft und Nation in der europäischen Geschichte, Frankfurt a. M. 2002. Jones, Peter M., Agricultural Enlightenment. Knowledge, Technology, and Nature, 1750–1840, Oxford 2016. Kanz, Kai-Torsten, Nationalismus und internationale Zusammenarbeit in den Naturwissenschaften: die deutsch-französischen Wissenschaftsbeziehungen zwischen Revolution und Restauration, 1789–1832, Stuttgart 1997. Kaschuba, Wolfgang (ed.), Wissensgeschichte als Gesellschaftsgeschichte, Göttingen 2008 (Geschichte und Gesellschaft 34). Klein, Ursula/ Spary, Emma C. (eds.), Materials and Expertise in Early Modern Europe. Between Market and Laboratory, Chicago (IL) 2009. Knorr Cetina, Karin, The Epistemic Cultures. The Sciences Make Knowledge, Cambridge 1999. Knorr Cetina, Karin, The Manufacture of Knowledge. An Essay on the Constructivist and Contextual Nature of Science, Oxford 1981. Koselleck, Reinhart, Einleitung, in Otto Brunner [et al.] (eds.), Geschichtliche Grundbegriffe. Historisches Lexikon zur politisch-sozialen Sprache in Deutschland, vol. 1, Stuttgart 1972, XIII–XXVII. Krajewski, Markus (ed.), Projektemacher. Zur Produktion von Wissen in der Vorform des Scheiterns, 2. ed., Berlin 2006 (Copyrights 15).

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Kümin, Beat/ Würgler, Andreas, Petitions, Gravamina and the Early Modern State. Local Influence on Central Legislation in England and Germany (Hesse), in Parliaments, Estates & Representation 17 (1997), 39–60. Laborier, Pascale [et al.] (eds.), Les sciences camérales: Activités pratiques et histoire des dispositifs publics, Paris 2011. Lacour, Pierre-Yves, La République naturaliste. Collections d’histoire naturelle et Révolution française (1789–1804), Paris 2004. Latour, Bruno, Science in Action. How to Follow Scientists and Engineers through Society, Cambridge 1987. Latour, Bruno/ Woolgar, Steve, Laboratory Life. The Construction of Scientific Facts, Princeton (NJ) 1979. Lebeau, Christine, Circulations internationales et savoirs d’État au XVIIIe siècle, in Beaurepaire/ Pourchasse (eds.), Les Circulations internationales, 169–179. Lebeau, Christine, Quel gouvernement pour quel empire? Du Saint-Empire à l’empire d’Autriche, in Monde(s) 2/2012, 151–166. Lebeau, Christine/ Margairaz, Dominique, Les savoirs d’État l’épreuve de la République, in Pierre Serna (ed.), Républiques sœurs. Le Directoire et la Révolution atlantique, Rennes 2009, 53–73. Leonhard, Jörn, Liberalismus. Zur historischen Semantik eines Deutungsmusters, Munich 2001. Lindenfeld, David F., The Practical Imagination. The German Sciences of State in the Nineteenth Century, Chicago (IL) 1997. Matsumoto, Naoko, Polizeibegriff im Umbruch. Staatszwecklehre und Gewaltenteilungspraxis in der Reichs- und Rheinbundpublizistik, Frankfurt a.M. 1999. Mokyr, Joel, The Enlightened Economy. An Economic History of Britain 1700–1850, New Haven (CT)/ London 2009 (The New Economic History of Britain). Montel, Nathalie, Pour une histoire concrète des savoirs d’État au XIXe siècle: chantiers, vestiges et pratiques, in Revue d’histoire du XIXe siècle. Thèses et HDR soutenues, mis en ligne le 16 mai 2009, http://rh19.revues.org/3856 (last access 1.3.2018). Napoli, Paolo, Naissance de la police moderne. Pouvoir, normes, société, Paris 2003. Perrot, Jean-Claude, Les premières statistiques au regard de l’histoire intellectuelle, in Schweizerische Zeitschrift für Geschichte 45 (1995), 51–62. Popplow, Marcus, Die Ökonomische Aufklärung als Innovationskultur des 18. Jahrhunderts zur optimierten Nutzung natürlicher Ressourcen, in idem (ed.), Landschaften agrarischökonomischen Wissens, 2–48. Popplow, Marcus, Nightmares in Disneyland – A Note on Andre Wakefield's Critique of Nonactors' Terms and Alleged Cold War Rhetoric, in History and Technology: An International Journal 31 (2015), 1–2. Popplow, Marcus (ed.), Landschaften agrarisch-ökonomischen Wissens. Regionale Fallstudien zu landwirtschaftlichen und gewerblichen Themen in Zeitschriften und Sozietäten des 18. Jahrhunderts, Münster/ New York 2010 (Cottbuser Studien zur Geschichte von Technik, Arbeit und Umwelt 30). Proctor, Robert N./ Schiebinger, Londa (eds.), Agnotology. The Making and Unmaking of Ignorance, Palo Alto (CA) 2008. Rabier, Christelle (ed.), Fields of Expertise. A Comparative History of Expert Procedures in Paris and London 1600 to present, Newcastle-upon-Tyne 2007. Radkau, Joachim, Wood. A History, Cambridge/ Malden (MA) 2012. Raj, Kapil, Relocating Modern Science. Circulation and the Construction of Knowledge in South Asia and Europe, 1650–1900, Basingstoke 2006.

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Raj, Kapil/ Terrall, Mary (eds.), Circulation and Locality in Early Modern Science (The British Journal for the History of Science 43 [2010]). Raphael, Lutz, Recht und Ordnung: Herrschaft durch Verwaltung im 19. Jahrhundert, Frankfurt a.M. 2002. Reich, Björn [et al.] (eds.), Wissen, maßgeschneidert. Experten und Expertenkulturen im Europa der Vormoderne, Munich 2012 (Historische Zeitschrift. Beiheft 57). Reinhard, Wolfgang, Geschichte der Staatsgewalt. Eine vergleichende Verfassungsgeschichte Europas von den Anfängen bis zur Gegenwart, Munich 1999. Renn, Jürgen, From the History of Science to the History of Knowledge – and Back, in Centaurus 57/1 (2015), 37–53. Rexroth, Frank/ Schröder-Stapper, Teresa (eds.), Experten, Wissen, Symbole. Performanz und Medialität vormoderner Wissenskulturen, Berlin 2018 (Historische Zeitschrift. Beiheft 71). Rexroth, Frank/ Schröder-Stapper, Teresa (eds.), Systemvertrauen und Expertenskepsis. Die Utopie vom maßgeschneiderten Wissen in den Kulturen des 12. bis 16. Jahrhunderts, in Reich [et al.] (eds.), Wissen, maßgeschneidert, 12–44. Richter, Susan, Pflug und Steuerruder. Zur Verflechtung von Herrschaft und Landwirtschaft in der Aufklärung, Cologne [et al.] 2015 (Archiv für Kulturgeschichte. Beiheft 75). Rublack, Ulinka, Frühneuzeitliche Staatlichkeit und lokale Herrschaftspraxis in Württemberg, in Zeitschrift für historische Forschung 24 (1997), 347–376. Schenk, Frithjof Benjamin, Mental Maps: Die kognitive Kartierung des Kontinents als Forschungsgegenstand der europäischen Geschichte, in Europäische Geschichte Online (EGO), Mainz 2013-06-05, www.ieg-ego.eu/schenkf-2013-de; URN: urn: nbn:de:01592013052237 (last access 27.6.2018). Scott, James C., Seeing Like a State. How Certain Schemes to Improve the Human Condition Have Failed, New Haven (CT) 1998 (Yale Agrarian Studies). Shapin, Steven, A Social History of Truth. Civility and Science in Seventeenth-Century England, Chicago 1994. Soll, Jacob, The Information Master. Jean-Baptiste Colbert’s Secret State Intelligence System, Ann Arbor (MI) 2009. Späth, Jens, Revolution in Europa 1820–23. Verfassung und Verfassungskultur in den Königreichen Spanien, beider Sizilien und Sardinien-Piemont, Cologne 2012 (Italien in der Moderne 19). Speich Chassé, Daniel/ Gugerli, David, Wissensgeschichte. Eine Standortbestimmung, in Traverse. Zeitschrift für Geschichte 18/1 (2012), 85–100. Stolleis, Michael, Geschichte des öffentlichen Rechts in Deutschland, vol. 1: Reichspublizistik und Policeywissenschaft, Munich 1988. Tribe, Keith, Governing Economy. The reformation of German economic discourse 1750–1840, Cambridge 1988. Turner, Stephen, What is the Problem with Experts?, in Social Studies of Science 31 (2001), 123–149. Van Damme, Stéphane, Le temple de la sagesse. Savoirs, écriture et sociabilité urbaine (Lyon, 17e–18e siècles), Paris 2005. Vivier, Nadine, The State and Rural Societies. Policy and Education in Europe 1750–2000, Turnhout 2008 (Rural History in Europe 4). Vogel, Jakob, Locality and Circulation in the Habsburg Empire. Disputing the Carlsbad Medical Salt, 1763–1784, in Raj/ Terral (eds.), Circulation and Locality, 589–606. Vogel, Jakob, Von der Wissenschafts- zur Wissensgeschichte. Für eine Historisierung der “Wissensgesellschaft”, in Geschichte und Gesellschaft 30 (2004), 639–660. Wakefield, Andre, Butterfield’s Nightmare. The History of Science as Disney History, in History and Technology. An International Journal 30 (2014), 232–251.

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Wakefield, Andre, The Disordered Police State. German Cameralism in Science and Practice, Chicago 2009. Walton, Steven A., State Building through Building for the State: Foreign and Domestic Expertise in Tudor Fortification, in Ash (ed.), Expertise, 66–84. Weber, Max, Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft, 5. ed., Tübingen 1972. Wegmann, Milène, Naturwahrnehmung im Mittelalter im Spiegel der lateinischen Historiographie des 12. und 13. Jahrhunderts, Bern [et al.] 2005. Wendehorst, Stephan (ed.), Die Anatomie frühneuzeitlicher Imperien. Herrschaftsmanagement jenseits von Staat und Nation, Berlin 2015 (Bibliothek Altes Reich 5). Werner, Michael/ Zimmermann, Bénédicte (eds.), Beyond Comparison. Histoire Croisée and the Challenge of Reflexivity, in History and Theory 45 (2006), 30–50. Werner, Michael/ Zimmermann, Bénédicte (eds.), De la comparaison à l’histoire croisée, Paris 2004 (Le Genre humain 42). Withers, Charles W., Placing the Enlightenment. Thinking Geographically about the Age of Reason, Chicago 2007. Würgler, Andreas, Medien in der Frühen Neuzeit, Munich 2009.

Part I: Defining the Fields of the State

Jani Marjanen

State and Civil Society in the Diffusion of Agricultural Knowledge in Sweden and Finland, 1739–1830 I Introduction Some thirteen organisations producing and disseminating useful knowledge in the areas of science, economy and agriculture were established in Sweden between the years 1739 and 1813. They were all linked to the crown in some way and saw themselves as promoting knowledge that was required to ensure the elevation of the Swedish realm as one of the great powers in Europe. Most of them were formed as societies, but there were variations in structure and design. The Royal Academy of Sciences, for instance, was founded in 1739 as a closed academy comprising a small group of scientists.1 The Royal Patriotic Society, founded in 1766, first emerged as a branch of the lodge-like secret society Pro Patria that was active in Stockholm.2 The Royal Finnish Economic Society, founded in 1797, was organised as an open-to-all society at the initiative of learned men, most of whom resided in the Finnish parts of the Swedish kingdom.3 And the Royal Swedish Agricultural Academy, founded in 1811, was established as a central academy with a fixed number of seats and locally anchored county-wide societies.4 Whereas most previous research on these organisations concerns their impact and internal development, it is argued in this chapter that they should be interpreted as a series of Swedish responses to the need for improving the state’s economy.5 It is further suggested that the shifting organisational forms were used to test various internationally circulating models for producing knowledge and implementing improvements. This was particularly the case with regard to agricultural knowledge, which was increasingly seen as the key to economic prosperity but was also the most difficult to disseminate among practitioners. The notion of model testing is also apt in the sense that any new organisation that was intended to promote economic development was in the interest of the state, but new organisations also challenged the crown’s authority. Hence, the organisation and activities of each academy or society were monitored closely by civil servants.

1 Lindroth, Kungl. Svenska Vetenskapsakademiens historia, 1–6. 2 Högberg, Kungl. patriotiska sällskapets historia, 21–41. 3 Cygnæus, K. Finska Hushållningssällskapet, 89–101. 4 Edling, För modernäringens modernisering, 103–186. 5 Edling, För modernäringens modernisering, 20–43, and Marjanen, Den ekonomiska patriotismens uppgång och fall, 106–147, are exceptions. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110553734-002

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In analysing the adaptation of models in Sweden, this chapter focuses on the role of space, borders, and transnational contacts in shaping intellectual milieus, a topic that has been neglected in the history of knowledge.6 It shows that adaptation simultaneously entailed gaining from a transnational republic of letters and supporting arguments that local circumstances demanded specific solutions at home. A further contribution is to the long-ranging discussion about state and civil-society relations in the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries.7 The interplay between new civic organisations, civil servants and the promotion of useful agricultural knowledge shows how the shaping of Swedish civil society was far from detached from the state’s interests. At a time when the concept of civil society (societas civilis, borgerliga samhället) was gaining momentum in describing political life in a state,8 these new organisations were vehicles for civic engagement. In a sense, the societies, clubs and lodges established at this time functioned as test beds for civil servants, nobles and clergymen to try out new forms of collective organisation.

II The Business of Improvement and the Dissemination of Agricultural Knowledge The rising interest in the economy and the improvement of agriculture in the eighteenth century is well documented. The words agriculture and economy became more frequent in English, French and German public discourse, especially after the mid-century.9 Journals that targeted economic issues flourished, and economic matters gained more prominence in established outlets such as encyclopaedias.10 Economic pamphlets and handbooks became bestsellers and circulated widely around Europe.11 New organisations, in particular economic societies, proliferated and became a feature in most big cities in Europe.12 This rising interest was strongly propelled by the idea of economic competition among European states, a way of thinking that was increasingly echoed in 6 Dauser/Schilling, Einleitung (URL). 7 For references and the Swedish debate, see Hallberg, The nationalization and popularization of political language. 8 Lindberg, Den antika skevheten, 71–74. On civic rhetoric, see also Wolff, Noble Conceptions of Politics, 70–76. 9 This claim is based on the Google Books Ngram Viewer (since the dataset is problematic, I have compared results with searches in Eighteenth-Century Collections Online and the Deutsches Textarchiv). 10 For a nice illustration, see Shovlin, The Political Economy of Virtue, 2–5. 11 Carpenter, The Economic Bestsellers (URL); Reinert, Translating Empire. 12 Stapelbroek / Marjanen, Political Economy, Patriotism and the Rise of Societies, 12–17.

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economic thought after the Seven Years’ War.13 The need to survive this rivalry called for emulating good practices from other countries in developing commerce, manufacturing and agriculture. Economic thinkers obviously disagreed on which measures and which branches of trades were in the most need of improvement, but advances in agriculture were not disregarded. Developing agriculture became a central topic for anyone promoting the common good.14 Many writers on economic issues lamented the slow adaptation of relevant knowledge to bringing about economic and agricultural improvement. Historical studies also point out that practitioners were slow to adopt new methods in science.15 It seems that this was particularly the case with agricultural knowledge. Although innovations in mining, for example, did require dissemination and may have been met with scepticism by practitioners, the distance between innovators and implementers was shorter than with regard to agriculture. Further, as at least 75 percent of the working population in Europe were employed in agriculture in the mid-eighteenth century, the numbers of people who needed to be reached to bring about changes in farming practices were much bigger than for reforms in other branches of the economy.16 It became increasingly clear during the course of the eighteenth century that any attempt to disseminate state-relevant agricultural knowledge required organisations that could reach practitioners more widely.

III Organising the Dissemination of Agricultural Knowledge in Sweden The Academy of Sciences (Kungliga Vetenskapakademien, founded in 1739) is usually held as the first Swedish non-educational organisation properly to address the production of scientific knowledge in relation to economic improvement. The academy was set up in connection with the ongoing Riksdag (‘Estate assembly’) as a group of scientists who sought to establish something along the lines of the Royal Society in Britain. The founders were successful in promoting their project, gaining royal support for its publications in 1740 and a royal charter in 1741. The now Royal Academy of Sciences did differ from the Royal Society on which it was modelled in its focus on practical and useful knowledge. Its initiator, Mårten Triewald, even planned to call it an “oeconomic science society”, and although the name changed, the academy’s focus on the economy remained. In fact, much of its publications

13 14 15 16

Hont, Jealousy of Trade, 1–156. Jones, Agricultural Enlightenment, 14–31. Dauser/Schilling, Einleitung (URL). James, Agricultural Enlightenment, 1.

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focused on economic issues, and the academy soon become one of the most prominent scholarly organisations in Europe with such a focus.17 The academy was not the only organisation to concentrate on the economy. A mining collegium (Bergskollegium) and a manufacturing office (Manufakturkontoret) had been established, but they had no scientific ambition, and were rather administrative units. The academy also provided something new organisationally. It constituted “persons who had come together in the purpose of cultivating all kinds of sciences” and had started corresponding with “economically oriented and learned men” from home and abroad.18 Hence, although it was associated with the king, it was an independent organisation that recruited its own members, driven by ideas of common utility to “serve you [the reader] and the Fatherland”.19 It managed to include Sweden’s leading figures in science at the time, most notably Carl Linnaeus (later von Linné), and soon also established international contacts by inviting foreign corresponding members and setting up formalised contacts with academies, scientific societies, and economic societies elsewhere. Its publications did not readily foster the international circulation of ideas, however: according to a set policy, they were published in Swedish to promote the Swedish language as a medium for science, and to ensure the applicability of new discoveries locally. Translations started circulating in the 1740s, and Abraham Gotthelf Kaestner even started a German edition in 1749. Reportedly, a handful of foreign scientists who could not read German even learned Swedish to be able to peruse the material.20 Even though the Royal Academy of Sciences was probably the most utilityoriented academy of its time, it was challenged precisely because it did not devote enough space to economic issues and improvement. In particular, its economic focus was very much on mechanics. Agriculture received relatively little attention in its publications, although it was present in its emblems and rhetoric.21 Four ultimately unsuccessful proposals to set up organisations that were distinctly oriented toward economic or agricultural improvement were put forward between the years 1738 and 1756. Although three of them were described as societies (societet, samhälde), the plans show that they were envisioned as administrative organs rather than civic organisations.22

17 Lindroth, Kungl. Svenska Vetenskapsakademiens historia, 1–3, 217, 226. 18 Kongl. Swenska Wetenskaps Academiens Handlingar, vol I, [iii]–[iv]. 19 Kongl. Swenska Wetenskaps Academiens Handlingar, vol I, [1]–[2]. In 1776, King Gustavus III was given the opportunity to recruit foreign members of the academy as part of his foreign policy, but he declined this offer. Lindroth, Kungl. Svenska Vetenskapsakademiens historia, 178. 20 Lindroth, Kungl. Svenska Vetenskapsakademiens historia, 1, 169–216. 21 Marjanen, Den ekonomiska patriotismens uppgång och fall, 109–110. 22 Edling, För modernäringens modernisering, 24–30, 63–66; Marjanen, Den ekonomiska patriotismens uppgång och fall, 109–111.

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The first civic organisation to actually enter the field of economic improvement was the Patriotic Society, founded in Stockholm in 1766. The society came into existence as a committee within a lodge-like secret society (orden) called Pro Patria that was established in the same year. It seems that although Pro Patria was set up as a club for promoting the common good relating to the economy, the arts and music, it was limited in its organisational form. It could not achieve its ambition to bring about economic improvement as a secret society and thus established an outward-oriented Patriotic Society as its committee.23 This particularly concerned agriculture in that it was difficult to diffuse reforms in this field from the salon. It was not uncommon for societies like this to emerge in conjunction with other organisations. A special committee for economic improvement was established within the local Scientific Society of Zurich (Ökonomische Kommission der Naturforschenden Gesellschaft Zürich) in 1761,24 and in the Netherlands, a special economic section was set up within the Dutch Scientific Society (Hollandsche Maatschappij der Wetenschappen) in 1777.25 Successful organisations tended to create new ones to cover tasks that were not originally perceived as belonging to them. In the case of the Patriotic Society in Stockholm, this reversed the hierarchy between the parent organisation and the spin-off society in that the latter functioned in public whereas the former remained a secret society. The original name, The Swedish Patriotic Society for the Encouragement of Arts, Crafts and Other Livelihoods in the Realm (Svenska patriotiska sällskapet till konsters och slöjders samt rikets näringars uppmuntran), echoes the naming of the Dublin Society for Improving Husbandry, Manufactures and Other Useful Arts (founded in 1731), the Society for the Encouragement of Arts, Manufactures and Commerce in London (founded in 1754) and Die Hamburgische Gesellschaft zur Beförderung der Künste und nützlichen Gewerbe (founded in 1765 and also known as the Patriotic Society). The naming reflects the fact that although the Patriotic Society in Stockholm was originally established as a committee in 1766, it already had a model in the economic societies that sprang up all over in Europe particularly in the 1750s and 1760s. Establishing a journal devoted to economic topics and pursuing a clear agenda of agricultural reform, the society aligned itself with the model most prominently represented by the above-mentioned society in London (later known as the Royal Society of Arts), the Society for Agriculture, Commerce and the Arts in Bretagne (Société d’agriculture, du commerce et des arts), and the Economic Society in Berne (Ökonomische Gesellschaft), all founded in the 1750s.26

23 Högberg, Kungl. patriotiska sällskapets historia, 21–31; Qvarsell, Patriotism, paternalism och offentlig vård, 59–65; Marjanen, Den ekonomiska patriotismens uppgång och fall, 114–118. 24 Zurbuchen, Die Ökonomische Kommission der Naturforschenden Gesellschaft. 25 Stapelbroek, The Harlem 1771 Prize Essay. 26 Hushållnings Journal, september 1776, 3–4; Marjanen, Den ekonomiska patriotismens uppgång och fall, 114–118.

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These economic societies were, to a certain extent, auxiliary organisations to science academies and scientific societies: they addressed issues that were too practically oriented for scientific organisations, and took responsibility for disseminating knowledge. In many cases they shared membership locally, but they also built their own international, albeit more modest, networks for knowledge exchange, and ultimately also promoted a view of knowledge production that challenged existing scientific societies in prioritising the economic advancement of European nations over discovery.27 This development was not only about promoting the relevance of economic issues to scientific inquiry; it also reflected attempts to transform science into something that was more oriented toward utility. After a few years of existence, the Stockholm Patriotic Society formally separated from Pro Patria, gaining royal charter in 1772. At this point, its activities were defined in contrast to those of the Royal Academy of Sciences: it should focus on agricultural improvement and theoretical discussions regarding public economy. In his sanctioning letter, King Gustavus III explicitly mentioned prize essays as an appropriate instrument through which to advance economic theorising, whereas the dissemination of useful agricultural knowledge would be best achieved by offering premiums to practitioners.28 The fact that the focus on agriculture was explicitly mentioned in the sanctioning letter but not in the statutes implies that the king and his main advisor Carl Fredrik Scheffer were the ones who encouraged the Royal Patriotic Society to focus on agricultural improvement in particular. With the focus shifting toward agriculture and establishing premiums, the Patriotic Society started a tradition of trying to implement useful knowledge in the counties in a way that the Academy of Sciences had never done. Nevertheless, it remained active as an organisation in Stockholm charged with the task of producing and diffusing state-relevant knowledge to the whole realm, from Pomerania in the South to Finland in the East and Lapland in the North. This turned out to be difficult, however, and in the 1790s two regional societies were established with the aim of moving dissemination closer to practitioners. It is symptomatic that this happened in the regions with different economic prospects and that were furthest away from Stockholm: Gotland and Finland. In light of this observation, it is strange that no society was founded in Pomerania, although it seems that some of the functions of an economic society were covered by the local estate assembly.29 An Economic Society was established on Gotland in 1791, but it remained modest in its activities. The Finnish Economic Society established in 1797 in Turku (Sw. Åbo) was more successful, and even gained a royal charter soon after its foundation. Both

27 Stapelbroek/ Marjanen, Political Economy, Patriotism and the Rise of Societies, 17–21. 28 The sanctioning letter and statutes are published in Högberg, Kungl. patriotiska sällskapets historia, 241–251, see especially 48–62, 241. 29 On associations and representation in Pomerania, see Önnerfors, Svenska Pommern, 121–202.

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societies were located in parts of the realm that had different economic profiles and were less developed than the core of Sweden. In the Finnish case, this was explicitly presented as a form of regional neglect: “The Grand Duchy of Finland has for long been a battlefield for warriors” and “during short periods of calm brought by peace” the virtues of “enlightenment, consideration, support and encouragement have been absent”.30 The foundation of the Finnish Economic Society was also a manifestation of regional criticism of the Patriotic Society, which did have members from the Finnish parts of the realm but was not much in evidence on the eastern side of the Baltic Sea.31 Both organisations soon agreed on a division of labour in handing out premiums, making the Finnish Society a sort of state representative in promoting accepted agricultural methods in the Finnish parts of Sweden.32 The profile of the Royal Finnish Economic Society was even more agriculturally oriented. One of its first prize essay questions was: “What impediments restrict the industriousness of the Finnish farmer? What measures could most forcefully and appropriately instill him with diligence and attentiveness in his economic activities?”33 This question was one of the issues to which the society would return, from different perspectives and in many instances in the coming 30 years. Anders Chydenius, one of the most prominent writers on economics in Sweden at the time and sometimes rather problematically labelled the Adam Smith of the North, contributed with his critique of legislation that hindered economic growth. For him, the question was falsely put in that it focused on farmers, not on policy.34 Others stuck to the premises of the question and held that the shortcomings of the farmers had to do either with their lack of diligence or with the absence of updated information regarding farming methods.35 In the latter case, the Economic Society was believed to be a vehicle for diffusing better knowledge. Although the Finnish Economic Society was founded in the vicinity of the only university in Finland (the academy in Turku), and many of its leading members were university professors, disseminating knowledge seems to have become a higher priority than scientific inquiry. In the first 30 years of its existence the society planned text books for farmers,36 published popular almanac texts, launched a journal directed at farming practitioners (Tidning för Landthushållare, Sanomia Maanviljelijöille) that was

30 Cygnæus, K. Finska Hushållningssällskapet, 93–96. 31 Högberg, Matrikel över ledamöter. 32 Zilliacus, Finska Hushållningssällskapets arkiv och skrifter VI, s. 203. 33 Åbo Tidningar 16/4 1798, 2. 34 Chydenius, Samlade skrifter 3, 402–446. 35 Zilliacus, Finska Hushållningssällskapets arkiv och skrifter III, 21; Kongl. Finska HushållningsSällskapets handlingar. Första tomen, 27–29. 36 See Zilliacus, Finska Hushållningssällskapets arkiv och skrifter I, s. 210.

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also published in Finnish, clearly indicating that it was not only for the educated strata of society,37 and established a network of corresponding members in the counties consisting mostly of pastors recruited to disseminate and gather information locally.38

IV Knowledge in the Counties of Sweden and Finland The shift in focus in the early nineteenth century toward disseminating agricultural knowledge was a general European trend. Many of the economic societies that were founded in the course of the eighteenth century slowly transformed into organisations that were less concerned with producing knowledge and rather aimed at informing public policy and agricultural practices, resembling clearinghouses for useful information. Others faced increased specialisation and scientification, in other words they were transformed into scientific societies or academies.39 Given that Finland was ceded to the Russian empire in 1809 as a result of the Napoleonic Wars, Sweden and Finland are informative examples of how a Swedish tradition of agricultural improvement was developed in this regard in two different political contexts. In Sweden, the disaster of the war against Russia and the ascension of the Bernadotte House to the throne demanded immediate consolidating measures, which also covered agricultural improvement. The Royal Swedish Agricultural Academy, which was established in 1811, was presented as an answer to the lacking state input in facilitating agricultural improvement. Organisationally, it was more like a centralised academy with permanent seats and direct state funding, presided over by the crown prince. It also reached out to the counties, thus responding to the criticism directed toward the Patriotic Society, and gradually established local economic societies in all of the remaining Swedish counties (län). These societies took a hybrid form in the sense that they were voluntary associations, but in line with their statues they were also chaired by county governors (landshövding), a practice that drew from French examples.40 In this model, state-relevant agricultural knowledge was developed by means of specialisation and a stronger regional presence. It was envisaged in an early plan submitted in 1809 by Johan Mannerstam that the Patriotic Society would be transformed into an organisation with a presence in the counties, but the final proposal, outlined by Abraham Niclas Edelcrantz in 1810

37 Tidning för Landthushållare 1827, 1828, 1829, 1831; Sanomia Maanviljeliöille. 38 Marjanen, Den ekonomiska patriotismens uppgång och fall, 148–234. 39 Stapelbroek/ Marjanen, Political Economy, Patriotism and the Rise of Societies, 17–21. 40 Edling, För modernäringens modernisering, 51–55.

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and formally put forward by the new crown prince, suggested a completely new academy. Edelcrantz was member both of the French Societé d’Agriculture and the British Board of Agriculture, and he apparently drew from both models in shaping the proposal. Still, it is likely that the shaping of the academy also was affected heavily by local political struggles. The crown prince was dissatisfied with the weakening of monarchical power in Sweden, and was eager to have, both symbolically and administratively, a strong organisation addressing agricultural matters. The academy fulfilled this need of setting him up as a future king who looked upon agricultural improvement as a key source of prosperity. The collection of statistics and the publication of novel findings were essential tasks of the new academy, but it also acquired property in which to conduct experiments aimed at improving agricultural methods. Such experiments were no longer outsourced to active members who would conduct them on their own estates, as the academy became a statefinanced producer of knowledge. It also had a civic element to it, but this was only realised in the counties.41 In incorporating economic societies into the counties (länshushållningssällskap) as part of the Agricultural Academy, its leading men consolidated the geographical area in which Sweden disseminated useful knowledge. This was part of a conscious move toward arguing that increasing productivity within the borders of the new, smaller Sweden would compensate for the country’s loss of position as a mid-sized European power. It was a move that was best articulated by the poet Esaias Tegnér, who wrote about the need “to conquer Finland back within the borders of Sweden!”42 On the Finnish side of the newly established border, it was also necessary to define the Finnish Grand Duchy as an entity. In this process, the Finnish Economic Society (now given imperial status) became one of the few organisations to have the whole of Finland within its domain.43 Similar to the Royal Agricultural Academy, it contributed to defining a polity, but it did not receive the resources or the encouragement to engage in the same kind of specialisation and regionalisation as the academy did. On the contrary, the Finnish Economic Society remained an association for learned men who met in Turku but did not – apart from via its correspondent network – have effective means to reach practitioners in the counties. Proposals were put forward within the society to establish county societies, but only two materialised in the first half of the nineteenth century, both of them as independent locally-anchored initiatives without support from the Finnish Economic Society. Fourteen more sprang up during the second half of the century, gradually creating a network of societies that loosely resembled the Swedish model.44

41 42 43 44

Edling, För modernäringens modernisering, 41–51. Tegnér, Svea, 66. Stenius, Frivilligt, jämlikt, samfällt, 105, 122–123. Westerlund, Strävanden till lansrepresentation, 202.

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One major reason for the sluggishness in establishing county societies in the first half of the century was the lack of political representation in Finland. Alexander I had summoned the Diet in 1809, with representatives from all four estates, but there were no recurring representative assemblies as there had been in Swedish times, even though Finnish civil servants were lobbying for them. It was only in 1863, now under Alexander II, that the Diet was reconvened. Against the backdrop of the representative situation in Finland, pushing for organisations that distributed useful knowledge always also implied some kind of representation on the local level. The local elites may have perceived the county societies as competing endeavours, and did not prioritise them for fear of intervening in plans to summon the Diet. Alternatively, civil servants were not keen on allowing new forums for criticising public affairs to emerge. Similar dynamics shaped another related forum for the exchange of agricultural knowledge, the agricultural fairs that were modelled on Swedish, Danish and German equivalents.45 It was crucial to broaden current knowledge of agricultural methods to advance the national economy, but this did not mean that the organisations and forums for producing and disseminating such knowledge could set up freely. State interests also kept the lid on assemblies that were believed to be potentially politically disruptive.

V Conclusions The transformation of organisations producing and disseminating knowledge in Sweden and Finland during the long eighteenth century should be seen in conjunction with a shift in how information circulated among the public. Describing the development of British politeness, Lawrence E. Klein writes about this period as being “post-courtly and post-godly”, not in the sense of being secularised, but in the sense that the court, the church and the universities were challenged by new organisations and forums for debate. Science academies and scientific societies such as the Royal Society and the Royal Academy of Science in Stockholm represented this phenomenon. Economic societies such as the Economic Society in Berne and the Patriotic Society in Stockholm should also be seen in this light, but as stronger proponents of utility and state relevance in science. At the same time, Klein describes the eighteenth century as “pre-professional, pre-meritocratic, and also, in a sense, preindustrialist”,46 pointing to the emergence of a more specialised culture of expertise that also is evident in late eighteenth-century and early nineteenth-century transformations in economic societies. Here, the transformation of the French agricultural societies (Sociétés royales d’agriculture), and the establishment of the British Board of

45 Jonasson, De allmänna finska lanbruksmötena. 46 Klein, Shaftesbury, 9–10. I thank Mark Hill for a discussion on the topic.

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Agriculture in 1793 and the Royal Swedish Agricultural Academy represent a new phase in dealing with agricultural knowledge. These organisations were both more specialised in their knowledge production, and more regionalised in establishing a presence in the counties. They extended the notion of a learned society beyond just a group of polyhistors who could discuss all economic issues. In fact, agriculturalists and agronomists were increasingly seen as constituting a profession among other scholarly and bourgeois professions.47 Different political settings created different opportunities for improvement organisations to manoeuvre, as is clear in how the Swedish tradition of agricultural improvement developed in Sweden and Finland after 1809. The activities and aims of the Agricultural Academy and the Finnish Economic Society were aligned with state interests, but the improvement efforts of such semi-independent organisations could also be turned into critical voices. Especially in the Finnish case, the Economic Society had to navigate between being a state-bearing society and a channel for public discontent. In a sense, concern about a new organisation taking charge of agricultural improvement applies to all the cases discussed in this chapter. They all seemed promising in terms of improvement, but also had the potential to challenge the state.

References Printed Sources Periodicals Hushållnings Journal, för September Månad, 1776, Stockholm 1776. Kongl. Finska Hushållnings-Sällskapets handlingar, I, Åbo 1803. Kongl. Swenska Wetenskaps Academiens Handlingar, I, för Månaderna Julius, August. och September, Stockholm 1739. Porthan, Henrik Gabriel/ Lilius, Johan (eds.), Tidningar Utgifne Af et Sällskap i Åbo [Åbo Tidningar], Åbo 1771–1785. Sanomia Maanviljelijöille, ed. Carl Christian Böcker, Åbo 1827–1829. Tidning för Landthushållare, ed. Carl Christian Böcker, Åbo 1827–1831.

Books, Pamphlets Chydenius, Anders, Samlade skrifter 3: 1777–1803, Helsingfors/ Stockholm 2015.

Secondary Works Carpenter, Kenneth E., The Economic Bestsellers Before 1850. A Catalogue of an Exhibition Prepared for the History of Economics Society Meeting, May 21–24, 1975, at Baker Library,

47 See McClellan, Scientific Institutions and the Organization of Science.

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www.othercanon.com/uploads/AJALUGU%20THE%20ECONOMIC%20BESTSELLERS% 20BEFORE1850.pdf (last access 31.12.2017). Cygnaeus, Gustaf, Kongl. Finska Hushållningssällskapet 1797–1897, Åbo 1897. Dauser, Regina/ Schilling, Lothar, Einleitung. Raumbezüge staatsrelevanten Wissens, in idem (eds.), Grenzen und Kontaktzonen. Rekonfigurationen von Wissensräumen zwischen Frankreich und den deutschen Ländern 1700–1850, in idem (eds.), Erster ‘Euroscientia’Workshop (discussions 7, 2012), www.perspectivia.net/publikationen/discussions/7-2012/dauser-schilling_einleitung (last access 5.1.2018). Edling, Nils, För modernäringens modernisering. Två studier av Kungl. Skogs- och Lantbruksakademiens tillkomst och tidiga historia, Stockholm 2003 (Skogs- och lantbrukshistoriska meddelanden 29). Google Books Ngram Viewer, https://books.google.com/ngrams/info (last access 5.1.2018). Hallberg, Peter, The Nationalization and Popularization of Political Language: The Concept of “Civil Society” in Swedish, in Peter Wagner (ed.), The Languages of Civil Society, New York 2006, 55–82. Högberg, Staffan, Kungl. patriotiska sällskapets historia. Med särskild hänsyn till den gustavianska tidens agrara reformsträvanden, Stockholm 1961. Högberg, Staffan, Matrikel över ledamöter av Kungl. patriotiska sällskapet 1766–1815, Stockholm 1961. Hont, Istvan, Jealousy of Trade: International Competition and the Nation-State in Historical Perspective, Cambridge (MA) 2005. Jonasson, Maren, De allmänna finska lantbruksmötena och lantbruksutställningarna 1847–1932, in Olof Kåhrström (ed.), När landet kom till staden. Lantbruksmöten och lantbruksutställningar som arenor för agrara moderniseringssträvanden i Sverige och Finland 1844–1970, Stockholm 2013, 120–175. Jones, Peter Michael, Agricultural Enlightenment. Knowledge, Technology, and Nature, 1750–1840, Oxford 2016. Klein, Lawrence E., Shaftesbury and the Culture of Politeness. Moral Discourse and Cultural Politics in Early Eighteenth-Century England, Oxford 1994. Lindberg, Bo, Den antika skevheten. Politiska ord och begrepp i det tidig-moderna Sverige, Stockholm 2006 (Filologiskt arkiv 45). Lindroth, Sten, Kungl. Svenska Vetenskapsakademiens historia 1739–1818, I: Tiden intill Wargentins död (1783), 2 vols., Stockholm 1967. Marjanen, Jani, Den ekonomiska patriotismens uppgång och fall. Finska hushållningssällskapet i eurpeisk, svensk och finsk kontext 1720–1840, Helsinki 2013. McClellan, James E., Scientific Institutions and the Organization of Science, in Roy Porter (ed.), The Cambridge History of Science, 4: Eighteenth-Century Science, Cambridge 2003, 87–106. Önnerfors, Andreas, Svenska Pommern. Kulturmöten och identifikation 1720–1815, Lund 2003. Qvarsell, Roger, Patriotism, paternalism och offentlig vård, in Erik Amnå (ed.), För det allmänna bästa. Ett kungligt sällskap mellan stat och marknad under 250 år, Stockholm 2016, 49–115. Reinert, Sophus A., Translating Empire: Emulation and the Origins of Political Economy, Cambridge (MA) 2011. Shovlin, John, The Political Economy of Virtue. Luxury, Patriotism and the Origins of the French Revolution, Ithaca 2006. Stapelbroek, Koen, The Harlem 1771 Prize Essay on the Restoration of Dutch Trade and the Economic Branch of the Holland Society of Sciences, in Stapelbroek/ Marjanen (eds.), The Rise of Economic Societies, 257–284. Stapelbroek, Koen/ Marjanen, Jani, Political Economy, Patriotism and the Rise of Societies, in idem (eds.), The Rise of Economic Societies, 1–25.

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Stapelbroek, Koen/ Marjanen, Jani (eds.), The Rise of Economic Societies in the Eighteenth Century. Patriotic Reform in Europe and North America, Basingstoke 2012. Stenius, Henrik, Frivilligt, jämlikt, samfällt. Föreningsväsendets utveckling i Finland fram till 1900-talets början med speciell hänsyn till massorganisationsprincipens genombrott, Helsingfors 1987. Tegnér, Esaias, Svea, in Fredrik Böök/ Åke K. G. Lundquist (red.), Esaias Tegnérs Samlade dikter II, 1809–1816, Lund 1968, 50–72. Westerlund, Lars, Strävandena till länsrepresentation i autonomins Finland. C. C. Böcker, J. V. Snellman och länshushållningssällskapen, in Historisk Tidskrift för Finland 71 (1986), 200–229. Wolff, Charlotta, Noble Conceptions of Politics in Eighteenth-Century Sweden (ca 1740–1790), Helsinki 2008. Zilliacus, Lars, Finska Hushållningssällskapets arkiv och skrifter – en källa för forskningen I–VI, Åbo 2002–2004. Zurbuchen, Simone, Die Ökonomische Kommission der Naturforschenden Gesellschaft und Johann Caspar Hirzels “Kleinjogg”, in Annett Lütteken (ed.), Bodmer und Breitinger im Netzwerk der europäischen Aufklärung, Göttingen 2009, 574–597.

Helge Wendt

Transfer of Knowledge, the State, and Economy in the Cuban Coal Question (Nineteenth Century) I Introduction The knowledge about coal findings in Cuba passed the frontiers of the late Spanish colonial dominions and became situated in an Atlantic economy of knowledge and beyond. In the early 1830s, social and economic processes in Cuba were affected by changing production and consumption modes, which were part of global changes in the economies and politics of resources and energy. In the Caribbean Islands, coal-consuming industries emerged in an interplay of public administration, state experts and private entrepreneurs. Despite the fact that most studies in the history of European and North American industrialisation(s) have taken the availability of coal for granted, energy and resource transition processes were of high risk to local socio-economic entities. Various factors of social, administrative, and economic conditions had to correspond with knowledge economies of local, regional, and global dimensions. Thus, circulation of knowledge also had to correspond to these entangled global, regional and local conditions. One non-European example of a society in a process of energy transition is the rather small Spanish colony of Cuba. In the case of Cuba, this transitional process largely failed due to geological conditions on the island and the still gainful charcoal production. Different groups of people participated in the (ultimately unsuccessful) implementation of coal mining on the island. This case reflects an unexpected history of circulation of knowledge about coal, coal mining and chemistry of coal. Spanish and foreign mining experts, administrators, merchants, teachers, scholars and industrialists were involved in obtaining and applying non-Cuban knowledge, as well as diffusing and improving Cuban knowledge. Under these circumstances, the late Spanish colonial situation transcended the limits of political space set by the Spanish colonial domination in Cuba. Despite the fact that the remaining Spanish colonies – the Philippines, Marianas, Puerto Rico and Cuba – were islands or archipelagos, neither this geographical situation nor political colonial boundaries proved to be potent enough to form a closed spatial entity.1 Spanish colonial history is full of examples of transnational and transcolonial interference. The Napoleonic Wars and the independence of most of

1 Pretel/ Fernández-de-Pinedo, Circuits of Knowledge. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110553734-003

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the former colonies intensively shook the bonds between the colonising political entity and the colonised area.2 The links between the colony and the metropolis still existed, but the special situation in the nineteenth century and the geographical situation of Cuba enhanced intense economic connections with the expanding United States and some European political and economic powers.3 The foreign influences concerned religion, economy, and industry, as well as the influx of men, technologies, and science. In the middle of the nineteenth century the European and North American expansions, which sought to exploit natural resources in order to maximise economic growth and outcome, had also reached these colonised areas. Besides the sugar industry, copper mining became an important field of industrial innovation on the island. Foreign experts and companies came to Cuba and instituted an imperial resource extraction economy that left the weak government and the islanders without additional profits.4 Already, back in early modern colonial times, mining had been an important field of transatlantic knowledge circulation. Silver mining in New Spain and in the Andean region changed from the sixteenth to the nineteenth centuries because innovative technologies were developed locally or employed by foreign experts.5 Mining knowledge became partly institutionalised by two mining schools in Spanish Almadén and in Mexico, the capital of New Spain.6 Besides those schools, Cubans started to visit European institutions of higher education in order to improve scientific and technological skills.7 Despite the still reluctant attitude of the Spanish colonial elites towards industrial “modernisation”, so-called “progressive” groups of people, who were engaged in industries, politics, administration, commerce and engineering, acted in colonial Cuba in order to improve the Bourbon socio-economic model.8 The Bourbon Reforms were intended to extend the position of power of the Spanish crown and to improve transatlantic commercial relationships.9 Being in contact with foreign experts in mining, commerce and new technologies, for instance, they began to adapt models they knew from “progressive” circles in Spain, from several European countries, or the young United States. Private persons and some local government officials intended to implant these models into Spanish colonial contexts in order to increase production rates.10 The foundation of several institutions as the Academy

2 Elena/ Ordoñez, Science, Technology, and the Spanish Colonial Experience. 3 Zeuske, Kleine Geschichte Kubas, 90–91. 4 Evans/ Saunders, A World of Copper; Roldán de Montaud, El ciclo cubano del cobre. 5 Barrera-Osorio, Knowledge and Empiricism; Guerrero, Silver by Fire. 6 Izquierdo, La primera casa da las ciencias en México. 7 Baracca, The Cuban “Exception”, 18–19; Wendt, Coal Mining in Cuba, 286. 8 Lafuente [et al.], Un diálogo a tres bandas. 9 König, Art. “Bourbon Reforms”. 10 Kádár, Main Phases of Development in Latin-American Economy, 89–115.

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of Science, a mechanical school, new chairs at the Havana University and an industrial exposition in 1847, prove the impact of those social forces. However, such “progressive” concepts did not necessarily involve socio-economic changes, as the trade of slaves continued. This activity equally crossed colonial borders and increased the quantity of manpower employed in production, disguising the shortage of natural combustibles and the lack of machines to a certain degree. The colonial situation in nineteenth-century Cuba was imbedded in a global change of resource provision and utilisation. This process, ongoing since the eighteenth century, was related to a severe shortage of wood that led to changes in production modes in several European countries. This situation arose in a global and colonial context when new production methods required ever-increasing amounts of energy. In the European context, the smelting of copper and iron represented one of the foremost reasons for the increase in combustible consumption.11 New construction methods, expanding infrastructure projects, and increasing urbanisation additionally required high amounts of lime that had to be burnt before being used in building works.12 Furthermore, the technical knowledge of constructing bigger ships required high amounts of timber. Lastly, before agriculture and husbandry could rely on high-energising fertilizers such as guano or chemical fertilizers, expanding the space of production by draining swamplands and clearing woods were the most employed methods of increasing production.13 Thus, an increase in the usage of timber and an intensified deforestation contributed to an expansion of coal mining in many European regions. In some colonial areas, a similar situation emerged. Peruvian and Mexican silver mining, for instance, experienced severe setbacks during the eighteenth century because of the lack of timber to secure galleries, to build drainage machines, and to smelt the ores.14 In many regions of the globe changes occurred to production processes that were often related to European, Ottoman, or Chinese expansions. New forms of production and consumption were concentrated not only in the metropolis of each empire but also in the important urban agglomerations of the colonies.15 These forms of proto-industrialism – which was already a capitalist productionconsumption system – increased the demand for energy. This need could either be satisfied with increase in main-d’oeuvre16 or by mechanising production processes with increasing amounts of combustibles, which could be either wood or coal.

11 Landes, The Unbound Prometheus; Wrigley, Energy and the English Industrial Revolution. 12 Wrigley, The Transition to an Advanced Organic Economy, 435–480. 13 Cf. Overton, Agricultural Revolution in England. 14 Cf. Studnicki-Gizbert/ Schecter, The Environmental Dynamics of a Colonial Fuel-Rush, 94–119. 15 Bayly, The Birth of the Modern World. 16 A comparable situation to Cuba existed in French colonial Guadeloupe: Schnakenbourg, Histoire de l’industrie sucrière en Guadeloupe, 227–230.

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II The Early Cuban Industrial Economy Despite the fact of still being a Spanish colony, Cuba experienced an important increase in the export sector during the nineteenth century, as well as in the sector of foreign investments. Leandro Prados de la Escosura has shown that the export rates were highly above those of most independent Latin-American states. Cuban export per capita rates increased from 1830 to 1870 from 17.7 to 45.9 US dollars, a figure only surpassed by Uruguay.17 The social and economic developments in the colony were related to the modes of consumption and production in their regional surroundings. An increase in demand and consumption of Cuban products offered a possibility for the island to intensify and modify production. The most important economic sector that enhanced the process of energy transition on the island was the sugar industry. During the early nineteenth century, three changes in sugar production can be identified. The first is the increase of the slave main-d’oeuvre, despite the British attempts to stop the slave trade and the subsequent abolition of slavery. Second, an evolution in the sugar industry was the use of “bone char” or active coal gained from animal bones for bleaching sugar. White sugar could thus be obtained and sold at a much better price. This process, patented in 1812 by the French Louis Constant, grew in importance in the sugar industry in the British colonies. Consequently, Cuban sugar producers were forced to adapt this form of processing in order to obtain a commodity that could compete with the British. The third change in the Cuban sugar industry consisted in the increasing mechanisation of production.18 At the beginning of the century, the sugar barons bought mechanised sugar mills and steam engines from English or French producers. Later in the century, US sugar mills came into use.19 It can be assumed that by buying steam engines for the purpose of sugar production, knowledge about coal was also transferred. The coal that was used in the Cuban sugar industry was mostly imported from England – thus, the origin of the engines and of the coal they used was the same. With the new machines, the consumption of imported coal increased in addition to the boom of sugar production. In order to meet the demand of combustible of the sugar industry, new Spanish legislation of 1815 liberalised deforestation in Cuba.20 Later established statistics show that wood and charcoal partially satisfied the appetite.21 However, this organic combustible could not be used for all new mechanical devices. Therefore, the use and importation rates of coal increased considerably from early in the nineteenth century.

17 Prados de la Escosura, The Economic Consequences of Independence in Latin America, 490. 18 Dye, Cuban Sugar in the Age of Mass Production; Edquist, Capitalism, Socialism and Technology. 19 Moreno Fraginals, El ingenio. 20 Zeuske, Kleine Geschichte Kubas, 89. 21 Pichardo, Geografía.

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The second economic sector that began to demand black coal in Cuba was the growing sector of copper smelting. The copper mining industry achieved a certain importance in the late 1820s, when companies with mostly English capital explored and exploited new copper mines on the island. Already in 1833, the region of Santiago de Cuba accounted for more than 30 copper mines.22 The Spanish-Cuban government granted concessions for mining to these foreign enterprises with an additional privilege that exempted them from export taxes for a duration of 10 years. Following the return route of invested capital to England and due to the tax-free export of crude copper ore, this material was shipped to Wales and smelted in the region of Swansea – the so-called Copperopolis.23 In this regard, Cuban copper suffered the same fate as Andalusian, Chilean, and Peruvian copper: At this early stage of the global economies of resources, copper as a raw material was transported all around the world to be smelted and processed in Wales, to the detriment of a copper smelting industry on the island.24 Nevertheless, once coal was seemingly found on the island and a coal company started exploitation works early in the 1830s, the Cuban authorities envisaged new possibilities to develop sites of metal extraction. The third branch where coal became an important factor was the transportation sector. In 1837, the first railway in Cuba was inaugurated. This 40 km long line was the first railway built in a Spanish territory. Railway lines such as this served not least to transport slaves from the harbours to the plantations.25 The communication lines also increased in importance as sugar and copper production rose steadily, and an increasing volume of goods had to be transported to the maritime loading points. Later on in the century, coal was used for public lighting in Havana and for generating electricity with the first imported turbines.

III The Failure of Cuban Coal Mining: La Prosperidad Coal is a complex object of knowledge that even in the first half of the nineteenth century represented many scientific, practical, and economic uncertainties: In England the geological conditions were very favourable for an exploitation of this material, as iron and coal often lay in adjacent strata. Nevertheless, it took time for “geologists” to understand that the English case was not necessarily found in other regions of the world. A discussion of the origin of coal lasted more than two centuries and the question of the chemical features of lignite in comparison to black coal was hardly answerable. Geologists, mining engineers, and other explorers 22 23 24 25

Archivo Histórico Nacional Madrid (AHN), Ultramar 77, Exp. 4. Hughes, Copperopolis; Evans/ Saunders, A World of Copper, 3–26. Roldán de Montaud, El ciclo cubano del cobre, 361–382. Zeuske, Die Geschichte der Amistad.

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discovered little by little that one type of coal could be found in the same stratum with other types. Further, they discovered that the depth of a stratum was not necessarily related to the type of coal, and that the grade of pureness of coal could vary, despite common characteristics, from deposit to deposit. Because of these doubts, coal mining, coal geology, the investments in coal exploitation and in coal industries seemed to be high-risk endeavours. In the European case, where the variety of industries demanded different types of coal, the highly diversified sectors of production could diminish these risks. The coal for smelting iron or copper, for instance, was not the same as the coal used in glass-production. Blacksmiths used another kind of coal than that used by steam engines. A coal different from that employed in forges heated households. The uncertainties mentioned above became more important in economic contexts of only slightly differentiated industrial branches, where only a very limited number of coal types were employable. This was the case for Cuba. Some Spanish entrepreneurs and officials in the colonies argued that economic improvement was only possible with the use of local coal. However, historically no highly diversified industrial and private possibilities to use coal existed in Cuba. Furthermore, the geological knowledge about this island was not developed well enough to allow industrial mining activities. Finally, the administration only cautiously supported the initiatives of private persons or single officials to develop coal mining on the island. Legislation changed in 1836, when a royal order regulated property and exploitation rights of coalmine owners. In a short preface that was dated September 11, 1836, the hopes were expressed to initiate several branches of industrial production, following the example of England. In this document, two mining sites were mentioned: La Prosperidad near Havana and another at Guanabacoa.26 The rather limited capacities of the Cuban technological devices and the production economy to make use of the extracted material may be the reasons why the main Cuban coal mining enterprise was unsuccessful and went bankrupt in 1840, 12 years after its foundation. The material extracted from the mine La Prosperidad did not suit the coal requirements of the technologies used on the island. Furthermore, legal quarrels between the proprietors and partners of the society placed La Prosperidad in difficulties. One or several quarrels with surrounding landowners also affected the society.27 Additionally, the legal situation of mining activities in Cuba had to face the lack of a specialised court. Manuel de Villota, one of the company’s attorneys, complained that the lack of specialised juridical knowledge on the island also contributed to the company’s collapse.28 After the failure, the mine was no longer used until the

26 Registro de legislación ultramarina, vol. 2, 477–478. This document is preserved at the Archivo Histórico Nacional (AHN, Ultramar 14, Exp. 4) under the title “Sobre aumento de límites de las minas de carbón de piedra”, 1839/1842. 27 AHN, Ultramar 14, Exp. 4, 8r. 28 AHN, Ultramar 14, Exp. 4.

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beginning of the twentieth century when, under the US government, the material out of that mine was extracted anew. Subsequently, it was shipped to the United States and used in the dye industries.29 In the early 1840s it became obvious that Ramón de la Sagra, the internationally well-connected director of Havana’s Botanical Garden and chair of botany at Havana University, had wrongly analysed the chemical features of the mineral. In an article he had published in 1828, he had been very optimistic about the future development of La Prosperidad.30 This error had given false hopes to Cuban progressive entrepreneurs and some responsible people at the Cuban administration. Additionally, as late as in 1839, Richard C. Taylor and Thomas Green Clemson had published an article in an US journal about coal findings in Cuba. The two foreign copper mining experts had stated that coal from nearby Havana could be used in steam engines and helped to nourish false expectations.31

IV The Role of Imperial Mining Administration After that first failure in developing a coalmining sector in Cuba, the need for an extensive geological survey of the island was widely acknowledged. Important figures in the Cuban mining administration called for erudite men to share knowledge about sands, rocks, and metals and to analyse the material extracted from different mining activities in the province.32 Several initiatives started to improve geological knowledge about Cuba: In 1841, at Havana, a commission to survey Cuban geography and geology was established. One of the members was the above-mentioned US geologist Thomas Green Clemson who, after having studied at the École Royale des Mines in Paris, had worked in the United States and in Cuban copper enterprises. Apart from that, more specific knowledge about the Cuban coal findings was demanded: An instruction by the Cuban government to the mining company demanded to increase the coal exploitation, in order to satisfy the domestic needs, especially of the transport sector.33 In a report written in 1842, the Inspector of Mines in Cuba, Joaquin Eizaguirre – who had studied at the Spanish Academia de Minas in Almadén – stated that the coal of La Prosperidad contained a too elevated amount of bituminous parts in its chemical composition.34 Despite not being a coal

29 Monthly Summary of Commerce. 30 Sagra, Descubrimiento de diversas minas en la isla de Cuba. 31 Taylor/ Clemson, Notice of a Vein, 191–196. For this history, cf. Wendt, Coal Mining in Cuba, 261–296. 32 AHN, Ultramar 77, Exp. 4. 33 AHN, Ultramar 14, Exp. 4. 34 AHN, Ultramar 77, Exp. 4. The mining engineer Eizaguirre was named mining inspector of Cuba and Puerto Rico in 1837 (See: Registro de legislación ultramarina, vol. 2, 477).

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expert, Eizaguirre clearly saw the difficulties for using the material still called “coal” for industrial means. However, Eizaguirre was by no means an undisputed expert. Since the middle of the 1830s, he was heavily under attack – be it because of disputes concerning administrative competences,35 or because from the beginning he had doubted the possibilities of developing a Cuban coalmining sector.36 Maybe the Cuban fossil energy transition would have developed differently if the Spanish government had accepted the request of the pharmacist, botanist, and mineralogist Gumersindo Fernández de Moratín to become Havana’s first chair of mineralogy.37 As an expert in mineralogy and chemistry, he might have understood the divergent chemical composition of the exploited matter. Additionally, he might have proposed some different usages for the benefit of the island’s economy. Being once more asked to analyse some copper and coal samples, Ramón de la Sagra ordered a new chemical analysis in Paris, which confirmed the bad quality of Cuban “coal”.38 Furnaces to produce coke out of that mineral could have compensated this deficit of quality. However, the responsible officials were only acquainted with vague knowledge about the meaning the different chemical compositions had and were not able to procure the necessary technological equipment for the island. Despite the failure of the most important coal mining enterprise, and related to the imperfect notion and possibilities of analysing the material on the island, parts of the public administration insisted upon improvements and increase in coal mining activities. In 1840, new legislation concerning coal mines in Cuba was published.39 In this serious situation, the Spanish government of the colonies had to act urgently before the aforementioned tax privilege for copper ore exports ran out. The discussions aimed to push copper mine owners to invest in copper furnaces in Cuba. The different factions in Havana and Madrid agreed upon the fact that Cuban coal should be employed in developing an island metal extraction industry. As a matter of fact, the problems and the bankruptcy of the company exploiting La Prosperidad urged the government to extend the copper export privilege for two more years, as a Cuban provision with fossil combustible proved unrealistic.40 The liquidation of the coal mining company La Prosperidad did not prevent political debates on coal in Cuba to continue, perhaps due to a slow reaction from continental Spain. In the background, declining production rates of copper and consequently diminishing English investments also played a part, as hopes to smelt and treat copper ore on the island persisted.41 In 1844, the Ministry of Ultramar

35 Chastagnaret, La construcción de una imagen reaccionaria, 119–140. 36 Wendt, Coal Mining in Cuba, 273. 37 Archivo General de Indias, Sevilla (AGI), Ultramar 108, N. 10. 38 Sagra, Histoire physique, 128–132. 39 Registro de legislación ultramarina, vol. 2, 477–478. 40 AHN, Ultramar 77, Exp. 4, Acuerdo, September 13, 1838, in: Díaz, Extracto alfabético, 346. 41 Pichardo, Geografía, 71.

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again tried to put pressure on the Cuban head of mining administration, the Inspector42 Joaquin Eizaguirre, to improve the coal mining activities at that site. The ministry officially asked him to submit a proposal for this purpose, as it was the task with which the king had entrusted him.43 Within this context of administrative disputes, progressive dynamics emerged on the island, as for example the founding of an industrial school.44 This institute was established by the Cuban Society of the Friends of the Country in the 1840s. The professor of mechanics and probably its first director was Pedro Teodor Vaurigaud, a French descendant engineer born in Matanzas, who had studied in Philadelphia.45 Vaurigaud was adapting European machines and other technical devices to the needs expressed by Cuban industrialists and planters.46 He presented with his pupils a “lathe of forged iron and several mechanisms of a steam engine” at the 1847 industrial exposition that was organised by the Patriotic Society with the support of the Cuban Governor Conde de Alcoy.47 In the late 1840s, despite the lack of local coal, coal consumption increased and required new solutions, as the transformation of European machines indicates. The mechanisation of agriculture continued, iron furnaces were built, and dredgers, locomotives and steamboats increased coal consumption.48 In some cases, coal from Asturias and England were mixed together and the employment of charcoal increased steadily.49

V Reviving Old Expectations The insistence of parts of the administration on exploiting coal in Cuba went against the knowledge of many experts but ensured that the Cuban coal question continued well into the 1850s: Estéban Pichardo, in his book on Cuban geography from 1854, records several coal mines in the surroundings of Havana. This list depicts the state of mining activities in that region in the year 1845. One so-called coal mine was situated at Canasí to the east of the capital, another between Canasí and Bainoa, and two others at Camarioca. Furthermore, “coal” was exploited at Cárdenas, Cayajabos, and Bahía Honda. The location of two other places that were mentioned, Palmarejas and Ingénios S. Joaquín, is hard to ascertain. The only coalmine in the southern part of the island was at Trinidad. However, Pichardo writes that it was uncertain if the material 42 Cuerpo nacional de ingenieros de Minas, 455. 43 Real orden de 25 de Mayo de 1844, 37–38. 44 Wendt, Exploring How to Renew Cuban Education. 45 Rosaín y Lubián, Necropolis de la Habana, 333. 46 He is repeatedly mentioned to have obtained patents in the journal “Gaceta de La Habana”, f.e. 1 January 1851, 1 (URL). 47 Memoria dirijida al excelentisimo Señor Conde de Alcoy, 52. 48 Moreno Fraginals, El ingenio; Pezuela, Diccionario geográfico, 130; Zanetti Lecuona/ García Alvarez, Sugar and Railroads. 49 AHN, Ultramar 434, Exp. 15; Saco, Colección, 45–46.

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extracted from the mine at Cárdenas and another at Matanzas was coal or chapapote (natural asphalt). Thus, the same old problem of the 1830s and 1840s continued, as only a vague knowledge concerning the chemistry of coal existed on the island. Pichardo, who had studied law, was not an expert in geology or in coal-related chemistry. He published a comprehensive geographic account of Cuba, was convinced that copper and coal mining would be the most important branches of Cuban mining industries in the future.50 In this account, he had copied some paragraphs written by a member of the Economic Society of Havana, José Artíz, on the origin of coal and similar substances. The different terms given to distinct types of coal are interesting: “anthracite, bituminous slate, lignite, and hulla.”51 The typical Spanish term hulla, which is related to the French term houille, designated a variety of types of coal without specifying chemical features.52 Nevertheless, an expert in coal mining could distinguish types of coal by optic and haptic analysis. Further, different forms of burning coal could lead an expert to recognise different kinds of hulla. These passages show that neither Artíz nor Pichardo were experts on coal. Additionally, Pichardo stated that it was unclear if it was coal or asphalt that was mined in some of the places he described – thus the bright future of coal in Cuba had feet of clay. The limited knowledge and the reluctance to recognise already published and common knowledge is depicted by the geological campaign of Policarpo Cía. In the same years in which Pichardo worked on his book, the Spanish mining official and geologist, ancient pupil of the mining academy in Almadén explored Cuba and published an extensive geological report in 1854.53 There he clearly stated that the matter found at the ancient mining site of La Prosperidad and in the entire region east of Havana was “asphalt and not bituminous lignite, as it was once believed to be.”54 The scarce amount of ascertained knowledge about coal that existed in Cuba is depicted in some other passages of Pichardo’s Geografía. Although his records are vague, it seems he deals with the coalmine near Guanabacoa that had been analysed by Taylor and Clemson in 183955 and mentioned in the preface of the 1840 edition of new laws.56 Pichardo wrote that exploitation at this site began in 1836. Although the material extracted was of a quality resembling asphalt and containing a high amount of sulphur, he strangely stated that it was like Liverpool coal and could be used in steam engines.57 The confusion around whether the material was natural asphalt

50 Pichardo, Geografía, 71. 51 Pichardo, Geografía, 74. 52 Art. „Hulla“, in Collantes/ Alfaro (eds.), Diccionario de Agricultura, vol. 3, 576–587. 53 Cía, Observaciones geológicas. 54 Cía, Observaciones geológicas, 14–15. 55 Taylor/ Clemson, Notice of a Vein, 1839. 56 Registro de legislación ultramarina, vol. 2, 477. 57 Pichardo, Geografía, 27.

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rather than coal also concerned the region east of Havana, where the coal mine La Prosperidad once had been situated. Pichardo did not mention this mining enterprise explicitly but insisted upon the possibility of encountering coal of good quality in deeper strata.58 This situation of incomplete knowledge was also due to a still important and sufficient production of vegetal coal or charcoal in some of the regions. Pichardo gives a statistical account of the regions of Nueva Filipina and San Cristóbal with a highly dominant agricultural sector and charcoal production.59

VI Conclusion The history of a fossil energy transition in Cuba shows that some social actors in Cuba actively purchased new knowledge. The unsuccessful project to mine coal locally was a short and limited experience that, nevertheless, initiated processes of social, economic, and political adaptation. The failure of Cuban coal enterprises led to a detailed geographic and geological survey of that island, executed by the Spanish mining engineer and teacher at the Academia de Minas of Almadén in Spain, Policarpo Cía, published in 1854. Sceptical to coal deposits on the island, this report can be considered to be the result of the local initiatives taken by the administration on geological and geographical surveying of the early 1840s. Another outcome was the industrial exposition, inaugurated in 1847 in Havana, where entrepreneurs and industrialists from the island exhibited their products and the coal consuming machines they had often imported to the island and then adapted for specific uses.60 At this event, parts of the administration and of the economic sector worked hand in hand. In this dynamic context, the belief that coal could be found in Cuba persisted, although the outcome had been consistently negative. This is apparent in a (lost) four volumes report submitted to the Spanish authorities by the general inspector of mining in Cuba, Manuel Fernández de Castro. As we know from a preserved summary, in this memory on mining activities on the Island of Santo Domingo, the inspector reported on discoveries of lignite at Llaiba and Yaniguá on the Island of Santo Domingo.61 In all his works on mining activities in Cuba, he seemingly never mentioned any coal or lignite deposits.62 The history of coal in the non-European and European world provides new insights into forms and hindrances in the circulation and dissemination of knowledge. The late Spanish Empire can be regarded as a peculiar case, where the circulation of

58 Pichardo, Geografía, 27. 59 Pichardo, Geografía, 178 and 329. 60 Memoria dirijida al excelentisimo Señor Conde de Alcoy. 61 In the 1870s, the author claimed the volumes back from the ministry in order to publish parts separately within the proceedings of the Cuban geological society, AHN, Ultramar 227, Exp. 7. 62 Cf. López de Azcona, Mineros destacados del Siglo XIX, 810.

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knowledge about coal was particularly difficult. In the colonies, experts in coal mining were not available. Consequently, the little knowledge that could be acquired and disseminated in Cuba, for instance, came from different backgrounds: It was developed locally, at least to a certain degree, and depicted lacunas in comparison to European knowledge. Furthermore, European or US experts with a solid knowledge in mining engineering but without expertise in coal mining incorrectly advised the Cuban and Spanish governments. Private and public actors repeatedly “reanimated” this false knowledge and nourished false hopes of industrial development using this new source of energy rich matter. The knowledge about coal findings in Cuba circulated in a transcolonial manner between Cuba, Spain, France, the United States, and even British India.63 The outcome of studying the history of failed coal mining in Spanish Cuba is, first, that hindrances for the transfer of knowledge are an important issue to investigate in history of state-related knowledge and state sciences. These hindrances played a crucial role for the development of several societal branches and redefined the role of public administration. From a perspective that does not easily adopt modernisation narratives, the example of coal in Cuba shows differences in histories of energy transition and technocratic administration. Some state officials of the Spanish domestic and colonial administration, as much as private persons, were part of this transcolonial and transsectorial circulation of knowledge. Some others, rather, prevented knowledge from circulating. Public administration, thus, played an essential role in acquiring, adopting, but also refusing knowledge developed in foreign states. State knowledge and private knowledge rather indistinguishably were both involved in the Cuban coal question. Here, transcolonial spaces of knowledge and knowledge from different periods interacted, making the history of mining knowledge inside the Cuban territory an even more complex matter.

References Archival Sources Archivo General de Indias, Sevilla (AGI), Ultramar, N. 108. Archivo Histórico Nacional, Madrid (AHN), Ultramar, Exp. 14, 77, 227, 434.

Printed Sources Cía, Policarpo, Observaciones geológicas de una gran parte de la isla de Cuba, Madrid 1854. Collantes, Agustín Esteban/ Alfaro, Agostin (eds.), Diccionario de Agricultura práctica y Economía Rural, vol. 3, Madrid 1853. Cuerpo nacional de ingenieros de minas, in Anales de Minas 2 (1841), 447–455.

63 Sagra, Coal from the District of Guanah.

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de Pezuela, Jacobo, Diccionario geográfico, estadístico, histórico, de la isla de Cuba, vol. 4, Madrid 1866. Díaz, José Francisco (ed.), Extracto alfabético de los acuerdos generales e interesantes de la Junta superior directiva de Hacienda, Havana 1846. Gaceta de la Habana, num. 1-25, Enero de 1851, https://merrick.library.miami.edu/cdm/ref/collec tion/cubanlaw/id/51846 (last access 5.10.2018). Memoria dirijida al excelentisimo Señor Conde de Alcoy Gobernador superior civil de esta Isla, por la Junta nombrada para calificar los productos de la industria cubana presentados en la Esposicion publica de 1847, Havana 1848. Pichardo, Estéban, Geografía de la Isla de Cuba, Havana 1854. Real orden de 25 de Mayo de 1844 para que el inspector de la isla de Cuba reconozca el terreno carbonífero en que existe la mina Prosperidad, in Anales de Minas 3 (1845), 37–38. Registro de legislación ultramarina y ordenanza general de 1803, vol. 2, Havana 1840. Rosaín y Lubián, Domingo, Necropolis de la Habana. Historia de los cementerios de esta ciudad, Havana 1875. Saco, Jose Antonio, Colección de papeles científicos, históricos, políticos y de otros ramos sobre la isla de Cuba: ya publicados, ya inéditos, Paris 1860. Sagra, Ramón de la, Coal from the District of Guanah, in the Island of Cuba, in The Journal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal 1 (1832), 366. Sagra, Ramón de la, Descubrimiento de diversas minas en la isla de Cuba, in Anales de ciencia, agricultura, comercio y artes 1 (1828), 323–331. Sagra, Ramón de la, Histoire physique, politique et naturelle de l‘île de Cuba, Paris 1842. Taylor, Richard C./ Clemson, Thomas G., Notice of a Vein of Bituminous Coal, Recently Explored in the Vicinity of the Havana, in the Island of Cuba, in Transactions of the American Philosophical Society, New Series 6 (1839), 191–196.

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Hughes, Stephen, Copperopolis: Landscapes of the Early Industrial Period in Swansea, Aberystwyth 2000. Izquierdo, José Joaquin, La primera casa de las ciencias en México. El Real Seminario de Minería (1792–1811), Mexico 1958. Kádár, Béla, Main Phases of Development in Latin-American Economy, in Acta Oeconomica 13 (1974), 89–115. König, Hans-Joachim, Art. „Bourbon Reforms”, in Encyclopedia of Early Modern History Online, http://dx.doi.org/10.1163/2352-0272_emho_COM_017745 (last access 4.7.2018). Lafuente, Antonio [et al], Un diálogo a tres bandas, in idem (eds.), Mundialización de la ciencia y cultura nacional, Aranjuez 1993, 15–20. Landes, David S., The Unbound Prometheus, Cambridge 1969. López de Azcona, Juan Manuel, Mineros destacados del Siglo XIX. Manuel Fernández de Castro (1825–1895), in Boletín Geológico y Minero 99, 5 (1988), 809–836. Moreno Fraginals, Manuel, El ingenio (1760–1860), Havanna 1964. Overton, Robert, Agricultural Revolution in England. The Transformation of the Agrarian Economy (1500–1800), Cambridge [et al.]. 1996. Prados de la Escosura, Leandro, The Economic Consequences of Independence in Latin America, in Victor Bulmer-Thomas [et al.] (eds.), The Cambridge Economic History of Latin America, vol. 1: The Colonial Era and the Short Nineteenth Century, New York 2006, 463–504. Roldán de Montaud, Inés, El ciclo cubano del cobre durante el siglo XIX (1830–1868), in Boletín Geolológica y Minero 119 (2008), 361–382. Schnakenbourg, Christian, Histoire de l’industrie sucrière en Guadeloupe aux XIXe et XXe siècles: La crise du système esclavagiste, 1835–1847, Paris 1980. Studnicki-Gizbert, Daviken/ Schecter, David, The Environmental Dynamics of a Colonial Fuel-Rush. Silver Mining and Deforestation in New Spain, 1522 to 1810, in Environmental History 15 (2010), 94–119. War Department Division of Insular Affairs (ed.), Monthly Summary of Commerce of the Island of Cuba, January 1901, Washington 1901. Wendt, Helge, Coal Mining in Cuba. Knowledge Formation in a Transcolonial Perspective, in idem (ed.), The Globalization of Knowledge in the Iberian Colonial World, Berlin 2016, 261–296. Wendt, Helge, Exploring How to Renew Cuban Education. The Mechanic Institute of Havana (1830–1860), in Terrae Incognitae (2020). Wrigley, E. Anthony, Energy and the English Industrial Revolution, Cambridge 2010. Wrigley, E. Anthony, The Transition to an Advanced Organic Economy: Half a Millennium of English Agriculture, in The Economic History Review 59 (2006), 435–480. Zanetti Lecuona, Oscar/ García Alvarez, Alejandro, Sugar and Railroads: A Cuban History, 1837–1959, Chapel Hill (NC) 1998. Zeuske, Michael, Die Geschichte der Amistad. Sklavenhandel und Menschenschmuggel auf dem Atlantik im 19. Jahrhundert, Stuttgart 2012. Zeuske, Michael, Kleine Geschichte Kubas, Munich 2016.

David Do Paço

Patronage and Expertise: The Creation of Trans-Imperial Knowledge, 1719–1848 In the eighteenth century, the creation of state-related knowledge rested on the free movement of men and ideas. This movement occurred within a social space that imperfectly overlapped with the borders of the republics, monarchies or empires in which this knowledge was organised and institutionalised. Nicholas Dew has described French “baroque orientalism” thus: “the scholarly engagement with exotic learning was made possible – inevitably – by the movement of people and books around the networks created by diplomacy and trade.”1 Similarly, Kapil Raj has demonstrated, when focusing on eighteenth-century Calcutta, that the creation of state-related knowledge in an imperial context was both composite and international in form. In keeping with these recent contributions to eighteenth-century history of sciences, it is possible to argue that early modern orientalism emerged out of constant trans-imperial exchanges that can no longer be confined to a malevolent desire of dominance. Indeed, in 1978 Edward W. Said stated that “the Orient is an integral part of European material civilisation and culture. Orientalism expresses and represents that part culturally and even ideologically as a mode of discourse with supporting institutions, vocabulary, scholarship, imagery, doctrines, even colonial bureaucracies and colonial styles.”2 These institutions he referenced included the different European schools of what was known as oriental languages that flourished in eighteenth-century Europe such as the École de jeunes de langues in Paris or the k. u. k. Akademie der Morgenländischen Sprachen, known as the Oriental Academy in Vienna. In keeping with Said’s paradigm of orientalism, later historians have shown how these institutions were able to generate and teach new forms of learning from the collection of oriental materials started in the sixteenth century. More recently, the political dimension of such institutions has also been examined. The collection and organisation of oriental learning formed part of informal state-related knowledge. This knowledge can be analysed at the level of the clientèle of the most influent ministers like Jean-Baptiste Colbert or Wenzel Anton von Kaunitz-Rietberg.3 The 1754 foundation of the Oriental Academy was part of the second stage of the reorganisation of the Imperial and Royal administration, right after the War of the Austrian Succession (1740–1748). It followed the appointment of Count Kaunitz as Chancellor of State in 1753. The transferral of the management of the Ottoman

1 Dew, Orientalism, 5. 2 Raj, Mapping Knowledge, 105–150. 3 Said, Orientalism, 1; Dew, Orientalism. See also Roider, Austria’s Eastern Question. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110553734-004

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diplomacy from the Aulic War Council (Hofkriegsrat) to the Chancellery of State in 1755 revealed that foreign affairs were being consolidated in the hands of the Chancellor of State. The creation of the Oriental Academy was instrumental and initially served to promote a new generation of experts in Turkish, Persian and Arabic languages within the Austrian administration. They were loyal to Kaunitz, whose authority was hotly challenged in the early years of his service. Recent scholarship, which has gradually distanced itself from Said’s criticism, has examined the particular training of students and broadly written the history of the genesis of the Diplomatic Academy of Vienna that has emerged from the Oriental Academy.4 However, recent developments in institutional sociology have led to a call for a reassessment of this history and to move the focus away from the institution in order to explore the social backgrounds of the experts who were trained and taught at the academy. Sociologists like Antoine Vauchez have recently shown how European experts in Law and Economy were able to use their international intellectual backgrounds in the service of European integration. In so doing they reflected research in trans-imperial history. E. Natalie Rothman’s works on the trans-imperial subjects of the Venetian and Ottoman empires emphasised experts’ abilities in oriental languages in developing political influence according to their various social circles, such as their families, merchants associations, companies or milieus, the patronage of influential Ottoman and Venetian agents, etc. Rothman shows that foreign language experts were also cross-cultural brokers due to their ability to deal with several frameworks of reference and social codes and milieus. Rothman’s research had a rapid impact, which remains strong, on the way early modern historians of the Mediterranean – and trans-imperial historians in general – approach the problem of the incommensurability between the Muslim and the Christian worlds, as it has been defined by Sanjay Subrahmanyam or Christian Windler. My own recent research has led me to the hypothesis that this incommensurability could be the result of the distortion of reality by materials produced by interpreters and dragomans in which they overestimated their role and justified their position.5 Applying a social approach to the history of experts in oriental languages allows for the reassertion of both the issues of orientalism and its incommensurability. Focusing on the background, the training, and the careers of the students of the Oriental Academy in Vienna highlights the cross-cultural and trans-imperial

4 Klingenstein, Kaunitz kontra Bartenstein. On the Oriental Academy see Do Paço, L’Orient à Vienne, 19–64; Fichtner, Terror and Toleration, 117–160; Petritsch, Interkulturelle Diplomatie, 184–200; idem, Die Wiener Turkologie, 25–40, and idem, Erziehung in guten Sitten, 491–501; Pfusterschmid-Hardtenstein, Kleine Geschichte der Diplomatischen Akademie Wien; Rathkolb, 250 Jahre; Roider, The Oriental Academy. 5 Vauchez, Brokering Europe; Rothman, Brokering Empire; Subrahmanyam, Par-delà l’incommensurabilité, 34–35; Windler, Diplomatic History, 79–80; Do Paço, David, Trans-Imperial Sociability, 166–184. See also Grenet, Muslim Missions, 223–244.

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framework in which its students operated and contributed to improve their expertise, between the House of Austria, the Ottoman Empire and other imperial configurations like the United Kingdom. This chapter examines the materials preserved in the archives of the Oriental Academy in Vienna. They include a large variety of documents such as lists of students with their specific social backgrounds, annual assessments of cohorts, letters of application and letters of recommendation in favour of students, etc. Moreover, this contribution also includes in its analysis the material collection of the Oriental Academy and the private papers of agents from or operating at the academy, such as those of the former student of the academy Joseph von Hammer-Purgstall or of his patron, the Internuntio Peter Herbert von Rathkeal.6 I will show that the progressive creation, training and careers of the academicians were trans-imperial in nature. The Oriental Academy participated in Austrian state building by accumulating, organising and teaching a particular kind of formalised education, which did not require restriction to a single political and cultural area. Moreover, economic, social and intellectual interactions between the Habsburg and the Ottoman empires were essential conditions to guarantee the success of the political mission of the Oriental Academy.

I The Creation of the Oriental Academy The creation of the Oriental Academy in 1754 was the final step in the organisation of the Austrian oriental affairs that had started in the middle of the seventeenth century. It entailed transferring the training of Imperial and Royal agents from Istanbul to Vienna and developing a ministerial clientèle.7 Like other European agents in Pera, Imperial and Royal representatives initially relied on the expertise of the local Latin, i. e., Catholic, families. As interpreters, secretaries or physicians the members of these families joined the famiglia of Christian ambassadors, such as the Bailo of Venice. They built local dynasties that controlled access to the social resources of Istanbul through their linguistic skills and social standing. The Testas were certainly the most emblematic of these families. In the first half of the eighteenth century, Gaspare Testa served first the tsar and then the United Provinces as a dragoman. He saw his children married off to the most influent Latin families involved in European foreign affairs. Bartolomeo and Jacopo similarly married Thérèse and Lucie Fonton, the daughters of the first

6 Oesterreichisches Staatsarchiv (OeStA), Haus- Hof- und Staatsarchiv (HHStA), Diplomatie und Außenpolitik vor 1848, Staatskanzlei (StK), Interiora, 55–59; OeStA, HHStA, Staatenabteilung, Türkei IV, 18–19; OeStA, HHStA, Handschriftensammlungen, Orientalische Handschriften der Konsularakademie, and Bachofen von Echt, Josef Freiherr von Hammer-Purgstall. 7 Do Paço, L’Orient à Vienne, 19–54.

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French dragoman Pierre Joachim Fonton, respectively in 1761 and 1762. Lucia Testa, moreover, married the first Imperial and Royal dragoman, Gaspar Mormarz, in 1743. Bartolomeo, secretary to the Imperial and Royal Internuntio, employed the same strategy as his father. For example, when his son Antoine married Lucrèce, the daughter of the sultan’s physician Jean Bénévéni, in 1797, his witnesses were the Internuntio Peter Herbert von Rathkeal and the first French dragoman Antoine Fonton. This was after his daughter Elisabeth Testa had married in 1786 the Imperial and Royal secretary in oriental languages Ignaz von Stürmer, a former student of the Habsburg Oriental Academy.8 However, according to Herbert, the social background of these individuals gave rise to a fundamental concern. Born and raised in Pera, these families were Ottoman subjects, which meant that they were not well regarded by the Turks, who strongly despise those they can abuse and send their fathers and brothers to the galleys. Experience has shown how the latter crassly sought to stay in good graces with the Turks, how they used ministerial protection to develop their family business, and did not manage very well the business of their court.9

In the early eighteenth century, Prince Eugène of Savoy, who, as president of the Hofkriegsrat, was in charge of the Ottoman affairs, fairly systematically appointed his own protégés to Pera so they could be properly educated in oriental languages and thereby free the Habsburg diplomatic corps from the influence of the dragoman families. Thus, in 1719, Heinrich Penckler arrived at the Internuntiature – the seat of the Imperial and Royal diplomatic delegation in Pera – where he became familiarised with diplomatic practices and learnt oriental languages from Latin families and Ottoman officials, such as Osman Ağa, a former captive in Vienna and interpreter of the Ottoman ambassador in Vienna in 1718. Penckler went on to have a brilliant career. He returned to Vienna in 1726 to serve as a court interpreter in oriental languages. He took part in the negotiation of the Treaty of Belgrade in 1739 and was appointed Resident in Pera in 1740, and then Internuntio in 1748. In 1755 he returned to Vienna and served Kaunitz at the Chancellery of State and still had exceptional diplomatic duties toward the Sublime Porte.10 In two voluminous reports he wrote in 1755, Penckler stressed how important the socialisation of political agents in Pera was as well as direct access to the Ottoman court without the interference of the local dragomans. If he could speak Turkish, his Ottoman interlocutors had sometimes mastered French, Italian, Greek

8 Dursteler, Venetians in Constantinople; Gautier/ de Testa, Drogmans et diplomates. 9 Peter Herbert-Rathkeal to Philipp Cobenzl, Bujukdere, 23 July 1785, OeStA, HHStA, Staatenabteilung, Türkei V, 19, fol. 668r–691v (translated from French). 10 Felgel, Penkler, Heinrich Christoph Freiherr von, 350–353; Zedinger, Vom “Sprachknaben” zum Internuntius, 215–242. Wurm, Entstehung und Aufhebung, 152–187.

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or German too.11 This experience led him to express reservations about Kaunitz’s project to establish an Oriental Academy in Vienna. In a letter he wrote to Emperor Francis I in 1753 he emphasised the necessity that Imperial and Royal interpreters master the socio-cultural codes of Ottoman society just as much as the oriental languages. Father Joseph Franz, an influential Jesuit at court, whom Kaunitz had entrusted with designing the academy’s curriculum, considered this point seriously too.12 However, as late as the 1780s, Herbert regularly condemned the inability of the students of the Oriental Academy to behave correctly within Ottoman norms.13 Kaunitz believed that the academy should serve another important purpose: that of extending and securing his influence within the Austrian administration. Kaunitz’s appointment to the Chancellery of State in 1753 was indeed not unanimously supported by all of Maria Theresa’s ministers.14 One of the reforms he introduced was transferring Ottoman affairs to the remit of the Chancellery of State, which already controlled the ordinary diplomacy of the House of Austria. The authority of the Hofkriegsrat was undermined and new loyal servants were promoted to replace the former protégés of Prince Eugène. This was the function of the Oriental Academy, where the students were Kaunitz’s créatures just as much as they were agents of the House of Austria, echoing the classical functions of Imperial and Royal administration where the ministers in charge had to be able to mobilise their private economic and social resources to run public affairs.15 The Oriental Academy not only trained interpreters in oriental languages but, as a partner of the Chancellery of State, it also managed these interpreters’ careers. A list of active interpreters from 1783 shows that 12 out of 19 of them were trained at the Oriental Academy, and all the positions of interpreters at the border were held by academy fellows. The influence of the academy was only held in check by one of the still relatively important Testas: Bartolomeo remained the chief interpreter and secretary of the legation until 1786. Nevertheless, in 1782 two young boys from Pera – Thomas Chabert and Bartolomeo II Testa, nephew of the secretary of the legation – enrolled as students at the Oriental Academy. They obviously did not join the academy to learn languages they had already mastered, but to seek a position under the protection of the new strong man of the Austrian foreign affairs, Count Philipp von Cobenzl. Indeed, in 1779 Cobenzl was in charge of the House of Austria’s foreign affairs and tried to free the academy of Kaunitz’s influence by supporting the application of the sons of his clients, such as the young Joseph

11 OeStA, HHStA, Staatenabteilungen, Türkei V, 16. 12 Hammer-Purgstall, Geschichte des Osmanischen Reiches, vol. 8, 503–504. OeStA, HHStA, StK, 55, fol. 12–21, Petritsch, Erziehung in guten Sitten, 491–501. 13 Peter Herbert-Rathkeal to Philipp Cobenzl, Bujukdere, 23 July 1785, OeStA, HHStA, Staatenabteilung, Türkei V, 19, fol. 668r–691v. 14 Klingenstein, Kaunitz kontra Bartenstein. 15 Lebeau, Aristocrates et grands commis. Do Paço, A Social History of Trans-Imperial Diplomacy.

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Hammer-Purgstall in 1789. In 1779, he also appointed one of his closest protégés, Herbert, as Internuntio. The latter happened to be born and raised in Pera, as the son of an Irish Jacobite supporter and of a Latin woman from Pera.16 At the end of the eighteenth century, the students and the interpreters in charge who trained at the Oriental Academy were divided into three groups: (1) Kaunitz’s former clients gathered around Johann Franz de Paula von Thugut, one of the first group of students enrolled in 1754, (2) Cobenzl’s protégés, such as the young Joseph Hammer-Purgstall, and (3) the interpreters with Ottoman background. As I will show below, these three groups were rivals who occasionally could become allies.

II The Training By establishing the Oriental Academy in Vienna at least part of the students’ training experience was moved from Istanbul to Vienna. It is commonly stated that Kaunitz’s project was inspired by his visit to the École de jeunes de langues when he was ambassador in Paris in 1751. However, Father Franz’s reports clearly show that the Oriental Academy was based on the pedagogic experience of the Imperial and Royal Sprachknaben in the first half of the eighteenth century.17 In January 1754 Johann Franz de Paula von Thugut and Bernhard Jenisch became officially attached to the Internuntiature, while their names also appeared among the nine names of the first cohort of students of the Oriental Academy in April that same year.18 Thugut’s first appointment as interpreter dates from December 1757; that would mean that some training still occurred in Pera. Nevertheless, training was increasingly based in Vienna, where it remained at least until the year 1780. At that point Herbert expressed his concerns about the students’ inability to speak Osmanlı properly and called for a reform of the Oriental Academy. According to him “students waste their time, and complete their education becoming neither good scholars nor skilled in Oriental languages.”19 Instead, he suggested that Cobenzl select the best of them in Vienna and send them to Pera, under his protection, where they could properly learn and practice Turkish.20

16 OeStA, HHStA, StK, 56, fol. 29–30, 215–216; Peter Herbert-Rathkeal to Philipp Cobenzl, from the Danube, 28 July 1779, OeStA, HHStA, Staatenabteilung, Türkei V, 18, fol. 6. 17 Petritsch, Die Anfänge der Orientalischen Akademie, 47–64, and Schlöss, Von den Sprachknaben zu den Anfängen der Orientalischen Akademie, 70–76; OeStA, HHStA, StK, Interiora, 55, fol. 8. 18 OeStA, HHStA, StK, Interiora, 55, fol. 41–51. 19 Peter Herbert-Rathkeal to Philipp Cobenzl, Bujukdere, 23 July 1785, OeStA, HHStA, Staatenabteilung, Türkei V, 19, fol. 668v–671r (translated from French). 20 Ibid, fol. 668v–699r.

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Cobenzl refused to move the Oriental Academy training course from Vienna to Pera, mostly so that he could keep the students under his control, just like Kaunitz had done previously. Joseph Hammer-Purgstall, who joined the academy in 1789, explained the various levels of the training programme perfectly in his Erinnerungen. It consisted of one year’s preparation in Vienna, after which applicants were selected to join the Oriental Academy. They spent four years studying in Vienna before the top achievers joined the Internuntiature in Pera as Sprachknabe who worked for the Internuntio and his interpreters.21 During the 1780s, the Oriental Academy increasingly became a diplomatic academy rather than a scientific institution. The focus came to lie on teaching specific skills that the students should master in order to properly work within the narrow specific domain of “Oriental affairs”.22 The initial training at the academy already paved the way for this development. In 1754, Father Franz stressed the necessity of delivering more than classes in Turkish, Arabic and Persian languages. He mentioned both the oriental and the Latin ways of life which the students had to learn and familiarise themselves with.23 Further, in 1774, after the first modest reform of the academy that followed the expulsion of the Jesuits from Austria, Turkish was only one of the languages (which included French, Latin, Italian and Greek) which the students studied. Arabic and Persian only became assessed languages in 1782, although they had been taught earlier. One of the official purposes of the academy was indeed to republish and to improve François Mesgnien Meninski’s Thesaurus Linguarum Orientalium, Turcicae, Arabicae, Persicae (first published in 1680). Bernhard Jenisch and Franz von Klez[z]l24 – two former students of the first group of students of the academy – launched the new edition in 1789 and this formally allowed the proper teaching of Arabic and Persian. According to the academy’s 1791 curriculum of studies, Turkish was taught the first semester of the first year, while the “Arabic language class based on Meninski’s Thesaurus” started the first semester of the second year, and the “Persian language class based on Meninski’s Thesaurus” started the second semester of the second year.25 After a basic introduction to the different oriental languages, the courses focused on reading, translating and discussing Ottoman manuscripts preserved in the Imperial and Royal Library in Vienna. Further, in 1791 a list of manuscripts that the academy required was sent to the Internuntio, which included two manuscripts of the biography of Nadir Schah. These were intended for use in studying Persian in the second semester of the second year. Another text requested was three copies of

21 Bachofen von Echt, Josef Freiherr von Hammer-Purgstall, 21–28. 22 Loper, Der kaiser-königlichen Residenz Stadt Wien Kommerzialschema, 69. 23 OeStA, HHStA, StK, Interiora, 55, fol. 4–10. 24 Meninski, Thesaurus Linguarum Orientalium. 25 OeStA, HHStA, StK, Interiora, 55, fol. 116–117 and 56, fol. 68–71 and 215–216 (translated from German).

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Ragıp Pașa’s Telchys for use in the second half of the fourth year. Moreover, the request list specifically mentions “600 items of letters from the Divan dealing with all the possible issues, domestic and historical [. . .] and other Fermans of different topics, such as Bujurulti, Arzubal, Temessuk, Slam, Hugget, Fetwa, Berat.”26 The course thus adopted a practical aspect, based on the actual materials with which future interpreters would have to work. Moreover, the academy’s curriculum was also intended to produce not only efficient agents but also proper gentlemen. For most of the students, the academy represented a chance at upward social mobility and so it had to provide them with the social skills necessary when mixing with members of the nobility. Again, HammerPurgstall’s Erinnerungen give a very thorough list of the different classes that the students had to attend, such as law, history, geography, maths, physics, drawing, music and dance.27 The education of a proper gentleman was essential for these future agents of the emperor and specifically for the sons of Latin families from Pera who enrolled in the Academy in the early 1780s. When Thomas Chabert’s writing skills were assessed in 1782 they were recorded as “average in European languages, and very good in Oriental” while his morals (Sitten) were only deemed “reasonable” (ziemlich) unlike other students from Vienna who were classed as “very good.”28 The Oriental Academy was a social matrix that sought to provide Latin students from Pera with European codes and values and Austrian students with the Ottoman ones. Nevertheless, the students’ original social background strongly determined their career.

III A Trans-Imperial Experience Only a few students of the Oriental Academy followed the cursus honorum. Thugut was not one of them but his career was impressive nonetheless. He was appointed interpreter in 1757 in Pera and also served at various Transylvanian border posts. This gave him good knowledge of the diplomatic and commercial relations between the House of Austria and the Ottoman Empire, and allowed him to develop early bonds with trans-imperial actors. Thugut returned to Vienna as interpreter of the Imperial and Royal Court in the service of Kaunitz in 1760. He replaced Wenzel von Brognard as Internuntio in 1769 and arrived in Pera in 1770 where he stayed until 1774. After that he still continued to serve Kaunitz officially and unofficially at the Chancellery of State. In 1779, Herbert was still complaining about Thugut’s influence over some of the secretaries of the Internuntiature, such as, for example, Ignaz

26 Ibid, 56, fol. 74 (translated from German). 27 Ibid, 56, fol. 83. Bachofen von Echt, Josef Freiherr von Hammer-Purgstall, 22. 28 OeStA, HHStA, StK, Interiora, 56, fol. 215–216 (translated from German).

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von Stürmer. Born in 1750 or 1752, Stürmer had joined the Oriental Academy in 1776. His excellent grades in Turkish, French and Latin led him to become Sprachknab in Pera in 1779 under the supervision of Bartolomeo Testa. He was promoted interpreter in 1781 and remained in Pera until the outbreak of the Russo-Ottoman War in 1787, where Austria was an ally of Catherine II. Moreover, he married Elisabeth, daughter of Bartolomeo Testa, in 1786, before he returned to the Chancellery of State as secretary and interpreter in oriental languages and started to challenge Herbert’s influence.29 At some point, one could argue that eventually there was no difference in status between the interpreters in Istanbul and those in Vienna and at the HungarianOttoman border. Stürmer, for example, had received average grades in Greek as a student, which were not adequate for an appointment at a border post where he would have to engage with Ottoman Greek-speaking merchants. His Turkish skills, however, were excellent.30 A list of annual wages from 1782 shows that interpreters in Pera earned 1,200 florins a year against 1,000 florins for the interpreters at the border. However, at the border interpreters benefited from quartier in natura and thus did not need to spend any money on their accommodation. Moreover, in the border post of Lemberg, Joseph von Fillenbaum also got an annual wage of 1,200 florins. Apart from Bartolomeo Testa, the first interpreter in Pera, who in 1782 earned an annual wage of 2,500 florins, all the interpreters (both in Istanbul and those in Vienna) had equal salaries. A marked wage gap existed between the Sprachknabe – who earned 600 florins a year – and the proper interpreters – who earned between 1,000 and 1,200 florins a year, even when they were based at the Internuntiature.31 However, without prior experience from Pera, it seemed impossible for an interpreter to expect any position in Vienna or to become an Internuntio. These two positions were not only dependent on an individual’s linguistic skills but also on having strong ties with the Latin families of Pera. The interpreters’ social backgrounds were equally essential to understanding the route their lives took. When students were promoted into the academy, several criteria were considered. First, most of the students were the sons of agents who were already in administration service. A few were from the nobility or the commercial milieu. Of the seven students enrolled in 1786 only Aloys Schuster’s father was not directly in the service of the House of Austria. Second, despite the sharp criticisms of Herbert, academic excellence was also taken into account. Letters of recommendation assembled by the academy from 1783–1785 mentioned the applicants’ exceptional accomplishments and especially their linguistic skills. For

29 Zeißberg, Thugut, Franz Freiherr von, 138–158; Roider, Baron Thugut; Peter Herbert-Rathkeal to Philipp Cobenzl, Pera, 3 October 1779, OeStA, HHStA, Staatenabteilung, Türkei V, 18, fol. 24r; Schlitter, Stürmer, 49. 30 OeStA, HHStA, StK, Interiora, 56, fol. 75–76. 31 Ibid, 56, 29–30.

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example, Johanna Resmini stressed his son’s skills in German, Latin, Italian and Greek. Third, at some point, family ties became essential for the good progression of a career. By marrying the daughter of Bartolomeo Testa, Stürmer gained a central position in Pera where he could be of service to the House of Austria. This definitely allowed him to become court interpreter in 1787 and Internuntio in 1802.32 Finally, the success or the failure of a career most certainly depended on patronage. Joseph Hammer-Purgstall perfectly exemplifies how the fact that he belonged to Cobenzl’s clientèle determined his fortune and misfortune.33 A son of a dedicated servant of a fervent supporter of Josephinism from Graz, Joseph was sent to Vienna in 1788 on the recommendation of Guido Cobenzl, Philipp’s father. In his Erinnerungen Hammer-Purgstall clearly described his admission: In Vienna my father introduced me to the Vice-Chancellor, Count Philipp Cobenzl, and to Baron van Swieten, who was the dean of studies, to the aulic advisor von Jenisch as the referent of the Oriental Academy, then to Abbé Hoeck, as the director and teacher of the preparatory school. On all these men, on their favour or unfavour depended my future fate, and I was received in the most kind of gentle manner.34

Hammer-Purgstall emphasised the competitive atmosphere among the students at the Oriental Academy, reflecting the rivalry between the protégés of Kaunitz/Thugut and those of Cobenzl.35 From 1789 onwards, when he officially joined the Oriental Academy, Hammer-Purgstall appeared to be a brilliant student. In 1792 he was introduced to the Ottoman ambassador in Vienna, Ebu Bekr Ratib Effendi, who was a friend of Herbert and shared Cobenzl’s perspective on the economic development of Austro-Ottoman trade. However, in 1793, after he had completed his four-year course, he was not given the expected position of Sprachknab in Pera, following Cobenzl’s dismissal a few months earlier and subsequent replacement by Thugut. Hammer-Purgstall remained in Vienna as part of the Cobenzl supporters’ entourage until Thugut’s influence was weakened in the wake of the peace of Campo Formio. He eventually joined Herbert in Pera in 1798, with the support of Ludwig von Cobenzl, the new strongman of Austrian foreign affairs who was the former ambassador at St. Petersburg and Philipp’s cousin. In Pera Hammer-Purgstall had no official role but he informally served Herbert in his blossoming relationship with the British plenipotentiary John Spencer Smith – who married Constance, Herbert’s daughter, in 1798 – and the Russian ambassador. In 1799 Hammer-Purgstall boarded Le Tigre, the vessel commanded by John Spencer Smith’s brother, Sidney, with Heinrich Herbert von Rathkeal, the Internuntio’s son on his journey to Egypt. This expedition led Hammer-Purgstall to Oxford, still under the dual protection of Herbert and Spencer 32 33 34 35

Ibid, 56, fol. 31–34, 120–121. Welzig, Hammer-Purgstall, 593–594. Bachofen von Echt, Josef Freiherr von Hammer-Purgstall, 20 (translated from German). Ibid, 23. Do Paço, L’Orient à Vienne, 49–53.

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Smith, before he returned to Vienna in 1801. Once again appointed to Pera in the service of Herbert, he fell from grace in 1802, following the Internuntio’s death and replacement by Stürmer.36 Hammer-Purgstall’s excellent knowledge of Ottoman affairs and of Austrian, English and Ottoman documents enabled him to publish his 10-volume Geschichte des osmanischen Reichs between 1827 and 1833. Further, Hammer-Purgstall’s work relied also partially on relationships he developed in Pera in the very last year of the eighteenth century. He was already a familiar of Constance Herbert, whom he joined in Vienna, and close to some of the Cobenzls’ eminent protégés, such as the above-mentioned Thomas Chabert. He also maintained close ties with John Spencer Smith who moved to Normandy – an old Jacobite refuge – in 1806 and became the secrétaire perpétuel of the Academy of Sciences in Caen, where he published several works on oriental studies.37

IV Conclusion The founding of the Oriental Academy exemplified how, through ministerial patronage, the training and careers of oriental-languages interpreters relied on trans-imperial networks. Far from being the expression of a “modern state”, the establishment of the Oriental Academy reflected internal rivalries within the Austrian administration for the control of foreign affairs. This rivalry revealed itself both through the patronage of students and alliances with Latin families from Pera, as the latter continued to exert a strong influence on diplomatic exchanges with the Ottoman Empire. Very little attention has been paid to the connection between trans-imperial social groups and the governance of empire although nowadays this is certainly one of the most promising fields of research for the trans-regional history of science and state-related knowledge. However, following Hammer-Purgstall’s setting up of the Imperial Academy of Sciences in 1847 the Oriental Academy began to focus almost exclusively on diplomacy and encompassed the entire diplomatic field within its courses. Applying a social approach to the history of early modern scientific and academic institutions not only nuances Said’s model but also – and this is essential – calls for thinking outside the national box with regard to early modern history. It also encourages research into Austro-Ottoman relations through a different perspective than that of crosscultural history. Trans-imperial clientèles comprised agents from different cultural, linguistic and religious backgrounds within the same regional socio-economic structure which reigning houses used to connect and organise their diplomacy. In this

36 Ibid, 28–29 and 33–138. See also Wentker, Hammer-Purgstall als Homo Politicus. 37 Do Paço, A Social History of Trans-Imperial Diplomacy, 16–17.

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perspective, through the Oriental Academy trans-imperial agents to secure the positions they held originating from a trans-imperial clientèle.

References Archival Sources Oesterreichisches Staatsarchiv (OeStA), Haus- Hof- und Staatsarchiv (HHStA), – Diplomatie und Außenpolitik vor 1848, Staatskanzlei (StK), Interiora, 55–59. – Handschriftensammlungen, Orientalische Handschriften der Konsularakademie. – Staatenabteilung, Türkei IV, 16. – Staatenabteilung, Türkei V, 18–19.

Printed Sources Bachofen von Echt, Reinhardt (ed.), Josef Freiherr von Hammer-Purgstall. Erinnerungen aus meinem Leben, 1774–1852, Vienna/ Leipzig 1940, 21–28. Hammer-Purgstall, Joseph von, Geschichte des Osmanischen Reiches, 10 vols., Pest 1827–1833. Loper, Christian, Der kaiser-königlichen Residenz Stadt Wien Kommerzialschema, nebst Beschreibung aller Merkwürdigkeiten derselben, insbesondere ihrer Schulen, Fabriken, Manufakturen, Kommerzialprofessionisten, dem Handelsstande, der akademischen Bürger, Künstler, u. s. w., Vienna 1780. Meninski, Franciszek a Mesgnien, Thesaurus Linguarum Orientalium Turcicae, Arabicae, Persicae, Praecipuas earum opes a Turcis peculariter usurpatas continens. Nimirum Lexicon TurcicoArabico-Persicum . . . & Grammaticam Turcicam cum adiectis ad singula eius capita Praeceptis Grammaticis Arabicae & Persicae Linguae . . ., 5 vols., Vienna 1680–1687; 2nd ed. by Bernhard Jenisch/ Franz Klezl, 4 vols., Vienna 1780.

Secondary Works Dew, Nicholas, Orientalism in Louis XIV’s France, Oxford 2009. Do Paço, David, A Social History of Trans-Imperial Diplomacy in a Crisis Context. Peter HerbertRathkeal’s Circles of Belonging in Pera (1779–1802), in International History Review (forthcoming). Do Paço, David, L’Orient à Vienne au dix-huitième siècle, Oxford 2015 (Oxford University Studies in the Enlightenment 5). Do Paço, David, Trans-Imperial Sociability. Ottoman Ambassadors in 18th-Century Vienna in Tracey A. Sowerby/ Jan Hennings (eds.), Practices of Diplomacy in the Early Modern World, c. 1410–1800, London 2017, 166–184. Dursteler, Eric, Venetians in Constantinople. Nation, Identity, and Coexistence in the Early Modern Mediterranean, Baltimore 2006. Felgel, Anton Victor, Penkler, Heinrich Christoph Freiherr von, in Allgemeine Deutsche Biographie 25 (1887), 350–353. Fichtner, Paula Sutter, Terror and Toleration: The Habsburg Empire Confronts Islam (1529–1850), London 2008.

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Gautier, Antoine/ de Testa, Marie, Drogmans et diplomates européens auprès de la Porte ottomane, Istanbul, Isis, 2003. Klingenstein, Grete, Kaunitz kontra Bartenstein. Zur Geschichte der Staatskanzlei 1749–1753, in Heinrich Fichtenau/ Erich Zöllner (eds.), Beiträge zur neueren Geschichte Österreichs, Graz 1974, 243–263. Grenet, Mathieu, Muslim Missions to Early Modern France, c. 1610–c. 1780. Notes for a Social History of Cross-Cultural Diplomacy, in Journal of Early Modern History 19/2–3 (2015), 223–244. Kurz, Marlene [et al.] (eds.), Das Osmanische Reich und die Habsburgermonarchie in der Neuzeit. Akten des internationalen Kongresses zum 150-jährigen Bestehen des Instituts für Österreichische Geschichtsforschung, Wien, 22.–25. September 2004, Vienna 2005. Lebeau, Christine, Aristocrates et grands commis à la cour de Vienne (1748–1791). Le modèle français, Paris 1996. Petritsch, Ernst Dieter, Die Anfänge der Orientalischen Akademie, in Oliver Rathkolb (ed.), 250 Jahre – von der Orientalischen zur Diplomatischen Akademie in Wien, Innsbruck/ Vienna, 2004, 47–64. Petritsch, Ernst Dieter, Die Wiener Turkologie vom 16. bis zum 18. Jahrhundert in Klaus Kreiser (ed.), Germano-Turcica. Zur Geschichte des Türkisch-Lernens in den deutschsprachigen Ländern, Bamberg 1987, 25–40. Petritsch, Ernst Dieter, Erziehung in guten Sitten. Andacht und Gehorsam. Die 1754 gegründete Orientalische Akademie in Wien, in Kurz [et al.] (eds.), Das Osmanische Reich und die Habsburgermonarchie in der Neuzeit, 491–501. Petritsch, Ernst Dieter, Interkulturelle Diplomatie zwischen Habsburgern und Osmanen. Fragen und Probleme, in Brigit Tremml-Werner/ Eberhard Crailsheim (eds.), Audienzen und Allianzen. Interkulturelle Diplomatie in Asien und Europa vom 8. bis 18. Jahrhundert, Vienna 2015, 184–200. Pfusterschmid-Hardtenstein, Heinrich, Kleine Geschichte der Diplomatischen Akademie Wien. Ausbildung im Bereich der internationalen Beziehungen seit 1754, Vienna 2008. Raj, Kapil, Mapping Knowledge. Go-Betweens in Calcutta, 1770–1820, in Simon Schaffer [et al.] (eds.), The Brokered World. Go-Betweens and Global Intelligence, 1770–1820, Sagamore Beach 2009, 105–150. Rathkolb, Oliver (ed.), 250 Jahre – von der Orientalischen zur Diplomatischen Akademie in Wien, Vienna 2004. Roider, Karl A., Austria’s Eastern Question, 1700–1790, Princeton (NJ) 1982. Roider, Karl A., Baron Thugut and Austria’s Response to the French Revolution, Princeton (NJ) 1987. Roider, Karl A., The Oriental Academy in the Theresienzeit, in Topic. A Journal of the Liberal Arts 34 (1980), 19–28. Rothman, E. Nathalie, Brokering Empire: Trans-Imperial Subjects Between Venice and Istanbul, Ithaca (NY) 2011. Said, Edward W., Orientalism, New York 1979. Schlitter, Hanns, Stürmer, Ignaz Lorenz Freiherr von, in Allgemeine Deutsche Biographie 37 (1894), 49. Schlöss, Erich, Von den Sprachknaben zu den Anfängen der Orientalischen Akademie, in Wiener Geschichtsblätter 56 (2001), 70–76. Subrahmanyam, Sanjay, Par-delà l’incommensurabilité: pour une histoire connectée des empires aux temps modernes, in Revue d’Histoire Moderne et Contemporaine 54–4 bis (2007), 34–53. Vauchez, Antoine, Brokering Europe: Euro-Lawyers and the Making of a Transnational Polity, Cambridge 2015. Welzig, Werner, Hammer-Purgstall, Joseph Freiherr von, in Neue Deutsche Biographie 7 (1966), 593–594.

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Wentker, Sybille, Hammer-Purgstall als Homo Politicus im Spiegel seiner ‘Erinnerungen aus meinem Leben’, in Kurz [et al.] (eds.), Das Osmanische Reich und die Habsburgermonarchie in der Neuzeit, 515–523. Windler, Christian, Diplomatic History as a Field for Cultural Analysis: Muslim-Christian Relations in Tunis, 1700–1840, in The Historical Journal 44/1 (2001), 79–106. Wurm, Heidrun, Entstehung und Aufhebung des Osmanischen Generalkonsulats in Wien (1726–1732), in Mitteilungen des Österreichischen Staatsarchivs 42 (1992), 152–187. Zedinger, Renate, Vom “Sprachknaben” zum Internuntius Freiherr Heinrich Christoph von Penckler (1700–1774) im diplomatischen Dienst an der Hohen Pforte, in Ulrike Tischler-Hofer/ idem (eds.), Kuppeln – Korn – Kanonen: unerkannte und unbekannte Spuren in Südosteuropa von der Aufklärung bis in die Gegenwart, Innsbruck 2010, 215–242. Zeißberg, Heinrich von, Thugut, Franz Freiherr von, in Allgemeine Deutsche Biographie 38 (1894), 138–158.

Part II: Circulating State-Related Knowledge

Lothar Schilling

‘Intelligencers’ (advertisement sheets) as Media of State-Related Knowledge? The idea of promoting economic life by institutionalising the exchange of information about economic offers and demands of all kinds dates back to the sixteenth century.1 In the German-speaking countries it was taken up more hesitantly than in France and England, but in the eighteenth century, especially after the Seven Years’ War, advertising papers, mostly referred to by contemporaries as Intelligenzblätter (intelligencers) or Wochenblätter (weeklies), experienced a unique boom. Around 1800, the number of these periodicals, which normally consisted of six to twelve pages per issue, reached at least 200 in the German-speaking countries with a readership estimated at about one million.2 This boom was accompanied by a considerable extension of the contents of these sheets. More than half of them successively included editorial contributions in addition to advertisements, price lists and other commercial information.3 These contributions, in some cases published in separate supplements, were often devoted to “practicable” economic and particularly agricultural and forestry issues.4 In parallel to this development, intelligencers increasingly served territorial authorities for the publication of announcements, ordinances and laws – especially those concerning general welfare, economic life and agriculture, i.e. topics that were also the predominant subjects of editorial contributions.5 The latter form of use, in turn, motivated territorial authorities in the Holy Roman Empire to promote intelligencers, for example by paying direct subsidies, by buying up part of the edition or by compulsory subscriptions to offices or municipalities. Many intelligencers thus had a semi-official status; mostly, they were not

1 Cf. the overviews of Blome, Offices of Intelligence; Blome, Vom Adressbüro zum Intelligenzblatt; Groth, Die Zeitung, vol. 3, 169–186; Lindemann, Deutsche Presse, part I, 249–255; Münch, Intelligenzblätter; Schilling, Policey und Druckmedien, 419–424. First general reflexions about offices of intelligence are to be found in the Essais of Michel de Montaigne, published for the first time in 1580 (Montaigne, Essais, vol. I, chap. XXXV, 223–225: D’un défaut de nos polices). 2 See in detail Huneke, Die “Lippischen Intelligenzblätter”, 47–49; tables 196–197, who counts nine intelligence sheets in 1729, 41 in 1749, 95 in 1769, 141 in 1789 and 183 in 1803; he assumes a total circulation of at least 50,000 copies. Böning, Das Intelligenzblatt (1987), 22, and similarly Schaich, Churbaierisches Intelligenzblatt/ Königlich Baierisches Intelligenzblatt (URL), mention “more than 220 foundations [of intelligence papers] in the course of the 18th century”. 3 Böning, Pressewesen und Aufklärung, 93. 4 Contemporary actors often addressed the “applicability” as a characteristic of the contents of intelligencers; cf. e.g. Münchner Intelligenzblatt, preface of the editor, 1791, unpag. 5 Cf. in detail with further evidence Wunder, Vom Intelligenzblatt zum Gesetzesblatt; Schilling, Policey und Druckmedien, 427–439. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110553734-005

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published by territorial authorities, but the editors were closely dependent on these authorities or held public offices in addition to their editorial activities. This press policy was influenced by a conception of rulership gaining acceptance in many territories of the Holy Roman Empire in the second half of the eighteenth century. Its theoretical base was formulated by the contemporary science of public affairs (Policeywissenschaft), which was also taught at universities.6 It advocated a broad understanding of governmental tasks, which included, among other things, many responsibilities traditionally attributed to the domestic sphere (oikonomia). This meant that practical knowledge in the fields of agriculture, economics and technology became increasingly relevant for territorial authorities. The economic enlightenment movement, mainly composed of public office holders, accentuated this evolution by declaring the dissemination of practical and economic knowledge a central task of the state.7 In this perspective, territorial governments as well as adherents of the economic enlightenment movement considered editorially enhanced intelligencers as Policeyanstalten, as instruments of an integrated public policy aiming at improving living conditions, strengthening the economy and ultimately increasing finances and the power of the ruler and his state, by intensifying the exchange of useful knowledge.8 In their eyes, the knowledge the sheets promoted was highly “state relevant”.9 Unlike older studies, which considered intelligencers to be journalistically unproductive and irrelevant in terms of content, the research done by historians of media, communication and reading since the 1980s has highlighted the great interest of enlightened actors in intelligencers as well as the range of these periodicals.10 Research on popular enlightenment11 and on legislation and public policy (Policey)12 has confirmed and supplemented these results.

6 Cf. Maier, Die ältere deutsche Staats- und Verwaltungslehre; Matsumoto, Polizeibegriff; Stolleis, Geschichte. 7 An overview of the state of research on economic enlightenment is to be found in Popplow (ed.), Landschaften; Jones, Agricultural Enlightenment. 8 Cf. e.g. Bergius, Intelligenzwesen; similarly Krünitz, Intelligenz–Anstalt, Intelligenz–Wesen, 428; Justi, Grundfeste, vol. 1, § 771, 674; on the concept of Policey, considerably dynamised and economically accentuated in the eighteenth century, see Holenstein, Die Ordnung und die Mißbräuche; idem‚ Gute Policey und lokale Gesellschaft; on the complex relationship of Policey and intelligencers Kempf, Aufklärung als Disziplinierung; Schilling, Policey und Druckmedien. 9 On the concept of “state relevant/ related knowledge” (savoirs d’État) cf., besides the introduction to this volume, Lebeau, Circulations internationales et savoirs d’État; Delmas, Instituer des savoirs d’État; Dauser/ Schilling, Einleitung (URL). 10 Cf. especially the numerous articles of Böning, listed in detail in the bibliography; further those of Blome, Huneke, Greiling and Petrat. 11 Cf. in particular the monumental documentation of Böning/ Siegert, Volksaufklärung, which illustrates the importance of intelligence sheets in the process of popular enlightenment with countless examples. 12 Cf. the articles of Schilling and Wunder in the bibliography.

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Although research has in the meantime clearly defined the general content profile of the editorially enhanced intelligencers and their potential as an instrument of reformist policy, the origin, character and layout of the knowledge offered in these papers as well as its use as media of state-relevant knowledge so far have been scarcely examined. Where did this knowledge come from – from the distribution area of the respective sheet or from other regions? Was it published for the first time or taken from other contemporary or older publications? Did it offer general advice or specific proposals? Were the recommendations and recipes given there based on practical knowledge? To what extent were framework conditions taken into account, for example with regard to soil and climate conditions or to the legal system of a physical territory? Did intelligencers become a forum for the exchange of experiences – and if so, at which level? Studying into these parameters seems to be particularly interesting, since for eighteenth century contemporaries, the regional attributing was one of the assets of most of these sheets.13 Recent research also emphasises the importance of these periodicals as transmission belts between European and local debates, allowing specific regional circumstances to be taken into account and influenced.14 In order to investigate these questions, a database is currently being set up at the University of Augsburg, which records, among other things, the reports and articles published in selected intelligencers of the second half of the eighteenth century as well as the texts, persons and places mentioned therein. In the meantime, about 5,000 reports and articles published in intelligencers, mainly in the Churbaierisches Intelligenzblatt and the Münchner Intelligenzblatt, and about 2,500 other publications mentioned, commented on or quoted in these journals have been recorded and indexed in this database.15 Since data collection is far from being completed, valid statistical analysis is not possible yet. Nevertheless, the considerable number of texts available so far offers more broadly secured empirical observations of the knowledge offered in the German-language intelligencers than was previously possible. The following article initially concentrates on the topics of the contributions published in intelligencers (I), before treating the readers of these sheets (II) and the authors and their knowledge (III), analysing the circulation of texts and knowledge (IV) and 13 Cf. Meyer, Voigtländische Beyträge zur Polizeykunde, 4: “Mich deucht, der Hauptendzweck aller Intelligenzblätter sollte local seyn” (“I think the primary purpose of intelligence papers should be local”). 14 Cf. Böning, Das Intelligenzblatt (1999), 92; Blome, Gemeinnützige Aufklärung, 228. 15 The database currently contains all editorial contributions in the Churbaierisches Intelligenzblatt (1766–1776, 3,387 articles) and the first seven years of the Münchner Intelligenzblatt (1777–1783, 2,168 articles) as well as 600 contributions from other periodicals, especially those referencing the two Bavarian sheets or referenced by them. The fact that the above-mentioned total number of contributions is significantly lower than the sum of the figures quoted here is due to the practice of adopting articles from other periodicals, which has not yet been fully documented; see section IV below. On the perspectives of statistical research in press history see Böning, Gedanken.

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finally resuming the role of intelligencers as media for the dissemination of staterelevant knowledge (V).

I Topics and Contents A glance at the texts collected so far in our database reveals first how closely the editorial contributions in the intelligencers relate to the topics and discussions treated by the above-mentioned Policeywissenschaft on the one hand and the economic enlightenment movement on the other. This finding confirms in essence programmatic statements such as formulated by Johann Heinrich Gottlob Justi, the editor of the Göttingische Policey-Amts-Nachrichten: “I [. . .] believe that the subjects to be dealt with in the intelligencer should be chosen mainly from the economic and other sciences from which the producers of primary goods are to benefit directly”.16 This definition covered a wide range of topics. In addition to trade, commerce, manufacturing, agriculture and forestry, it included practical questions of domestic economy, medical and natural science, as well as matters of transport, public administration, public economy and public order. In connection with this, the fight against “prejudices”, the improvement of popular education, the diligence of the common people and their willingness to innovate were recurring topics. The improvement of the living conditions and the prosperity of the population, higher yields and productivity, the minimisation of losses and the more efficient use of resources were the declared guiding principles,17 the increase of tax and customs receipts the implicitly intended main effects of most of the editorial contributions. A considerable variety of text genres corresponded to the broad thematic spectrum of the editorial contributions. This included business news as well as reports on innovations, the publication of the themes of price contests as well as inquiries from individual readers, practical advice as well as articles with “scientific” or sciencepopularising aspirations, book advertisements and reviews. Even texts with literary ambitions were printed in intelligencers. An article argued that the most promising means to entertain by teaching lay in the hands of the poet.18 Justus Möser inserted numerous editorial contributions in the Wöchentliche Osnabrückische Anzeigen published by himself, which he later re-released in book form with great publishing

16 Justi, Von der Absicht und Einrichtung dieser Blätter, 2: “Meines Erachtens sollte man [. . .] die in denen Intelligenzblättern abzuhandelnden Materien hauptsächlich aus den Oeconomischen und dem Nahrungsstande unmittelbar zum Vortheil gereichenden Wißenschaften erwehlen” On Justi as editor of this intelligencer see Kempf, Aufklärung als Disziplinierung, 118–122. 17 Bayerl, Die Natur als Warenhaus; Bayerl, Prolegomenon der “Großen Industrie”; Popplow, Die Ökonomische Aufklärung als Innovationskultur. 18 Cf. Gedanken von den Würkungen ökonomischer Schriften auf den Landmann, in Gelehrte Beyträge zu den Braunschweigischen Anzeigen, 11/11/1772, col. 601–608, here col. 605.

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success under the title “Patriotic Fantasies”.19 At least since the 1780s, the intelligencers played an important role in the literary life of Germany. So, in addition to Möser, Matthias Claudius and Christian Friedrich Daniel Schubart served as editors of such sheets, and numerous contemporary writers from Lenz, Pfeffel, Lavater and Campe to Gellert, Gleim, Schiller and Goethe used this medium.20 Even if some literary texts in the intelligencers departed somewhat from Justi’s ideal of economic utility, this ideal remained valid until the end of the eighteenth century. Many editorial contributions published in intelligencers made intensive reference to other publications of the economic enlightenment movement. The exchange of information and opinions transcended genre boundaries. Although only limited space was available in the individual issues, longer articles were also printed – as continuation articles or as part of supplements, which were published on a case-by-case basis or regularly. Apart from the thematic focus on useful knowledge, these contributions were anything but uniform, differing in terms of size, scope, complexity and targeted readership. Frequently, intelligencers adopted editorial articles originally published in other media: from moral weeklies,21 popular calendars,22 economic magazines23 and collections such as the Berlinische Sammlungen.24 Even longer articles published first in the Abhandlungen und Beobachtungen of the Economic Society of Bern,25

19 Wöchentliche Osnabrückische Anzeigen; cf. Schilling, Gute Ordnung und patriotischer Diskurs. 20 Cf. Böning, Das Intelligenzblatt (1994), 22. 21 An article entitled Aus dem wienerischen Wochenblatt, published in the Churbaierisches Intelligenzblatt, 17/4/1767, is particularly significant. In fact, the article is an extract of a text first published by Joseph Sonnenfels in his moral weekly Der Mann ohne Vorurtheil, 1766, 467–472. 22 Cf. e.g. a contribution in the Wittenberg[i]sche Wochenblatt, 17/5/1771, 161–164, intitled “Ueber die Piselli Romani” [peas] quoting extensively from the Haushaltungs- Garten- und Geschichtscalender [. . .] auf das Jahr [. . .] 1754 published in Berlin; cf. further in general Böning, Volksaufklärung und Kalender; Greiling, Volksaufklärung, Intelligenzblätter und das Kalenderwesen. 23 Leichte Art, das weiße Holz- und Fichtenholz zu färben, in Churbaierisches Intelligenzblatt, 2/5/ 1767, p. 73, copied from the Gemeinnütziges Natur- und Kunstmagazin [. . .], Berlin, issue 1763, 680–682; further Wohlgerathenen [!] Versuch. Die wilden Kastanien nach und nach mit großem Vortheil in der Hauswirtschaft benutzen zu können, in Churbaierisches Intelligenzblatt, 13/7/1771, 201–204, referencing in addition to monographs two articles of the Allgemeine oeconomische ForstMagazin, Frankfurt a.M./ Leipzig, issues of March 1763 and December 1769. 24 Cf. e.g. Mittel wider das Sterben der Schaafe, das von feuchter und morastiger Weyde entsteht, published first in Martini (ed.), Berlinische Sammlungen 1769, pp. 375–376; adopted in Churbaierisches Intelligenzblatt, 4/6/1774, pp. 137–138; and Dillenburgische Intelligenznachrichten, 18/11/1775, col. 728; see for the circulation of texts as well part II of this article. 25 Cf. a treatise of the physician, scholar and Bernese patrician Albrecht von Haller about the cattle plague (Abhandlung zur Viehseuche), published first in the Beobachtungen und Abhandlungen durch die Ökonomische Gesellschaft Bern gesammelt, vol. 13, 1773, issue 2, pp. 50–79 (cf. Stuber, Vous ignorez, 520–525). This text in November 1773 was presented to the Academy of Sciences of Gottingen (Haller, De lue bovilla) reprinted then separately (Bern 1773), and later taken over by the Dillenburgische Intelligenznachrichten, in five issues from 30/3/1776 to 27/4/1776.

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smaller monographs26 and treatises presented to academies27 were adopted as continuation articles. Numerous intelligencers not only included announcements and reviews of recently published monographs, collections and collective publications on “economic” topics, but also took part in current debates, such as those initiated by the price contests of academies and patriotic-economic societies, although it is not always clear to what extent such debates were staged.28 At the end of the 1760s, for example, more than 30 sheets reported and commented on a prize competition proposed by Empress Catherine on the importance of rural property. Most articles agreed on criticising the role of the landlords, rejecting serfdom and emphasising the damages caused by corvées and feudal taxes.29 Another typical topic was the supply of cereals, the cereal market and the regulation or release of grain prices – a debate that included a thorough discussion of relevant specialist publications.30 In the wake of the hunger crisis at the beginning of the 1770s, a growing number of intelligencers developed into critical reflection and debate media examining among other things, which is why the efforts of the practical-economic enlightenment movement so far only had limited effects. At the same time, there was a politicisation of individual papers, which increasingly reported on current political events and reflected on a fundamental reform of the social order.31 On the other hand, it became increasingly clear that – in contrast to the advertisements, price lists and commercial information constituting the exclusive content

26 The Churbaierisches Intelligenzblatt printed in its issues of 28/11/1766, 30/12/1766 and 19/1/1767 the first two (of three) parts of a treatise of Fredrik Willem Hastfer, a Swedish officer who had imported with success sheep from Spain to Denmark (Hastfer, Goldgrube); further editions (under slightly differing titles) were published in Frankfurt/ Main and Leipzig in 1757 and in 1762 in Bern with the approbation and support of the local Economic Society. 27 Cf. e.g. an article entitled Von dem Nutzen und Gebrauch des Kochsalzes bey dem Vieh, in Churbaierisches Intelligenzblatt of 31/1, 14/3, 2/4, 30/4, 31/5, 30/6 and 17/7/1766. Without indicating its source, the article takes over large parts of a treatise presented to the Bavarian Academy of Sciences: Wolfgang Thomas Rau, Versuch einer Abhandlung von dem Nutzen und Gebrauche des Kochsalzes, bey Menschen, Thieren und Gewächsen, wie auch in der Chymie, Mechanik, Fabriquen, Lands- und Hauswirthschaft, in Abhandlungen der Churfürstlich-Baierischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1764, part 2, 141–198. 28 Cf. for some examples of staged debates Schilling, Gute Ordnung und patriotischer Diskurs. 29 Cf. Böning, Das Intelligenzblatt – eine literarisch-publizistische Gattung, 22–23. 30 Cf. e.g. Die Nothwendigkeit billiger u. gleichförmiger Preise des Getraides, in Wittenberg[i]sches Wochenblatt 3/4/1768, pp. 70–75, referencing among others Herbert, Essai sur la police générale des grains; cf. Böning, Das Intelligenzblatt (1994), 24, whose interpretation as a fundamental critique of the feudal order seems to me to go too far. 31 Cf. as an early example the article Von dem politischen Verhältnisse der verschiedenen Stände, in Erfurthisches Intelligenzblatt, 10/10/1778, 17/10/1778 and 24/10/1778, 327, 332–335 and 341–344; for more details Greiling, . . .dem gesellschaftlichen Leben der Menschen zur Aufnahme, 21–24; Schilling, Policey und Druckmedien, 445–446.

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of early intelligencers, the editorial contributions added in many intelligencers from about 1760 on were not to the same degree a specific and profiling component of these periodicals. Rather, they were part of an intensive cross-media discourse. This development, in a context of an increasing diversification of the market of periodicals, led to a gradual blurring of the medium’s profile, which can be seen in the fact that crossover periodicals emerged whose contents regardless of their title had little in common with those of the early intelligencers. So, the Medicinisches Wochenblatt für Aerzte, Wundärzte und Apotheker, published from 1780 onwards, mainly contained news about medical practice and research as well as review articles.32 The Oekonomie-Wochenblatt, published from 1790 to 1799 by the territorial office of intelligence of the Duchy of Württemberg, contained exclusively practical advice,33 and the Thüringisches Wochenblatt für Kinder, ihre Lehrer und Freunde, offered useful entertainment and instruction for young people.34 Information about prices, offers and demands did not play any role in these periodicals. When during the French Revolution some intelligencers gave more place to actual news and political topics, this led to an intensification of the censorship and consequently to a reduction of editorial contributions from about 1792/93 onwards.35 This meant a cut for most intelligencers, which developed into law gazettes36 or purely local advertising and entertainment papers. Even if some intelligencers existed until the twentieth century, the medium focussing on questions of public policy and practical enlightenment disappeared soon after 1800.

II The Readers From the beginnings of the intelligencers, numerous statements emphasise that these periodicals should primarily address practitioners – merchants, artisans and farmers above all. Justi’s statements quoted above underlines this scope, as does (with a slightly different accent) a statement in the Münchner Intelligenzblatt arguing that the point was “to teach the farmer (Landman), to intelligent him, to provide him with useful consideration: whereby his moral and domestic condition is improved or his reason elucidated”.37 In many places (especially in Catholic territories

32 Medicinisches Wochenblatt für Aerzte, Wundärzte und Apotheker; from 1759 to 1764 the renowned physician Johann August Unzer already published in Hamburg Der Arzt. Eine medicinische Wochenschrift. 33 Oekonomie-Wochenblatt. 34 Thüringisches Wochenblatt für Kinder, ihre Lehrer und Freunde. 35 Cf. in general Böning, Zeitungen für das “Volk”; Greiling, Einem Volke, welches die Bastille rasirt. 36 Cf. Ruppert, Die Entstehung; Wunder, Vom Intelligenzblatt zum Gesetzesblatt. 37 Münchner Intelligenzblatt, 30.01.1779, Nr. 3, 29: “Warum schreibt man? warum werden Wochen [-] und Monathschriften für den Landman ausgegeben? Nicht wahr? ihn zu belehren, ihn zu

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in the south of the German-speaking area), the low literacy of the population and above all of the rural population constituted an important obstacle to achieving the latter goal. It is possible that intelligencers were read aloud in the family or in the local inn. However, a considerable number of texts published in these periodicals were not suitable for this either, because they often contained foreign words, Latin quotations and other scholarly references, which confronted an uneducated reader with considerable problems of understanding. This was especially true for texts that were not originally intended for publication in an intelligencer, such as treatises presented to academies. The implicit reader of most intelligencers was familiar with the topics and discussions of economic enlightenment, predisposed by a broad general education. This profile was most closely matched by landowners and tenants, office holders and clergymen (who often were obliged to subscribe to these sheets), other graduates, wealthy entrepreneurs and merchants – in short: members of the urban and rural elites. There is no doubt that various attempts were made to expand the readership beyond these social groups. In some territories, for example, compulsory subscriptions were introduced for guilds and municipalities. However, these initiatives mostly served primarily to secure the financial basis of the sheets concerned – and they often met with considerable resistance.38 From the late 1770s on, an increasing number of articles sought to address the rural population directly, using appealing narratives and a simplified language. At the same time, more and more articles dealt with suitable ways, media and methods of communication.39 In this context, numerous contributions emphasised the potential of intelligencers as media of “ubiquitous folk education” (“überall verbreiteter Volksunterricht”).40 Even now, in many sheets, the common people were rather the subject of reflection than the addressees.41 The “scholarly contributions”, as the editorial texts in most intelligencers continued to be referred to, seldom denied the scholarship of their

intelligiren, ihm nützliche Betrachtung zu lifern: wodurch sein sittlich- und häuslicher Zustand gebessert oder die Vernunft aufgeklärt wird”. 38 Greiling, “Intelligenzblätter” und gesellschaftlicher Wandel in Thüringen, 31; Huneke, Die “Lippischen Intelligenzblätter”, 165–172; Fiegert/ Welker, Aufklärung auf dem Land; Schilling, Gute Ordnung und patriotischer Diskurs, 52. 39 Cf. the above-mentioned article Gedanken von den Würkungen ökonomischer Schriften auf den Landmann (note 21), published for the first time in Gemeinnützige Abhandlungen, 31/10/1772; and reprinted some weeks later by the Erfurthische Intelligenzblatt (cf. Böning, Das Intelligenzblatt [1994], 22). 40 For the citation, see Ueber das Intelligenzwesen, in Braunschweigisches Magazin, 1/5/1788, col. 1–16, here 13. 41 Late exceptions, which already exceeded the traditional genre limits of the intelligencers, are Der Anzeiger and Der Reichsanzeiger, both edited by Rudolph Zacharias Becker.

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authors,42 and the Wittenbergisches Intelligenzblatt even reserved a separate column for matters of the local university.43 Even if most intelligence papers claimed to appeal to uneducated readers, this claim obviously was difficult to fulfil, especially in the editorial texts. This uncertainty with regard to the target audience, which is characteristic of many activities of the economic enlightenment movement, finally increased the already mentioned blurring of the intelligencers’ profile, which then contributed significantly to its decline from the 1790s on.

III Experts? The Authors and Their Knowledge It is not easy to determine who might have “spoken” in the intelligencers and notably in the editorial articles. Although it can be considered certain that almost throughout, the respective publishers played a decisive role in the composition of the sheets, only in exceptional cases (such as Möser in Osnabrück44) are they likely to have written large parts of the editorial contributions published in their sheets themselves. Others were probably mainly responsible for the selection of the published texts. However, who their authors were is usually difficult to retrace, since in most of these periodicals, nearly all reports and a large majority of the editorial articles were not identified by name. The only significant exception were texts taken in parts or completely from monographs or other publications identified by name. Also the authors of reviewed or otherwise mentioned and summarised works were, of course, named. Therefore, the Swiss physician Samuel Auguste A.D. Tissot or the Saxon lawyer and author of economic treatises Gottfried August Hoffmann, not French philosophes such as Voltaire or Diderot, were among the most frequently mentioned persons in the articles of intelligencers collected so far in the Augsburg database. Occasionally, information on the field of activity of an alleged author was provided.45 There are articles attributed to simple farmers or artisans, but such assertions are not verifiable and often not very plausible given the language of the articles concerned. Probably their main purpose was to underline that the recommendations and innovations contained in the respective texts had been tried and tested in practice.

42 Schilling, Policey und Druckmedien; a contemporary criticism of the prevalence of “learned” contents in intelligencers e.g. in Bergius, Intelligenzwesen, 204–205. 43 This section, which can be found in all issues from the foundation (1768) to the cassation (1792) of the periodical, was classified under “scholarly news” (gelehrte Nachrichten). This part was by far the most voluminous in almost all issues. 44 Petzke, Wöchentliche Osnabrückische Anzeigen; Fiegert/ Welker, Aufklärung auf dem Land; Schilling, Gute Ordnung und patriotischer Diskurs. 45 Cf. e.g. Mitel, wenn den Kühen die Euter verschwollen, von einer Landwirtin (Remedy for swollen udders, by a female farmer), in Churbaierisches Intelligenzblatt, 21/10/1770, 266–267.

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If the authorship of the majority of the texts published in intelligencers cannot be clearly determined, there is little evidence for the assumption that simple farmers or artisans contributed significant content to these periodicals. Even more clearly than the readers, the authors of the texts published in intelligencers obviously corresponded to the profile identified by academic research for the actors of the economic enlightenment.46 They emanated from the growing educated social strata which, from the middle of the century onwards, often enthusiastically addressed economic and, in particular, agricultural issues47: landowners and tenants, office holders and (initially mainly Protestant) clergymen, furthermore unemployed graduates or project makers who tried to profit from the agromania of their time and to distinguish themselves as experts in agricultural and technological improvements. Thus, intelligencers served primarily as platforms on which the members of the economic enlightenment elites discussed among themselves goals and methods of upcoming reforms.48 Even more difficult than identifying the authors is any generalising assessment of the specific expertise on which their texts were based. These texts could build not only on systematic cultivation trials, on the development and testing of new technologies, on observations gained from exploratory journeys – but also on readings: of traditional herbals and paterfamilias literature and (more and more) of the rapidly growing flood of publications devoted to economic topics. The claim to present tried and tested knowledge was omnipresent, but in many cases difficult to verify. Of course, some of these texts were written by renowned scientists (such as Tissot and Haller) or summarised their publications. Others were authorised by widely recognised institutions such as academies or economic societies. Information on the geographic origin and on the first publication of articles (which will be discussed in more detail in the following section) was also used for authorisation purposes. However, the vast majority of the articles printed in intelligencers did not provide clear evidence. Considering that these articles usually were printed in random order within the respective sections and not commented on, it might have been difficult for contemporary readers to assess the underlying expertise. The same applies to today’s research. Two observations are nevertheless possible. First, the orientation on the discourse of economic enlightenment and the criticism of prejudices did not imply a fundamental rejection and delegitimisation of older knowledge. Positive references to traditional knowledge, coming, for example, from herbals or the older paterfamilias literature,

46 Popplow, Die Ökonomische Aufklärung als Innovationskultur; Lehmbrock, Agrarwissen und Volksaufklärung. 47 Shovlin, The Political Economy of Virtue, 51–56; Béaur, Art. “Agronomy”, 38–39; Stuber, Vous ignorez. 48 Schaich, Staat und Öffentlichkeit, 40.

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were not uncommon.49 So the Churbaierisches Intelligenzblatt proposed to use rhubarb powder against bovine disease – a recipe which already can be found around 1600, for instance in Johann Coler’s work.50 Similarly, the proposition published in several intelligencers51 to heal people and animals suffering from rabies by means of extracts of pimpernel (anagallis arvensis) was anything but new, dating back to herbals of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries as well as to popular healing practices.52 Not infrequently, it was even expressly emphasised that recipes and recommendations were “old”, but at the same time – as in a short note in the Wochentlich Zweybrücker Fragund Kundschaftsblatt – it was argued that they were certainly “still unknown to some peasants”, which is why they should be made public.53 Second, intelligencers were not primarily devoted to communicating knowledge, which was entirely “new” in Europe. Much more important was the dissemination of knowledge that had previously only been available in isolated areas. The question of its “novelty” did not arise on a European scale, but rather with regard to concrete places where it could be re-embedded and re-contextualised, adapted and implemented.

IV Geographical Horizons – Provenance and Circulation of Texts and Knowledge If one looks at the geographical horizon of intelligencers, it becomes clear that the support of many sheets by territorial authorities and their function as publication organs for territorial laws did not lead to a narrowing of the perspective on the respective territory – on the contrary. Not only intelligencers published in trading cities like Hamburg and Leipzig reported economic and technological news from many countries, but also papers in cities and territories apart from the major trade flows. For example, on 21 October 1770, the Churbaierisches Intelligenzblatt 54 informed about ordinances against cattle epidemics adopted in Saxonia, the Austrian Netherlands and

49 Cf. Anderson, An Illustrated History of Herbals; Schmid, Adelige Hausväter; Kruse, Der NaturDiskurs. 50 Churbaierisches Intelligenzblatt, 30/8/1767, 160; cf. Coler, Oeconomiae oder Haußbuchs, sechste und letzte Theil, book 19, chap. 13, unpag. 51 The recommendation is to be found in Allergnädigst privilegirtes Leipziger Intelligenz-Blatt, 23/7/ 1763, unpag., in the Churbaierisches Intelligenzblatt, 2/4/1766, unpag., and in the Dillenburgische Intelligenznachrichten, 5/3/1774, col. 150–154. 52 See for more details Schilling, Von Hundswuth, Narrenkraut und ökonomischen Aufklärern. 53 Wochentlich Zweybrücker Frag- und Kundschaftsblatt, 18/8/1768, unpag.: “Wiewohlen folgendes Mittel schon alt ist, so dürfte es dennoch manchem Landmann annoch unbekannt seyn, mithin seine Bekanntmachung solchen nicht unangenehm fallen”. 54 Churbaierisches Intelligenzblatt, Nr. 21, 257–268.

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England. Other contributions of this issue concerned an Austrian ordinance on the import of high-quality textiles, the selling prices of a Saxonian tree nursery, the bond of a London trading company on the Amsterdam Stock Exchange, the development of prices there, the bankruptcy of several Marseille trading companies and the fire of a hemp magazine in Portsmouth. In the same issue, a comment was given on a price contest published in the supplement to the Hannoversche Anzeigen. Against the background of the unfavourable weather conditions of the summer of 1770, information was also provided on the cereal, hay and fruit harvest in various French provinces, on the olive oil harvest in Spain and on the London cereal market. The same issue also mentioned a decree by the magistrate of the City of Strasbourg, which, in view of a shortage, prohibited the use of cereals for the production of hair powder. A further brief notice reported on the production of hair-powder using a base of potatoes. Even particularly productive fishing at the coast of Newfoundland was mentioned. Geographically, the reports and news in many other comparable intelligencers were similarly broadly diversified. Not only in reports and news, but also in articles on possible improvements in trade, housekeeping and agriculture, an out-of-territorial, European horizon characterised many intelligencers. In fact, examples, suggestions and experiences from all over Europe were taken up. So an article published 1776 in the Dillenburgische Intelligenz-Nachrichten proposing that wood seeds should be sown together with buckwheat was referring to good experiences with this method in England55 – as well as another, first published in the Erfurthisches Intelligenz-Blatt, on a remedy for ticks in sheep.56 The Leipziger Intelligenz-Blatt issued extracts of a treaty on pseudo-acacia, published first in Bordeaux.57 In the Churbaierisches Intelligenzblatt, the above-mentioned report on rhubarb as a medicine against cattle plague referred to findings from Sweden,58 a contribution on bleaching with ash-containing lye was based on a customary practice in the Netherlands,59 and a recipe for a costeffective wood treatment agent to be produced from horse droppings and urine summed up an article published in Paris in the Journal œconomique.60 In addition to announcements and advice, the texts themselves often originated from publications published in remote areas, some of which circulated throughout

55 Ein Vortheil bey der Holzsaat, in Dillenburgische Intelligenz-Nachrichten, 11/5/1776, col. 298. 56 Wider das Ungeziefer bey den Schaafen, in Erfurthisches Intelligenz-Blatt, 30/1/1773, 39. 57 Auszug aus einem zu Bourdeaux herausgekommenen Traktat von den Accacien-Bäumen, in Allergnädigst privilegirtes Leipziger Intelligenz-Blatt, 17/5 and 24/5/1766, 195–199 and 202–203. 58 Cf. note 50. 59 Eine neue vortheilhafte Art, wie die Holländer das feine leinene Garn buechen oder sieden, daß es gerne weiß giebt, in Churbaierisches Intelligenzblatt, 28/2/1767, 32. 60 Leichte Art, das weiße Holz- und Fichtenholz zu färben, in Churbaierisches Intelligenzblatt, 2/5/ 1767, 73; the article provides a summary of Façon simple de teindre en rouge le bois blanc & le sapin pour l’embelissement des appartemens in Journal œconomique, September 1752, 110–112.

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Europe. With regard to the circulation of articles, the aforementioned database promises interesting insights. In any case, the findings available to date suggest that the widespread adoption of articles was by no means limited to individual cases. Just a few examples: An article of the Saxonian forester Kröhne on tree sowing, published in March 1769 in the Leipziger Intelligenz-Blatt, was adopted few weeks later by the supplement of the Hannoversche Anzeigen, the Hannoverisches Magazin, and the Churbaierisches Intelligenzblatt.61 Another article of the latter journal about the production of colours62 was based on a contribution first published in an economic magazine in Copenhagen,63 which had been translated to German by a magazine in German language specialising in articles and news form Denmark.64 How information and articles circulated throughout Europe can be illustrated by a contribution which, based on experience in Denmark, recommended to supplement horse feed with nettle seeds, as they supported health and a shiny coat. This text appeared in October 1767 in a Viennese economic periodical65 and was then adopted in the summer and autumn of 1770 under slightly varying titles by the Göttingisches, the Leipziger, the Churbaierisches and the Erfurter intelligencers66 and in 1773 by the Berlinische Sammlung.67 In the following years, it was reprinted several times in economic and popular enlightenment periodicals, guides and calendars.68 Many intelligencers were thus part of a diversified, Europe-wide dissemination of knowledge and even texts. This distribution seemed legitimated by the enlightened basic principle of making available, popularising and generalising existing knowledge. This objective was particularly plausible for intelligencers because many of the improvements pursued by the economic and popular enlightenment

61 Drey vorzügliche Arten, allerhand Holzsaamen zu säen, empfiehlet hiermit dem gemeinen Besten, aus Erfahrung, der Förster Kröhne, in Leipziger Intelligenz-Blatt, 25/3/1769, 130–131; abridged versions of this text in Hannoverisches Magazin, 14/4/1769, col. 475–480; Churbaierisches Intelligenzblatt, 29/4/1769, 145–146; the two latter periodicals indicated where the article had been published first. 62 Entdeckung und Beschreibung verschiedener kostbarer Farben aus dem dännischen ökonomischen Magazin, in Churbaierisches Intelligenzblatt, 2/5/1767, 73–74. 63 Danmarks og Norges Oeconomiske Magazin 2 (1758), 103–116. 64 Eine Nachricht von allerhand Farben und wie sie verfertiget werden, als Bleyweiß, Minie, Spanisch-Grün, Zinnober, Carmin, Florentinerlack, Berlinerblau und Ultramarin. Aus dem zweyten Theile des Dänisch-Norwegischen Magazins übersetzt, in Kopenhagener Magazin 1 (1759), part 6, 71–84. 65 Methode, wie man in Dänemark die Pferde gesund und fett zu erhalten pflegt, in Nützliche Nachrichten und Abhandlungen, October 1767, 758–761. 66 Mittel[,] die Pferde gesund[,] und fett zu erhalten, in Göttingische Anzeigen, 1/8/1770, 468–470; Leipziger Intelligenz-Blatt, 18/8/1770, 335–336; Churbaierisches Intelligenzblatt, 6/9/1770, 217–218; Erfurthisches Intelligenz-Blatt, 27/10/1770, 342–343. 67 Mittel, die Pferde gesund und fett zu erhalten, in Berlinische Sammlungen 5 (1773), 386–389. 68 Encyclopädischer Calender, 1776, 15–16; Münchner Intelligenzblatt, 5/1/1779, 7–8; Ökonomische Hauspostille, 1791, 15–16.

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were not so much based on revolutionary new knowledge as on knowledge, which had been known locally and selectively for some time, in some cases for centuries, but which was now to be made generally known and applied. To mention some agrarian examples: New plants such as potatoes were known in Europe since the sixteenth century.69 Some farmers in Zurich and Lucerne had practised the enclosure of commons as early as the sixteenth century.70 Even the stall-feeding of cattle had been experienced in some parts of north-western Europe as early as the end of the sixteenth century.71 The agro-innovative discourse of the eighteenth century therefore aimed not least to generalise locally experienced improvements (“nützliche Verbesserung nach und nach allgemein machen”) that had not yet been disseminated beyond local and social contexts.72 The European exchange of news and texts responded to these requirements. On the other hand, this practice allowed the publishers of intelligencers to access a rapidly growing pool of useful messages and texts that were readily available. Not infrequently, they mentioned the sources from which they copied; questions of copyright obviously did not arise for them. Thanks to the growing number of digital copies of eighteenth century journals, it may soon be possible to reconstruct the paths texts covered in this media system, to know which templates singular publishers regularly used, and even to distinguish influential papers publishing a large part of original articles from others, copying primarily other publications. Based on the data collected so far, it seems that the publisher of the Churbaierisches Intelligenzblatt made particularly frequent use of the Leipziger Intelligenz-Blatt, which in turn contained more original contributions than its Munich counterpart did. The long-range circulation of information, messages and texts corresponded undeniably to the enlightened ideal of the public dissemination of useful knowledge. However, this practice obviously did not take account of the local adaptability or feasibility of the transmitted knowledge. In fact, most supporters of economic enlightenment initially seem to have underestimated the importance of local influencing factors – be it from an enlightened universalism or from ignorance of the complex prerequisites of successful innovation. On the other hand, especially in agriculture, the question of local adaptability of innovations proved to be of central importance. So, the method of deep ploughing debated intensively in the context of the economic enlightenment73 (and repeatedly discussed in intelligencers74) only made sense

69 Cf. Pitrat/ Foury, Histoire des légumes, Paris 2003, 164. 70 Cf. Ineichen, Innovative Bauern. 71 Cf. Le Roy Ladurie, L’historiographie rurale, 240. 72 The cited formula e.g. in Weigand, Der wohlerfahrne Landwirth, II, 291; cf. in general Stuber, dass gemeinnüzige wahrheiten gemein gemacht werden. 73 Cf. Niemeck, Die Anfänge agrartechnischer Diskussion. 74 Cf. e.g. Neue Beobachtungen vom Pflügen, um größere Körner zu bekommen, in Münchner Intelligenzblatt, 22/2 and 15/3/1783, 85–87 and 114–115.

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where the soil had a sufficiently thick layer of humus – where this was not the case, it had extremely harmful effects. What Withers observed for the Enlightenment movement in general applies in particular to the economic enlightenment and to the medium intelligencer: “It’s a geographical thing”.75

V Conclusion The supporters of economic enlightenment considered the dissemination of knowledge aimed at practical improvements to be the decisive instrument of an integrated public reform policy that would benefit people’s living conditions as well as the financial strength and power of the ruler and the state. For them, in contrast to the doctrines of reason of state, the state relevance of knowledge did not rest on its secrecy and its exclusiveness, but on its dissemination and implementation. In this perspective, numerous enlightened actors regarded intelligencers as a key medium offering the chance to reach farmers, artisans and other practitioners of economic life directly. In fact, in close exchange with other types of print media pursuing similar objectives, these sheets made a significant contribution to the Europe-wide circulation of an extremely broad and diverse practical knowledge and in part also served as media for reflection and discussion on the (not least political) prerequisites of successful reform. The realisation of the high expectations of many contemporaries with regard to the intelligencers, however, depended on substantial conditions and encountered numerous obstacles in practice. First, the criterion of practical usefulness was hardly sufficient to give such sheets a clear content profile. Second, the spectrum of related topics was extremely broad, which often led to great thematic heterogeneity. Despite the semi-official nature of many sheets, the territorial authorities obviously also rarely used the opportunity to focus on specific topics, for example with regard to concrete reform projects.76 On the other hand, it became increasingly clear from the 1770s on that a number of useful improvements presupposed reforms of the political and legal structures, while the inclusion of political news in intelligencers contributed to diluting their profile. The social reach of the papers was limited not only due to the still low literacy rate of the (especially rural) population in some areas, but also to the insufficient linguistic adaptation of many texts to an uneducated readership. On the other hand, the empirical basis of suggestions and recommendations often remained opaque, the recommendations themselves relatively vague and their adaptability

75 Withers, Placing the Enlightenment, 5. 76 Earlier considerations on my part about corresponding possibilities of use (Schilling, Policey und Druckmedien) do not seem to be confirmed in practice.

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unconsidered. More was said about the general advantages of clover cultivation than about the difficulties opposing its introduction from the point of view of smallholders of a concrete landscape or territory. The wide-ranging circulation of the knowledge offered in intelligencers additionally accentuated this problem. Not all intelligencers met the challenges arising from these problems in similar ways. According to the findings available so far on the basis of our data, an important criterion for success was apparently the close connection of such sheets to economic societies and similar groups dedicated to practical improvements and reforms. My tentative thesis is that intelligencers whose publishers maintained close links with local societies (such as Peter von Hohenthal, the director of the Leipzig intelligencer, as co-founder of the Leipziger Ökonomische Societät)77 played an important role as platforms of a practice-oriented exchange on reform projects, dealing not least with the local adaptability of new techniques, methods and other knowledge obtained in remote areas. Where such links to enlightenment-inspired practitioners and societies were looser or completely lacking (as it appears to be the case for the Churbaierisches Intelligenzblatt), the number of original articles was inferior and reports referencing experiences from the distribution area of the respective sheets less frequent. If these observations should be confirmed, this would mean that the impact of intelligencers as media of state-relevant knowledge depended closely on the cooperation of enlightened elites. This cooperation was indispensable, as the usefulness (and by that the state relevance) of the knowledge published in these sheets had to be tested and proven in practice under the respective local conditions – a task which obviously could not be mastered by the territorial rulers and their administrations alone.

References Printed Sources Periodicals of the Eighteenth Century Abhandlungen der Churfürstlich-Baierischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, Munich 1763–1777. Abhandlungen und Beobachtungen durch die Ökonomische Gesellschaft Bern gesammelt, Bern 1762–1773. [Aller]gnädigst-privilegirtes Leipziger Intelligenz-Blatt, in Frag- und Anzeigen, vor Stadt- und LandWirthe, zum Besten des Nahrungs-Standes, ed. Peter von Hohenthal, Leipzig 1763–1798 [continued until 1848]. Allgemeines oeconomisches Forst-Magazin, in welchem allerhand nüzliche Beobachtungen, Vorschläge und Versuche über die wirthschaftliche, Policey- und Cameral-Gegenstände des

77 Eulen, Art. “Hohenthal, Peter Graf von”.

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Schilling, Lothar, Die Karlsruher und Bruchsaler Wochenblätter des 18. Jahrhunderts als “öffentliche Policeyanstalten”, in Doering-Manteuffel [et al.] (eds.), Pressewesen der Aufklärung, 295–333. Schilling, Lothar, Gute Ordnung und patriotischer Diskurs als Inszenierung. Justus Möser als Herausgeber der Wöchentlichen Osnabrückischen Anzeigen, in Martin Siemsen/ Thomas Vogtherr (eds.), Justus Möser im Kontext – Beiträge aus zwei Jahrzehnten, Osnabrück 2015, 47–66. Schilling, Lothar, Policey und Druckmedien im 18. Jahrhundert. Das Intelligenzblatt als Medium policeylicher Kommunikation, in Karl Härter (eds.), Policey und frühneuzeitliche Gesellschaft, Frankfurt a.M. 2000, 413–452. Schilling, Lothar, Von Hundswuth, Narrenkraut und ökonomischen Aufklärern. Zur Wissensgeschichte der Tollwuttherapie unter besonderer Berücksichtigung des Gauchheils in der zweiten Hälfte des 18. Jahrhunderts, in Mark Häberlein [et al.] (eds.), Geschichte(n) des Wissens. Festschrift für Wolfgang E. J. Weber zum 65. Geburtstag, Augsburg 2015, 469–486. Schmid, Alois, Adelige Hausväter, Hausväterliteratur und Adaption landwirtschaftlicher Innovationen – Adel und Landwirtschaft im Kurbayern des 18. Jahrhunderts, in Kurt Andermann (ed.), Zwischen Stagnation und Innovation. Landsässiger Adel und Reichsritterschaft im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert. Drittes Symposion “Adel, Ritter, Ritterschaft vom Hochmittelalter bis zum modernen Verfassungsstaat” (20./21. Mai 2004, Schloß Weitenburg), Ostfildern 2005, 73–92. Shovlin, John, The Political Economy of Virtue. Luxury, Patriotism, and the Origins of the French Revolution, Ithaca 2006. Stöber, Rudolf [et al.] (eds.), Aufklärung der Öffentlichkeit – Medien der Aufklärung. Festschrift für Holger Böning zum 65. Geburtstag, Stuttgart 2015. Stuber, Martin, dass gemeinnüzige wahrheiten gemein gemacht werden – Zur Publikationstätigkeit der Oekonomischen Gesellschaft Bern 1759–1798, in Popplow (ed.), Landschaften agrarischökonomischen Wissens, 121–153. Stuber, Martin, Vous ignorez que je suis cultivateur. Albrecht von Hallers Korrespondenz zu Themen der Ökonomischen Gesellschaft Bern, in idem [et al.] (eds.), Hallers Netz. Ein europäischer Gelehrtenbriefwechsel zur Zeit der Aufklärung, Basel 2005, 505–541. Stolleis, Michael, Geschichte des öffentlichen Rechts in Deutschland, 1. Bd.: Reichspublizistik und Policeywissenschaft 1600–1800, Munich 1988. Withers, Charles W., Placing the Enlightenment. Thinking Geographically about the Age of Reason, Chicago 2007. Wunder, Bernd, Vom Intelligenzblatt zum Gesetzblatt. Zur Zentralisierung inner- und außeradministrativer Normkommunikation in Deutschland (18./ 19. Jahrhundert), in Jahrbuch für Europäische Verwaltungsgeschichte 9 (1997), 29–82.

Jean-Luc Chappey

The Société des Observateurs de l’homme (1799–1804) and the Circulation of State-Related Knowledge under Napoléon The history of administrative and other forms of state-related knowledge has been subject to important renewals for several years. While following Pierre Bourdieu’s and Michel Foucault’s works,1 the attention paid to the material approaches of administrative work has made it possible to better understand how the actions and gestures of the government of men and things are constructed and disseminated. In this perspective, political economy, statistics, cameralism, political arithmetic or demography are the sciences that are most often associated with state action because they depend on public institutions and because they legitimise the implicit ideology of State.2 For several years now, important historiographical renewals have concerned the members of the bureaucracy and the knowledge and administrative practices that can be considered as state-related knowledge.3 More recently, work has focused on the transfer and exchange of these practices and knowledge, particularly in the context of the French military expansion during the Directory and the Empire: analysing the role played by the various French diplomatic agents in Italy, Virginie Martin was able to show the emergence of a real science of diplomacy within the framework of the Grande Nation: she shows that Europe cannot be reduced to a geopolitical order established by diplomatic treaties: it is thought of as a space of exchanges (economic and cultural) which should bring together nations.4 The purpose of this contribution is to show how institutional emergence of anthropology, in the French context around 1800, can be considered as a form of this state-related knowledge. From the Directory to the Empire, anthropology is involved in different political projects: from the project of republican regeneration under the Directory (1795–1799), one gradually moves to the enterprise of reordering society and social, sexual, and racial hierarchies that characterises the Consulate (1799–1804), then the Empire (1804–1815). If anthropology can thus be considered as state-related knowledge, it is important to distinguish the political contexts in which it fits in order to understand the issues and transformations that

1 Bourdieu, Sur l’État; Foucault, Naissance de la biopolitique. 2 Laborier [et al.] (eds.), Les Sciences camérales; Heilbron (ed.), The Rise of the Social Sciences and the Formation of Modernity; Laboulais, La fabrique des savoirs administratifs. 3 Lebeau/ Margairaz, Les savoirs d’État à l’épreuve de la République; Margairaz, François de Neufchâteau. 4 Martin, Les enjeux diplomatiques dans le Magasin encyclopédique (URL). https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110553734-006

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characterise its tools. The fall of Robespierre on 9 Thermidor Year II (27 July 1794) inaugurated a period that retreated from the socially aware policies of the Montagnard Convention of Year II (1793–1794) and from the democratic ideals of the sans-culottes. As a consequence, the Thermidorian Convention has traditionally been described as a “reaction”,5 and the Directory that immediately followed as a “Bourgeois Republic” governed in the interests of the new bourgeois class.6 In the traditional interpretation, the Directorial Republic was a period of endemic economic and political crisis, defined by its increasing instability, inevitably leading to the coup of 18–19 Brumaire Year VIII (9–10 November 1799) establishing the Consulate. However, as recent works have emphasised, it was also a moment of rich and innovative political, educative and economic experiments, during which a new idea of the “Republic without Revolution” was invented.7 By casting doubt on the classical picture of a république bourgeoise, set up to assure the political, social and economic precedence of the “best elements”, these works demonstrate the originality of the political projects put forward in this period. Far from reducing the Directory to the domination of the liberal bourgeoisie obsessed with industrial progress, they draw attention to the rich and original “commercial” republicanism that emerged after 9 Thermidor. Providing a site in which various political groupings, from neo-Jacobins to Royalists, bid for a share of power, the Directory was a time of fertile experimentation and lively political debate.8 This was the case not only in France, but also in the colonial departments and in the various “sister republics”.9 While acknowledging its increasing authoritarianism, particularly after the coup of 18 Fructidor Year V (4 September 1797),10 historians now emphasise the regime’s philosophy of moral and economic improvement and its assumption that a “reasonable” élite, supported by a small- or medium-propertied middle class, would civilise a people still in need of civilisation.11 The purpose of this article is to study the issues involved in the construction of a general science of man considered as an intellectual and political project: through this anthropology, the regime intended to promote a new form of state-related knowledge to perfect the populations and to finish the Revolution.

5 See in particular Mathiez, La réaction thermidorienne. 6 Lefèbvre, La France sous le Directoire; Woronoff, La République bourgeoise. 7 Dupuy/ Morabito (eds.), 1795. Pour une République sans Révolution. 8 Livesey, Making Democracy in the French Revolution; Jainchill, Reimaging Politics after the Terror; Gainot, 1799, un nouveau jacobinisme?; Serna, La république des girouettes. 9 Jourdan, La révolution batave; de Francesco, 1799. Una storia d’Italia; Pagano, Pro e contro la Repubblica. 10 Brown, Ending the French Revolution; see also Brown’s exchange with Bernard Gainot: Brown, Response to Bernard Gainot’s Review (URL). 11 Gainot, La République comme association.

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I A Republican Project: Ideologues and the Science of Man Immediately after the fall of Robespierre, the members of the National Convention inherited a particularly delicate issue: How to explain the Terror and to prevent it from returning? If political repression conducted against supporters of the Constitution of Year I (1793) after the popular unrests of the spring of 1795 allowed Thermidorians to consolidate their power, their political legitimacy was largely built on an anthropological and scientific explanation: the Terror and its violence were indeed explained as a product of individual isolation and collective selfishness. Isolation was thus represented like a disease or a plague, which can lead to the worst atrocities.12 One can say that the topic of the communication, related to that of civilisation, was crucial for the republican project on the aftermath of the Terror. Far from being a simple social and political reaction of the (or even of a) bourgeoisie, the Thermidorian elite’s intention was to save the Republic by keeping the people within “just boundaries”. The political project of the Directory was explicitly built on the idea that the people could be transformed and integrated into the elite. “Reason” was the new means of government. Because of their ignorance, the people had previously been reduced to the level of wild animals: this interpretation of the past allowed for a condemnation of the principles of the 1793 Constitution, guilty of having “degraded” the minds. At this point, the ignorance of the people was not seen so much as a lack of knowledge as a failure of their minds. This interpretative model justified the temporary ascendancy of an elite that defined itself in terms of emotional control, of a sort of stoicism on which their political legitimacy was founded.13 The republican elite saw “good mores” and virtuous domestic ideals as the true foundations of the political and social order. Terror was thus presented as the product of passions, which “insulates” the people and leads them to clash. Violence or political insanities as well were explained by isolation. The opportunistic use by the deputies of the metaphors of electricity, fluidity or Enlightenment was well justified: the National Convention now had to work to restore communications and bonds of reciprocity between the members of the Republic to prevent a return to the Terror and barbarism. This imperious requirement explains the attention given to the questions of language (general grammar, universal language. . .) during the Directory. In this perspective, the organisation of science(s) established by the revolutionary government (between 1793 and 1794) was the target of many criticisms. . . often by the actors who were already in place. Criticisms related to the individualism leading to specialisation or sterile erudition

12 Biard (ed.), Les politiques de la Terreur 1793–1794; Mazeau, La Terreur, laboratoire de la modernité. 13 Baczko, Comment sortir de la Terreur?

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and to the enclosure of sciences in “black boxes”. Journalists or lampooners did not hesitate to compare the official scientists with new mysterious priests. The time had come to open up encyclopaedic knowledge as the editors of the Décade philosophique or the Magasin encyclopédique claimed it.14 According to Condillac (whose legacy was very much appreciated by republican authorities at that time),15 to think properly is more than anything else to speak properly. In this context, intellectual capital, based on the “good” use of reason, became the basis of citizenship. Title II, Article 16 of the 1795 Constitution states that “young people should not be enrolled on civic registers unless they can prove that they can read, write and have learned a technical job”. Besides the various other criteria that reduced access to political rights (payment of a fixed sum, age, gender. . .), the Thermidorian politicians added a cultural and intellectual criterion. It excluded the huge mass of the illiterate from political citizenship, or to be more precise from primary assemblies and from the administration of ballots, but also from various forms of political deliberations. The 1795 Constitution turned the literacy requirement into a general prerequisite to the exercise of any kind of civic rights, which from then on became dependent on a minimal intellectual capital. Representatives of various cultural and academic domains were called to work together to avoid the return of “barbary”: scientists, writers, artists were expected to work towards the advancement of civilisation and to provide policy makers with means (analyses, observation. . .) to keep reason within just boundaries, as enthusiasm and passion were now considered as dangers that threatened political and social order. It is therefore understandable that the political authorities favoured the reconstruction of a scholarly community, embodied by the National Institute founded in October 1795. With the periods of Thermidor and the Directory, there was a reaction against this personalisation of science by a desire to recreate a community of writers, artists and scientists. The group of associated thinkers collectively known as the Ideologues proposed a general scientific project to unite the entire intellectual community behind a common republican goal, a project that would mobilise and categorise knowledge to consolidate the ideal of a republican state. Forming what Cabanis called the “living encyclopaedia”, all scientists, writers or artists had to participate in the construction of the “general science of man”. Using the pensions or the gratifications, public authorities imposed this collective intellectual programme that was linked to the ideal of social perfectibility and political regeneration. Founded on the interaction of science and politics, this ideal was considered dangerous by contemporaries themselves: many of them criticised the “empire of science” and the pretension of scientists to heal political and social diseases.

14 Bret/ Chappey, Les enjeux de l’encyclopédisme dans la presse savante (URL). 15 A new edition of his works was presented to the convention by Dominique Garat in 1798; cf. Garat, Discours.

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Nevertheless, those who refused to collaborate with this project were considered enemies of the Republic. The Institut National des sciences, lettres et arts structured around the Classe des sciences morales et politiques was to be the embodiment of this scholarly mission: to republicanise the nation’s mores.16 The regeneration project clearly became the object of a science of mores. The epistemological foundations of this project to reshape human nature can be found in the public authorities’ adhesion to Condillac’s sensualist philosophy and their promotion of vitalist theories that affirm the interdependency between body and soul. In spite of the claims of liberty that characterised this period, the Directory aspired to control the different populations of France and of occupied territories as the best way of promoting and ultimately managing intellectual life, as if allowing too much liberty of expression would paradoxically undermine liberty. The political authorities’ did all they could to promote various forms of scientific publications (newspapers, public lessons and learned societies. . .). In an atmosphere of cooperation and exchange, the members of the institute participated in the advancement of knowledge centred on the development of a “science of man” as a collective project aiming at the regeneration of society as a whole. The Directorial years from 1795 to 1799, saw the development of a multitude of learned societies modelled on the rules and regulations of the National Institute, all expected to be active collaborators in the great work of social regeneration and civic reconstruction. Collective work had to be favoured and the members of the institute to become models for rebuilding the “great family”, a metaphor used by the republicans. “Ideology”, the “general science of man”, was the name given to the vast body of knowledge that was to bring together all scientists, writers and artists to work towards the development of knowledge, but even more towards the transformation of humankind and society. The idea was to promote pacified manners and mores by encouraging the expression in the public sphere of values and moral principles that had their origin in the domestic sphere: the good wife, the good father were to be examples (presented through literature or theatre) at the foundation of a public ethic rooted in bourgeois private morality. The pedagogical project that was at the root of this “republicanisation” of minds was supposed to reduce and, in due course, to eradicate the distinction between the reasoning and sensible elites on the one hand and the ignorant and impulsive people on the other hand. Laws and institutions were regarded as the instruments of a true political process of renovation, which would eventually render possible the perfection of the people, who for the moment were seen as ignorant and incompetent.17 This was how the attention of the political and administrative authorities towards those plagued by “communicational impairment” and to Pinel’s “moral treatments” should be understood: very much like

16 Chappey, Raison et citoyenneté; idem, De la science de l’homme aux sciences humaines. 17 Azouvi (ed.), L’institution de la raison; Dammame, Entre science et politique; Clauzade, L’Idéologie ou la révolution de l’analyse; Livesey, Making Democracy in the French Revolution.

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the doctors who “treat” madness, the political elite’s mission was to “treat” the people by enforcing new communication rules. Scientists were thus mobilised to “reconstitute” the relationships within a society whose coherence had been destroyed by the Terror. Treating or caring the social and political body was above all considered as restoring broken links between members of society. One must restore all forms of communication in order to re-establish the political coherence and social harmony. Philippe Pinel and his “moral treatment” of insanity were erected as symbols of this mission assigned to all scientists by the republican regime. They were mobilised to work on the inclusion of all citizens in the nation.18 The repeated calls from political elites to create a general science of mankind justified paying attention to the natural, political, cultural and social conditions in which people existed. It also implied that populations had to be transformed in order to improve them and stop them from going back to the violence and barbarity, which, in the new popular imagination, was thought to have characterised the “Terror”. The new science would consider the physical as well as the moral aspects of man including knowledge drawn from comparative anatomy, chemistry, psychology and political economy. In this way, the new science would play a direct part in legitimising institutions that aimed to civilise the people. It would justify the new balance between the executive and the legislative power, but it would also help to mobilise the new administration in its task of regeneration. The personnel of the Ministry of the Interior, as well as the different agents sent to the departments and occupied territories were to gather the elements of knowledge needed for this anthropology and to spread republican principles. In this context, the savants of the Institut National played a central role in the institutional system, as they were to nourish, direct and draw together the work done under its administrators’ direction. The “science of man”, then, embraced a political no less than a scientific agenda. Its fundamental ideology is the Enlightenment notion of the perfectibility of mankind or the regeneration of man and society. By studying such objects as domestic hygiene, madness, universal language, anatomy or pedagogy, it was hoped that a greater knowledge of the private lives and habits of men and women could be improved to make them less susceptible to the excesses of violence. The “science of man” was supposed to prevent the return of barbarians and vandals. To control the passions was an animated preoccupation of the writers and politicians of Thermidorian and Directorial periods. Science was to be put at the service of government whose ultimate aim was to civilise and socialise man for the betterment of society – again the notion of regeneration at the same time social and political. The perfecting of man was in this theory the indispensable prerequisite of the improvement of society; it was a way, perhaps the most lasting way, of ending the Revolution.

18 Margairaz, François de Neufchâteau.

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In accordance with these principles, the diplomacy of the Directory was founded on a “philosophical history of humanity” that addressed the popular classes and populations beyond France in strongly similar ways. This ideal was considered to justify military conquests both during the expedition in Egypt and the formation of the sister republics in Holland or Italy: war and republican conquests were then presented as tools to facilitate communications between peoples and thus to promote the progress of civilisation. Forfeitures of naturalistic and artistic collections, which were sent to the Natural History Museum or the Louvre Museum, had to serve as well as instruments of communication between the peoples of Europe and France and thus enable social and political progress.19 After they were freed from their bondage, the infantilised populations of Europe and beyond would experience the benefits of civilisation – but under the French Republic’s tutelage. This mission was seen within the framework of a historical process linking all nations – each at their different level of development – together. This historical process, based on a model that had the development of rational faculties as its core, was described as a succession of stages through which a nation grows gradually from “savagery” to “civilisation”. What made this growth possible was the development of relationships between a society, a people or a nation and a more evolved and civilised one. “Commerce” (understood here as all the interaction of a nation with others) was thus interpreted as the motor of civilisation. A very strange logic indeed, whose obvious ambiguities plainly validate the resistance it encountered amongst other nations. Studies of the Batavian or Italian republics, or of the contacts with the Egyptian elites, have established the original and creative character of the political experiences that were undertaken there.20 When contrasted with the demands of Italian or Batavian patriots who wanted quick changes, the representatives of the Directory were mostly concerned with soothing all radical ardour and putting in place a gradual programme of transformation of mores. This necessarily slow process justified their apparently paradoxical ideal of “republicanism without a revolution,” and it is this programme that ultimately failed. The diplomatic forces found themselves struggling against too many different groups; radical Italian patriots fighting for Italian unity, an ambitious French military elite attempting here and there to “revolutionise” social relations more brutally, and even the Directorial authorities’ own contradictions, as they had never really considered the “sister republics” from any other angle but that of France’s economic and strategic advantages.21 This intellectual project was shared by the members of the Society of Observers of Man despite the fact that they often distanced themselves from Ideologues.

19 Gainot, La Décade et la “colonisation nouvelle”. 20 Jourdan, La révolution batave; de Francesco, 1799. Una storia d’Italia; Pagano, Pro e contro la Repubblica. 21 Martin, Du modèle à la pratique ou des pratiques aux modèles.

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II The Society of Observers of Man (1799–1804): Anthropology as a Science of Communication This learned society was the first scientific institution devoted exclusively to the study of man. The most enduring contribution of this society was to establish and institutionalise the science of anthropology as a discipline in France. To a very large extent, this anthropological project can be considered a science communication at work. One knows their role in the theoretical preparation of Captain Baudin’s expedition to Australia. One knows less than all their work was based on the project to reinforce the possibilities of communication between individuals and societies of the world.22 In his Considérations sur l’observation des peuples sauvages, Joseph-Marie Degérando introduces sailors like true missionaries. According to Degérando the philosophical traveller, the one who goes to meet the savages, should behave as “brother” and as “friend” who must live among the wild populations and communicate with them. The travellers must thus learn the language from the foreign populations and, if needed, use the language of the deaf and dumb to be able to come into contact with them. Living among them, he must above all get these people out of their isolation and make them enjoy the “benefits” of civilisation, thanks in part to the expansion of trade relations. This conception deals with a more general theory founded on the concept of civilisation. The voyage considered as a means of communication is presented like a travel in time. The more one moves away from France, the more one progresses in the childhood of civilisation. The wild populations must climb the stages of civilisation while opening oneself to more civilised companies. The possibilities of communication are thus necessary to the progress of civilisation. Civilisation returns to a process which connects the wild nations and the civilised nations in a common history. This theory also applies to the savages of the interior. By 1800 and the discovery of the wild child of Aveyron, a dual approach guided the Society of Observers: a cognitive approach and a civilising process which cannot be separated. Thus, knowing man in all his dimensions and varieties is a way to rescue, care for or educate individuals and societies. From the consideration of what constitutes the social and political mission assigned to the members of the Society of Observers, we can better understand their interest in the “wild” or the “infirms of communication” (an expression borrowed from Gladys Swain),23 generic terms that include children, but also deaf and dumb, insane and savage people: in all cases, knowledge of rights is a way to get to the “miserable” state of isolation in which they find themselves through education, care or trade. One could say that

22 Chappey, La Société des Observateurs de l’homme. 23 Swain, Dialogue avec l’insensé.

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Observers’ anthropology finds its coherence in a philanthropic perspective.24 The Observers’ attitudes were also in line with the Universalist and optimistic Enlightenment discourse, and they were firmly opposed to the doctrine of polygenism. Indeed, anthropology, like the civilising mission, was the result of an equilibrium between practical and theoretical aspects. The “moral” treatment of Pinel, or the abbé Sicard’s language of the deaf and dumb, was predicated upon a general project of universal inclusion, and therefore regeneration. Mention should be made not only of Victor of Aveyron or the young Chinese Tchong-A-Sam and the savage populations – all of these according to the concept developed by the Society of Observers were isolated and unfortunate. After Terror, and more generally after the Revolution, the role of anthropology precisely had to be to allow the emergence of a harmonious and plain society, i.e. a society in which insulation (desired or undergone) would be impossible. Between the traveller who needs to learn the language of the Indians, the teacher who learns to talk to the child, the psychiatrist who tries to rebuild a dialogue with the mad and the teacher of the deaf-mute, the same approach should be followed. Its aim was always to provide access to civilisation considered as a space of exchange and reciprocity. Comparing the child with a deaf and dumb is very important if we remember the debates around the place of them inside the political community since 1789 and the important debates to define citizenship: the deafs and dumbs were indeed considered clearly to be human. Nevertheless, they stayed, according to the legislator, imperfect people and had to be educated to become real citizens, able to elect or to pledge in judicial proceedings. Admitting that the child is a deaf and dumb is a manner to say he could be educated and reintegrated in society. This definition may approximate that of the “savage” and “savages” given by the members of the Society of Observers created in January 1800: according to them, the wild populations and men were just isolated from the rest of the humanity. This isolation could have various reasons. It might correspond to “language invalids” or to populations distant in space. This concept allows us to understand the special role assigned to communication and language issues in the work of Observers. The interest in sign language or the project of writing a dictionary of all known languages always referred to the desire of strengthening ties between individuals and peoples and to construct a space of universal brotherhood. In spite of his humanitarian hopes for the boy of Aveyron, Philippe Pinel’s report, presented in the Society of Observers of Man, offers a grim prognosis for the future of the child. Pinel focused on the resolutely clinical approach, basing his work strictly on observations of the boy’s psychomotor development and behaviour. Pinel vehemently rejected analogies linking the boy to earlier cases of wild children and compared him instead with his patients at the asylum of Bicêtre and Salpêtrière. He finally deduced that the boy suffered from a defective physical

24 Chappey, Sauvagerie et civilisation.

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organisation as well as lésions manifestes in his moral faculties. He concluded that the boy’s antisocial behaviour and apparent stupidity were not the result of his isolation; rather, they were imputable to mental retardation, a congenital and incurable affliction that probably prompted the boy’s initial departure from society. In spite of this severe implacable report, we know that this was not the end of the story. In opposition with Pinel, the young physician Jean-Marc Itard, considered that it was possible to curate and civilise the child. In fact, Itard spent several years subjecting the young man to an ambitious pedagogical programme to try to teach the child and to allow him to reintegrate into society. How can we explain this audacious bet that should end in failure? Like other young physicians who began their careers in revolutionary armies, Itard was a pragmatic. He was more interested in practice than in medical theory and was suspicious of what he called “systems”. Moreover, he tried to start his career with brilliance and panache: for him, the child was a unique means to appear in full light. These factors must be taken into account in order to understand his motivation to dispute Pinel’s conclusions. Encouraged by members of the Society of Observers and other political figures, Itard dared the adventure. This position was audacious in a context where catholic and royalist oppositions questioned the scholars’ ability to transform society, and accused them of leading an immoral venture that they saw as the source of many social ills (like suicide, divorce, and so forth). One can understand what potential Observers ascribed to the means of communication: they played an important part in the creation of newspapers supporting the circulation of ideas between France and Europe. The Society of Observers wanted to transform the room of the society into a space of knowledge popularisation. In this perspective, it is possible to understand the properly anthropological nature of the walks in the countryside organised by Louis-François Jauffret in the summer of 1801 in the woods surrounding Paris. These walks, which often gathered nearly 60 people and which acquired an official character marked by the presence of representatives of the state like the prefect, can be regarded as true propaedeutics of the social relations: the occasion to popularise science, it should especially serve to build, through walks, songs, banquets, a pacified community founded on the principles of friendships and filial devotion. We can see the specific communication function it allowed: an alternative scientific communication by the means of a diverting and sensual pedagogy. There still, the image of the “joined together family” was used as a metaphor of a social and political order for the construction of which the Observers and their anthropological project were mobilised. The Observers of Man and the Ideologues differed in their social composition and their scientific project. Yet, both groups shared the same idea that they named “anthropology” and “general science of man”: they wanted to regenerate men and society and defended the idea of progress. This programme was based on the need of supporting intellectual communications between individuals and societies. Under the Directory and the Consulate, they all worked to place scientists in the central

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position of the political and social order. The Society of Observers achieved great success in 1801 and 1802, but then totally disappeared after 1803, to be resuscitated in spirit if not in form during the middle decades of the nineteenth century. Another institution, a periodical named Archives littéraires de l’Europe, seems to fit into the continuity of such projects.

III The Archives littéraires de l’Europe (1804–1808): Questions of Encyclopaedism under the Empire Established in 1804, the Archives occupied an important place in the world of Parisian press until 1808. This newspaper must not only be considered as a simple medium. It established itself as a veritable laboratory for communication. The presentation of its editors and its editorial project allowed greater emphasis on the role played by the communications issue.25 It was to address the need for reinforcing and opening new lines of communication between the various parts of Europe that the writers of the Archives gathered between 1804 and 1808. Following other periodicals like Millin’s Magasin encyclopédique or the Ideologues’ Décade philosophique, this project, largely anchored in the heritage of the cosmopolitanism of the eighteenth century Republic of Letters, proposed a truly original political and intellectual project. The list of the collaborators makes one think of a true European salon bringing together members of the European administrative and cultural elite. One of the supervisors of the periodical was none other than Joseph-Marie Degérando who, after his activities undertaken within the Society of Observers, was elected member of the National Institute. In December 1804, a few months after the launching of the newspaper, Degérando became Secretary General of the Minister of Interior Department, Champagny. He was then placed in a key position in the direction and logics of protection of the administrative and intellectual world. The presence of the lawyer and former deputy on the Council of Five Hundred, Joseph de Bernardi, Head of Division to the Ministry of Justice or that of Jean-François Bourgoing, great figure of the French diplomacy, marks the quasi-official character of this company. By their sides were members of the National Institute (Morellet, Quatremère de Quincy, SainteCroix), including two of the perpetual secretaries, Suard (second class) and Dacier (third class) as well as personalities to which the imperial regime granted its favours, such as Pierre-Samuel Dupont de Nemours, Claude-Emmanuel Pastoret and PierreVictor Malouët. They did nothing but confirm the privileged relations between this leading company and the dynamic of politics, of recombining the political worlds which characterised the imperial period. One can moreover note that this group joined personalities with heterogeneous political sensitivities. If the counter25 Chappey, Les Archives littéraires de l’Europe (URL).

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revolutionaries missed, one would find representatives of most various political currents, from liberals assembled around the group of Coppet (Charles Vanderbourg, Jacques-Henri Meister) to people with more preserving political tendencies, symbolising the “fusion” of the elites celebrated by Napoléon Bonaparte. This heterogeneity of the political networks is also found in the choice of the foreign collaborators, particularly active in the drafting of the periodical. The selection of these correspondents, chosen in and out of the Empire, often relied on the individual bonds woven by the various collaborators, the majority indeed having known a period of more or less long exile out of France. Remaining in Rome, Wilhelm von Humboldt was thus solicited by Degérando to put Archives’ collaborators in liaison with Italian booksellers likely to send them works: then, the company presented itself in the form of a space of meeting of the intellectual productions coming from various parts of Europe. The ideal on which the redactors of the Archives oriented themselves was to incarnate what Degérando presented as a “public opinion which is opposed like a dam to the overflow of the corruption” (“opinion publique qui s’oppose comme une digue au débordement de la corruption”). Addressing the ideal of the sociability of the eighteenth century, several contributions were devoted to the salons of the ladies Deffand and Genlis. By their leading composition and the public of readers to whom they addressed themselves, the Archives had to symbolise the meeting of the European elites, made on the cosmopolitan model of the Republic of Letters, to which this project of civilisation was oriented. The leading project was presented by Joseph-Marie Degérando in the first volume of the Archives in a long text titled Des communications littéraires et philosophiques entre les nations d’Europe,26 a text written at the time when Degérando published his “Compared History of the Philosophical Systems” (Histoire comparée des systèmes philosophiques). The main idea of this latter essay consisted in reflecting on the conditions allowing the progress of civilisation within the French Empire. According to Degérando, this progress was not possible on the one hand, without reinforcing the relations between the various parts of the Empire and, on the other hand, without leaving the Empire its insulation. It was thus necessary to allow closest relationships and densest possible communications between the European nations and empires. The construction of a European space by a dense communication network and intense exchanges indeed should allow the progress of the civilisation which, at the same time, should reinforce the superiority of the French Empire, this latter point not being incompatible with the defence of the ideal of civilisation. So progress within the Empire could not be thought without a general progress of European civilisation. Actualising the Scottish Enlightenment theories discovered during his travelling in Germany, Degérando denounced the effects of “the selfishness of the nations”.

26 Degérando, Des communications littéraires et philosophiques.

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According to Degérando, it is necessary to struggle against confinement to oneself, individualism, and even more against national selfishness. It is consequently advisable to support the relations between the nations and empires, which make up European space. As other temporarily exiled political victims of the Revolution (let us think of Jean-Étienne Portalis), Degérando considered that the revolutionary period of insulation had been particularly harmful for the progress of civilisation in France. During the Revolution, France had to some extent “retrogressed”, England and the German States playing, according to these authors, the role of deposits of civilisation. Consequently, taking part in propaganda in favour of Napoléon Bonaparte, they presented the French Empire as a factor which, in turn, was again favourable to the progress of French and European civilisation. The idea of a superiority of France over the other European nations, thus could not justify the indifference, even the contempt, for non-French nations, or feelings of arrogance, presented by Degérando like products of ignorance. Feeling interested in other cultures and communicating with foreigners should not be limited to “curiosity” or a taste for the picturesque. The interest for the other and the capacity to enter in relation with different societies were presented like necessary conditions for progress. The idea that communication is necessary on all scales of human social organisation (from the relations within families to the relations between empires), constitutes one of the major topics presented by the various contributions published in the Archives. Consequently, even the more civilised society profited from not being insulated. Far from behaving like individuals “passing through human society like travellers foreign to its institutions” (“traversant la société humaine comme des voyageurs étrangers à ses institutions”),27 it is thus advisable to multiply relations and exchanges. The collaborators of the Archives were undoubtedly inspired by the will to standardise the relations between “revolutionised” France and the others European states, a standardisation which should allow the progress of civilisation. It is from this point of view that the periodical had to become a tool dedicated to give a meaning to this European project and to fight against “these national antipathies whose exaggeration makes a people despise everything that has not germinated on its own territory” (“ces antipathies nationales dont l’exagération fait dédaigner à un peuple tout ce qui n’a pas germé sur son propre territoire”).28 For its writers, the periodical had to be considered as a space of meeting and provisioning of the European productions, intended not only for French, but also foreign readers. The “encyclopaedic” character of this periodical reflected the will to draw the most exhaustive possible picture of the intellectual and artistic productions of Europe. The first volume thus contained articles on Kant and Herder, information on archaeological discoveries in Turin, articles on accounts of voyages, advertisements

27 Ibid, 3. 28 Ibid, 1.

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concerning publications of new novels. . . Significant parts of the contributions were translations whose very poor quality in France Degérando had criticised. The priority given to the translation justified the presence, within the periodical, of specialists recognised for their competence in the field of sciences of the language, the history and the translations. One can particularly highlight the privileged place occupied by the members of the École nationale des langues orientales (like Saint-Croix, Jean Geoffroy Schweighäuser and Charles-Athanase Walckenaer). These specialists worked with André Morellet, Charles Vanderbourg, Charles de Villers, Jean-François Bourgoing, Isabelle de Montolieu or René Tourlet who were already well known in the Parisian world of translators.29 If the principal actors of the intellectual mediation between France and Germany created under the Directory and the Consulate occupied a central place, one would be wrong to reduce this company to a simple Franco-German space of mediation. One finds indeed some specialists of the English language among the collaborators, and several Italian, Portuguese, Dutch and Greek personalities among the correspondents (the majority being present in Paris). The ambition of the promoters of this periodical was to offer the largest possible tableau of the contemporary European intellectual production and to allow the broadest possible diffusion of the periodical. Admittedly, one should not neglect the fact that this promotion of the translation and the need for exceeding France’s borders unquestionably returned to commercial stakes: indeed, it was a question of conquering a public of European subscribers in a context where the market of the Parisian books underwent a major economic and financial crisis. Translating some books, presenting works of foreign academies, informing the readers of the recent productions drew on the will to make the exchanges and the trade between the various parts of the Empire and Europe possible. A survey of the articles published under the heading “Literary Gazette” (advertisements of publications, reports of meetings of the learned societies) makes it possible to draw the lines of this geography of Europe made by the redactors of the Archives. One sees thus as the translator has a mission to collect anthropological materials gathered in the columns of the Archives, a true museum of paper. Through this collection of literary, philosophical and artistic productions of the various nations of Europe by the means of translations, the collaborators of the Archives indeed conferred a broader ambition with the project, seeking to join together in the columns of the newspaper a general picture of the progress of the knowledge considered on a European scale. By the sides of the collaborators of the Archives, members of the National Institute, who were engaged in the work of writing famous reports on the advances in knowledge, arts and letter in France presented to the Emperor in 1808, the part played by the foreign collaborators is crucial here because each one of them is an echo of the

29 Bret/ Chappey (eds.), Pratiques et enjeux scientifiques, intellectuels et politiques de la traduction (URL).

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image of a traveller naturalist, charged to bring back the anthropological materials to know the different populations in Europe. These materials would be thus joined together in the columns of the periodical. The writing of history indeed had to make it possible to understand the reasons for progress, but also the possibilities of degradation and the process of civilisation. The juxtaposition of contributions devoted to the intellectual productions of each nation within the Archives is thought as the possibility of starting again the improvement or the régénération of the European civilisation. Deviating from the national prospects, history is thus presented as the means of understanding and interpreting European political and intellectual phenomena. The aim of the writers of the Archives appears particularly ambitious: it is indeed a question of making emerge the keys of comprehension and interpretation of the transformations of the human societies considered on a European scale. Europe is not defined any more as a simple natural environment (relief, climate, and so forth) but a political and cultural entity made up of several nations and empires which, if they must be distinguished, do not share one common history. To understand the history of progress of the European civilisation is thus trying to account for the factors and the common conditions, which acted on manners of the various societies. The theories of the Scottish thinkers took part directly in the writing of this philosophical history of manners and the human societies whose membership the authors of the Archives claimed for themselves. According to them, it was now necessary to build a European history of the national cultural productions in order to make them progress. The will to make emerge a writing of history on a transnational and European scale had to be used for the political reconciliation and religious pacification. It is through this important work of writing the European history that the Archives should serve as a true deposit or museum for the “treasures” of all Europe. The title of the periodical must be interpreted with a clear meaning: newspaper could be considered as a “Louvre of paper” (Louvre de papier). It should be noted that it was not incompatible for the redactors of Archives to promote Paris with the statues of a true intellectual and political capital of Europe while defending the idea of progress of European civilisation. If this combination can be interpreted as an enterprise of propaganda, it also can be retraced to the will to defend the idea according to which the progress of the Empire was inconceivable without the relations woven with the other nations inside and outside the Empire. However, this idea seems gradually to have disappeared with the discontinuance of the Archives in March 1808. This discontinuance is difficult to interpret. If one could see a relation between the disappearance of the Archives and that of the famous Revue philosophique (1807), it is perhaps in the obliteration of this ideal of scientific communication that it would be advisable to seek it. Undoubtedly, the military context, and more surely, the ratio of force within the imperial elites were transformed, making gradually increasingly contestable the idea of “communication” and civilisation. The confrontations within the imperial elites were summed up by the question whether to

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communicate or dominate defeated people? Against the idea of a process of civilisation in which all the nations take part, other logics, more coercive, were put at work largely justifying the “authoritative turn” of the Empire. Therefore, under the Empire, the ideal of regeneration became anachronistic. At the same time, hospitals and prisons increasingly were not considered as therapeutic but punitive institutions. There were no more possibilities for an individual or a society to improve or to change their nature. The Napoleonic order marks a very important step in these transformations. Social identity was based on the new categories and classification of the sciences. This trend revealed the political aim to close forever the revolutionary book. The new intellectual concepts created a new political and social order where identities could be based on nature and legitimised by scientific norms. After a phase of expansion, the imperial regime entered in 1808 in a phase of stabilisation of the borders particularly marked by the continental blockade and the various treaties passed between France and other “satellite” states. Within a part of the elite and official speech of politicians, the matter was less to communicate and to think of the progress of a European civilisation conceived like a dynamic space, than to maintain the political, military and cultural hegemony of France in Europe. In the world of sciences, the processes of specialisation and institutional polarisation upset in-depth the circuits and the methods of the scientific communications set up under the Directorial Republic, thus burying the political and social ideal of which scientists might have been the symbols. Between 1799 and 1808, the various projects around the construction of a general science of man are part of different political configurations. The Directory is a veritable laboratory of state-related knowledge in connection with the republican desire to maintain the legacy of revolutionary principles. In a different way, the Empire mobilises state knowledge, on a European scale, to set up new models of government of men and territories.30 The idea of the improvement of European civilisation is associated with that of the European “mission” of civilisation, a theme, which reduces to a lower rank the nations, societies or civilisations external to the geographical contours of a Europe which, at the same time, tend to be more narrowly defined. Thus, the new distinction (re)established between two Europes, the South and the North, through the valorisation of the Mediterranean space as a breeding ground and source of European civilisation is probably not unrelated to the progressive exclusion of Russia from the circle of civilisation. From the years 1811–1812, Russia was pushed out of the contours of European civilisation, even placed on the same rank as England, and presented as an obstacle to the “European dream”. These various projects help to better understand the oppositions that divide political elites around the role of the state and the role played by administrative

30 Antoine [et al.] (eds.), L’empire napoléonien. Une expérience européenne?

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knowledge. Under the Directory, the general science of man claimed by the Ideologues and some of the members of the Society of Observers of Man was the general framework around which scholars and administrators should meet together. In this context, all state agents (scientists, administrators, diplomats, agronomists or veterinarians. . .) must put their tools and their work at the service of the ideal of republican regeneration. It was thus a question of transforming the instruments necessary for the physical and moral improvement of the populations to state knowledge. From the Consulate, the general orientation underwent important transformations: the administrative knowledge (statistics) imposed themselves as tools of management and classification of the populations and the territories according to the new norms of domination and hierarchy of the populations. Imperial reorganisation turned its back on revolutionary ideals. From geographers to anatomists or statisticians, the civilising project gradually seemed to have left the place for a will of naturalisation of the national, sexual or racial identities. The projects that developed within the Society of Human Observers or the Archives underline the desire of certain elites to maintain an encyclopaedic framework of knowledge that could compete with a conception of state-related knowledge, which was more and more reduced to the role of instruments of domination.

References Printed Sources Degérando, Joseph-Marie, Des communications littéraires et philosophiques entre les nations d’Europe, in Archives littéraires de l’Europe ou mélanges de Littérature, d’histoire et de philosophie, vol. 1, Paris/ Stuttgart 1804, 1–18. Garat, Dominique Joseph, Discours prononcé par le c. Garat offrant les œuvres de Condillac à la séance du 3 fructidor an VI/ 20 août 1798, Paris 1798.

Secondary Works Antoine, François [et al.] (eds.), L’empire napoléonien. Une expérience européenne?, Paris 2014. Azouvi, François (ed.), L’institution de la raison. La révolution culturelle des idéologues, Paris 1992. Baczko, Bronislaw, Comment sortir de la Terreur? Thermidor et la Révolution, Paris 1989. Biard, Michel (ed.), Les politiques de la Terreur 1793–1794, Rennes 2008. Bourdieu, Pierre, Sur l’État. Cours au Collège de France (1989–1992), Paris 2012. Bourguet, Marie-Noëlle, Déchiffrer la France. La statistique départementale à l’époque napoléonienne, Paris 2001. Bret, Patrice/ Chappey, Jean-Luc, Les enjeux de l’encyclopédisme dans la presse savante entre les XVIIIe et XIXe siècles, in La Révolution française 2 (2012), https://lrf.revues.org/515 (last access 26.5.2018).

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Bret, Patrice/ Chappey, Jean-Luc (eds.), Pratiques et enjeux scientifiques, intellectuels et politiques de la traduction (vers 1660–vers 1840), 2 vols, in La Révolution française 12 (2017) and 13 (2018), https://journals.openedition.org/lrf/1714 and https://journals.openedition. org/lrf/1863 (last access 26.5.2018). Brown, Howard, Ending the French Revolution. Violence, Justice and Repression from the Terror to Napoleon, Charlottesville/ London 2006. Brown, Howard, Response to Bernard Gainot’s Review of Howard G. Brown, Ending the French Revolution, in H-France Review 7 (2007), 457–460, http://h-france.net/vol7reviews/vol7no113 brown.pdf (last access 26.5.2018) . Chappey, Jean-Luc, De la science de l’homme aux sciences humaines. Enjeux politiques d’une configuration de savoir (1770–1808), in Revue d’histoire des sciences humaines 15 (2006), 43–68. Chappey, Jean-Luc, La Société des Observateurs de l’homme (1799–1804). Des Anthropologues sous Bonaparte, Paris 2002. Chappey, Jean-Luc, Les Archives littéraires de l’Europe (1804–1808), in La Révolution française 4 (2011), https://journals.openedition.org/lrf/284 (last access 26.5.2018). Chappey, Jean-Luc, Raison et citoyenneté. Les fondements culturels d’une distinction sociale et politique sous le Directoire, in Citoyen et citoyenneté sous la Révolution française. Actes du Colloque de Vizille du 24–25 septembre 2005, Paris 2006, 279–288. Chappey, Jean-Luc, Sauvagerie et civilisation. Pour une histoire politique du sauvage de l’Aveyron, Paris 2017. Chappey, Jean-Luc [et al.] (eds.), Pour quoi faire la Révolution, Marseille 2012. Clauzade, Laurent, L’Idéologie ou la révolution de l’analyse, Paris 1998. Dammame, Dominique, Entre science et politique. La première science sociale, in Politix 29 (1995), 5–30. de Francesco, Antonio, 1799. Una storia d’Italia, Milan 2004. Dupuy, Roger/ Morabito, Marcel (eds.), 1795. Pour une République sans Révolution, Rennes 1996. Foucault, Michel, Naissance de la biopolitique. Cours au Collège de France (1978–1979), Paris 2004. Gainot, Bernard, 1799, un nouveau jacobinisme? La démocratie représentative, une alternative à Brumaire, Paris 2001. Gainot, Bernard, La Décade et la ‘colonisation nouvelle’, in Annales historiques de la Révolution française 339 (2005), 99–116. Gainot, Bernard, La République comme association, in Chappey et al. (eds.), Pour quoi faire la Révolution, 149–180. Heilbron, Johan (ed.), The Rise of the Social Sciences and the Formation of Modernity. Conceptual Change in Context (1750–1850), Dordrecht/ Boston 1998. Jainchill, Andrew, Reimaging Politics after the Terror. The Republican Origins of French Liberalism, Ithaca 2008. Jourdan, Annie, La révolution batave. Entre la France et l’Amérique, 1795–1806, Rennes 2008. Laborier, Pascale [et al.] (eds.), Les Sciences camérales. Activités pratiques et histoire des dispositifs publics, Paris 2011. Laboulais, Isabelle, La fabrique des savoirs administratifs, in Dominique Pestre (ed.), Histoire des sciences et des savoirs, vol. 1, De la Renaissance aux Lumières (dir. Stéphane Van Damme), Paris 2015, 447–464. Laboulais, Isabelle, La Maison des mines. La genèse révolutionnaire d’un corps d’ingénieur civils (1794–1814), Rennes 2012. Lebeau, Christine/ Margairaz, Dominique, Les savoirs d’État à l’épreuve de la République, in Serna (ed.), Républiques sœurs, 53–73. Lefèbvre, Georges, La France sous le Directoire 1795–1799, Paris 1946. Livesey, James, Making Democracy in the French Revolution, Cambridge (MA) 2001.

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Margairaz, Dominique, François de Neufchâteau. Biographie intellectuelle, Paris 2005. Martin, Virginie, Du modèle à la pratique ou des pratiques aux modèles. La diplomatie républicaine du Directoire, in Serna (ed.), Républiques sœurs, 87–100. Martin, Virginie, Les enjeux diplomatiques dans le Magasin encyclopédique (1795–1799). Du rejet des systèmes politiques à la redéfinition des rapports entre les nations, in La Révolution française 2 (2012), http://journals.openedition.org/lrf/610 (last access 23.6.2018). Mathiez, Albert, La réaction thermidorienne (1929), Paris 2010. Mazeau, Guillaume, La Terreur, laboratoire de la modernité, in Chappey [et al.] (eds.), Pour quoi faire la Révolution, 83–114. Pagano, Emanuele, Pro e contro la Repubblica. Cittadini schedati dal governo cisalpino in un’inchiesta politica del 1798, Milan 2000. Serna, Pierre, La république des girouettes. 1789–1845 et au-delà. Une anomalie politique: La France de l’extrême centre, Seyssel 2005. Serna, Pierre (ed.), Républiques sœurs. Le Directoire et la Révolution atlantique, Rennes 2009. Swain, Gladys, Dialogue avec l’insensé, Paris 1993. Woronoff, Denis, La République bourgeoise de Thermidor à Brumaire 1794–1799, Paris 1972.

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Describing the World and Shaping the Self: Knowledge-Gathering, Mobility and Spatial Control at the Swedish Bureau of Mines I Introduction The multitude of travel reports produced by Swedish mining officials is an important source for Europe’s early modern system of mining, smelting and metalworking and its transformation during the Industrial Revolution of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Since the 1680s and throughout the eighteenth century, several dozen Swedish mining officials were sent out to do the equivalent of a Grand Tour of European mining districts. These travellers not only recorded but also transmitted knowledge. The intensive travelling ensured that news and innovations spread fast. As noted by Wolfhard Weber, Swedish and French travellers played an important role in disseminating knowledge throughout the eighteenth century.1 Such travellers connected the German mining districts to each other and transmitted information about recent developments in foreign countries.2 A lesser-known source is the copious amount of reports on domestic production also produced by Swedish mining officials. Indeed, information gathered about foreign mines and works closely corresponded to that gathered about the domestic industries. Both types of documents helped the Swedish bureaucracy to shape its policy and develop its mining business. All in all, this systematic use of travellers as gatherers of knowledge gave the Swedish Bureau of Mines, and with it the Swedish state, an informational advantage when deciding on economic policy. Moreover, it helped to establish the Bureau of Mines as a major European centre of knowledge related to mining. Finally, it also contributed to shaping a corps of Swedish mining officials who, ideally, should consist of hard-working, useful, loyal, and patriotic men. In the eighteenth century, the Swedish Bureau of Mines emerged as a major European scientific environment where administrative procedures and economic policies transformed the organisation and gathering of scientific knowledge.3 The

1 Weber, Probleme des Technologietransfers; idem, Innovationstransfer. 2 In 1726 Mårten Triewald was constructing a Newcomen engine to be used at the iron mines of Dannemora, Sweden. He had gained the necessary experience for the work in England. But he also had access to drawings of the Newcomen engine erected in Königsberg in 1725, and he chose to commission the main cylinder for the machine not from England, but from the gun founder Leopold in Vienna. Weber, Innovationen, 61. See also Lindqvist, Technology on Trial; Fors, The Limits of Matter, 103–109. 3 Fors, The Limits of Matter, 7–9, 46, 103–109, 152–154. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110553734-007

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intellectual current that underlay these developments was cameralism. This economic theory – or, rather, assemblage of ideologies, methods, and theories – developed in various German states from the fifteenth to the seventeenth centuries. In the eighteenth century, it came to be used as a rallying point for attempts at economic reform and became strongly connected to Enlightenment sentiments, especially in northern and central Europe. Cameralism was also developed into a tool for intellectual understanding and ideological description of the relationship between states and the economically productive activities taking place within their borders. Generally, cameralists subjected knowledge and science to practical economic needs. Knowledge that could not be put to use for economic development was to be discarded. But cameralism was never a coherent theory of how to direct economic activities. It was above all practical and authoritarian. The end justified the means as long as one proceeded from the notion that all economic activity of the realm should be subjugated to the sovereign and be made useful for the state. Like many other cameralists, the bureau’s officials emphasised utility, systematic ordering, mathematisation, analysis, and above all: control. But while the cameralists of most German principalities seem to have focused primarily on the importance of policing and control, the Swedes also paid much attention to gaining a competitive edge through an informational advantage. Perhaps this was due to the realm’s relative geographical isolation. Current information was not easy to come by in the North, and consequently, a high value was assigned to it. There was also the lingering sense that German traders – from medieval times and onwards – scammed the realm by buying its products cheaply and selling them expensively on the European continent.4 To eighteenth-century Swedes, study tours within the realm and to foreign countries were an integral part of the making of knowledge as well as of the coming into being of a knowledgeable subject. Regardless of whether you were an artisan or a prospective professor of medicine and natural history, travel could often be the key to a successful career. In turn, these travels fostered a circulation of objects and embodied knowledge that was pivotal to generating further knowledge.5 Experience from travels was also central for those seeking a career in government. Thus, the Swedish state allocated resources such as stipends and paid leave to facilitate useful voyages of young up-and-coming officials in the civil administration as well as in the military.6 This was also the case for the officials of the Bureau of Mines and its auscultators (that is, unpaid prospective officials attached to the organisation in order to learn).

4 Fors, The Limits of Matter, 101 f., 107–111. 5 For natural history, see Hodacs/ Nyberg, Naturalhistoria; for artisans of the metal trade, see Jansson, Making Metal Making, esp. 141–172. 6 On the role of study tours and foreign service in the fortifications corps, see Munthe [et al.], Kungl. fortifikationens historia 4, 495–523. On the Bureau of Mines, see Fors, The Limits of Matter, 57, 70, 92.

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However, not all foreign and domestic voyages were deemed useful. It was a commonplace in eighteenth-century Sweden that epistemic and geographical relocation could be both useful and problematic. Consequently, some authors expressed the opinion that in order to make good use of travels – whether you were a natural historian, a merchant, or a state official – one needed to possess certain qualities and skills. There was also a concern about what effect living abroad could have on travellers. The envisioned problem was primarily of religious nature. Sweden was officially Lutheran. A regulation of 1667 stipulated that all youths travelling abroad in order to study should be primed for their journey with religious training, and furthermore, that they should be prohibited to have any interactions with clergymen of other faiths. In 1686 it was also decreed that homecoming youths should be interrogated to prevent them from bringing back prohibited foreign religious views and teachings. As shown by the measures taken by the Swedish church to contain the spread of Pietism during the first half of the eighteenth century, control was also extended to how the Lutheran creed should be interpreted. Although religious control diminished in practice over the eighteenth century, discussions of the problem continued well into the 1700s.7 According to this discourse, the would-be traveller should be firmly anchored in his native country. In the mid-eighteenth century, many of those discussing the art of travelling were concerned with patriotic travellers, a theme that could also be combined with the concept that the traveller constituted an economic investment for the patria. The natural historian Carl Linnaeus depicted an ideal travelling natural historian as “a native Swede, so that foreigners should not have the opportunity to take what others have paid for.”8 Others argued that it was important to be knowledgeable of Swedish conditions in order to learn from other countries. The industrialist Jonas Alströmer described how he himself had travelled through Sweden for two years, “like a foreigner”, taking notes of its industry and trade, before he “consider[ed] himself to be in a condition to usefully travel to and visit other countries.” Without knowing your own country, Alströmer argued, you would not be able to discern what was truly different and new abroad from what was already known at home.9

7 Pleijel, Der schwedische Pietismus, 13 f.; Holmgren, Norrlandsläseriet, 47, 91, 96; Göransson, De svenska studieresorna, 124–130. 8 “Att han wore inföd Swänsk att exteri eij hade orsak till-wälla sig, dett andra påkostat,” expressed in a letter to the Royal Society of Uppsala (15 December 1731), Linné/ Fries, Bref och skrifvelser af och till Carl von Linné, 309. Furthermore, a travelling natural historian should be young, light, agile, indefatigable, unmarried, and unemployed. 9 Alströmer, Sveriges wälstånd om det will, 8. What constituted “Sweden” in these arguments is very vague, given the geographical spread and cultural heterogeneity of the reduced Swedish state of the eighteenth century. The examples Alströmer gave of his domestic travels (iron and copper making districts and manufactory towns) hint that “Sweden” denoted the Swedish core provinces, i.e. approximately present-day southern Sweden, rather than the full geographic spread of the state.

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Alströmer’s thoughts were echoed in the travel journal of Christer Berch, who added that secrecy on trade matters in Sweden made it difficult for travellers to separate important and new foreign phenomena from what was unimportant and already known. Berch too saw knowledge of conditions in Sweden as the solution to the problem.10 Discussions of Swedish eighteenth-century study tours – especially those of government officials, merchants, and mechanical practitioners – were permeated by Sweden’s mercantile trade policy of the time. In a framework where knowledge of nature was linked to economic usefulness and where foreign travels often required a substantial economic investment, it made sense to see tours through the metaphor of trade. Young men travelling abroad were a part of an international transaction of information, skilled people, and other economic resources. If this transaction brought about a positive flow of desirables, the tour was of use for the patria. The Swedish Bureau of Mines would take this aspect of practical cameralism – information gathering – to unprecedented dimensions. Maybe this was due to the nature of the realm itself. In order to gather information about, assess the economic potential of, and gain control over mining settlements dispersed over a vast and sparsely populated territory consisting mostly of dense forests, it was necessary to travel far and wide. By extension, it was also necessary to develop tools to discipline the travellers themselves. Lars Laurel, Professor of Philosophy at Lund University, gave one such mercantile account of disciplined travelling in his commemorative speech about the deceased mechanicus Mårten Triewald. Laurel argued that, unlike the useful Triewald, many of those who returned home were spreading luxurious habits that were destroying the wealth of Sweden. Such an undisciplined traveller was “completely in his [i.e. the foreigner’s] and not in our [i.e. Sweden’s] service.” Furthermore, that traveller, Laurel continued, was not “sincere with his Fatherland.”11 According to this line of thought, travels abroad, just like movement within Sweden, were risky but potentially rewarding. Thus, if foreign travels were to be useful, travellers should be virtuous and loyal to their patria. The travel writing of late seventeenth and eighteenth-century bureau officials is an almost inexhaustible source for descriptions of machines and industrial sites in early modern Europe. This has tempted historians of technology and economic historians to use their reports as unproblematic descriptions of eighteenthcentury technology.12 Such interpretations of these sources are, however, problematic, as they do not take their performative aspect into account. That is, generally, they neither weigh in the anticipations and aspirations of readers and 10 Christer Berch, Relation öfver sin resa, 1757–1761, RA, Jernkontorets Arkiv, FII a, 9. 11 “De hafva fulleligen gå i hans, och icke i vår tjenst”, “Det är ej upriktighet emot sit Fosterland”, Laurel, Åminnelse-tal öfver Capitaine Mechanichus, 20. 12 Woolrich, Mechanical Arts & Merchandise, 31.

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authors nor the genre conventions governing these descriptions. The historian of literature Cynthia Sundberg Wall proposes that the eighteenth century saw a change in the “perceptions of what visual familiarity might mean.” She argues that over the century, there was a “historical and cultural change in the status and use of description”. Roughly, over the eighteenth century, descriptions changed from more catalogue-type texts where it was the job of the reader to fill in spatial minutiae to texts filled with details of interior spaces, textures and surfaces.13 What constituted a credible description was historically contingent and depended on the techniques and expectations of the cultures in which the text was circulated. By studying descriptive practices, we can thus learn of the cultures of description in which the texts were written and read, as well as how they changed over time. This also implies that authors did not only portray themselves as credible by means of adopting different authorial selves in their texts. The very techniques of describing as well as the choices of objects to describe reflected back on the traveller. Travels were thus a pivotal investment for the travellers. Authors wrote about what they imagined their readers/superiors wanted to hear, not only in order to report factually about the world of foreign industriousness, but also to position themselves for a career back home. Of course it was better to have spent time, or to appear to have spent time, at a useful place, learning about useful topics, than to present narratives of how one had idled away one’s time at distant mines and smelting works with backward production processes. Reports were also edited for readability: Reality was certainly characterised by more chaotic complexity than most reports acknowledge. Hence, archives such as that of the Bureau of Mines and the documents found in them were written, collected, and saved in accordance to the norms and worldview of the Bureau of Mines. Although important historical documents, they are archival artefacts, constructing an idealised description, a map, and a world-view. We should not assume that they give privileged access to the reality of European and Swedish mining and smelting. Instead, we can use them to learn what an auscultator or official was supposed to see and report and also what an influential governmental mining administration considered worthwhile to know about domestic as well as foreign regions. Knowledge of foreign and domestic geography, surveying, mineralogy, mathematics, mechanics, and chemistry were deemed inherently useful for mining activity. Thus, when he visited Freiberg in 1684, Erich Odhelius descended into every mine he could, collected mineral specimens, manuscripts, books and tools, and took lessons in land and mine surveying.14 However, such knowledge was not to be pursued for its own sake but transformed into a tool serving the economic ends of the patria.

13 Wall, The Prose of Things, 7–11. 14 Fors, The Limits of Matter, 56 f.

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II Migration, Education and Identity Formation in the Bureau of Mines The Bureau of Mines was founded in 1637 as the twelfth central bureau of the Swedish state. The organisation was built up mostly by German-speaking immigrant mining experts.15 For a long time, Saxony and other central German mining regions had served as prime recruitment areas for mine owners and mining administrators from all over Europe. In a snapshot from September 27, 1685, Erich Odhelius reported that the son of a senior Norwegian mining official was in Saxony to recruit miners and that the Margrave of Bayreuth had recently visited Dresden in his pleasure yacht to petition the Elector of Saxony that the Saxon Head Overseer of Mines (Ober-Berghauptmann) should inspect the mines of his demesne.16 Nevertheless, the Swedish bureau soon became dominated by local men. Come the eighteenth century, after the fall of the Swedish seventeenth-century Baltic empire, when the governing elite instead turned inwards, immigrant knowledge carriers were, generally speaking, no longer seen as eligible for permanent positions at the bureau. Instead, they were gradually replaced by honest, patriotic men of renowned families. These young men were to learn mining administration through internal education at the bureau, foreign study trips, and the reading (and writing) of scientific and technical literature.17 That said, the eighteenth-century Bureau of Mines continued to recruit foreign artisans and workers deemed to possess useful knowledge. In fact, recruitment was one of the reasons for the bureau to maintain its extensive network of foreign travellers. The reports of Samuel Schröderstierna, inspector of the finer iron, steel and metal manufactures, give an interesting insight into these efforts.18 The isolation and constraining conditions of the mostly rural Swedish ironworks and factories rarely agreed with foreign experts. In 1753, Eduard Staunton, an English smith and master of works of finely polished steel came to Sweden on public expense. He was brought to Vedevåg and Kvarnbacka in the province of Västmanland but quickly tired of the rural location and his subservient position: He moved to Stockholm to set up his own workshop. Another English master, the file maker John Anslow, was less lucky. He was brought to Vedevåg the year after Staunton but died after no

15 For a useful overview and mini-biographies of the employees of the bureau see Almquist, Bergskollegium och Bergslagsstaterna. 16 Erich Odhelius to Urban Hjärne, Freiberg 27 Sep 1685, in Gjörwell, Det swenska biblioteket 2, 288–290. 17 The expansion of the bureau’s internal education began in the 1690s but came to a halt during the Great Northern War of the early eighteenth century. From 1720 to 1750, this educational system expanded dramatically, Orrje, Mechanicus, 85–88; Almquist, Bergskollegium och Bergslagsstaterna, 221 f.; Lindqvist, Technology on Trial, 158–161. 18 Schröderstierna, Berättelser över de finare järn- stål-och metallfabrikerna, vol. 1, 28. See also 52.

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more than three weeks. Travellers sent by the Bureau of Mines followed the English beginnings of the Industrial Revolution closely. As a consequence, several recruitment drives were also made in England, especially in the 1750s. However, emigrating craftsmen of other nationalities also came to Sweden.19 These arrivals were not unwelcome. They often received stipends or loans from the authorities and their competence and place of residence were duly noted. When the French master coppersmith Nicolas Joseph Isbecque came to Stockholm in 1754, he was welcomed with open arms. Soon, he was employed by the state to produce “French kitchen batteries” (i. e. the various pots and pans that were needed for fine French cooking). These were to be sent to various Swedish factories to serve as models.20 To cameralist state officials, foreign artisans were components in the great machine of domestic production. Techniques and innovations were to be transported along with workers, and in order to find out where these component “cog wheels” were to be placed, apt patriotic men with knowledge of both domestic and foreign sites of production were deemed necessary. This work was thus to be carried out by suitable persons, in possession of the idealised persona of the mobile official. This persona was created through socialisation into the bureaucratic community of the bureau. The making of the persona of the mobile official can be seen already in the applications of the would-be auscultators. In the applications of 1720 and 1750, the applicants repeatedly presented both planned and completed domestic and foreign travels as qualifications.21 In eighteenth-century discussions, travels within Sweden were generally seen as a means to learn and define the local and domestic.22 By travelling around and getting to know the local, the traveller constructed and placed himself in his own domestic context. An early eighteenth-century manuscript “report” on how to become a proper mining official, preserved in the bureau’s archive, strongly recommended domestic voyages for the auscultators. Like the already quoted cases provided by Linnaeus, Alströmer and Berch, it argued that these travels should be conducted before going to foreign mines and ironworks (preferably located in the Holy Roman Empire). The “report” argued that after 12 to 18 months in the bureau, an auscultator should apply to the governing board for a promotorial to travel to the Swedish mining districts (Bergslagen). The “report” recommended specific sites that the auscultator should visit and gave various examples of useful knowledge that could be acquired in these locations. These places should be visited in a specific order. Taken together, they

19 Ibid, vol. 1, 14, 25, 47; vol. 2, 23 f. For an analysis of the recruitment of foreign craftsmen, see Jansson, Making Metal Making, 169–171. 20 Schröderstierna, Berättelser över de finare järn- stål- och metallfabrikerna, vol. 1, 36 f., 46 f., 50 f.; vol. 2, 2, 30, 51, 64 f., 68–72. 21 Orrje, Mechanicus, 97. 22 Cf. Cooper, Inventing the Indigenous.

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formed an itinerary drawn out in the area between the north shore of Lake Mälaren and the mining town of Falun.23 For the individual auscultator, travels along this route were a process of learning through which he was socialised into the community of the bureau’s officials. By travelling to a key set of spaces, all officials who had followed the prescribed route would have seen the same places of production, the same machinery and the same smelting processes. To follow the route linking these canonical spaces could thus be seen as a way for the auscultators to gradually gain entry into a community of practice based on direct experience of certain mines and ironworks. Travelling was thus not only a means of gaining new experiences, but also a way of establishing a community based on a common framework of shared experience.

III Presenting Reasons for Going Abroad: Angerstein’s Request to Travel Domestic travelling was thus not only part of the everyday work of the bureau’s officials – but also it was a key component of its educational system. In time, such voyages, together with a faithful and diligent execution of one’s office, could open the door for foreign study tours and, by extension, new career prospects. The study tour of the mining official Reinhold Rutger Angerstein (1718–1760) is a particularly illustrative example of how travelling went hand-in-hand with a bureau career. Angerstein, like many of his peers, came from a family of mining experts of German descent and his career was rather typical for his times. Like other men of his family, he studied in Uppsala from a young age (1727–1738), and then became an auscultator in the bureau (from 1738 to 1744). Two years after he attained a permanent position in the bureau (as clerk at the fiscal office, 1747) he set out on a European voyage, which lasted for six years. While still abroad, he was promoted twice (first to vice fiscal and later to director of the heavy iron manufacture). Shortly after his return in 1755, he was, furthermore, permitted into the governing board of the bureau, with the title “extraordinary assessor.”24 When placing Angerstein’s voyage side-by-side with his career, it is evident that going abroad enhanced his prospects of promotion. It is also in this context that we should understand his travel narratives. His travel writing did not only give a general description of European mining, but also was written with the explicit purpose of presenting an image of himself to

23 Lars Schultze, “Kort betänkande huru en yngling som tänker söka sin fortkomst vid bergsväsendet bör sin tid anlägga”, Uppsala universitetsbibliotek, D 1433. 24 Angerstein, R.R. Angerstein’s Illustrated Travel Diary, xv–xix; Almquist, Bergskollegium och bergslagsstaterna, 164.

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his superiors. This image was that of a useful and competent mining engineer adhering to the ideal of the mobile official. However, for a bureau-sponsored study tour to take place at all, the prospective traveller needed to present himself as a good candidate. Again, Angerstein’s application for the right to travel is informative: On August 22, 1748, the year before he set out on his European tour, the bureau’s governing board discussed Angerstein’s request. The protocol of the meeting shows that the bureau, generally speaking, was in favour of Angerstein’s voyage, but that it required a substitute for his position in order to grant Angerstein a leave of absence. Angerstein – as other officials in the early modern state apparatus – was seen as a cog in a state machine and as such, his position could not be left vacant. Therefore, Angerstein (who presumably was waiting outside) was called to the meeting room to give his own suggestion of a possible replacement. He informed the board that Johan Olivenholm was a suitable candidate.25 Next, Olivenholm (who presumably also was waiting outside) was called in and confirmed that he accepted the arrangement. With a substitute in place, the governing board considered the obstacles to Angerstein’s voyage to be overcome and gave its blessing for his foreign study tour.26 The fact that the bureau accepted Angerstein’s request meant that it acted as his representative in the further decision-making process. It hence adopted much of Angerstein’s performance when presenting his request to the King and the Council of the Realm. The bureau consequently presented him as a useful, knowledgeable and diligent man using a language very similar to the one found in Angerstein’s own letters to the bureau. By speaking for Angerstein, the bureau could, however, give him a credible voice he did not possess himself and it could ask for favours from other parts of the state hierarchy with which Angerstein could not communicate directly. Thus, as it were, the board amplified Angerstein’s performance when making it its own. In its concept of a letter, the bureau pointed out how they presumed that he, with much more utility and self-improvement in the mining sciences, should be able to conduct this voyage, as he has displayed diligence and progress in such exercises, as well as a good-natured conduct, during his ten years in the Bureau.27

In their request, the bureau repeated many of the arguments found in Angerstein’s letter. That is, Angerstein could be trusted as he was good-natured and diligent as well as knowledgeable. They especially underlined that Angerstein already was 25 Protocol of the Bureau of Mines, 1748, RA, Bergskollegiums Arkiv, Huvudarkivet, A1/102, 154–159. 26 Ibid. 27 Ibid: “man förmodar thet han med så mycket Större nytta och för kofring i bergwettenskaperna lärer en denna [?] resa kunna förrätta eftersom han under the tio år han i Collegio anwendt (?) til sådana öfningar anwendt wist goda prof af flit och framsteg theruti jemte beskedeligit ”, “Draft of Letter to the King”.

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highly competent in the fields he wished to study abroad. To travel was to learn, but in order to travel abroad the eighteenth-century official already needed to be experienced in what he was to observe. Thus the example of Angerstein again underscores how the bureau’s officials needed to adhere to a certain persona in order to travel. Only someone perceived as adhering to the idealised persona of the mobile official was allowed to cross geographical boundaries. Thus, the bureau’s and Angerstein’s own letters repeatedly presented him as “diligent (flitig)”, knowledgeable, and as of showing a good temper (beskedeligit upförande). These were all qualities of a faithful subject, and of an official who could be trusted to act as a reliable part of the bureaucratic community even after leaving the geographic bounds of the realm. But the performances of usefulness and skill did not end there. Mobility was not something that was gained once and for all, but something that constantly needed to be reinforced. Even after the right to travel had been embodied in a stipend and a passport, the travellers needed to uphold this idealised persona in their performances. Similar performances can thus also be found in eighteenth-century travel narratives.

IV Travelling State Officials The tradition of ars apodemica, the art of travelling, provided guidelines for early modern travellers to structure their voyages as well as their travel writing. In apodemic handbooks, early modern European travellers could read of methods for how to structure and describe their voyages. In this tradition, the travel journal was seen as the most important result of a voyage. Information was gathered in notebooks or commonplace books and was later organised into travel journals. These journals did not necessarily only reflect the experiences of the traveller; other authorities could also be integrated into the final text. The preferred apodemic style was simple and catalogue-like, and the apodemic travel narratives should ideally obfuscate the observing subject and put matters-of-fact centre stage. Furthermore, the apodemic guidelines contained an inherent contradiction between demands of describing what was general and what was curious.28 The economic historian Göran Rydén has argued that reports of mining officials were written in the apodemic systematic tradition and “communicated in a nonpersonal way.”29 While this is correct to a degree, the apodemic tradition is only a piece of the puzzle for understanding the bureau’s travel narratives: The bureau’s officials and auscultators also travelled as the emissaries and information gatherers of a cameralist bureaucracy. As Justin Stagl has pointed out in his study of early

28 Stagl, A History of Curiosity, 81–87; Eliasson, Platsens blick, 38–59. 29 Rydén, Viewing and Walking, 255–274.

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modern travel literature, by the eighteenth century, “academies sent out scientific travellers with specialised instructions.”30 Although the bureau was not an academy, the voyage at the service of the bureau should rather be seen as such a journey with more specific, useful goals. The voyage was part of a career and part of a professional relation of expectations and demands. Peter Dear has pointed out how an account of an experience can be seen as “a piece of social currency.”31 Similarly, travel reports can be interpreted as a social resource with which travellers could repay sponsors for their investments. But for travel writing to be valid as social currency, it had to be recognised as such by both parties of the transaction. Thus, the text needed to be recognised as a credible mediation of useful foreign experiences made by a trustworthy author. Travellers of the Swedish state apparatus, including the Bureau of Mines, were provided with specialised instructions for travelling. The travel reports of such civil servants can be read as performances vis-à-vis these organisations that sponsored their voyages, and their special demands constitute one reason for their literary style. In contrast to apodemic travel reports that sought to describe general experiences in a style prescribed by apodemic literature, these reports can thus also be read with a more specific group of readers in mind. Hence, in order to understand the reports it is necessary to understand what the travellers sought to become by writing them. The core knowledge carriers of the Bureau of Mines organisation were the Heads of the Mining Districts (Bergmästarna). These local officials held responsibility for the mining activities that took place in a specific district. The Heads of Mining Districts had immense power in the local community and could exert this power as patrons, as they had a substantial influence over who should receive the lower offices in their district organisation. Their duties included the ultimate responsibility for all mines (and for mining safety) in the district and the responsibility to inspect waterworks and ore quality. They were also to inspect and approve of the projected site for all new smelting installations and make sure that there was a sufficient supply of wood for charcoal, proximity to running streams of water to power bellows and hammers, and a good site on which to situate the physical structures. The Heads of Mining Districts were also to inspect the quality of the final products. Finally, they sent reports to the central office in Stockholm with information about every change, to the better or worse, which happened in their district.32 Economic

30 Stagl, A History of Curiosity, 86. 31 Dear, Narratives, Anecdotes, and Experiments, 137. 32 “Kongl. Bergs Collegii instruction för Bergmästarne i Jernbergslagerne 26 Nov. 1669” and “Kungl. Brev d. 7 Nov. 1690”, in Kongl. stadgar angående . . . bergwerken, vol. 1, 251–259 and 404–406. “Kungl. Brev till Bergskollegium d. 10 Maj 1748”, ibid, vol. 2, 479–485; “Kungl. Maj:ts och Riksens Bergs- och Commerce Collegiers kungörelse, angående några ytterligare författningar til jern- och stål-manufacturernes upkomst och widare befordran”, 17 Nov. 1757, ibid, vol. 3, 22–31, esp. 30–31; “Den 20 december. Kongl. Maj:ts bref til Bergs-Collegium, angående Bergs-fogde

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historian Eli Heckscher has remarked that they had so wide-ranging responsibilities that it seems unlikely that they could perform all their duties to satisfaction.33 At the bottom line, the duty of the mining official was to have an overview of and control over production in order to direct it into a more rational and lucrative direction. The mining official should define how the work was done and by whom. Of equal importance was that he should have control over the spatial setting of his mining district. This included not only knowing its surface and subterranean geography, but also required him to direct the development of its built environment and infrastructure. We should expect that many mining officials rarely went beyond dealing with technical matters and issuing orders that they expected to be obeyed. However, the notion of control ran through the work of the bureau officials in additional ways. There was the issue of temporal control. This included learning about the geological history of the earth and historical development of individual mines. It also included having the final say on the legal and political history of mining as well as of visions for the future. There was an interest in the control of communities. This was mostly governing not only bodies but also minds, and guiding or ordering the workers’ interpretations, imagination, and storytelling about mining matters. Clearly, the writing of domestic and foreign travel reports was conductive to assuming a role as the state’s local representative in the far-flung Swedish mining areas. By writing them, the prospective mining official demonstrated his own personal mastering of mining and smelting knowledge in all its aspects and could furthermore demonstrate his skills at observing useful economic developments as well as propose changes to processes. But the writing of reports was also an important part of the work of the Heads of Mining Districts. They were charged with writing regular reports to the bureau, outlining the state of mining in their districts. They were to assess the state of the mines and report any changes that had been made to the smelting processes. They were to report whether works had changed owners, the volume of production, the state of the forests and so on and so forth. Hence, not only the content presented in travellers’ reports but also the form was the result of an exercise of preparing prospective mining officials for future duties, as well as of assuring their (future) superiors at the bureau that they accepted the key duty of the local official: To keep the centre updated and informed and thus in continuous control of the periphery.

sysslors tilsättande.” ibid, vol. 3, 501 f. A summary of the tasks is given in Sammandrag af Bergsförfattningar, 220. 33 Heckscher, Sveriges ekonomiska historia från Gustav Vasa, 496.

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V Spatial Control: The Case of Subterranean Geography The Bureau of Mines’ systematic use of international travelling as a method of intelligence gathering may be unique when seen from a European perspective. However, it was at least to some extent an international expansion of established practices that had been carried out in the realm since the first decades of the seventeenth century. The gathering of intelligence about foreign parts may be seen as a direct continuation of a programme of gaining control over, and information about, domestic territories. Travelling abroad was not so different from travelling in the interior. Actually, in practice it was often much easier to travel in Europe than to trek between often remote mines and smelting works in northern Sweden. The inspection of the mining works was considered one of the most important functions of the Bureau of Mines.34 The administrators at the bureau realised early on that in order to have control, it was necessary to have access to high-quality information. By this, they mostly meant precise description. The continuing quest for precise description can be seen clearly in the mining administration’s reports about the state of the mining of the realm, produced for the benefit of the king. Nils Jönssons Krok’s short promemoria to King Gustavus Adolphus of 1624 told of the names of the mines he had visited and their location, given by naming the closest village. In addition, the depth of the mine and type of ore was often mentioned. Sometimes Krok also mentioned something about the quality of the ore and other notable circumstances. The copper mine of Hans Urbansson (Figure 1) was dismissed in a single sentence, which mostly consisted of a derisive comment about the bad quality of the ore. The 1639 report of the newly founded General Bergs Amtet (the precursor of the bureau) was even shorter.35 In comparison, the report of 1666 was produced by a bureau, which was already something of a bureaucratic institution. It was approximately 170 pages long and contained a wealth of information. The case was similar with the 1697 report.36 After the foundation of the bureau, only some of the inspection work, especially of the major and most economically important mines, was carried out by officials from the bureau’s central office. In the eighteenth century, the bureau produced a massive outpouring of texts for the consumption of its governing board as well as for its auscultators. Local officials, inspectors, special commissions as well as travellers were expected to pen 34 Gerentz, Kommerskollegium och näringslivet, 54. 35 RA, Bergskollegiums Arkiv, Huvudarkivet, vol. D2:15: Nils Jönsson Kroks relation om Swea Rikes Bergverk. Unpaginated [p. 1–25, on 18]; vol. D2:15: General Bergs Amtets Relation för År 1639. 36 RA, Bergskollegiums Arkiv, Huvudarkivet, vol. D2:15: Kongl: BergsCollegii Relation för Åhr 1666; Kongl. Maj:ts och Riksens Bergs-Collegii Relation om Bergs wäsendets tilstånd i Riket under Konung Carl XI:tes tid, dat. den 30 Sept. 1697 in Loenbom (ed.), Handlingar til Konung Carl XI:tes Historia, 12.

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Figure 1: Hans Urbansson’s copper mine, 1643. From MS Cronstedt; KVA, Axel Fredrik Cronstedts Arkiv.37

37 Both figures in this essay are reproduced with permission of the Centre for History of Science, The Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences.

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exhaustive reports of their doings. Together, these texts were considered a key resource, and in time they formed the backbone of the bureau’s archive. This archive, which would collect, for example, protocols, fiscal accounts, incoming and outgoing communication, travel reports, and reports, of experiments, was the basis for the bureau’s informational advantage when deciding on economic policy. Auscultators were expected to study the archive carefully and excerpt relevant passages as a part of their training. By copying protocols, they learnt the basis of everyday cameral practices and the excerpting of travel narratives through which auscultators and junior officials learnt about the bureau’s expectations of how to travel and how to write travelogues, was considered a first step of learning the ideals of a mobile official.38 The existence of this archive was also noted abroad. In 1780/81, Johan Jacob Ferber, a Swede recruited into Prussian service, was granted permission to have a number of reports copied from it and sent to Mitau.39 The eighteenth century also saw increased specialisation, in particular among officials at the Stockholm central office. A major group was formed by experts in the fields of “chemistry”, “metallurgy” and “mineralogy”. Another important group was the mechanics and surveyors. But division of knowledge along easily recognisable lines may be deceitful. Daniel Tilas, who would become a main spokesperson of science at the bureau, crossed these division lines. Although often considered a chemist, his special interest was topography, subterranean geography and mineralogy.40 In an early work entitled A miner’s observations and trials in the mineral realm (En Bergsmans rön och försök i mineralriket, 1738) Tilas attempted to present his expertise to a wider audience. His book was what we would call a geological field manual, outlining what one should take note of when studying rocks and earths in their natural physical surroundings and as sample specimens. Tilas emphasised the need of precise empirical descriptions of terrain features, geodesic measurements, and the production of maps which should also include profiles of layers of strata.41 It should be noted that it was mining officials (Bergsmän) who should perform these essentially scientific investigations. Presumably Tilas’s intended readers were primarily Heads of Mining Districts and their assistant staff.

38 Orrje, Mechanicus, 112 f. 39 J. J. Ferber to P. W. Wargentin, 8 Dec. 1776, 12 Oct. 1780, 29. Mar. 1781, 25 Oct. 1781, 27 Apr. 1783, KVA, Wargentins Arkiv, brev till P. Wargentin, E1:7. 40 Topographical works intersected with and were a part of the more generalising disciplines of geography and subterranean geography, which sometimes were discussed under the joint heading of cosmography. Roughly, Tilas’s field of knowledge corresponded to what would later be called geology. On Tilas and topography, Legnér, Fäderneslandets rätta beskrivning, 39 f., 160, 278. For a list of Swedish eighteenth-century topographical works, ibid, 255–267. Strangely enough, Tilas is only mentioned in passing in Frängsmyr’s overview of the “prehistory” of geology in eighteenthcentury Sweden; Frängsmyr, Geologi och skapelsetro. 41 Tilas, En Bergsmans rön och försök i mineralriket, 14.

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The book also had the function of demonstrating his competence.42 The year after its publication, Tilas was made director of the mining works of the provinces of Jämtland and Härjedalen. From 1745 on, he became an assessor and later mine councillor in the governing board of the bureau. The need to re-cast the knowledge of the subterranean world as scientific was deeply felt by Tilas’s protegé Axel Fredrik Cronstedt. Cronstedt emphasised the need for knowledge about specific minerals, thus developing his patron’s work in a distinctly mineralogical direction. In a concept in a letter to Tilas, Cronstedt wrote that no part of natural history or cosmography was so badly developed and resting on such an uncertain basis as Geographia Subterranea (Cosmographia Specialis).43 What subterranean geography needed was a great number of facts about what minerals one could find on the ground and deep underneath it, collected from many widely separated places around the globe.44 Cronstedt showed how this project should be undertaken in a paper on the mineral history of the province of Jämtland. The work combined knowledge of mineralogy and geography and was motivated by its general utility to the mining industry and the nation.45 But as if this was an insufficient motivation for publishing, Cronstedt seems to have felt the need to argue for the scientific value of the paper.46 He made a distinction between the mathematical certainty that one could derive from “proper maps and profiles” and mere descriptions. Empirical descriptions provided a lower degree of scientific certainty but should nevertheless be published as they added to the sum total of knowledge about these matters.47 What Cronstedt meant when he spoke about the greater certainty derived from profiles may be gleaned from Daniel Tilas’s drawing of the main mineral vein of the copper mines of Löfås from 1739 (Figure 2). Inspection of mineral veins was a natural part of the work of the bureau’s officials. Tilas recorded his work with scientific precision. The different types of minerals were clearly delineated, and the

42 Similarly, the chemists of the bureau supported Torbern Bergman as new chair of chemistry in Uppsala (in 1766). In their view, Bergman had demonstrated his competence through a recently published cosmographical monograph. See Fors, Matematiker mot Linneaner. 43 As if to show us that even the terminology was uncertain, Cronstedt edited the passage, crossing over the words “natural history and cosmography”, and replaced them with the word “physics”. 44 KVA, Axel Fredrik Cronstedts Arkiv, F1:3: Vetenskapliga anteckningar och manuskript, vol 3, 82 f.. Latin terms given as in original, quotation on 82. 45 Cronstedt, Rön och anmärkningar vid Jämtlands mineral historia, 7. 46 Cronstedt’s paper seems to have been produced in a haste, on the urging of the Academy’s secretary. See letter from Pehr Wilhelm Wargenting to Axel Fredrik Cronstedt 18 Feb. 1762 and 5 Apr. 1762; KVA, Axel Fredrik Cronstedts Arkiv, E1:1: Manuskript, vol 8. 47 While Cronstedt’s work contained a great number of observations of minerals and the places where they could be found, it contained only one map which covered the entire district and one very schematic profile.

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Figure 2: Profile of the mineral vein of the Löfås mine in 1739 as drawn by Daniel Tilas; KVA, Axel Fredrik Cronstedts Arkiv.48

48 Both figures in this essay are reproduced with permission of the Centre for History of Science, The Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences.

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drawing also made a reference to the location (on “Lundström’s map”) where the profile had been taken down. Here we see the bureau’s ideals in action, i. e., science in the service of the state fulfilling a function, which was also, indisputably, of economic value. The bureau’s officials considered the knowledge area of subterranean geography a part of physics or natural history although this field was yet badly developed. They advocated precise and detailed empirical description as well as “mathematical” certainty as provided by maps and profiles. Through these methods, they aimed at setting the knowledge area of subterranean geography on a sound scientific footing.

VI Conclusions As can be seen from these many examples, travelling permeated more or less all aspects of the Swedish Bureau of Mines. Voyages were also an integral tool for officials’ policing of the metal production of the realm, and spatial control was at the heart of the bureau’s scientific endeavours. It is hence unsurprising that domestic and foreign study tours were also part of the bureau’s educational system of auscultation as well as important stepping-stones in the careers of its officials. All in all, the bureau can be conceptualised as an organisation with a much wider geographical scope than the building in Stockholm that constituted its administrational heart. Through its mobile officials, it could spread its attempts at information gathering and control to spaces both within and without the Swedish realm. Arguably, these activities also provided valuable information for the bureau, which in turn was an important reason for its transformation into a key eighteenth-century site of knowledge production. Foreign and domestic study tours extended the bureau’s sphere of control. While these two categories of tours carried slightly different connotations in the bureau – for example, domestic tours were usually a prerequisite for foreign voyages – it would be wrong to interpret domestic and foreign travelling as essentially different. In a state with vast but sparsely populated territories, the bureau’s ideals of complete information and full control could never become more than the wet dreams of cameral state officials. Nonetheless, domestic voyages enabled the state apparatus to learn more about practices of metal making within its territories. Regardless of how incomplete the knowledge gained was, it was definitely preferable to having no knowledge at all. But the domestic also extended into the foreign. The bureau sought to control a system of metal making that was tightly integrated in Atlantic and global trade networks. The bureau’s attempts at control did thus not necessarily end at Sweden’s territorial borders: Activities such as the circulation of knowledge and acquisition of information about metal markets as well as attempts to lure skilled workforce can be seen as a struggle for control in a wider European context. Both the officials’ domestic

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and foreign travels can thus be seen as tools in the bureau’s efforts for an informational advantage and a control of the European system of metal making. Though mobility was at the centre of all of the bureau’s activities, its ideals of mobility did certainly not mean that its officials were free actors. Their movements were always controlled by a formal judicial system of domestic and foreign travel passports (promotorial) as well as through a set of strong social constraints that were enforced before, during and after their voyages. The first of these constraints was that study tours had to be useful. The second demanded that they should be patriotic. The third proclaimed that the travelling officials should always remain loyal to the bureau while they acted as its instruments in realising its objective of total control. Consequently, the bureau’s officials implicitly claimed that they embodied an idealised persona of a mobile official that expressed a set of positive manly virtues, e.g. utility, order, and control. New auscultators and officials gradually internalised this idealised persona of the mobile official by transcribing travel narratives in the archive and by first making domestic and then, if possible, foreign tours. Since these tours were a way to provide new information for the collective and of showing one’s superiors that one could be trusted to uphold the bureau’s norms even without direct social control, study tours could certainly enhance the career prospect of an official. The antithesis of these positive values was embodied in the “crafty” artisan who worked for self-gain and kept his secrets to himself. There is no denial that this was a form of Enlightenment ideal, but it was neither liberating nor humanitarian. Rather, the discourse of utility and control, which proliferated at the bureau, treated human beings, including the officials themselves, as work units. It added an aspect of despotism and tyranny to the running of the mining business and contributed to implanting an unhealthy patriotic chauvinism into the heart of the emerging mining science. This reconceptualisation of mining as scientific knowledge can be perceived both from a local and from a global aspect. From a local point of view, the patriotism and “useful” scientific activities of the Bureau of Mines officials contributed to the turning of chemistry and mineralogy into tools of the Swedish state in the exploitation of its mineral riches, always with an eye to achieving total control of the other actors involved in the business of Swedish mining. There were also parts of the knowledge of the officials which could not be generalised to become globally valid. Knowledge of precise locations of minerals and earths in Sweden was primarily useful for local consumption – aids for the development of the country’s resources and proof of the author’s patriotic zeal. The situation was different when it came to knowledge about what the minerals were made of. This was a form of knowledge that was valid also outside of the borders of Sweden. The promotion of this knowledge proceeded from the same patriotic mind-set. As obedient civil servants, the officials did their duty also in the international arena and worked hard to instil in “the foreigners” a sense of

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admiration for the accomplishments of the Swedes. In the area of metallic “discoveries” and mineral systematisation, Cronstedt and his associates would make generalised scientific statements aimed at the international republic of letters. The aim of the bureau’s officials was to convince the international community of the learned that their type of science was important. We all agree that individuals learn a lot by going away to visit foreign places and take part of foreign customs, habits and practices. They learn where to look for what is new, and quite often, they bring home what they have learned; that is, they return to their place of departure and try to implement new things there. The study tours of the bureau’s officials were, however, never a strictly individual affair. From the point of becoming associated with the bureau, officials and auscultators were trained in a collective mind-set of what was new, what was useful, and how these phenomena should be described. Like the art of apodemic travelling for early modern students, the idealised persona of the mobile official was part of an effort to uphold the bureau’s control while its officials were on the move. While total control was of course never realised in practice, this fact still implies that this category of study tours, made by eighteenth-century state officials, should not be seen as discrete individual voyages, but as expressions of a greater system of controlling the circulation of men, objects, and the knowledge of nature.

References Archival Sources Kungliga Vetenskapsakademiens Arkiv (Archives of the Royal Academy of Sciences, Stockholm, KVA), – Axel Fredrik Cronstedts Arkiv, E1:1; F1:3 – Wargentins Arkiv, E1:7. Riksarkivet (Swedish National Archives, RA) – Bergskollegiums Arkiv, Huvudarkivet, A1:102; D2:15 – Jernkontorets Arkiv, FII a. Uppsala universitetsbibliotek (Uppsala University Library), D 1433.

Printed Sources Alströmer, Jonas, Sveriges wälstånd om det will, Stockholm 1745. Cronstedt, Axel Fredrik, Rön och anmärkningar vid Jämtlands mineral historia, Stockholm 1993, 7 f. [Facsimile pagination]. Facsimile reprint from Kongl. Vetenskaps Academiens Handlingar (1763).

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Gjörwell, Carl Christoffer, Det swenska biblioteket, vol. 2, Stockholm 1758. Kongl. stadgar, förordningar, bref och resolutioner, angående justitien och hushållningen wid bergwerken och bruken, första fortsättningen, 3 vols., Stockholm 1786–1837. Laurel, Lars, Åminnelse-tal öfver Capitaine Mechanichus vid fortificationen . . . Mårten Trievald, hållet på store riddar-hus salen, Den 23 Decemb. 1747, Stockholm 1748. Loenbom, Samuel (ed.), Handlingar til Konung Carl XI:tes Historia, Stockholm 1772. Sammandrag af bergs-författningar 1808, Stockholm 1812. Tilas, Daniel, En Bergsmans rön och försök i mineralriket, Åbo 1738.

Secondary Works Almquist, Johan, Bergskollegium och Bergslagsstaterna 1637–1857. Administrativa och biografiska anteckningar. Meddelanden från Svenska Riksarkivet 2:3, Stockholm 1909. Angerstein, Reinhold R., R.R. Angerstein’s Illustrated Travel Diary, 1753–1755. Industry in England and Wales from a Swedish Perspective, transl. by Torsten and Peter Berg, London 2001. Cooper, Alix, Inventing the Indigenous. Local Knowledge and Natural History in Early Modern Europe, Cambridge 2007. Dear, Peter, Narratives, Anecdotes, and Experiments. Turning Experience into Science in the Seventeenth Century, in idem (ed.), The Literary Structure of Scientific Argument. Historical Studies, Philadelphia 1991. Eliasson, Pär, Platsens blick. Vetenskapsakademien och den naturalhistoriska resan 1790–1840, Umeå 1999. Fors, Hjalmar, Matematiker mot Linneaner. Konkurrerande vetenskapliga nätverk kring Torbern Bergman in Sven Widmalm (ed.), Vetenskapens sociala strukturer. Sju historiska fallstudier om konflikt, samverkan och makt, Lund 2008, 25–53. Fors, Hjalmar, The Limits of Matter. Chemistry, Mining and Enlightenment, Chicago 2015. Frängsmyr, Tore, Geologi och skapelsetro. Föreställningar om jordens historia från Hiärne till Bergman, Uppsala 1969. Gerentz, Sven, Kommerskollegium och näringslivet. Minnesskrift utarbetad av Sven Gerentz på uppdrag av Kungl. Kommerskollegium till erinran om Kollegii 300-åriga ämbetsförvaltning 1651–1951, Stockholm 1951. Göransson, Sven, De svenska studieresorna och den religiösa kontrollen från reformationstiden till Frihetstiden, Uppsala 1951. Heckscher, Eli, Sveriges ekonomiska historia från Gustav Vasa. Före frihetstiden. Hushållningen under internationell påverkan 1600–1720, Stockholm 1936. Hodacs, Hanna/ Nyberg, Kenneth, Naturalhistoria på resande fot: om att forska, undervisa och göra karriär i 1700-talets Sverige, Stockholm 2007. Holmgren, John, Norrlandsläseriet. Studier till dess förhistoria och historia fram till år 1830 Samlingar och studier till Svenska Kyrkans Historia utg. av Hilding Pleijel 19, Stockholm/ Lund 1948. Jansson, Måns, Making Metal Making. Circulation and Workshop Practices in the Swedish Metal Trades, 1730–1775, Uppsala 2017. Legnér, Mattias, Fäderneslandets rätta beskrivning. Mötet mellan antikvarisk forskning och ekonomisk nyttokult i 1700-talets Sverige, Helsingfors/ Helsinki 2004. Lindqvist, Svante, Technology on Trial. The Introduction of Steam Power Technology into Sweden, 1715–1736, Uppsala 1984. Linné, Carl von/ Fries, Theodor Magnus, Bref och skrifvelser af och till Carl von Linné. Afd. 1. D. 1, Skrifvelser till offentliga myndigheter och till Kungl. Vetenskapssocieteten i Upsala, Stockholm 1907.

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Munthe, Ludvig W:son [et al.], Kungl. fortifikationens historia 4: 1719–1811, 1, Fortifikationsstaten under Löwen till och med Cedergren 1719–1811. Personalen, Stockholm 1916. Orrje, Jacob, Mechanicus. Performing an Early Modern Persona, Uppsala 2015. Pleijel, Hilding, Der schwedische Pietismus in seinen Beziehungen zu Deutschland. Eine kirchengeschichtliche Untersuchung, Lund 1935. Rydén, Göran, Viewing and Walking. Swedish Visitors to Eighteenth-Century London, in Journal of Urban History 39/2 (2013), 255–274. Schröderstierna, Samuel, Berättelser över de finare järn- stål- och metallfabrikerna i Sverige åren 1754–1759, 2 vols., ed. by Gösta Malmborg/ Carl Sahlin, Stockholm 1925. Stagl, Justin, A History of Curiosity. The Theory of Travel 1550–1800, London 1995. Wall, Cynthia, The Prose of Things. Transformations of Description in the Eighteenth Century, Chicago 2006, 7–11. Weber, Wolfhard, Probleme des Technologietransfers in Europa im 18. Jahrhundert. Reisen und technologischer Transfer, in Ulrich Troitzsch (ed.), Technologischer Wandel im 18. Jahrhundert, Wolfenbüttel 1981, 189–217. Weber, Wolfhard, Innovationen im frühindustriellen deutschen Bergbau und Hüttenwesen. Friedrich Anton von Heynitz, Göttingen 1976 (Studien zu Naturwissenschaft, Technik und Wirtschaft im neunzehnten Jahrhundert 6). Weber, Wolfhard, Innovationstransfer durch Reisen im sächsischen Berg- und Hüttenwesen in der zweiten Hälfte des 18. Jahrhunderts, in Internationales Symposion zur Geschichte des Bergbaus und Hüttenwesens. Bergakademie Freiberg 1978 (ICOHTEC). Vorträge, vol. 2, Freiberg 1980, 535–548. Woolrich, A. P., Mechanical Arts & Merchandise. Industrial Espionage and Travellers’ Accounts as a Source for Technology Historians, Eindhoven 1989.

Jakob Vogel

Lost in Imperial Translation? Circulating Mining Knowledge between Europe and Latin America around 1800 The era around 1800 has been generally acknowledged to be of particular importance for European-Latin American relations. In the field of history of science, these interactions have been described traditionally in a rather simple manner as a one-sided relation between a European “centre” and a Latin American “periphery”.1 In this relation, the imperial order of the Spanish and Portuguese Empires merely presented a shady background for the endeavours of scientists coming from France, England or the German countries, which collected “natural knowledge” in the peripheral wilderness and transported it to the scientific centres in Europe Paris, London or Berlin. The long journey that Alexander von Humboldt undertook in the years of 1799 to 1804 to South and Central America has made him the embodiment of this narrative being portrayed in a rather Eurocentric vision as a “the second and scientific discoverer of America”.2 In the reverse way, new technological knowledge, like in the field of mining, was considered being imported quasi exclusively from Europe, making European experts like the Swedish Baron Fürchtegott Leberecht von Nordenflycht or the Hessian Baron Wilhelm Ludwig von Eschwege, the “father” of the Brazilian iron industry, heroes of the industrialisation of the new continent.3 This caricatural picture was not only intrinsically Eurocentric but also constructed an inner European periphery by portraying the Spanish and Portuguese Empires as less “enlightened” and therefore less inclined to modern science than the other, “more developed” parts of the continent.4 While still influential in public discourse and imagery (see, for instance, the public debate in Germany around the new project of an ethnological museum in Berlin, the “Humboldt-Forum”),5 it has

1 Gavroglu [et al.], Science and Technology in the European Periphery. 2 Chambers, Centre Looks at Periphery, 94. Chambers cites here two German specialists of Humboldt’s life, Kurt Biermann and Werner Schuffenhauer, from the “Festschrift” published in 1969 by the East Germany Academy of Science on the occasion of Humboldt’s 200th anniversary: Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Berlin (ed.), Alexander von Humboldt. 3 See for instance Gicklhorn, Die Bergexpedition des Freiherrn von Nordenflycht; Sommer, Wilhelm Ludwig von Eschwege. 4 Gavroglu [et al.], Science and Technology in the European Periphery. 5 For this debate that centred more and more on the figure of Alexander von Humboldt as a name giver of the museum see for instance the discussion between Bredekamp [et al.], War Humboldt Kolonialist? https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110553734-008

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been criticised since a long time in professional historiography.6 Historians of sciences like Jorge Cañizares-Esguerra have insisted not only on the “Colonial Iberian Roots of the Scientific Revolution” in general7 but also especially the importance of the “Bourbonic reform movement” in Spain in which, as early as the 1770s, the Spanish crown sent out a series of scientific expeditions to the different parts of the empire with the aim to collect botanical and other natural knowledge that could be useful for the economic development of the continent.8 In this perspective, the journey of Alexander von Humboldt and other “European” scientific endeavours of the so-called Sattelzeit (Koselleck) in Latin America have to be put in the broader context of the political project of the Spanish Empire in the second half of the eighteenth century. Its aim was trying to push forward the collection and implementation of new useful natural knowledge as a part of a broader reform project that tried to strengthen the imperial state and its economy. In this respect, the evolution in Latin America has to be connected closer with the general evolution of the state and state-related knowledge in Europe where similar evolutions took place at the same time.9 As this chapter aims to show, in the field of mining, Latin America was indeed integrated in the broader sphere of modern state knowledge and scientific expertise that marked the Sattelzeit between 1750 and 1850 in Europe and beyond. This sphere was characterised by the predominance of a model of a state-oriented mining economy administered by public officials that were trained in the canon of “mining sciences” coined since the 1760s namely by the two Mining Academies of Freiberg in Saxony and of Schemnitz in Lower-Hungary in the Habsburg Empire.10 Although the proponents of this model nowhere succeeded to impose entirely their concept of an intrinsically state-related mining knowledge – in nearly all countries it struggled to impose itself on more liberal models in which mining was considered as a sphere of private initiative and enterprise11 – it nevertheless shaped largely the development of the mining industry in Europe, with the notable exception of Great Britain.12 Latin America in this sense was only one specific area where the stateorientated mining experts had to adapt themselves to local specificities, both in terms of natural resources and of socio-political constellations, trying hard to impose as much as possible of their general ideas about a state-dominated industry. If one has to “de-singularise” the European-Latin American relations in this sense and to reconnect them with a general history of the European state and its

6 See for instance Pimentel, The Iberian Vision. 7 Cañizares-Esguerra, The Colonial Iberian Roots of the Scientific Revolution. 8 Idem, From Baroque to Modern Colonial Sciences. 9 See more generally Paquette (ed.), Enlightened Reform in Southern Europe. 10 Vogel, Aufklärung unter Tage. 11 See here also Vogel, Les mines. 12 For the British case see Vogel, Aufklärung unter Tage, 25 f.

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institutional models,13 this does not mean to neglect the specific “colonial setting”14 in which these evolutions took place. As this paper aims to show, the colonial background of Latin America was indeed of particular importance for the actors, as it provided them with a specific framework of understanding in which they interpreted their own actions in terms of a fight against “backwardness” and for a necessary scientific reform. By constructing themselves as being part of a natural and political environment, which needed “European” expertise in order to develop their country and its economy, they placed themselves in a peripheral position with regard to the evolutions in Europe. The centre-periphery model was therefore established already in the Sattelzeit as a powerful framework that helped the actors to legitimise their quest for reform while minimising at the same time Latin American contributions and achievements in the field of modern sciences. It became even stronger as most of these actors considered themselves already as being part of an inner-European “periphery”.15 But if, due to the Bourbonic reform movement, the collection and dissemination of state-related knowledge played an important role in the late colonial empire, what change brought the moment of Latin American independence in the early nineteenth century? Did independence from the European motherland bring – at least for a while – scientific exchange to an end, in the sense of an “Americanisation” of sciences and knowledge, or did the new political context bring on by contrary the start of a new era of the collection of knowledge by the new post-independent state? Recent scholarship by specialists of Latin American history has argued in this latter sense, insisting on the important project by post-colonial nation states to build up their own state knowledge as a “new science of republicanism” in the aftermath of the political independence by rejecting the “colonial legacies” that hindered the development of useful knowledge in the country.16 While pursuing these general questions, the paper highlights the striking continuities between the pre- and post-independence eras with regard of the networks and circulation of mining knowledge that were occulted by the discourse of novelty and radical change put forward by the actors of the post-colonial times. While the independence movement forced several proponents of the state-centred model of mining to remigrate to Europe and brought a significant change in the rhetoric, it 13 In this respect our approach is somewhat different from the one used by Spanish and Portuguese historians who, while underlining the multiplicity of possible “centres”, inscribe their work from the very beginning in the frame of a historical “peripheral” position of Spain and Portugal (and Greece) with regard to the development of “European science” without identifying more clearly the historical construction processes of these visions in the course of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. See especially Gavroglu [et al.], Science and Technology in the European Periphery. 14 For the long historiographical debate about the “colonial” character of the Spanish Empire, see for instance: Jean-Philippe Luis, D’un Empire à un autre Empire. 15 Carneiro/ Simões, Enlightenment Science in Portugal. 16 del Castillo, Crafting a Republic for the World.

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did not end the European-Latin American circulations of state-related knowledge.17 The new era of independence, however, also meant a new constellation for mining in Latin America with a stronger influence of private capital and entrepreneurship, giving a harder time to mining officials trying to pursue their traditional stateorientated concept of mining under the new auspices.

I Alexander von Humboldt: European Mining Knowledge and Expertise in the Spanish Empire around 1800 One of the most striking features of the travel that Alexander von Humboldt undertook in Latin America in the years of 1799 to 1804 is indeed the extent to which the Prussian nobleman relied in his contacts with Latin American scientists and officials on the networks of the Bourbonic reform movement in the Spanish Empire and their ties with their counterparts in other European countries. Due to his own professional background in the Prussian mining administration,18 it was of particular importance for him that close ties had existed at least since the late 1780s among the members of the international community of mining experts through the Societät für Bergbaukunde founded in 1789 by the mineralogist and mining official Ignaz von Born in the Habsburg Empire.19 This first international association of mining experts brought together specialists from all over Europe, mostly high officials of the respective mining administrations, under the banner of an enlightened science of mining that considered minerals as “national resources” and mining an economic sector, which intrinsically had to be governed by the state and its representatives. The implementation of this vision in Latin America was ensured by the Elhuyar brothers, two young Basque noblemen who were members of the Societät from the very beginning. Both had studied in the Real Seminario Patriótico de Vergara, one of the centres of the economic enlightenment in Spain,20 and later had been sent by the crown to the different centres of the European mining community, namely the two Mining Academies in Freiberg, Saxony, and in Schemnitz in Lower Hungary (today Slovakia, at that time part of the Habsburg Empire) – a journey that echoed the Voyages metallurgiques undertaken by the French mining engineer Gabriel Jars

17 In this respect, this chapter draws a similar line as the studies about the political connections between Europe and Latin America in Brown/ Paquette (eds.), Connections after Colonialism. 18 Klein, Humboldts Preußen. 19 About the role of the Societät für Bergbaukunde in the broader scientific community of mining experts in Europe at the end of the eighteenth century see, with more bibliographical information, Vogel, Aufklärung untertage, 17–26. 20 Chaparro Sainz, Educarse para servir al rey.

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in the 1760s.21 With their up to date-education, both brothers obtained important positions in the mining administrations of the Spanish Empire, Juan José being appointed in 1783 Director of the Mines in the Viceroyalty of New Grenade (today Colombia) while his younger brother Fausto became in July 1786 General Director of Mines in the Viceroyalty of New Spain (today Mexico). Juan José who had led the silver mines of Mariquita and Santa Ana close to Santa Fé de Bogota (which Humboldt visited during his travels) died early in 1796, but his brother Fausto hosted Humboldt during much of his stay in Central America at the Real Seminario de Minería that he had founded in 1792 in the city of Mexico. With Elhuyar, whose wife was of Austrian origin,22 Humboldt shared not only the common background of the professional culture of mining officials acquired during their studies at the Mining Academy in Freiberg but also the use of German language, which was considered by many of the European mining experts of the late eighteenth century as the lingua franca of their profession (most of the contemporary scientific literature in mineralogy and mining engineering was published in German).23 While being an important proponent of the “Bourbonic reform movement in Spanish America, Fausto d’Elhuyar was not at all an uncontroversial figure, as the majority of the mining officials in New Spain protested against his appointment.24 He became nevertheless the crucial actor of the reform of the mining administration in the viceroyalty, implementing in his institution a new study programme coined after the model of Vergara. The programme in itself was influenced heavily by the corpus of technological, scientific and administrative knowledge that was taught also in European mining academies and other institutions of technological education in Europe, even if the more fundamental political and juridical subjects were left out and French was taught instead of German as it was the case in the French Académie des Mines.25 He also was behind the hiring of a number of European mining specialists who were sent to the different viceroyalties of the Spanish Empire in order to implement the amalgamation processes experimented with by Ignaz von Born in Schemnitz, one group going to New Grenade where they were hosted by his brother Juan José, another one lead by the Swedish Baron von Nordenflycht to Lima and Potosí, and a third to Mexico where Elhuyar himself supervised the experiments.26 It was, however, not only with the colleagues of the Spanish imperial mining administration that Humboldt spent much of his time during his stay in Latin America but also with other natural scientists working for the Spanish state in the different parts of the empire where they helped to collect useful knowledge on

21 22 23 24 25 26

Jars, Voyages métallurgiques. For Eluyar, see for instance Covarrubias, En busca del hombre útil, 414 f. Vogel, Les mines. Covarrubias, En busca del hombre útil, 414. Ibid, 415. Hausberger, Das Amalgamationsverfahren des Ignaz von Born, 45 f.

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natural resources of the countries or worked in the scientific institutions built up to educate future officials in the different field of science. One of the leading figures of this group was José Celestino Mutis, Spanish priest and botanist born in Cadiz, who had been appointed in 1783 as director of the royal scientific expedition to New Grenade (Colombia) and had built up the botanical garden in Santa Fé de Bogotá, another place where Humboldt spent a longer period during his journey through South America. It would be reductionist, however, to attribute Humboldt’s good contacts and scientific networks in Latin America solely to his professional background as a former student of the Freiberg Mining Academy and as a resigned Prussian mining official. Much of his prestige and attraction for the Bourbonic officials came also from his close ties with post-revolutionary France and the French Academy of Science that Humboldt had established during his stay in Paris the years before. Indeed, without his French scientific and political credentials Humboldt never would have been allowed to travel to Latin America: the official passport that permitted him to enter the non-European parts of the empire was granted to the Prussian natural scientist by King Charles IV only after the appointment of one of the leaders of the pro-French faction of the court, the count Mariano Luis de Urquijo, as First Secretary of State on February 12, 1799. This important shift in the Spanish policy towards France ten years after 1789 acknowledged the path set by the French Directoire to overcome the revolutionary period and also its measures to promote sciences and industry as a central part of French soft power.27 For Mutis and other Bourbonic officials in the Spanish colonies, the French touch of the Prussian scientist was of particular importance as it helped them to establish a direct contact with one of the leading centres of science and enlightenment in contemporary Europe. This direct pathway to Paris helped them not only to overcome what they considered as a relative isolation of Spain but also – as Rodolfo Guzmán has shown with respect to the festivities staged in Santa Fé de Bogotá to welcome the European traveller – to demonstrate the value of their “Creole” knowledge in the broader community of global enlightenment.28 It was with this drive that Mutis offered Humboldt his collection of 100 drawings to be sent to Paris, a move that was joined with enthusiasm by other local scientists. However, the self-representation of the enlightened part of the local Creole elite was only one dimension of the encounter between the European traveller and the colonial society in Latin America. The particular expertise that Humboldt carried with him was also set to help the Bourbonic reformers with their endeavour of rendering the Spanish American state ever more efficient in the use of its own natural resources. The official request of the Viceroy of Nueva Grenada, Pedro Mendinueta

27 See the chapter of Jean-Luc Chappey in this book. 28 See for instance Guzmán, Welcoming Alexander von Humboldt, 47 f.

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y Múzquiz, to Humboldt to provide a personal expertise on the exploitation of the salt mines in Zipaquirá near Bogotá shows how important this reciprocal element of gift and counter-gift was in the relation between both parties: as the Spanish state had opened its territories and knowledge to the European traveller, he was considered to be indebted to offer his insights in the areas of his own expertise, here the salt mining. Humboldt was indeed considered by his contemporaries as an expert in salt mining as he had published an article on the geology of salt in the official journal of the Freiberg Academy during his studies.29 Humboldt’s official report on the salt works in Nueva Granada, Memoria razonada de las salinas de Zipaquirá published later in the nineteenth century,30 is a clear demonstration of the complicated situation in which these expectations by the local society put the Prussian natural scientist: while he had to underline his broad knowledge on the geological and technological conditions of the salt works in Europe in order to legitimise his own position as an expert in the field, he lacked not only the instruments that were commonly used in Europe in order to analyse more precisely the quality of the produced salt but also a deeper practical knowledge of the salt production and its technologies.31 The result of this dilemma eventually was a report that only made some very general “cameralist” remarks on the possible reorganisation of the production and the use of local workforce in the salt works. Although it is unclear how much Humboldt’s advice really helped the local administration to change production in the Zipaquirá salt works,32 it also shows how important the momentum of reciprocity in the exchange of knowledge and expertise was for both sides in order to take a mutual benefit from their encounter.

II Brazil, a Special Path in European-Latin American Relations in the Field of Mining? While the role of European mining engineers in the Bourbonic reforms in Spanish America has been given some coverage in European historiography, the case of Brazil still remains largely unknown – despite the fact that the country has developed in the twentieth century towards being a major player in world mining production.33

29 Vogel, Ein schillerndes Kristall, 147. 30 Humboldt, Memoria razonada. 31 See also Vogel, Ein schillerndes Kristall. 32 The remarks made by Jean-Baptiste Boussingault about his visit to Zipaquirá in 1825 indicate that the local government was still trying to improve salt production despite Humboldt’s earlier report on the salt works. Boussingault criticised openly some of Humboldt’s observations about the geological character of the region. See: Letter of J.B. Boussingault to Alexander von Humboldt, Vega de Supia, 8.7.1825, in: Pässler/ Schmuck (eds.), Alexander von Humboldt Jean-Baptiste Boussingault, 227–232. 33 See for instance Fischer, Globalisierte Geologie.

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This neglect echoes the vision of a certain backwardness of Portugal, the Brazilian mother country, with regard to the development of scientific institutions and the implementation of enlightened reforms, which was already well spread among contemporary observers.34 It is particularly striking that both contemporaries and historiography have embraced this vision by denominating the scientists and proponents of enlightened reforms as estrangeirados.35 However, while “modern” sciences developed in Portugal since the early eighteenth century and grew notably stronger with the reform of the University of Coimbra in 1772 and later the creation of the Academy of Sciences in Lisbon in 1779, the field of mining seemingly did not until the late 1780s come in the focus of the country’s enlightened elites. It was the new Prime Minister Luiz Pinto de Souza who sent in 1790 three young members of the Academy, Manuel Ferreira da Câmara Bethencourt e Sá, José Bonifacio de Andrada e Silva and Joaquim Pedro Fragoso de Siqueira, on an educational voyage through Europe in order to improve their technical knowledge in the field of mining.36 The long educational journey (which lasted with its 10 years much longer than the one undertaken by the Elhuyar brothers in the Spanish context) brought the three young noblemen not only to Paris, where they studied at the Royal Mining School in 1790/1791 despite the political turmoil of the French Revolution, to Freiberg and the Habsburg mining regions, but also to Italy, Russia, Spain and Sweden. Nevertheless, while their visit to the centres of European mining sciences and of numerous other production sites definitively improved the practical and scientific knowledge of the three noblemen, this first seemed to have only little practical effect on the Portuguese mining industry. All three, however, published scientific studies during their trip. In 1800, Fragoso de Siqueira, for instance, published a long treaty in both German and French dedicated to the Portuguese prince regent about the amalgamation process used in the mines in Saxony that he had come to know during the 18 months of his stay.37 However, the author’s explicit aim was to instruct other visitors of Freiberg, not to change mining practices in the Portuguese Empire.38 Things changed under the successor of Pinto de Souza, Rodrigo de Sousa Coutinho, Count of Linhares, who called the three young men back home and tried to integrate them in his administration in order to implement practical reforms in the mining administration and to modernise the production in the Portuguese mines.39 In an address to the Academy of Sciences in Lisbon, de Sousa Coutinho

34 Paquette (ed.), Enlightened Reform in Southern Europe. 35 Carneiro/ Simões (eds.), Enlightenment Science in Portugal. 36 Varela [et al.], Naturalista e homem público, 217 f. 37 Pinto/ Malaquias, Chemistry and Metallurgy in Portugal, 534–537. 38 Fragoso de Siqueira, Kurze Beschreibung Aller Amalgamir- Und Schmelzarbeiten. 39 See the documents about the negotiations about the hiring of Prussian miners that should help José Bonifacio to implement the new mining practices in ANTT Lisbon, MNE, caixa 819: Legação de Portugal na Prussia 1798–1803, Dossier 1802 Legação de Berlim.

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had set out the goals of the project that was planned to provide the country and its colonial territories namely in Brazil with some up to date knowledge in the field of mining in order to improve the practical skills of the country’s mining sector and to open up mining schools in Brazil.40 José Bonifacio de Andrada e Silva was now appointed director of the Portuguese mining administration and in the same time took over the post of Professor of Mineralogy in Coimbra. Relying on an earlier project, de Sousa Coutinho also ordered the hiring of some experts from the Germanspeaking countries who should help to improve the practical knowledge in the Portuguese iron industry. This highly profiled operation that should give a new impulse to the Portuguese mining sector in general also involved the acquisition of a famous mineral collection, the mineral collection of Karl Eugen Pabst von Ohain, from Freiberg in Saxony. The 7,500-specimen collection of this high ranking Saxon official that had been put on the market by his heirs had received considerable attention in the professional community of the European mining experts because of the classification of the species by the leading Freibergian mineralogist Abraham Gottlob Werner.41 The book published about the catalogue of the collection, which was a key element of the publicity campaign set up by the Freiberg merchant therefore also acquired an important scientific status as one of the rare official versions that was circulated of the Werner system of classification.42 The whole operation set up to modernise the state mining knowledge after the Freibergian model. However, this was mixed up between the different actors involved between Lisbon and Berlin, where the Portuguese delegate had to handle the affair after the return to Lisbon of José Bonifacio and of a high profiled diplomat, the special envoy Fernando Correa Henriques de Noronha. Contrary to the instructions set out by José Bonifacio, the diplomats of the Berlin delegation finally did not hire a group of Saxon “smelters” but relied on their exchanges with Prussian mining officials that considered the Portuguese iron ore and techniques as closer to the Hessian mining industry. They recruited two Prussian miners and two recent graduates of the Marburg University, Wilhelm Ludwig von Eschwege and Friedrich Ludwig Wilhelm Varnhagen, who had both acquired some practical knowledge in the Hessian iron works after their studies of cameral science.43 Although, much to the deception of José Bonifacio, the four “smelters” hired by the Berlin embassy thus did not correspond completely to the envisioned profile of “mining experts” from what was considered by the Portuguese administration to be the “top” of contemporary mining knowledge, the officials in Lisbon gave in after

40 Maxwell, Naked Tropics: Essays on Empire and Other Rogues, 131–133. 41 Vogel, Stony Realms. 42 Werner, Ausfuehrliches und sistematisches Verzeichnis. 43 For more information about the education of Eschwege and Varnhagen, see Sommer, Wilhelm Ludwig von Eschwege, 21–34.

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some discussion and finally incorporated the foreigners in their reform programme for the country’s mining sector. While these reform efforts intending to implement the Freibergian paradigm concerned the mining industries in the mother country itself (although relying on what can be seen as “Brazilian” actors), the colonial space also came in the focus of the Portuguese officials. In a quite similar move to the Bourbonic reform movement in Spanish America, de Sousa Coutinho decided to send out a number of scientific missions to the different regions of the colony with the explicit order to collect all valuable information about the natural resources of the country and to send it back to Lisbon.44 Moreover, he appointed Martim Francisco Ribeiro de Andrada, the brother of José Bonifacio, a former student of natural sciences at the University of Coimbra, to the strategic job of General Director of the Gold, Silver and Iron Mines in the district of São Paulo. Reforms however moved on more quickly after 1808 and the transfer of the court to Rio de Janeiro. In order to modernise more deeply the mining industry in Brazil, De Câmara,45 Eschwege and Varnhagen were now given important positions in the mining administration, De Câmara as Intendente of the Diamond District and Eschwege as Director of the Iron Works of Conhangas that he named Patriotica, while Varnhagen was attached to the iron works of Ipanema near Sao Paolo. He became its director after the Swedish smelting specialist Hedberg had failed to construct a working iron furnace on the spot.46 Eschwege was also charged to oversee the Ohain-mineral collection, which had followed the court over to Brazil and was set to become the centrepiece of the new national museum in Rio de Janeiro.47 Here is not the place to discuss the complex history of these “modernising efforts” and the transfer of “European” concepts into local practices, but it is striking how much the different actors had embraced a vision of a higher standard of mining institutions and knowledge in European countries and of the crucial role that the state had to spread these principles in Brazil, namely through the creation of an official mining school and other efforts to spread European mining knowledge.48 Wilhelm Ludwig von Eschwege urged also to introduce a new mining legislation that should be moulded after the standards in use in European countries while 44 Paranhos da Silva/ Mendoça Figueirôa, Garimpando idéias; Varela/ Lopes, As atividades científicas do naturalista Martim Francisco Ribeiro de Andrada, 949. 45 De Câmara had been appointed in 1801 Governor of Bahia where he tried to improve the collection of information about natural resources: Maxwell, Naked Tropics, 132. 46 Martins Araújo [et al.], Start Up da siderurgia moderna. 47 See for the parallel story of the circulation of the royal library between Lisbon and Rio de Janeiro: Lilia Schwarcz, A longa viagem. 48 See for instance: “Carta de José Bonifacio sobre a criaçâo de una escola pratica de minas para fazer florescer as minas do Brasil e Portugal; pendindo especialistas para ajuda-lo nas novas pesquisas e 1 ou 2 cofres que se fizerem quando S.A.R. partiu para o Brasil]“, Lisboa 22.8.1814, in IHGB, Andrada e Silva DL 175, lata 191, pasta 90.

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acknowledging that it was necessary to adapt their principles to the common practices in Brazil, namely the use of slaves as the main labour force in the mining industry.49 This mind-set led Eschwege to assure José Bonifacio, who had moved over to Brazil only after the Napoleonic defeat in Europe and had taken up mayoral responsibilities in the Luso-Brazilian administration, of his strong sympathy with his actions, especially for his efforts to strengthen the role of the state in the nascent Brazilian industry.50 In this state of mind, the different administrators tried to promote the idea of building up a proper mining administration and to establish a mining academy in the country in order to improve the theoretical and practical knowledge on mining in the Luso-Brazilian state.51 Although they had, compared to their counterparts in the Spanish Empire, more difficulties in implementing their state-centred vision of mining and the economy in a less favourable context (the Luso-Brazilian state being much less marked as the Spanish colonial empire by a broad reform movement similar to the Bourbonic reforms), many of the European trained Brazilian mining officials shared more or less the visions of their colleagues in Europe.

III European-Latin American Circulations and the New Independent Nation States The strong winds of change and the struggle for independence that struck Latin America in the 1820s brought a considerable challenge to the hopes of the enlightened reformers that had tried to implement the state-centred vision of mining in the context of the imperial administration. But while some of the most emblematic experts from Europe like Fausto d’Elhuyar and Wilhelm Varnhagen were forced out of Latin America by a wave of hostility against “strangers” (Wilhelm von Eschwege had left Brazil in 1821 some months before the independence of the country in 1822, apparently fed up by the regular conflicts that had characterised the Luso-Brazilian

49 See, for instance, the “Memoria abreviada sobre varios objetos montanisticos, principalt sobre a decadencia dos Minas de Ouro da Capitania de Minas Geraes” that Eschwege wrote in February 1814 in order to propose a modernisation of the mining administration in the Minas Geraes district, in HStAM, Bestand 340: Wilhelm von Eschwege, N° 3. Eschwege published a revised version of his ideas of reform of the Brazilian mining administration later in 1830 in his book Eschwege, Brasilien. 50 Letter of Wilhelm Ludwig von Eschwege to José Bonifacio, 30.11.1819, in BN-RJ, Manuscritos, I-4,19,22. 51 See for instance the “Plano para o estabelecimento de huma administraçâo pratica de minas e de huma academia metallurgica no Brasil” [s.d. s.p.] sent to José Bonifacio that can be dated around 1819 (in IHGB, Andrada e Silva DL 175, lata 175 pasta 58).

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administration already in the decade before),52 others continued to serve the new regimes. José Bonifacio even became one of the emblematic actors of the first phase of independence but was later driven out by the internal rivalries at the court of Pedro I in 1823. Perhaps more notably is the case of De Câmara who as a member of one of the old “Brazilian” families had no problem to stay integrate in the new imperial state and even became later a well-reputed member of the Brazilian Senate. Also in the former Spanish territories, their close ties with the old monarchical regime did not mean that all of the mining officials lost their jobs with the collapse of the imperial order. In Mexico Andrés Manuel del Rio, a mineralogist born in Madrid who had developed a strong friendship with Alexander von Humboldt during his studies in Freiberg under the auspices of Abraham Gottlob Werner53 and who had worked as Professor of Mineralogy at the Mexican Real Seminario de Minería in 1794, decided to stay in Latin America as he shared most of the political beliefs of the governing autonomists. Having collaborated closely with Fausto d’Elhuyar, he nevertheless later stood up against the expulsion of Spaniards decided in 1829 by the Mexican government during the war with the former motherland, exiling himself for some years to Philadelphia. He only came back in 1834 to Mexico to work again in the seminario where he assured the relative continuity in the spirit of teaching of the mining sciences.54 Perhaps the most emblematic case of the ongoing European-Latin American circulations of a state-centred mining knowledge between the pre-independence times and the new republican era is the history of the foundation of the National Museum and the Mining School in Bogotá in 1822/24 by the new republican government of New Grenade. The case has been recently studied by two Colombian historians, Maria Paola Rodriguez Prada and Lina del Castillo. Both diverge, however, in their interpretation of the creation of the mining school, Rodriguez Prada highlighting the strong orientation of the Columbian actors on the “French model”55 of scientific museums while del Castillo emphasises internal dynamics that drove the local actors to stress the revolutionary, post-colonial context of the endeavour that was orientated to build up a new national idea of the country and its resources.56 Both visions, however, fail to integrate the case in the broader and more complex picture of the long ongoing European-Latin American circulations in the field of state-orientated expertise in general and mining knowledge in particular. While

52 Sommer, Wilhelm Ludwig von Eschwege, 143–145. About the political atmosphere in the LusoBrazilian state and the continuous fear about strangers see: Gerstenberger, Gouvernementalität im Zeichen der globalen Krise. 53 For the use in the Seminario de Minería, Manuel del Rio even had translated the mineralogical work of Karsten, Tablas mineralogicas. 54 Kraft, Figuren des Wissens, 210. 55 Rodriguez Prada, Le musée national de Colombie. 56 del Castillo, Crafting a Republic for the World.

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indeed the republican government ordered the former Vice-President Francisco Antonio Zea, now appointed ambassador in London, to hire some scientists and technicians in Europe who should help the new institution, it had not been decided that the former collaborator of José Celestino Mutis should do it in Paris. His choice for naturalists trained in France came out of the close ties linking him with the country and its scientific establishment that dated back from his period as a director of the botanical garden in Madrid during the French domination of the country under Napoléon after 1803. During this time, he had cooperated so closely with the French authorities that he had been forced to exile in France after the defeat of the Napoleonic army in 1814. But Zea’s turn to Paris relied also on the close contacts that existed between the political actors in Colombia and Alexander von Humboldt since his visit in Latin America: it was the Prussian naturalist who continued to live in Paris after his return from his voyage to Latin America and who helped Zea now to get in contact with the two young mining engineers Jean-Baptiste Boussingault and Mariano de Rivero y Ustáriz who in fact joined the mission to Colombia. While being trained at the Paris School of Mines, both had close ties with the German-speaking world and the Central European mining industry: Boussingault was of half-German origin through his mother who, as daughter of the mayor of Wetzlar, had married a Napoleonic administrator. To underline his close ties with the German-speaking world, Boussingault had done part of his training in Alsace where he settled later after his return from Latin America. De Rivero had previously been recommended by Humboldt to Freiberg where he had spent some time completing his studies in mineralogy at the Saxon Mining Academy. In this sense, it is not surprising that also the general concept of a “national museum” combined with a mining school that the new Colombian authorities envisioned for their country was in fact closer to similar projects that were developed in Central Europe by liberal reformers, like in the Joanneum at Graz in the Austrian province of Styria or in Prague,57 than to the specific institutional settings in Paris where the School of Mines and the National Musée d’histoire naturelle were not united in the same building. Besides these broader links of the project to the Central European centres of mining knowledge, one cannot neglect also the deep roots of Zea’s mission in Latin America and the Bourbonic reform movement. Not only was Zea himself, who had been born in Bogota, one of the former local actors of reform – even though he had been exiled to Spain in the 1790s because of his close links to separatist movements. De Rivero, son of a liberal creole family from Aréquipa (today Chile) was also clearly marked by his Latin American family tradition, his father being a high ranking officer in the Spanish imperial army serving in the Peruvian part of the empire and of noble origin like his mother who also came out of an important creole

57 Vogel, Stony Realms.

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family. Both his noble origin and his Latin American ties explain also the fact that de Rivero was appointed the head of the mission and Director of the National Museum. The new government however minimised all these continuities in order to blackmail the old Spanish regime for having neglected the development of a real scientific culture in the Americas.58 In the complicated political situation in New Grenade of the 1820s, his “local” credentials nevertheless did not help de Rivero to secure the museum against the critique namely of the military leaders who doubted that the costly project should be one of the priorities of the post-independent regime. Already in 1826, he left Bogota to Lima where he was appointed General Director of Mining, Agriculture, Public Instruction and the newly created museum. Two years later, he became the founder of the Peruvian Mining School in Lima, thus adapting once more the initial project to another local context. Despite different fates in times of political turmoil, these examples highlight the persistence of the state-orientated mining sciences coined in the context of the Central European mining academies also in the new Latin American nation states of the early nineteenth century, especially through the institutional model of the mining schools that continued to be an important reference point for the administration of the mining activities. But although these continuities clearly shaped also the evolution of the mining sector in the new independent countries in the nineteenth century with the creations of others, similar training institutions in later decades,59 this should not occult the fact that, at the same time, nearly everywhere in Latin America a wave of British capital heavily invested the mining industry importing a quite different approach of mining, its governance and expertise.60 Robert Stephenson, a British engineer, son of the railway pioneer George Stephenson, was

58 See the notice about the establishment of the National Museum and a Mining School in Bogota published by the Revue encyclopédique in Paris, in February 1824: “Colombie – Fondation d’un Muséum et d’une école des Mines. – Voici le préambule du décret rendu par le Congrès de Colombie pour fonder les deux établissemens [sic]: Le Congrès ayant pris en considération le traité conclu à Paris, dans le mois de mai 1822, entre M. Francisco Antonio Zéa, ancien ministre plénipotentiaire de la Colombie, spécialement autorisé par le gouvernement pour cet objet, et MM. Rivero, Boussingault, Roullin [sic], Bourdon et Gondet [sic]; prenant de plus en considération que les sciences naturelles sont restées inconnues jusqu’à ce jour, dans ces riches régions, conséquence nécessaire du système corrupteur de l’ancien gouvernement; que le progrès de l’agriculture, des arts et du commerce, qui sont les sources productives des richesses du peuple, exigent absolument que ces sciences soient répandues; que l’occasion favorable est maintenant arrivée d’encourager et de répandre la connaissances desdites sciences, afin que les métaux précieux et beaucoup d’autres choses du règne minéral, renfermés dans nos vallées et dans nos montagnes, ne soient plus cachés dans les entrailles de la terre, le sénat et la chambre des représentants, assemblés en congrès, décrètent, etc.” (453). 59 The Brazilian Mining School in Ouro Preto in the Minas Gerais district was finally established in 1875. 60 Woodland, Money Pits, 16–25.

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hired, for instance, in 1824 by the new Colombian Mining Association set up by London financiers in order to develop the exploitation of the gold mines of the Marmato, bringing with him a sizeable group of miners from Cornwall and heavy machinery that had to be transported all the way from the sea through the forest.61 Like other similar operations in Mexico, Chile and Brazil in the 1820s and 1830s, the project was financed by John Diston Powles who became one of the most important figures of Latin American mining in the first half of the nineteenth century – a period that completely changed the structure of the whole sector.62 The opening of Latin America to British capital favoured by the problematic political and financial situation of the newly independent countries thus gave the state-orientated mining knowledge a much bigger blow than the political turmoil of the revolutionary period.

IV Conclusion The important circulations of the state-centred mining knowledge between Europe and Latin America that we can observe namely in the second half of the eighteenth and in the early decades of the nineteenth century underline the necessity to integrate the evolutions on the American continent also more broadly into our discussions about the development of the modern state. Not only the crucial role of the former Spanish countries for the evolution of a “liberal” political ideology and identity that has been highlighted already by the literature, but also the shared visions of the circulating experts on both sides of the Atlantic about the necessity of a “scientific reform” of the administration helped to create a common European-Latin American ground for the discussion of the shape of the state and its necessary institutional setting – and this despite all differences of the colonial context on the American side of the Atlantic. In its attempts to modernise the colonial system and to model its political structure after the European standards, the Bourbonic reforms of the late eighteenth century in Spanish America and the similar attempts undertaken by the Luso-Brazilian administration in the context of the Portuguese Empire laid out the path of an institutional development that brought Latin America much closer together to the evolutions in continental Europe than the discourse of the necessity “to catch up” the European reforms pretended.

61 Smiles, The Life of George Stephenson, 115–119; Jeaffreson, The Life of Robert Stephenson, 78–116. 62 Woodland, Money Pits, 16–25.

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This important point, however, should not occult the very lasting effects of the fundamental geopolitical shift that occurred in the aftermath of the independence with the dissemination of a very different vision of the state, the economy and the role of experts and administration that had been developed in the British context. Its relative triumph in Latin America in the nineteenth century did not completely eradicate the heritage of the older movements of state reform and their “continental” model of administration. However, the changing political configuration introduced important new dynamics that shaped considerably the evolution in the new nation states in the nineteenth century. European-Latin American circulations thus did not end with independence and the split from the European motherlands but took a very different outlook in an era in which state-oriented knowledge became more and more shaped by neo-liberal visions, which placed the entrepreneur and financial capital and not the public official in the centre of the economic order.

References Archival Sources Arquivo Nacional da Torre do Tombo (ANTT Lisbon) – Antigo Regime, Administração Central, Ministério dos Negócios Estrangeiros – LB Arquivo da Legação em Berlim 1789/1807, caixa 819 (Leagação de Portugal na Prussia 1798-1803, Dossier 1802 Legação de Berlim). Instituto Histórico e Geográfico Brasileiro (IHGB), Arquivo – Andrada e Silva DL 175 – lata 175, pasta 58 – lata 191, pasta 90. Biblioteca Nacional, Rio de Janeiro (BN-RJ) – Manuscritos, I-4,29,22. Hauptstaatsarchiv Marburg (HStAM) – Bestand 340: Wilhelm von Eschwege, N° 3.

Printed Sources Eschwege, Wilhelm Ludwig von, Brasilien. Die neue Welt in topographischer, geognostischer, bergmännischer, naturhistorischer, politischer und statistischer Hinsicht, Braunschweig 1830. Fragoso de Siqueira, Joaquim Pedro, Kurze Beschreibung Aller Amalgamir- Und Schmelzarbeiten, Welche Jezt In Den Amalgamir- Und Schmelzhütten An Der Halsbrücke Bey Freyberg Im Gebrauche Sind [. . .], Dresden 1800. Humboldt, Alexander von, Memoria razonada de las salinas de Zipaquirá, Bogota 1888.

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Jars, Gabriel, Voyages métallurgiques, ou recherches et observations sur les Mines & Forges de fer, la Fabrication de l’acier, celle depuis l’année 1757 jusques & compris 1769, en Allemagne, Suéde, Norwege, Angleterre & Ecosse [. . .], Lyon: Regnault 1774. Karsten, Dietrich Ludwig G., Tablas mineralogicas dispuestas segun los descubrimientos mas recientes [Translation of the third German edition of 1800 by A. M. del Rio], Mexico 1804. Pässler, Ulrich/ Schmuck, Thomas (eds.), Alexander von Humboldt/ Jean-Baptiste Boussingault, Briefwechsel, Berlin 2015. Werner, Abraham Gottlob (ed.), Ausfuehrliches und sistematisches Verzeichnis des MineralienKabinets des weiland kurfuerstlich saechsischen Berghauptmans Herrn Karl Eugen Pabst von Ohain, 2 vols., Freiberg/ Annaberg 1791/ 1793.

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Jeaffreson, John Cordi, The Life of Robert Stephenson, F.R.S., vol. 1, London 1864 [repr. 2014]. Klein, Ursula, Humboldts Preußen. Wissenschaft und Technik im Aufbruch, Darmstadt 2015. Kraft, Tobias, Figuren des Wissens bei Alexander von Humboldt: Essai, Tableau und Atlas im Amerikanischen Reisewerk, Berlin 2014. Kutzinski, Vera M. (ed.), Alexander von Humboldt’s Transatlantic Personae, New York 2012. Luis, Jean-Philippe, Introduction: D’un Empire à un autre Empire, in idem (ed.), L’État dans ses colonies: Les administrateurs de l’Empire espagnol au XIXe siècle, Madrid 2015, 11–18. Martins Araújo, Paulo Eduardo [et al.], Start Up da siderurgia moderna. 200 anos de fundação da Real Fábrica de Ferro de São João de Ipanema (SP) relembram os primórdios da produção de aço no Brasil, in Metalurgia & Materiais 166 (2010), 197–202. Maxwell, Kenneth, Naked Tropics. Essays on Empire and Other Rogues, New York 2003. Paquette, Gabriel (ed.), Enlightened Reform in Southern Europe and Its Atlantic Colonies, 1750–1830, Farnham (Surrey) 2009. Paranhos da Silva, Clarete/ de Mendoça Figueirôa, Silvia Fernanda, Garimpando idéias. A “Arte de minerar” no Brasil em quatro memórias na transição para o século XIX, in Revista da Sociedade Brasileira de História da Ciénca 2 (2004), 32–53. Pimentel, Juan, The Iberian Vision. Science and Empire in the Framework of a Universal Monarchy, in Osiris 15 (2001), 17–30. Pinto, Manuel S./ Malaquias, Isabel, Chemistry and Metallurgy in Portugal in the Eighteenth Century – The Cases of Gold and Silver, in José Ramón Bertomeu-Sánchez [et al.] (eds.), Neighbours and Territories. The Evolving Identity of Chemistry. The 6th International Conference on the History of Chemistry, Louvain 2008, 529–544. Rodriguez Prada, Maria Paola, Le musée national de Colombie 1823–1830. Histoire d’une création, Paris 2013. Schleiff, Hartmut/ Koncečny, Peter (eds.), Staat, Bergbau und Bergakademie. Montanexperten im 18. und frühen 19. Jahrhundert, Stuttgart 2013. Schwarcz, Lilia Moritz, A longa viagem da biblioteca dos reis. Do terremoto de Lisboa à Independência do Brasil, 2nd ed., São Paulo 2012. Smiles, Samuel, The Life of George Stephenson, London 1881 [repr. 2001]. Sommer, Friedrich, Wilhelm Ludwig von Eschwege. Das Lebensbild eines Auslanddeutschen mit kulturgeschichtlichen Erinnerungen aus Deutschland, Portugal und Brasilien 1777–1855, Stuttgart 1927. Varela, Alex Gonçalves/ Lopes, Maria Margaret, As atividades científicas do naturalista Martim Francisco Ribeiro de Andrada na capitania de São Paulo (1800–1805), in História, Ciências, Saúde – Manguinhos 14 (2007), 947–972. Varela, Alex Gonçalves [et al.], Naturalista e homem público: a trajetória do ilustrado José Bonifácio de Andrada e Silva em sua fase portuguesa (1780–1819), in Anais do Museu Paulista. São Paulo, N. Sér, 13/1 (2005), 207–234. Vogel, Jakob, Aufklärung unter Tage. Wissenswelten des europäischen Bergbaus im ausgehenden 18. und frühen 19. Jahrhundert, in Schleiff/ Konečny (eds.), Staat, Bergbau und Bergakademie, 13–31. Vogel, Jakob, Ein schillerndes Kristall. Eine Wissensgeschichte des Salzes zwischen früher Neuzeit und Moderne, Köln 2008. Vogel, Jakob, Les mines dans les pays germaniques et en France aux XVIIIe et XIXe siècles. Genèse et frontières d’une expertise scientifique, in Pascale Laborier [et al.] (eds.), Les sciences camérales. Activités pratiques et histoire des dispositifs publics, Paris 2011, 399–419. Vogel, Jakob, Stony Realms. Mineral Collections as Makers of Social, Cultural and Political Spaces in the 18th and Early 19th Century, in Historical Social Research 40 (2015) 1, 301–320. Woodland, John, Money Pits. British Mining Companies in the Californian and Australian Gold Rushes of the 1850s, Farnham (Surrey) 2014, 16–25.

Part III: Negotiating Scales and Spaces of the State

Isabelle Laboulais

Territorialisation and Logistics of Knowledge and Learning: The Case of Mineral Resource Surveys in France in the Eighteenth Century Following the path opened by Michel Foucault’s classes on gouvernementalité, the history of state knowledge has focused on “acts by which the government of subjects and populations are operated.”1 This perspective aimed to apprehend the manner in which central or local administrative offices collected, organised, stored and disseminated information on people, goods and the territory.2 In the 1980s, Jean-Claude Perrot, followed by Marie-Noëlle Bourguet, made statistical surveys of the eighteenth century the object of their own research.3 More than the results, it was the method and the structure of the surveys, which formed the focus of their studies seeking to analyse the mechanisms of knowledge. They established the principle of an omnipresent will to know, which resulted in the collection of quantitative and qualitative elements. They also identified the existence of composite practices in the eighteenth century that did not distinguish between uses specific to administrations or to scholarly circles. On the contrary, they provided numerous examples proving that in the eighteenth century, administrators and scholars employed similar collection techniques that they developed questionnaires shaped by the same logic, and that over the decades, their spectra of observations expanded. These works, as well as those they inspired,4 have highlighted the existence, from the 1760s onward, of what Bernard Lepetit called a “movement toward the territorialisation of knowledge.”5 From this perspective, the following article will focus on the collection and order of knowledge by a state and its administrations. The focus hereby is neither on the state relevance of specific knowledge nor on the attempts of individual actors or groups of actors to prove the usefulness of the knowledge they propose, but rather on the methods used by the state to acquire, systematise and organise knowledge, the benefits of which are undisputed. In fact, the pragmatic turn taken 1 Lascoumes, La Gouvernementalité, no. 4 (URL; transl. IL), summarizing Foucault, Naissance de la biopolitique. For the use of the concept of gouvernementalité by historians see Annales, Histoire, Sciences sociales 62/5 (2007), 1123–1245. In his introduction, Paolo Napoli explains that the notion of gouvernementalité is an “instrument heuristique que Foucault construit à partir des objets historiques examinés”. It therefore cannot be understood as a “fait identifiable comme tel mais une manière de donner du sens à des faits hétérogène”; Napoli, Présentation, 1124. 2 Buton, L’observation historique du travail administratif, 2 f. 3 Perrot, L’âge d’or de la statistique. Jean-Claude Perrot also returned to this question in De la richesse territoriale and Une histoire intellectuelle; Bourguet, Déchiffrer la France. 4 Minard, Volonté de savoir. 5 Lepetit, Missions scientifiques et expéditions militaires, 98 (transl. IL). https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110553734-009

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by history of knowledge now offers the possibility of re-examining this issue from new perspectives. The material approach to administrative work focuses on how central or local government offices collected, organised, stored and disseminated information about people, goods, and territory. What we are dealing with are logistics of knowledge, that is to say, “a set of tools and practices aimed at organising the collection, archiving and extraction of types of information in order to mobilize them.”6 The study of the material and formal means used to collect, select, conserve and disseminate data leads the historian to take documents of varied nature into account: Correspondence, tables, reports, produced on a daily basis (often anonymously) in administrative offices. All these documents contain data the aggregation of which produced significant information that contributed to the production of administrative knowledge. My starting point for this study will be late eighteenth- and early nineteenthcentury investigations carried out in France, when mines became an evermore important field for state action. I would like to highlight how the collection of knowledge vital to the boom in mining operations significantly involved territorial agents who developed new methods for the organisation of data. I will conclude by returning to the question of how scholarly and bureaucratic logics interacted in the particular context of the administration and operation of mines in France. Through the example of the mineral collections of the Maison des Mines, I will show that while the mining administration tried to establish a “composite practice” that could meet the demands of both the scientific community and the state administration interested mainly in the territorial distribution of mineral resources, both forms of knowledge ultimately co-existed in the administrative praxis. The official order of mining knowledge in the French state thus maintained the tension between the two dimensions of administrative knowledge that they pretended to bridge through the “scientific approach” of their surveys.

I The Organisation of Mineral Resource Surveys The first report devoted to mineral resources in France, the Enquête du Régent (1716–1718), served a double purpose: it offered both an account of the kingdom’s mineral and natural wealth and an evaluation of the benefits that the exploitation of these resources could offer to the advancement of trade and industry.7 The Royal Academy of Sciences oversaw the development of the investigation’s general strategy and articulated the instructions that the regent addressed to the agents, who sometimes would travel in person to collect the data. Most of them, however,

6 Denis/ Lacour, La logistique des savoirs, 108 (transl. IL). 7 Demeulenaere-Douyère/ Sturdy, L’enquête du Régent.

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generally used informants who either were sub-delegates (judges, ingénieurs du roi, members of learned societies like the provincial academies) or private individuals (miners, priests, soldiers). Even though the investigation generated some interest and made it possible to collect many samples of descriptive and material data, it did not lead to the development of any tools that could solve the perplexing difficulties of accumulating information. As new prospection and extraction techniques emerged and consolidated the dominant positions of Sweden, England and the Germanic regions, the French administration increasingly concerned itself with the training of operators, technicians and miners. Most of the investigations carried out by the administrative staff were still based on the inventory model, aimed at collecting data based on observation. In the course of the eighteenth century, more specific investigations organised by the Contrôle général were dedicated to mines (1741, 1742, 1764 and 1783) or metallurgy (1772, 1774 and 1788).8 Although the resulting reports combined descriptive elements and quantitative data, they testify already in the 1740s to the formalisation of a practical science of industrial enumeration, based on a model akin to that developed by mathematicians for demographic statistics. Despite the efforts of various institutions in the eighteenth century to encourage the use of a skilled eye during professional travels, central administrations did not standardise their collection procedures, nor did they employ agents specifically responsible for investigative work. The need for men experienced in mine operations and able to identify the resources to be exploited led Philibert Orry to use funds from the Contrôle général to send young men to territories known for their mining techniques. In 1742, Saxony and Hanover were the destination for Étienne François Blumenstein, son of a powerful mining magnate, and Jean-Jacques Saur, son of a mining operator in Alsace.9 This practice of travel continued when, in 1759, HenriLéonard-Jean-Baptiste Bertin entered the Contrôle général, and even after 1780, when he left his state secretariat. However, it no longer contributed to the training of future miners but to that of administrators or engineers working in monarchical institutions. It is in this context that Gabriel Jars travelled to England, Hanover, Sweden and the Harz. On behalf of the Contrôle général, he also visited different French provinces in order to observe and describe the technical processes and legal organisation of their mining operations.10 In 1772, Bertin formalised this organisation by creating a mining office in which two men, Jourdan de Montplaisir and Antoine Grimoald Monnet, were first employed “to visit the mines.”11 On June 17, 1776, they each received the title of inspecteur général des mines charged with “visiting said mines to draw up reports of their situation, direction, inclination, nature, quality and the richness of the way in 8 Woronoff, L’industrie sidérurgique, 54. 9 Birembaut, L’enseignement de la minéralogie; Vérin, La gloire des ingénieurs, 209. 10 Laboulais, Les Voyages métallurgiques de Gabriel Jars. 11 Gille, L’administration des mines en France, 13 (transl. IL).

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which they are operated”.12 They focused their activity on the monarchy’s territory: The inspections they carried out were supposed to contribute to the knowledge of mineral resources and the privileged scale of their interventions was that of exploitation. The inspectors received specific instructions for their investigations: When in the field, they were to situate the mine in its natural and economic environment. Their description had to address the mine’s physical characteristics (direction of the veins, nature of the gangues), as well as the legal framework of its exploitation; additional attention was to be paid on the technical equipment (galleries, wells, water pumps), the natural resources surrounding the mine (wood, water), and communication routes. The map was presented as an indispensable tool for the valuation of the mine. It accompanied the record of operations and the quantitative status of production, which was to follow the model provided by the Contrôle général to contain “the most accurate results”. To do this, inspectors had not only to be attentive to the mining output, but also they had to consider the operation of the company. Through these visits, they were expected to provide accurate information to the Contrôle général but they also acted on the local level, advising both operators who were encouraged to develop coal mining and workers to whom they explained how to separate the minerals from the worthless materials that could complicate transportation. Inspectors provided a form of technical support for drilling, cleaning and drying so that these processes would always be conducted as economically as possible. Fieldwork was also an opportunity to identify mine indexes and to take samples. The inspectors were instructed to be particularly attentive to certain of France’s rarest holdings (vitriol, alum, saltpetre, tin mines, etc.) the development of which was to be fostered by their work. These instructions confirm that in the mid-eighteenth century, data on the economic and social arenas was expected to become instruments of the “rationalisation of public decision”13 (Margairaz). However, by the very admission of one of the inspectors, the organisation of the mining office did not make it possible to acquire better knowledge of this sector. The inspector Monnet pointed out in one of his writings that the Ancien Régime administration faced difficulty in mobilising the data gathered during investigations or inspection tours.14 Monnet gives the impression that the data collected went unused by the administration, not because of lack of interest, but rather because of the lack of a method to process it. By creating the Maison des Mines in Paris in Year II (French Republican Calendar, 1793–1794), the Committee of Public Safety tried to resolve this difficulty.

12 Ibid, 17 (transl. IL). 13 Margairaz, Introduction: De Colbert à la Statistique générale, 147 (transl. IL). 14 “Nous voyageâmes pourtant et les mémoires que nous leur remîmes [to the intendants de commerce] sur ce que nous avions vu eurent le sort de tous les autres qu’on avait remis précédemment à l’administration, ils furent mis dans des cartons et oubliés”, École des Mines de Paris, Ms. 5, f. 79–80.

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II Which Logistics for Administrative Knowledge? The Challenge of a Building From the summer of 1794 on, when an inspection of mines was created with eight inspectors, 12 engineers and 20 students, a Maison des Mines was established at 293 rue de l’Université. It gathered office workers, members of the Inspection des mines, and scientists of various renown some of whom found shelter there while others, such as René Just Haüy and Dieudonné Sylvain Guy Tancrède de Gratet de Dolomieu, found a source of income. The site was also the centralised location of mining expertise since the information and objects drawn from the engineers’ field work converged upon the Maison des Mines to be mobilised by the advisers and the Conférence des mines to design the most effective operational projects possible. It was also where future engineers received the rudiments of “mining science” during public courses offered there. The Maison des Mines appears as the place where the expertise of a technical corps is built, but it also offered spaces for the development, storage and classification of knowledge. In addition to the mining administration’s archives, there were experimental laboratories; mineralogical collections; the library. Distributed between the ground floor and the first floor, the Mining Corps’ archives additionally contained samples, books, handwritten manuscripts as well as maps and tools used not only by the inspectors, engineers and mining students, but also by the heads of offices in charge of the administration of mineral resources. The site embodied something quite new in the scholarly Paris of the late eighteenth century. Of course, during the 1780s, a Royal Mining School had been created at the Hôtel de la Monnaie, and, at the same time, a mining administration had taken shape in the offices of the Contrôle général, but these two entities’ operations were in no way coordinated. The development of the Maison des Mines created a doubly unique situation in Revolutionary Paris: the spheres of scholarship and administration were brought together in a single building, a place where scientists and administrators used the same tools.15 During the eight months they spent in the mineralogical districts, the members of the inspection team were required to transmit their reports, journals and drawings to the agency every ten days, days, without the content or the uses of these documents being specified in the texts. Although the extant archives today show a great variety in the texts that contributed to the knowledge both of resources and of local operations, it is possible to identify three types: Reports on mines; reports on the mineralogy of a specific region or borough; and mineralogical journals. In addition to these documents, there are, of course, the letters that the men in the field sent to Paris and the tables of data organised either by place of production or 15 Laboulais, La Maison des mines.

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by product. Once centralised at the Maison des Mines, the descriptive information was sorted and compiled. The processing of data collected by inspectors and mining engineers in the field led to the introduction of new tasks in the offices and the development of specific tools. The summaries of production according to location could take various forms. The oldest genre, likely inherited from the Ancien Régime, is a repertoire that summarises the main characteristics of each mine. This type of document presented its information in two columns: The column on the right presented exclusively descriptive data deemed useful to characterise the resources; the column on the left detailed the sources of the descriptive data, and it was used to add references to documents that supplemented or modified previously collected information. These indications show that the reports composed under the Ancien Régime were used in the same way as those from the Year II written to establish the directory of mines. Each departmental heading was subdivided by district or township, and the mines were presented according to the nature of their products. Each mine was usually assigned a number that may be a code to sort documents. These fact sheets were easier to manipulate in order to mobilise accurate information. Presumably, such lists were drawn up by office employees of the agency and then the Conseil des Mines based on the correspondence and reports of engineers, as well as answers obtained from the Brumaire Year III Inquiry (October– November 1794). Each sheet is a digest of information devoted to a particular mining operation. All transcribed information is presented in a synthetic and standardised format, as most of the cards are identical in structure: The situation of the mine is specified (name of the township and the town); the number of the Cassini map on which it is represented also appears; then data specific to each operation (date of establishment, number of workers, raw materials used, fuels used and the consumption of them, products, markets). Finally, at the bottom of each card, the name of the person who transmitted the information is noted as well as the date on which they communicated it.16 All details are not always complete. According to the sources of information, the elements are more or less precise. The mines recorded on some cards are marked “to visit” or “to check”; an entry for “observations” sometimes appears at the end of the form and contains assessments of operations’ quality. Records of this type were also compiled to keep track of the indexes reported to the agency and then to the mining council. Such documents would seem to be evidence of what Philippe Minard called “the temptation of the topographic dictionary”.17 The standardisation of these cards aimed to facilitate their subsequent processing. All the files were sorted according to the territorial organisation established at

16 Archives nationales (AN), F 14 4234. 17 Minard, Volonté de savoir, 68.

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the beginning of the Revolution. This system functioned as a homogeneous mesh (department, township, town) and as a grid to rank the documents. Sometimes they were classified together in a subfolder called État statistique des richesses minérales du département.18 Most of these files seem to have been drawn up between Year III and Year IV, that is to say, at a time when the agency and later the Conseil des Mines had a large clerical staff. These summary sheets were probably used to prepare the instructions for the mining engineers, but they also clearly served as the basis for the document entitled Mines et usines à visiter par les membres de l’inspection.19 This register listed the mining indexes or the information received on the sites for each department. Compared to the departmental files, it had the advantage of centralising the information that was to be verified in a single document, making it possible to prioritise the tasks that were to be assigned to the engineers and inspectors of the mines. As historians of science have shown, particularly by studying the methodology of Linnaeus, such sheets enable the introduction and sorting of data for selection and cross-referencing. They were indeed an important tool for facilitating the construction of mine knowledge.20 The lack of a classification system for the tables used during the same period at the Maison des Mines is evident in the variability of their titles. For some departments, there are documents that list the resources identified in the constituency. They are sometimes entitled “reports on the resources of the department”, sometimes “mining chart”, sometimes “state of known mines”. Indeed, their content and organisation change from one author to another. However, it can generally be noted that these are summary documents that present quantitative data detailed in columns with the characteristics of each mine, usually listed township by township. These tables mention the location of the mines; the designation and nature of ore deposits; the name of the owner and the manager; the quantity, price and value of the extracted products; the sites of consumption; the means of transport used; the number of salaried workers. The last column is reserved for observations, and it contains elements relating to the operation and its history, such as information on past enterprises. Some tables collect data on mines in operation and those that are not.21 In the file dedicated to the Ardennes, a summary table tries to identify the location of each production site precisely: In addition to the typical indications related to the location, an additional column notes nearby rivers while another lists the techniques used. However, when the summaries are made or when departmental descriptions are published in the Journal des mines, their authors neither take into account the very

18 AN, F 14 4239 (Dossier Doubs.) 19 AN, F 14 1315, s. d. 20 Charmantier/Müller-Wille, Natural History and Information Overload. 21 AN, F 14 4239 (Dossier Dordogne), “Tableau des mines qui sont ou ne sont pas exploitées dans le district de Nontron”, s. d.

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heterogeneous sources from which these figures emanate nor the preparatory estimates that were made before completing the tables.22 Gradually, these summary documents were produced directly by mining engineers from data collected in the field rather than by the clerical employees of the Conseil des Mines. Just as the factory inspectors at the end of the Ancien Régime managed simultaneously to draw up the minutes of their rounds and to develop “the state of manufactures”,23 the ingénieur des mines of the Revolution and the Empire had to reconcile the descriptive ambition and the quantifying process in their approach to the territory, at least for the period when territorial knowledge was among the tasks assigned to them. Although it was not sustainable, this practice made mining engineers actors in the circulation of economic information and confirmed their role as intermediaries between the state and the operators. Directories, index cards and tables suggest that, like departmental statistics, topography made it possible to “move away from nomenclature towards the system and to introduce order and connections in their description”.24 It serves as a matrix capable of structuring the data deemed essential for the management of the territory and its mineral resources.

III From Paper Records to Spatialised Data In various attempts to formalise data, for some, space has served as an expedient to organise the data from surveys, if not a narrative thread. This was particularly evident in the singular use of maps that differed considerably from previous uses.25 The Duke of Beauvilliers’s investigation from the end of the seventeenth century, which was to help the young Duke of Burgundy discover the French provinces’ diversity, included certain reports that were accompanied by localisation maps. A few decades later, several provincial-level survey plans insist on the need to include a map with the report in order to locate the space that is the subject of the description. Since the 1760s, the map was no longer just a location tool. It was more and more often compared to an illustrative image. For example, in an attempt to obtain an inventory of mineral resources in 1763, Bertin, who had just left the Contrôle général, decided to encourage and above all to finance the production of a mineralogical atlas of the kingdom presented 30 years later by Lavoisier as a “general picture of the mineralogical productions of France”26: He saw it as a “detailed atlas of the whole of France in which the mineral quarries, the excavations, the mines, the

22 23 24 25 26

[Anonymous], Suite du tableau des Mines et Usines de la France. Minard, La fortune du Colbertisme. Bourguet, Déchiffrer la France, 85. Besse/ Tiberghien (eds.), Opérations cartographiques. Lavoisier, Rapport sur les travaux du citoyen Dupain-Triel, 644 (transl. IL).

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mineral fountains, the materials of all kinds which the earth contains within it are represented by mineralogical signs”.27 The analogy between a visual representation and the atlas was based on the desire to have a summary document which gathered the data deemed useful to depict the quantified or territorialised state of a place succinctly. All the mines, quarries, fountains, etc. had to be inventoried and localised. Bertin entrusted this atlas project to two scholars, Guettard and Lavoisier. Born in 1715, Jean-Etienne Guettard was a member of the Academy of Sciences who completed a great number of excursions and field observations; he also published a mineral map of France in addition to maps of Paris, Etampes and Champagne. Antoine Laurent de Lavoisier was born in 1743, and it was his collaboration with Guettard, a friend of his father, which inspired his first works. Additionally, Bertin offered the two scholars the know-how of the ingénieur-géographe Jean-Louis Dupain-Triel to whom he entrusted the cartographic production which was to emanate from their investigation.28 Travelling through Normandy, Champagne, Ile de France, and Beauvaisis in 1764, the young Lavoisier wrote reports of his excursions, entitled most often “Natural History Observations”, in order to summarise his field notes. At Bertin’s request in 1767, the two scholars undertook a trip together to the Vosges, where they were to glean as much information as possible in order to “complete the map”. The result of these tours were 16 maps that juxtapose a representation of the surface and stratigraphic cuts. This territorialised approach to mineral resources made it possible not only to overcome the perplexing challenges of accumulation and to make the inventory a tool for specifying the location of resources but also to have essential data on the structure of the land before putting a site into operation. At the end of the 1770s, while estimates of the territorial product appeared in large numbers,29 Monnet, who was still employed at the mine office as Inspector General, was entrusted by Bertin with the publication of the Atlas et description minéralogiques de France.30 To produce the printed version of the atlas, Monnet

27 Ibid (transl. IL). 28 Palassou specifies in the introduction of his Essai sur la minéralogie des Monts-Pyrénées that he travelled the Pyrenees under the auspices of M. Bertin. His maps, however, are a statement and an ambition that seem different from those of Guettard. In fact, in the volume he publishes, he juxtaposes a “Carte minéralogique des Monts-Pyrénées” that we can regard as a general map with a legend (called “Explanation of Mineralogical Signs”), eight detailed maps. Each offers a more accurate representation of the valleys that appear on the larger map, and finally a large number of plates that offer cuts or views of the mountains described. Under no circumstances can this treaty be used as an index of mineral resources. Cf. Palassou, Essai sur la minéralogie des Monts-Pyr énées, XII. 29 Lavoisier, De la richesse territoriale, 63. 30 Guettard/ Monnet, Atlas et description minéralogiques de la France, Paris 1780. The conditions for the elaboration and publication of this volume have been studied with great precision by Rappaport, The Geological Atlas of Guards, Lavoisier and Monnet.

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took the 16 maps drawn up by Guettard and Lavoisier and produced 29 others by appropriating the result of their observations. Monnet saw the mineral map of France as “a supplement of the great map of this kingdom”.31 Not only did Cassini’s map serve as a model but, more pragmatically, it was also used as the most suitable background for receiving mineralogical observations. The plates were reworked and simplified so as to avoid any graphic overload in order to focus on “the extent and position of the mineral substances”.32 This concern echoes the Carte minéralogique de France, which came out of the Dupain-Triel workshop in 1781. This mineralogical map of France “where are marked the different principal terrains that divide this kingdom and the particular substances it contains,” attempted to gather the data collected by Guettard on a single map. The ingénieur-géographe arranged the subdivision of France into three “main grounds” but completed it with a very detailed explanatory table. Thus, more than the types of land, it was the “special resources” that took precedence here. The approach to territory is determined by points rather than surfaces. The map’s cartouche confirms this reading since, in the manner of the plates of the Encyclopédie, it depicts the various stages of exploitation of mineral resources, from decision to extraction. In a brief summarising the dispute between DupainTriel and the Contrôle général, we find an outline of the work he did: Sir Dupain Triel, geographer, proposed to make maps of the mines by generalities, taking as a model the large map of France which he would reduce in scale to a quarter, which would still give a concession of mines of 2400 radial measures an inch in diameter. These maps will provide by provinces, cities, towns, rivers, highways, outlines of forests and woods with places of establishments of glassworks, furnaces and other factories and central points of concessions. These maps will first be made by hand. We will wait to engrave them so that the information can undergo the necessary corrections. Three copies will be made of each of these maps: one to stay at the repository of commerce papers; another to be handed over to that of their lords the surveyors of commerce in whose department the generality is; and the third to serve their lords, the mine inspectors, to the effect of marking what they have observed in their travels.33

These maps were to be explicitly intended for administrators concerned with the location of mineral resources; they were to offer them a visual overview of the territory, but they were not to be produced by them. If these maps were drawn, they have not been preserved. However, the project was resumed at the Maison des Mines, where from Year III on, maps became the medium on which inspectors, engineers and sometimes even students recorded their observations.

31 Ibid, V. 32 Ibid, IV–V. 33 AN, F 14 1302 A, Document without title (transl. IL).

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Geographic maps would be used as tools for assembling diverse data gathered within the Maison des Mines. Moreover, in 1796, the Mining Council employed Dupain-Triel to create a map containing data previously gathered by its agents and contained in the files that we mentioned above. At first, each site was indicated on the map of each department; then these elements were transposed onto the map of inland navigation and routes, first published by Dupain-Triel in 1781 and revised in 1795. This new edition, entitled Tableau géographique de la navigation de l’intérieur du territoire républicain français, represented the entire navigable hydrographic network as well as the relief. The document was designed to present at a glance all the mines and factories of the Republic and [. . .] to make known the means of circulation of the products, and the useful relations which the various establishments can have between them, the economy in the processes and the increase in activity that must result. It offers the means to facilitate public service supplies; finally, it presents useful views to commerce, whether internal or external.34

The emphasis was therefore very explicitly on the economic utility of this document. This initiative was part of the mining administration’s broader mapping program which aimed to make the map a synoptic tool. In 1813, a circular issued by the Directeur général des mines announced a “mineralurgical map” project.35 It would employ engineers to map out the “mineralurgical” establishments in detail and to provide a copy of this document to the Directeur général des mines. The goal of having cartographic information so detailed that it could indicate the limits of resources was never achieved; however, we can clearly see that cartography offered the mining administration the means to synthesise and compare disparate data in order to move beyond a simple catalogue of observations by placing diverse information in a single spatial framework, creating the advantage of a sort of “absolute eye”. Maps were generally indispensable tools for the work of mining agents, not so much, like books, for the information they contained, but as frameworks used to receive their observations. Maps were an essential attribute mobilised by the mining agents during their missions. They always carried with them the pages of the Cassini map relative to their district, using them to record their field observations. A register of loaned Cassini maps has been preserved; the librarian recorded the name of each engineer and the numbers of the pages borrowed.36 In Year IV, when Bertrand Pelletier was commissioned to inspect the second mineralogical region, the Mining Council had 19 sheets of Cassini’s map and two of the Belleyme map prepared for him. Then, on the 14th of Prairial, Year X (June 3, 1802), 34 AN, F 14 1301 B, “Compte-rendu par les membres du Conseil des mines, Paris le 22 frimaire an VIII”. 35 Laboulais, Aux origines de la carte géologique de France. 36 École des Mines de Paris, Ms. 78, V 3 et V 8.

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the ingénieur des mines Godefroy-Alexandre Miché justified his request to Clouet for nine Cassini map pages, by explaining to the Mining Council that they would help him “better identify the places that will contain interesting objects in the departments he will visit.”37 Precise location seems to be considered as a determining factor in the mining engineers’ inventory work. Their use of maps testifies to the importance given to the territorialisation of the information collected. From this point of view, their contribution to the incentive economic policy resulted from their work situating the mineral resources in an environment that made it possible to optimise their commercialisation. As a tool that can capture data from surveys, maps were not only designed as tools for action38 but as a frame to arrange field data thanks to geographical coordinates. This approach would be implemented from the 1780s in the development of certain mineral collections.

IV Spatialisation of Specimens In the eighteenth century, natural history collections were variously affected by the tendency towards systematic classifications. The field of mineralogy was no exception, though less so than botany, which was governed by the system of Linnaeus. Published in 1784, the Description méthodique du cabinet de l’École royale des Mines detailed the collection installed at the Hôtel de la Monnaie on the premises of the brand new École des Mines. The description’s prefatory notice mentions the plan to create a complement to the systematic collection, a project that Balthasar Georges Sage attributed to Charles Alexandre de Calonne, who, as contrôleur général des finances, was also the general director of the kingdom’s mines.39 Sage planned to contribute some of his minerals to this new collection, and he expected that the surveyors would also be able to collect specimens. He conceived of this collection as the “mineralogical portrait” of the kingdom within which one could “gather the mineral productions of the kingdom and distribute them by order of department”. The specimens were to be organised according to geographic order so as to offer a complete overview of the territory’s resources. By housing and exposing France’s “mineral riches”, Sage hoped that this “national cabinet” would expand the usual audience of the École des Mines beyond those who attended his public lessons. It would help increase knowledge for “the metallurgical economy”; the understanding of the different metals’ properties would be improved; it would make it possible to discover techniques to melt and refine “at less cost and with

37 École des Mines de Paris, Ms. 78, III 32. 38 Margairaz, La géographie des administrateurs. 39 Sage, Description méthodique.

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more benefits”. The installation, however, was delayed for lack of adequate space. In 1787 Sage addressed the project again, this time in the prefatory notice to his Supplément à la description méthodique du Cabinet de l’École royale des mines.40 He reiterated his desire to “highlight the mineral production of France” and the need, in order to do this, for an additional 1600 square feet to deposit “the result of the national mines that will be ranked by order of department, so that these galleries will offer the mineral geography of France and will make known the real wealth of this kingdom”, as if spatialisation of data would suffice to reproduce the mineral geography of France. The project did not succeed under the Ancien Régime, but its principles were implemented at the Maison des Mines during the Revolution. From Thermidor Year IV (July–August 1796) on, four distinctive collections were created and exhibited until 1814: A methodical collection classifying mineral substances by their properties; a geographical collection of all mineralogical productions around the globe and particularly those of the Republic, arranged by township and department; an economic collection which contained all the minerals useful in the arts and industry and focused on all transformations they undergo before being marketed; and, finally, a collection of ore deposits to illustrate the variety of mines in heaps, layers, veins, etc. This geographical collection partly resumed the Calonne project that Sage defended from 1784 on. However, its “portrait” of the Republic’s mineral resources was created in a different context. A first example of science at the service of action, a collection created in Year II shared the objectives of mining topography seen in the organisation of the archives of the Maison des Mines and in the publication of departmental descriptions in the Journal des mines. This collection gave rise to a singular exhibition plan, the Projet d’une distribution méthodique de la collection minéralogique de la France written in Year IV (1796) by the ingénieur des mines, Arsène Nicolas Baillet du Belloy.41 He proposed combining the principles of systematic distribution and topographical division, to benefit, as he put it, from the clarity of one and the simplicity of the other. If the instructions addressed to the Mining Corps in Year III to classify their samples by following the “order of the localities”, Baillet did not intend to abandon the systematic classification methods because they were what turned the experimental sciences into “sciences of collection, analyses, classification and order.” Nonetheless, Baillet’s veiled terms suggested that topographical juxtaposition of minerals was a step backward. To avoid what he perceived as a simple accumulation devoid of intellectual ambition, Baillet proposed using two classifying methods: One based on the Republic’s territorial departments and the other on mineralogical classes.

40 Sage, Supplément à la Description méthodique. 41 Baillet, Projet.

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To set up the first-floor section of the Maison des Mines devoted to collections, he imagined furnishing the side of a long gallery with cabinets measuring 2.5 meters high, a height which he believed would offer both the best conditions for viewing and the possibility of presenting a sufficient number of objects. For this, he recommended installing five shelves inside the cabinet in order to display from the bottom up the rocks, stones, soil and sands which compose the mass of a department’s land; second, the earthy substances which are found in a pure, uncontaminated state in the mass of the land; next, the acidic substances with earth or alkaline base; then, the metals, metallic ores and the gangues which enclose them; the fossil fuels such as peat, bitumen, coal; and, finally, large-sized lithological pieces. Although it was artificial, the order adopted here was an attempt to respect both the geographical distribution of minerals and the categories of scholarly classification. By placing the rocks, stones, soil and sands, which make up the mass of a department’s land at the bottom of the cabinet, Baillet suggested a reproduction faithful to the original disposition; however, he made the effort to specify that the cabinets did not entirely reproduce reality but were only a partial reconstruction of the geological configuration. In this representation of nature, Baillet wrote, one must accept a loss of detail to gain intelligibility, for this was the only way that the collection would be able to offer “a large picture of the French mineralogical landscape.”42 Baillet designed a display that offered two approaches: A vertical reading made it possible to see at a glance the substances produced by the same department, while a horizontal reading offered a comparative presentation of substances of the same class. To provide an overview of mineralogical knowledge, the inspecteur des mines used classification and exposition techniques associated with other disciplines. He praised the ease with which a viewer could navigate in such a system, and he insisted even more on its potential to offer economic information. According to him, this layout made it possible to evaluate the wealth of France in this or that substance, as well as the mineralogical situation of each department. However, it preserved the categories used by mineralogists. This analogy between the utilisation of space in collections and the configuration of lands led Baillet to see the gaps in the cabinets (equivalent to the blanks of a mineralogical map) as a virtue: These empty spaces immediately indicated what substances were missing in the department represented. He himself established an explicit comparison between his classification system and cartographic productions: “Do we complain that geographers represent the scorching sands of Africa, the icy lands of the Arctic Circle, etc., etc. naked and uninhabited? We are grateful for the bareness of their maps, when they have the merit of truth and accuracy”.43 We find here the legacy of Jean Baptiste Bourguignon d’Anville who eliminated the

42 Ibid, 387. 43 Ibid, 389.

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use of allegories from the maps to include only reliable data. For Baillet, this “collection will be the mineralogical tableau of France.” This faithful representation would necessarily prevail: Though a balanced distribution of objects in the windows might be more aesthetic, it would be devoid of all utility; above all, there would be a visual parallel between the table listing the collection’s objects and the display layout of the collection itself. Baillet saw this plan as “an easy way to tabulate the mineralogical catalogue of France” and gave two illustrative plates as an example. The comprehensive catalogue which he published proposed a reproduction of the collection, with objects being replaced by the words which serve to designate them. Baillet was aware that this “synoptic catalogue” would be a “mere repertory”, and that in no case it would serve as a treatise on mineralogy. Again, the difference with Sage is explicitly stated. The words that end Baillet’s text show that while he saw that such a tool could be sufficient for the practitioner who inventoried resources, it would not be satisfactory for the mineralogist, even if systematic classification did not totally disappear from the exhibition plan. This project of organising one of the collections of the Mining Corps was perfectly in keeping with the objectives assigned to it during the Revolution and the Empire: It reconciled the achievements of mineralogy and the expectations of “mineralogical statistics”; it attempted to bring together the principles of inventory and the methods of classification. Even if the dimensions finally adopted in Year VII were slightly modified compared to Baillet’s recommendations, this plan, which strove to give visible form to the land’s underground structure, was applied in broad strokes to the cabinets installed on the first floor of the Maison des Mines. A history of knowledge attentive to the instruments designed to order the information collected in the course of a survey highlights the place assigned to territorialisation. Alongside the alphabetical order frequently used in the registers kept by administrations or the systematic order mobilised to arrange the scholarly collections, the geographical order prevailed at the end of the eighteenth century. It was not only a means of managing the increased amount of data available in the reports and descriptions that reached Paris, but also a factor in the commensurability between scholarly and administrative knowledge. If the ambition to establish a rational administration of resources did not automatically result from this structuring of the data, it at least made it possible to organise information collected by one person and processed by another to establish a link between these two groups and a link in the construction of the profession of ingénieur des mines. The pragmatic approach to knowledge shows how much field knowledge the establishment of an administration required that had the logistic capacity to process, produce and disseminate information. These data processing methods required increases not only in the act of writing – copy work, summary essays, recording devices – but also in the amounts of storage space available to preserve all these files, ideally, near the offices where they were to be used. It is for this reason that in the summer of 1794, the Maison des Mines was created.

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References Archival Sources Archives nationales (AN) – F 14 1301 B – F 14 1302 A – F 14 1315 – F 14 4234 – F 14 4239 (Dossier Doubs) – F 14 4239 (Dossier Dordogne). École des Mines de Paris, Library – Ms. 5 – Ms. 78.

Printed Sources Baillet, A., Projet d’une distribution méthodique de la Collection minéralogique de la France. Lu à la Société d’Histoire naturelle de Paris, in Journal des mines 10 (1800/01). no. 65, 385–396 [including 2 plates]. Guettard, Jean-Etienne/ Monnet, Antoine-Grimoald, Atlas et description minéralogiques de la France, entrepris par ordre du Roi par Guettard et Monnet, publiés par M Monnet d’après ses nouveaux voyages, première partie, comprenant le Beauvoisis, la Picardie, le Boulonnais, la Flandre française, le Soissonnais, la Lorraine allemande, une partie de la Lorraine française, le pays messin, et une partie de la Champagne, Paris 1780. Lavoisier, Antoine-Laurent, De la richesse territoriale du royaume de France [1791], ed. by Jean-Claude Perrot, Paris 1988. Lavoisier, Antoine-Laurent, Rapport sur les travaux du citoyen Dupain-Triel, in Œuvres de Lavoisier, publiées par les soins de son excellence le Ministre de l’Instruction publique et des cultes, vol. IV, Paris 1868, 640–648. Palassou, Pierre-Bernard, Essai sur la minéralogie des Monts-Pyrénées, Paris 1781. Sage, Balthasar-Georges, Description méthodique du cabinet de l’École royale des Mines, Paris 1784. Sage, Balthasar-Georges, Supplément à la Description méthodique du Cabinet de l’École royale des mines, Paris 1787. Suite du tableau des Mines et Usines de la France – département de l’Allier, in Journal des mines 1 (1796/97), no. 26, 119–159.

Secondary Works Besse, Jean-Marc/ Tiberghien, Gilles A. (eds.), Opérations cartographiques, Arles 2017. Birembaut, Arthur, L’enseignement de la minéralogie et des techniques minières, in Roger Hahn/ René Taton (eds.), Écoles techniques et militaires, Paris 1986, 365–418. Bourguet, Marie-Noëlle, Déchiffrer la France. La statistique départementale à l’époque napoléonienne, 2nd ed., Paris 2001 [1st ed. 1988].

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Buton, François, L’observation historique du travail administratif, in Genèses 72 (2008), 2–3. Charmantier, Isabelle/ Müller-Wille, Staffan, Natural History and Information Overload. The Case of Linnaeus, in Studies in History and Philosophy of Biological and Biomedical Sciences 43/1 (2012), 4–15. Demeulenaere-Douyère, Christiane/ Sturdy, David J., L’enquête du Régent, 1716–1718. Sciences, techniques et politique dans la France préindustrielle, Turnhout 2008. Denis, Vincent/ Lacour, Pierre-Yves, La logistique des savoirs. Surabondance de l’information et technologies de papier au XVIIIe siècle, Genèses 102/1 (2016), 107–122. Foucault, Michel, Naissance de la biopolitique. Cours au Collège de France, 1978–1979, Paris 2004. Gille, Bertrand, L’administration des mines en France sous l’Ancien Régime, in Revue d’histoire des mines et de la métallurgie 1/1 (1969), 3–35. Laboulais, Isabelle, Aux origines de la carte géologique de France. Retour sur les productions cartographiques du corps des Mines au cours du premier XIXe siècle, in Bruno Belhoste/ Anne-Françoise Garçon (eds.), Les ingénieurs des Mines. Cultures, pouvoirs, pratiques, Colloque organisé par le CGIET pour le bicentenaire des lois de 1810, à Paris les 7 et 8 octobre 2010, Paris 2012, 19–31. Laboulais, Isabelle, La Maison des mines: la genèse révolutionnaire d’un corps d’ingénieurs civils (1794–1814), Rennes 2012. Laboulais, Isabelle, Les Voyages métallurgiques de Gabriel Jars (1774–1781), un imprimé au service de l’art de l’exploitation des mines, in Pierre-Yves Beaurepaire/ Pierrick Pourchasse (eds.), Les circulations internationales en Europe (1680–1780), Rennes 2010, 181–196. Lascoumes, Pierre, De la critique de l’État aux technologies du pouvoir, in Le Portique 13–14 (2004), http://leportique.revues.org/625 (last access 31. 10.2018). Lepetit, Bernard, Missions scientifiques et expéditions militaires: remarques sur leurs modalités d’articulation in Marie-Noëlle Bourguet [et al.] (eds.), L’invention scientifique de la Méditerranée. Egypte, Morée, Algérie, Paris 1998, 97–116. Margairaz, Dominique, Introduction: De Colbert à la Statistique générale de la France, in idem/ Philippe Minard (eds.), L’information économique, XVIe–XIXe siècle. Journées d’études du 21 juin 2004 et du 25 avril 2006, Paris 2008, 143–153. Margairaz, Dominique, La géographie des administrateurs, in Hélène Blais/ Isabelle Laboulais (eds.), Géographies plurielles. Les sciences géographiques au moment de l’émergence des sciences humaines (1750–1850), Paris 2006, 185–215. Minard, Philippe, La fortune du Colbertisme. État et industrie dans la France des Lumières, Paris 1998. Minard, Philippe, Volonté de savoir et emprise d’État. Aux origines de la statistique industrielle dans la France d’Ancien Régime, in Actes de la recherche en sciences sociales 133/1 (2000), 62–71. Napoli, Paolo, Présentation, in Annales, Histoire, Sciences sociales 62/5 (2007), 1123–1128. Perrot, Jean-Claude, De la richesse territoriale du Royaume de France de Lavoisier, Paris 1988. Perrot, Jean-Claude, L’âge d’or de la statistique régionale française (an IV–1804), Paris 1977. Perrot, Jean-Claude, Une histoire intellectuelle de l’économie politique (XVIIe–XVIIIe siècle), Paris 1992. Rappaport, Rhoda, The Geological Atlas of Guards, Lavoisier and Monnet, in Cecil J. Schneer (ed.), Toward a History of Geology, Boston 1969, 272–287. Vérin, Hélène, La gloire des ingénieurs. L’intelligence technique du XVIe au XVIIIe siècle, Paris 1993. Woronoff, Denis, L’industrie sidérurgique en France pendant la Révolution et l’Empire, Paris 1984.

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“Political-Economic Principles” and Local Interests of Reception: Peripheral Authorisation of Knowledge in the Agrarian Policy of the Electoral Palatinate (ca. 1750–1800) I Introduction From the mid-eighteenth century onwards, particularly in the aftermath of the Seven Years’ War (1756–1763), the stabilisation of political rule and economic reforms were two sides of the same coin in many territories of the Holy Roman Empire.1 This usually involved attempts from above to reshape modes of production and institutional settings in the localities. Initially, however, the knowledge of what should be altered through state intervention was largely derived from cameralistic thought and experimental economics.2 It was less concerned with how such changes could be implemented – especially regarding their popular acceptance. The role models in the reform process, which have often been echoed by older historiography, seemed clear and rather schematic: first, the experts with scientific skills; second, receiving and adapting their suggestions, the territorial rulers and administrators; and third, the subjects who were obliged to comply with government regulations. By contrast, more recent research has challenged such a simple top-down model of dissemination and its ability to capture complex processes of implementation, especially in conflicts over reform projects.3 To nuance this ongoing reassessment, the following chapter explores the dynamics of communication between officials and subjects – more specifically: villagers – through which those methods of reform crystallised that enjoyed sufficient social resonance for guiding administrative practice in a feasible way. It will be argued that this pattern of territorialising elite concepts required an engagement with experiencebased understandings on the micro level which, in turn, were inherently embedded in patterns of hierarchy, dependence and order within rural society. Thus, “peripheral authorisation”, as we term such empowering feedback processes, hinged on local politics and interests of reception. It worked towards a hybridisation of

1 Whaley, Germany and the Holy Roman Empire, vol. 2, 445–553. 2 Simon, “Gute Policey”, 381–562; Popplow, Die Ökonomische Aufklärung. 3 Brakensiek, Feld der Agrarreformen, 109–111; Trossbach, Beharrung und Wandel; Lehmbrock, Agrarwissen. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110553734-010

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theoretical and empirical knowledge and proved central to the success or collapse of government initiatives. We will trace such developments by the example of the agrarian policy of the Electoral Palatinate, a medium-sized principality in the Holy Roman Empire which comprised a relatively scattered territory of about 4,000 sq. km in 19 districts (Oberämter [‘superior bailiwicks’]) and had its core land in the region of the rivers Rhine and Neckar with the capitals Mannheim and Heidelberg.4 The rather high rates of emigration in the eighteenth century suggest a strained economic situation at that time.5 However, the natural conditions for agriculture as the livelihood of the great majority of people varied widely: while the Rhine and Neckar plains were very fertile, the soils of the Forest of Odes further east, for instance, promised only meagre yields.6 Prince Elector Karl Theodor reigned the Palatinate for more than five decades since 1742 and also became Prince Elector of Bavaria by hereditary succession in 1777. Notably in his middle years he tried to boost the economy of his territories through various reform projects, with a particular focus on manufactures.7 Arguably his most cherished among these – and most famous even in its spectacular failure – was the production of silk, which entailed the mass planting of mulberry trees for breeding silkworms.8 Nevertheless, agrarian reforms constituted a significant branch in the Palatinate as well, not least owing to the efforts of the Physical-Economic Society founded in 1769, and its offshoot, the Cameral High School (1774).9 Distinguished reformers, including Mennonite immigrants10 and high-ranking office-holders (e.g. Georg von Stengel), committed themselves to this cause: for example, by setting up model farms (e.g. in Siegelbach, Handschuhsheim, Seckenheim) for establishing new crops, breeding methods and farming techniques. The division of common grounds for gaining additional acreage and the promotion of tobacco growing were among the main projects of agrarian policy in the Electoral Palatinate. They serve as case studies along three key questions concerning the peripheral authorisation of knowledge. By extension, they are designed to conceptualise (agrarian) reforms as asymmetric negotiations about not only

4 Schaab, Kurpfalz. 5 Hacker, Kurpfälzische Auswanderer vom Unteren Neckar; Heinz, Zur Geschichte der pfälzischen Auswanderung. 6 Tuckermann, Das altpfälzische Oberrheingebiet. 7 Von Hippel, Die Kurpfalz zur Zeit Karl Theodors. 8 Scheifele, Die Einführung der Seidenindustrie in der Kurpfalz. 9 Popplow, Von Bienen, Ochsenklauen und Beamten; Wakefield, The Disordered Police State, 111–133; Grüne, Dorfgesellschaft – Konflikterfahrung – Partizipationskultur, 128–132. 10 Konersmann, Rechtslage, soziale Verhältnisse und Geschäftsbeziehungen; Frieß-Reimann, Mennonitische Agrarreformer in Rheinhessen.

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rivalling, but also epistemically incongruent knowledge claims, which emerges as the most illuminating analytical perspective from recent discussions11: 1. How did state concepts of reform and local experience-based knowledge relate to each other? 2. In which way was rural society integrated into learned and government discourses of knowledge? 3. To what extent did the implementation of reform projects rely on interactions with certain individuals and/or social classes in the villages? Generally, special attention is being paid to the trajectories of communication between state agents and local groups that managed, or failed, to transpose the savoirs d’État into a socio-culturally acceptable tool of piecemeal progress.

II Division of Common Lands Towards the end of the 1760s, the government of the Electoral Palatinate adopted a programme for raising agricultural productivity that included the conversion of common pasture into arable land.12 The underlying reform concept becomes clear, for instance, from an ordinance in 1771, which elevated a certain procedure – the egalitarian allotment among all citizens in the form of lifelong right of usufruct – to a territory-wide norm. It demanded that “in future the common pastures, if ever possible by their location, [should be] distributed piecemeal among the singles, cultivated and planted with fodder and other crops, while the cattle should be kept at home in a stall.”13 Focusing on the lower Neckar region in the Rhine Valley (district of Heidelberg) as a well-studied example,14 the results of such decrees appear to point to a success story of reform policy from above. Shortly after 1800 the hoped-for transition to improved crop rotations was largely completed in most villages. A closer look, however, reveals that this transformation owed less to the pressure exerted by state representatives than to the configuration of interests in the localities. In struggling over the division of common lands, local actors brought to bear their experience-based knowledge and 11 Cf. note 3. 12 Mörz, Aufgeklärter Absolutismus in der Kurpfalz, 282–284; Schaab, Geschichte der Kurpfalz, vol. 2, 227–228. 13 General ordinance to all Kameralrezepturen [princely revenue offices] from 16 July 1771, Generallandesarchiv Karlsruhe (GLA Ka) 77/6685, fol. 115: “daß fürs Künftige die gemeine Wayden, soviel nach deren Laag möglich, unter die Singulos stückweis [. . .] zertheilet, umgerissen und mit Futter oder andere Cresenzien besaamet, hingegen das Viehe zu haus im Stall be- und erhalten [werden sollten].” 14 Grüne, Local Demand for Order; Grüne, Dorfgesellschaft – Konflikterfahrung – Partizipationskultur, 204–272; Grüne, Transformation of the Commons.

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referred in a selective – approving or critical – manner to the government reform concepts. As a rule, lower class citizens (Tagelöhner [‘day labourers’]) pushed for division in order to secure their precarious livelihood through intensive smallscale farming (notably tobacco growing). This intent was typically opposed by the larger peasants who, with regard to their bigger live-stock, did not believe that they could dispense with the common pasture. In collaboration with the chief district official in Heidelberg these peasants frequently succeeded in exploiting the loopholes of the ordinances and the lack of state control. Therefore, in many places the individualisation of the commons was restricted to the cow pasture, whereas large stretches of ox and horse pasture and land allegedly unsuited for arable were spared. This tense situation gave rise to fierce and protracted conflicts from the 1770s onwards. It took the initiative of the lower classes, who appealed to the administration and the central authorities, to revive the stagnating realignment of the commons economy. Alongside numerous petitions by the two rival village factions, often investigating commissions of high-ranking officials were set up to examine and settle the case on the spot. The documents originating from this sort of communication (petitions, investigation reports, court records) provide ample source material for explorations in the history of knowledge at the intersection of government reform campaigns and local interests of reception. The basic argument of the rural proponents of division may be illustrated by a short example from the village of Neckarau. There, in 1786, the smallholders complained in a petition that the politically dominant upper class ignored state ordinances. They had “distributed only a part [of the] wastelands among the community”, but left the rest “barren and unpartitioned to the advantage of the peasants and to our sole detriment”. In contrast, the supplicants went on, invoking the recent credo of agricultural policy, it would be “more beneficial than grazing” and serve due to “enhanced tithes [. . .] the ruler’s interest” if “everybody keeps a piece of cattle for sustenance in the stall and thus the manure, so indispensable to farming, does not get lost”.15 Obviously, the petitioners linked the government agenda for modernisation, fiscal demands and their own subsistence needs to assert themselves in the communal power struggle. At least this section of village society seems – not without strategic motives – to have been integrated into the official and learned discourse of knowledge

15 Peter Dantmann and Jacob Kauber on behalf of 47 fellow citizens of Neckarau to the government from 20 March 1786, GLA Ka 229/70817, fol. 9–20: “[Sie haben von den] öd liegenden Districten nur einen Theil unter die Gemeind aus[ge]theilt”; “[den Rest haben sie] zum Vortheil des Bauren Standes und zu unserem alleinigen Schaden noch öd und ohnverteilt liegen [ge]lassen”. “[Es wäre] mehr als von der Auftrieb vorträglich [und diente infolge der] Zehend Vermehrung [. . .] dem herrschaftlichen Interesse [, wenn] jeder ein Stück Viehe zur Nahrungs Unterhalt im Stall hat und dadurch der zum Ackerbau so ohnentbehrliche Dung nicht verloren geht.”

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about agrarian reform and its anticipated effects.16 By the same token, it becomes apparent that, for implementing this programme, state representatives were required to go beyond their traditional interaction with local elites and to exploit divergent interests in the wider rural population. A particularly telling case in this respect is offered by the village of Feudenheim. From about 1770 onwards, hardly a year passed by without the question of individualising the commons being put on the communal agenda and attracting the attention of the higher authorities. During the next 40 years, the lower classes succeeded in enforcing step by step their ideas of usage with the aid of state officials. In 1784, for instance, 132 citizens suggested to the government “to plough up our whole pasture and to distribute it among the singles.” This would not only improve husbandry through stall-feeding of cattle and increased manure in a general way. More specifically, “the tobacco grown on the ploughed pasture [would] yield a far more substantial profit for the community and its members.” To back their view the smallholders referred to the pertinent government decrees. Indeed, some richer peasants resisted this project as they did “not need such usufruct due to the multitude of their plots.” Yet it could not be tolerated, the petitioners argued, that “because of these few [. . .] the entire community and the highest exchequer suffer.”17 The chief district official of Heidelberg, however, whom the government instructed to report on this matter, took an anti-reformist stance. He distanced himself explicitly from the doctrine of dividing the commons, which had entered the ordinances and “is defended by most writers dealing with agriculture, police and better husbandry on spurious grounds”. Against this allegedly erroneous belief he set his repeated experience according to which “the peasant, especially the poor with 1 or 2 cows, for want of pasture [is] either forced to abandon them or to purchase the fodder.” Both would precipitate him into debt and bankruptcy sooner or later. On the whole, therefore, the report claimed “that maintaining the common pastures is more advantageous to the individuals as well as to the entire community

16 Since petitioners had to employ solicitors it is virtually impossible to establish to what extent the actual phrasing of the documents reflected the outlook and language of middle and lower class villagers beyond material objectives. More meaningful in this respect are the investigating commissions, which partly relied on oral hearings. Their reports indicate that even more humble rural dwellers must have been roughly familiar with the catchwords of reform rhetoric in the countryside. Cf. on the investigating commissions Grüne, Local Demand for Order, 179–180. 17 Petition of 132 citizens and citizen widows of Feudenheim to the government from 20 April 1784, GLA Ka 229/28206 I, fol. 5–10: 132 citizens suggested “unsere samtliche Weyd umbrechen und unter die Singulos vertheilen zu lassen.” “[D]er auf der umgebrochenen Weid [. . .] erzielte Taback [wird] einen weit beträchtlicheren Nutzen für die Gemeinde und ihre Glieder abwerfen.” “[Da die Bauern] wegen der Vielheit ihrer Äcker dergleichen Nutzen [. . .] nicht bedarfen.” “[Nicht hinzunehmen, dass] wegen diesen wenigen [. . .] die ganze Gemeinde und das höchste Ärarium leiden.”

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and the state than their distribution.”18 This kind of anti-reformism at the middle and lower levels of administration was not lost to the government. Rather, one of its councillors noted disparagingly that “the bailiff of Heidelberg denies the principle of abolishing the common pasture and of distributing it among the communal members, which is supported by approved farming experts and has been adopted even in this country. ”19 Quite naturally, though, the district official’s conservatism suited the larger peasants of Feudenheim who in an own petition underscored the importance of stock breeding to the village economy.20 In the run-up to a trial between the two local factions at the Supreme Court (Hofgericht) in 1801 the lower classes eventually quoted the “political economic principle of stall-feeding” and prophesied that perpetuating the present conditions would “entail the ruin of the citizens”.21 The wealthier inhabitants, on the other hand, emphasised the key role of horse breeding for the peasant economy and reasoned that the “political economic principle of stall-feeding only applied to cattle and not even to oxen, but merely to dairy cattle”. By losing the horse pasture they would be destroyed, and “among citizens carrying burdens the general principle that there should be no precedence in common usufruct [can] not be established.” The “institution of equal entitlement” would jeopardise the peasants’ means of existence and hence the backbone of the community “only for some poor people getting a little piece of property.”22

18 Chief district official of Heidelberg to the government from 3 May 1784, GLA Ka 229/28206 I, fol. 14–36: “[Lehre von den Gemeinheitsteilungen, die] von den meisten die Landoeconomie, Polizei und bessere Agricultur abhandlenden Schriftstellern [. . .] mit Scheingründen vertheidiget wird”. “[Erfahrung, dass] der Bauer, besonders der arme und mit 1 oder 2 Kühen versehene, aus Abgang der Weid [. . .] genöthiget [ist], solche entweder abzuschaffen oder das [. . .] Futter anzukaufen.” “[Führt an,] daß die Beibehaltung der gemeinen Weiden so wohl den Singulis als der ganzen Gemeind und dem Staat selbsten vortheilhafter als derselben Vertheilung seie.” 19 Report by government councillor von Weiler from 24 May 1784, GLA Ka 229/28206 I: “Das Oberamt Heydelberg bestreitet [. . .] den von bewährten Ackerbau-Verständigen unterstützten und selbst in diesseitigen Landen [. . .] angenommenen Satz für Abschaffung der gemeinen Weiden, und Verteilung derselben unter die Gemeindsglieder.” 20 Peasants of Feudenheim to the government from 13 May 1784, GLA Ka 229/28206 I, fol. 67–69. 21 Petition of the non-horsed (Unbespannte) of Feudenheim from 25 March 1801, GLA Ka 229/28206 I, fol. 338–346: “Staats wirthschaftlichen Grundsaz der Stall-Fütterung”; “Untergang [. . .] der Bürger nach sich ziehen”. 22 Declaration of the deputies of the horsed (Bespannte) of Feudenheim to supreme court councillor von Weiler from 14 July 1801, GLA Ka 245/699 (no pagination): Claim that the “staatswirthschaftliche Grundsaz der [. . .] Stallfütterung [. . .] nur vom Hornviehe und nicht einmal von den Ochsen, sondern bloß von dem Milch Viehe zu verstehen ist”. “[U]nter Last tragenden Bürgern [kann] der allgemeine Grundsaz nicht aufgestellt werden, daß in gemeinen Nuzungen kein Vorzug statt haben solle.” “Veranstaltung eines gleichtheiligen Bezugs [. . .] nur damit einige arme Leüte ein Stückgen Gute bekommen.”

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To sum up, the division of commons encouraged by the government of the Electoral Palatinate opened up a field of discussion in which the advocates and opponents in the communities, just as among officials, drew on diverse arguments of knowledge to add authority to their views.23 Throughout, albeit with different intentions, state concepts of modernisation were interlocked with local experience-based knowledge. At first, the savoirs d’État of agrarian reform had primarily been derived from scholarly considerations and manifested themselves in new legal norms. But they began to embrace the logics of village power politics when – in the course of implementation – rural society with its inherent fault lines came to be involved in the relevant discourse of knowledge. This taught a lesson to the reform-minded forces in government and administration with which, according to the sources, they had not reckoned from the outset. Their traditional bridgehead in the parishes, the peasant elite, largely failed to lend a helping hand; instead, the smallholders volunteered to function as allies. So, for state representatives the “political economic principle of stall-feeding” only turned into a viable savoirs d’État, encompassing practical strategies of persuasion and implementation, after it had combined with the hard-acquired knowledge about the local politico-social framework for action. It was no coincidence that the lower classes of Feudenheim, like elsewhere, substantiated the benefit of dividing the commons with the lucrative tobacco to be planted on the reclaimed plots.

III Promotion of Tobacco Growing Concerning processes of gathering, evaluating, communicating and implementing savoirs d’État, the cultivation of tobacco in the Electoral Palatinate represented a special case. As mentioned above, tobacco was held as a promising agrarian product that had the reputation of generating high revenues – in the view of farmers as well as in the authorities’ perspective. Tobacco was one of the most important Palatine products for export; by the 1780s, according to statistics of the time, only manufactories for textile production were more numerous than those processing tobacco leaves. Tobacco had been cultivated in the Palatinate, especially in the south-eastern parts of the territory, from the second half of the seventeenth century onwards; hence, the farmers producing tobacco profited from practical knowledge about tobacco cultivation that had been gathered by several generations.24

23 Cf. in more detail on the participatory claims Grüne, Wissenstransfer und politische Teilhabe. 24 For tobacco cultivation in the Electoral Palatinate see: Monheim, Agrargeographie, 54–57; Schröder, Geschichte des Tabakwesens; Schaab, Geschichte der Kurpfalz, vol. 2, 226. – See also the table published in Mörz, Aufgeklärter Absolutismus in der Kurpfalz, 453: In 1786, there were seven tobacco manufactories (“Tabak-Fabriquen”), employing 163 persons.

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Nevertheless, recognisable by declining yields, tobacco production got into a serious crisis in the early 1760s.25 As archival evidence shows, the elector’s administration obviously was deeply concerned about the deterioration of one of the most prominent sectors of Palatine export production, with a peak of activity from the mid-1770s to the early 1780s. But trying to increase (tax) revenues from tobacco production again by authoritatively initiated reforms meant to find out more about the current crisis – and this also included attempts to learn more about the specific conditions of tobacco farming. The increased reform efforts by the electoral administration since 1776 were at least partly instigated by external advice. In autumn 1776, the General LandsPolicei-Ministerial-Oberdirection – central authority for all matters of “good police”, including orders for economic respectively agrarian practice, received an anonymous memorandum about the current state of tobacco production in the electorate. The memorandum was very clear in its ratings: in the opinion of the unknown author, it was the peasant farmers who were to be blamed for the deteriorating quality of the Palatine tobacco harvests. For achieving better results, it was said, they had to use seed of high quality, they had to prepare and care for their fields more intensively, and above all, they should not do any damage to their harvest any longer by negligent habits of drying and storing the tobacco leaves. The accusations culminated in blaming the farmers – without any differentiation – for deliberate cheating by blending tobacco of major and minor qualities before bringing it to the official control of weight and quality. Thus, the memorandum recommended intense regulatory control, especially of the drying and storing of the harvest in the farmers’ houses and barns, also with the threat of punishment. The anonymous writer underscored the urgency of governmental measures in the light of a promising market situation: because of the American War of Independence since 1773, tobacco imports from the British colonies, mainly Virginia and Maryland, had nearly ceased – Palatine tobacco of comparable quality, so was the anonymous writer’s hope, should meet the market demand.26 In December 1776, at the same time when the alarmed government started an inquiry about the current state of tobacco farming in the main cultivating areas of the Palatinate, namely in the administrative districts of Heidelberg, Ladenburg and Neustadt, it distributed copies of the memorandum to the relevant district officials and village bailiffs.27 It is hardly surprising that the uncommented transfer of the anonymous charges to tobacco farmers provoked rejection; local officers and

25 Schröder, Geschichte des Tabakwesens, 42, 68. On statistic sources see: Von Hippel, Die Kurpfalz zur Zeit Karl Theodors, 178–182. 26 GLA Ka 77/3931, 22 October 1776, fol. 3r–5r. For a more detailed analysis of the memorandum see Dauser, “Experten-Kulturen”. 27 GLA Ka 77/3931, fol. 5r: Directives for the districts Ladenburg, Neustadt, Heidelberg, 6 December 1776.

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peasants seemingly felt put on the defensive. The written replies from the districts listed quite other reasons for falling crop yields and deteriorating qualities which the anonymous writer had not considered at all: for instance, climate constraints, different soil conditions and insufficient storage capacities.28 Cases of fraud were not denied completely, though general suspicion was repudiated, and also more control was not totally dismissed – but its effect was openly doubted. As one of the district officials put it, he had demanded reports from the “experts of the tobacco”,29 meaning the peasants, not the learned. Obviously, competing expertises were positioned against each other, on the one hand the asserted expertise of the anonymous author of the memorandum, on the other hand the farmers’ hands-on knowledge, gathered over generations. Archival sources provide insight into the further communicative process between the central administration, district officials and tobacco farmers over several years, more or less intensively afflicted by stereotypical role models and, correspondingly, also communication models. The first attempt of the government to enforce improvements of tobacco farming can be characterised as a rather conventional top-down model: In the elector’s name, an ordinance was published in September 1777, apparently in tone and content strongly inspired by the anonymous memorandum of 1776. Inspection measures were strengthened, and (rather common) advice on farming practices was given. The detected defects were presented as deficiencies in inspection – and also in knowledge.30 Comments on the aforementioned statements on tobacco growing from the districts, which have also been handed down in the archives, give us some information about the formation process of the ordinance: The farmers’ explanations for the unsatisfactory condition of tobacco growing obviously were thought to be flimsy excuses, pleaded not least by those village bailiffs and local officials who were unwilling to exercise unpopular control over tobacco farmers on site. Local administration, rural hierarchies and networks were considered as obstacles to the implementation of advanced quality assurance measures. Significantly enough, at least one of the officials in the central administration in Mannheim, just some months after the publication of the ordinance, questioned whether further regulations would be successful or would rather raise concern and discontent on the peasants’ side.31 28 GLA Ka fol. 6r–22r. 29 GLA Ka 77/3931, fol. 15r–17v, report of the Neustadt district official Vogel, 20 January 1777, giving a detailed account of the expertise of the tobacco farmers. The peasants are referred to as “Tabacks Bau best Kundige” (15r), “mit dem Tabacks Bau sich besonders beschäfftigende, und dessen bestens kundig seyende Bauern” (15v), as “Tabacks Bau verständige Bauleuthe” (17r) and even explicitly as “Experten des Tabacks” (16r). 30 Instruction zur Veredlung des Pfälzischen Blätter-Tabacks, 10 September 1777, GLA Ka 77/3931, fol. 42r–43v. 31 Anonymous, 17 December 1777, GLA Ka 77/3933, fol. 3r, v: “daß auch die heilsamste landesherrliche Vorschriften, und Ermahnungen bey dem gemeinen Mann allerley widrige Impressionen, und besorglichkeiten zu erwecken pflegen”.

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A little less than a year after the first decree, in August 1778, a further ordinance made clear that the government’s efforts failed to achieve the desired result. The first paragraph of the ordinance complained about the poor compliance with the first decree and threatened to tighten controls. The instructions of the ordinance for improving tobacco growing were the same as in 1777.32 This failure may have furthered intensified contact between the government and the local administration as well as the rural practitioners. Anyway, from 1778 onwards the government obviously tried to reach tobacco farmers through different channels. A comparatively short treatise on tobacco farming, dedicated to the farmers of the Palatinate (Der Tabacksbau. Dem Landmanne in der Kurpfalz gewidmet), written by the courtyard pages’ teacher Johann Peter Kling, was produced in the electoral printing office in 1778 and the same year distributed gratuitously in all administrative districts of the Palatinate. In a propagandistic tone, planting tobacco was advertised as a favourable income source for nearly all regions of the Palatinate, which, however, was characterised by quite different farming conditions, not to mention that tobacco needed fertile soils and additive manure.33 A similar treatise, by the same author and again dedicated to Palatinate peasants, was once more distributed in 1780.34 But also the communicative style was altered, at least partially. Seemingly, the government tried to prove itself more as a provider of new farming options, less as a supervisory authority or an omniscient expert. An article on tobacco farming from the Mannheimer Intelligenzblatt, discussing Dutch and American cultivation practices, was sent to several district officers at the end of 1779. The officers were told to read the article to bailiffs of tobacco-growing villages who should evaluate the cultivation methods for further implementation in the Palatinate at a kind of round table on the premises of the office building. The government evidently tried to involve the rural communities in the discussion of apt cultivation concepts and was inclined to appreciate the peasants’ knowledge and its importance for the selection of reform options. Similar efforts are also known from the Swiss economic enlightenment movement: in the 1760s, so-called Bauerngespräche (‘discussions with peasants’) were organised in Zurich.35 However, according to the protocols delivered from two of these discussions, the Palatinate village bailiffs considered the proposals read out as inappropriate, for reasons of higher production costs and insufficient supply of labour, as well as for inadequate methods proposed in the article but already tested and discarded. It cannot be traced whether these arguments were, to some degree,

32 Instruction, 12 August 1778, GLA Ka 77/3932, fol. 26r–29r. 33 Kling, Tabacksbau, 4–5. On the propagandistic tone of the treatise: Grüne, Dorfgesellschaft, 149. For Johann Peter von Kling (1749–1808), his first publication on tobacco growing obviously marked the beginning of his career as author of agrarian reform treatises and official in the Wittelsbach administration, see Baader, Baiern. 34 Kling, Unterricht. 35 Graber, Bauerngespräche.

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only put forward as an excuse. At least some of the bailiffs, especially those in the Heidelberg district, took the opportunity to communicate further concerns, some of which had already been expressed earlier. The problem of low pricing by local merchants was addressed as well as quality assurance by inspection visits of grounds selected for tobacco growing.36 In the Oggersheim protocol, once more the peasants’ rich experience was underscored by calling them quite ostentatiously “the experts”.37 The inspection visits, which were proposed by some bailiffs of tobacco-growing villages, link the discussion on the division of common grounds (see section 2) to the intended reform of tobacco growing. The bailiffs usually belonged to a well-off group of larger peasants who cultivated comparatively large agricultural areas. But the villagers who earned a livelihood by small-scale farming often sought to increase their revenues by growing tobacco, which was praised as a lucrative source of income, regardless of soil and of the amount of manure at the farmers’ disposal. This was a thorn in the side of those peasants producing comparatively large amounts of tobacco who argued that the tobacco leaves produced by these competitors could not keep up in quality and would increase the risk of declining prices. The disputed division of common grounds from which the smallholders tried to profit seemed to raise these problems – more competitors, dropping prices, inconsistent product quality – even further, at least in the view of wealthier peasants.38 It is not quite clear from the sources if the government in Mannheim also in this case was fully aware of the intra-village distortions which are mirrored in this argumentation. Anyway, the draft of a further decree on tobacco growing in 1780 pointed out that the central administration was eager to communicate the reform of tobacco growing as a cooperative project, involving the interests of all parties concerned: In fact, inspection visits should be carried out in order to evaluate apt soils, drying and storage facilities. But besides, the government explicitly exhorted the visitors not just to exercise control, but to give “amicable advice” and to “answer the farmers’ enquiries in a helpful way”, showing a “sociable and amicable conduct”.39 But there was no mention of an interdiction of tobacco planting on poor

36 GLA Ka 77/3931, fol. 48r–49r, 67r–72r. 37 Once more, it was the Neustadt district official Vogel who underlined the peasants’ expertise, as he had already done in the first report on tobacco farming in 1777, see GLA Ka 77/3931, fol. 15r–17v and note 29. 38 Grüne, Dorfgesellschaft, 149–156, 170–172. 39 GLA Ka 77/3936, fol. 25 r, v, 11 March 1780: The visitors’ desired conduct was described in the sources as follows: They should “ihren hierin irrgehenden Mitbürgeren freundschaftlichen Rath erteilen [. . .], auf sonstige wegen dieses [Tabakan-]Baues an sie beschehende Anfragen guten Bescheid erteilen [. . .], in der gwissen Versicherung, daß benebst dem durch solch geselligfreundschaftlicher betragen gegen ihre Nebenmenschen, und Mitbürger und dem ganzen Orth zuziehenden Seegen des Himmels auch die hierunter mit besonderem Eifern sich hervorthuende Orts Vorstände vorzügliche Landsfürstliche höchste Begnadigung in sich zutragenden schicklichen Ereignußen zu gewärtigen haben mögen.”

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soils. By this, a one-sided preference of those who grew tobacco on comparatively large fields was avoided. Archival sources of the farmers’ reactions to the new integrative communication style are not existent. Also the success of certain measures, for example the inspection visits, cannot be evaluated from the records. However, subsequent ordinances suggest that the tone of command and control as it had been struck in the decree of 1777 was not completely abandoned.40 But the adjusted communication manners and the cooperative behaviour of the government around 1780 at least bear witness, after all, to the intention to represent the constitution of savoirs d’État and their implementation as a common project of authority and subjects.

IV Conclusion According to the case studies, there were essentially three main obstacles to the implementation of agrarian reform concepts: 1. The princely government neglected or at least underrated the impact of village hierarchies and rural conflicts of interest. 2. At the early stages of the reforms, the authorities entertained rather schematic ideas about peasant knowledge, experience and maxims of action. 3. The local administration, i.e. district officials and village bailiffs, frequently “filtered” rural concerns to their own advantage and thus additionally impeded the communication of the manifold interests of rural communities. With regard to the division of common grounds as well as to the promotion of tobacco growing, the interactions of authorities and subjects reveal that the actors recognised and, to some extent, overcame such obstacles, though with varying degrees of engagement and success. The communication between government and rural communities was noticeably intensified by local initiatives, by petitions for dividing common lands or by attempts “from above” to increase the acceptance of reforms through demonstrative esteem for rural actors and their hands-on knowledge. In the case of the division of commons, insights into local political and social conditions even enabled the government to support reforms in alliance with smallholders – against the interests of the peasant elite and furthered by lower class references to the government’s political-economic principles. Concerning tobacco growing, more cooperative and adaptive forms of communication partially replaced rather simplistic concepts of “top-down processes” triggered via decrees.

40 For an example: Decree of August 1789, GLA Ka 77/3936, fol. 29r, mentioning “proper emphasis” (gehöriger Nachdruck) and “required focus” (erforderliche Schärfe).

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Self-confident subjects expressed their attitudes and interests, pushing the government to allow for the specific local conditions under which agrarian reforms were most likely to find acceptance. These results support recent research on peasants’ involvement in reform processes,41 but they also shed new light on the interactive, cross-class generation of state-related knowledge: peripheral authorisation almost inevitably complemented or modified governmental notions of savoirs d’État with local interests of reception. From this point of view, the “territorialisation” of savoirs d’État was inextricably associated with its “localisation”, not only relating to experiencebased knowledge about natural and agrarian circumstances, but also in respect of politico-social structures in the countryside.

References Archival Sources Generallandesarchiv Karlsruhe (GLA Ka) – 77/3931–77/3933 – 77/3936 – 229/28206 I – 229/70817 – 245/699.

Printed Sources Baader, Clemens Alois, Das gelehrte Baiern oder Lexikon aller Schriftsteller welche Baiern im 18. Jahrhunderte erzeugte oder ernährte, A–K, Nürnberg/ Sulzbach 1804. Kling, Johann Peter, Der Tabacksbau. Dem Landmanne in der Pfalz gewidmet von K***, Mannheim 1778. Kling, Johann Peter, Unterricht für den kurpfälzischen Landmann zur Vervollkommnung des Tabakbaues nebst einem vorangeschikten kurzen Auszuge der dahin einschlagenden landesherrlichen gnädigsten Verordnungen. Von kurfürstlicher General- Landes- PolizeyMinisterial- Oberdirektion zum Drucke befördert, Mannheim 1780.

Secondary Works Brakensiek, Stefan, Das Feld der Agrarreformen um 1800, in Eric J. Engstrom [et al.] (eds.), Figurationen des Experten. Ambivalenzen der wissenschaftlichen Expertise im ausgehenden 18. und frühen 19. Jahrhundert, Frankfurt a.M. 2005, 101–122.

41 Dauser [et al.] (eds.), Wissenszirkulation auf dem Land vor der Industrialisierung, Augsburg 2016.

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Dauser, Regina, “Experten-Kulturen”. Wissenszirkulation und Tabakanbau am Beispiel der Kurpfalz, in idem [et al.] (eds.), Wissenszirkulation auf dem Land vor der Industrialisierung, Augsburg 2016, 37–46. Frieß-Reimann, Hildegard, Mennonitische Agrarreformer in Rheinhessen, in Alzeyer Geschichtsblätter 30 (1997), 139–149. Graber, Rolf, Die Züricher Bauerngespräche. Innovation der Volksaufklärung oder Instrument der Herrschaftssicherung?, in Hanno Schmidt [et al.] (eds.), Die Entdeckung von Volk, Erziehung und Ökonomie im europäischen Netzwerk der Aufklärung, Bremen 2011, 43–58. Grüne, Niels, Dorfgesellschaft – Konflikterfahrung – Partizipationskultur. Sozialer Wandel und politische Kommunikation in Landgemeinden der badischen Rheinpfalz (1720–1850), Stuttgart 2011. Grüne, Niels, Local Demand for Order and Government Intervention. Social Group Conflicts as Statebuilding Factors in Villages of the Rhine Palatinate, c. 1760–1810, in Wim Blockmans [et al.] (eds.), Empowering Interactions. Political Cultures and the Emergence of the State in Europe 1300–1900, Farnham 2009, 173–186. Grüne, Niels, Transformation of the Commons in Rural South-West Germany (Eighteenth–Nineteenth Centuries), in Historia Agraria 55 (2011), 47–74. Grüne, Niels, Wissenstransfer und politische Teilhabe. Agrarische Wissensbezüge als Partizipationsressource im 18. und 19. Jahrhundert, in Regina Dauser [et al.] (eds.), Wissenszirkulation auf dem Land vor der Industrialisierung, Augsburg 2016, 23–35. Hacker, Werner, Kurpfälzische Auswanderer vom Unteren Neckar. Rechtsrheinische Gebiete der Kurpfalz, Stuttgart/ Aalen 1983. Heinz, Joachim, “Bleibe im Lande und nähre dich redlich!” Zur Geschichte der pfälzischen Auswanderung vom Ende des 17. bis zum Ausgang des 19. Jahrhunderts, Kaiserslautern 1989. Hippel, Wolfgang von, Die Kurpfalz zur Zeit Karl Theodors (1742–1799) – wirtschaftliche Lage und wirtschaftspolitische Bemühungen, in Zeitschrift für die Geschichte des Oberrheins 148 (2000), 177–243. Konersmann, Frank, Rechtslage, soziale Verhältnisse und Geschäftsbeziehungen von Mennoniten in Städten und auf dem Land. Mennonitische Bauernkaufleute in der Pfalz und in Rheinhessen (18.–19. Jahrhundert), in Mannheimer Geschichtsblätter 10 (2003), 83–115. Lehmbrock, Verena, Agrarwissen und Volksaufklärung im langen 18. Jahrhundert. Was sehen historische Gewährsleute und was sehen ihre Historiker/innen?, in Martin Mulsow/ Frank Rexroth (eds.), Was als wissenschaftlich gelten darf. Praktiken der Grenzziehung in Gelehrtenmilieus der Vormoderne, Frankfurt a. M. 2014, 485–514. Mörz, Stefan, Aufgeklärter Absolutismus in der Kurpfalz während der Mannheimer Regierungszeit des Kurfürsten Karl Theodor (1742–1777), Stuttgart 1991. Monheim, Felix, Agrargeographie des Neckarschwemmkegels. Historische Entwicklung und heutiges Bild einer kleinräumig differenzierten Agrarlandschaft, Heidelberg [et al.] 1960. Popplow, Marcus, Die Ökonomische Aufklärung als Innovationskultur des 18. Jahrhunderts zur optimalen Nutzung natürlicher Ressourcen, in idem (ed.), Landschaften agrarischökonomischen Wissens. Strategien innovativer Ressourcennutzung in Zeitschriften und Sozietäten des 18. Jahrhunderts, Münster [et al.] 2010, 2–48. Popplow, Marcus, Von Bienen, Ochsenklauen und Beamten. Die Ökonomische Aufklärung in der Kurpfalz, in idem (ed.), Landschaften agrarisch-ökonomischen Wissens. Strategien innovativer Ressourcennutzung in Zeitschriften und Sozietäten des 18. Jahrhunderts, Münster [et al.] 2010, 175–235. Schaab, Meinrad, Geschichte der Kurpfalz, vol. 2: Neuzeit, Stuttgart [et al.] 1992. Schaab, Meinrad, Kurpfalz, in idem/ Hansmartin Schwarzmaier (eds.), Handbuch der badenwürttembergischen Geschichte, vol. 2: Die Territorien im Alten Reich, Stuttgart 1995, 247–333.

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Scheifele, Bernhard, Die Einführung der Seidenindustrie in der Kurpfalz durch Karl Theodor. Ein Beitrag zur Industriepolitik des Merkantilismus. Auf Grund des vorhandenen Aktenmaterials dargestellt, Heidelberg 1910. Schröder, Ferdinand, Zur Geschichte des Tabakwesens in der Kurpfalz, Berlin 1909. Simon, Thomas, “Gute Policey”. Ordnungsleitbilder und Zielvorstellungen politischen Handelns in der Frühen Neuzeit, Frankfurt a.M. 2004. Trossbach, Werner, Beharrung und Wandel “als Argument”. Bauern in der Agrargesellschaft des 18. Jahrhunderts, in idem/ Clemens Zimmermann (eds.), Agrargeschichte. Positionen und Perspektiven, Stuttgart 1998, 107–136. Tuckermann, Walther, Das altpfälzische Oberrheingebiet. Von der Vergangenheit zur Gegenwart, 2nd ed., Mannheim 1953. Wakefield, Andre, The Disordered Police State. German Cameralism as Science and Practice, Chicago 2009. Whaley, Joachim, Germany and the Holy Roman Empire, vol. 2: From the Peace of Westphalia to the Dissolution of the Reich 1648–1806, Oxford 2012.

Alexander van Wickeren

Territorialising Atlantic Knowledge: The French State Tobacco Monopoly and the Globalisation of the Havana Cigar around the Mid-Nineteenth Century Around 1850, the Havana cigar reached the peak of its fame in many parts of Europe and the world while other tobacco products, such as snuff tobacco for instance, decreased in popularity. During this period, many of the still known Cuban cigar brands were popularised by a developing advertisement culture occupying new public spheres such as the world exhibitions after 1851.1 As a marker of “civilisation”, cigar consumption was increasingly demarcated from apparently “primitive” forms of tobacco consumption.2 The rise of the world market around the mid-nineteenth century and the extension of Free Trade policies helped to spread consumption into various parts of the Atlantic World and further, while Cuba’s tobacco cultivation and production of cigars were largely imitated alongside a fostered trade with the Spanish colony.3 Different places such as the US state Connecticut and the Dutch colonies in Indonesia became sites for intensive attempts at reproducing Cuban cigar quality. In France, the technical “corps” of ingénieurs des tabacs was the main body responsible for these interventions into a tobacco business entirely run by the French state. Since 1860, the engineers were leading agents of the public service, the Administration des Manufactures d’État, which had monopolized the cultivation, processing, trade and retail of tobacco already in the Napoleonic Era.4 The centrality of the polytechnic engineers, trained in natural sciences such as physics and chemistry in the École Polytechnique, represented the fostered academisation of savoirs d’État in the field of tobacco improvement.5 As part of the Financial Ministry, the engineers oversaw sub-services in sixteen officially licensed tobacco cultivating départements and ordered various state-run manufactures. From the central office in Paris, the polytechnic corps directed new state activities and projects to improve and control the French tobacco sector, which contemporaries would have identified as “scientific” practices. While

1 Le Roy/ Szafran, Die große Geschichte der Zigarre, 14; 48–60. 2 On the colonial marginalisation of hookah smoking in British India see Sinha-Kerkhoff, Colonising Plants, 82–108. 3 On the multi-facet globalisation of the Havana cigar in the nineteenth and twentieth century, see generally Stubbs, Transnationalism and the Havana Cigar; Stubbs. El Habano and the World; for an overview of recent historic research on tobacco, see van Wickeren. What about Global History? 4 For a general outline of the history of the French tobacco monopoly, see Eveno/ Smith, Histoire des monopoles du tabac. 5 See the introduction of Lothar Schilling and Jakob Vogel in this volume. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110553734-011

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agronomic, botanical or chemical means had been object of regional reform activities already in the early nineteenth century,6 the 1860s saw a clear shift towards centralisation in the sphere of the French monopoly.7 A specialised state manufacture for the production of Cuban-style cigars in Paris Reuilly, run by polytechnic-educated staff, was established in 18578 and accompanied by an official import substitution that fostered debates on acclimatisation experiments and fertilizer in the French départements. Alongside the centralised “scientific” reorganisation of cultivation and production modes, polytechnic engineers increasingly pleaded for the need to control trade goods crossing France’s borders. Such developments were far from being unique: During the nineteenth century, the Atlantic World generally experienced an expansion of statebased and private scientific initiatives, envisioning an optimised exploitation of natural resources, increased trade control and industrialisation.9 Focusing on the academic and economic connections of French tobacco experts with the Atlantic World, this chapter analyses circulating savoirs d’État and its adoption in state-run initiatives to improve and control the territory of the French nation-state. I suggest that knowledge on trade and agriculture of tobacco, mobilised in the French monopoly organisation, relied on a multidirectional movement of knowledge between Atlantic coasts. The rise of a world market for Cuban cigars and their dominance in tobacco consumption around the mid-nineteenth century stimulated a circulation of knowledge that became a key element of the extension of state activities in France’s public tobacco sector. In this sense, the Parisian engineers’ application of botanical, chemical and, to a lesser extent, medical knowledge in official suggestions and regulations fostered a “spatial extension” of rule and control in the developing nation-state.10 Historians have argued that the formation of the modern state can be understood as a process of “territorialisation” (Charles S. Maier),11 resulting in increasing attention for territorial infrastructures, political borders and the population of territories. Speaking of “attempts” or “practices”, however, acknowledges the limited and contingent, often even unsuccessful or failing character of territorial strategies that resulted, nonetheless, in the creation of the modern state. Such a perspective also underlays the account of Matthias Middell and Katja Naumann, which emphasises the connection between state construction and the increase of border crossing movement of goods

6 With particular focus on the Alsace and the region’s connections to the Rhineland see van Wickeren, Die Zirkulation staatsrelevanten Wissens (URL). 7 On the centralisation of administrative science-based practices in France: Fox, The Savant and the State, 53. 8 du Camp, Paris, 20. 9 With particular focus on agriculture in the Caribbean, see McCook, States of Nature. 10 Ruggie, Territoriality and Beyond, 148. 11 Maier, Consigning the Twentieth Century to History.

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and people in multiple ways.12 While rigid import tariffs to protect national markets and industries have been at the heart of recent historical investigations to understand the creation of the modern state in a global context,13 studies payed minor attention to administrative scientific experts’ attempts at constructing a controlled and improved national territory. Works on scientific food control14 or on disease prevention alongside trade routes,15 however, provide interesting perspectives of how to integrate territorialisation in Europe, the creation of modern natural science and the rise of the world market around the mid-nineteenth century. Furthermore, the following chapter shows that the creation of scientific state practices16 in the French tobacco sector heavily benefited from dynamics of apparently “backwarded” peripheries in the Atlantic World. Historians have recently begun to depict the slave economies of the Caribbean as industrial and agricultural scientific centres, actively contributing to contemporary agricultural research.17 Little efforts have been made, however, to understand the production, distribution and administrative adoption of savoirs d’État in Europe from geographically distant Atlantic “margins”. While historians have mostly focused on the early modern Atlantic World, they have lately become more aware of Atlantic connections in the nineteenth century, the age of fostered globalising processes.18 In the following, my focus will lay on agronomy and agricultural sciences, but it also includes knowledge-based control practices of trade. While France is the main object of this chapter, it will also shed light on neighbouring European tobacco cultures, which became comparably affected by the globalisation of the Havana cigar. Although all of the experts’ means to construct state territories were highly debated and none of them clearly proves a linear, unproblematic production of state space in the nineteenth century, it is out of the scope of this article to provide a systematic analysis of their limits. The first part focuses on the creation of state-sanctioned agronomic standards for tobacco varieties in the French tobacco monopoly and the importance of travel to Spanish Cuba in this instance. The second part analyses the creation of fertilizer proscription in France shaped by the image of a “traditional” style of Cuban cigar production, which was constructed on both sides of the Atlantic. In the final part, I pay attention to the scientific practices of controlling and selecting of cigars by French officials in Cuba as ways to approach Atlantic quarantine protection and secure consumers from unhealthy quarrels.

12 Middell/ Naumann, Global History and the Spatial Turn. 13 Torp, Die Herausforderung der Globalisierung. 14 Hierholzer, Die Suche nach der “Normalbeschaffenheit”; Stanziani, Rules of Exchange, 168–182. 15 Baldwin, Contagion and the State in Europe; Jansen, “Schädlinge”; McCook, Global Rust Belt. 16 For the shift from a history of theory to the history of practices in the realm of sciences studies, see Bödeker (ed.), Wissenschaft als kulturelle Praxis. 17 Fernández-Prieto, Islands of Knowledge; Rood. The Reinvention of Atlantic Slavery. 18 Gabbaccia, A Long Atlantic.

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I State-Run Acclimatisation By the year 1860, the Parisian administration had begun to undertake experiments with Cuban tobacco varieties in climatically different French départements such as Haut-Rhin, at the border to the German states, or Alpes-Maritimes, on the shore of the Mediterranean.19 The complexity of the acclimatisation experiments, which were now carried out in different environments, prevented a rigid, centralised organisational structure. Selected regional officials directed farmers to carry out acclimatisation experiments, while they were permanently supervised from Paris from where the départements received instructions and seeds. These experiments were empirical tests of the central administration’s propaganda on the applicability of the tabac de Havane in France. After undertaking trials with this variety in the administration’s botanic garden in Paris Boulogne, the Director of the École impériale d’application du service des tabacs, Jean-Jacques Théophile Schlœsing, in his writings argued for an official nationwide cultivation of the variety.20 His position was based on an optimistic view on the introduction of tropical plants in France, whose diversity of climates was highlighted to the scientific public by contemporary associations such as the Parisian Société d’acclimatation.21 Before it became an object of the state-run acclimatisation, the tabac de Havane had circulated half way around the world. Supported by hired external agents, French tobacco engineers had travelled to Cuba, the United States, Paraguay, Brazil and other places in Latin America since the 1840s to collect information on trade possibilities for the monopoly.22 These practices were a central part of mid-nineteenth century informal imperialism. The polytechnic engineers resembled thousands of state officials, merchants and custom agents, which had been sent out to secure and deepen France’s influence on the evolving world market.23 Simultaneously, engineers such as Charles Rey, the director of the cigar manufacture in Paris Reuilly,24 saw economic travelling as a chance to study the agricultural circumstances of tobacco cultivation, to collect plant material, seeds and other information on the crop’s growth, mostly in Cuba’s most famous tobacco valley, the Vuelta Abajo. In his report for the tobacco administration from 1849, Rey extensively discussed the chances and

19 État indiquant par planteur l’espèce des tabacs cultivés, la nature du sol qui les à produits et le genre dʼengrais employé à l’amendement des terres, 1860, Série 4/P/208, Archives départementales du Haut-Rhin (ADHR), Colmar, France, n. pag.; on Alpes-Maritimes: “Tabacs”, Département des Alpes-Maritimes. 20 Schlœsing/ Grandeau, Le Tabac, 105. 21 Osborne. Acclimatizing the World, 140. 22 Rolland, Réfutation, 89. 23 Todd, A French Imperial Meridian, 160. 24 du Camp, Paris, 20.

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challenges of a successful acclimatisation of tobacco plants from Cuba into the realm of the French state tobacco monopoly.25 For French and other European tobacco experts, the transfer and production of agricultural knowledge was an important support for protectionist import tariff policies. Even in states without state tobacco organisation, such as the Grand Duchy of Baden, including one of the largest mid-nineteenth century tobacco regions in Europe, reformers such as Philipp Schwab argued for an agronomically supported “system of prohibition”. Schwab advocated for the tariff walls of the German Zollverein that seemed helpful to avoid the import of cheap tobacco products from the United States to the Grand Duchy.26 Identifying tax policy as a necessary strategy of protection and a “main condition” (Grundbedingung) of the contemporary ideal of autarchy to produce everything through its own power and resources, Schwab argued, that this condition could only be fulfilled, if European governments also supported the scientific improvement of agriculture. Comments such as this show, that the intensification of agricultural tobacco science can be understood as a reaction to an increasingly connected world market. In France, tobacco engineers and scientists depicted attempts to improve France’s tobacco cultivating départements even as a matter of national urgency. Focusing on Schlœsing’s experiments with the tabac de Havane, Louis Grandeau, an agricultural chemist from Nancy, highlighted the importance of the variety for the “French soil” (sol français).27 “Our French tobacco cultivation” (culture française du tabac), as Eugène Rolland, the General Director of the tobacco administration, reminded the regional officials, was to be seen as a future resource for the production of Cuban-style cigars.28 Backing on seeds from Cuba, the new centralised improvement program of the 1860s was portrayed using national symbols like the “French” soil and a nationalised notion of “territory” common in the contemporary public.29 As the future official standard tobacco variety, the tabac de Havane was conceived to raise the quality of tobacco in the territory of the French nationstate and to address nationalist visions of state territory. In this context, finally, the engineers began to demarcate the Havana tobacco from other, apparently “alien” tobacco varieties, which were “de-officialised” in the French public. Focusing on the region of Alsace, officials spotted another variety, the Gundi tobacco, as a biological entity that had recently been introduced and was on its way to dominate tobacco cultivation in the Southern Rhine border

25 Rey, Sur la culture du tabac, 309. 26 Schwab, Ueber den Bau und die Behandlung des Tabacks, 153; in Baden, these debates increased in the national atmosphere of the revolution in 1848/49: Grüne, Wir bedürfen weder überseeischen Taback noch indischen Zucker. . ., 156–157. 27 Grandeau, Culture de Tabac. 28 Rolland, C. de l’adm. des tabacs, No 1, 12 Avr. 1860. 29 Jessen/ Vogel (eds.), Wissenschaft und Nation.

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region.30 Schlœsing had compared the properties of the Gundi tobacco grown in his Parisian experimental grounds to those of the one cultivated in the Southern Rhine region, emphasising the divergence between the plants cultivated in Paris and those from Alsace. Backing on these results, the Gundi variety was officially stigmatised as an “anomaly”31 with little use for French tobacco cultivation outside the départements Bas-Rhin and Haut-Rhin.32 While the Parisian reform projects relied exclusively on Cuban tobacco varieties, alternatives for the cigar production – Gundi was only one, but an important example – appeared as an uncontrollable, uneconomic and worthless “invasive species”,33 which needed to be limited as much as possible in the French territory.

II Prohibiting Guano Fertilizing While the propagation of standard varieties in the territory of the French tobacco service relied on official suggestion, the tobacco service also made use of proscription. Fertilizers became objects of particular concern in France and their quasiprohibition was deeply connected with images of “traditional” tobacco production in Cuban environments circulating among academic experts in the Atlantic World. In 1862, Peruvian bird excrements, the so-called guano, were prohibited as a part of the central tobacco office’s plan to erase fertilizer with “excessive energy” (énergie excessive) from tobacco cultivation.34 Among those figured, as the central office in Paris informed the départements, also urban wastewaters, which had been commonly used in Europe for centuries. The arrêté of the Alsatian département Bas-Rhin, an annually published brochure reporting about the Régie’s legal manipulation of the tobacco business,35 declared guano and waste waterfertilized tobacco as “non-purchasable” (non-marchand). In theory, this administrative category allowed farmers to make use of “high energy” fertilizers. In fact, however, monopoly officials were encouraged to reject raw tobacco, which they suspected to be fertilized. The export of this raw tobacco from France to other European states was also no option – except in border regions such as the Alsace – because the state service figured as the only legal buyer.

30 Rolland to the French départements, Paris, 14.03.1863, Série 4/P/209, Archives départementales du Haut-Rhin (ADHR), Colmar, France, n. pag. 31 Schlœsing/ Grandeau, Le Tabac, 72. 32 On the discourse on atypically formed animal, human and plant bodies, stigmatized since the eighteenth century, see Larson, The Most Confused Knot in the Doctrine of Reproduction, 267. 33 On the concept, see Bennett/ Kirchberger (eds.), Environments of Empire. 34 Iggersheim, Politique et Administration dans le Bas-Rhin, 448. 35 On the arrêtés see Creizenach, Die französische Tabaksregie, 59.

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Official regulations such as the one described above provide so far unconsidered evidence to explain the relatively modest usage of “artificial fertilizer” in Europe before the late nineteenth century.36 Yet, this was a rather special response to the scientific propaganda for the application of guano agriculture after 1840. Although the “boom” of guano also stimulated a vividly debated fraudulent trade with fake-guano, Europe experienced a hitherto unknown rise of “artificial” fertilizer import lasting up to the late nineteenth century, when guano made way for nitrate fertilizer. For agricultural scientists such as Jean-Baptiste Boussingault or Justus Liebig, the high nitrogen content of Peruvian bird excrements marvellously effected the quicker growth of plants.37 During the 1860s, the “problem” of “excessive” guano application in tobacco cultivation still appeared so urgent to the polytechnic engineers that they encouraged legal steps against French tobacco farmers who offered guano-fertilized tobacco leaves to the Régie. The sanctioned exclusion of fertilizer substances in France was motivated by the widely known image of “traditional”, even “primordial” “Havanian practices” (pratiques havanaises). In the detailed description of “Cuban” agricultural practices, Eugène Rolland communicated to the départements in May 1861, guano and other “high-energy” nitrogen fertilizers were completely absent.38 For mid-nineteenth century experts, tobacco plants with a high nitrogen content necessarily contained a high proportion of nicotine, which effected the taste of the known Havana cigars negatively. Seen from this perspective, a “real” Cuban-way tobacco production needed to avoid extensive nitrogen supply.39 In contemporary Cuba, however, the increase of demand for cigars had caused serious problems of quality and made Cuban tobacco farmers abandon the “original” way of cultivation: As long as the consumption [of cigars, AvW] remained below a certain limit, the fertile soil of this region [the Cuban Vuelta Abajo, AvW] produced a sufficient amount of harvest, even without fertilisation. Now, however, high-energy fertilizers (engrais les plus énergiques), such as guano or wastewaters were heavily in use. The resulting intensification was financially satisfactory for Cuban farmers (planteurs cubains). For smokers, however, it was deplorable, because the known and demanded aroma mostly vanished. Apart from a small number of crus privilégiés Havana’s tobaccos (tabacs havanais) have lost their quality.40

These passages clearly differentiated a pure, untouched Cuban tobacco culture before the globalisation of the Havana cigar, from an intensified Cuban cultivation dominated by the demands of the world market. The negative effects of guano

36 See Uekötter, Die Wahrheit ist auf dem Feld, 153. 37 Martin. La production de guano artificiel; Cushman, Guano and the Opening of the Pacific World; Lesher, A Load of Guano; Jas, Au carrefour de la chimie et de l’agriculture, 265; Hansen, Guano ist alle! 38 ADHR, 4/P/208, Rolland to the French départements, Paris, 4.05.1861, unpag. 39 Laurent, Les Manufactures de l’État, 272–273. 40 Enquête parlementaire, 80–81.

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fertilizers became a cypher for the impact of a globally spread cigar consumption on Cuba’s agricultural standards. The extraordinary prominence of guano in the French engineer’s image of a spoiled “traditional” Cuban tobacco culture was an echo of ongoing discussions in Cuba’s academic circles. Álvaro Reynoso, agricultural chemist and director of Havana’s Instituto de Investigaciones Químicas de la Habana since 1859, dismissed the bird excrements for tobacco cultivation, while he advocated for a modest application of guano to Cuban sugar cane culture.41 The creation of the Instituto in 1848 was the latest outcome of a vivid agricultural improvement landscape developing in Cuba since the late eighteenth century Bourbon Reforms.42 Since then, agricultural and learned societies as well as botanic gardens had been formed in various parts of the Spanish Empire to optimise and reconfigure Latin American flora and fauna. The case of Reynoso shows, however, that the Spanish Empire’s agricultural improvement cultures were reciprocally entangled with French reformist circles. Reynoso was in close contact to Parisian savant circles and in exchange with the tobacco engineers.43 As a laboratory assistant of Théophile-Jules Pelouze, who gave courses in chemistry at the École impériale d’application du service des tabacs,44 Reynoso had been introduced to the scientific world of Paris in the 1850s and became the first translator of Schlœsing’s research on tobacco.45 Urban metropoles such as Paris were platforms for a multidirectional circulation of knowledge, where Cuban savants, administrators and chemists encouraged French engineers to exchange manuals on tobacco cultivation, seeds of important varieties and other information.46 Motivating the engineers’ territorialisation practices, agronomic debates on fertilizer transgressed France’s boundaries. Cuba’s scientific reform culture was not imported from Europe, but provided impulses for the improvement for tobacco cultivation in the Atlantic World.

III Extra-Territorial Cigar Control State practices for the protection of the French territory from the uncertainties of the trade with cigars were another response to the globalisation of cigars. The cigar commodity chain, however, was not controlled at the consumption, but at the production end. Less an alternative than a support for the agricultural attempts

41 Fernández-Prieto, Mapping the Global and Local Archipelago, 192. 42 On the Bourbon Reforms, see Bleichmar, Visible Empire. 43 On Paris’s reputation as a centre of scientific debate and education: Schalenberg/ vom Bruch, London, Paris, Berlin. 44 Díaz Barreiro, Seleccíon de textos, 14. 45 Reynoso, Documentos relativos al cultivo del tabaco. 46 See the introduction of Wahu, Manuel du planteur de tabac.

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analysed above, the engineers installed a station in Havana in 1862 to supervise production in Cuba and protect France’s borders from illicit trade objects. For the polytechnic engineers, these practices were science par excellence and made the presence of academically trained staff necessary. “Their origin,” as Eugène Rolland argued, “could not have been controlled without the technical agents that were stationed in Havana.”47 The administrative and diplomatic training of consuls seemed not sufficient for cigar control.48 Although supported by France’s general consulate for the Spanish Empire, a handful of Parisian tobacco engineers under the leadership of Eugène Goupil were independently sent to Havana to oversee the Régie’s purchase of cigars by directly investigating the production cycles of tobacco workshops that had special contracts with the French tobacco service.49 Inside the station, the cigars were further selected by optical and taste standards into different categories by comparing them with prototypes of excellent cigars.50 These critical investigations were meant to guarantee the quality standards of retailing places in Paris, where state-run cigar stores at the Quai d’Orsay or the Boulevard des Capucines offered a collection of Havana’s most selected cigares de luxe for the richer part of the capital’s public.51 The creation of a French trade station on Spanish colonial territory and the engineers detailed attempts to inspect Havana’s cigar production probably contributed to ongoing conflicts with the local colonial administration, which tried to limit the competence of foreign consulates on Cuba to the inspection of ships anchoring in the ports of Havana and Santiago. While government officials in Paris had reminded French consuls not to act against local Creole and Spanish authorities, consuls frequently complained about restrictions since the 1820s.52 Yet, the fact that the extension of control with the establishment of the tobacco trade station was at least tolerated by local colonial officials was hardly surprising, if we consider France’s geopolitical ambition in Mexico and the Caribbean during the early 1860s.53 Facing French imperial aggression, Havana’s colonial authorities might have rejected a violent removal of the engineers, because they feared not only diplomatic disturbances, but also military intervention. For the engineers, however, the widespread fear of a fraudulent use of substitution substances, manipulating the much-praised cigar smoke experience, made cigar

47 Rolland, Réfutation, 87 48 Rolland, Réfutation, 88. 49 Rolland, Réfutation, 89 and 97; also Service d’exploitation industrielle des tabacs et des allumettes, 20. 50 Enquête parlementaire, 80–81. 51 Décret C. No. 914 (755), du 9 Juill. 1863; see also Creizenach, Die französische Tabaksregie, 115–116. 52 de la Llosa, Le consulat de France à Santiago de Cuba, 78–79. 53 Todd, A French Imperial Meridian.

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control more than urgent. Opium, for instance, was one of the substances for which the cigars needed to be controlled. For Jean-Augustine Barral, a trained tobacco engineer and editor of the Journal d’agriculture pratique et de jardinage,54 it was evident that Cuban manufactures did not, or did not regularly, make use of opium to improve the taste of cigars – his chemical experiments had proved so.55 This was an important discharge for Havana’s manufacturers, because opium – after having been an accepted tranquiliser and pain killer in early nineteenth century Europe – was pathologised with the rising press attention for China’s “opium problem” in the wake of the wars with Great Britain since the 1840s.56 For Barral the widespread blame of Cuba’s production – according to him endemic in French journals – was nothing more than a prejudice of scandal-orientated journalists. The chemical, expert-led investigation of cigars on the spot was therefore perceived as a means not only to control the cigar trade, but also to de-scandalise commodity chains with scientific commentary and counter the production of “fake news” about Cuban cigars in the popular press. Scientific investigation on cigars did not only serve administrative purposes, but was also mobilised to define the profile and the individual fame of experts. In 1855 José Louis Casaseca, associated member of Paris’s Académie des Sciences and Reynoso’s predecessor in Havana’s Instituto,57 had ended an extended discussion in the Académie’s journal, the Annales de chimie et de physique, on samples of iodine in Havana cigars sold in France. While the French chemist Gaspard Adolphe Chatin had stimulated fears on the contamination of the taste of the cigars by iodine, Casaseca concluded that not only the content of iodine, but also its apparent negative effects on quality were exaggerated.58 The dispute in the Académie, where the tobacco administration met with distinguished French savants and associated members from Cuba or other parts of the world,59 highlights the controversial nature of the knowledge circulating between Havana and Paris. The lack of uncontested “truths” about Cuban tobacco, however, did not irritate the Havana-based polytechnic engineers. The regular use of zinc boxes as containers for the selected cigars, for example, is an important indicator that the French tobacco station was used as a zone of quarantine and medical control. Around the mid-nineteenth century zinc, notably chlorine zinc, was appreciated for its antiseptic effects and, among sulphide or phenol, often applied for the disinfection of operation rooms.60 In the quarantine zones of Atlantic port cities, where ships and their cargo were also disinfected with calcium carbonate and smoke, scientists had

54 Barral, Culture et monopole du tabac, 314. 55 Olivier, [short, untitled notice on Barral]. 56 Schivelbusch, Das Paradies, der Geschmack und die Vernunft, 217–226. 57 Fernández-Prieto, Cuba agrícola, 95. 58 Casaseca, Sur la quantité d’iode contenue dans des tabacs, 477–485; Chatin, Présence de l’iode. 59 Belhoste/ Chatzis, From Technical Corps to Technocratic Power, 219–220. 60 Eckart, Geschichte, Theorie und Ethik der Medizin, 204.

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comparably modernised disinfection routines.61 Focusing on ports as gateways to global travel routes, administrators, scientists and merchants had increasingly become aware of the connection between trade and the spread of diseases since the cholera epidemics of the 1830s.62 Havana cigars were identified as dangerous disease carriers, too, yet because of their particular social origin. Already in 1833 Mateu Josep Bonaventura Orfila i Rotger, a well-known Parisian toxicologist,63 had published his Détails sur l’épidémie de la Havane et les dangers de fumer les cigares de cette colonie espagnole where the transmitter role of the Cuban cigar was linked to the apparently overwhelmingly infected working class of the Cuban capital. While diseases such as “plague”, “yellow fever” or “typhus” had indeed occurred in the town, Orfila i Rotger linked the potential spread of “epidemics” especially to the tobacco workshops,64 where a diverse group consisting of African slaves, former Spanish soldiers, and, since the 1840s, Chinese contract labourers ran the production.65 The permeability of the material – the leaves – revealed cigars as similarly problematic as textiles, raw cotton or animal skin for contemporary observers,66 but only their classification as potential transmitters between bourgeois and working class worlds made cigars appear as real dangers for European territories.

IV Conclusion While the French Revolution and the Napoleonic Era had been important gateways for reform oriented, academic experts to the administrative services of European states, the globalising dynamics at the end of the Sattelzeit re-motivated and increased the creation and adoption of savoirs d’État for the improvement and control of states, which became more and more seen as “national” territories. The chapter shows that attempts of French state tobacco engineers to improve and control the tobacco business in France were entangled with the rise of the world market of the Havana cigar and informed by an Atlantic circulation of knowledge among academic experts. Agriculture and trade, as the contributions in this volume highlight, were objects of learned societies and absolutist reform administration already in the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. However, the local, regional, sometimes also imperial worlds of European state experts seem to have been crucially reshaped by a more thorough Atlantic integration in the 1850s and 1860s, as the

61 62 63 64 65 66

Barnes, Cargo, “Infection”, and the Logic of Quarantine, 84. Igler, Diseased Goods. Bertomeu Sánchez/ Nieto-Galan, Introduction, IX. Orfila [i Rotger], Détails sur l’épidémie de la Havane. Casanovas, Bread, or Bullets, 23, 35–37 and 42. Barnes, Cargo, “Infection”, and the Logic of Quarantine, 76, 82.

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strong relation between France and Cuba indicates. During these decades, authoritative statements of the French tobacco administration, legal proscriptions as well as categorisations and control techniques of administrations were not only indicators of an intensified economically proactive state,67 but also the outcome of an extended Atlantic exchange of knowledge, for which “centres” and “peripheries” are much less clear than historians have long suggested. By analysing attempts at controlling and improving the tobacco business in France, it has been the aim of this chapter to provide a broader perspective on the circulation of knowledge and its “application” in practices aimed at an integrated, controlled nation-state territory. While the rise of the modern state can surely be extracted from these different scientific practices of state tobacco officials, a stronger emphasis on the contingent outcome of the engineers’ attempts would have also revealed the often unsuccessful and limited nature of the official projects.68 Just to mention one example: In 1867, an official of the tobacco administration still complained about the poor quality of cigars due to the widespread contraband.69 European port cities such as Bremen and Hamburg remained uncontrolled places, from where, as the official noted, fake cigars illicitly “penetrated” (pénètrent) the French market. Debates as such indicate that the polytechnic engineers’ attempts to control the French market with their presence in Havana were only a tiny piece of a larger quest to construct an integrated, controlled state territory. Although a fostered “territorialisation” of nation-states coincided with the creation of natural science, the evolving scientific state practices hardly transformed the still fragile nature of the state and the porosity of its borders from one day to the other.

References Archival Sources Archives départementales du Haut-Rhin (ADHR), Colmar, France – Série 4/P/208 – Série 4/P/209.

Printed Sources Barral, Jean-Augustin, Culture et monopole du tabac, in Journal d’agriculture pratique et de jardinage 1 (1843/1844), 299–314. Casaseca, José Louis, Sur la quantité d’iode contenue dans des tabacs de diverses qualités, cultivés à l’île de Cuba, sur la perte en matières volatiles qu’éprouvent ces tabacs dans leur

67 Rosanvallon, Der Staat in Frankreich, 149–157; Raphael, Recht und Ordnung, 107–110. 68 van Wickeren, The Transformation of an Ecological Policy. 69 Falsification du tabac; for similar complains see also: Christian, Le Jungfern-Stieg, 126–127.

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dessiccation, ainsi que sur la quantité de cendres qu’ils fournissent; suivies quelques observations sur la méthode de M. de Luca pour le dosage de l’iode, in Annales de chimie et de physique 45 (1855), 477–485. Chatin, Gaspard Adolphe, Présence de l’iode dans les eaux pluviales, les eaux courantes, et les plantes des Antilles et des côtes de la Méditerranée, in Comptes rendus des séances de l’Académie des Sciences 37 (1853), 723–724. Christian, P., Le Jungfern-Stieg du Hambourg, in Revue du Nord 1 (1838), 126–144. Creizenach, Julius, Die französische Tabaksregie in ihrer Entwicklung, Organisation, finanziellen und volkswirthschaftlichen Bedeutung. Ein Beitrag zur Orientierung in der Tabaksfrage, Mainz 1868. Décret C. No. 914 (755), du 9 Juill. 1863. Vente de cigares de la Havane dits prensados, et des tabacs de fantaisie de toutes espèces, in Nouveau recueil chronologique des lois et instructions des contributions indirectes des tabacs et des octrois, II-III, Période de 1831 à 1863 [. . .], 1574–1575. du Camp, Maxime, Paris. Ses organes, ses fonctions et sa vie dans la seconde moitié du XIXe siècle, vol. 2, 5th ed., Paris 1875. Enquête parlementaire sur l’exploitation du monopole des tabacs et des poudres, Paris 1876. Falsification du tabac, in Journal de chimie médicale, de pharmacie, de toxicologie et revue des nouvelles scientifiques nationales et étrangères 4 (1868), 339–340. Gabaccia, Donna, A Long Atlantic in a Wider World, in Atlantic Studies 1 (2004), 1–27. Grandeau, Louis, Culture de Tabac. Recherches expérimentales de M. Th. Schlœsing, in Journal d’Agriculture pratique. Moniteur des comices, des propriétaires et des fermiers 32 (1868), 66–67. Laurent, Les Manufactures de l’État, in École polytechnique. Livre du Centenaire 1794–1894, vol. 3: Services civils et carrières diverses, Paris 1897, 261–279. Olivier, Dr. H., [short, untitled notice on Barral], in Revue de thérapeutique médico-chirurgicale 22 (1864), 592. Orfila [i Rotger], [Mateu Josep Bonaventura], Détails sur l’épidémie de la Havane et les dangers de fumer les cigares de cette colonie espagnole, [. . .], [Paris] 1833. Rey, Charles, Sur la culture du tabac. Extrait d’un rapport fait au Ministre des Finances, in Annales des sciences physiques et naturelles, d’agriculture et d’industrie publiés par la Société nationale d’Agriculture [. . .] de Lyon 1 (1849), 305–312; 589–604. Reynoso, Álvaro, Documentos relativos al cultivo del tabaco. Investigaciones acerca del tabaco por Mr. T. Schlœsing, vol. 1, Havana 1888. Rolland, Eugène, C. de l’adm. des tabacs, No. 1, du 12 Avr. 1860. Cabinet du directeur général. Installation de M. Rolland, directeur général des tabacs, in Nouveau recueil chronologique des lois et instructions des contributions indirectes des tabacs et des octrois, II–III, Période de 1831 à 1863 [. . .], Lons-le-Saunier [n.d.], 1391–1392. Rolland, Eugène, C., Réfutation de la brochure de M. le Baron de Janzé intitulée les finances & le monopole du tabac, Paris 1869. Schlœsing, Jean-Jacques Théophile/ Grandeau, Louis, Le Tabac. Sa culture au point de vue du meilleur rendement. Combustibilité des feuilles, richesse en nicotine [. . .], Paris 1868. Schwab, Philipp, Ueber den Bau und die Behandlung des Tabacks, in Landwirtschaftliches Wochenblatt für das Großherzogtum Baden 9 (1841), 153–163. Service d’exploitation industrielle des tabacs et des allumettes. Le monopole des tabacs en France, Paris 1947. “Tabacs”, Département des Alpes-Maritimes. Conseil général. Session de 1865. Rapport du préfet et annexes. Procès-Verbaux des délibérations, Nice 1865, 174–175. Wahu, Albert, Manuel du planteur de tabac. Traduit de l’espagnol, Alger 1863.

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Secondary Works Baldwin, Peter, Contagion and the State in Europe, 1830–1930, Cambridge/ New York 1999. Barnes, David S., Cargo, “Infection”, and the Logic of Quarantine in the Nineteenth Century, in Bulletin of the History of Medicine 88 (2014), 75–101. Belhoste, Bruno/ Chatzis, Konstantinos, From Technical Corps to Technocratic Power. French State Engineers and their Professional and Cultural Universe in the First Half of the 19th Century, in History and Technology 23 (2007), 209–225. Bennett, Brett/ Kirchberger, Ulrike (eds.), Environments of Empire. Networks and Agents of Ecological Change, forthcoming. Bertomeu Sánchez, José Ramón/ Nieto-Galan, Agustí, Introduction, in idem (eds.), Chemistry, Medicine, and Crime. Mateu J.B. Orfila (1787–1853) and His Times, Sagamore Beach 2006, IX–XXV. Bleichmar, Daniela, Visible Empire. Botanical Expeditions & Visual Culture in the Hispanic Enlightenment, Chicago 2012. Bödeker, Hans Erich (ed.), Wissenschaft als kulturelle Praxis, 1750–1900, Göttingen 1999. Casanovas, Joan, Bread, or Bullets! Urban Labor and Spanish Colonialism in Cuba, 1850–1898, Pittsburgh 1998. Cushman, Gregory T., Guano and the Opening of the Pacific World. A Global Ecological History, Cambridge (MA) 2013. de la Llosa, Alvar, Le consulat de France à Santiago de Cuba (1804–1899), in Jörg Ulbert/ Lukian Prijac (eds.), Consuls et service consulaire au XIXe siècle/ Die Welt der Konsulate im 19. Jahrhundert/ Consulship in the 19th Century, Hamburg 2010, 76–93. Díaz Barreiro, Francisco (ed.), Seleccíon de textos. Álvaro Reynoso, Havana 1984. Eckart, Wolfgang U., Geschichte, Theorie und Ethik der Medizin, 7th ed., Berlin/ Heidelberg 2013. Eveno, Muriel/ Smith, Paul, Histoire des monopoles du tabac et des allumettes en France, XIXe–XXe siècles. Guide du chercheur, Paris 2003. Fernández-Prieto, Leida, Cuba agrícola: mito y tradición (1878–1920), Madrid 2005. Fernández-Prieto, Leida, Islands of Knowledge. Science and Agriculture in the History of Latin America and the Caribbean, in ISIS. Journal of the History of Science in Society 104 (2013), 788–797. Fernández-Prieto, Leida, Mapping the Global and Local Archipelago of Scientific Tropical Sugar. Agriculture, Knowledge, and Practice, 1790–1880, in Patrick Manning/ Daniel B. Rood (eds.), Global Scientific Practice in an Age of Revolutions, Pittsburgh 2016, 181–198. Fox, Robert, The Savant and the State. Science and Cultural Politics in Nineteenth-Century France, Baltimore 2012. Grüne, Niels, Wir bedürfen weder überseeischen Taback noch indischen Zucker. . . Vertriebsaktivitäten und handelspolitisches Engagement badisch-pfälzischer Gewerbepflanzenbauern in der ersten Hälfte des 19. Jahrhunderts, in Frank Konersmann/ Klaus-Joachim Lorenzen Schmidt (eds.), Bauern als Händler. Ökonomische Diversifizierung und soziale Differenzierung bäuerlicher Agrarproduzenten im Zuge der Marktintegration (15.–19. Jahrhundert), Stuttgart 2011, 135–162. Hansen, Hinrich, Guano ist alle! Dünger und Kunstdünger in Schleswig-Holstein im 19. Jahrhundert und einige ökologische Fragen, in Manfred Jakubowski-Tiessen (ed.), Dünger und Dynamit. Beiträge zur Umweltgeschichte Schleswig-Holsteins und Dänemarks, Neumünster 1999, 155–199. Hierholzer, Vera, Die Suche nach der “Normalbeschaffenheit”. Nahrungsmittelqualität im Deutschen Kaiserreich, in Jakob Vogel/ Robert Salais (eds.), Die Produkte und ihre Qualitätsnormen, Frankfurt a.M./ New York, forthcoming.

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Iggersheim, François, Politique et Administration dans le Bas-Rhin (1848–1870), Strasbourg 1993. Igler, David, Diseased Goods. Global Exchanges in the Eastern Pacific Basin, 1770–1850, in American Historical Review 109 (2004), 693–719. Jansen, Sarah, “Schädlinge”. Geschichte eines wissenschaftlichen und politischen Konstrukts, 1840–1920, Frankfurt a.M./ New York 2003. Jas, Nathalie, Au carrefour de la chimie et de l’agriculture. Les sciences agronomiques en France et en Allemagne, 1850–1914, Paris 2001. Jessen, Ralph/ Vogel, Jakob (eds.), Wissenschaft und Nation in der europäischen Geschichte, Frankfurt a.M./ New York 2002. Larson, James, The Most Confused Knot in the Doctrine of Reproduction, in Tore Frängsmyr [et al.] (eds.), The Quantifying Spirit in the 18th Century, Berkeley 1990, 267–289. le Roy, Bernard/ Szafran, Maurice, Die große Geschichte der Zigarre, 3rd ed., Munich 1998. Lesher, Peter, A Load of Guano. Baltimore and the Fertilizer Trade in the Nineteenth Century, in The Northern Mariner/ Le marin du nord 18 (2008), 121–128. Maier, Charles S., Consigning the Twentieth Century to History. Alternative Narratives for the Modern Era, in American Historical Review 105 (2000), 807–831. Martin, Philippe, La production de guano artificiel, une étape dans la professionnalisation des fabricants d’engrais. L’exemple d’Édouard Derrien à Nantes (1840–1860), in Annales de Bretagne et des Pays de lʼOuest 122 (2015), 161–190. McCook, Stuart, Global Rust Belt. Hemileia Vastatrix and the Ecological Integration of World Coffee Production since 1850, in Journal of Global History 1 (2006), 177–195. McCook, Stuart, States of Nature. Science, Agriculture, and Environment in the Spanish Caribbean, 1760–1940, Austin (TX) 2002. Middell, Matthias/ Naumann, Katja, Global History and the Spatial Turn. From the Impact of Area Studies to the Study of Critical Junctures of Globalization, in Journal of Global History 5 (2010), 149–170. Osborne, Michael A., Acclimatizing the World. A History of the Paradigmatic Colonial Science, in Osiris 15 (2000), 135–151. Raphael, Lutz, Recht und Ordnung, Herrschaft durch Verwaltung im 19. Jahrhundert, Frankfurt a.M. 2000. Rood, Daniel B., The Reinvention of Atlantic Slavery. Technology, Labor, Race, and Capitalism in the Greater Caribbean, New York 2017. Rosanvallon, Pierre, Der Staat in Frankreich von 1789 bis in die Gegenwart, Münster 2000. Ruggie, John Gerard, Territoriality and Beyond. Problematizing Modernity in International Relations, in International Organization 47 (1993), 139–174. Schalenberg, Marc/ vom Bruch, Rüdiger, London, Paris, Berlin. Drei wissenschaftliche Zentren des frühen 19. Jahrhunderts im Vergleich, in Richard van Dülmen/ Sina Rauschenbach (eds.), Macht des Wissens. Die Entstehung der modernen Wissensgesellschaft, Köln [et al.] 2004, 681–702. Schivelbusch, Wolfgang, Das Paradies, der Geschmack und die Vernunft. Eine Geschichte der Genußmittel, München 1980. Sinha-Kerkhoff, Kathinka, Colonising Plants in Bihar (1760–1950). Tobacco Betwixt Indigo and Sugarcane, Gurganon 2014. Stanziani, Alessandro, Rules of Exchange. French Capitalism in Comparative Perspective, Eighteenth to the Early Twentieth Centuries, Cambridge/ New York 2012. Stubbs, Jean, El Habano and the World It Has Shaped. Cuba, Connecticut, and Indonesia, in Cuban Studies 41 (2010), 39–67.

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Stubbs, Jean, Transnationalism and the Havana Cigar. Commodity Chain Transfers, Networks, and Circuits of Knowledge, in Catherine Hull (ed.), Cuba in a Global Context. International Relations, Internationalism, and Transnationalism, Gainesville 2014, 227–242. Todd, David, A French Imperial Meridian, 1814–1870, in Past & Present 210 (2011), 155–186. Torp, Cornelius, Die Herausforderung der Globalisierung. Wirtschaft und Politik in Deutschland 1860–1914, Göttingen 2005. Uekötter, Frank, Die Wahrheit ist auf dem Feld. Eine Wissensgeschichte der deutschen Landwirtschaft, 3rd ed., Göttingen 2012. van Wickeren, Alexander, Die Zirkulation staatsrelevanten Wissens (savoir dʼÉtat) über den Tabakanbau in Baden und im Elsass um 1800, in Christine Lebeau (ed.), Der Staat. Akteure, Praktiken, Wissen (16.–19. Jahrhundert)/ L’État: acteurs, pratiques, savoirs (XVIe–XIXe siècle), discussions 10 (2015), www.perspectivia.net/publikationen/discussions/10-2015/vanwickeren_zirkulation (last access 6.4.2018). van Wickeren, Alexander, The Transformation of an Ecological Policy. Acclimatization of Cuban Tobacco Varieties and Public Scandalization in the French Empire, c. 1860–1880, in Brett Bennett/ Ulrike Kirchberger (eds.), Environments of Empire, forthcoming. van Wickeren, Alexander, What about Global History? Recent Research on Tobacco Production in the Atlantic and Indian Oceans, 18th to 20th Century, in Enterprise and Society. The International Journal for Business History 18 (2017), 447–452.

Index of Persons Ağa, Osman (c. 1671–after 1725) 51 Alcoy, Conde de s. Roncali y Ceruti Alexander I of Russia (1777–1825), Emperor of Russia since 1801 30 Alexander II of Russia (1818–1881), Emperor of Russia since 1855 30 Alströmer, Jonas (1685–1761) 109f., 113 Andrada e Silva, José Bonifacio de (1763–1838) 136–140 Angerstein, Reinhold Rutger (1718–1760) 114–116 Anslow, John (d. 1754) 112 Arouet, François-Marie s. Voltaire Artíz, José 43 Aveyron s. Victor Baillet du Belloy, Arsène Nicolas (1765–1845) 161–163 Barral, Jean-Augustine (1819–1884) 190 Baudin, Nicolas Thomas (1754–1803) 95 Beauvilliers, Paul de, duc de Saint-Aignan (1648–1714) 156 Bénévéni, family – Jean (c. 1726–1804) 51 – Lucrèce s. Testa Berch, Christer (Krister) (1730–1792) 110, 113 Bernadotte, family 28 Bernardi, Joseph de (1826–1907) 98 Bertin, Henri-Léonard-Jean-Baptiste (1720–1792) 151, 156f. Blumenstein (Kayr de Blumenstein), Étienne François (1678–1739) 151 Bonaparte, Napoléon (1769–1821), Emperor Napoleon I 1804–1814, 1815 88, 99f., 141 Born, Ignaz von (1742–1791) 132f. Bourdieu, Pierre Félix (1930–2002) 88 Bourgoing, Jean-François, baron de (1748–1811) 98, 101 Bourguet, Marie-Noëlle 149 Bourguignon d’Anville, Jean Baptiste (1697–1782) 162 Boussingault, Jean-Baptiste (Joseph Dieudonné) (1802–1887) 141, 187 Brognard, Wenzel, Edler von (c. 1740–1788) 55 Burgsdorf(f), August Ludwig von (1747–1802) III

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110553734-012

Burgundy, Duke of s. Louis de France, duc de Bourgogne Cabanis, Pierre Jean Georges (1757–1808) 91 Calonne, Charles Alexandre de (1734–1802) 160f. Campe, Joachim Heinrich (1746–1818) 69 Cañizares-Esguerra, Jorge 130 Casaseca, José Louis (1800–1869) 190 Castillo, Lina del 140 Catherine II, the Great (1729–1796), Empress of Russia since 1762 56, 70 Chabert, Thomas (1766–1841), von since 1813, Ritter von since 1840 52, 55, 58 Chatin, Gaspard Adolphe (1813–1901) 190 Chydenius, Anders (1729–1803) 27 Cía, Policarpo (1817–1867) 43f. Claudius, Matthias (1740–1815) 69 Cobenzl, Counts of – Guido (Guidobald) (1716–1797) 57 – Johann Philipp (1741–1810) 52–54, 57f. – Ludwig (Johann Ludwig) (1753–1809) 57 Colbert, Jean-Baptiste (1619–1683) 48 Coler, Johann (Johannes) (1566–1639) 75 Condillac, Étienne Bonnot de (1714–1780) 91f. Constant, Louis 37 Correa Henriques de Noronha, Fernando (b. 1800) 137 Cotta, (Johann) Heinrich (1763–1844) 8 Cronstedt, Axel Fredrik (1722–1765) 122, 126 Dacier, Bon-Joseph (1742–1833) 98 De Câmara s. Ferreira da Câmara Bethencourt e Sá Dear, Peter Robert (b. 1958) 117 Deffand, Marie Anne de Vichy-Chamrond, marquise du (1697–1780) 99 Degérando, Joseph-Marie (1772–1842), baron de Gérando since 1811 95, 98–101 Delhuyar s. Elhuyar Dew, Nicholas (b. 1973) 48 Diderot, Denis (1713–1784) 73 Dolomieu, Dieudonné Sylvain Guy Tancrède de Gratet de (Déodat Gratet de Dolomieu) (1750–1801) 153 Dupain-Triel, Jean-Louis (b. 1722) 157–159

198

Index of Persons

Dupont (du Pont) de Nemours, Pierre-Samuel (1739–1817) 98 Ebu Bekr Ratib 57 Edelcrantz, Abraham Niclas (1754–1821) 28f. Eizaguirre, Joaquin (b. 1812) 40–42 Elhuyar (Delhuyar) y de Lubice, Juan José d’/de (1754–1796) 132f., 136 Elhuyar (Delhuyar) y de Suvisa, Fausto Fermín d’/de (1755–1833) 132f., 136, 139f. Eschwege, Wilhelm Ludwig, Baron von (1777–1855) 129, 137–139 Eugène of Savoy, Prince (1663–1736) 51f. Ferber, Johan Jacob (1743–1790) 121 Fernández de Castro, Manuel (1825–1895) 44 Fernández de Moratín y González Carvajal, Gumersindo (1790–1860) 41 Ferreira da Câmara Bethencourt e Sá, Manuel (1762–1835) 136, 138, 140 Fillenbaum, Joseph von 56 Fonton, family – Antoine (1724–1802) 51 – Lucie s. Testa – Pierre Joachim (1687–1756) 51 – Térèse s. Testa Foucault, Michel (1926–1984) 1, 3, 88, 149 Fragoso da Mota de Siqueira (Sequeira), Joaquim Pedro (1760–1833) 136 Francis I (1708–1765), Holy Roman Emperor since 1745 52 Franz, Joseph (1704–1776) 52–54 Gellert, Christian Fürchtegott (1715–1769) 69 Genlis, Stéphanie Félicité du Crest de SaintAubin, Comtesse de (1746–1830) 99 Gleditsch, Johann Gottlieb (1714–1786) III Gleim, Johann Wilhelm Ludwig (1719–1803) 69 Goethe, Johann Wolfgang (1749–1832), von Goethe since 1782 69 Goupil, Eugène (1813–1896) 189 Grandeau, Louis (1834–1911) 185 Gratet de Dolomieu s. Dolomieu Green Clemson, Thomas (1807–1888) 40 Guettard, Jean-Étienne (1715–1786) 157f. Gustavus Adolphus (Gustav II Adolph) (1594–1632), King of Sweden since 1611 119

Gustavus III (1746–1792), King of Sweden since 1771 26 Guzmán, Rodolfo 134 Halle(r), Johann Samuel (1727–1810) IIIf. Haller, Albrecht von (1708–1777), Viktor Albrecht (Albert) Haller until 1749 74 Hammer-Purgstall, Joseph von (1774–1856), Hammer until 1835, since then Freiherr von Hammer-Purgstall) 50, 53–55, 57f. Haüy, René Just (1743–1822) 53 Heckscher, Eli Filip (1879–1952) 118 Hedberg, Carl Gustav 138 Herbert, Freiherren von Rathkeal, family – Constance Catherine s. Smith – Heinrich Constantin (Konstantin) (1785–1847) 57 – Peter Philipp (1735–1802) 50–53, 55–58 Herder, Johann Gottfried (1744–1803), von Herder since 1802 100 Hoeck, Franz (1749-1835), Abbé 57 Hoffmann, Gottfried August (1700–1775) 73 Hohenthal, Peter, Freiherr von (1726–1794), Graf von since 1790 80 Humboldt, Alexander Georg von (1720–1779) III Humboldt, Friedrich Wilhelm Heinrich Alexander von (1769–1859) 129f., 132–135, 140f. Humboldt, Friedrich Wilhelm Christian Karl Ferdinand von (1767–1835) 3, 99 Isbecque, Nicolas Joseph 113 Itard, Jean Marc Gaspard (1774–1838) 97 Jars, Gabriel (Antoine-Gabriel) (1732–1769) 132, 151 Jauffret, Louis-François (1770–1840) 97 Jenisch, Bernhard (1734–1807), Freiherr von since 1800 53f., 57 Jourdan de Montplaisir 151 Justi, Johann Heinrich Gottlob (1720–1771) 68f., 71 Kaestner, Abraham Gotthelf (1719–1800) 24 Kant, Immanuel (1724–1804) 100 Karl Theodor (Charles Theodore) (1724–1799), Prince Elector of the Palatinate since 1742 and of Bavaria since 1777 167

Index of Persons

Kaunitz-Rietberg, Wenzel Anton von (1711–1794) 48f., 51–55, 57 Kayr de Blumenstein s. Blumenstein Klein, Lawrence Eliot (b. 1950) 30 Klezzl (Kletzl), Franz von 54 Kling, Johann Peter (1749–1808) 175 Koselleck, Reinhart (1923–2006) 1, 130 Kröhne, Johann Wiegand (d. before 1778) 77 Krok, Nils Jönssons (1585–1655) 119 Laurel, Lars (1705–1793) 110 Lavater, Johann Caspar (Kaspar) (1741–1801) 69 Lavoisier, Antoine Laurent de (1743–1794) 156–158 Lenz, Jakob Michael Reinhold (1751–1792) 69 Lepetit, Bernard 149 Liebig, Justus (1803–1873), Freiherr von since 1845 187 Linhares, Count of see Sousa Coutinho, de Linnaeus (Linné, Linneus), Carl von (1707–1778) 24, 109, 113, 155, 160 Louis de France, duc de Bourgogne (1682–1712) 156 Maier, Charles S. (b. 1939) 182 Malouët, Pierre-Victor (1740–1814) 98 Mannerstam, Johan (1785–1825) 28 Margairaz, Dominique 152 Maria Theresa (1717–1780), Queen of Hungary and Bohemia since 1740, Archduchess of Austria since 1740, Holy Roman Empress since 1745 52 Martin, Virginie 88 Meister, Jacques-Henri (1744–1826) 99 Mendinueta y Múzquiz, Pedro (1736–1825) 134f. Mesgnien Meninski (Meniński), François (Franciscus, Franciszek) (à) (1623–1698) 54 Miché, Godefroy-Alexandre (1755–1820) 160 Middell, Matthias 182 Millin (de Grandmaison), Aubin-Louis (1759–1818) 98 Minard, Philippe 154 Mokyr, Joel (b. 1946) 7 Monnet, Antoine Grimoald (1734–1817) 151f., 157f. Montolieu, Isabelle de (1751–1832) 101 Morellet, André (1727–1819) 98, 101

199

Mormarz, family – Gaspar (1696–1761) 51 – Lucia (Lucie) née Testa (1722–1745) 51 Möser, Justus (1720–1794) 68f., 73 Mutis, José Celestino (1732–1808) 134, 141 Nadir Schah (Nader Shah Afshar) (1688–1747) 54 Naumann, Katja 182 Nordenflycht, Fürchtegott Leberecht, Freiherr von (1752–1815) 129, 133 Odelstierna s. Odhelius Odhelius, Erich (1661–1704), ennobled Odelstierna 111f. Olivenholm, Johan 115 Orfila i Rotger, Mateu Josep Bonaventura (Orfila, Mathieu Joseph Bonaventure) (1787–1853) 191 Orry, Philibert (1689–1747) 151 Pabst von Ohain, Karl Eugen (1718–1784) 137 Pastoret, Claude Emmanuel Joseph Pierre, marquis de (1755–1840) 98 Pauli, Joachim (1733–1812) III Pelletier, Bertrand (1761–1797) 159 Pelouze, Théophile-Jules (1807–1867) 188 Penckler (Penkler, Penckhler), Heinrich (1700–1774), Freiherr von since 1747 51 Perrot, Jean-Claude (b. 1928) 149 Pfeffel, Gottlieb Konrad (Théophile Conrad) (1736–1809) 69 Pichardo y Tapia, Esteban (1799–1879) 42–44 Pinel, Philippe (1745–1826) 92f., 96f. Pinto de Souza (Sousa Coutinho), Luiz (Luís) (1735–1804) 136 Portalis, Jean-Étienne-Marie (1746–1807) 100 Powles, John Diston (c. 1787–1867) 143 Prados de la Escosura, Leandro (b. 1951) 37 Quatremère de Quincy, Antoine Chrysostome (1755–1849) 98 Ragıp Pașa (Koca Mehmet Ragıp Pasha) (1698–1763) 55 Raj, Kapil 48 Rathkeal, Freiherren von, s. Herbert, Freiherren von Rathkeal 50f., 57 Resmini, Johanna 57 Rey, Charles 184

200

Index of Persons

Reynoso Valdés, Álvaro (1829–1888) 188, 190 Ribeiro de Andrada e Silva, Martim Francisco (1775–1844) 138 Rio, Andrés Manuel del (1764–1849) 140 Rivero y Ustáriz, Mariano Eduardo de (1798–1857) 141f. Robespierre, Maximilien (1758–1794) 89f. Rodriguez Prada, Maria Paola 140 Rolland, Eugène (1846–1909) 185, 187, 189 Roncali y Ceruti, Federico de, 1st Count of Alcoy (1809–1857) 42 Rothman, Ella Nathalie 49 Rydén, Göran 116 Sage, Balthasar (Balthazar) Georges (1740–1824) 160f., 163 Sagra y Peris, Ramón Dionisio de la (1798–1871) 40f. Said, Edward W. (1935–2003) 48f., 58 Sainte-Croix, Guillaume-Emmanuel-Joseph de Guilhem de Clermont-Lodève de (1746–1809) 98 Saur, Jean-Jacques (Johann Jacob) (1716– after 1751) 151 Scheffer, Carl Fredrik (1715–1786) 26 Schiller, Johann Christoph Friedrich (1759–1805), von Schiller since 1802 69 Schlœsing, Jean-Jacques Théophile (1824–1919) 184–186, 188 Schröderstierna, Samuel (1720–1779) 112 Schubart, Christian Friedrich Daniel (1739–1791) 69 Schuster, Aloys 56 Schwab, Philipp (1806–1864) 185 Schweighäuser (Schweighæuser), Jean Geoffroy 101 Scott, James C. (b 1936) 7 Sicard, Roch-Ambroise Cucurron (1742–1822) 96 Sidney Smith, Sir William (1764–1840) 57 Smith, Adam (1723–1790) 27 Sousa Coutinho de Teixeira de Andrade Barbosa, Rodrigo Domingos, Count of Linhares (1745–1812) 136–138 Spencer Smith, family – Constance Catherine née Herbert von Rathkeal (1785–1829) 57f. – John (1769–1845) 57f. – Sidney s. Sidney Smith Stagl, Justin (b. 1941) 116

Staunton, Eduard 112 Stengel, Johann Georg Anton, Freiherr von (1721–1798) 167 Stephenson, family – George (1781–1848) 142 – Robert (1803–1859) 142 Stürmer, family – Elisabeth Barbara née Testa (1769–1846) 51 – Ignaz Lorenz (1750/1752–1829), Ritter von since 1800, Freiherr von since 1813 51, 55–58 Suard, Jean-Baptiste-Antoine (1732–1817) 98 Subrahmanyam, Sanjay (b. 1961) 49 Sundberg Wall, Cynthia 111 Swain, Gladys (1945–1993) 95 Taylor, Richard C. (b. 1950) 40, 43 Tchong-A-Sam 96 Tegnér, Esaias (1782–1846) 29 Testa, (de), family 50, 52 – Antoine Jean (Antonio Giovanni) (1768–1839) 51 – Bartolomeo I (1723–1812) 50–52, 56f. – Bartolomeo II 52 – Elisabeth Barbara s. Stürmer – Gaspare (1684–1758) 50 – Jacopo (1725–1804) 50 – Lucia (Lucie) s. Mormarz – Lucie née Fonton (1729–1768?) 50 – Lucrèce née Bénévéni (1777–1812) 51 – Térèse (Thérèse) née Fonton (1743–1798) 50 Thugut, Johann Amadeus Franz de Paula, Freiherr von (1736–1818) 53, 55, 57 Tilas, Daniel (1712–1772) 121–123 Tissot, Samuel Auguste André David (1728–1797) 73f. Tourlet, René (1756–1836) 101 Triewald, Mårten (1691–1747) 23, 110 Urbansson, Hans 119f. Urquijo, Mariano Luis de (1769–1817) 134 van Swieten, Gottfried, Freiherr (1733–1803) 57 Vanderbourg, Martin-Marie-Charles de Boudens, vicomte de (1765–1827) 99, 101 Varnhagen, Friedrich Ludwig Wilhelm (1783–1842) 137–139 Vauchez, Antoine (b. 1972) 49

Index of Persons

Vaurigaud, Pedro Teodoro 42 Victor of Aveyron (c. 1788–1828) 95f. Villers, Charles François Dominique de (1765–1815) 101 Villota, Manuel Genaro de (1767–c. 1847) 39 Voltaire (Arouet, François-Marie) (1694–1778) 73 Walckenaer, Charles Athanase, baron (1771–1852) 101

201

Weber, Max (1864–1920) 1 Weber, Wolfhart (b. 1940) 107 Werner, Abraham Gottlob (1749–1817) 137, 140 Windler, Christian (b. 1960) 49 Withers, Charles W. J. (b. 1954) 79 Zea Díaz, Juan Francisco Antonio Hilarión (1766–1822) 141