Journal articles on the topic 'Paris (France) History 1830-1848'

For contemporary political theorists, the events of nineteenth-century France – the "bourgeois" revolution of 1830, the revolutionary eruption of 1848 with its dénouement in Bonapartism, and the "heroic" moment of the Paris Commune – have entered the domain of reflection on modern politics through Marx. Not only for Marxists, but for those who learned political theory in a Marxist tradition or whose primary acquaintance with nineteenth-century France came from Marx's trenchant dissection of its class struggles, this was a story fraught with universal significance. Indeed, French historical events have long functioned as dramatic signs or markers of the modern relationship between state and civil society, and between democracy and revolution.

It has long been recognised that the French revolution of 1848 had a profound effect on the rest of Europe. The overthrow of the Orleans monarchy and the establishment of the second republic were seen as heralding the dawn of a new age. Established governments, most of which had recognised that the Continent was approaching a period of crisis, anxiously expected the spread of the revolutionary contagion and the outbreak of a major European war, whilst the discontented elements found encouragement and inspiration from the events in Paris. In Great Britain the reaction to the events across the English Channel reflected this trend. This is the beginning', noted one member of the cabinet, recalling 1792; who will live to see the end?' The Chartists were jubilant, declaring that the time was now ripe to achieve their demands.

The premise here is that there existed a specific moment in the history of France —and, one might speculate, of other European societies—when a popular insurrection in the capital was capable of bringing down the national government, virtually overnight and irrespective of public sentiment in the provinces. In the face of such sudden outbursts, not even those regimes that appeared most firmly entrenched proved to be secure. The most striking instances, and the ones that will be the exclusive focus of attention here, occurred in Paris during the early years of the French Revolution of 1789 as in 1830 and 1848, when the urban crowd was able, if only for a time, to impose new institutions and policies upon the nation. In general, the rural population proved acquiescent, but the will of the capital initially held sway even when the numerical majority living in the countryside seemed resistant to the change.

In a self-reflective introduction to what was, sadly, his last publication, an essay collection, John Merriman lamented that the nineteenth century has been forgotten among historians of France. Noting the absence of books on this period in the Fnac bookstore at Les Halles in Paris, he wrote the following: In thinking about French history from 1815 to the present, one thing now seems perfectly clear to me. As time moves relentlessly along, the century between 1815 and World War I is in some ways far less visible than it was when I became a historian.…For years the shelves [of such bookstores] had been organized chronologically: the French Revolution and Napoleon, then the nineteenth century, subdivided, and then the Great War. But the sections now jumped from Napoleon to the Great War! What had happened to the long nineteenth century? (What happened to my books?)…The revolutions of 1830 and 1848, which had so engaged folks like me for quite some time, seemed to have had their day.

Christian Chevandier's Cheminots en Greve is a social, political, and institutional history of railroad workers in France from 1848 to 2001. It is told from the standpoint of the role of strikes in forming the occupational identity of these workers, known in France as cheminots (Chevandier finds the earliest use of the expression dating back to 1898; by the 1930s the Academie Francaise officially recognized it as a French word). Cheminots belong to various crafts and trades. They drive the trains, repair locomotives and rolling stock in shops and factories, sell tickets in stations and collect them in trains. Although the book is largely structured around a chronological account of railway strikes, Chevandier looks beyond the strike for sources of cheminot identity. These include the evolving structure of the French railroad system from private companies to state ownership, the role of skill and technological change, and especially union strategies, structures, and above all divisions. Along the way he revisits earlier treatments of French labor and railworker history, and takes up old historiographical controversies debating, confirming, and refuting well-known scholars from Annie Kriegel to historians of a younger generation like George Ribeill and Atsushi Fukasawa.

La querelle du Cid and la bataille d’Hernani show how much French theatre was dependent on Spain: the Spanish comedia used to be criticised for its irregularity by the classics (Voltaire) and praised for liberality by the romantics (Hugo). The article presents three moments in the history of Spanish theatre and its political involvement. (1) Idea de la comedia de Castilla by José Pellicer de Ossau y Tovar, who defined twenty rules of Spanish comedia in 1635, is analysed in the context of the theatre activity at the very moment when the king of France decided to declare war on the king of Spain. (2) La comedia nueva o el café by Leandro Fernández de Moratín, a metatheatrical master-piece, is presented as a confrontation of the Enlightenment with traditional Spanish theatre. (3) Aben Humeya by Francisco Martínez de la Rosa, a Spanish liberal exiled in Paris, and its French premiere in July of 1830 shows the implication of politics and theatre in both France and Spain.

ABSTRACT:This article examines the relationship between police forces and Parisian society during the two final revolutions of nineteenth-century France in 1848 and 1871. The comparison between these two events reveals the existence of an alternative revolutionary project of ‘urban police’. It also shows, however, the relatively weak impact of these moments on long-term transformations of police organizations. This is all the more notable if we consider the Second Empire's municipal reform of 1854 that had a deep impact on the landscape of the Parisian police. Observing this general sequence helps thus to explore the modifications of police powers during revolutionary moments, and the dynamics of the non-linear transformation of police orders and urban societies in the nineteenth century.

History of relations between France and the Islamic world goes back to the first centuries of Hijra, when the Franks first faced the Caliphate and its troops in the Eastern and Western Mediterranean. On the eve of the New times Paris had already developed its numerous contacts with Turkey, Iran and the Arab West — the Maghreb area. The conquest of Algeria (from 1830) formed a basis of the French colonial empire in Africa and Asia with the growing role of Islam in political activities and ambitions of Paris. Millions of Muslims in French colonies contributed to growth of political and economic progress of their metropoly with its pretensions to become a great Muslim power. Meanwhile, thousands of them lost their lives during two great world wars of the 20th century. Waves of immigration gave birth to an impressive Islamic community (‘umma), in France, reaching about a million of residents by the middle of the 20th century. With the growth of Muslim immigration from Africa and the Middle East a number of Muslims among the natives of France also augmented. By the end of the last century the Muslims formed as much as about 10 % of the whole population of France. The “French Islam” born at the dawn of the 20th century. after a century of its evolution became an important civilizational reality of Europe, at times more attractive for the local youth than traditional Christian values, or the new ideals, brought with the winds of globalism, multiculturalism and a “non-stop consumerism”.

The French voyage of exploration to New Holland (Australia) between 1800 and 1804, commanded by Nicolas Baudin (1754–1803), made substantial natural history collections, notably capturing dwarf emus from the two distinct populations on King Island (Île King) in Bass Strait (December 1802) and Kangaroo Island (Île Decrès) (January 1803). Two of these emus survived their voyage to France, were housed briefly at the Empress Josephine's menagerie at Malmaison, and then the zoological park of the Jardin des Plantes in Paris. Both died in 1822. With the wild populations on both islands exterminated soon after Baudin's visit, two watercolours, one by Charles-Alexandre Lesueur (1778–1846) and one by Léon de Wailly ( fl. 1801–1824), have been central to the history of the dwarf emus. However, an important contemporary engraving by Nicolas Huet (1770–1830) depicting the two surviving emus in captivity has been overlooked. This essay explores the history of the images of the now extinct dwarf emus, as well as the production and significance of Huet's engraving.

While the mapping activities of French Jesuits in China and New France have been extensively studied, those in India have received less attention. While benefiting from the French crown’s interest in using the Jesuits as a tool for empire, they did not help develop an overarching imperial structure like that of Spain and Portugal or that of the Manchu Qing Dynasty. The work of Jean-Venant Bouchet (1655–1732), Louis-Noël de Bourzes (1673–1735), Claude Moriset (1667–1742), Claude-Stanislas Boudier (1686–1757), Gaston-Laurent Cœurdoux (1691–1779), and many others was instead important in building linkages between institutions and individuals in Europe and India. It further allowed commercial cartographers in Paris and London like Guillaume Delisle (1675–1726), Jean-Baptiste d’Anville (1697–1782), and James Rennell (1742–1830) to develop a more sophisticated picture of the interior of India.

Major advances in the French medical system following the French Revolution have stimulated a rich historiography of which Michel Foucault’s Naissance de la clinique: une archéologie du regard médical (1963) and Erwin H. Ackerknecht’s Medicine at the Paris Hospital, 1794–1848 (1967) are of lasting significance. Changes in the organisation and structure of hospitals accompanied the development and availability of new medical technologies and procedures and encouraged a more intense study of the aetiology and pathology of disease. Theories about asthma and its treatment profited from this dynamic environment as Classical Greek doctrines about the effect of the humours on bodily imbalance gave way to an increasingly more precise understanding of the nature and cause of asthma. The clinician and teacher, Armand Trousseau (1801–1867), who held the chair of Clinical Medicine at the Hôtel-Dieu in Paris and was himself an asthmatic, promoted new theories about the illness and developed innovative ways of dealing with its effects. Among his patients was the banker and financier, Emile Pereire (1800–1875), a lifelong asthmatic. Based on the Pereire Family Archives (hereafter AFP), the case of Emile Pereire provides a preface to the later case of that other, more famous, asthmatic, Marcel Proust.

Summary Charles-Louis Longchamp (1802–1874) was the dominant figure in Latin studies in Geneva in the 1850s and 1860s and had a formative influence on the Latin teachers of Ferdinand de Saussure (1857–1913). Longchamp’s work was in the grammaire générale tradition, which, on account of historical anomalies falling out from the Genevese Revolution of 1846 to 1848, was still being taught in Geneva up to the mid-1870s, despite having been put aside in France in the 1830s and 1840s. Longchamp succeeded briefly in getting his Latin grammars onto the school curriculum, replacing those imported from France, which Longchamp argued were making the Genevese mentally indistinguishable from the French, weakening their power to think for themselves and putting their political independence at risk. His own grammars offered “a sort of bulwark against invasion by the foreign mind, a guarantee against annexation”. Longchamp’s pedagogical approach had echoes in Saussure’s teaching of Germanic languages in Paris in the 1880s, and in the ‘stylistics’ of Saussure’s successor Charles Bally (1865–1947).

Summary This article, a successor to the author’s 2002 “Steinthal and Max Müller: Comparative Lives”, attempts to situate the Semiticist and ‘Orientalist’ Ernest Renan in a nexus between the poles represented by Heymann Steinthal (1823–1899) and Friedrich Max Müller (1823–1900). Renan can be viewed as wavering — in the 1840s through 1860s — between (and perhaps developing from) a natural scientific and linguistic orientation influenced by Humboldtians such as August Friedrich Pott (1802–1887) and the Völkerpsychologist Steinthal and a racial ideology in linguistics similar to that of the more historicist linguist Max Müller. Max Müller had a similar set of influences in Paris to Renan in this period, such as their common amateur mentor Baron Ferdinand von Eckstein (1790–1861) and Collège de France professor Eugène Burnouf (1801–1852). But a crucial hypothesis relates to how much Renan was influenced in his change to racial ideology by the advent of the 1848 Revolution. The author explains how this hypothesis can be tested by specific further research into the manuscript of Renan’s 1847 Prix Volney prizewinning essay.

In the late 1840s, as revolutionswept across Europe, Anthony Trollope wrote a novel portraying the Vendean War, a French civil war fought during the revolutionary decade.La Vendée: An Historical Romance(1850) depicts the conflict between centralised, revolutionary France led by the National Convention in Paris and the insurgent, royalist population of western France from the perspective of the royalist rebels.La Vendéeis one of Trollope's least read novels; yet Trollope's turn to the history of the 1790s in the context of renewed revolutionary movements in the 1840s demonstrates that the political and cultural stakes of the revolutionary period remained present in the minds of Victorians who confronted the possibility of European revolution for the first time in their own lives. Trollope draws on the interrelated democratic and nationalist movements that produced the 1848 revolutions in order to represent the royalist Vendeans as a victimised incipient nation, akin to other minor European nations struggling for sovereignty against their more powerful neighbours. Significantly, throughout the 1840s Trollope lived in Ireland, one such minor nation, and witnessed the Famine years and the consequences of Ireland's governance from London throughout that crisis first-hand. Using the conventions of the generically related national tale – a typically Irish genre – and the historical novel, Trollope works to establish sympathy for a marginalised Vendean community while containing revolution in the past by casting the royalist Vendeans as the true patriots and insurrectionists. However, although Trollope attempted to contain revolution by re-aligning it with the conservative, Vendean position,La Vendéeis fragmented by anxieties about the possibility of revolution in the late 1840s that disrupt his efforts to establish an authoritative, distanced historical perspective.

Marc Fumaroli, Chateaubriand: Poésie et terreur (Paris: Fallois, 2003)Has the time come to revive François-René de Chateaubriand (1768–1848), author of Atala and René, the novels that defined romanticism in France and, above all, of the immense Mémoires d'outre-tombe (“Memoirs from beyond the grave”), perhaps the most ambitious of all French autobiographical projects? What does an eighteenth-century provincial nobleman's son, author of fanciful tales of encounters with North American “noble savages,” apologist for medieval Christianity, and unsuccessful proponent of a Bourbon restoration after 1815, have to say to twenty-first-century readers? The first important study of Chateaubriand's career, the nineteenth-century literary critic Sainte-Beuve's Chateaubriand et son groupe littéraire sous l'Empire, written in 1849, firmly assigned the great romantic author to an earlier phase of French letters. Commenting on the just-published posthumous Mémoires, Sainte-Beuve admitted that the work revealed Chateaubriand's “immense talent as a writer,” but damned the work by saying that “he reveals himself in all his egotistical nakedness.” The distinguished French literary scholar Marc Fumaroli has now set out to reverse these verdicts on the man and the Mémoires.

Karl Marx (1818–1883) was born in Trèves in the Rhineland. He studied law in Bonn, philosophy and history in Berlin, and received a doctorate from the University of Jena for a thesis on Epicurus (341–270 BC). (Epicurus' philosophy was a reaction against the ‘other-worldliness’ of Plato's theory of Forms. Whereas for Plato knowledge was of intelligible Forms, and the criterion of the truth of a hypothesis about the definition of a Form was that it should survive a Socratic testing by question and answer, for Epicurus the criterion of truth was sensation, and employment of this criterion favoured the theory with which Plato explicitly contrasted the theory of Forms (Sophist 246a–d), namely, the materialism of the atomists, Leucippus and Democritus.) Marx was editor of the Rheinische Zeitung of Cologne, 1842–1843. The paper was suppressed and he moved to Paris, becoming co-editor of the Deutsch-französische Jahrbücher, the one and only issue of which contained two articles by Marx and two by his friend, Friedrich Engels (1829–1895). Together they wrote The German Ideology (1846) and their most influential work, The Communist Manifesto (1848). Marx had been expelled from France in 1845, and went to Brussels, from where he was expelled during the 1848 revolutions. He went to Cologne to start, with Engels and others, a paper with a revolutionary editorial policy, the Neue Rheinische Zeitung. Expelled once again, Marx finally settled in London, working in the British Museum on his great historical analysis of capitalism, Das Kapital. The first volume was published in 1867, the remaining two volumes, completed by Engels after Marx's death, in 1885 and 1895.

Victoria Thompson's study of the French market begins with the Richard Terdiman's premise that societies faced with rapid change engage in “semiotic activity” (Discourse/Counter Discourse: The Theory and Practice of Symbolic Resistance in Nineteenth-Century France. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1985). In other words, the tensions surrounding political, economic, and social upheaval send individuals scurrying to categorize and explain the new world confronting them. Certainly, the boom-and-bust economy of nineteenth-century France generated such anxieties. Interestingly, many of those fears focused on female sexuality, a topic that might seem remote from the debates over living wages for working-class men or the appearance of new credit mechanisms. The problem that interests Thompson is twofold. First, how did French society cope with the potentially destructive power of early capitalism, a power that could dissolve familial bonds and up-end social hierarchies? Second, how did new gender norms work within the new market framework? The French answer to both problems was the creation of a “virtuous marketplace,” one in which honor and self-control shaped men's economic practices, and in which distinct gender roles kept women a respectable distance from the temptations of material gain.

Abstract The French pharmacist and explorer Christoph-Augustin Lamare-Picquot (1785–1873) was in South Asia during 1826–1829 to collect ethnographical, anthropological, zoological and botanical specimens. He made an excursion to the Sundarbans (the Ganges-Brahmaputra delta) of Bangladesh, where on 17 November 1828 his team shot a female rhinoceros and caught her young one the next day, just south of Khulna. Both animals were completely hornless. He returned to France in the spring of 1830, where his zoological specimens were assessed by Georges Cuvier, and his other collections relating to ethnography by other scholars. All recommended purchase by the French Government, but circumstances did not allow this. A few animals were described by scientists connected with the Natural History Museum in Paris. After Lamare-Picquot published an account of the hunting expedition in 1835, the rhinoceros was described as a new species Rhinoceros inermis, by René-Primivère Lesson, first in a supplement to Buffon dated 1836, and not, as accepted until now, in restatements dating from 1838 or later. The main part of the zoological collection was bought by the Prussian King Friedrich Wilhelm III in 1836 and integrated in museums in Berlin. Other collections were exhibited as a “Panthéon Indien” in Vienna and Bratislava from 1838, until they were purchased by the Bavarian King Ludwig in 1841, and added to a museum in Munich. The type specimens of R. inermis are still preserved in the Museum für Naturkunde in Berlin. The adult female (ZMB_Mam_1957) was selected as the lectotype.

Résumé Le succès de la grammaire scolaire dans la France du XIXe siècle avait favorisé la traduction de certains de ses manuels, comme le Lhomond ou le Noël et Chapsal, pour servir de méthodes d’apprentissage aux étrangers. Le Lhomond tout particulièrement, après la traduction anglaise de Longfellow (1830) avait connu une traduction arabe, publiée à Paris en 1857 par un Tunisien du nom de Soliman al-Haraïri (1824–1877). Il y développe en fait, une double traduction: traduction libre et traduction littérale. Cette dernière, très paradoxalement, constitue le noyau d’une méthode présentée par l’auteur comme une invention didactique à laquelle il n’a jamais été précédé. L’effort de traduction y est considérable par rapport à ce que l’on trouve dans l’ouvrage anglais. La langue arabe, ainsi que la grammatisation autochtone qui s’y rapporte sont tellement éloignées du français et de sa grammatisation que le traducteur est amené à faire œuvre de linguiste et non de simple traducteur. La traduction de la terminologie, comme celle des exemples et des paradigmes, nécessite en effet une grande connaissance de l’arabe et de sa grammaire. Le recours au dialecte marque d’ailleurs l’épuisement des ressources de l’arabe classique. La transcription s’y ajoute pour faire encore reculer l’écart, au-delà de la grammaire et du système phonologique, jusqu’à l’écriture elle-même. Les éléments d’une recherche contrastive viennent, en outre, accompagner la traduction littérale comme pour en retracer les limites et révéler les irréductibles difficultés de l’apprentissage. Mais la correspondance entre les deux langues, incarnée dans cette traduction, a été expressément exagérée pour gagner plus de terrain dans le rapprochement du Lhomond, dans sa langue originale, à l’élève arabe. L’objectif étant de le mettre immédiatement en contact avec la langue française, via ce pré-texte qu’est la traduction littérale. Quant à la traduction libre, elle est considérée comme superflue, ne pouvant profiter qu’à l’élève français censé y trouver un ‘guide de bien traduire’.

Abstract The historiography of the French state’s economic interventionism has focused primarily on the Ancien Régime and the period from the 1850s into the twentieth century. This article argues that, though often overlooked, the French state embarked on a major expansion in the 1830s and 1840s, as government spending on public works grew sharply. Most notably, the government contributed to the financing of railways and urban improvements. Following the 1848 revolution, rising pressure for fiscal rectitude forced a reconfiguration of the interventionist Orleanist state. While the new Bonapartist regime remained committed to public works, it relied more heavily on private finance than its predecessor, benefiting from the ‘great boom’ of the 1850s. Still, private enterprise remained inadequate to sustain public works without the support of public money, particularly once economic expansion began to slow in the 1860s. As a result, government spending on public works continued to rise under the Bonapartists. In this respect, they sustained the conception of an interventionist state developed by the Orleanists.

Cette étude présente le système des « débuts » à l’Opéra de Paris pendant la monarchie de Juillet, des premières auditions aux premières représentations, et s’intéresse en particulier aux expériences des débutantes. En France, au XIXe siècle, les courants de pensée sexistes influençaient le jugement du public et des critiques; en effet, les artistes étaient jugés différemment selon leur sexe. Les nouvelles chanteuses subissaient des pressions pour se conformer à l’image idéale de la débutante transmise par les anecdotes, les romans et même la critique musicale. L’objectif de cet article est d’étudier les efforts ainsi que les ambitions des chanteuses qui se sont essayées à des carrières professionnelles à l’Opéra, bravant ainsi les difficultés de l’époque. La première partie décrit les débuts; la deuxième partie s’intéresse à la perception des débutantes proposée par la presse; et enfin, la troisième partie se concentre sur les débuts de deux jeunes artistes, Cornélie Falcon et Noémie de Roissy.

Study of French political history for the period of 1789 to 1851 is exceedingly complex. Not only must one possess knowledge of a succession of regimes (with their varying constitutions, institutions, laws, and conventions), one must also grasp the essentials of political traditions such as royalism, republicanism, and liberalism, all of which altered over time, and familiarize oneself with a plethora of groups or sub groups, such as Montagnards and Girondins, authoritarian and Revolutionary Bonapartists, moderate and ultra royalists, that often adjusted their beliefs and positions according to circumstance. Matters become further complicated when one takes foreign relations into account, assessing the impact of France abroad or the role of foreign relations in shaping French domestic politics.

The purpose of the article is to analyze the role of intellectuals in the political life of France based on the study of the views and state activities of the famous French historian and political figure François Guizot (1787–1874). The author examines the relationship between the historical views of Guizot, his understanding of the main problems of French and European history, his public and state activities during the Restoration (1814–1830) and the July Monarchy (1830–1848). The theme of the intelligentsia in power is most vividly revealed through the personality and activities of F. Guizot. He was more than just the leading politician of the July Monarchy. He enriched such fields of knowledge as history, pedagogy, constitutional law, sociology, political science. Similarly to many of his contemporaries, Guizot pursued two careers at the same time: scientific and political. However, Guizot’s failure as a politician overshadowed Guizot as a scientist. The article concludes that history and politics have always been closely intertwined for Guizot. Guizot searched in the past for answers to questions pertaining to modern France. Guizot saw history as a direct continuation of politics. In doing so, Guizot took into account not only the lessons of the past. He formulated his concept of French leadership in Europe and built a theoretical framework for his foreign policy based on knowledge of history. In addition, the article concludes: turning to the historical heritage of France and Europe for Guizot was important not only from a practical point of view, but also from the point of view of morality and education. For him, the history of the development of civilization was the history of the moral improvement of mankind.

ArgumentDuring the first half of the nineteenth century, the Muséum d'Histoire naturelle was both workplace and home to functionalist Georges Cuvier and morphologist Etienne Geoffroy Saint-Hilaire, whose doctrinal differences became enmeshed with political dialogues regarding social reform. Surprisingly, the public not only viewed the arrangement of the collections in terms of the social platforms they were understood to be supporting, but critiqued the Muséum's buildings as expressions of their anatomical dispute. The Revolutions of 1830 and 1848 pushed these critiques forward, suggesting to some observers that true reform of the natural sciences would begin by reforming the Muséum's architectural program, thereby placing the goals of Comparative Anatomy in correct relationship to human progress.

AbstractAry Scheffer (1795-1858) is so generally included in the French School (Note 2)- unsurprisingly, since his career was confined almost entirely to Paris - that the fact that he was born and partly trained in the Netherlands is often overlooked. Yet throughout his life he kept in touch with Dutch colleagues and drew part of his inspiration from Dutch traditions. These Dutch aspects are the subject of this article. The Amsterdam City Academy, 1806-9 Ary Scheffer was enrolled at the Amsterdam Academy on 25 October 1806, his parents falsifying his date of birth in order to get him admitted at the age of eleven (fifteen was the oficial age) . He started in the third class and in order to qualify for the second he had to be one of the winners in the prize drawing contest. Candidates in this were required to submit six drawings made during the months January to March. Although no-one was supposed to enter until he had been at the Academy for four years, Ary Scheffer competed in both 1808 and 1809. Some of his signed drawings are preserved in Dordrecht. (Figs. 1-5 and 7), along with others not made for the contest. These last in particular are interesting not only because they reveal his first prowess, but also because they give some idea of the Academy practice of his day. Although the training at the Academy broadly followed the same lines as that customary in France, Italy and elsewhere (Note 4), our knowledge of its precise content is very patchy, since there was no set curriculum and no separate teachers for each subject. Two of Scheffer's drawings (Figs. 2 and 3) contain extensive notes, which amount to a more or less complete doctrine of proportion. It is not known who his teacher was or what sources were used, but the proportions do not agree with those in Van der Passe's handbook, which came into vogue in the 18th century, or with those of the canon of a Leonardo, Dürer or Lebrun. One gets the impression that what are given here are the exact measurements of a concrete example. Scheffer's drawings show him gradually mastering the rudiments of art. In earlier examples the hatching is sometimes too hasty (Fig. 4) or too rigidly parallel (Fig.5), while his knowledge of anatomy is still inadequate and his observation not careful enough. But right from the start he shows flair and as early as 1807 he made a clever drawing of a relatively complex group (Fig. 6) , while the difficult figure of Marsyas was already well captured in 1808 and clearly evinces his growing knowledge o f anatomy, proportion , foreshortening and the effects of light (Fig. 7). The same development can be observed in his portrait drawings. That of Gerardus Vrolik (1775-1859, Fig.8), a professor at the Atheneum Illustre (the future university) and Scheffer' s teacher, with whom he always kept in touch (Note 6), is still not entirely convincing, but a portrait of 1809, thought to be of his mother (Fig.9, Note 7), shows him working much more systematically. It is not known when he left the Academy, but from the summer of 1809 we find him in France, where he was to live with only a few breaks from 1811 to his death. The first paintings and the Amsterdam exhibitions of 1808 and 1810 Ary Scheffer's earliest known history painting, Hannibal Swearing to Avenge his Brother Hasdrubal's Death (Fig. 10) Notes 8-10) was shown at the first exhibition of living masters in Amsterdam in 1808. Although there was every reason for giving this subject a Neo-Classical treatment, the chiaroscuro, earthy colours and free brushwork show Scheffer opting for the old Dutch tradition rather than the modern French style. This was doubtless on the prompting of his parents,for a comment in a letter from his mother in 1810 (Note 12) indicates that she shared the reservations of the Dutch in general about French Neo-Classicism. (Note 11). As the work of a twelve to thirteen year old, the painting naturally leaves something to be desired: the composition is too crowded and unbalanced and the anatomy of the secondary figures rudimentary. In a watercolour Scheffer made of the same subject, probably in the 1820's, he introduced much more space between the figures (Fig. 11, Note 13). Two portraits are known from this early period. The first, of Johanna Maria Verbeek (Fig. 12, Note 14), was done when the two youngsters were aged twelve. It again shows all the characteristics of an early work, being schematic in its simplicity, with some rather awkward details and inadequate plasticity. On the other hand the hair and earrings are fluently rendered, the colours harmonious and the picture has an undeniable charm. At the second exhibition of works by living masters in 1810, Ary Scheffer showed a 'portrait of a painter' (Fig. 13), who was undoubtedly his uncle Arnoldus Lamme, who also had work in the exhibition as did Scheffer's recently deceased father Johan-Bernard and his mother Cornelia Scheffer-Lamme, an indication of the stimulating surroundings in which he grew up. The work attracted general attention (Note 16) and it does, indeed, show a remarkable amount of progress, the plasticity, effects of light, brushwork and colour all revealing skill and care in their execution. The simple, bourgeois character of the portrait not only fits in with the Dutch tradition which Scheffer had learned from both his parents in Amsterdam, but also has points in common with the recent developments in France, which he could have got to know during his spell in Lille from autumn 1809 onwards. A Dutchman in Paris Empire and Restoration, 1811-30 In Amsterdam Scheffer had also been laught by his mother, a miniature painter, and his father, a portrait and history painter (Note 17). After his father's death in June 1809, his mother, who not only had a great influence on his artistic career, but also gave his Calvinism and a great love of literature (Note 18), wanted him to finish his training in Paris. After getting the promise of a royal grant from Louis Napoleon for this (Note 19) and while waiting for it to materialize, she sent the boy to Lille to perfect his French as well as further his artistic training. In 1811 Scheffer settled in Paris without a royal grant or any hope of one. He may possibly have studied for a short time under Prudhon (Note 20) , but in the autumn of 1811 he was officially contracted as a pupil of Guérin, one of the leading artists of the school of David, under whom he mastered the formulas of NeD-Classicism, witness his Orpheus and Eurydice (Fïg.14), shown in the Salon of 1814. During his first ten years in Paris Scheffer also painted many genre pieces in order, so he said, to earn a living for himself and his mother. Guérin's prophecy that he would make a great career as a history painter (Note 21) soon came true, but not in the way Guérin thought it would, Scheffer participating in the revolution initiated by his friends and fellow-pupils, Géricault and Delacroix, which resulted in the rise of the Romantic Movement. It was not very difficult for him to break with Neo-Classicism, for with his Dutch background he felt no great affinity with it (Note 22). This development is ilustrated by his Gaston de Foix Dying on the Battlefield After his Victory at Ravenna, shown at the Salon of 1824, and The Women of Souli Throwing Themselves into the Abyss (Fig.15), shown at that of 1827-8. The last years of the Restoration and the July Monarchy. Influence of Rembrandt and the Dutch masters In 1829, when he seemed to have become completely assimilated in France and had won wide renown, Scheffer took the remarkable step of returning to the Netherlands to study the methods of Rembrandt and other Dutch old masters (Note 23) . A new orientation in his work is already apparent in the Women of Souli, which is more harmonious and considered in colour than the Gaston dc Foix (Note 24). This is linked on the one hand to developments in France, where numbers of young painters had abandoned extreme Romanticism to find the 'juste milieu', and on the other to Scheffer's Dutch background. Dutch critics were just as wary of French Romanticism as they had been of Neo-Classicism, urging their own painters to revive the traditions of the Golden Age and praising the French painters of the 'juste milieu'. It is notable how many critics commented on the influence of Rembrandt on Scheffer's works, e.g. his Faust, Marguérite, Tempête and portrait of Talleyrand at the Salon of 1851 (Note 26). The last two of these date from 1828 and show that the reorientation and the interest in Rembrandt predate and were the reasons for the return to the Netherlands in 1829. In 1834 Gustave Planche called Le Larmoyeur (Fig. 16) a pastiche of Rembrandt and A. Barbier made a comparable comment on Le Roi de Thule in 1839 (Note 27). However, as Paul Mantz already noted in 1850 (Note 28), Scheffer certainly did not fully adopt Rembrandt's relief and mystic light. His approach was rather an eclectic one and he also often imbued his work with a characteristically 19th-century melancholy. He himself wrote after another visit to the Netherlands in 1849 that he felt he had touched a chord which others had not attempted (Note 29) . Contacts with Dutch artists and writers Scheffer's links with the Netherlands come out equally or even more strongly in the many contacts he maintained there. As early as 1811-12 Sminck-Pitloo visited him on his way to Rome (Note 30), to be followed in the 1820's by J.C. Schotel (Note 31), while after 1830 as his fame increased, so the contacts also became more numerous. He was sought after by and corresponded with various art dealers (Note 33) and also a large number of Dutch painters, who visited him in Paris or came to study under him (Note 32) Numerous poems were published on paintings by him from 1838 onwards, while Jan Wap and Alexander Ver Huell wrote at length about their visits to him (Note 34) and a 'Scheffer Album' was compiled in 1859. Thus he clearly played a significant role in the artistic life of the Netherlands. International orientation As the son of a Dutch mother and a German father, Scheffer had an international orientation right from the start. Contemporary critics and later writers have pointed out the influences from English portrait painting and German religious painting detectable in his work (Note 35). Extracts from various unpublished letters quoted here reveal how acutely aware he was of what was likely to go down well not only in the Netherlands, but also in a country like England, where he enjoyed great fame (Notes 36-9) . July Monarchy and Second Empire. The last decades While most French artists of his generation seemed to have found their definitive style under the July Monarchy, Scheffer continued to search for new forms of expression. In the 1830's, at the same time as he painted his Rembrandtesque works, he also produced his famous Francesca da Rimini (Fig. 17), which is closer to the 'juste milieu' in its dark colours and linear accents. In the 1840's he used a simple and mainly bright palette without any picturesque effects, e.g. in his SS. Augustine and Monica and The Sorrows of the Earth (Note 41), but even this was not his last word. In an incident that must have occurred around 1857 he cried out on coming across some of his earlier works that he had made a mistake since then and wasted his time (Note 42) and in his Calvin of 1858 (Fig. 18) he resumed his former soft chiaroscuro and warm tones. It is characteristic of him that in that same year he painted a last version of The Sorrows of the Earth in the light palette of the 1840's. Despite the difficulty involved in the precise assessment of influences on a painter with such a complex background, it is clear that even in his later period, when his work scored its greatest successes in France, England and Germany, Scheffer always had a strong bond with the Netherlands and that he not only contributed to the artistic life there, but always retained a feeling for the traditions of his first fatherland. Appendix An appendix is devoted to a study of the head of an old man in Dordrecht, which is catalogued as a copy of a 17th-century painting in the style of Rembrandt done by Ary Scheffer at the age of twelve (Fig.19, Note 43). This cannot be correct, as it is much better than the other works by the twelve-year-old painter. Moreover, no mention is made of it in the catalogue of the retrospective exhibition held in Paris in 1859, where the Hannibal is given as his earliest work (Note 44). It was clearly unknown then, as it is not mentioned in any of the obituaries of 1858 and 1859 either. The earliest reference to it occurs in the list made bv Scheffer's daughter in 1897 of the works she was to bequeath to the Dordrecht museum. A clue to its identification may be a closely similar drawing by Cornelia Scheffer-Lamme (Fig. 20, Note 46), which is probably a copy after the head of the old man. She is known to have made copies after contemporary and 17th-century masters. The portrait might thus be attributable to Johan-Bernard Scheffer, for his wife often made copies of his works and he is known from sale catalogues to have painted various portraits of old men (Note 47, cf. Fig.21). Ary Scheffer also knew this. In 1839 his uncle Arnoldus Lamme wrote to him that he would look out for such a work at a sale (Note 48). It may be that he succeeded in finding one and that this portrait came into the possession of the Scheffer family in that way, but Johan-Bernard's work is too little known for us to be certain about this.

In 1848 one of the first female inspectors appointed by the French state argued that ‘the inspection of nursery schools can be done usefully and correctly only by women … Inspectresses will intimidate less and will persuade more readily than men can.’ Her statement points to the ambiguous position of many working women in the nineteenth century. Working outside what was perceived as a feminine domestic sphere, their employment was justified with reference to a domestic ideal of femininity. Though each has a different focus, the three books reviewed here all demonstrate how ideas about the nature of women served both to extend and to limit women's opportunities in nineteenth- and twentieth-century France and Europe.

François-Vincent Raspail (1794–1878) and Theodor Schwann (1810–1882) postulated—in 1827 and 1838, respectively—that plants and animals consist of, and originate from, cells. Whereas Raspail is mainly remembered for his involvement in the revolutions of 1830 and 1848, little is known about his scientific work. Schwann, by contrast, is regarded as one of the founders of cell theory, but historians of biology have hardly taken his philosophical, religious, and political ideas into account. Paying particular attention to Schwann’s unpublished writings, this paper reconstructs the research agendas of Raspail and Schwann, and contrasts the philosophical and political beliefs and incentives behind them. Whereas Raspail was a proponent of republicanism and materialism, Schwann opposed the modernist agenda of explaining nature and humankind without God, as well a democratic reshaping of society. Contrary to the prevailing historical narrative, this paper argues that cell theory did not emerge exclusively in conjunction with the rise of liberalism and materialism. Rather, the idea of a unifying principle of organic development encompassed different and even antagonistic visions of nature, humankind, society, and the role of religion in science. This essay is part of a special issue entitled REVOLUTIONARY POLITICS AND BIOLOGICAL ORGANIZATION IN NINETEENTH-CENTURY FRANCE AND GERMANY edited by Lynn K. Nyhart and Florence Vienne.