Monthly Archives: April 2025

Le crâne trépané de Locras, Suisse: Égarement et permanence

Par Séverine Georgin

Un objet d’étude scientifique

L’« objet scientifique » [Daston, 2002, intro.] que constitue la trépanation préhistorique émerge au sein de la Société d’Anthropologie de Paris entre 1867, année où Paul Broca (1824-1880) identifie le premier cas de trépanation sur un crâne péruvien de l’époque préhispanique, et 1873, lorsque deux archéologues amateurs, Barthélémy Prunières (1828-1893) et Joseph de Baye (1853-1931), découvrent en Lozère et dans la Marne des rondelles crâniennes associées à des crânes néolithiques perforés. Très vite, congrès, bulletins des sociétés savantes et expositions internationales relaient la découverte et stimulent la recherche sur le phénomène [Rabault-Feuerhahn, Feuerhahn, 2010].

Dans le cadre du projet SciCoMove, je me suis rendue en Suisse entre janvier et avril 2025 pour y évaluer la diffusion du débat et des pratiques de collection associées. La trépanation préhistorique y est reconnue comme un fait historique bien documenté. Les études dirigées par Negahnaz Moghaddam [2015, 56-65] et Fritz Ramseier [2005] décrivent une vingtaine de cas du Néolithique à l’Âge du fer. Dans sa recherche bibliographique consacrée aux « rondelles crâniennes » associées à la trépanation, Gérard Cordier mentionne six pièces issues de Suisse [Cordier, 2005, 361-369].

Une « chose remarquable »

Selon toute vraisemblance, c’est Victor Gross (1845-1920), médecin à La Neuveville et grand collectionneur d’archéologie lacustre [Intervalles, 2013] qui trouve le premier crâne trépané de Suisse pendant l’automne 1878 à Locras (Lüscherz), sur les rives du lac de Bienne. La pièce émerge dans un contexte d’engouement populaire pour l’archéologie nationale. Cette « fièvre lacustre » initiée déjà dans les années 1850 est renforcée par les travaux de Correction des Eaux du Jura (1868-1891) [Hafner, 2015, 49-64] qui provoquent l’abaissement des niveaux des lacs et la mise à jour de vestiges anciens jusqu’alors engloutis mais remarquablement bien conservés. La « fraîcheur » des objets d’origine organique permet ainsi de mieux saisir la vie de sociétés préhistoriques jusque-là principalement connues par leurs vestiges lithiques. Le Journal du Jura rend compte de l’intérêt de cette découverte  :

« Grâce aux basses eaux de cet automne, […] Les fouilles, dirigées par M. le Dr. Gross, de Neuveville, ont fourni une quantité d’objets intéressants et nouveaux […] Plusieurs objets en bois, entre autres une passoire et un vase bien conservés. […] on a aussi trouvé plusieurs crânes humains dont l’un, porte des traces évidentes de trépanation » [Journal du Jura, 1878, n°268].

Une « trépanation posthume » ?

Victor Gross, conscient de l’importance de sa découverte, en rend rapidement compte dans un article paru en France dans la revue Les Matériaux pour l’histoire primitive et naturelle de l’homme [Gross, 1879, 62] de son ami l’archéologue toulousain Émile Cartailhac[1] [Morel-Fatio, 1882, 67]. Le crâne, nous dit-il :

« […] présente une perte de substance de forme arrondie de 30 millimètres de diamètre. Les bords de cette ouverture sont légèrement coupés en biseau d’avant en arrière » [Gross, 1879, 62].


note: [1]Émile Cartailhac précise en bas de page : « Il n’est pas inutile de rappeler que mon ami le Dr. Gross a recueilli un crâne humain trépané dans une palafitte du lac de Bienne à Locras. »


Le crâne, aussi présenté dans la Revue archéologique est aussitôt associé aux théories de Broca sur la trépanation posthume rituelle et la trépanation chirurgicale sur le vivant :

« Après la mort, on a coupé les os du crâne de manière à en détacher une pièce de forme arrondie, à laquelle la superstition attachait des propriétés particulières, et qui servait ensuite d’amulette. Quelquefois, cette opération était pratiquée sur le crâne des enfants vivants, afin, suppose M. Broca, de donner issue à l’esprit mauvais, cause des affections convulsives chez les enfants. On se servait de ces amulettes, dont on a retrouvé un exemplaire à Locras, pour se préserver des atteintes du mauvais esprit, et comme probablement elles jouissaient de la réputation de porter bonheur, on en introduisait dans les crânes des morts pour leur servir dans une autre vie » [M.V., 1879, 310-311].

En 1883, Gross dans son ouvrage consacré aux peuples anciens de la Suisse qu’il nomme « Protohelvètes », évoque lui aussi cette trépanation posthume, donc rituelle ou religieuse, comme elle est définie par Paul Broca :

« […] les bords présentent une section tout à fait nette et comme il ne s’y trouve aucune trace de formation nouvelle des tissus osseux, il faut en conclure que cette excision a été faite sur le cadavre – trépanation posthume de Broca – ou que l’opéré a succombé peu de jours après » [Gross, 1883, 107-108].

Il admet aussi l’idée moins séduisante que le trépané ait pu mourir pendant l’opération.

Parmi les « coupes à boire »

La notoriété du crâne trépané de Locras dépasse rapidement les frontières nationales, s’inscrivant dans la circulation internationale des savoirs archéologiques à la fin du XIXe siècle. Robert Munro, dans son étude consacrée aux Palafittes d’Europe mentionne ainsi à Locras : « a skull having a circular portion of it cut out, as if trepanning had been performed » [Munro, 1890, 537]. À l’instar de Gross, Munro adopte une approche matérielle et typologique des populations étudiées. Leurs ouvrages sont pareillement structurés selon une logique muséographique. Le crâne trépané est ainsi abordé dans un chapitre intitulé : « osseous remains of the lake-dwellers » pour Munro [1890, 537] et « restes humains » pour Gross [1883, 107]. La profusion des objets présentés dans les planches qui accompagnent ces descriptions s’inscrit dans une esthétique propre à cette époque (fig.1).

Fig.1 – Deux planches issues des travaux de Gross et de Munro présentant des amulettes crâniennes suisses parmi d’autres objets. [Gross, 1883, Pl.XXXIII, googlebook, Munro, 1890, 503, Internet Archive]

En outre, les deux auteurs présentent le trépané de Locras après avoir décrit des crânes interprétés comme ayant été transformés en « drinking cups » ou « coupes à boire ». Malgré la distinction faite par les auteurs, ce rapprochement induit la confusion et inscrit la trépanation dans un registre d’usages ambigus, entre pratiques médicales, rituelles voire utilitaires témoignant d’un imaginaire scientifique nourri par le goût du rare et de l’étrange [Daston, 2022, 8]. En 1908, Ernest Chantre, dans ses travaux sur les Amulettes crâniennes de la Palafitte de la Lance, probablement troublé par ce voisinage formel dans l’organisation du texte, en vient même à déformer les propos de Gross en les généralisant : « cet archéologue les a considérés comme des coupes à boire » [Chantre, 1908, 26].

En 1902, l’anthropologue argentin d’origine allemande Lehmann-Nitsche (1872-1938) évoque à son tour deux crânes provenant de Locras, précisant que « l’un des deux est douteux » [Lehmann-Nitsche, 1902, 16]. Il s’appuie notamment sur le travail publié en 1885 par Virchow (1821-1902), fondateur de la Société berlinoise d’anthropologie [Virchow, 1885, 285]. Cette référence soulève toutefois un problème : le crâne présenté par Virchow n’est pas trépané et a été découvert bien plus tôt, en 1873 par le Dr. Dor. Or, selon Gross, le crâne trépané de Locras fut mis au jour en sa présence en 1878. Il est possible que les deux spécimens mentionnés par Lehmann-Nitsche aient en réalité été trouvés à Chavannes (Schafis). Ce type de confusion entre lieux, dates et auteurs, illustre la manière dont les erreurs s’insinuent peu à peu dans les corpus scientifiques, par simple répétition ou mauvaise lecture des sources.

De beaux restes

Il faut noter qu’en l’absence de nécropoles sur les bords des lacs [Ramseyer, 2010, 51], l’apparition de vestiges humains est toujours « une chose remarquable » [Journal du Jura, 1878]. L’étude des squelettes de la « race lacustre » nourrit l’espoir de définir les caractéristiques morphologiques des ancêtres des Helvètes dans l’idée d’unité nationale [Kaeser, 2004]. C’est à l’anthropologue allemand Rudolf Virchow (1821-1902), que Gross confie l’étude anthropométrique de ses « Protohelvètes » et la rédaction de la préface de son ouvrage éponyme. La craniométrie effectuée par l’anthropologue est en mesure de répondre aux espérances « nationales » car elle écarte l’hypothèse « d’une humanité originairement imparfaite et de valeur secondaire » [Virchow dans Gross, 1883, p.VIII]. Virchow confirme avoir :

« […] prouvé qu’elle est au contraire chair de notre chair et sang de notre sang. Les beaux crânes rencontrés dans la station d’Auvernier peuvent être rangés avec honneur parmi ceux des humains les plus capables de culture intellectuelle. Leur conformation, leur volume cérébral, les particularités de leurs sutures les placent à côté des crânes aryens les mieux constitués » [Virchow dans Gross, 1883, p.VIII].

En 1894, faisant suite à l’engouement que suscite la craniométrie nationale, Theophil Studer (1845-1922) et Emil Bannwarth [1894, pp.25-26], publient un « somptueux ouvrage, où sont représentés, par la photographie, tous les crânes des lacustres suisses connus à cette époque : Crania helvetica antiqua »[Godet, Türler, Attinger, 1921, 345].Dans cet ouvrage, deux clichés (fig.2) du trépané de Locras sont conservés [planches XVI-XVII]. Bien qu’obsolète scientifiquement, l’ouvrage permet non seulement d’en garder une trace mais pourrait un jour aider à le retrouver. Les amateurs de trépanation peuvent déplorer cependant que les images prises à des fins morphologiques ne présentent pas mieux l’orifice que l’on devine à peine. 

Fig.2 – Le crâne de Locras « Sammlung Gross », Crania helvetica antiqua, [Godet, Türler, Attinger, 1921, Planches XVI-XVII, ].

Permanence scientifique

Le crâne de Locras a probablement été acquis par la Confédération en 1884-1885, avec le reste de la collection de Victor Gross [Fallet, 2010, 34]. Conservé d’abord au Palais fédéral à Berne, il a ensuite rejoint le Musée national de Zurich lors de son inauguration en 1898. Par la suite, les collections ostéologiques ont été confiées au Musée d’anthropologie de l’Université de Zurich. Bien que le crâne demeure à ce jour introuvable, situation somme toute peu exceptionnelle dans l’histoire souvent chaotique des collections scientifiques [Podgorny, 2024], il n’en continue pas moins d’alimenter la littérature scientifique [Moghaddam, 2015, Ramseier, 2005]. Cette survivance, en dépit de l’absence matérielle, témoigne d’une forme de permanence de l’intérêt que suscite la trépanation préhistorique en tant qu’objet scientifique.

Sources dans l’ordre chronologique :

JOURNAL DU JURA, 1878, « Chronique Locale », n°268, 12 novembre.

GROSS, Victor, 1879, « Une nouvelle palafitte de l’époque de la pierre, à Locras, lac de Bienne », Matériaux pour l’histoire primitive et naturelle de l’homme, Paris, C. Reinwald, pp.57-64.

M. V., 1879, « Nouvelles archéologiques et correspondances », Revue Archéologique, Janvier-Juin, Nouvelle Série, Paris, Presses Universitaires de France, Vol. 37.

MOREL-FATIO, 1882, « Sépultures des populations lacustres, Chamblandes, près Pully, Suisse », Matériaux pour l’histoire primitive et naturelle de l’homme, pp.64-71.

GROSS, Victor, 1883, Les Protohelvètes ou les premiers colons sur les bords du lac de Bienne et Neuchâtel, Paris, Joseph Baer, pp.105-108.

VIRCHOW, Rudolf, 1885, « Pfahlbauschädel des Museums in Bern », Verhandlungen der Berliner anthropologischen Gesellschaft, Sitzung vom 27 Juni 1885, pp. 283-301.

MUNRO, Robert, 1890, The Lake-Dwellings of Europe, Londres, Cassell.

STUDER, Theophil, BANNWARTH, Emil, 1894, Crania helvetica antiqua, Leipzig, Verlag Johann Ambrosius Barth.

LEHMANN-NITSCHE, Robert, 1902, « Trois crânes : un trépané, un lésionné, un perforé conservés au musée de la Plata et au musée national de Buenos Aires », Revista del Museo de La Plata, Tome X, 1902.

CHANTRE, Ernest, 1908, « Amulettes crâniennes de la Palafitte de la Lance (Lac de Neufchatel) », Bulletin de la Société d’anthropologie de Lyon, tome 27. pp. 25-30.

GODET, Marcel, TÜRLER, Heinrich, ATTINGER, Victor, 1921, Dictionnaire historique & biographique de la Suisse, Neuchâtel, Administration du Dictionnaire historique et biographique de la Suisse.

Bibliographie :

CORDIER, Gérard, 2005, « Rondelles crâniennes. Une enquête bibliographique », Bulletin de la Société préhistorique française, tome 102, n°2.

DASTON, Lorraine (dir.), 2002, Biographies of Scientific Objects, Chicago, University of Chicago Press.

FALLET, Camille, 2013, « L’archéologie de Victor Gross éclairée par sa correspondance », Intervalles, revue culturelle du Jura bernois et de Bienne, n°86, printemps.

HAFNER, Albert, 2015, « Une histoire de la recherche sur les stations lacustres du lac de Bienne (Suisse) », dans : REY, Pierre-Jérôme, DUMONT, Annie, L’Homme et son environnement : des lacs, des montagnes et des rivières, Dijon, ARTEHIS, pp.49-64.

KAESER, Marc-Antoine, 2004, Les lacustres : Archéologie et mythe national, Coll. « Le savoir suisse », Lausanne, PPUR.

INTERVALLES, Revue culturelle du Jura bernois et de Bienne, 2010, « Victor Gross et la découverte des lacustres », n°86.

MARIÉTHOZ François, CURDY, Philippe, 2005, « Sépultures de trépanés de la fin du Second Âge du Fer (Sion, Valais, Suisse) » dans : CUENI, Andreas, HOTZ, Gerhard, RÜHLI, Frank, ULDIN, Tanya, Bulletin de la Société suisse d’anthropologie, n°11, janvier-février.

MOGHADDAM, Negahnaz, MAILLER-BURCH Simone, KARA Levent, KANZ, Fabian, JACKOWSKI, Christian, LÖSCH, Sandra, 2015, « Survival after trepanation, Early cranial surgery frome late Iron Age, Switzerland », International Journal of paleopathology, n°11, pp.56-65.

PODGORNY Irina, 2024, «Los museos, un espacio nada permanente», Sabers en acció, 10 janvier.

RABAULT-FEUERHAHN, Pascale, FEUERHAHN, Wolf (dir.), 2010, « La fabrique internationale de la science. Les congrès scientifiques de 1865 à 1945 », Revue Germanique internationale, n°12.

RAMSEIER, Fritz (dir.), 2005, « Ur- und frühgeschichtliche Schädeltrepanationen in der Schweiz. Vom Neolithikum bis ins Mittelalter », dans : CUENI, Andreas, HOTZ, Gerhard, RÜHLI, Frank, ULDIN, Tanya, Bulletin de la Société suisse d’anthropologie, n°11, janvier-février.

RAMSEYER, Denis, 2010, « Les lacustres vus par Victor Gross », Intervalles, revue culturelle du Jura bernois et de Bienne, n°86, printemps.

Remerciements :

Je remercie chaleureusement les personnes suivantes pour l’accueil et l’aide apportée pendant ce séjour d’étude en Suisse :

Corinne Ramseyer, Géraldine Delley, Marc-Antoine Kaeser du Laténium de Neuchâtel, Vanessa Haussener, Sandra Lösch du musée d’art et d’histoire de Berne, Jacqueline Perifanakis, Tori Luca du musée national de Zurich, Colin Shaw du département d’anthropologie de Zurich ainsi qu’Hélène Blitte, Claude Lauba et Claire Brizon du musée cantonal de Lausanne.

Teodoro Stuckert (1852-1932) and the Meise Botanic Garden

By Susana V. García

Grass specimen collected by Teodoro Stuckert at his Estancia San Teodoro (Argentina) and detail of its label.  Meise Botanic Garden: https://www.botanicalcollections.be/specimen/BR0000033013411 © copyright Meise Botanic Garden. Usage permitted under a CC-BY-SA license

The Herbarium of the Meise Botanical Garden holds several specimens collected on estancias in Argentina in the last third of the 19th century and the beginning of the 20th century. Among the grass species are those gathered by the Swiss-born pharmacist, Teodoro Stuckert (1852-1932), at his estates called Estancia San Teodoro, in the province of Córdoba (Argentina).  The term estancia in the Rio de la Plata region refers to a large territorial property dedicated to livestock farming. The observation and identification of the flora on these estates, especially the grass that could serve as food for the animals or cause diseases, was a frequent practice promoted in the manuals for estancieros (landowners) in the latter part of the 19th century (García, 2023). The estancias also functioned as places for observing nature, recording weather conditions and collecting fossils, plants, birds, insects and historical artefacts. Some estancieros who personally managed their estancias, developed an interest in natural history and participated in the exchange of natural specimens and information, contributed to transforming their lands into an area of scientific interest or to placing them on the map of species distribution (García, 2023). 

Stuckert was born in Basel, Switzerland, in 1852 and at the age of 17, he migrated to South America, settling in Argentina. He was employed at a pharmacy in Rosario and later in Tucumán, where he became owner of an apothecary’s shop and an estate in the northeast of that province. He traveled through the neighboring provinces, collecting samples of wood, observations of trees and their uses. In 1878 he went to Europe carrying samples of the bark of the quebracho blanco, a native tree he had found on his land in the province of Tucumán and that was used as an antifebrile medicine. Their chemical analysis in Europe generated some scientific and commercial interest. After 2 years in Argentina, Stuckert made another trip to Europe, where he worked for 3 years in a pharmacy in Paris. (Molfino, 1932). On his return to Argentina, he settled in Córdoba, where in 1884 he graduated as a pharmacist and bought a pharmacy called Botica del León.  Along with the preparation of medicines prescribed by doctors, he sold indigenous medicinal plants. This business allowed him to acquire a country house on the outskirts of Córdoba and later the Estancia San Teodoro, spaces that would serve him for the observation and collection of specimens.

Stuckert with his daughters and a nephew at Estancia San Teodoro in the early 20th century. Source: Archivo de Mariano B. Berro, Archivo General de la Nación, Uruguay

Stuckert’s growing interest in the study of plants led him to contact around 1894 with the botanist of the University of Córdoba, the German Federico Kurtz (1854-1920), to whom he provided specimens, while Kurtz initiated him in botanical classification and the formation of an herbarium. However, the relationship between the two deteriorated a few years later. As a result, Stuckert was deprived of that professor’s opinion and of the material of comparison from the university museum and library, all important elements for scientific practice and building up a good collection. To fill these gaps, Stuckert began to send specimens for determination to naturalists in Buenos Aires and later abroad, developing a broad network of contacts between amateurs and botanical specialists (García, 2023).  At the turn of the century, he began to publish some botanical works reporting the existence of new species or expanding the knowledge about the geographical distribution of others.

In 1900 he sold his apothecary’s shop and devoted himself to managing his Estancia San Teodoro. There he found some 500 species, according to what he told the Uruguayan landowner Mariano B. Berro (1838-1919), who would also make a botanical inventory of his land.  Stuckert and Berro corresponded for almost 20 years, sharing their interests in botany. These letters, preserved in the Archivo General de la Nación in Montevideo, constitute an interesting historical source for studying botanical practices and the formation of private herbaria (García, 2023). Both made their excursions and collected specimens during the spring and summer, when they spent a season at the estancia with the family. In the fall they dried and poisoned the specimens, while in winter they arranged, catalogued and labelled them, work that they carried out in the cabinets of their urban homes. Stuckert was a prolific collector, and his herbarium grew to more than 24,000 numbers, which, after his death, was sold to the University of Córdoba (Molfino, 1932).

The Meise Herbarium database lists 20 specimens of grasses collected by Stuckert in Argentina between 1900 and 1907. The oldest come from his Estancia San Teodoro in the northwest of the province of Córdoba, while the labels of other specimens only indicate Córdoba, which perhaps refers to the same place or to his country house outside the city of Córdoba. Others come from his visit to an estancia in the province of La Rioja in 1907. These specimens came to Meise from the University of Ghent and had been part of a collection called Gramineae exsiccatae, organized by the German Johann Andreas Kneucker (1862 – 1946), a schoolteacher of Karlsruhe linked to several German botanical associations. An exsiccata refers to a carefully prepared, numbered and labeled set of dried plant specimens that form an herbarium of identified material for various purposes, e.g., education, exemplification of taxonomic or floristic conclusions. Specimens are usually accompanied by printed labels and a catalogue. Several collections were made with similar specimens collected in the same place and time for sale or offered by subscription by the collector or publisher. Each exsiccata could refer to the flora of a region or a taxon. Produced in a standardized form and with their taxonomic classification verified by a botanical authority, they served as reference documents and tools to facilitate the work of botanists (Bange, 2012). They were part of scientific exchange networks and were used as comparison material for plant identification, complementing descriptions of floras and engraved figures. They emerged in the middle of the 18th century, but were more popular in the following century when they became a lucrative business with the rise of natural history. There were also non-commercialized modalities, organized from botanical exchange societies which multiplied in the second part of the 19th century and whose exsiccata were collected and redistributed among members through a committee and some rules (Bange, 2012; Gavioli et al. 2024).

Kneucker’s exsiccata series were produced between 1896 and 1915. Collectors from different countries and continents participated in them, sending specimens with ecological data and the date and place of their findings. German and Austrian specialists verified the taxonomic determinations and identified the questionable species. The production of these duplicates, acquired by various institutions and individuals, constituted a collective work of private international cooperation that was interrupted by the outbreak of World War I. Only Stuckert participated from Argentina, which gave him greater visibility in botanical circles and international contacts. For each species, he sent between 120 and 150 specimens collected at the same place and date, many in prepared sheets and others unprepared, which allowed their cultivation in Karlsruhe.

Most of his shipments were gramineae, which were reviewed by the Austrian professor Eduard Hackel (1850-1926), an expert in that family of plants, especially the South American species, since most of the botanists of Argentina and Uruguay sent him specimens for determination. Thanks to Hackel’s help with the classification, Stuckert published his most important botanical work: “Contribución al conocimiento de las Gramináceas argentinas” (Contribution to the knowledge of Argentine Graminaceae), in four issues published between 1904 and 1913.  This work condenses his botanical and pharmaceutical knowledge with his experience at the estancia. The specimen labels that refer to the Estancia San Teodoro remind us of the diversity of agents, spaces, activities and factors that were involved in the production of knowledge and circulation of scientific objects. Their story and that of his collector tell us how the mobility of collections helped to forge scientific vocations and relationships.

References:

Bange, C. (2012). “Travail collectif en botanique et validation scientifique: les sociétés d’échange de plantes.” Bulletin d’Histoire et d’Épistémologie des Sciences de la Vie, 19 : 175-189.

https://stm.cairn.info/revue-bulletin-d-histoire-et-d-epistemologie-des-sciences-de-la-vie-2012-2-page-175?lang=fr 

García, S. V. (2023). “From Livestock Farming to Amateur Botany in the Rio de la Plata: The Case of the Uruguayan Mariano B. Berro (1838–1919)”, Centaurus, 65 (3): 577–601, https://doi.org/10.1484/J.CNT.5.142010


Gavioli, L., Nualart, N., López-Pujol, J., Catalá-Gorgues, J. I., & Ibáñez, N. (2024). “Redes y sociedades de intercambio en el siglo XIX a través de las exsiccatae del herbario Trèmols”, Dynamis44 (2): 383–414. https://doi.org/10.30827/dynamis.v44i2.31695
 

Molfino, J. (1932). “Teodoro Stuckert (1852-1932)”, Anales de la Sociedad Científica Argentina, 113-114:  116-121.

Teodoro Stuckert (1852-1932)y el Jardín Botánico de Meise

by Susana V. García

Espécimen de gramínea recolectada por Teodoro Stuckert en su Estancia San Teodoro, Argentina. Detalle de su etiqueta.  Jardín Botánico de Meise, Bélgica.

https://www.botanicalcollections.be/specimen/BR0000033013411 © copyright Meise Botanic Garden. Usage permitted under a CC-BY-SA license.

El Herbario del Jardín Botánico de Meise conserva varios especímenes recolectados en estancias de la Argentina en el último tercio del siglo XIX y principios del XX. Entre las especies de gramíneas se encuentran las reunidas por el farmacéutico de origen suizo, Teodoro Stuckert (1852-1932), en su Estancia San Teodoro, en la provincia de Córdoba.  El término estancia en la región del Rio de la Plata alude a una gran propiedad territorial dedicada a la ganadería. La observación e identificación de la flora de las estancias, especialmente de los pastos que podían servir de alimento o causar daño al ganado era una práctica frecuente y promovida en los manuales para estancieros de la última parte del siglo XIX (García, 2023). Las estancias también funcionaron como lugares de observación de la naturaleza, de registro del clima y de la recolección de fósiles, plantas, aves, insectos y objetos históricos. Varios estancieros que administraron personalmente sus estancias, se interesaron por la historia natural y participaron de los intercambios y circulación de especímenes e información, contribuyendo a transformar sus tierras en un espacio de interés científico o a ubicarlas en el mapa de la distribución de especies (García, 2023). 

Stuckert nació en Basilea (Suiza) en 1852 y a los 17 años se embarcó para América del Sur, radicándose en la Argentina. Trabajó de auxiliar de farmacia en Rosario y más tarde se trasladó a Tucumán, donde llegó a ser propietario de una botica y de un campo en el noreste de esa provincia. Recorrió las provincias vecinas, reuniendo muestras de maderas, observaciones de árboles y sus usos. En 1878 viajó a Europa llevando muestras de la corteza del quebracho blanco, un árbol autóctono que había encontrado en su estancia y que se usaban como medicina antifebril, cuyo análisis químico generó interés científico y comercial. Tras dos años en la Argentina, realizó otro viaje a Europa, donde trabajó cerca de tres años en una droguería de París (Molfino, 1932). De regreso a la Argentina, se radicó en la ciudad de Córdoba, donde en 1884 obtuvo el diploma de farmacéutico y compró la farmacia llamada Botica del León. Junto con la preparación de medicinas recetadas por los médicos, vendía plantas medicinales autóctonas. Ese negocio le permitió adquirir una quinta en las afueras de Córdoba y más tarde una estancia, espacios que le servirían para la observación y recolección de especímenes.

Stuckert con sus hijas y un sobrino en la Estancia San Teodoro a principios del siglo XX. Fuente: Archivo de Mariano B. Berro, Archivo General de la Nación, Uruguay
 

El creciente interés de Stuckert por el estudio de las plantas, lo llevó a contactarse hacia 1894 con el botánico de la Universidad de Córdoba, el alemán Federico Kurtz (1854-1920), a quien proveyó de especímenes, mientras Kurtz lo inició en la clasificación botánica y la formación de un herbario. No obstante, la relación entre ambos se deterioró unos años después y Stuckert quedó privado de la opinión de ese profesor, de la comparación de ejemplares del museo y de la biblioteca de la Universidad, elementos importantes para la práctica científica y la formación de una buena colección. Para cubrir esas falencias, Stuckert comenzó a mandar especímenes para su determinación a naturalistas de Buenos Aires y más tarde del extranjero, conformando una amplia red de contactos entre aficionados y especialistas botánicos (García, 2023).  Al terminar el siglo, comenzó a publicar algunos trabajos botánicos dando cuenta de la existencia de nuevas especies o ampliando el conocimiento sobre la distribución geográfica de otras.   

En 1900 vendió la farmacia y se dedicó a administrar su estancia, donde llegó a identificar unas 500 especies según le comentó al estanciero uruguayo Mariano B. Berro (1838-1919), quien también haría un inventario botánico de su campo. Stuckert y Berro mantendrían correspondencia por casi 20 años compartiendo sus intereses por la botánica. Esas cartas, conservadas en el Archivo General de la Nación en Montevideo, constituyen una interesante fuente histórica para estudiar las prácticas botánicas y la formación de herbarios privados (García, 2023). Ambos realizaron sus excursiones y recolecciones de muestras durante la primavera y el verano, época en que solían pasar una temporada en la estancia con la familia. En el otoño secaban y envenenaban los ejemplares, mientras en invierno los ordenaba, catalogaban y etiquetaba, trabajo que realizaban en los gabinetes de sus casas urbanas. Stuckert fue un proliferó recolector y su herbario llegó a contar con más de 24 mil números, el cual, después de su muerte, fue vendido a la Universidad Nacional de Córdoba (Molfino, 1932).

La base de datos del Herbario de Meise consigna 20 ejemplares de gramíneas recolectados por Stuckert en la Argentina, entre 1900 y 1907. Los más antiguos provienen de su Estancia San Teodoro en el noroeste de la provincia de Córdoba, mientras las etiquetas de otros especímenes solo indican Córdoba, lo que quizás remita al mismo lugar o a su quinta en las afuera de la capital cordobesa. Otros provienen de una visita a una estancia en la provincia de La Rioja en 1907. Estos ejemplares llegaron a Meise desde la Universidad de Gantes y habían formado parte de la colección Gramineae exsiccatae producida por el alemán Johann Andreas Kneucker (1862 – 1946), un maestro de escuela de Karlsruhe vinculado a varias asociaciones botánicas alemanas. Un exsiccata se refiere a un conjunto cuidadosamente preparado, numerado y etiquetado de plantas secas, conformando una colección de herbario con el material identificado para diversos fines, por ejemplo, educación, ejemplificación de conclusiones taxonómicas o florísticas. Cada exsiccatae podía remitir a la flora de una región o a un taxón y muchas veces se acompañaba de un catálogo publicado. Por lo general, se realizan varias colecciones con especímenes similares recogidos en el mismo lugar y época, ofrecidos en venta o por suscripción por un editor o su recolector. Producidas de forma estandarizada y verificada la determinación taxonómica por una autoridad botánica, servían como documentos de referencia y herramienta facilitar el trabajo de los botánicos (Bange, 2012). Formaron parte de las redes de intercambio científico y se emplearon como material de comparación para la identificación de plantas, complementando las descripciones de las floras y las figuras grabadas. Surgieron a mediados del siglo XVIII, pero se hicieron más populares en siguiente siglo al transformarse en un lucrativo negocio con el auge de la historia natural. También hubo modalidades no comercializadas, organizadas desde las sociedades de intercambio botánico que se multiplicaron en la segunda parte del siglo XIX, cuyos pliegos de exsiccata fueron recolectados y redistribuidos entre los sociosa través de un comité y reglas de funcionamiento (Bange, 2012; Gavioli et al. 2024). La exciccata remite a los esfuerzos por estandarizar los materiales de comparación y estabilizar el nombre científico de las especies, frente a la multiplicación de designaciones creadas por los botánicos. También ilustra el lado colectivo y asociativo de la formación de colecciones.

En las series de Kneucker, producidas entre 1896 y 1915 participaron recolectores de distintos países y continentes, enviando lotes de especímenes, consignando el lugar y fecha de recolecta e información sobre el ambiente. Especialistas alemanes y austríacos verificaron las determinaciones taxonómicas e identificaron las especies dudosas. La producción de esos duplicados, adquiridos por diversas instituciones e individuos constituyó un trabajo colectivo y de cooperación internacional privada que se interrumpió con el inicio de la Primera Guerra Mundial. De la Argentina solo participó Stuckert, con lo cual adquirió una mayor visibilidad en los círculos botánicos y contactos internaciones. Por cada especie, remitió entre 120 y 150 ejemplares recolectados en el mismo lugar y fecha, muchos en pliegos preparados y otros sin preparar que permitieron su cultivo en Karlsruhe. La mayor parte de sus envíos fueron gramíneas, las cuales fueron revisadas por el profesor austríaco Eduard Hackel (1850-1926), un experto en esa familia de plantas, especialmente de las especies sudamericanas, ya que la mayoría de los botánicos de la Argentina y Uruguay le enviaron ejemplares para su determinación. Contando con la ayuda de Hackel para la clasificación, Stuckert publicó su obra botánica más importante: “Contribución al conocimiento de las Gramináceas argentinas”, en cuatro entregas aparecidas entre 1904 y 1913. Ese trabajo condensa sus saberes botánicos y farmacéuticos con su experiencia en la estancia. Las etiquetas de especímenes que remiten a la Estancia San Teodoro, nos recuerdan la diversidad de agentes, espacios, actividades y factores que intervinieron en la producción de conocimiento y circulación de objetos científicos. Su historia y la de su recolector nos habla de cómo la movilidad de colecciones ayudó a forjar vocaciones y relaciones científicas.

Bibliografía citada:

Bange, C. (2012). “Travail collectif en botanique et validation scientifique: les sociétés d’échange de plantes.” Bulletin d’Histoire et d’Épistémologie des Sciences de la Vie, 19 : 175-189.

https://stm.cairn.info/revue-bulletin-d-histoire-et-d-epistemologie-des-sciences-de-la-vie-2012-2-page-175?lang=fr

García, S. V. (2023). “From Livestock Farming to Amateur Botany in the Rio de la Plata: The Case of the Uruguayan Mariano B. Berro (1838–1919)”, Centaurus, 65 (3): 577–601, https://doi.org/10.1484/J.CNT.5.142010
 

Gavioli, L., Nualart, N., López-Pujol, J., Catalá-Gorgues, J. I., & Ibáñez, N. (2024). “Redes y sociedades de intercambio en el siglo XIX a través de las exsiccatae del herbario Trèmols”, Dynamis44 (2): 383–414. https://doi.org/10.30827/dynamis.v44i2.31695

Molfino, J. (1932). “Teodoro Stuckert (1852-1932)”, Anales de la Sociedad Científica Argentina, 113-114:  116-121.

Megafauna in Italy

By Richard A. Fariña, Ángeles Beri, Luciano Varela, Sebastián Tambusso, Martín Batallés

Departamento de Paleontología, Facultad de Ciencias y Servicio Académico Universitario y Centro de Estudios Paleontológicos

Renowned for its cuisine and art, Italy is also home to fossil collections that delight both palaeontologists and the general public. Centuries before the establishment of the modern Italian state, possibly its most famous son addressed the phenomenon of marine fossils found atop mountains in his Codex Leicester (Fig. 1). He argued against the prevailing belief of his time that these fossils were the result of the Biblical Flood, arguing instead that they were the remains of marine organisms embedded in sediments when those regions were once under the sea, later uplifted by geological processes (da Vinci, ca. 1508-1510).

“Shells and marine remains are found atop mountains, which some attribute to the waters of the Flood. But if the Flood had carried these sea creatures to the summits, how is it that these fossils remain in orderly layers and aligned as though undisturbed? Furthermore, the shells are whole and delicate, not broken or mixed with the remains of other creatures, as would be expected if they had been violently swept away. It is evident that these lands were once the seabed and, over time, were raised through the movements of the Earth.”

Fig. 1. Cover of the Codex Leicester, considered the most expensive existing book. The original is currently owned by Bill Gates.
 

Some of the beautiful Italian cities, known for their museums, architecture and astonishing historical remains, also house the fossil bones of the South American megafauna.

Turin

Turin, the first capital of the Kingdom of Italy after the Risorgimento, received its share of the South American megafauna with at least one representative in its Museo Regionale di Scienze Naturali: a glyptodont. That specimen (Fig. 2) is of great historical significance in the identification of this animal, as deliciously narrated by Podgorny in “La silla y el gliptodonte: dos historias genovesas (con una pizca napolitana)” and in the SciCoMove Digital exhibition post “A Glyptodon in Turin: The Argentinian Giant”.

Fig. 2. The armour and other skeletal pieces of a glyptodont collected in the Río Matanza, Buenos Aires Province, Argentina, and the information shown in the exhibition of the Museo Regionale di Scienze Naturali of Turin.

Milan

The beautiful building of the Museo Civico di Storia Naturale once kept one of the largest among the South American megafauna collections in Europe. Very unfortunately, on the night of the 7th to the 8th of August of 1943, an Allied air raid targeted the city. Two hundred tons of bombs, primarily incendiaries, were dropped on the city, which resulted in extensive fires that caused countless casualties and destroyed numerous buildings, notably including the Natural History Museum. ​

The destruction of the Natural History Museum was complete, with approximately 50% of its exhibits lost due to the bombings. Although the museum was subsequently rebuilt in 1952, the South American collection is now composed only by a few bones, some of which show the charred scars from human conflicts long after their time (Fig. 3).

Fig. 3. Fragment of a lower jaw of Megatherium americanum from Argentina kept in the Museo Civico di Storia Naturale in Milan. Extinct as a biological species at the end of the Pleistocene, this specimen survived as a fossil through the long process of death, transport, burial, etc., as well as a bombardment during the WWII. Photo courtesy of Fabio Mongiovi.
 

Bologna

With its breathtaking tall (and leaning) Medieval towers and one of the first universities, if not the first, where many generations of privileged students attended the lectures of the great Umberto Eco, the capital of Emilia-Romagna also had a most prominent naturalist, Giovanni Capellini (1833-1922), who was also an active protagonist of the society of his time (Fanti 2010).

It was in his correspondence with Capellini that the great Argentinian palaeontologist Florentino Ameghino gave us the evidence of his birthplace (Fig. 3): the town of Moneglia, not far from Genoa (Vanni et al. XXXX; see also Boscaini et al. 2021; Podgorny 2021a,b). Ameghino was interested in visiting Italy without facing the risk of being forced to waste one year in the military.

Fig. 4. Thus, the importance of Bologna, its Museo Geologico Giovanni Capellini and the eponymous prominent 19th century palaeontologist resides in the fact that, because of that correspondence and the likely favour Ameghino obtained from Capellini in regard to enrolment (as well as other instances of purchase, donations and the like; Fanti 2010; Podgorny 2021b), the geological museum that bears the name of the great Italian naturalist shows a beautiful collection of fossils of the South American mammalian giants, including an individual tributed to him (Fig. 5).

Fig. 5. Mounted skeleton of Scelidotherium capellini, exhibited at the Museo Giovani Capellini.

Florence

In classical mythology and biblical tradition, certain giants are culprits of rebellion against divinity. Tuscany seems to have been swarming with sinful giants, at least judging by the skeletons in the Museo di Geologia e Paleontologia in the refined city of Florence. Many gigantic skeletons of proboscideans have been recovered from a not so large territory, which are nowadays immodestly displaying their big size in the exhibition room, inspiring the awe of the visitors. If that wasn’t enough, evil giants from other parts of the world and those from South America are no exceptions (Fig. 6).

Fig. 6. Section of the Museo di Geologia e Paleontologia, Florence, dedicated to showing the peculiarities of South American megafauna. A Megatherium is spotted showing all its impressive size.

Epilogue

This is the contribution from our final secondment of the SciCoMove project. The fossil treasures of the animals that went extinct at the end of the Pleistocene housed in the European museums we visited added to our current knowledge and inspire us to continue unveiling their secrets.

On our visit to Florence, our colleague Stefano Dominici (thanks for sharing this!)

reminded us of a marvellous and very pertinent reference in the Divina Commedia. In the Canto XII, verses 58-60 of the Inferno, Dante and Virgil descend into the seventh circle of Hell, where violence is punished. Virgil mentions that “God uprooted [extinguished]” giants, as an act of divine justice:

Ma perché tu veggi ben quel che ‘l vero,
pensai che tu vedessi, com’io vidi,
che alcuni giganti Dio ancor svelse
.

(But so that you may clearly see the truth,
I thought you would see, as I saw,
that God still uprooted some giants.)

Now, the megafauna giants are extinct and we no longer consider them as wicked or attribute their demise to supernatural causes. On the contrary, there’s strong evidence that those causes might have been totally or partially human-related. In any case, ancient collections that crossed the ocean help us to understand today their ways of life and death.

References

Alighieri D. 1982. The Divine Comedy: Inferno (A. Mandelbaum, Trans.). Bantam Books. (Original work published in 1320).

Boscaini A, Peralta Gavensky N, de Iuliis G, Vizcaíno SF. 2021. The origin of “El hombre en el Plata”: on the birthdate and birthplace of Florentino Ameghino (1853–1911). Publicación Electrónica de la Asociación Paleontológica Argentina 21: 28–43.

Fanti F. 2010. Life and ideas of Giovanni Capellini (1833–1922): a palaeontological revolution in Italy. Geological Society, London, Special Publications 343: 79-87.

Leonardo da Vinci. Circa 1508–1510. Codex Leicester.

Podgorny I. 2023. La silla y el gliptodonte: dos historias genovesas (con una pizca napolitana). Hilario Books 33. https://www.hilariobooks.com/blog-article.php?slug_es=la-silla-y-el-gliptodonte-dos-historias-genovesas-con-una-pizca-napolitana&lang=es).

Podgorny I. 2021a. Los argentinos vienen de los peces: Ensayo de filogenia nacional. Beatriz Viterbo, Buenos Aires.

Podgorny I. 2021b. Florentino Ameghino y hermanos. Edhasa, Buenos Aires.

Podgorny I. 2025. A Glyptodon in Turin: The Argentinian Giant. https://scicomoveshowcase.wordpress.com/2025/02/08/an-glyptodon-in-turin/

Vanni, V, Fanti F, Belcastro MG. 2018. The South American mammal collection at the Museo Geologico Giovanni Capellini (Bologna, Italy). Colligo 3 Hors-série 2, 1-10.

Comparando fuegos y fueguitos en las colecciones científicas

By Ernesto Elgue

Laboratorio de Herpetología, Universidad de la República, Uruguay

Cuando llevaba pocos años trabajando en colecciones zoológicas, ocurrió un hecho que me impactó bastante. Venía de realizar una tesis con material de colección, trabajando en un laboratorio donde varios estudiantes basaban sus estudios en materiales colectados, y yo mismo participando en el mantenimiento de las colecciones zoológicas. En ese contexto, vi las imágenes del Museu Nacional de Brasil en Río de Janeiro en llamas, en setiembre de 2018. En este incendio, uno de los museos de historia natural más grandes de Latinoamérica, perdió gran parte de sus colecciones, tanto antropológicas, como zoológicas y de otros tipos, estimando una pérdida del 90% de los 20 millones de elementos que contenía el museo. Merece aclarar que esto significa mucho, ya que significa la destrucción de 200 años de historia y trabajo, y la destrucción total del trabajo de aproximadamente 90 investigadores. Por supuesto que esto fue noticia en diferentes medios de todo el mundo.

Ahora bien, aunque este evento fue extraordinario por su magnitud, no fue un caso aislado en las colecciones latinoamericanas. Años antes, por ejemplo, se perdieron más de 80.000 ejemplares de serpientes, arañas y escorpiones en un incendio en el Instituto Butantan de São Paulo, Brasil. En este caso, se perdieron unas 77.000 serpientes ya clasificadas colectadas en los últimos 150 años, pero también aproximadamente 5.000 que no habían llegado a ser clasificadas o identificadas, y que nunca sabremos qué eran. También este evento fue noticia en varios medios locales e internacionales.

Desde mi experiencia, es muy claro lo importante y dolorosa que son estas pérdidas. Muchos tal vez no entiendan el valor de una colección y su importancia, y explicarlo completamente puede llevar un artículo entero, pero un aspecto importante para entenderlo es que todos los artículos de una colección son irremplazables, sea una obra de arte, un artefacto arqueológico o un ejemplar animal. Eso lo hace realmente invaluable, no hay dinero en el mundo que pueda revertir su pérdida.

Recientemente, gracias al proyecto SciCoMove, pude visitar colecciones zoológicas en Italia, donde parte de los objetivos fue poder aprender de las fortalezas de estas colecciones, dado que en general son colecciones más antiguas que las uruguayas (o latinoamericanas en general), y la experiencia acumulada es por ende mayor. Además, es probable que contengan ejemplares más antiguos, y que a lo largo del tiempo hayan debido enfrentar más desafíos que las colecciones más recientes. Sumado a esto, pude colaborar en algunas colecciones revisando y ayudando a clasificar ejemplares latinoamericanos de anfibios y reptiles.

Al visitar lugares nuevos, es inevitable compararlos con los conocidos. Fue increíble conocer la colección de esqueletos de anfibios, reptiles y aves del Dipartimento di Scienze della Terra (Università di Torino), que seguramente sea la colección más grande de Europa en este tipo de material, al igual que conocer el holotipo de Dermochelys coriácea (Figura 1), la tortuga marina más grande viviente, y la fascinante historia de su descripción con la participación de un Papa, o poder ver un libro de 1648 sobre la historia natural de Brasil (Figura 2). Sin embargo, junto a estas cosas fascinantes, también encontré coincidencias con las colecciones de Sudamérica. Algunas fueron positivas, como la coincidencia en la metodología utilizada para la preparación y mantenimiento de los ejemplares, pero también otro tipo de coincidencias no tan buenas, que hablan de problemas en las colecciones zoológicas.

La primera visita fue al Museo Regionale di Scienze Naturali di Torino, donde no pude ver el material de anfibios y reptiles porque hubo recientemente un incidente que había liberado asbesto en la sala donde se encontraba la mayoría del material que me interesaba. Este hecho me llevó a conocer otra historia, que fue noticia en medios de Italia e internacionales, sobre la razón por la cual el museo había sido recientemente reinaugurado. En 2013 explotó un cilindro de gas que desencadenó un incendio, provocando daños en dos pisos y varias estructuras, e implicó que el museo estuviera cerrado al público por más de 10 años. Otra coincidencia encontrada: la falta de mantenimiento adecuado puede desencadenar incendios en cualquier parte del mundo.

También hubo otras coincidencias de las malas: colecciones con los catálogos y datos de los ejemplares sin digitalizar, material acumulado pendiente para el ingreso, falta de revisión de ejemplares, mudanzas y acondicionamiento del material retrasados. Todas pequeñas cosas que contribuyen a que los ejemplares y su información puedan deteriorarse o se pierdan. Y una coincidencia que se repetía en todos lados: una sola persona, o como mucho dos, encargadas y trabajando en cada colección, y en algunos casos, para varias colecciones de la misma institución. No es difícil ver la relación entre esta característica y las tareas pendientes mencionadas.

Es fundamental aclarar algo, las deficiencias y atrasos en las colecciones no son responsabilidad de quienes trabajan allí. Todo lo contrario, en todas las colecciones que conozco y visité, las pocas personas involucradas hacen un trabajo extraordinario y dedicado. Gracias a ellas, las colecciones siguen siendo valiosas, a pesar de los recursos y tiempo disponibles. Pero todo indica que la base de los problemas en las colecciones científicas se encuentra en la falta de presupuesto y recursos, lo que desencadena que no haya gente suficiente para las tareas, o que no exista el mantenimiento adecuado. Y eso, sin duda, pone en riesgo la conservación de las colecciones.

Pero es importante intentar ver lo que se pierde, para poder valorar lo que tenemos. Hay catástrofes o incendios que arrasan en unas pocas horas con años de historia y ejemplares irrecuperables, aunque por suerte son eventos poco frecuentes. Pero hay muchos fueguitos casi invisibles, lamentablemente muy comunes, que pude atestiguar en América y Europa, que están consumiendo lentamente las colecciones, y cuya lucha la conocemos poco, y la pérdida es tan lenta que no se reconoce, que no genera titulares ni noticias. Que no genera ni siquiera interés en los que pueden tomar las decisiones para frenarlos, porque parece que, si no se reconoce su valor existiendo, tampoco se va a reconocer su pérdida, a no ser que el espectáculo del fuego sean tan grande que llame la atención de todos.

Figura 1. Ejemplar holotipo de Dermochelys coriácea en el Museo della Natura e dell’Uomo, Padova

Figura 2. Libro de Historia Naturalis Brasiliae de 1648, de la biblioteca del Museo di Storia Naturale Giancarlo Ligabue, Venecia.

Enlaces relacionados:

https://www.nationalgeographicla.com/historia-y-cultura/2018/09/las-perdidas-tras-el-devastador-incendio-del-museo-de-brasil

https://www.nationalgeographic.es/ciencia/2018/09/un-incendio-devasta-el-museo-de-ciencias-mas-antiguo-de-brasil

https://torino.repubblica.it/cronaca/2013/08/03/news/incendio_al_museo_delle_scienze_per_lo_scoppio_di_una_bombola-64215765

https://www.quotidianopiemontese.it/2013/08/03/incendio-al-museo-di-scienze-naturali-a-torino-per-lo-scoppio-di-una-bombola-di-gas/https://torinocronaca.it/news/cronaca/302892/cantieri-scr-museo-regionale-scienze-naturali-via-giolitti.html

Custom-Made Contours: The Brief Trajectory of the Hat Conformateur in the Anthropological Society of Paris.

by Marina L. Sardi

At the session of February 5th, 1879, in a meeting of the members of the Anthropological Society of Paris, its general secretary, the physician Paul Broca (1824-1880) (1879b), proclaimed the exclusion of the “conformateur”, used by hatters, as an instrument for measuring heads. He accused it of being misleading, offering one empirical evidence. Broca had his head measured twice, five minutes apart, by the same instrument and hatter, resulting in two cephalic curves that had nothing to do with each other.

The purpose of studying heads was based on the assumption —not without dissent— that brain size and shape were indicators of greater or lesser intellectual development among human races, or sexes, or social classes, with the understanding that educated European men had the greatest intellectual development. Several works have highlighted these debates, but less attention has been paid to how the nascent anthropology promoted the development of rigorous and precise practices — measurement, nomenclature, and statistics — and, with them, the creation of instruments to establish the methods of a positive science.

In those years, there was no consensus on how to measure the brain, whether through its weight, its length, or the complexity of the convolutions. It was also difficult to obtain well-preserved brains from people who had not suffered long illnesses and were not elderly. Hence, valid options were measuring cranial capacity —through liquids or solids—, or the external dimensions of skulls or heads. Occasionally, if the results were not convincing, scholars could introduce comments about the size of hats. They believed that all these measurements had some degree of direct association; that is, people with larger brains would have larger intellects, heads, and hats[1].

In the context of the debates about whether hats were indicators of something more than the size of the wearer’s head, and if customs and practices did modify them, the conformateur was introduced to address instrumental and methodological issues. These issues were partly rooted in the theoretical assumptions held by these scholars in the mid-19th century. In the pursuit of objective measurements, they did not hesitate to adopt, and eventually adapt or discard, instruments used in various trades or industries.

The study of the cranial conformation involved measuring curves and perimeters with a measuring tape, but also graphing it, in order to study the relationships between parts, detect cranial types, and confirm the existence of asymmetry between the right and left sides. Who, then, but a hatter, would have the practical knowledge of all the shapes and sizes of heads?


[1] The debate between Paul Broca and Louis Gratiolet and the conclusions surrounding Georges Cuvier’s hat — which was not abnormally large, as they had expected, judging by the magnitude of his intelligence — were highlighted by palaeontologist and science communicator Stephen Jay Gould (1980, 1981) in the 1980s to denounce biological determinism and the use of intelligence tests in the United States.

In fact, in the 1840s, the conformateur was created by a Parisian hatter, M. Allié, to make custom-made hats. Allié had already invented another device that made it possible to obtain the anteroposterior and transverse curves, as well as the horizontal circumference, but it was difficult to handle (Broca 1865). The new instrument was composed of spokes of equal length which, when placed on a head, adjusted to the perimeter (where the hat would sit) (Fig. 1a, b) and perforated a sheet of paper on which the horizontal curve was drawn to scale, allowing the negative of the skull contour to be obtained (Fig. 2). This was then placed at the center of a formillon, enabling the restoration of both size and shape (Fig. 1b).

Figure 1a. Allié-Maillard conformateur, belonging to the Parisian hatter Pauline Brosset Royer (Pauline Chapelière, n.d.). The vertical spokes can be seen, reinforced by lateral supports, joined at right angles to metal rods that end in points. These spokes move when the conformateur is placed on the head. By placing a piece of paper over the points and lowering the lid, they perforate it, allowing the contour to be defined.

Figure 1b. Formillon. The contour obtained with the conformateur is placed at the center, and by previously determining the cephalic perimeter, it allows the original shape to be restored.

Figure 2. Contours obtained with the conformateur on different subjects, including that of the author of this text.

On December 19, 1861, two years after the founding of the Anthropological Society of Paris, a meeting was held to discuss how to accurately record cranial contours. Broca (1861a) presented a craniograph that allowed for the construction of cranial curves and the analysis of the relative development of different parts (Fig. 3). He then introduced another craniograph, created by Louis Mathieu (1817-1879), a manufacturer of surgical instruments, followed by an exchange on practical matters (Broca 1861b). The naturalist Paul de Jouvencel (1817-1897) informed him about Allié’s conformateur. Broca claimed to be familiar with it but was skeptical. He deemed the contours produced by the apparatus as “caricatures”, although he acknowledged that the formillon allowed for the restoration of the original shape. He also stated that he was familiar with the first device Allié had created, which he considered superior to the second, and, for this reason, he had met with Mathieu to modify it, although the outcome remains unknown.

Following these considerations, a discussion ensued regarding the use of lead sheets to obtain cranial contours, which Broca approved, versus the graphing of silhouettes, which he rejected. He argued that silhouettes projected on a single plane points that were actually on different planes, without accounting for the effect of hair or the influence of sunlight (the only widely available light source at the time) on the resulting silhouette. He believed that his craniograph would help overcome “artistic” evaluations, which depended on the observer’s perceptiveness or preconceived ideas, by enabling precise comparisons that would allow for classification into series, statistical analysis, and the calculation of averages, thus avoiding the misleading influence of individual variations (Broca 1871).

Figure 3. The device intended to graph contours consisted of the craniophore (left), designed for holding skulls in position, and a craniograph (right), to obtain contours on a sheet of paper. Source: Broca 1871, p. 72.

Despite Broca’s criticism of the conformateur, some researchers adopted it in their studies and sent their observations to the Anthropological Society of Paris. This is evidenced by a letter found in the society’s archives, in which the physician Gustave Le Bon (1841-1931) wrote to Broca in 1877, reporting observations on 200 individuals. He noted that the apparatus made it possible to determine the cranial longitudinal axis and to delineate the right and left halves of the horizontal cephalic profile. By superimposing both halves, he was able to observe which parts were more prominent on either side (Le Bon 1877): in other words, to demonstrate that the head was not symmetrical.

His results did not appear to be random. In two-thirds of the cases, greater parietal development was observed on the left side, accompanied by greater frontal development on the right. However, Le Bon did not consider it necessary to present his findings to scientific societies, as his method could be subject to criticism, which he preferred to avoid. While offering Broca the recorded contours, he stated that “hatters do not ensure great precision in the way they position the conformateur, and a slight deviation to the right or left is enough to shift the main axis of the instrument and distort the data it provides” (Le Bon 1877).

Broca’s verdict did not take long (Broca 1879a). He first pointed out, and rightly so, that the circumference measured by anthropologists did not correspond to the location of the hat. Then, responding to Le Bon, he noted that the asymmetries in the contours were due to the uneven pressure exerted by the hatter’s hands. The hatter would stand in front of the observed subject, often applying more pressure with his right hand, which resulted in an asymmetry on the left side of the head contour. Lastly, Broca stated that cranial asymmetries, in fact, were more prevalent on the right side.

Finally, in the revised version of his Instructions générales pour les recherches anthropologiques, published in 1879, Broca included the conformateur in a list of 22 devices for laboratory measurements—though solely to discourage its use, in order to ‘avoid useless waste of time for people who have the unfortunate idea of using it’ (Broca 1879b, p. 74). He declared it to be an empirical rather than a geometrical instrument, although excellent for making hats. In fact, conformateurs continued to be sold well into the 20th century (Fig. 4), and one remains in use in a Parisian atelier (Pauline Chapelière, n.d.), as wooden molds, commonly used in the trade, do not fit all heads (Pauline Brosset Royer, personal communication).

Figure 4. Advertisement for the sale of the Allié conformateur (Revue de la Chapellerie, October 20, 1929).

A century and a half later, the theoretical assumptions about cranial conformation have changed. However, the idea that studying cranial surfaces and contours can reveal something about human variation remains, although the geometric principles and tools, many of them based on medical imaging technologies, are now different.

The case of the conformateur illustrates how scholars, in their pursuit for studying the skull and ultimately testing their theories, remained open to various methodological approaches and did not hesitate to turn to individuals with empirical knowledge of bodies and heads, if their instruments were precise enough. Thus, hatters’ ateliers were spaces—outside traditional scientific cabinets—where, albeit occasionally, anthropological knowledge was attempted to be constructed.

In this case, the question remains as to why Broca so quickly dismissed the conformateur instead of adapting it to his purposes, as he did with the numerous instruments he introduced in the 1860s and 1870s for measuring and tracing contours. Most of these, however, would not endure for long, as researchers in many countries proposed alternative instruments over the following decades.

Paris, March 28, 2025.

Acknowledgements. To the Parisian hatter Pauline Brosset Royer, who enabled me to visit her atelier and talk about the conformateur.

Bbibliography

Broca, P. 1861a. Sur le craniographe et sur la détermination de plusieurs angles nouveaux nommés angles auriculaires. Bulletins de la Société d’Anthropologie de Paris, 2, 473-680.

Mathieu M. 1861b. Sur un nouveau céphalographe présenté par M. Mathieu. Bulletins de la Société d’Anthropologie de Paris, 2, 680- 686.

Broca, P. 1865. Instructions Générales pour les recherches et observations anthropologiques. París: Victor Masson et fils.

Broca P. 1879a. Instructions Générales pour les Recherches Anthropologiques à faire sur le Vivant. 2da ed. París, G. Masson.

Broca P. 1879b. Sur la fausseté des résultats céphalométriques obtenus à l’aide du conformateur des chapeliers. Bulletins de la Société d’anthropologie de Paris 2, 101-106. doi : https://doi.org/10.3406/bmsap.1879.5207

Gould SJ. 1980. The Panda’s Thumb: More Reflections in Natural History. New York, WW Norton & Company

Gould SJ. 1981. The Mismeasure of Man. New York, WW Norton & Company.

Le Bon G. 1877. Carta dirigida a la Société d’Anthropologie de Paris. Fondos documentales de la Société d’Anthropologie de Paris, 13 K, 2274, Museum National d’Histoire Naturelle.

Pauline Chapelière s.f. En : https://www.paulinechapeliere.com/

Revue de la chapellerie, 20 octobre 1929, n° 413. Available on gallica.bnf.fr

Mammoth Bones, Plant Robberies and Bird Skins from Mexico

A Research Project on the Zoological and Botanical Collections at the University of Heidelberg

by Dr. Susann Liebich, Christian Stenz, Carlotta Kallenbach and Lara Horras

The Archives of the University of Heidelberg contain a wide range of documents relating to the establishment and expansion of the university’s botanical and zoological collections during the ‘long’ nineteenth century. In addition to the material objects in the collections, these archival records provide extensive insight into the everyday practices of scientific collecting and collections. However, the archival records have received little attention to date, largely because they are relatively little known and access to the physical documents has so far only been possible in Heidelberg. A new research project at the Department of History in cooperation with the University Archives and the University Library aims to rectify these limitations in access and visibility by making a substantial selection of these documents available in digital form. In addition, by holding a series of specific outreach and networking events to highlight the value of these collections it intends to reach out to international researchers and experts from museums and archives. The project is funded by the University of Heidelberg within its strategic research cluster ‘Cultural Dynamics in Globalised Worlds.’ This research focus supports, among others, projects in the humanities that deal with the history of knowledge and collections. This blog post intends to give a first impression of the various research possibilities the archival records offer, which cover a time span from the 1750s to 1920 and which might be of interest to many colleagues in the SciCoMove project and beyond.

Stolen Plants, Hunting Students and Mammoth Bones

The archival records provide ample evidence of local, everyday practices and the broad range of different actors involved in the (re-)establishment and expansion of the university’s scientific collections. Within the university, assistants, conservators and caretakers were hired to organise, classify and maintain the collections. At the same time, the growing collections and institutional changes posed constant challenges. Over the course of the ‘long’ nineteenth century, the locations where the various collections of objects and specimens were housed changed several times and researchers debated with the university administration about funding and premises. Thereby, and especially in regard to the scientific collections, the university was not an isolated space, separate from its local surroundings. On the contrary, the archival records contain, for example, orders and receipts for customised cabinets and boxes from local carpenters, showing the need to work with and rely on professionals outside the academic context.

Unsurprisingly, the interaction and negotiation processes inside and outside the university were not always free from conflict. For example, while hunters and foresters sometimes actively contributed to the university collections, they also repeatedly complained about students hunting animals without permission. In this way, additionally to everyday practices of collecting, discussions about the value and use of such collections in a local, socially heterogeneous environment also become visible. Hunters, students, foresters and researchers used their skills and knowledge to actively engage with ‘nature’, whereby their interests sometimes overlapped but could also diverge and lead to outright conflict. In another quite different case, a member of the university apparently stole ‘valuable’ plants from the botanical gardens. Transforming some botanical specimen into precious loot, the records on this obviously illicit activity provide further insights into the value of such objects in different contexts and for different people.

Such local everyday practices, processes of interaction and negotiation, and debates on the value and use of collections and its objects are usually omitted in the books and journal articles published by researchers in the ‘long’ nineteenth century. Therefore, it is crucial to make archival records like the ones stored in the university archives more visible and accessible to historians of knowledge and collecting. Furthermore, the documents can provide valuable source material beyond the study of collections and collecting practices on the local scale. The discovery of a mammoth bone in a riverbed near Heidelberg in 1848 soon attracted regional attention. In the hope of uncovering more bones and perhaps even a ‘complete’ skeleton, the zoologists in Heidelberg applied not only to the university but also directly to the regional government for funding. Apart from a few hints, not much is known so far about such collecting activities in the wider region. However, considering the fundamental socio-ecological transformation that the region underwent through the canalisation of rivers and the expansion of industry during the ‘long’ nineteenth century, it would be worth studying these regional entanglements in more detail. By examining the archival records, it might become clearer to what extent the university collections were intertwined with this mainly economically motivated engagement with the region’s soil.

Bird skins from Mexico and specimens supplied by the East India Company

Beyond the regional integration, the zoological and botanical collections in Heidelberg also depended on and actively participated in the circulation of ‘scientific’ objects on a global scale. Former students, academics and citizens who travelled to distant places (from the perspective of Heidelberg) on the globe maintained close ties to the university and were a major source for the expansion of the university’s collections. Ludwig Posselt, for example, studied and worked as a pharmacist in Heidelberg until he had to flee to Mexico after the failed political revolution of 1848. Posselt, nevertheless, remained connected to Heidelberg and its university. When he returned in the 1860s, he brought with him a collection of stuffed mammals, birds and reptiles from Mexico. Other objects from this region were donated by the merchant Carl Adolf Uhde, who in 1836 bought a little castle in Handschuhsheim near Heidelberg, where he created a small private museum with his extensive collections from Mexico, Central and South America on display.

One of the most striking aspects, however, are the continuing connections to the Dutch East India Company. In the 1820s, Salomon Müller, the son of a saddler and tavern owner in Heidelberg, visited lectures in natural history and apparently taught himself how to hunt, stuff and conserve animals to produce zoological specimens. Impressed by these skills, the aspiring zoologist Heinrich Boie took Müller with him on his journey to what was then the Dutch East Indies. While Boie died shortly after arriving in Buitenzorg (Bogor), Müller continued his collecting activities on behalf of the Natural History Museum in Leiden. With 15 mammals, 194 birds and 49 reptiles, he brought a small part of the vast collection destined for Leiden to Heidelberg. This was not the only case when objects related to the East India Company came to Heidelberg. Another large number of objects (52 mammals and 148 birds) from the same source is recorded in a book on the University’s zoological collections for the year 1854. So far, however, neither the regional integration nor the global connections of the zoological and botanical collections of the University of Heidelberg have been studied in great detail.

Back to the project

In the course of the research project funded by the University of Heidelberg’s ‘Cultural Dynamics in Globalised Worlds’ Research Cluster, we do not intend to systematically analyse all the topics mentioned above. Rather, the aim of the project is to increase the accessibility and visibility of the historical records necessary for such further studies. To do so, we already published some of the documents online via the website of the university library, which contains many historical documents in digital form: https://www.ub.uni-heidelberg.de/helios/digi/unihd_zoologie_botanik.html. Further, we organized a first workshop in September 2024 and will host a second workshop in May 2025 to connect with archivists, curators, museum practitioners and other researchers working on the history of university collections. Finally, in the upcoming summer term, we will work with undergraduates on the documents and try to reconstruct the history of some objects and parts of the large collection. First results will be published in a research blog on the website of the History Department. With this blog post on the SciCoMove website, we hope to have illustrated the potential and possibilities of the Heidelberg collections and the associated historical records for your own research and further studies.