Nicolas Verdier

Jean-Marc Besse

Color and Cartography

Color has long played a significant role in cartography. Manuscript mapmaking has always included color as one of its basic tools in the form of pigments, leads, and inks, lending meaning and clarity to the map. Printed maps have employed added color to decorate, to emphasize, and to signify; experiments with color printing have furthered these trends. This essay explores the relationship between color on manuscript maps (usually prepared at large scale for purposes of property delineation, military objectives, or administrative projects) and color applied to printed maps (usually medium to small scale geographic maps prepared for a commercial market), with which most people are familiar.

mapmakers Sanson, Jaillot, de Fer and Delisle in the Netherlands and the establishment of solid editorial houses such as Seutter (qv) or Homann (qv) in Germany (Woodward, 1978, 159-193;Hofmann 1998). The second pattern was the technical innovation of copperplate engraving, using both the engraving burin and acid etching needle. While woodcut printing insured a very large diffusion of maps, engraving on copper allowed for an ever larger number of impressions which usually left the printer's shop in black and white. Except for the few experiments in color printing from copper, color was applied by hand after printing in most cases. The third pattern centers on the evolutions in the aesthetics of the map. Slowly the Dutch aesthetic which emphasized decoration and iconography was succeeded by a more spare aesthetic of exactitude and verifiability: the passage from the monster-filled map to the blank spaces on maps, as expressed by Jean-Loup Rivière (Cartes et figures de la terre, 1980, 135).

Styles of coloring

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In the middle of the 17th century two forms of printed map coloring or illumination existed side by side. The first, known as Flemish style, used pigments mixed with white in order to obtain an opaque color which resulted in lively shades of color, sometimes varnished, but which risked covering up printed details of the maps. (Ehrensvärd, 1987) and which aged badly. The second method, the Dutch manner ("à la manière hollandaise") used less pigment and no white in order to obtain a transparent color, whose delicate shades allowed the engraving to show through the color in all its detail.

During the 18th century two opposing types of applied color to maps developed: illumination (enluminure) and water color wash (le lavis). Illumination was used to emphasize a pre-existing design already printed on the map, not to add information to the map, while water color washes were used to add information to the plan or the map. (Ill. 1) However, this distinction was very theoretical and in practice these two types of map coloring rested on national traditions. Full color or full map illumination corresponded to German practices which consisted of coloring in full the various zones of a map (administrative regions, religious areas, countries, empires). (Ill. 2) This principle may have been fixed by the introduction to the Museum Geographicum (Hamburg, 1726) of Johann Hübner (1668-1731) [ (Hübner, 1726, "Vorbericht" [12-14]]. Hübner specified outright that the use of color should be limited to significant elements on the map, explicitly excluding the cartouches and other ornaments. Coloring along the lines, which was very much in the French tradition, consisted of avoiding any color in full and only outlining the limits or boundaries with colored lines of various widths. These distinctions, though useful for making general statements, were not always clear among the mapmakers of the day, yet it provided the vocabulary used to discuss and advertise maps when they were produced.

Prices and participants

In 1662 the Latin edition of Joan Blaeu's Atlas Major, eleven volumes and 593 maps, one of the most expensive printed works of the 17 th century, was offered in black and white for 350 florins and in color for 450, that is, a 30% mark up in price (Pedley, 2005;Hofmann, 1998) One hundred years later, the Petit Atlas maritime of Bellin (Paris, 1764) sold for 96 livres in black and white, 120 livres in color, or a 25% increase. For atlases and books, the difference between black and white and color depended upon the question of what constituted a beautiful book and the quality of its binding. Thus in 1762, Jean Lattré, geographic engraver and publisher sold an Atlas Maritime, which he offered "bound in morocco and watercolored, 15 livres; bound in calf, without color, 9 livres." [« Avertissement" Atlas P a g e | 3 Moderne). Similarly in Amsterdam, the firm of Covens and Mortier offered its Atlas Nouveau comprising 166 Sanson/Jaillot maps in the following range: uncolored, 103 florins; illuminated, 117 fl.; doubly illuminated, 130 fl.; with cartouches and ornaments illuminated, 164 fl.; very beautifully illuminated with additional gold, 195 fl.) (Egmond, 2009, 230).

For single maps, one must rely on contemporary advertising for the price differences between color and black and white. Georges Le Rouge in Paris sold four maps in July 1756, the price for which in color (lavée) was 40-50% more expensive. There were other variables in the materiality of the map that also explain these differences: the application of color could require a different sort of paper. In 1749, Pierre Jandeau, Géographe du roi, sold a map entitled Attaques, Plan & environs de la Ville d'Ypres, assiégée par le Roi le 6 juin 1744 & prise le 25 suivant. « The price is 35 sous printed on paper prepared and beaten for watercolor wash; 30 sous on ordinary paper." (Mercure de France, sept. 1749, 173). Jandeau thus did not need to propose the separate application of color; the paper allowed the owner to apply color. The price differences between the printed map and application of color to the map emphasizes two separate phases of map production. Coloring was carried out by an enlumineur or a laveur, who was not necessarily specifically trained but often a private person, dependant upon or independent of the map producer. As with the illumination of art engravings, certain authors perceived this as an amateur activity, as demonstrated by A book of dravving, limning, vvashing or colouring of maps and prints, and the art of painting,…. Or, The young-mans time well spent (London: 1660). The Ecole de la mignature (Paris, 1676, regularly re-edited until 1817) described illumination as carried out by "religieuses (nun ?)"

or "persons of quality" living far from the Capital and desiring a useful activity. Its translation into Dutch by P.J. Verly in 1744 (Utrecht; Amsterdam, 1759) under the title Verhandeling van de Schiderkonst in Miniatur, contained a supplement relative to illumination of plans which the first French edition did not contain: "De maniere van de plans te Wassen" (130-138;Bosters et al., 1989, 108), giving specific instructions for map coloring. Such manuals were aimed at this genteel market. John Smith had similarly added a chapter for map coloring ("The Discovery of the Mystery of Back Painting Maps or prints…") to his popular title, The art of painting in oyl (London, 1687, 2 nd edition). The art of "limning" or illuminating by outline and color, encouraged a continuous flow of instruction manuals throughout the long 18 th century, with titles such as William Salmon's Polygraphice, or, The arts of drawing, engraving, etching, limning, painting, washing, varnishing, gilding, colouring, dying, beautifying, and perfuming…, washing of maps, globes or pictures, (London: 1672), William Goeree's Verlichterie-Kunde, of Recht gebruyck der water-verven (Amsterdam, 1668; re-P a g e | 4 edited 1670, 1697, 1705), which attributes a color to every sort of object to be represented on the map (Bosters et al., 1989, 104-108). All these books bolstered amateur practice in map and print coloring.

Yet not all maps were colored by members of the reclusive gentry; the Homann firm in Nuremburg employed as many as 30 colorists to illuminate their map products, which were never sold uncolored (Diefenbacker, Heinz, 2002, 102). In London, the mapmaker Thomas Jefferys' apprentice, John Lodge, established himself specifically as a map colorist (Public Advertiser, 21 May 1761)), an occupation otherwise filled by fan-sellers, as well as printers and engravers themselves. (Clayton, 1997, 130). Even in North America, some specialization in map coloring was apparent from the accounts of Philadelphia mapmaker Mathew Carey, who employed colorists for his cartographic productions (Bosse, 2012, 32) Thus the "business" of color varied in nature and price from place to place.

The separation between engraving and the application of color could lead to a loss of control by the author of a map; after the map was sold, he could only complain about the results. These complaints reflect the tension between techniques of lavis and enluminure.

Pierre Duval, nephew of Nicolas Sanson, denounced illuminators "who divide the Maps according to the dotted lines that they find one them and who often place the color against the rules of Geographie, as when they sometimes don't find any dotted lines but paint their brushes along the widest rivers or follow their own caprice and thus distribute large and small regions to Sovereigns of State based on their own whim." (Traité de Géographie, Paris, 1672, 58). Errors could also come from the bad choice of colors, as specified in The handmaid to the arts teaching (London 1758):

"There is indeed one thing in particular…should be always avoided : it is, the laying those colours, that have any affinity or likeness, close to each other : for by an error in this particular, they will be rendered much less effectual with respect to the purpose they have to serve; … more difficult to the eye, to distinguish the limits and bounds they are intended to mark out : and indeed, besides, for want of due apposition, the diversification of the colours is made less pleasing, when they are seen at a distance and considered only with respect to their ornamental appearance." (329-330) Such difficulty was not just hypothetical; two years earlier the Gentleman's Magazine and call it Limits claimed by New York. This line is put upon an equal footing with the line called in your map, Limits claimed by New Jersey. Nay, if regard be had to the colouring of your map, greater credits is given to the line to the Lecba than to the latter line…" (Gentleman's Magazine, vol. XXVI, year MDCCLVI, The numerous manuals of the period attempted to limit these difficulties as well as respond to the demand of "persons of quality." However, for a more detailed notice of the preparation and costs of color, a deeper apprehension of how color could create meaning on a map, one turns to the instruction manuals written for the large scale mapmakers.

Manuscript maps and Color

Parallel with the growth of manuals and instructions for map coloring in the printed commercial market was the publication of written directions for large scale mapmaking, for both private (property mapping, architectural drawing, civil engineering) and specialized public (military and administrative mapping) audiences. These manuals may be divided into two types: those which emphasize technique as much as the choice of colors, and those which attempt to normalize the use of color in order to simplify and clarify map use. An example of the first sort, concentrating on technical aspects of coloring, may be found in the work of Thomas Breaks, with instructions for manuscript large scale estate plans: The second category of manual generally concerning manuscript maps and plans offered instruction for the coloring of three types of manuscript map: the plan terriers (cadastral or property maps), military maps, and large scale maps prepared for the engineering works in a region. The rule here was: "When time allows one to make an accurate drawing one should use colors to render the subjects of the map more distinct." (Ecole de l'officier contenant une méthode facile & abrégée de lever un plan sans l'usage de la géométrie ordinaire, un petit traité de P a g e | 6 la fortification passagère, Paris, Claude Antoine Jombert, 1770, p. 9) The manuals also often provided instructions for fabricating colors. The manuals written for military personnel multiplied the methods of fabrication of color while taking into account the conditions of the terrain. And most especially these manuals aimed to codify the use of color.

Military mapping and color: imitation and meaning

In both the printed and manuscript instruction manuals aimed at military engineers, two important principles established certain typologies. One was the principle of imitation of an idealized nature, which cartography helped to delineate. The other was the principle of normalization and codification of color in order to lock the meaning of color into the map, and avoid the dangers of misinterpretation. The process of simplification by looking for the ideal color, which would sacrifice variability to the advantage of a type, allowed the establishment of a limited spectrum of colors within which each hue signified a particular meaning.

Thus Buchotte, an ingénieur du Roi proposed to imitate "natural color as much as possible, both in military and civil architecture, that is, the grassy areas in greenish-brown; water in sky blue; sandy areas in reddish yellow, framework structures the color of wood, tile roofs, red tinged with yellow; slate, a grey with a slight blue element…." (Buchotte, 1722, 45) Yet at the same time, a more abstract codification was becoming equally apparent, one which defined certain colors, like red and yellow, with specific roles. From 1680, in the "Instruction pour ordre à tenir pour les ouvrages par ceux qui y sont employés » the maréchal Vauban specified that « the engineer will prepare at the end of the year a rather large plan on which all the elements which compose it can be clearly distinguished: on this plan he will make sure to color with red all those projects which have been completed. Elements which remain only projected and for which work has not yet begun, will be colored with yellow, in order to distinguish them from the other, and the elements of the old plan or the old works which will be effaced by the new design, will be simply represented by dotted lines. This is a rule which one must follow exactly in order to avoid confusion that can be caused when the coloring of plans is done indifferently, with all sorts of colors, and one color could be taken to mean something else."

In 1722 Buchotte, followed by Louis Charles Dupain de Montesson in 1750 (Le dessinateur au cabinet et à l'armée), reinforced the idea that repetition can become a rule. « It is not enough to know how to set down a line on plans and maps to have tried to manage the paintbrush ; one must understand the colors and what it is agreed that they signify in terms P a g e | 7

of the different parts of a fortification, a landscape, etc." So again the color vermillion red was used for constructed buildings; "works projected or newly made are colored with gomme gutte or another shade of yellow," with each color being distinct enough to tell one color from another. These texts also offered in the form of a dictionary the link between an object to be represented on the map and the color to be associated with it, as in this example: « Abbaye. Color the bell tower blue and the roof of the church in red with vermillion.

Arbre de remarque. Draw it a little larger than the others, observing its actual shape more precisely and give it a little brush of greenish-brown with the brush on the side of the shadow and with clear yellowish green on the side of the light.

Bourg. Design it in plan and color it with carmine, such as it will be and fill in any buildings with a half-shade, making sure to put a little cross on the church." (Buchotte, 1754,

173)"

In this same edition Buchotte also supplied the prices of colors and offered advice on where to purchase them (193)(194)(195)(196).

Dupain de Montesson went further in the Spectacle de la Campagne (Part II, La Science de l'arpenteur (Paris, Jombert, 1775), offering a work in which all the colors and the natural and man-made forms they represented were displayed. (Ill. 3)

Towards normalization

The growing role of these dictionaries and manuals of colors extended beyond the domain of military engineers to the civil engineers of the Ponts et Chaussées (QV) in France.

The contrôleur-général Orry, who helped establish the corps, in a circular memo of 1738 reiterated: "the parts of the roads which are paved should be colored in red, those which are metaled with stones in yellow, those of loose gravel in gray, and the parts of the natural terrain which has been left untouched by roadworks should be left blanc, whether these latter sections have been aligned or not. The copy of this map thus colored, with titles, legends and the usual significations, will be remitted to MM. the Intendants and sent on by them." (Mémoire instructif sur la réparation des chemins, par Orry, Versailles, 13 juin 1738, article 21, Paris : l'Institut de France, Ms 489/Fol 415:.)

In the same way, property mapping efforts throughout Europe worked towards a codification of color. In northern Europe from the early 17 th century, the question of color P a g e | 8

was considered important enough that in 1636, surveyors were given instructions for standardizing colors: "Cultivated fields were to be colored gray, meadows green, mosses yellow, fences back, lakes light blue, rivers dark blue, boundaries red, forest dark green, and stony slopes white." (Kain et Baigent 1992, 52). In Great Britain, where property surveyors were producing plans from the end of the 16 th century, the same sort of codification was being set in place, as demonstrated by Albert Durer Revived (London, 1697, 12): "Red-lead is the nearest to an Orange colour, and putting a little yellow berries into some of it, it will make a perfect Orange colour, but if you mean to make flesh colour of it, you must put no yellow, but only then when you would make an Orange colour. This colour is used for colouring of Buildings, or High-ways in Landskips, being mixed with a little white."

By the 18 th century, the standardization of color became normative practice in the creation of large scale manuscript maps made for specific purposes. Codified color increased legibility and understanding on the part of the map reader and thus facilitated decision making and planning. Color, in its tangible forms of pigments, water, and brush, was a technical tool for the map maker along with paper, pencil, pen, and ink, brush and water for grey washes.

Each tool was employed to create meaning for every element of the map.

By contrast, the printed map, which was dominated by maps created at medium to small scale and designed to meet the needs of a much more general audience, did not employ color as part of the map-making apparatus but rather as an additional enhancement of meaning which had already been signified by the use of font, line (dotted, solid, stippled), and symbol, all of which were engraved on the copperplate with burin or needle, inked with black, printed on white. Color served essentially to highlight printed meaning, until the last quarter of the 18 th century when thematic mapping made greater demands on the palette.

Between expansion and limitation

The eighteenth century closed with two paradoxical developments in the use of color on printed maps: an increasing use of color on thematic maps and an absence of color on printed military maps. Only during the latter part of the 18 th century, when various forms of thematic mapping (qv) were becoming more common with the growing interest in the distribution of natural and man-made phenomena in space, was color employed in a meaningful way, a way in which color signified something beyond what was already printed, a use of color also helped by early experimentation in color printing. In general, thematic maps printed in the last quarter of the century continued to add color, often according printed P a g e | 9 keys or legends on the map, to the black and white outline of the map. In the Esquisse du genre humain…" by Marie Le Masson Le Golft (Paris, 1787) leans towards the use of color in imitation of nature by coloring different regions of the world according to the skin color of the inhabitants. Yet leaving areas white on this map does not signify a lack of information, as it did on earlier maps, but reflects the color of the skin of European inhabitants, thus giving white a "natural" meaning. (Ill. 4) Similar maps employing added color to emphasize spatial distribution of phenomena may be found in other map publications in Europe, as in Italy for the distribution of doctors around Pavia (1782, Giuseppe Cicognini), in Austria for the distribution of ethnic groups and language (1791, Johann Matthias Korabinsky). Color could dramatize political themes and nationalist aspirations, as with the multi-colored "New and Accurate Map of the English Empire in North America Representing….the Encroachments of the French with the several Forts they have unjustly erected" (London 1755), which displayed the French forts as white pockmarks on the vividly hued English claims. (Ill. 5) Growing interest in geology and the spatial distribution rock formations also focused attention on color and its deployment as a meaningful cartographic symbol. Initially, the principle of imitation of nature was employed in the earliest of geological maps, produced primarily in the German states (QV Thematic Mapping in the German States) on which colors signified types of rock by imitating the shade of the rock itself. Professor A.G. Werner of the Freiburg Mining Academy produced an unpublished FarbenTafel for his students to use based on imitation; it contrasted with the more theoretical proposal of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832) whose amateur enthusiasm for geology led him to develop a theory of color (Farbenlehre) which based the colors of rocks not as much on their appearance but on their origins and the harmonic arrangement of colors, thus pointing towards a stratigraphic color scheme based on age. it is sufficient for rendering escarpments, for the overhangs of routes through hollows, for ravines… "

The relationship of color to cartography permeated different aspects of map production throughout the period of the Enlightenment. From the most material aspects of the map (paper, manuscript tools, engraving procedures, costs, workshops and artisans) to the consideration of question of which colors, what they represent, and their normalization, to the construction of the meaning white or blank space as nothing (a lack of information) or something (significant information for which no color is required).

  published a discussion of the errors of John Mitchell's A Map of the British and French Dominions in North America (London, 1755): P a g e | 5 "We observe that you have drawn a line from Rockland in latitude 40 deg. On Hudson's River to the mouth of the Lecba branch of Delaware river in the latitude of 40 deg. 37 m.

"

  Having the Plan of a Gentleman's Estate, &c to wash, first begin with one of the Fields, and dipping your Pencil in the Colour you design to use, draw it along the Inside of the Lines, making the couloured Part of an equal Breadth ; you make it either broader or narrower, according to the Size of the Field ; then a dip a clean Pencil in a fait Water, and Draw it along on the inside of the couloured Part, washing down the Edge that the Colour may fade or die away down to the Paper, and appear strong next the lines. It is customary with Surveyors to wash each Filed with one intire Colour : This is left to the Discretion of the Surveyor."(Breaks, 1771, 446)

  Goethe's theoretical work strongly influenced the coloring on Christian Keferstein's General Charte von Teutschland (1821) (Schäffer-Weiss and Versemann, 2005) By contrast both to the use of thematic color added to printed maps and to the long tradition of color use on manuscript military maps, especially in France, color was denied a role on large scale printed military maps known as the Carte d'état major. In 1801 the Commission de topographie (QV) which oversaw the production of this new map ruled out color as an element on the map of France. The debates concerning this question were published in the Mémorial topographique et militaire (1801), in which the argument is clear: P a g e | 10 "They say that colors make clear what lines leave in doubt. Is color necessary? The line alone is insufficient; it deceives [the eye]: a missing color allows the error to stand. The horizontal line, by contrast, done in full or dotted never deceives the eye:


Nicolas Verdier

Jean-Marc Besse

Jean-Baptiste Bourguignon

d'Anville (1697-1782) (QV

The overall general map is drawn with a relatively good hand, and is the best presented of all: however, the rows of mountains are interrupted almost everywhere. The general map of China falls far short: the mountains on the Dutch map are in very bad taste: they are small hills, completely detached and placed haphazardly, and without any setting to convey the natural: the writing is thin, and of equally bad taste […]. The general map of the Chinese Tartary [Mongolia] is in the same [style of] engraving as that of China, and in many places, where it is not clear that there are very high mountains that form long chains between them, such as at Mont Chanyen or Chanpê, which is almost always covered in snow: we do not see, or scarcely, the expression of these mountains in the Dutch copy...Throughout, the taste of engraving is more akin to woodcut than copperplate engraving. However, one should acknowledge the cartouches that were added to all the individual maps in the Dutch series; but does the beauty of these cartouches justify the liberty taken to place them where they are? Because it is absurd to place a cartouche on each of the maps that create a composition of several sheets, as do the [twelve] maps of Tartary and [the nine of] Tibet: for if the sheets are joined together to make a general map, this map will be scattered with cartouches and separate titles. D'Anville's reflections focus on the Dutch publisher's competence with regard the engraving and layout of the maps, not his "Dutch" style. In other words, maps produced in different places of cartographic production in the eighteenth century were not described in terms of national styles, but in terms of taste and effect. Similar ideas suggested that there were no differences between different types of maps.

Bradock Mead (QV John Green) refused to differentiate between land maps and marine charts, criticizing those who imagined that "a MAP is to be drawn only by a MAP and a Chart from a Chart"(p. 137), »] (Mead, 1717, 137) The review of Mead's work in the Nouveau Mercure de France (March 1721/03, 178) translated this as "qu'une carte terrestre doit être dessignée autrement qu'une carte marine" using the word "design" (« dessigner ») and thus placing map composition as a graphic art [START_REF] François | L'Art de desseigner, de maistre Jean Cousin, reveu, corrigé et augmenté par François Jollain[END_REF]. In fact, d'Anville's comparison of his own maps with the Dutch copies used a criterion that was as much aesthetic as technical and his vocabulary indicated the practical and aesthetic challenges involved in the creation and reading of maps: the mountains on the Dutch map "are extremely tasteless" («sont d'un fort mauvais goût»); the writing is "equally tasteless" («d'un goût également mauvais»); a crude and unskilled "sense of engraving" («goût de gravure ») was more like woodcut than copper engraving; and finally the cartouches, though attractive, had been placed without any logic on the individual map sheets so that the assembled general map "will be scattered with cartouches and specialized titles." Thus d'Anville's harsh criticism that the Dutch copies lacked taste and the composition lacked simplicity highlighted two underlying principles in the design of maps in the eighteenth century, which reflected judgments of both producers and users: taste and composition. Taste D'Anville was not alone in using the word goût [taste] in his critique of the Dutch maps. La Poix de Fréminville employed similar instructions regarding the production of property maps:

For the use of property maps to affix on geometric maps, there will be a difference in that the seigneur, who has a geometric survey made of his land, does so only to keep these maps; thus it will be necessary that the property maps be related to each other & arranged in the same taste. (Poix de Fréminville Edme (de la), 1746, 108).

Nicolas Buchotte made a similar assessment concerning relief representation:

With regards to the accompaniment of the entire map--I am referring to the landscape around it--there are few people who make tasteful maps showing plowed land and mountains and hills, these things not being as easy as they seem; because there is big difference between the landscape shown in plan and that shown in perspective. In the latter, if the objects are shown in profile as they are seen in nature, they continue to make an impression. It is not the same as the landscape on a map: if the mountains and hills, are represented in bird's-eye view (meaning in a squashed manner) because of the frequent need to know the physical extent of their base, if they are not rendered with good taste, they have no impression, or provide only a disagreeable view….. » (Buchotte, Preface, 1743/1754, [START_REF]Affiches, annonces et avis divers, vingt-cinquième feuille hebdomadaire[END_REF][4] unpaginated).

Thus taste was both a criterioon for evaluating the quality of maps, but also a general rule in their production, applicable to every cartographic mode. Therefore, the question of taste within a larger framework of the visual arts in general bears consideration.

The concept of taste was not restricted to fine art and poetry only. In the eighteenth century, it took on a familiar connotation in the development of aesthetics, such as the science of sensibility (Baumgarten 1735). Taste was defined as a feeling of pleasure bound to the experience of all kinds of objects surrounding humans. As such, this feeling applied equally to natural beings, works of art, and scientific creations. Aesthetics comprised the set of rules that determine an assessment, both intellectual and appreciable, of these various types of objects. In this way, maps, which are images presented as visual works, also provide an opportunity for an aesthetic experience. But the aesthetic assessment of cartographic images did not conflict with their cognitive significance. On the contrary, aesthetic assessment was carried out from a perspective of knowledge or geographic science, and from this basis the discernment of taste was implemented. "Art" and "science" were not in opposition, but linked in a common purpose of the readability and efficacy (or, "truth") of geographic images. Map producers joined in a broader visual culture that connected them with painters, architects, engravers, and anyone involved in the design and production of images, whether "artistic," "scientific," or "religious."

Certain key elements defined a work as being tasteful or tasteless. The Essai sur le goût by [START_REF] Montesquieu | Essai sur le gout dans les choses de la nature et de l'art, ou Réflexions sur les causes du plaisir qu'excitent en nous les ouvrages d'esprit et les productions des beaux-arts[END_REF] as well as the Livre d'architecture [START_REF] Germain | Livre d'architecture contenant les principes généraux de cet art et les plans, élévations et profils de quelques-uns des batimens faits en France & dans les pays étrangers[END_REF] provided some precisions: taste is a feeling of the pleasure or displeasure that is experienced by the soul when it is presented with something; it is the feeling of the pleasant or unpleasant that is the judge in this matter. Buchotte's text cited above asserted anything drawn on the map is designed to trigger an effect on the viewer, and this effect will be considered pleasant or unpleasant, in other words, tasteful or tasteless, depending upon the choice of representation. As with other graphic images, a map might be judged as tasteful, and thus pleasant to view, when it brings together the following qualities, according to Montesquieu: it shows things to the soul; it shows it with order (thus avoiding confusion); it incorporates variety (by avoiding uniformity); this variety embodies symmetry, that is, an overall balance of the parts [START_REF] Michael | Patterns of Intention: on the Historical Explanation of Pictures[END_REF]. Montesquieu's instructions have a clear goal: the creator of the image must assemble a complete visual whole that is rich, varied, and ordered, easy to grasp visually, and easy to read (Montesquieu, 1757, 44). As Buchotte wrote: "If one is not born with a talent to draw, one should at least know how to draw tastefully in order to be understood by the connoisseurs and to recognize drawings [of others] that follow the rules" » (Buchotte 1722, p. 3 de la préface) Indeed, Montesquieu and the Encyclopédists, along with d'Anville, confirmed the prerogatives of classical taste against the excessive ornamentation characteristic of earlier periods. This broad discussion revolved around the legitimacy and form of ornament in the art of design. Charles-Nicolas Cochin (1715-1790), who himself designed cartographic ornaments, agreed with Montesquieu: "The primary shape of something is produced for this purpose [i.e., use and convenience], and the rest is only added to enrich and embellish it: thus ornament is subject to laws of decorum. The general rules of taste, established in all areas of art, are no less important: variety, symmetry, calm next to busyness, irregularity in masses and their components; proportional relationships of large to small, which are discernible to the eye and which are recognized as one of the main causes of the pleasure created by beautiful things" (Cochin, 1761, Avant-propos, pp. XIII-XIV).

A standard of taste occured in all the arts, whether mechanical or decorative. The goldsmith, engraver, cabinet-maker, and others such as painters, sculptors, and scientists tended to comply with this rule. Over the course of the century, such thinking led to the creation of art schools for artisans where geometry played an important role, and also technical schools like the l'École des Ponts et Chaussées (QV) where cartographic production and geometric knowledge were equally valued [START_REF] Antoine | L'ingénieur artiste, Dessins anciens de l'École des Ponts et Chaussées[END_REF]. The curriculum of the art schools determined that geometry would allow the ornament to be standardized and subjected to rules of good taste by curtailing the whimsical and bizarre (Courajod, 1874, p.

201).

Composition

"A well composed picture," wrote Diderot, "is a whole, enclosed by a single point of view wherein the parts contribute to a common goal, and form a complete whole through their mutual correspondence, that is as real as that of the limbs of an animal's body; in such a way that a fragment of a painting fragment simply has forms cast randomly, without proportion, or understanding, or unity, no longer deserving the name of an actual composition, any more than studies of a nose, eyes, and legs scattered on a bit of paper are worthy of being called a portrait or even a human form. ("composition," Encyclopédie,Vol. 3,p. 772). In other words, a painting, and moreover a map, were well put together when they demonstrated unity of viewpoint, symmetry and proportion in the arrangement of their whole and thus reflect their creator's good taste.

However, the issue of the unified point of view was debatable where the map was concerned. In 1722, Nicolas Buchotte still considered it "acceptable" (Buchotte, 1722, 104) to see certain elements drawn in elevation, whether manmade constructions (cities, houses, castles…) or landmarks, (mills, posts, crosses, prominent trees). Yet by 1801 Louis Nicolas de Lespinasse rejected this style of graphic representation, criticizing maps that "allow and accept trees, boulders and other objects in elevation […]. One wonders about these inconsistencies between convention and execution and why one [mapmaker] accepts the geometral, while another discredits it, thus creating the impossible" (Lespinasse, 1801, p. 47).

Peter Apian had long since defined chorography and geography based on Ptolemy in his Cosmographie (1584); he had illustrated their differences with diagrams of the ear (chorography) as opposed to the entire head (geography). Diderot's text on painting employed this same logic to the art of composition. Cartography, like painting, should be considered as an art that developed images that follow the general laws of visual composition established in contemporary visual culture. This hypothesis seems to be supported by Father Lubin's definition of the word Tabula: "The word Tabula in Greek is πίναξ from which is derived the word Pinacographia, the composition of maps; geographers, who make their reputation from geographic tables, should not dismiss the quality of Pinacographs, which is Tavola in Italian, Carta or Mapa in Spanish, ein Tafel in German, and a chart in English" » (Lubin 1678, 347-348). Diderot wrote that composing "is to put together several parts to make a body," and this activity, he added, applied "to the creation of the arts that suggest invention and genius, such as fine art, painting, sculpture, engineering, etc." (Encyclopédie,vol. 3,p. 768). Geography in the 18 th century was a graphic art, an art of the image.

Geography create maps and tables, that is to say first complex images intended for the visual communication of comprehensive information relative to a territory (its shape, history, contents and qualities) and the different interests, intentions and interpretations, for which it was the object. When d'Anville criticized the useless proliferation of cartouches on the specialized maps of the Dutch map of China, he was considering the complete composition of the set of plates as a general map, and more specifically, the visual coherence of this composition. Visual simplicity was the rule that he applied.

Maps have long been studied from the perspective of the history of discoveries and the development in measurements. They should also be considered as part of the history of graphic arts, as images to be read and deciphered. They generate questions about the demands placed on eighteenth-century mapmakers as to the readability of maps, as well as their accuracy. As a whole, the graphic resources employed in the map production (legends, colors, fonts, drawing and engraving techniques, and layout), responded to the requirement of readability, which was expressed through composition and good taste.

The graphic organization of the cartographic page

Any research program that studies maps within the context of graphic arts, a program that remains to be thoroughly developed, should consider the many issues that 18 th century cartographers resolved before organizing information on the map. Among these are four little Bolton's copy had added too many words for d'Anville, who distinguished between good and bad relationships between the map and text. The larger subject of the relationship of the map to the accompanying memoir (QV Cartographic Memoirs), is only fleetingly touched upon here; it is the visual effect of legend and text on the map itself that concerns the French geographer. The question of where text belong had elicited comment from Bradock Mead too, who confirmed the ineluctable connection between the map and its accompanying memoir, without which the map could not be understood. D'Anville considered Bolton's map overloaded, specifically because the author had not correctly allocated the necessary information between the map and any memoir linked to it (which did not exist).

Maps created through different cartographic practices at different scales demanded different approaches to the text and map question. General maps compiled at a medium to small scale called out for explanatory memoirs because their production was based on multiple sourcesgraphic, textual, and oraland their justification and value resided in the explanation of how these sources were evaluated and employed. For such maps, the memoir served as the extension of the map image, which allocated space for text in the form of title, dedication, scale, and explanatory legend. At large scales, property, topographic, or geodetic maps such as the Cassinis' Carte de France, based entirely on trigonometric ground survey, was not intended to be accompanied by published texts, even though it was based on the compilation on-site observation and texts and tables of information. (QV Carte de France) This map was designed to stand alone as a graphic image, without text. Any legends produced to accompany this map were prepared by commercial publishers, not by the Cassinis. b) Representation of cartographic practices and phenomena: Most modes of cartography are concerned at a basic level with the naming of things or places and their location within a determined spatial framework. The distribution of people, places, objects, or institutions in space had long been considered the primary function of cartography. In the eighteenth century the concern for determining location with greater accuracy than ever before was accompanied by an increasing desire to identify and quantify physical phenomena and human practices. c) the relationship between the map and the edge of the composition: An aspect of map design rarely touched upon either in contemporary or modern literature is the question of the edge (the border or the frame) of the map. Leaving a map without an edge might imply incompletion: the map was a draft, a sketch, an early attempt to rendering the image. The choice of frame or edge allowed the cartographer to create a visual marker for the whole of his composition and, in addition, to make a visual statement about the nature of the composition (its audience, its display, its intention), whether manuscript or printed. Most commonly, a map or plan, whether in manuscript or print, was finished with a neat line, a single line that encompassed the cartographic content of the map. Sometimes the line was doubled, and the intervening place filled with important information marking the grid of longitude and latitude. For example d'Anville's map of the ancient world ( 1740 [START_REF] Pastoureau | Les Sanson : un siècle de cartographie française (1630-1730[END_REF][START_REF] Pedley | New light on an old atlas: documents concerning the publication of the Atlas universel (1757)[END_REF][START_REF] Pedley | The Commerce of Cartography, making and Marketing maps in eighteenth century France and England[END_REF] have shown the importance of the relationships between cartographer and their engravers and the effect on different elements of maps and cartouches in France, yet no study has thoroughly explored the nature and consequences of this collaboration. Little archival evidence has emerged to elucidate this process. Even though d'Anville relied on his brother, the engraver Hubert François Gravelot (1699-1773), for the design of many of his cartouches, and their close relationship must have been mutually beneficial, we know little of its details, and the small number of d'Anville's maps compared with growing production throughout Europe in the eighteenth century, means that we do not have a clear picture of the role of each protagonist in the design process. That could be a collaboration of equals emerges from a map made famous because it was produced entirely by women, the Passage de l'ombre de la lune au travers de l'Europe dans Tardieu (1731Tardieu ( -1773) ) was the wife of Jacques-Nicolas Tardieu (1716-1791) both well known and reputable engravers, often of maps. Madame Lattré, née Marie Françoise Vérard, was the wife of the Jean Lattré, map and atlas publisher and engraver, and actively involved in her husband's workshop [START_REF] Petto | Playing the feminine card: Women of the early Modern Map Trade[END_REF]. The fact that the "work" (ouvrage) is attributed to all three women without any ranking of one as the author and the others as employees or workers is to be remarked. According to the Encyclopédie, a work (ouvrage)is "the creation of a man of letters" « la production d'un homme de lettre », but the word is also an architectural term referring to a construction resulting from the involvement of various specialists (Encyclopédie 11, 722 et 724). The fact that the Journal général de la France attributes the position of author of the work to all three women shows the strength of relationships built at the junction of cartographic technique: the projection and design of the map, the engraving, the ornamentation, and its printing in two colors, a rare example of this difficult technique [QV Reproduction of Maps in Print] (ark:/12148/btv1b55000407b).

The Mercure de France, which mirrored the taste of eighteenth century salons, revealed how the balance between concern for the accuracy and quality of engraving marked many commentaries of the period. In 1702, Nicolas de Fer was hailed in Mercure Galant for the "exactitude and design" of a recently revised celestial planisphere (Mercure Galant, 1702/04, 291). Two years later, de Fer's L'Espagne triomphante sous le règne de Philippe V was described as "more accurate and more detailed than what has been published up until that time, a beautiful engraving that is pleasing to view" (Mercure Galant, 1704/03 p. 297).

Twenty years later, the Carte de la France divisée dans toutes ses généralitez by Bourguignon d'Anville was recognized: "The accuracy of this edition, and the beauty of the paper & the style [which] will be no small advantage for such a useful work for the government" (Mercure de France, 1726France, /11, p. 2526)). In 1751, the Carte de la Monarchie des Goths, tant les Gaules qu'en Espagne by Robert de Vaubondy was described as "very accurate and very elegant" (Mercure de France 1751/07, p. 116). Both neat drawing and neat engraving that was even elegant to see were the fundamentals for rendering maps presented as useful to the government and which could consequently inhabit libraries belonging to men of taste. In a period in which libraries and the building of libraries constituted a step on the social ladder, the acquisition of maps and atlases that were both useful and beautiful created a demand for these commodities which geographers were eager to satisfy. [QV Map Trade, all entries] The definition of the word "Art" in the Encyclopédie rendered its meanings, if not synonymous, at least similar to those of "Science" and "Discipline" by emphasizing the "a system of rules or instruments, and guidelines aimed at the same goal" (Encyclopédie vol 1, p. 713). In the encyclopedic spirit of the eighteenth century, it is appropriate to consider the design and composition of maps not only by studying mapping techniques, now a standard approach, but also by studying maps in the context of the transformation of visual knowledge.

The "rules and instructions" that define visual knowledge are expressed in the design of maps, a meeting point of increasing exactitude, careful engraving, and the skills of ornamentation.

Bibliographie: 24

Contemporary (14)

Apian Peter, Cosmographia sive descriptio universi orbis…, Antvepiae, Apud Ioan, Bellerum, 1584.

Baumgarten Alexander Gottlieb, Meditationes philosophicae de nonnullis ad poema pertinentibus, Halae Magdeburgicae, 1735.

  (Mercure de France, June 1738, pp. 1089-1093) [Figs 1 & 2: Dutch edition of d'Anville's China maps and d'Anville original]

  studied topics: a) the relationship between image and text (map and memory); b) the representation of cartographic practices and phenomena in different cartographic modes; c) the relationship between the map and the "frame" (the edge of the map); d) the collaboration among the different agents in the graphic production. a) image and text: An example of the question of balance between text and image was considered by d'Anville in another critical letter in the Mercure de France (March 1751) leveled at Solomon Bolton, who had published a copy of d'Anville's map of North America (Paris, 1745) in London in 1750, to accompany the Universal Dictionary of Trade and Commerce (a translation of Jacques Savary's Le parfait négociant by Malachy Postlethwayt, London: John Knapton, 1751-1755). While d'Anville's overall critique explored whether Bolton's copy of the French original was "greatly improved," as the title claimed and discussed the geopolitical nature of the two maps, d'Anville turned to the appearance of the Bolton copy in questioning the acceptable amount of text on the map.The first of M. Bolton's legends does not say anything other than that according to the Treaty of Utrecht, the French have the right to frequent the northern coast of Newfoundland. This is certainly a fact about which I would agree with him; but I would have omitted it from my map on the grounds that I would have discussed it elsewhere, in notes of some kind.(Bourguignon d'Anville, 1751, pp. 153-154).

  While not new in the eighteenth century, thematic maps of various sorts were made increasingly possible by the development of communication networks, by the increased gathering of statistical data, and by the observation and representation of [QV Thematic Mapping] Statistics and Cartography; Route maps and surveys] Among the thematic maps that employed unusual graphic techniques in the representation of information were road maps, such as found in the strip maps of John Ogilby's Britannia [FIG QV illustration for Road Map] or the route maps as found in the Atlas Trudaine [FIG QV illustration for Route Map]. These maps employ line and scale, and, in the case of Ogilby, trompe l'oeil techniques to devalue the actual nature of the terrain in order to emphasize the route or road as a straight line. Similar techniques were used in the battle map, which integrated lines representing the trajectories of cannon balls, and later, the movement of troops, culminating in very complex maps showing several displacements of the same units. [FIG QV Battle Map; Military Cartography] Thematic maps that showed the distribution of natural or manmade phenomena in space also demanded specialized symbols for the phenomena and explanatory to make them comprehensible, such as mineralogical maps of Jean-Etienne Guettard or of Belsazar Hacquet (Leipzig 1778). [FIGS QV Thematic mapping in France; Thematic mapping in Austrian Monarchy]. Graphic techniques of color and symbol were employed to show temporal events, such as the map of the storm of July 13, 1788 drawn by which Jean Nicolas Buache de la Neuville for the Mémoires of the Académie des Sciences (1790, 308, pl 4) (Vasak 2004), and the eclipse map of 1762 by Mesdames Le Paute, Lattré, and Tardieu, discussed below.

) Fig 3 (

 3 ark:/12148/btv1b59637331) employs two distinctly different cartouches, one for the title and another for the scales, with text integrated into the latitude and longitude table; the whole composition is surrounded by a double line frame the encloses the longitude and latitude numbers, yet by necessity the geography of the map breaks the frame in order to provide a complete composition. Sometimes outside the double line, a border of scenes, views, portraits, peoples created an encyclopedic effect of a catalogue of information provided in addition to the map content, such as this map of Africa by Jean-Baptiste Nolin fils Fig 4 (ark:/12148/btv1b77590957). Similar pictorial elements might form the frame on maps whose purpose was that of display and historical grandeur. [FIGS QV Urban Plan ; Nolli Pianta di Roma]. we should also consider if a style in the decorative arts encouraged authors to work on compositions that would different types of combinations between texts, cartouches and maps on the same plate? For example the map of Rome published in the same year by Covens and Mortier, which increases the different styles of cartouches, and works with frames and graphic insertions Fig 8 (ark:/12148/btv1b530248990 Part of the complexity of the eighteenth century could be summed up by what appears to be a tension between the style of this map of Rome, seemingly overloaded when compared to the apparent simplicity plates of a Cassini map Fig 9 (http://bfichet.free.fr/david/007-rumsey.htm), like the tension between the Baroque style, or at least Rococo, and the Classical. Sometimes, the map or plan was surrounded by a trompe l'oeil frame, emulating the wood or plaster frame that a map might be housed in upon an owner's wall, as in the 1735 plan of Bath by the architect John Wood, who used the distinctive oval frame to set off the city plan, surrounding the oval frame with explanatory text, set within the corners of the outer rectangular frame. (Christian Michel, 1987) [FIG QV Urban planning and Cartography] A cartographer might also frame several separate maps, each with its own neat line or edge, within a larger whole, such as Philippe Buache's composition of 1740 of seven maps of the Antilles, copied from Henry Popple, [Fig 5 ark:/12148/btv1b59706865] , encompassed by the neat line that ties them together, they acquire a completeness. The outer frame seemed to indicate both the edge of composition and the unity of the whole. Clearly there were many design choices open to the cartographer, and the varieties of frames used deserve a larger, more nuanced study within the context of the map's content, its perceived audience, and the meaning it adds to the image. (Foucart 1987) d) The collaboration between different agents in the process of map production influenced the graphic choices and resulting compositions. The works by Mireille Pastoureau and Mary Pedley

  l'éclipse de soleil centrale et annulaire qui s'observera le 1er avril 1764. "This map is the work of three women, the astronomer [calculatrice] who projected it, [Madame Le Paute], Mdm. Lattré, who engraved it, and Mdm. Tardieu, who was responsible for the ornamental details" (Journal général de la France, 23 juin 1762, p. 99). [FIG in Women and Cartography] Nicole Reine Le Paute (1723-1788) was a gifted mathematician who calculated pendulum oscillation tables for her husband Jean André Lepaute, clockmaker to the King, and calculated the return of Halley's Comet with Jérome Joseph de la Lalande. Elisabeth Claire


In his great treatise on La science de la géographie of 1650, the Jesuit mathematician Jean François, who may have been Descartes's professor at the Collège de La Flèche, actually tackled the subject of the production of maps and globes at length: "In other words, images, which speak to the senses, should allow those who want to know geography to picture the surface of the earth and the various divisions it entails." Among his many practical suggestions and theoretical guidelines, Jean François alluded to the role of iconography in cartography: « […] some additions can be used extensively in the blank spaces to serve as decorations for globes and maps, and as instructions for viewers; such as the following things: :1. The horizon with the winds painted as mouths exhaling, and with the name of each wind written inside each puff. 2. The Zodiac with the signs depicted as drawings. 3. The Climates in their appropriate meridians. 4. The calms of a peaceful sea, and marine tempests, wherever they are common. 5. Different fish that exist in the various seas. 6. Different animals, fruits, flowers and other properties of the lands. Various costumes of natives, etc. 7. The rhumbs and marine compasses in some places : because even though each place marked has its own, as well as its own horizon; it suffices to provide them only for some specific points. 8. The regular winds (permanent, annual, and bi-annual, etc.) 9. The currents and other movements of the sea. 10. Magnetic declinations in different areas of the sea and the land. 11. Anomalies in nature, accidents and mankind's noteworthy acts (sic), and God's miracles, which have occurred in various places. And if these decorations overwhelm the map and cause confusion, then the locations can be numbered and explanations about what each place contains may be added in a separate area." (J. François, La science de la géographie, 1650, pp. 359-360).

The role of decoration

As we have seen, Jean François considered iconography, in its greatest extension, as an "accessory" and an "ornament " of cartography. In his Méthode abrégée et facile pour apprendre la géographie, Nicolas de Fer distinguished, in his case, "lines," "dashes," and "points," which were found on the geographic representation on the one hand, and on the other "characters," "numbers," and "figures," which allowed for the identification of cartographic places, and for which de Fer [?] also gave the codes of reading. The distinction was traditional, derived from a Ptolemaic vocabulary that separated the representation of the position of places and that of the nature of places. But we see that iconography was not part of the domain mentioned by Nicolas de Fer. It brought a dimension or additional distinction, which was ornamentation in cartography.

The ornament on the map (or the globe) was that which was in the cartography was added to the cartography. This was an addition, "which serves to accompany the primary subject" (Encyclopédie…, art. « Ornement » vol 11, p. 657). In the cartouche, along the edges, or even floating in the form of little illustrations in the map's empty areas, iconography welcomed and expressed, as we have seen, a whole series of extensive, cognitive and ideological dimensions that cartography, in the strictest sense of the word, meaning the geometric drawing of positions and geographic forms, on the one hand, and semiotics (which comes from the legend) on the other, did not support.

The Practice of Ornamentation

A map produced by Nicolas de Fer complies, even at a distance, with the methodological instructions of François. What really immediately strikes the viewer's eye is the excess of iconography that spreads out across the continents and seeps into the blank areas of the oceans. As with his other maps , de Fer arranged small illustrations and iconographic scenes to form a kind of frame around the map itself, placing here around 80 illustrations at the bottom, the top, and on either side of the image, providing the viewer with a panoply of geographic information. A close inspection of these scenes reveals:

-Ships and routes of expeditionary voyages dated on the map.

-Portraits of navigators and well-known discoverers affiliated with various nations.

-"Work" scenes: the fishing and processing of cod; hunting scenes; mining activities (gold mines, and precious metal transport); ways of cultivating and transforming plants (grating manioc, sugar cane processing; production of cassava).

-Landscape views: Cape of Good Hope; Niagara Falls.

-City plans: Mexico, La Concepcion, Vera-Cruz.

-Picturesque scenes: a hookah smoker; beavers collecting wood (a well-known scene later reproduced by Herman Moll).

-Many marine and land animals and birds: penguins, manatees, crocodiles, eagles, tortoises, muskrats, armadillos, etc.

-Exotic plants: potatoes, bananas, cocoa, red currants, annattos, spiny palms, manioc, watermelons, cassavas… -Ethnographic scenes, primarily relating to Canada and Mexico: religious customs, sacrifices, funeral ceremonies, rites of war and peace.

-Portraits of indigenous peoples: "Peruvian natives," "Porters of Mexico," "Mexicans" (Aztecs).

-Historical events related to discoveries and conquests: the arrival of Hernan Cortès at Vera Cruz in 1519.

However, no monsters are found here, as they no longer seem to have a place on maps. Numerous historical and descriptive texts were added to these images as they spread out over the surface of the map; the texts comment on the represented scenes or even add historical explanations to designate places known or unknown and the maps cities or identify specific sites placed on the maps (e.g., the Great Wall of China).

The review of the

While in 1750 Jean-Baptiste Bourguignon d'Anville attested to the importance of white space on the map as a signifier of the absence of data, his view did not mean the end of cartographic iconography. In fact, one notes that one of the landmarks of the new cartography had not completely lost older decorative traditions. Indeed, while Cassini's maps were successful overall in demonstrating a new "scientific" cartography devoid of iconography, one in which only the description of the line points and surface areas had meaning, the map of the Ile de Ré, plate n°133 (1772) of the Carte de France, nevertheless contained an image of a small cutter sailboat, typical of the region, and typical of earlier cartographic design, in which ships play an important role. (Unger, 2010)

Locations of ornaments

In the extensive collections of eighteenth century maps in which the stature of iconography had seemingly been diminished in favor of the blank white space and even of new data, at least two types of maps stand out as continuing an iconographic tradition:

The first group comprises planispheres, which remained, over the course of the century, a place of encyclopedic synthesis, either organized around cosmographic knowledge, or aimed to include, through allegorical representations or other figurations, the whole of a written language of the earth in a grammar often likened to that of a cartouche. Fig. 2 'Cassini de Thury, Carte de France, plate n°133 (1772), the map relative to the l'Ile de Ré, showing a little cotre, a boat typical of the region.)

The second group, more mundane, were the marine charts which provided a horizontal orthogonal plan along with perspective views of landscapes. For marine charting, coastal maps particularly combined the geometric shape and positioning of landscape forms, as well as the image of the land seen from the ship. This reproduced a particular change of scale as well as point of view for marine uses, moving from far away to close up, from the geometric to the visual.

The function of ornament: to instruct, order, and inform. This brief inventory of examples of iconography in cartography at the beginning of the eighteenth century offers the following tentative conclusions and directions for further research.

The primary function of iconography was educational. It should have been thought of as part of a learning and memorization model of the geography and history that linked place and image. Lenglet du Fresnoy, whose works were published frequently in and many languages (in German 1718 and 1752, in Italian 1726 and in English 1728 and 1730), wrote: " The principal order that must be followed requires a little reading; but with some attention placed on the geographical maps and on the recall of the places included in the introduction being used. Thus the eyes react much more than the mind; yet, in order to focus the imagination, each place that is noted in the book and on the map should be characterized either by some point of Natural History, or of Ecclesiastical or Civil History, or by some type of commerce and by the nature of the soil or the customs of the inhabitants, or by a siege, a battle or the background of some important family." (Lenglet du Fresnoy, 1716, t. 1, pp. xvij-xviij).

Iconography was about showing the geographical, ethnographical and natural realities, which were found in the places represented through the map's drawing and toponymy. Using the mathematician's (géomètre) vocabulary of the period (Clairaut), it involved enlightening the spectator, meaning allowing him to read that which was in front of his eyes, as it happened on the map, and by allowing him to imagine the places drawn on the map. Similar thoughts were expressed by Lenglet du Fresnoy: the geography that used the map was "more of a science of the eyes than of the mind" (Lenglet du Fresnoy Nicolas, 1713, t. I, p. 9), a comment introducing the idea of the map's readability.

Iconography also had a cognitive function. According to Joan Blaeu, the purpose of iconography was to represent "the graces of each region, the fruits which it bears, the metals it produces, the animals it begets or nourishes… [and]… the arms or insignia, with the names, whether of dukes or counts or barons or other notable men » (cited by Andrews,p. 442). Thus the illustrated scenes were not randomly selected but chosen in relation to an intellectual program, emanating from the descriptive geography of the sixteenth century (both at the cosmographic small scale as well as the chorographic large scale). One of geography's objectives was specifically to provide information on the natural qualities of soils, peoples' customs, forms of governments, animals, plants, significant historical events, and other "wonders." Emanuel Bowen's map of Italy in 1747 contained these elements, playing on the fascination of volcanoes as well as natural wonders. (Fig. 4) (Emmanuel Bowen, A new and accurate map of Italy drawn from the latest and best authrotieis and regulated by the most approved astron. Observations.

Emmanuel Bowen, 1774)

The issue of the third dimension, tant pour le temps que pour l'espace, could even touch determined time, as in Buache's map from 1752, which included a cross-section of the sea floor of la Manche. (Fig. 5) (Philippe Buache, Cartes et Coupe du Canal de la Manche.... Paris, 1752)

The historically descriptive inventory was an indefinite principle because it responded to the abundant earthly reality that Europeans discovered, but was not without order. In other words, through the iconographic illustrations, the viewer discovered on his own time the cognitive rubric of the map, which could also be followed in a book or through a travel log.

Decoration was clearly a means of preserving narrative and descriptive dimensions within the geometry specific to cartographic representation. How function of "informing" involved transforming the map into discourse, and, specifically into the different worlds which were drawn on the map. The discourse of de Fer's Carte de la Mer du Sud… was relatively explicit: the exploitation of natural resources (the mines), the political and morale (religious) conquest, and the description of American territories (among others) that this map established. The viewpoint was European, and the spectator was invited to observe from a center, from Europe, looking toward the rest of the world, where he or she was invited to discover places of immense natural riches and opulence, illustrated by iconographic scenes, places the spectator was also invited to dominate. While the discourse of Nicolas de Fer's map is one of power, that of Bowen's map of Italy is curiosity.

The iconographic richness in Nicolas de Fer's Carte des mers du Sud allows one to apply to cartography that which Daniel Arasse applies to the details in painting: he tends to spread out and break apart the whole of the representation. (Le Détail, 2009) In other words, the iconographic saturation of Nicolas de Fer's map produces a fragmentation and dispersion of the meanings on paper: the image that is before us would be called a synthetic view, but it is more of a juxtaposition of "details" that calls for a moving glance and a look that wanders over the paper and gradually discovers the wealth of information. The iconography clutters the view and strips the map of its unity as a whole, its basis of internal connection. Nicolas de Fer's map eludes the instructions of Roger de Piles as to the unity of the composition and the fixity of the eye: his Cours de peinture par principes (1708) specifically emphasized the necessity of the "all together" and renounced the idea that parts of the image be dealt with independently. In this sense, the iconographic ornament could be considered a risk for cartography, the risk of getting lost in the details, and certainly, the risk of pleasing the eyes.

Criticism of the ornament that was found, on the one hand, with cartographers, and on the other hand, with certain art theorists of the same period, really shows that the issue of this matter did not involve a separation between art and science, but rather involved art as well as science concerning the place that should be granted to the pleasures of the image and of the integrity attributed to these pleasures.

Iconography's place and function in European cartography of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries requires a broader thinking on the role of cartography itself within the educated and artistic (scholarly) cultures where it was developed. Furthermore, it involves an examination on the training and development of a "geographical culture" in the European general public at that time, and on the procedures and directions taken by that culture. That, which was called "cartography," anachronistic even for that time, actually designated a system of complex images, which lay side by side, overlapped or interacted graphically; in addition, they were politically and intellectually diversified, and at times actually contradictory to one another. Iconography fulfills that part of program of geography, which geometric drawing and semiotics alone can not answer. It may be summarized as follows:: to see the terrestrial and maritime world and all it contains, meaning (in Jean François' vocabulary) to be able to imagine it, and while looking at a map or a globe, to grasp the worlds inside it which are represented there. This view assumes that the purpose of the map is not only to represent the terrestrial world and the territories it includes, but also to depict ideas about this world and its territories, as well as the intentions or interests that one anticipates developing there. By accepting that the map conveys a complex visual discourse, one understands the essential and significant place in the elaboration of this discourse held by iconography.

Bibliography

  Besse et Nicolas Verdier The theory of iconography in cartography While eighteenth century maps continued to include many decorative elements, reflections about the images on the maps are practically non-existent in works related to mapmaking of the period. Neither Nicolas Sanson's l'Introduction à la géographie, published by Guillaume Sanson (1681, various editions until 1743), nor The construction of Maps and Globes by Bradock Mead (1717), nor L'usage de la sphère, du globe et des Cartes pour la Géographie by Pierre Viollier, published in Geneva in 1704, alluded to the existence of an image, an ornament, or even an illustration on the maps. As for manuscript plans, neither Buchotte (Règles du lavis, Paris, 1722), nor Louis-Nicolas de Lespinasse (Traité du lavis des plans appliqué principalement aux reconnaissances militaires, Paris, 1801) asked the question. The discussions on it are based on reflections from the seventeenth century.

  (FIG 1) (Nicolas de Fer Carte de la Mer du Sud et des costes d'Amerque [sic] et d'Asie, situées sur cette mer ; Carte de la Mer du Nord et des costes d'Amerique, d'Europe et d'Afrique, situées sur cette mer / par N. de Fer, géographe de sa Majesté catolique [sic] »)

  Traité sur les Acéphales or des hommes sans tête linked this usage to the past « "one still sees [such] figures today represented on old geographical maps"]. (Nouveau Mercure Galant, septembre 1714, pp. 105-106)


Cartouche Besse

Jean Marc

Verdier Nicolas

. For a century or more, Italian and Flemish geographers and cartographic editors, followed by the Dutch, customarily added various decorative elements to their maps, including iconographic vignettes, historiated frames, cartouches, and color. Thus the cartouche may be considered as one of the "places" on the map that articulated the map's cognitive scope. As both a connector and a catalyst, the cartouche played a role in the circulation of social and cultural values and imaginary spaces connected to the construction of the visual culture of its epoch. To consider the map in conjunction with its cartouches is thus to understand the map fully as a "cultural text" (Clarke 1988).

Functions of the Cartouche

The diverse definitions of "cartouche" found in the dictionaries and manuals of the period correspond to that given in the Dictionaire universel (Furetière 1690, vol. 1, n.p.): "it is a card in the shape of a cylinder or scroll or its representation, for which the sculpture and the engraving make diverse ornaments, in the middle of which is placed some inscription or device. The titles of geographical maps are written in the cartouches, very much historiated."

).

Moreover, the cartouche is also a container, like a frame, whose interior space is usually filled with a title, a device, an inscription, a coat of arms. The cartouche is the place that gathers "titles, explanations, notes necessary for the understanding of each map" (contract between Philippe Buache and the États du Languedoc, quoted in Dainville 1964, 64). As a hollow space, it envelops a central area in which a text announces the map's contents, which are anticipated by the reader. In 1691 the Mercure Galant (no. 7) announced a map of the Piedmont (Carte du Piemont et du Monferrat, 1691)by le Père Placide, géographe du roi, containing "ten cartouches which not only serve just as ornaments, but which are also tables that give a general idea of the regions in a few words and in a very methodical manner" (169-70).

Sometimes the cartouche contains more than the simple identifying words ("Here is Italy…"); it may present an historical account of the territories mapped, describe the regions, and give the measurement scales. Finally, it provides the political identity of the place as well as its

possessor. In addition, the title in the cartouche can equally proclaim property rights, thus reverberating with the themes of legitimacy and law.

Even though the principal reason for the presence of the cartouche is to aid the reading and comprehension of the map, evoking the territory represented by the map, the cartouche also responds to a more societal function: it contains the name of the person to whom the map is dedicated or addressed. "One calls the cartouche the design that one places at the bottom of plans and geographical maps and which serves to contain the title or the heraldry of the person to whom the map is presented. These cartouches are likely to be decorated with the attributes and allegories that ought to relate to the person being presented with these designs or to the subjects of the designs" [START_REF] Blondel | Cartouche[END_REF].

In addition to the the title and the contents of the map, the cartouche also may contain the names of the author or editor and the dedicatee. Thus the cartouche becomes a place of legitimization and insertion of cartography into the network of sociability. In describing the cartographic productions of Alexis-Hubert Jaillot, Christine M. Petto has shown how the cartouche is inscribed into a social relationship between the author or editor and the dedicatee, which was completely characteristic of French society during the Ancien Régime: that of patronage [START_REF] Petto | When France was King of Cartography: The Patronage and Production of Maps in Early Modern France[END_REF]. The importance of the practice of dedication, central to the economy of patronage, is well known: it obliged the patron (the dedicatee) to offer protection, employment, or remuneration in exchange for a book or a map, dedicated, offered, and accepted. The author or editor was thus obliged to manifest the glory of the patron (Pedley 2005, 83-84).

Of course, the editors of maps and globes developed this rhetoric of glory and symbolic power toward a monarch (in France, the elements at work in the "fabrication of Louis XIV," to use the phrase of Peter Burke, are well known), but similar language was also used for other levels of political authority, including a prince or Dauphin, ministers and grand officers of state, ecclesiastical personnel, municipal authorities, landed gentry, and local aristocracy. The diversity of patrons does not suggest a fundamental rupture in the rhetorical register adopted by the author of the dedication addressed to his patron. To whatever level of authority the map was presented, the dedication was designed to manifest the positive effects of the exercise of this authority, independent of scale.

Meanings of the Cartouche

The discourse or meanings of the cartouche may be classified into three principal categories, which are not mutually exclusive: power and possession, ethnogeography, and arts and civilization. A single cartouche may, in effect, simultaneously develop several levels of different meaning.

The discourse of power, or, as has often been written, of possession or claim of a territory uses the cartouche like a signature, the mark or imprint of the proprietor and their wishes for a region (fig. 2). This discourse plays out on two levels, sometimes combined: symbolic control and real control. Cartouches employ various strategies for these levels of meaning, including moral or political allegory, heraldry, the recitation of the foundation or genealogical heritage of a territory or of the claimant, and historic events. These affirmations of power over the territory represented by the map often resonate with the transfer of authority or situations of conflict, as has been shown in the subjects of cartouches that ornament maps produced at the moment of the American War of Independence or other period of conflict [START_REF] Clarke | Taking Possession: The Cartouche as Cultural Text in Eighteenth-Century American Maps[END_REF]Pedley 2008;[START_REF] Petto | Semblance of Sovereignty: Cartographic Possession in Map Cartouches and Atlas Frontispieces of Early Modern Europe[END_REF]. However, the discourse of the cartouche is not limited in a simplistic way to this first register of power. The hermeneutic richness of the cartouche speaks to its capacity to vary the levels of meaning and to connect them.

The second discourse employed by cartouches on globes and maps is that of ethnogeography, which develops the rhetorical mode of visual evidence. The cartouche elicits the effect of reality by showing the region and its visual "truth" by the presence of iconographic vignettes representing the natural resources of the region, its flora and fauna, population and customs, practices and rituals, and mode of dress (fig. 3) (Davies forthcoming).

Evidence exists of requests for mapmakers to embellish any heraldry on the map with "geniuses or allegorical figures and appropriate attributes that show the productions of the earth, the natural history, and the commerce of the different cantons, to which one will add what one can concerning particular ancient and modern monuments" (contract Buache and États du Languedoc, 1748, quoted in Dainville 1964, 64). These discourses or levels of meaning support the hypothesis that the cartouche embodies the descriptive or chorographic aspect of the map itself, at the same time as the map loses this dimension from its own cartographic contents. As the cartouche took on the functions of the historiated frame, typical of seventeenth-century Flemish and Dutch cartography, this extended decoration gradually disappeared from the socalled scientific cartography of the eighteenth century, though it persisted in the form of vignettes surrounding the map in the productions of the German publishing houses of Homann Heirs and Matthäus Seutter (Diefenbacher, Heinz, and Bach-Damaskinos 2002;[START_REF] Ritter | Seutter, Probst and Lotter: An Eighteenth-Century Map Publishing House in Germany[END_REF]; and see fig. [Homann]).

A third level of discourse is that of the arts, sciences, and civilization. These were expressed with allegorical representations, both moral and philosophical (the four elements, the Bible, the four parts of the world); by scientific instruments, more precisely by geographical and astronomical instruments; and by portraits. Such cartouches assembled evidence for an image of not just the terrestrial world, but also of an ordered cosmos.

There does seem to be a correlation between different types of discourse and different types of maps. The small scale of a mappemonde, globe, or a universal atlas employed cartouches filled with philosophical iconography. Similarly, allegories of power and control operated at the medium scale of country and regional maps, just as the heraldry and genealogical display emphasized the ownership in large-scale property maps. Within the manuscript traditions of large-scale military mapping, land surveying, and geodetic mapping, the iconographic use of images of the tools of the observer-measuring rod, chains, poles, plane table, compasses, theodolites, telescopes-embellished the map. As representations of the instruments of science, they highlighted the map's authority in its reliance on measurement and observation and were designed to increase the reader's trust in the veracity of the map. These instruments were often shown in action in cartouches, deployed by surveyors or by the ever-present putti who made their use seem both easy and perhaps even divinely inspired [START_REF] Heilbron | Domesticating Science in the Eighteenth Century[END_REF] (fig. 4).

Cartouche as Ornament

The prescriptive character of Blondel's text, cited above (images that "ought to be relative") signals that the cartouche is subject to another tension. Because it is simultaneously the key for reading the map itself and a decorative ornament (carrying signs and explanations that are not necessarily cartographic), the cartouche consequently has two, sometimes contradictory, goals: knowledge and the pleasure of design and image.

The "moment" of the creation of the cartouche within the process of creating the map has been described in numerous ways. The cartouche is usually added at the end of the process of creating the contents of the map itself. On a manuscript map, the cartouche was usually designed and executed by the author of the map, thereby displaying the artistic skills of the creator and the rhetorical devices aimed at its audience, for example, in the trompe l'oeil effects employed on the maps created for the prize competitions of the École des Ponts et Chaussées. On printed maps, the cartouche was usually added to the map after the map proper had been engraved. It was often designed by an artist, not the creator of the map, and engraved either by the same artist or another engraver who specialized in this genre of work (cartouches were very often etched, whereas maps themselves were engraved with burin), at the order of the editor (or publisher) or the mapmaker. For example, the maps of Nicolas Sanson published by Jaillot were engraved by Robert Cordier while the cartouches were entrusted to François Chauveau. Thus the cartouche is very precisely the parergon of the map: a supplement, an ornament. "One has not yet completed the coloring of a design," wrote Henri Gautier, "until one has tried to decorate it with a border or a lovely cartouche" (1708, 100).

The cartouche embodies a tension, at once graphic and professional, for the creators of maps. Since the cartouche was designed, according to the vocabulary of the authors of the epoch, to render the map more beautiful and agreeable, it reintroduced the dimension of the spectacle, both iconographic and theatrical, into cartographic practice at a moment when, quite rightly, geographers were attempting to separate themselves from the mere imagers, in a desire to broadcast their special competencies in scientific milieus. Pierre Duval reaffirmed the necessity for geographer to check and correct the work of mere illuminators who tended to trace the borders of countries on a whim or overload maps with "useless and superfluous names" (Duval 1672, 59-60). Inasmuch as it was an ornament, the cartouche represented a decorative danger for geographical truth; certain principles had to be adhered to by the designer of a cartouche in order to insure that the map was not simply an amusement, but an instructive instrument.

Designers and Engravers of Cartouches

The identification of designers and engravers of cartographic cartouches, as well as the analysis of their involvement in the process of printed mapmaking, constitutes a field open for scholarly inquiry. When cartouches are signed, they provide information on both the designer (inv[enit] or del [lineavit]) and engraver (sc[ulpsit] or fe [cit]). In Paris, one could profitably research the work of Chauveau, a prolific illustrator and engraver whose cartouches adorn the maps of Sanson published by Jaillot. Similarly rewarding would be a study of the work of Pierre-Philippe Choffard who, as one of the principal Paris decorative engravers of the eighteenth century, designed and engraved many of the rococo cartouches of the Atlas moderne (1762) and for maps of other geographers, such as Jean-Baptiste Bourguignon d'Anville and Jacques-Nicolas Bellin (fig. 5).

Of similar benefit would be a fuller understanding of the role of the designer Hubert-François Gravelot in the design of cartouches for his brother, the geographer d'Anville, and of Gravelot's association with engravers Jean-Baptiste Delafosse or Thomas Major in the completion of these cartouches. Other names equally merit deeper investigation from the point of view of their relationship with the map trade: Jean Le Pautre, Pierre-Gabriel Berthault, Clément-Pierre Marillier, the sisters Elizabeth Haussard and Marie Catherine Haussard, and the wellknown Charles-Nicolas Cochin, to name just a few in the Paris market. In Germany, the rich cartouches and allegorical vignettes on the maps from the Seutter publishing house were signed by specific artists: Martin Gottfried Crophius, Abraham Drentwett, Melchior Rhein, Gottfried Rogg (Ritter 2001, 130). While the role of cartouche designer and engraver in other national contexts has yet to be fully explored, preliminary work has been done in the German and Dutch markets [START_REF] Bosters | Kunst in kaart: Decoratieve aspecten van de cartografie[END_REF][START_REF] Egmond | Covens & Mortier: A Map Publishing House in Amsterdam[END_REF], Diefenbacher, Heinz, and Bach-Damaskinos 2002;[START_REF] Ritter | Seutter, Probst and Lotter: An Eighteenth-Century Map Publishing House in Germany[END_REF]) (fig. 6).

Even a rapid overview of the milieu of map design, engraving, and trade in Enlightenment Paris reveals that at the level of professional practice, the work of designers and engravers of cartographic cartouches cannot be reduced to a single activity. Most of them were deeply integrated in the world of the printed book for which they designed and engraved title pages, frontispieces, decorative bands, culs-de-lampe, vignettes, trophies, and medallions. Many of them published collections of engravings of decorative ornaments for use in interior decoration, architecture, or furniture. The collections of Juste-Aurèle Meissonnier in the Livre d 'ornemens inventés & dessines (1734), contributed to the diffusion throughout Europe of the rococo style that echoed throughout cartographic cartouche design during the eighteenth century (Bosters et al. 1989, 65-92;Pedley 1992, 65;Diefenbacher, Heinz, and Bach-Damaskinos 2002, 127, fig. 66).

Thus within the production process for both manuscript and printed maps, the production of cartographic cartouches was linked to the métiers (professional trades) of design and engraving, reflecting the relationship between the cartouche and the history of decorative styles in general.

Evolution of Styles

Some commentators [START_REF] Welu | The Sources and Development of Cartographic Ornamentation in the Netherlands[END_REF][START_REF] Andrews | Maps in Those Days: Cartographic Methods before 1850[END_REF][START_REF] Hedergott | Die Kartusche: Die Lebensgeschichte einer Form[END_REF]) have tried to describe the diversity of cartographic cartouches and account for an evolution in their styles by relying on the large chronological and typological divisions supported by the history of art in general. For the period of the long eighteenth century, the stylistic transformations of cartouches certainly echo the successive phases of mannerism, baroque, and rococo. However, using this lens as a guide would be inaccurate, since it is too general and enclosed in a global comparison that pits art and cartography into two opposingcamps. Such an overly generalized interpretive model prevents the historian of cartography from more precisely situating the zones of contact and communication between these two domains ( Van Egmond 2009, 258).

To acquire a better sense of the stylistic transformations that cartographic cartouches underwent in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries it would be more judicious to place the cartouches at the level of the decorative arts rather than that of the fine arts. By adopting this perspective two things become apparent. First, there is a relation between the modes of production of cartographic cartouches and the practices and professional norms found in the milieus of the métiers of engravers and designers (within the context of commands, prices, and determination of contents). Second, the same designers and engravers involved in cartographic cartouches were also engaged in engravings of allegories, decorative architectural features, designs for furnishings, chimneypieces, and other elements of interior decoration. Cartographic cartouches thus were part of this ensemble of decorative engraving, within which they communicated their message through motifs and content as well as style.

This practical relationship (at the level of the métiers, the craftsmen, and workshops) between the design and the engraving of both cartographic cartouches and decorative objects illustrates the ways in which cartography was inserted in the visual culture and imagination of the period. The cartouche links the cartographic arts and the decorative arts. Through the intermediary of the cartouche, the map becomes a type of "visual furniture" and a decorative yet meaningful element in the decor daily environment of its proprietors.