Science at the Zoo. An Introduction

Oliver Hochadel • Institució Milà i Fontanals de Investigación en Humanidades, Barcelona, Spain, correspondence: Oliver Hochadel, Institució Milà i Fontanals de Investigación en Humanidades, Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, C/Egipcíaques, 15, 08001 Barcelona, Spain. oliv‐ [email protected] Cite this article: Oliver Hochadel, 'Science at the Zoo', Centaurus, 64.3 (2022),561–590 <https://dx.doi.org/10.1484/J.CNT.5.132186> DOI: 10.1484/J.CNT.5.132186 This is an open access article made available under a CC by 4.0 International License. © 2022, The Author(s). Published by Brepols Publishers. olivER hoChAdEl Science at the Zoo An Introduction ▼ Special iSSue article in Science at the Zoo: Producing Knowledge about Exotic Animals*, ed. by Miquel Carandell & Oliver Hochadel ▼ abStract Was the zoological garden a place for science in the 19th and 20th centuries? This question cannot be answered with a simple yes or no. Rather, this Special Issue suggests, we need to reconstruct how the concrete conditions of the zoo as an institution influenced, enabled, triggered, facilitated, obstructed, or impeded scientific research. The zoo was and is a multifunctional space serving different constituencies, such as scientists of different disciplines, artists, breeders, and the general public. This collection of articles argues that despite or even because of its hybrid character, the zoo generated knowledge about exotic animals in often unexpected ways. This Special Issue conceives of “science at the zoo” as a an “impure,” yet very rich epistemic constellation with its very own dynamic, tensions, and contradictions. The first part of this introduction provides a historical overview of the topic. Synthesizing the existing secondary literature, it addresses the major themes of science at the zoo: the debate among scientists about the pros and cons of research conducted in and outside the cages; the gap between the promise of doing research at the zoo and the actual practices; and the emergence of new fields of knowledge such as zoo veterinary medicine, zoo biology, and conservation science. The introduction's second part draws out the common topics that connect the eight articles of this Special Issue: the multiplicity of *This Special Issue was selected by a dedicated ESHS committee after a public call for special issues. 562 OLIvER HOCHAdEL spaces interacting with the zoo; the broad range of historical actors, including academics, animal traders, and zoo keepers; the changing roles of the zoo-going public; and the negotiation of authority and epistemic hierarchies in producing knowledge about zoo animals. The large numbers of zoos and the long temporal range these articles cover bring the constant evolution of “science at the zoo”—and hence its intrinsic historical dimension—to the fore. ▼ KeywordS 19th Century, 20th Century, Zoological Gardens, Zoology, Knowledge Production, Zoo Biology, Zoo Veterinary Medicine, Animal Keepers. ▼ iSSue Volume 64 (2022), issue 3 For some time now, the institution of the zoo has found itself in a fundamental crisis that threatens its very existence. Animal rights groups have denounced it as an “animal prison” since at least the 1970s.1 They argue that keeping exotic animals in captivity is entirely inappropriate for the animals' specific needs. A more recent line of criticism is the “Disneyfication” of zoos. Zoo animals only serve as amusement for the paying visitors, something critics consider highly unethical. It seems that in many societies the public (and by extension municipal politics) are siding more and more with the zoo critics. Several prominent zoos have already closed (the Buenos Aires Zoo in 2016) or have vowed to convert themselves into “ecoparks” (the Barcelona Zoo in 2019). Since their inception roughly two centuries ago, zoos have functioned as hybrid institutions pursuing several functions at once.2 Three of these functions have mutatis mutandis endured: education, leisure, and research. The zoo of the 19th and early 20th centuries was also supposed to fulfil an economic function (breeding, acclimati‐ zation), while in the 20th century the fourth “pillar” became conservation.3 This pillar has come to serve as the zoo's main line of defence against its critics. Nowadays it presents itself as a modern Noah's Ark. Species in danger of extinction may be saved by breeding programmes run in and by zoos, and then carefully reintroduced into the wild. Yet for animal rights activists, the zoo's commitment to preserving the planet's biodiversity is an unfounded claim that hardly produces viable results, a fig leaf to justify its existence.4 Despite the hybridity of the zoo, marked by the poles of knowledge and pleasure, research (or science, natural history, zoology, biology, and so on—different terms were used by the historical actors) was always a key element in the self-understanding of the zoo. The name “zoological garden” linked it expressly and programmatically 1Ash (2008, p.17). 2Ash (2008, p.11). 3Probably first put forward by the Zoological Society of London: Schmidt (2001, p.119). 4 The literature of activists is enormous. For a typical example, see Goldner (2016). SCIENCE AT THE ZOO 563 with the science of zoology.5 Today a zoo that is not run according to scientific criteria cannot be a member of the World Association of Zoos and Aquariums (WAZA). So “science” has always been central to legitimizing the existence of the zoo. What science at the zoo stands for, though, has fundamentally changed over the past two centuries. Its numerous faces and forms are the topic of this Special Issue. In “Science at the Zoo: Producing Knowledge about Exotic Animals,” we seek to map the spectrum of evolving and changing meanings of science at the zoo with the help of eight case studies—and one introduction. We focus on the practices of keeping exotic animals and describe the problems and limitations, but also the opportunities for research.6 In so doing, we seek to reconstruct the specific epistemological dynamics of biological inquiry at the zoo and the interactions with the scientific community at large. Historians of science and related fields have already tackled the issue of “science at the zoo” in a number of ways. Most of the over 100titles we consulted (see Reference List) are case studies (mostly in the form of articles), usually focussing on one zoo, one naturalist, one specific topic, and/or one time-period. The books we refer to mostly deal with “science at the zoo” as one of several features of zoo history. Rarely has the topic of this Special Issue received any extended and in-depth treatment. There is no monograph on this multi-faceted topic. This introduction attempts to conceive of science at the zoo in a more systematic way, not only by covering a large number of zoos and historical actors in the 19th and 20th centuries, but also by exposing the breadth of the topic. Many of the observations, investigations, and “experiments” conducted at the zoo might not have had an enormous or immediate impact in themselves. Our aim is not, therefore, to enumerate the scientific discoveries made at the zoo in the last two centuries, but rather to describe the zoo as a multi-purpose space with its very own dynamic. This Special Issue tries to point out the specific characteristics of “science at the zoo” as a very rich epistemic constellation. The zoo responded to new scientific questions (and generated some itself), picked up new approaches, methods, and technologies, and provided sometimes unexpected opportunities for zoological research that did not follow the original agenda of the zoo founders. This collection of articles argues that despite—or even because of—its hybrid character, the zoo proved “productive” in numerous ways. To focus on such hybrid spaces and assemblages might therefore be fruitful not only for the history of zoological gardens, but also more generally for the history of science.7 This introduction consists of two parts. First, I shall give an historical overview of the topic, identifying some of the major themes: the debate among scientists about 5Kamp (2000, p.225); Reinert (2020, p.11). 6Two qualifications on the term “exotic animals”: first, the zoological garden was one of the major institutions to frame animals from different climate zones as “exotic”; for the deconstruction of this Eurocentric term, see Flack (2013) and Flack & Maddeaux (2018). Second, many zoos also kept “autochtonous” animals, but they generally received far less attention from scientists and the general public. 7In a similar way, the aquarium (in the second half of the 19th century) has been described as a hybrid space: Reiß (2012). 564 OLIvER HOCHAdEL the pros and cons of science at the zoo; the gap between the claim of doing research at the zoo and the actual research conducted in and outside the cages; the tensions of a multifunctional space that served different constituencies—the scientists and the general public; and the emergence of new fields of knowledge intrinsically tied to the institution such as zoo biology and zoo veterinary medicine. I will identify these themes by reviewing the existing secondary literature, thus attempting to provide more than a simple summary. In this synthesis, I seek to pinpoint the specific charac‐ teristics and inherent contradictions of science at the zoo. The second part of the introduction draws out the common themes that wind through the eight articles, and which show the intrinsic historical dimension of science at the zoo: the multiplicity of spaces; the broad range of historical actors, including trained academics, skilled tradesmen, and animal-care experts; the changing roles of the zoo-going public; and the negotiation of authority and epistemic hierar‐ chies in producing knowledge about exotic animals. The articles do not attempt to determine whether or not the zoo was a place for science, but rather inquire into the ways in which the specific conditions of the zoo influenced, enabled, triggered, facilitated, obstructed, or impeded zoological research. Science at the Zoo: An Unfulfilled Promise? In the early 19th century, the newly founded zoological gardens were supposed to be places to study exotic fauna. The zoos of Paris (founded in 1793), London (1828), Dublin (1831), and Amsterdam (1838) underlined the scientific mission of their institutions in similar terms.8 These first zoos were run by scientific institutions or societies: the Muséum national d'histoire naturelle in Paris, the Zoological Soci‐ ety of London (ZSL), the Royal Zoological Society of Ireland, and the Zoologisch Genootschap (Zoological Society) running the Artis Zoo in Amsterdam. The Berlin Zoo (founded 1844) was promoted by Alexander von Humboldt, who, in a letter to the King of Prussia, emphasized that it was “an institute that promises so much for the sciences.”9 Naturalists would be able to study live exotic animals without having to leave the metropolis. Yet according to many observers, science at the zoo did not live up to expecta‐ tions. It seems to have been a commonplace among naturalists to claim that despite grandiloquent declarations of intent, zoos contributed little to knowledge about the animal kingdom. Theodor Leisering, a veterinarian at the Zoologische Garten, com‐ plained in 1849 that the scholars residing in Berlin made little use of the ample oppor‐ tunities provided by the zoo for “the benefit of science [Wissenschaft].”10 In 1864, Alfred Edmund Brehm, director of the Hamburg Zoo (founded 1863) stated, “All in all it cannot be ignored that the zoological gardens have contributed precious little 8Bernardin de Saint-Pierre (1792, p. 4); Mullan & Marvin (1999, p. 109); Courcy (2010, p. 10); Mehos (2001, pp.109–110). 9Bruce (2017, p.27). 10 Leisering (1849, p.38); see Klös, Frädrich, & Klös (1994, pp.56–57). SCIENCE AT THE ZOO 565 to science [Wissenschaft].”11 In the Encyclopædia Britannica, 25 years later, British zoologist Sir Edwin Ray Lankester considered zoos to be a missed opportunity for scientific research: “Here and there observations are from time to time published, but no large progress has yet been made, probably on account of the fact that animals are exceedingly difficult to keep under observation.”12 And yet another 25 years later, in 1914, Austrian zoologist Friedrich Knauer opined, “For academically trained persons, yes, even for expert zoologists it has been pretty unclear in how far a zoological garden could or should be of use for animal science [Wissenschaftlichen Tierkunde].”13 Another 50 years later, Heini Hediger, at the time director of the Zurich Zoo came to a similar conclusion: “Science, that is research [Wissenschaft, d.h. die Forschung], usually takes the last priority in zoological gardens—if it is practiced at all.”14 These statements all convey disappointment and lament a missed chance. Leise‐ ring, Lankester, and Hediger reflected upon the possible reasons for this failure: lack of interest from the scientists, practical difficulties in observing animals, and “false” priorities of the zoo. At the same time, these naturalists did not resign themselves to it, there remains an undertone of insistence. Their rhetoric about an “unfulfilled promise” may be understood as an appeal to continue. Some of their complaints (in particular the one by Hediger; more on the “father” of zoo biology below) might even be understood as carving out a niche for their own approaches, framing themselves as pioneers. The mission to pursue science at the zoo was never abandoned, as we will see. What was Science at the Zoo? I have already mentioned the fluidity of the term science with respect to the zoo. The declarations of intent from the first half of the 19th century as well as the complaints from mid-century onward sound similar, often nearly identical. At the same time, these pronouncements from zoo directors and other naturalists remained mostly unspecified, lofty, and formulaic. They spoke in very general terms about science at the zoo. After all, this rhetoric was part of a legitimizing strategy. Yet what kind of knowledge was the zoo actually able to produce? It was much easier to agree on what science at the zoo was not to be. In its founding declaration, the ZSL, for example, conceived of animals “as objects of scientific research, not of vulgar admiration.”15 Thus, the new institution wanted to distance itself both from the older menageries of the aristocracy (and their merely representational aims) and itinerant animal shows, which were overtly commercial and sensationalist, playing to the crowd. In the eyes of contemporary naturalists, both 11 Brehm (1864, p.4). 12 Lankester (1889, p.817); also quoted by Loisel (1907, p.123). 13 Knauer (1914, p.67); see Poley (1993, p.167); Kamp (2000, p.225). 14 Hediger (1965, p.54). 15 Quote from Mullan & Marvin (1999, p. 109); similarly in the case of the Dublin Zoo: Adelman (2020, pp. 32– 33). 566 OLIvER HOCHAdEL the princely menagerie and the animal spectacle were by definition unscientific.16 This kind of critique is best understood as boundary work. Today we know that there had already been some noteworthy cases of research on living animals at princely menageries before 1800.17 If we dig a little beyond the widespread rhetoric, it becomes clear that scholars in the 19th century often differed substantially in their conceptions of what science at the zoo actually meant, in terms of the knowledge pursued and the concrete practices that investigations required. In the 19th century, one can identify three distinct strands of research: a) anatomical, taxonomic, or physiological inquiry; b) the focus on the behaviour and social life of animals, and c) applied natural history (acclimatization and breeding). These distinctions are of course typological, referring to the “Erkenntnisinteresse,” the cognitive interests of the scientists. In practice, these “research programmes” were not clearly delineated and occasionally overlapped. I shall now characterize these three strands briefly and ask: What kind of knowledge was created in these three lines of research? And what zoo-specific limitations did they have to cope with? Regarding the first category, for many 19th-century naturalists, in particular com‐ parative anatomists, the zoo represented a collection of living animals, similar to the way a natural history museum held a collection of dead animals.18 As late as 1901, director Ludwig Heck spoke of “collections,” “groups,” and “series,” referring to the Berlin Zoologische Garten and its 1,327 species.19 For the professors of the MNHN in Paris, there was barely a difference between stuffed specimens and the live animals crammed into the tiny cages of the adjoining zoo.20 Isidore Geoffroy Saint-Hilaire, for example, freely admitted that he would rather study the skeleton of a chimpanzee than a living specimen in the Jardin des plantes.21 Morphologists, anatomists, and occasionally physicians would often eagerly antic‐ ipate the death of sickly, but valuable, zoo animals. Apes were of particular interest because of their similarities with humanity, feeding into the debate about Darwinism (see below). Therefore conflicts between naturalists over who was entitled to dissect a recently deceased chimpanzee or orangutan were common.22 Classification occu‐ pied the minds of naturalists even with respect to living animals, for example in the London Zoo. In the 19th century, 45% of the reports of the ZSL concerned the possible identification of new species.23 The opportunities to study live animals provided by zoos were sometimes impres‐ sive. In 1883, animal trader Carl Hagenbeck assembled over 50 Indian elephants 16 The differences between the new zoos and menageries and animal shows were in fact far smaller than the naturalists claimed: Rothfels (2009, p. 482); Cowie (2013, pp. 111–112); Cowie (2014, pp. 117–120, 205–206). See also Rieke-Müller & Dittrich (1999); Kamp (2000, p.225). 17 Rieke-Müller (2008); Guerrini (2015). 18 Ritvo (1996, p.46). 19 Heck (1902, p.924). 20 Loisel (1912, p.321); Burkhardt (1999, p.493); Baratay & Hardouin-Fugier (2000, p.135). 21 Baratay (2007, p.44). 22 Burkhardt (1999, p.493); Mehos (2006, pp.62–63); Hochadel (2008a; 2010) 23 Åkerberg (2001, pp.175–177). SCIENCE AT THE ZOO 567 in Hamburg, enabling the German naturalist Theodor Noack to study individual variation within the species to an extent that had previously been impossible in Europe.24 Yet in most cases, the number of individuals of a little-known or possibly even unknown species owned by a zoo was limited, making new advancements in the science of systematics difficult. What was the variability within a species? In what ways did males and females differ? Did the creature in question change significantly from the juvenile to the adult? These questions were often impossible to answer with any kind of certitude. In 1875, German naturalists were unable to decide whether the ape Mafuka in the Dresden Zoo was a chimpanzee, gorilla, or hybrid, as no living gorilla had ever been seen outside Africa.25 Much depended on the number of animals available, their age, and how long they survived in the zoo. Despite convenient, direct access to the animals (unlike in the field), taxonomic disputes were common in the zoo. Turning to the second category, an opposition emerged in reaction to this classical approach of natural history. Already in the late 18th century, Jacques-Henri Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, a crucial figure in the funding of the Jardin des plantes zoo, called natural history cabinets “the tombs of nature,” and advocated for the study of living animals, “their tastes, their instincts, their passions.”26 In the course of the 19th cen‐ tury, more and more naturalists (many of them “amateurs,” not based at universities or academies of science) made similar pleas. In 1872, amateur German naturalist Ernst Friedel, a follower of the influential German popularizer of natural history Alfred Edmund Brehm, mocked the “pelt zoologist” (“Balg-Zoologe”), “who has only systematics on his mind. For him animals are only alive when they are dead, when they are stuffed or lined up in spirit jars, ordered according to the newest textbook.”27 Historians dubbed this shift of emphasis from dead to living specimens, and from classification to behaviour, the “reform movement.” The zoo was an important space for this movement.28 Some naturalists seized the opportunity to study zoo animals, pursuing questions that could only be addressed with living creatures.29 Possibly the best known of these cases is the research of Frédéric Cuvier on the intelligence of animals (including orangutans) in the early decades of the 19th century in the Jardin des plantes, and Charles Darwin's work in the London Zoo, such as his collaboration with the animal painter Joseph Wolf that featured in The Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals (1872).30 Animal painters such as Wolf were important actors in the 24 Noack (1884, pp.101, 333); Rothfels (2002a, p.85). 25 Hochadel (2008a). 26 Bernardin de Saint-Pierre (1792, p.4). 27 Friedel (1872, p. 331); on Brehm's notion of what a zoo should achieve, see Jahn (1992, pp. 218–219); Nyhart (2009, p.36). 28 Nyhart (2009, p. 36), with a focus on natural history in the German lands. See also Rieke-Müller (1995); Rieke-Müller & Dittrich (1998). 29 For more examples, see, for example, Ash (2018, p.421). 30 On Cuvier, see Burkhardt (1997; 1999; 2001; 2018); Jacyna (2017). On Darwin, see Voss (2005; 2010, Ch. 4); Hochadel (2011, pp.197–201). 568 OLIvER HOCHAdEL reform movement because their “pictures show animals behaving in a species-typical fashion.”31 Historians put forward the hypothesis that the zoo was one of the birthplaces of ethology and ecology in the first decades of the 20th century—sciences that focused more on animal behaviour and organismal function than morphology.32 It has been argued that the Berlin Zoo was the base for the path-breaking research of Oskar Hein‐ roth, an assistant of Ludwig Heck in the early 20th century. His ornithological work paved the way for the science of animal behaviour.33 Yet the long-term observations of Heinroth and his wife Magdalena were primarily conducted at their private home, not in the zoo.34 As such, the potential value of the zoo as a site of behavioural research seems undeniable, but its actual contribution might differ substantially from case to case. Possibly the most fundamental critique against the zoo as a valid truth-making site was formulated as early as the second half of the 18th century by Georges-Louis Leclerc de Buffon.35 The French zoologist doubted that animals would behave “nor‐ mally” in captivity and believed that they would display “altered habits” (moeurs altérées).36 Thus the scientific value of observations made in menageries was ques‐ tioned, if not outright discarded. Later, the same criticism was levelled against the zoo and its “artificial conditions,” undercutting the “research programme” of the reform movement.37 Finally, I turn to the third strand of research, applied natural history. The mission statement of the ZSL quoted above contained another objective: “animals to be brought from every part of the globe to be applied to some useful purpose.”38 This sentiment was typical of the rhetoric of the founders of many zoological gardens in the early and mid-19th century. When zoo administrators canvassed for public support and funding, they also promised that zoo animals would be “applied to some useful purpose” in agriculture and husbandry.39 The zoo was an important part of the acclimatization movement of the mid-19th century.40 The introduction of new species could provide traction (for example, camels), wool (for example, llamas and angora goats), feathers and eggs (ostrich, pheasants, and other fowl), and novel meats (for example, new types of pork) for consumption, and thus strengthen national 31 Schulze-Hagen (2000, p.200). 32 Burkhardt (1999, p.500); Burkhardt (2005, pp.92, 266–267, 474); Hochadel (2011, pp.185–187); see also Bont (2010); Thomas (2016). 33 Frädrich & Strehlow (1994, pp.172–173); Klös et al. (1994, p.419). 34 Schulze-Hagen & Birkhead (2015); Schulze-Hagen & Kaiser (2020). 35 Burkhardt (1997, p.483); Burkhardt (1999, p.492); Baratay & Hardouin-Fugier (2000, p.140); Åkerberg (2001, p.207); Rieke-Müller (2008, pp.35–36). 36 Buffon (1771, p.202). 37 Loisel (1912, Vol.2, p.321); Burkhardt (1999, p.493); Baratay & Hardouin-Fugier (2000, p.135); Cowie (2014, p.110) 38 Quoted in Mullan & Marvin (1999, p.109). 39 For the Berlin Zoo, see Rieke-Müller & Dittrich (1998, p.60). 40 Acclimatization is a polysemic term and the literature on it is enormous. Here, I only focus on acclimatization attempts in zoos (and not on the issue of acclimatisation and empire). See Osborne (1992; 1996; 2000); Osborne (1994, pp.98–129); Anderson (1992); Aragón Albillos (2005); Ritvo (2018). SCIENCE AT THE ZOO 569 economies. Yet the success of the acclimatization movement of the mid-19th century was limited. No new species of production animals were introduced or bred.41 Nor did the acclimatization movement produce a solid body of knowledge, let alone a coherent theoretical framework. Despite its scientific pretensions, the Jardin d'acclimatation in Paris was “not often the site of systematic research.”42 Similarly, the acclimatization movement in England, practised more by gentlemen breeders than zoos, “was without any strong theoretical basis.”43 In the German lands, acclima‐ tization only featured in the mission statements of zoos, but was not present in practice.44 Acclimatization—a “variant of mitigated Lamarckian transformism”—was caught between scientific disciplines and unlikely to become one itself.45 Toward the end of the 19th century, European zoologists were increasingly convinced that heredity mattered more than external conditions. Their research focus shifted from the zoological garden to the laboratory, and from the entire organism to the cell.46 The knowledge-generating capacity of these three different strands of science in the 19th-century zoo seems mixed at best. A number of historians have echoed the sceptical views of the historical actors quoted above, according to which the zoo did not live up to its promise. These historians highlight the gap between claim and reality. All in all, there were relatively few scientific publications in the course of the 19th century that made use of live animals in the zoo, and only very rarely was research conducted in a systematic way. The interest of the scientific community of zoologists and related disciplines remained limited and was mostly restricted to the supply of animal corpses.47 While not denying the haphazard, improvised, and opportunistic nature of science at the 19th-century zoo, some historians argue that there was indeed relevant research conducted on zoo grounds.48 As Lynn Nyhart explains: Although not considered especially scientific in retrospect, practical naturalists working with living animals in and out of zoos in the later nineteenth century contributed (literally) volumes of information about animal habits, behavior, and basic living requirements—interests that in and of themselves, though not systematized, constituted an enormous expansion in explicit attention to living animals and thereby contributed directly to biological knowledge.49 41 Osborne (1994, p.122). 42 Osborne (1994, p.125) 43 Ito (2014, pp.159–160, quote p.159). 44 Rieke-Müller (2001, p.92). 45 Osborne (1994, p. xv). 46 Anderson (1992, pp.151–153); see also Osborne (2000, p.140). 47 In general, see Baratay & Hardouin-Fugier (2000, pp. 132–133, 176). As regards the London Zoo: Åkerberg (2001, p. 204); Ito (2014, p. 139). On Dublin Zoo, see Courcy (2010, p. 10); Adelman (2018, p. 129). On Amsterdam Zoo: Mehos (2006, pp. 63–65). On Berlin Zoo: Rieke-Müller & Dittrich (1998, p. 266); Bruce (2017, p.27). On Antwerp Zoo: Baetens (1993, p.216). 48 Ito (2014, p. 11). Historians of science have paid much more attention to natural history museums. In this case, the relationship with research seems to be far more obvious and unequivocal. The lack of research on zoos in this respect has been pointed out repeatedly: Voss (2005, p.228); Hochadel (2005; 2011). 49 Nyhart (2009, p.108). 576 OLIvER HOCHAdEL of “saving” the species is far from being neutral but rather fraught with assumptions about the “essence” of the species in question.93 In the interwar period, these conservation efforts led to a number of initiatives situated somewhere between science and fantasy. German zoo directors attempted to “back-breed” extinct European megafauna such as the aurochs, fuelled by romanti‐ cized nationalism.94 An ambivalent figure in this respect is Otto Antonius, director of the Schönbrunn Zoo in Vienna. A convinced Nazi, actively involved in de-extinction projects, he has been credited with playing an important role in the formulation of zoo biology prior to Hediger.95 In the second half of the 20th century, and based on the most recent biotechno‐ logical approaches, the idea of the “frozen zoo” through cryopreservation and cloning was formulated and to some extent put into practice (in databases and collection of tissues).96 The extent to which these attempts to salvage biodiversity are feasible (or even desirable), or if they are merely science-fiction, is much discussed. Given the extensive biodiversity loss of our current time, the role of laboratory science in species preservation seems more crucial than ever. In the zoo itself, the main strategy for conserving endangered species is captive breeding (including assisted reproduction through in-vitro fertilization).97 Zoos have kept stud-books (a registry of individuals of a specific species) since the late 1960s. This information is shared among the zoo community in order to ensure the highest amount of genetic diversity within species. In a sense, the world was conceived of as one “megazoo”—or one big ark.98 Our brief overview of science at the zoo shows that many zoos never abandoned a scientific agenda. On the contrary, its alleged value for zoological research was invoked time and again during the 20th century and today. The fact that there was no definition of or agreement on what kind of research zoos in general were most suited for lent it some flexibility. As we have seen, science at the zoo was in constant evolution, addressing new scientific questions, applying new methods and technologies, and providing numerous opportunities for investigations with live animals, as well as creating new fields of professional scientific research. This Special Issue In order to illustrate how the epistemic constellation of this hybrid space played out in concrete terms mean, I now turn to the eight case studies. The articles that make up this Special Issue cover the period from the late 18th century until well into the 93 See Rothfels (2018); and for the case of the European wisent, Bont (2017). 94 Daszkiewicz & Aikhenbaum (1999); Hofer (2002); also Szczygielska (2022). 95 Hofer (2002; 2008); Schratter & Heindl (2010). 96 On cryopreservation, see Radin (2015a; 2015b); Chrulew (2017). On cloning, Friese (2009; 2013). 97 For a recent summary and synthesis of this approach, see Fa, Funk, & O'Connell (2011); Minteer, Maienschein, & Collins (2018); Kaufman, Bashaw, & Maple (2019). 98 Nicolodi (2012, p.97). SCIENCE AT THE ZOO 577 20th, and include a wide range of zoos: Barcelona, Berlin, London, Munich, New York, Paris, and Poznań, among others. They explore the practices of catching, trans‐ porting, trading, feeding, training, breeding, exhibiting, observing, and experimenting on exotic animals. In order to pursue this question in depth, seven of the articles each concentrate on one specific species: the anteater, the axolotl, the cassowary, the dolphin, the hoatzin, the kangaroo, and the tarpan. One article asks in a more general way how far the zoo can be conceived of as a laboratory. In the remainder of this introduction, rather than summarizing each article individually, I would like to identify some of their common themes in order to better profile the nature of “science at the zoo.” How to Keep Exotic Animals Alive Initially, the arrival of all these exotic animals at the zoo created not knowledge, but ignorance. The historical actors in charge of the zoo animals had often no idea, or only a very limited one, of how to keep them, what to feed them, and how to house them. Coming to terms with these uncertainties was the major challenge for zoo directors, veterinarians, and keepers in the 19th century and well into the 20th. What do you offer anteaters to eat (in Madrid in 1776 and London in 1853), if there are no ants? Will hard-boiled eggs or fine chopped meat serve as a substitute (Cowie)? How do you keep hoatzins alive outside their natural habitat? Nobody found out. Starting in the early 20th century, U.S. zoologists working for the Bronx Zoo caught numerous of these birds (remarkable because of their peculiar digestive system), but they all died on the journey from north-eastern South America to New York (McLeod). Finding the right kind of fish for bottlenose dolphins proved to be a challenge for the Barcelona Zoo in the 1960s (Carandell). When a batch of axolotls from Mexico arrived at the Jardin des plantes in 1864, the naturalist Auguste Duméril and the keeper Honoré Vallée had to find out, essentially through trial and error, what those strange creatures preferred (Reiß). In general, the food given to monkeys, big cats, and many other captive animals was entirely inadequate—“uniform, monotonous, nutritionally deficient”—causing serious health issues and death. Trial-and-error experiments thus seem constitutive of the zoo (Pouillard). Zoos had to create a simulacrum of the natural environment in an artificial setting. Duméril and Vallée had to devise technologies to create and maintain the right temperature and humidity in their enclosure in order to force the axolotl (a neotenic animal) to fully develop (Reiß). The ability to supply salt water and in particular to keep it clean was a question of life and death for the dolphins, requiring sophisticated filter technologies (Carandell). The wealthy British naturalist Walter Rothschild assembled around 1890 a huge collection of cassowaries in his private zoo at Tring Park, and also kept some as a “deposit” at London Zoo. Rothschild might fit best in the category of taxonomists described above. His interest was primarily classificatory, and the living creatures 578 OLIvER HOCHAdEL were first of all an illustration or even embodiment of the species. They were carefully observed (and drawn), and then often killed to serve as stuffed specimens in Roth‐ schild's museum collection (Larsson). The knowledge needed to help the unknown animals to survive might be of a different kind: physiological or technological, theoretical or applied. The knowledgegenerating processes of science at the zoo were often not planned, systematic, or straightforward, but rather improvised. Yet they continuously “added to the body of knowledge of natural history” (Reiß). Multiplicity of Spaces and the Role of the Public In the first part of this introduction, I highlighted the fact that zoological societies and naturalists drew stark distinctions between menageries, animal shows, and commer‐ cial zoos, on the one hand, and “proper” zoos on the other. Yet this boundary-work betrays more about the need of the zoo to distance itself from “vulgar spectacles” than about actual differences. For example, the problems of keeping the animals alive, having to attract a paying audience, and the constant financial difficulties faced by all zoological institutions were quite similar. What is more, from the very beginning the zoo found itself in a histoire croisée with a whole range of other sites that featured wild animals: itinerant menageries and circuses, and later aquariums and safari parks, but also natural history museums, universities, laboratories of all kinds, as well as nature reserves and the field itself. This Special Issue argues that it is crucial not to treat the zoo in isolation, but that the institution must always be placed in a larger context. Science at the zoo meant being in constant exchange with these other sites, as well as with different sci‐ entific communities. Hence these articles look in detail at animal shows in Victorian London, Rothschild's private museum/zoo in Hertfordshire, U.S. dolphinariums in Miami and San Diego, animal-trading stations in Western Australia hosting numerous species of kangaroos, the wetlands of Venezuela and British Guiana (home of the hoatzin), and the primeval Białowieża Forest in Poland as the “natural” habitat of the European wild horse. Only with the help of this spatial lens can the dynamics of creating knowledge about exotic animals be fully explored. As I emphasized above: science at the zoo was constantly evolving, and being reshaped by its interactions with these other spaces. For the 20th century, the most important example for this may be the interconnection between conservation and breeding practices ex situ (in the zoo) and in situ (in the “wild”) (Szczygielska). Another central issue of science at the zoo is its relationship with the laboratory. As mentioned above, one hypothesis is that the zoo was not able to compete for professional recognition with the rise of the research lab. The idea that the multifunctional institution of the zoo could not meet the requirements of rigorous, system‐ atic, and reductionist research might be too stark. Pathologists, veterinarians, and zoologists did go back and forth between the two spaces, carrying out animal-based SCIENCE AT THE ZOO 579 experiments. It might therefore be helpful to conceive of the zoo as an “impure laboratory” (Pouillard). Visitors are a defining feature of the zoo, and one that most clearly distinguishes it from the laboratory. As regards the production of knowledge, the public could be a productive factor, for example as seen in the enormous fascination generated by the anteater in London in 1853, leading to a swathe of publications and scholarly interest (Cowie). The public demand for dolphinariums and their rise in the 1950s and 1960s are obviously causally connected. The need to teach the bottlenose dolphins to perform crowd-pleasing feats generated practical knowledge, but also encouraged ethological research on cetaceans (Carandell). Conversely, the success of Duméril and Vallée in the breeding of the axolotl seemingly owed much to how the building (the former monkey-house) in the Jardin des plantes was cordoned off to keep the public and the disturbances it might cause at bay (Reiß). Rothschild had it easier in restricting access to his private zoo at Tring Park in order to fully focus on the study of cassowaries (Larsson). The public was the addressee of the specific visions of science that the zoo wanted to convey. A particularly intriguing case is the Bronx Zoo, run by the New York Zoological Society. In its first two decades of operation, its leading administrators, the eugenicists and white supremacists Madison Grant and Henry Fairfield Osborn, were eager to use the zoo to instruct visitors in their version of evolutionary theory, a vision that focused on heredity, racial hierarchy, breeding, and “purity” of stock. In contrast, the Bronx Zoo's head ornithologist, William Beebe, used the bird department to educate visitors about natural selection and ecology in a way that was not tied to heredity, racial hierarchies, or species purity (McLeod). Zoos were ideologically charged public venues that conveyed ideas about origins, nature, and race. In the interwar period, zoos in Berlin and Munich, on the one hand, and the Poznań Zoo on the other, pursued breeding programmes of extinct animals that were considered part of their deep national past. These attempts (the German and Polish schemes differed substantially in terms of the science used and the way the zoo was mobilized) to bring the tarpan horse back to life may therefore be understood as a “patriotic rescue mission” (Szczygielska). Multiplicity of Actors The multiplicity of spaces corresponds to the broad range of historical actors that were involved in the production of knowledge. These included not only academically trained zoologists, zoo directors, and veterinarians, but also animal trainers (Caran‐ dell), painters, draughtsmen, travelling naturalists, and showmen (Cowie), geneticists and paleontologists (Szczygielska), pathologists (Pouillard), wealthy amateurs and 580 OLIvER HOCHAdEL influential businessmen (Larsson and McLeod), animal traders and “bush naturalists” (Hochadel), and of course animal keepers (Cowie, Reiß, and Hochadel).99 That animal keepers played a crucial role in science at the zoo is widely accepted, yet there are still very few studies that focus on them. This Special Issue provides a number of instructive case studies in this respect. The animal keepers came up with a diet for the anteater, both in Spain (1770s) and the UK (1850s). It was arguably their main merit that the creatures survived the difficult journey and then lasted for several months in captivity in Madrid and London (Cowie). The keeper Honoré Vallée was praised for his observational skills and extensive experience in acclimatizing animals. Auguste Duméril fully acknowledged the merits of his “co-worker” in the Jardin des plantes (Reiß). Trying to solve the riddle of the kangaroo birth, 19th-century naturalists depended heavily on the keepers who watched the possibly pregnant females day and night and checked their pouches. In some cases, the keepers even initiated the research themselves (Hochadel). Circulation, Competition and Connections Science at the zoo also addresses the issue of how knowledge about exotic animals circulated—or didn't. The English translation of Félix de Azara's late 18th-century description of the anteater and his recommendations of what to feed it were eagerly picked up in London in 1853, while other Spanish accounts of the Madrid anteater from the 1770s had very little impact (Cowie). In the case of the axolotls at the Jardin des plantes, the knowledge of how to keep the animal (including its reproduction) did travel successfully with the animal itself, not only from Paris to many European cities, but also from the zoo to the laboratory. Biologists all over the continent were able to maintain populations of axolotls. The animal became an archetypical laboratory animal (Reiß). In the early 1830s, Richard Owen put forward the hypothesis that the mother kangaroo put the newborn into her pouch with the help of her lips. The British naturalist had conducted some “experiments” with kangaroos at the London Zoo, but he cautioned that a final proof was still missing. Nevertheless, Owen's hypothesis travelled to other European zoos and was “confirmed” through observations. Yet the “solution” to the riddle of the kangaroo birth was not found until 1906, when a German-Australian animal trader, August Goerling, observed that the tiny new born climbed into pouch unaided by the mother (Hochadel). Zoo-keeping expertise could also be deliberately withheld, for example if it was commercially valuable. The American dolphinariums were private corporations and thus very reluctant to share their knowledge regarding how to keep and train the dolphins they had sold to the Barcelona Zoo (Carandell). 99 Female scientists and other women hardly figure in the accounts of science at the zoo we have. Pouillard refers to the research of U.S. pathologist Ellen Corson-White, and McLeod points out that William Beebe supported white women doing research in his South American field stations. SCIENCE AT THE ZOO 581 Knowledge production at the zoo often depended on the collaboration of actors with different expertise. To keep up to date with the most recent scientific methodol‐ ogy, the autodidact Rothschild depended heavily on two German naturalists he hired. Thanks to the curatorial work and publications of Ernst Hartert and Karl Jordan, the Tring Museum became a well-respected institution (Larsson). The focus on the circulation of knowledge brings to light the existing networks between zoos, and also between zoos and other “animal sites.” These knowledge exchanges may be characterized by collaboration, competition, or even obstruction. They always raise the issue of authority. Who was a more reliable anteater expert? The menagerie keeper who cared for it on a daily basis, the museum anatomist who dissected dead specimens, or the travelling naturalist who had actually seen living anteaters? Epistemological hierarchies between metropolis and colony weighed heavily on the generation of knowledge. The hypothesis about the kangaroo birth by Richard Owen, a powerful naturalist situated at the centre of the British Empire, dominated the discussion for nearly a century. It took a number of years and the testimony of renowned zoo directors for Goerling's opposing theory to be accepted. As an amateur naturalist with no scientific credentials living on the periphery of the periphery (on the west coast of Australia), he had a low academic status, despite his vast practical experience with marsupials. Therefore, prestige, authority, and social hierarchies (that often translated into epistemological ones) shaped the production of knowledge on exotic animals. Pursuing these issues that connect the eight articles of this Special Issue might be a fruitful agenda for this complex of “science at the zoo.” More than that, it might enrich current discussion about the future of the zoo and what role research might play in it. We need to understand that there always existed a multiplicity of ideas about what zoo science could or should be (both in the diachronic and synchronic dimension), and thus to show the fundamental historical dimension of science at the zoo. This insight might help to open up the highly polarized debate of our present. Acknowledgements In the past 20 years, I have discussed the issue of science at the zoo with many colleagues. I cannot possibly name them all here, but the references provided in the footnotes might give an approximate indication of how much I learned from them. I am particularly grateful to Miquel Carandell, the co-editor of this Special Issue, for many years of fruitful zoo projects. I would also like to thank the other six authors of this Special Issue for their helpful feedback on all aspects of science at the zoo. I am also grateful to the anonymous reviewer of this introduction for the constructive criticism, and the team at Centaurus for their assistance and patience. 582 OLIvER HOCHAdEL Funding Statement Funding for this research was provided by the Grup de recerca consolidat i finançat (2017 SGR 1138, AGAUR-Generalitat de Catalunya) and the Ministerio de Ciencia e Innovavión (PID2020–112514GB-C21). References Adelman, J. (2018). Second city of science? Dublin as a centre of calculation in the British Imperial context, 1886–1912. In O. Hochadel & A. Nieto-Galan (Eds.), Urban histories of science (pp.122–140). London, UK: Routledge. Adelman, J. (2020). Civilised by beasts: Animals and urban change in 19th century Dublin. Manchester, UK: Manchester University Press. Åkerberg, S. (2001). Knowledge and pleasure at Regent's Park: The gardens of the Zoological Society of London during the nineteenth century. Umeå, Sweden: Umeå universitet. Anderson, W. (1992). Climates of opinion: Acclimatization in nineteenth-century France and England. Victorian Studies, 35(2), 135–157. Aragón Albillos, S. (2005). El Zoológico del Museo de Ciencias Naturales de Madrid. Mariano de la Paz Graells (1809–1898), la sociedad de aclimatación y los animales útiles. Madrid, Spain: Museo Nacional de Ciencias Naturales. Ash, M. G. (2008). Mensch, Tier und Zoo—Zur Einführung. In M. G. Ash (Ed.), Mensch, Tier und Zoo: Der Tiergarten Schönbrunn im internationalen Vergleich vom 18. Jahrhundert bis heute (pp.11–28). Wien, Austria: Böhlau. Ash, M. G. (2018). Zoological gardens. In H. A. Curry, N. Jardine, J. A. Secord, & E. C. Spary (Eds.), Worlds of natural history (pp.418–432). Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Baetens, R. (1993). The chant of paradise. The Antwerp Zoo: 150 years of history. Tielt, Belgium: Lannoo. Baratay, E., & Hardouin-Fugier, E. (2000). Zoo: Von der Menagerie zum Tierpark. Berlin, Germany: Wagenbach. Bartlett, A. D. (1860). Notes on some young hybrid bears. Proceedings of the Zoological Society of London, 28, 130. Bartlett, A. D. (1884). On some hybrid bovine animals…. Proceedings of the Zoological Society of London, 399–402. Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, J.-H. (1792). Mémoire sur la nécessité de joindre une ménagerie au Jardin national de plantes de Paris. Paris, France: P. F.Didot. Bishop, R. (2017). Evolution im Zoo: Die Veranschaulichung einer Theorie am lebenden Objekt. In A. Schwarz (Ed.), Streitfall Evolution: Eine Kulturgeschichte (pp.103–124). Köln, Germany: Böhlau. Blanchard, P., Bancel, N., Boëtsch, G., Deroo, E., Lemaire, S., & Forsdick, C. (Eds.). (2008). Human zoos: Science and spectacle in the age of empire. Liverpool, UK: Liverpool University Press. Bont, R. de (2010). Organisms in their milieu: Alfred Giard, his pupils, and early ethology, 1870–1930. Isis, 101(1), 1–29. SCIENCE AT THE ZOO 583 Bont, R. de (2017). Extinct in the wild: Finding a place for the European bison, 1919–1952. In R. de Bont & J. Lachmund (Eds.), Spatializing the history of ecology: Sites, journeys, mappings (pp.165–184). London, UK: Routledge. Braverman, I. (2021). Zoo veterinarians: Governing care on a diseased planet. London, UK: Routledge. Brehm, A. E. (1864). Unsere Bären. Der Thiergarten. Allgemeine deutsche Monatsschrift für Kunde, Beobachtung, Zucht und Pflege der Thiere, mit besonderer Rücksicht auf die Verbesserung unserer gegenwärtigen Hausthiere und Herausbildung neuer, 1, 4–7. Bruce, G. (2017). Through the lion gate: A history of the Berlin Zoo. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press. Buffon, G. L. (1771). Histoire naturelle des oiseaux (Vol.2). Paris, France: Imprimerie royale. Burkhardt, R. W. (1997). La Ménagerie et la vie du Muséum. In C. Blanckaert, C. Cohen, P. Corsi, & J.-L. Fischer (Eds.), Le Muséum au premier siècle de son histoire (pp.481–508). Paris, France: Éditions du Muséum national d'histoire naturelle. Burkhardt, R. W. (1999). Ethology, natural history, the life sciences, and the problem of place. Journal of the History of Biology, 32, 489–508. Burkhardt, R. W. (2001). Frédéric Cuvier and the study of animal behavior. Bulletin d'histoire et d'épistémologie des sciences de la vie, 8, 75–98. Burkhardt, R. W. (2005). Patterns of behavior: Konrad Lorenz, Niko Tinbergen, and the founding of ethology. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Burkhardt, R. W. (2008). Akteure und Interessen in der Pariser Menagerie. In M. G. Ash (Ed.), Mensch, Tier und Zoo: Der Tiergarten Schönbrunn im internationalen Vergleich vom 18. Jahrhundert bis heute (pp.111–131). Wien, Austria: Böhlau. Burkhardt, R. W. (2018). An orangutan in Paris: Pondering proximity at the Muséum d'histoire naturelle in 1836. History and Philosophy of the Life Sciences, 40(1), 1–31. Burt, J. (2002). Violent health and the moving image: The London Zoo and Monkey Hill. In M. Henninger-Voss (Ed.), Animals in human histories: The mirror of nature and culture (pp.258– 292). New York, NY: University of Rochester Press. Burt, J. (2006). Solly Zuckerman: The making of a primatological career in Britain, 1925–1945. Studies in History and Philosophy of Biological and Biomedical Sciences, 37(2), 295–310. Carandell, M. (2022). Mediterranean dolphins from Miami: Knowledge and practices in Barcelona Zoo's Aquarama (1962–1970). Centaurus, 64(3). Chrulew, M. (2017). Freezing the ark: The cryopolitics of endangered species preservation. In J. Radin & E. Kowal (Eds.), Cryopolitics: Frozen life in a melting world (pp.283–305). Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Chrulew, M. (2018). My place, my duty: Zoo biology as field philosophy in the work of Heini Hediger. Parallax, 24(4), 480–500. Chrulew, M. (2020). Reconstructing the worlds of wildlife: Uexküll, Hediger, and beyond. Biosemiotics, 13(1), 137–149. Cobbold, T. (1861). List of entozoa from animals dying at the Society's menagerie between the years 1857–60. Proceedings of the Zoological Society of London, 117–127. Courcy, C. de (2010). Dublin Zoo: An illustrated history. Cork, Ireland: Collins. Cowie, H. (2013). Elephants, education and entertainment: Travelling menageries in nineteenth-century Britain. Journal of the History of Collections, 25(1), 103–117. 584 OLIvER HOCHAdEL Cowie, H. (2014). Exhibiting animals in nineteenth-century Britain: Empathy, education, entertainment. Basingstoke, UK: Palgrave Macmillan. Cowie, H. (2022). A tale of two anteaters: Madrid 1776 and London 1853. Centaurus, 64(3). Daszkiewicz, P., & Aikhenbaum, J. (1999). Aurochs: Le retour d'un supercherie nazie. Paris, France: HSTES. Davidson, A. (1898). Charter of the New York Zoological Society. Second Annual Report of the New York Zoological Society, 128–130. Fa, J. E., Funk, S. M., & O'Connell, D. (Eds.). (2011). Zoo conservation biology. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Flack, A. (2013). “The illustrious stranger”: Hippomania and the nature of the exotic. Anthrozoös, 26, 43–59. Flack, A., & Maddeaux, S. J. (2018). “Ask of the beasts and they shall teach thee”: Animal representations in Bristol Zoo guidebooks, c. 1840–2010. Society and Animals, 26, 54–72. Frädrich, H., & Strehlow, H. (1994). Der Zoo und die Wissenschaft. Bongo, 24, 161–180. Friedel, E. (1872). Amsterdam, Affenhaus. Der Zoologische Garten, 13, 330–331. Friedenthal, H. (1900). Über einen experimentellen Nachweis von Blutsverwandtschaft. Archiv für Anatomie und Physiologie, Physiologische Abteilung, 5/6, 494–508. Friese, C. (2009). Models of cloning, models for the zoo: Rethinking the sociological significance of cloned animals. BioSocieties, 4, 367–390. Friese, C. (2013). Cloning wild life: Zoos, captivity and the future of endangered animals. New York, NY: New York University Press. Goldner, C. (2016, December 13). Die vier Säulen des Zoos. Tages-Anzeiger. Retrieved from http://www.tagesanzeiger.ch/wissen/natur/Die-vier-Saeulen-des-Zoos/story/20089782 Guerrini, A. (2015). The courtiers' anatomists: Animals and humans in Louis XIV's Paris. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Haag-Haider, B. (2017). Pathologische Sektionsprotokolle zu Tierleichen aus dem Zoo Schönbrunn im 19. Jahrhundert - eine methodengeschichtliche Untersuchung (Doctoral dissertation). Veterinärmedizinische Universität Wien, Vienna, Austria. Haikal, M. (2020). Master Pongo: A gorilla conquers Europe. University Park, PA: Penn State University Press. Hall, J. R. (2015). Encountering snakes in early Victorian London: The first reptile house at the Zoological Gardens. History of Science, 53(3), 338–361. Heck, L. (1902). Der Berliner Zoologische Garten als Wissenschaftliche Tiersammlung. In P. Matschie (Ed.), Verhandlungen des 5. Internationalen Zoologischen Congresses in Berlin 1901 (pp.919–926). Berlin, Germany: G. Fischer. Hediger, H. (1942). Wildtiere in Gefangenschaft: Ein Grundriss der Tiergartenbiologie. Basel, Switzerland: Benno Schwabe. Hediger, H. (1965). Mensch und Tier im Zoo: Tiergarten-Biologie. Rüschlikon, Switzerland: Müller. Heindl, G. (2006). Start in die Moderne: Die Entwicklung der kaiserlichen Menagerie unter Alois Kraus. Wien, Austria: Braumüller. Hochadel, O. (2005). Science in the 19th century zoo. Endeavour: A Quarterly Magazine for the History and Philosophy of Science, 29(1), 38–42. SCIENCE AT THE ZOO 585 Hochadel, O. (2008a). Unter Menschen: Die Schimpansin Mafuka im Dresdner Zoologischen Garten (1873–75). In G. Krüger, R. Mayer, & M. Sommer (Eds.), “Ich Tarzan”: Affenmenschen und Menschenaffen zwischen Science und Fiction (pp.149–173). Bielefeld, Germany: Transcript. Hochadel, O. (2008b). “Eine Reliquie von Alt-Wien?” Die Diskussion um die Rückständigkeit der Menagerie Schönbrunn in Wissenschaft und Öffentlichkeit (1879–1919). In M. G. Ash (Ed.), Mensch, Tier und Zoo: Der Tiergarten Schönbrunn im internationalen Vergleich vom 18. Jahrhundert bis heute (pp.179–200). Wien, Austria: Böhlau. Hochadel, O. (2010). Darwin in the monkey cage: The zoological garden as a medium of evolutionary theory. In D. Brantz (Ed.), Beastly natures: Animals, humans, and the study of history (pp.81–107). Charlottesville, VA: University of Virginia Press. Hochadel, O. (2011). Watching exotic animals next door. “Scientific” observations at the zoo (ca. 1870–1910). Science in Context, 24(2), 183–214. Hochadel, O. (2022). How to get into the pouch: Solving the riddle of the kangaroo birth (1826–1926). Centaurus, 64(3). Hofer, V. (2002). Bühne-Wohnung-Territorium: Der Schönbrunner Tiergarten unter der Leitung von Otto Antonius 1924–1945. In M. G. Ash & L.Dittrich (Eds.), Menagerie des Kaisers-Zoo der Wiener: 250 Jahre Tiergarten Schönbrunn (pp.181–215). Wien, Austria: Pichler. Hofer, V. (2008). Wissenschaft und Authentizität: Der Schönbrunner Tiergarten in der ersten Hälfe des 20. Jahrhunderts und die Anfänge der Tiergartenbiologie. In M. G. Ash (Ed.), Mensch, Tier und Zoo: Der Tiergarten Schönbrunn im internationalen Vergleich vom 18. Jahrhundert bis heute (pp.251–279). Vienna, Austria: Böhlau. Hyson, J. (2008). Zoos und die amerikanische Freizeitkultur. In M. G. Ash (Ed.), Mensch, Tier und Zoo: Der Tiergarten Schönbrunn im internationalen Vergleich vom 18. Jahrhundert bis heute (pp.225–249). Wien, Austria: Böhlau. Ito, T. (2014). London Zoo and the Victorians, 1828–1859. Woodbridge, UK: Boydell. Jacyna, L. S. (2017). “We are veritable animals”: The nineteenth-century Paris Menagerie as a site for the science of intelligence. In S. T. Casper & D. Gavrus (Eds.), The history of the brain and mind sciences: Technique, technology, therapy (pp.25–47). Rochester, NY: Boydell & Brewer. Jahn, I. (1992). Zoologische Gärten in Stadtkultur und Wissenschaft im 19. Jahrhundert. Berichte zur Wissenschaftsgeschichte, 15, 213–225. Kamp, M. (2000). Der Tierpark und die Wissenschaft. In M. Kamp & H. Zedelmaier (Eds.), Nilpferde an der Isar: Eine Geschichte des Tierparks Hellabrunn in München (pp.225–245). München, Germany: Buchendorfer. Kaufman, A. B., Bashaw, M. J., & Maple, T. L. (Eds.). (2019). Scientific foundations of zoos and aquariums: Their role in conservation and research. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Keeling, C.H. (2001). Zoological gardens of Great Britain. In V. N. J. Kisling (Ed.), Zoo and aquarium history: Ancient animal collections to zoological gardens (pp.49–74). Boca Raton, FL: CRC.