Historians are invariably wiser after the event. Their approaches to the subject of this paper, the Société La Fuchsine, make no exceptions to this rule. That company was formed in December 1863 with the participation of the Crédit Lyonnais bank to exploit the patent monopoly on the synthetic dyestuff known as fuchsine, and its derivatives, of the Lyons firm of Renard frères et Franc. No one could have foreseen that before the close of the decade this whole adventure would end in utter failure. In the eyes of contemporaries La Fuchsine was one of the most impressive and awe-inspiring firms of the European dyestuffs industry in the 1860s. Yet by 1868 La Fuchsine was virtually bankrupt, although it dragged out its legal existence until 1875. However, in every other sense it was already dead well before that date.

Until late in the nineteenth century, madder was the most popular natural red dye. Holland was the largest and best-known supplier. As early as the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, the province of Zeeland and adjoining parts of the provinces of South Holland and Brabant developed into important producers. In the course of the seventeenth century these areas even succeeded in acquiring a monopoly position. Early in the nineteenth century, however, this position came under attack because France had gone over to industrial production methods from around 1800, whereas Holland continued to produce with craft technologies. After 1820, as a result, a period of stagnation and decay set in. The fate of the Dutch madder industry would have been completely sealed if the production capacity of the French factories had been sufficiently large to satisfy the great increase in demand. Consequently, in Holland, after 1845, a process of revival based upon the French manufacturing methods began slowly and hesitatingly. This process started too late and was not persevered with sufficiently to regain lost markets. The Dutch producers remained strongly attached to their own out-dated, craft methods of production.

Since the eighteenth century chemistry has been deemed to be useful, yet how it might find widespread application, particularly in the case of its most advanced developments, was generally unclear. The discovery of synthetic dyestuffs has often been considered as the turning point towards much closer linkage between chemistry and the manufacture of useful products. How this occurred can best be seen in the case of August Wilhelm Hofmann, who for two decades after 1845 was director of the Royal College of Chemistry in London. As the teacher of many pioneers of the dye industry, Hofmann can be considered its first scientific leader. Indeed, the compounds he studied from 1860 were products made in the factories of his former students and assistants. They in turn were the first to recognize Hofmann's role in stimulating the practical application of science. Henry Armstrong, the chemist and educator, went so far as to imply that this was germane to Hofmann's pedagogic and research strategies: ‘it is clear that the influence he exercised in introducing scientific method into industry was in no sense accidental, but the considered expression of innate convictions’. These convictions were also encouraged by the need to attract funds from industrial sponsors for the Royal College of Chemistry, and they charged the rhetoric that served to enhance Hofmann's ambition and the discipline of chemistry before international audiences.

This is another paper about science and her powerful companion (technology), to use A. W. Hofmann's colourful phrase. Whereas most papers on the interaction of science and technology deal with the transfer of knowledge from academic science to industrial technology, this paper is about the contribution of an industrial researcher to academic chemistry. The boost Reppe's research gave to the study of aromaticity parallels the impact of the early synthetic dye chemistry on structural organic chemistry. This case study suggests that we cannot draw a clear distinction between ‘pure’ and ‘applied’ chemistry, in the laboratory at least.

Even before the success of William Perkin's mauve at the end of the 1850s, there were attempts to synthesize artificial dyes that were identical with those found in nature. Alizarin, the dye derived from the madder root, was the first to be investigated, and it was Perkin who was to file for a patent in June 1869 just one day before the German chemists Heinrich Caro, Carl Graebe and Carl Liebermann. Rivalry between the parties soon turned to negotiations and collaboration. Perkin's company retained the British trade, while the Germans, in the form of the Badische Anilin- und Soda-Fabrik (BASF) controlled the continental European and United States markets. This and similar agreements extinguished the madder trade, and subsequently artificial alizarin passed almost completely to the Germans. They achieved a monopoly by dictating the level and prices of supplies, which did much to diminish the strength of the dye-making industry in Britain. The formation in 1882–83 of the British Alizarine Company did little to redress the overall balance. This taught British dye firms a tough lesson. The same, they hoped, would not be allowed to happen again, even when the attention of the German research chemists turned to indigo.

The rise of the synthetic dye industry was based on exciting discoveries of nineteenth-century chemists. They prepared in their laboratories, from components of coal tar, coloured substances with potentially promising dyeing properties. However, this was only part of the story.

The focus of this paper is the emergence of the research laboratory as an organizational entity within the company structure of industrial firms. The thesis defended is that, after some groundwork by British and French firms, the managements of several of the larger German dye companies set up their own research organizations between the years 1877 and 1883. The analysis of the emergence of the industrial research laboratory in the dyestuffs industry presented here makes clear that both the older study on the subject by John J. Beer and a later paper by Georg Mseyer-Thurow contain some serious defects. Beer, like so many other authors of the 1950s who studied the ‘marriage’ between science and industry during the ‘Second Industrial Revolution’, incorrectly correlates the engagement of university-educated chemists with the rise of industrial research. The appointment of academic chemists by BASF and Hoechst at the end of the 1860s, for instance, was described as ‘the…acquisition of a research staff’. This reveals a misunderstanding of the roles of chemists within the nineteenth-century chemical industry. University-trained personnel were, in fact, working in industry as early as the start of the nineteenth century. However, they were employed as managers, works chemists and analysts, and only exceptionally in research.

Louis Pasteur plays a role in the creation myth of biotechnology which resembles the heroic position of his great antagonist Liebig in the story of agricultural chemistry. His intellectual development, expressed in a great book, supposedly underlay a revolution in practice. Similarly, biotechnology is conventionally traced back to Pasteur, through whose influence, it has been assumed, ancient crafts were transformed into an applicable science of microbiology. The emphasis on Pasteur's work in the history of biotechnology has served to bolster the image of progress in the technology following from periodic scientific breakthroughs. Elsewhere I have argued that biotechnology can be better seen as a boundary object, to use Star and Griesemer's terminology, between biology and engineering. As such it has been significant throughout this century, and the word has been used since 1917.