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This essay argues that the emotional rhetoric of today's breast cancer discourse—with its emphasis on stoicism and 'positive thinking' in the cancer patient, and its use of sympathetic feeling to encourage charitable giving—has its roots in the long 18th century. While cancer had long been connected with the emotions, 18th-century literature saw it associated with both 'positive' and 'negative' feelings, and metaphors describing jealousy, love and other sentiments as 'like a cancer' were used to highlight the danger of allowing feelings—even benevolent or pleasurable feelings—to flourish unchecked. As the century wore on, breast cancer in particular became an important literary device for exploring the dangers of feeling in women, with writers of both moralising treatises and sentimental novels connecting the growth or development of cancer with the indulgence of feeling, and portraying emotional self-control as the only possible form of resistance against the disease. If, as Barbara Ehrenreich suggests, today's discourse of 'positive thinking' has been mobilised to make patients with breast cancer more accepting of their diagnosis and more cooperative with punitive treatment regimens, then 18th-century fictional exhortations to stay cheerful served similarly conservative political and economic purposes, encouraging continued female submission to male prerogatives inside and outside the household.

This book was previously published by Pearson Education Inc. ; Transatlantic Romanticism offers canonical and non-canonical texts from American, British, and Canadian Romantic writers, meeting the demand for a coherent and flexible transatlantic Romantic reader. It offers a range of representative materials by the most central, as well as non-canonical, North American and British writers and thinkers. Thematic groupings and companion readings, strategically integrated throughout the book, provide lively and illuminating views of the major literary, cultural, and political debates of the transatlantic Romantic century. Accessible and engaging introductions and headnotes lead to an even greater appreciation and understanding of the prose and poetry of the transatlantic Romantic era.

From the age of Louis XIV to the Jacobin Revolution, the French eighteenth century is often portrayed as dreaming an enduring dream of unity. A great deal of administrative and intellectual energy was spent in attempting to unify the territory under one king, the people under one law, the beliefs under one God, the artists under one academy, the warring European nations under one scheme of perpetual peace, the branches of knowledge under one encyclopaedic tree, the erring variety of customs and superstitions under one ideal of universal rationality, and the annoying diversity of idioms (regional or national) under one standardized and unifying language - the Parisian French spoken at the Court, regulated by the official Academy, and blessed by the one King (anointed by true God). What was a mere fantasy in 1700 appeared to have become a historical reality by the end of the century: in a global survey which anticipates (in a euphoric mode) our current anxieties about cultural homogenization among world cultures, Louis-Antoine Caraccioli explained in L'Europe française ou Paris modèle des nations (French Europe or Paris as a model of nations, 1776) that everyone in Europe ate, drank, dressed, spoke, read, socialized, and thought in the same (French) fashion. Nicolas Baudeau, one of the early Economists who, also in the 1770s, claimed the universal and "natural" validity of free-market mechanisms, demonstrated to a young aristocratic lady that, looking no further than her lunch table, she could find the obvious proof of an already-globalized world-market, which satisfied her daily needs (and whims) by bringing her wheat from Poland, porcelain from China, spoons made from Peruvian iron, and sugar cultivated in Haiti by slaves dragged out of Africa. By the time Napoleon conquered most of continental Europe and divided it into quasi-French departments, the "Grand Design" of political unification dreamt by Henry IV and his minister Sully (revived by the Abbé de Saint-Pierre around 1713, and revisited by Rousseau in the 1750s) briefly appeared on the verge of a lasting triumph.

From the age of Louis XIV to the Jacobin Revolution, the French eighteenth century is often portrayed as dreaming an enduring dream of unity. A great deal of administrative and intellectual energy was spent in attempting to unify the territory under one king, the people under one law, the beliefs under one God, the artists under one academy, the warring European nations under one scheme of perpetual peace, the branches of knowledge under one encyclopaedic tree, the erring variety of customs and superstitions under one ideal of universal rationality, and the annoying diversity of idioms (regional or national) under one standardized and unifying language - the Parisian French spoken at the Court, regulated by the official Academy, and blessed by the one King (anointed by true God). What was a mere fantasy in 1700 appeared to have become a historical reality by the end of the century: in a global survey which anticipates (in a euphoric mode) our current anxieties about cultural homogenization among world cultures, Louis-Antoine Caraccioli explained in L'Europe française ou Paris modèle des nations (French Europe or Paris as a model of nations, 1776) that everyone in Europe ate, drank, dressed, spoke, read, socialized, and thought in the same (French) fashion. Nicolas Baudeau, one of the early Economists who, also in the 1770s, claimed the universal and "natural" validity of free-market mechanisms, demonstrated to a young aristocratic lady that, looking no further than her lunch table, she could find the obvious proof of an already-globalized world-market, which satisfied her daily needs (and whims) by bringing her wheat from Poland, porcelain from China, spoons made from Peruvian iron, and sugar cultivated in Haiti by slaves dragged out of Africa. By the time Napoleon conquered most of continental Europe and divided it into quasi-French departments, the "Grand Design" of political unification dreamt by Henry IV and his minister Sully (revived by the Abbé de Saint-Pierre around 1713, and revisited by Rousseau in the ...

From the age of Louis XIV to the Jacobin Revolution, the French eighteenth century is often portrayed as dreaming an enduring dream of unity. A great deal of administrative and intellectual energy was spent in attempting to unify the territory under one king, the people under one law, the beliefs under one God, the artists under one academy, the warring European nations under one scheme of perpetual peace, the branches of knowledge under one encyclopaedic tree, the erring variety of customs and superstitions under one ideal of universal rationality, and the annoying diversity of idioms (regional or national) under one standardized and unifying language - the Parisian French spoken at the Court, regulated by the official Academy, and blessed by the one King (anointed by true God). What was a mere fantasy in 1700 appeared to have become a historical reality by the end of the century: in a global survey which anticipates (in a euphoric mode) our current anxieties about cultural homogenization among world cultures, Louis-Antoine Caraccioli explained in L'Europe française ou Paris modèle des nations (French Europe or Paris as a model of nations, 1776) that everyone in Europe ate, drank, dressed, spoke, read, socialized, and thought in the same (French) fashion. Nicolas Baudeau, one of the early Economists who, also in the 1770s, claimed the universal and "natural" validity of free-market mechanisms, demonstrated to a young aristocratic lady that, looking no further than her lunch table, she could find the obvious proof of an already-globalized world-market, which satisfied her daily needs (and whims) by bringing her wheat from Poland, porcelain from China, spoons made from Peruvian iron, and sugar cultivated in Haiti by slaves dragged out of Africa. By the time Napoleon conquered most of continental Europe and divided it into quasi-French departments, the "Grand Design" of political unification dreamt by Henry IV and his minister Sully (revived by the Abbé de Saint-Pierre around 1713, and revisited by Rousseau in the 1750s) briefly appeared on the verge of a lasting triumph.

From the age of Louis XIV to the Jacobin Revolution, the French eighteenth century is often portrayed as dreaming an enduring dream of unity. A great deal of administrative and intellectual energy was spent in attempting to unify the territory under one king, the people under one law, the beliefs under one God, the artists under one academy, the warring European nations under one scheme of perpetual peace, the branches of knowledge under one encyclopaedic tree, the erring variety of customs and superstitions under one ideal of universal rationality, and the annoying diversity of idioms (regional or national) under one standardized and unifying language - the Parisian French spoken at the Court, regulated by the official Academy, and blessed by the one King (anointed by true God). What was a mere fantasy in 1700 appeared to have become a historical reality by the end of the century: in a global survey which anticipates (in a euphoric mode) our current anxieties about cultural homogenization among world cultures, Louis-Antoine Caraccioli explained in L'Europe française ou Paris modèle des nations (French Europe or Paris as a model of nations, 1776) that everyone in Europe ate, drank, dressed, spoke, read, socialized, and thought in the same (French) fashion. Nicolas Baudeau, one of the early Economists who, also in the 1770s, claimed the universal and "natural" validity of free-market mechanisms, demonstrated to a young aristocratic lady that, looking no further than her lunch table, she could find the obvious proof of an already-globalized world-market, which satisfied her daily needs (and whims) by bringing her wheat from Poland, porcelain from China, spoons made from Peruvian iron, and sugar cultivated in Haiti by slaves dragged out of Africa. By the time Napoleon conquered most of continental Europe and divided it into quasi-French departments, the "Grand Design" of political unification dreamt by Henry IV and his minister Sully (revived by the Abbé de Saint-Pierre around 1713, and revisited by Rousseau in the 1750s) briefly appeared on the verge of a lasting triumph.

From the age of Louis XIV to the Jacobin Revolution, the French eighteenth century is often portrayed as dreaming an enduring dream of unity. A great deal of administrative and intellectual energy was spent in attempting to unify the territory under one king, the people under one law, the beliefs under one God, the artists under one academy, the warring European nations under one scheme of perpetual peace, the branches of knowledge under one encyclopaedic tree, the erring variety of customs and superstitions under one ideal of universal rationality, and the annoying diversity of idioms (regional or national) under one standardized and unifying language - the Parisian French spoken at the Court, regulated by the official Academy, and blessed by the one King (anointed by true God). What was a mere fantasy in 1700 appeared to have become a historical reality by the end of the century: in a global survey which anticipates (in a euphoric mode) our current anxieties about cultural homogenization among world cultures, Louis-Antoine Caraccioli explained in L'Europe française ou Paris modèle des nations (French Europe or Paris as a model of nations, 1776) that everyone in Europe ate, drank, dressed, spoke, read, socialized, and thought in the same (French) fashion. Nicolas Baudeau, one of the early Economists who, also in the 1770s, claimed the universal and "natural" validity of free-market mechanisms, demonstrated to a young aristocratic lady that, looking no further than her lunch table, she could find the obvious proof of an already-globalized world-market, which satisfied her daily needs (and whims) by bringing her wheat from Poland, porcelain from China, spoons made from Peruvian iron, and sugar cultivated in Haiti by slaves dragged out of Africa. By the time Napoleon conquered most of continental Europe and divided it into quasi-French departments, the "Grand Design" of political unification dreamt by Henry IV and his minister Sully (revived by the Abbé de Saint-Pierre around 1713, and revisited by Rousseau in the 1750s) briefly appeared on the verge of a lasting triumph.

Abstract
This article focuses on an aspect of Pietist education that may be regarded as a reform, namely a new way of upholding the role model to educational ends – or, more simply put, of teaching by example. This new approach to the example, according to my thesis, manifests itself in an implicit, narrative didactics of piety. This will be illustrated by reference to a popular genre of children' and young people's literature dating from the 17th and 18th centuries, namely 'exemplary children's stories' (Kinderexempelgeschichten). Such stories consist of biographical model narratives concerning exemplary pious boys and girls. To demonstrate how this implicit, religious didactic was made explicit, I draw on the text 'Christliche Lebens=Regeln' (Christian Rules of Life), which was especifically conceived as a systematic elucidation of exemplary stories.

Prior to describing the translation situation in the 18th century, it should be noted that several factors led to its development, including the expansion of modern languages teaching, and the increasing presence of grammars, vocabularies and anthologies for both language learning and translation. French, because of historical and political reasons, becomes the first foreign language in Spain, and also the most translated; on many occasions, it also appears as an intermediary language for other less practiced languages (such as English and German). On the other hand, Latin continues to hold a predominant place in areas such as religion or medicine. The existence of a debate about translation and the figure of the translator is also observed, which sometimes gave rise to heated controversies. Regarding the translation reality, we start from non-literary texts (religious, humanistic, scientific and technical), since they represent the largest volume of translations, surpassing those of a literary type. When approaching the translation of literary texts, attention is drawn in the first place to the continuity of the classical Greco-Latin literature, even though that the presence of modern literatures is increasing, like French, which has been strengthening its position as the century progresses. There is also evidence of the permanence, especially in the theater, of Italian literature, which lost its presence in the 16th and 17th centuries, as well as the emergence (towards the end of the century) of English literature (especially Shakespeare and the novel). The place of other literatures (German, Portuguese) remains in the minority.

Of the 18th Century, a 19th century critic remarked that it mated decadence with splendor — a poetically conceived evaluation, but one which introduces more than aesthetic judgment. From the time of Sylvester Baxter's pioneer appreciation of art and architecture in colonial Mexico, there have been a great variety of travellers and scholars who have attempted to clarify the stylistic problems of the period. It would be impossible to give any just measure of credit to all those who have contributed; much of the most meaningful interpretation of this period, however, must be based on the brilliant work of the late Manuel Tous-saint and the investigadores of the Instituto de Investigaciones Estéticas at the University of Mexico.