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In 1500 the New World was just beginning to be defined by Europeans. Something was west of Europe, across the Atlantic Ocean, but it was vague. Christopher Columbus had sailed three times to a strange-looking collection of islands and a questionable mainland, and he stoutly maintained he had reached Asia. To be sure, however, he had seen only the easternmost edge, peopled with bright birds and—in European terms—savages. He had not seen the sprawling cities and markets Marco Polo had visited by going the other way, but that it was Asia could not be in doubt. The first maps also included splendid guesses. Many people—most navigators and scientists and humanists—knew that the earth was spherical. That had been known, off and on, for two thousand years before Columbus’s voyages. And something, in theory, had to be on the other side of the Atlantic. Although various legends existed about Atlantic or Pacific crossings, there were few stories about ordinary mariners circumnavigating the globe. Not many people had thought about the real possibility, much less considered if anything might be in the way. But Europe, since the fourteenth century, did know what Asia looked like and where it was. Famous explorers and travelers, although few in number, were well known. Giovanni da Pian del Carpini, in 1245 to 1247, traveled to the Mongol empire both as a political spy and Catholic missionary. Europe had been thoroughly scared by the prospect of Mongol conquest and information was necessary. Carpini’s Liber Tartarorum (Book of the Tartars) was known in manuscript form in Europe and printed in summary form by 1473. His work is still regarded as a highly accurate account of central Asia and Mongol history. His geography is second only to William of Rubruquis (Rubrouck), who made a similar journey after Carpini. Naturally, the most famous account of a journey to China from Europe, in 1271-1295, was that of Marco Polo. His book, Il milione (The Million, named for a now forgotten reason and known in English as The Travels of Marco Polo) was a bestseller. Polo worked on the book until his death in 1324. It immediately was copied in manuscript form into most European languages and was printed as soon as printing presses appeared. The work is partially responsible for creating the Far East as an attainable goal for voyagers. Columbus owned a Latin version of Polo’s work and well knew where he was going. Other famous travelers added their share of knowledge. Perhaps the greatest medieval traveler was the Arab Ibn Battutah (1304-1369), who traveled all of his life to nearly all Muslim countries from Spain to Delhi and on to China and Sumatra. An idealistic, professional traveler, Ibn Battutah was often supported by generous monarchs and for many years journeyed with a retinue that included friends, scholars, servants, and a moderate-sized harem of wives and concubines. Later, he experienced everything from shipwreck to solitary journeys, murderous sultans to the necessity of marrying into a ruling family to ensure his fortunes. His book, Rihlah (the Travels) was known marginally in Europe, but the knowledge in it was repeated over the entire reach of Europe, North Africa, the Middle East, and Asia. Europeans knew what the land on the other side of the Atlantic should look like. And to a few, logic held that one could reach Asia by sailing west. For a time, however, such a journey seemed so much more risky than the known land routes east—until political conditions made the eastern passage almost impossible.
But no one knew how far one had to sail west. The earlier, reasonably accurate measurement of the circumference of the earth had been lost. Columbus, however, thought Asia was close and finally convinced the rulers of emerging Spain to finance a trip. The
stories Columbus told on his returns were delightful and confusing. What
he reported on the part of Asia he had seen—when he was not talking about
an earthly paradise—did not seem much like the India or China that Europeans
knew about.
Ferdinand
of Aragon and Isabella of Castile, the rulers of what was becoming Spain,
decided to check on things. A few years after Columbus’s initial voyage,
they needed a person who would be an objective observer, a reporter who
could accompany a voyage of exploration, a navigator with enough experience
to know where he was, and an individual who would not personally benefit
from the trip. They chose a Florentine merchant living in Spain at that
time, Amerigo Vespucci. This
Florentine, by a curious chain of events, would become perhaps the first
European known by name to sail the coast of Texas as well as to have his
name applied to the lands of a new hemisphere. Southern
Europe, by the late fifteenth century, was a hotbed of activity: political,
scientific, artistic, and mercantile. The century held in many ways the
creation of worldwide trade and banking. It was the pivotal century of
the Renaissance and the creation of art as we know it today. These were
the years of Leonardo da Vinci and Botticelli, And it was a world based much on fact—empirical fact—that could be checked and proven. Ferdinand and Isabella, hearing Columbus’s stories of his first voyages—and the stories of other less publicized early voyagers—sent out an expedition in 1497 to confirm reports of the land beyond the sea. Vespucci
was then forty-three years old. He became known as an outfitter of ships and a cosmographer, a dependable businessperson and a convivial conversationalist—talents he had acquired in Florence. He was, apparently, more of a humanist than a person after quick honor or profit and was thus a good choice as reporter to the king and queen.
Sailing
as a pilot or navigator, Vespucci left Cadiz in May of 1497. However knowledgeable
Vespucci was and however directly in the service of royalty, he led neither
this voyage nor any other expedition, and the names of the captains have
been lost. Sailing
southwest, the expedition stocked final provisions in the Canary Islands,
then crossed the Atlantic with favorable winds. Vespucci
was later to become one of the foremost cosmographers of his day; appointed
Pilot Major of Spain some years later, his job was to certify maps and
navigational equipment for Spanish voyages. He even calculated longitude
at least once with remarkable precision in an age when longitude was routinely
considered impossible to calculate directly.
Wherever Vespucci first saw the continent, from that point on, he was entranced. This was understandable. His voyage was not one of conquest. These explorers were not charged with finding piles of gold and spices, great cities and eastern potentates. They were to observe and report on what they actually saw. The voyage was therefore the earliest known scientific voyage, or pure exploration, to the New World. This feeling of entrancement shows in Vespucci’s letters. His reports on the voyages, naturally given to king and queen, naturally disappeared. But some of his letters remain.
Reaching a green and, compared to European standards, a primitive land, Vespucci summarizes his first landfall: Here
we dropped the bow anchors and stationed our fleet a league and a
half from the shore. We then lowered a few boats, and, filling them
with armed men, we pulled as far as the land. The moment we approached,
we rejoiced not a little to see hordes of naked people running along
the shore. Indeed, all those whom we saw going about naked seemed
also to be exceedingly astonished at us, I suppose because they noticed
we wore clothing. Vespucci, unlike many explorers, was always able to recognize the viewpoint of the people he met and realize the shortcomings of his own culture: I suppose we should have learned much more, had we been able to understand their language. The
voyage moved north and west, apparently circling Yucatán and coasting
the Gulf of Mexico. The land is very rich in birds, which are so numerous and so large, and have plumes of such different kinds and colors that to see and describe them fills us with wonder. The climate, moreover, is very temperate and the land fertile, full of immense forests and groves, which are always green, for the leaves never fall. The fruits are countless and entirely different from ours. The land itself is situated in the torrid zone, on the edge of the second climate, precisely on the parallel which marks the tropic of Cancer, where the Pole rises twenty-three degrees above the horizon. Vespucci
gives no description that can be linked specifically to that part of the
coast which is present-day Texas. Perhaps he had less to say, because
from offshore the Texas coast is not greatly spectacular or interesting,
if one likes lush tropical forests or geographical relief. Later voyagers
called the Gulf coasts low, barren, and inhospitable.
Vespucci’s letters are always those of an explorer, not a conqueror. And he is not above humor: . . . when they [the natives] asked us whence we came, we answered that we had descended from heaven to pay the earth a visit, a statement which was believed on all sides. The
first voyage, continued for eight hundred and seventy leagues, found little
evidence of gold, took thirteen months to complete, and collected much
data. Vespucci was to make other voyages to the new continents. His reports—including comments on cannibalism, hammocks, and geography—gave rise to some of the first European impressions of the New World. Vespucci had a talent which almost brought his reputation to ruin (though not during his lifetime) and placed his accomplishments in academic doubt: he was a good writer.
Columbus’s
reports of his voyages did not stir the imagination. For one thing, most
of Columbus’s words were kept secret or, along with his journals, officially
lost. For another, Columbus did not correspond extensively with anyone
other than his king and queen. Vespucci did. They
were as popular in Europe—in many translations—as newspapers are today.
In fact, they were the newspapers of the day. And Vespucci knew full well that the land he had seen was not Asia. He said what had been seen was a new world, unknown to the ancients and wreathed with the mystery and challenge of the unknown. And here, Vespucci touched on a constant, common feeling in the minds of most later arrivals to the places that would receive strange-sounding names like Florida, Mexico, Coahuila, and Texas. Vespucci’s letters—circulating in Europe in a handful of editions and languages, print and manuscript—created a great interest and an equally great controversy. In
1507 a small group of scholars—printers, geographers, poets—gathered at
Saint-Dié, Lorraine, for the purpose of publishing learned works
under the sponsorship of the Duke of Lorraine, René II. The name, rendered feminine to parallel the Old World continents of Asia, Africa, and Europa, sounded good. The
group almost certainly did not know Amerigo Vespucci personally, and they
certainly knew about Columbus—as well as perhaps other voyages across
the Atlantic—but Vespucci’s letters carried the day. They were exciting.
Copies of his letters were altered to fit their work and published as
part of the Cosmographiae Introductio. One of Vespucci’s originals
was addressed to the Gonfalonier Piero Soderini of Florence, a friend.
Vespucci’s comments to Soderini were altered, simply by a name switch,
to refer to René II—and therefore rendered ludicrous. The personal
references, left in, do not fit. But at the time, what reader would know?
Further, copyright laws were unheard of in 1507. And such was the power
of the printed (or engraved) word that the name stuck. And the name stuck much to the disgust of later Columbians. Years after Vespucci’s death, various writers decided that Amerigo had deliberately usurped the fame of Columbus and contrived to have the continents named after himself—and had in fact been on no voyages at all. Amerigo was then and since called a lucky imposter, a fatuous personage, and a lying novelist. Ralph Waldo Emerson considered it strange . . . that broad America must wear the name of a thief . . . the pickle-dealer at Seville. Where did this side of the story start? Is there truth in such allegations? Is it of more than idle curiosity to know whether the person whose name was given to the New World continents might also have been the first European known by name to sail Texas waters? Or did he sail at all?
Father
Bartolomé de Las Casas was the first to raise his voice against
Vespucci, apparently through a desire to defend Columbus. He gave no reason
or documentary proof for his charges that Vespucci was a usurper of fame
not deservedly his. Las Casas, the sixteenth century defender of the American
Indian and attacker of the brutal type of Spanish conquistador, took on
Vespucci as an object of denigration. To Las Casas, Amerigo was a man
of questionable liberal thought and a convenient scapegoat for the way
Columbus had been officially treated. But
Las Casas’s opinion was not forgotten. As it became clear to later writers
just how badly Columbus had been treated by Spain in return for his brilliant
discovery, Amerigo apparently became an easy object of blame. Because
copies of Amerigo’s letters had been translated and retranslated by others,
they could easily be questioned as to their authenticity. Columbus’s maps and journals likewise disappeared. Las Casas’s rewriting of Columbus’s log does exist but did not become an object of scrutiny as did Vespucci’s letters. No
body of evidence exists to contradict any of Vespucci’s presumed voyages,
and most indications are that he could have made them. The
maps that exist are ambiguous. Several before 1515 show what may be the
Gulf of Mexico, but their interpretation depends a great deal upon the
opinion of the observer. In
any case, Amerigo Vespucci is a strong contender for the title of the
first European, known by name, to sail the Texas coast.
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©copyright
2000
The University of Texas Institute of Texan Cultures at San Antonio 801 South Bowie Street San Antonio, Texas 78205-3296 (210) 458-2300 |
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