François de Dainville S.J. and the Teaching of Early Modern Geography

The French historian François de Dainville S.J. (1909-1971), published in 1940 a book entitled La Géographie des humanistes. This work, despite its age, is still a reference in Jesuit historiography, at least in some aspects. Dainville argued that the vocation of the Society of Jesus, oriented as much to the moral, disciplinary and religious education of European societies as to the missionary enterprises in the distant lands of Asia and America, led to its assigning an important role to geography as a discipline for educating young people. Dainville’s thinking conceived the geographic discipline in a rather broad way. This approach, perhaps objectionable to the modern historian of science, nevertheless allows us a glimpse into the heterogeneity of the practices and contents of geographic knowledge in the early modern age.

What was stated by Dainville remains valid in more than one aspect. The slow rise of geography as an autonomous scholastic discipline from the embers of the medieval Quadrivium, despite the apparent natural vocation of the Society of Jesus to give to it a privileged role, did not experience an immediate acceleration within the Jesuit educational network. During the sixteenth century, this teaching remained hidden in the lessons of physics, mathematics, natural history, and astronomy. The texts that were used, at least until the publication of the Ratio Studiorum, remained mainly the classics of ancient science and erudition: Aristotle, Ptolemy, Pliny, Pomponius Mela, to which was added Sacrobosco’s De Sphaera, in a variety of commentaries and reprints.

Nevertheless, even through the use of these texts, geographic disciplines were increasingly identified with historical disciplines, and less and less with mathematics. This aspect is important in understanding the epistemological shift that led to modern geography as a subject of study. In this sense, Fr. Dainville’s book remains a classic founder of a strand of study, that of the teaching of geography in Jesuit schools. La Géographie des Humanistes thus deserves to be reread and appreciated by new generations of historians of science, culture, and of the Jesuits. [David Salomoni]

Reflections on the Red Sea: Part 2

The first part of this story introduced a question made by some Portuguese sailors: what was the reason behind the name of the Red Sea? At the end, it was mentioned that Afonso de Albuquerque had provided King Manuel with an explanation, after passing through the strait of Aden. “The riddle was solved” – or so it seemed.

In 1541, it was João de Castro who joined another expedition, this time going all the way to the Gulf of Suez. Castro wrote a comment about the name of the Red Sea, refuting all the ideas that were mentioned previously: the water was not red; the storms did not seem to carry any red dust; and the sand was brownish, rather dark. This was not to say that the color red was entirely missing in this region. João de Castro continues to explain that it was only north of Sawakin (where Albuquerque’s expedition had not reached) that coral reefs started to appear: some were red, some were green and some were white. “Now, we should have in mind that the water of this sea, especially north of Sawakin, is the clearest that has ever been seen.” Whenever the coral or the algae around it were red, the red colour showed through the crystal-clear waters. Given that most reefs seemed to be red, Castro believes that it should be the reason why the sea gained the name red, instead of green or white.

Like Albuquerque, João de Castro also enquired Muslim pilots about the name of this sea. They were surprised by the question – Castro writes – for they themselves used the name Sea of Mecca, and none had ever seen or heard of red dust being brought by the wind. “Despite all this, I do not disapprove of the opinion of the Portuguese, but I do state that – having gone through this sea longer than they have gone, and knowing all of its length when they only knew a fragment – I have not seen in the whole of it what they claim to have seen in a little part.” [Inês Bénard]

Reflections on the Red Sea: Part 1

One of the most immediate effects that 16th-century oceanic voyages had on the European population was the emergence of new kinds of questions. Long-distance expeditions exposed sailors to completely new information and, apart from that, it also enabled many of them to confront theories and descriptions which had been hitherto known only through ancient authorities.

One of the many examples of these questions was the reason for the name of the Red Sea. João de Castro mentioned in his rutter that Pliny provided two explanations: the first was that it used to be called Erythraean Sea after a king called Erythras – a name akin to the classical Greek term for red; the second explanation was that the sun in that sea was so strong, that it made it turn reddish. João de Castro added that some people also held that its name “was due to the color of the sand and the earth that went through it”; while others claimed that the water itself was red.

https://medea.fc.ul.pt/view/chart/1/viewer

In 1513, Afonso de Albuquerque organized an expedition to the south of the Red Sea, going as far as the Dahlak Islands. The Portuguese governor wrote to King Manuel I claiming to have seen big red spots on the water, right at the strait of Aden. According to Albuquerque, some of his sailors enquired Muslim pilots about such phenomenon and were told that the earth on the mainland was red. Strong winds would bring dust into the sea, and then heavy currents would generate the spots. The riddle was solved – or so it seemed... (to be continued) [Inês Bénard]

Negotiating a Cosmographer for a King: the case of Bartolomeu Velho

Following our previous blog posts on the circulation of maritime experts in Europe (Travelling Cosmographical Knowledge between Elizabethan England and Valois France and Fernão de Oliveira: a Globalization Agent of Iberian Maritime Knowledge), it is impossible not to mention the case of Portuguese cosmographer Bartolomeu Velho.

A renowned cartographer and mathematician, Bartolomeu Velho designed in 1561, for King Sebastian of Portugal (1557-1578), a world map known as the Carta Geral da Orbe. His works caught soon the attention of Valois France. Raymond de Forqueveaux, the French ambassador to Philip  II’s court between 1565 and 1572, used a contact in France to negotiate Velho’s entry into the service of French King Charles IX (1560-1574). Through the commercial networks that Francesco d’Albagno, an Italian merchant from Luca, had in Lisbon, Velho was offered conditions to come to France. Velho would provide the French monarchy with cosmographical information relating to an unoccupied land (by the Portuguese and the Spanish) that France was likely to explore in South America. In exchange, he was offered valuable conditions to pass to Valois France in 1566, including the possibility of bringing all his family.

Almost at the same time, a deal was struck to have Father Fernão de Oliveira, who at that time was also completing his Ars Nautica, the first European treatise on nautical construction, enter Valois service too. The maneuver was avoided by the Spanish ambassador in Lisbon, who managed to hire Oliveira for Spain’s service (although there is no sign that Oliveira ever left Portugal). In the meantime, owing to Velho’s arrival in France, Portugal asked Philip II to imprison Velho, who was already in Spain on his way to France. This effort, however, did not succeed.

Velho arrived in France in 1567 and soon finished his famous Cosmographia (preserved today at the Bibliothéque Nationale de France), dedicated to King Charles IX. He also brought with him a new instrument that was to help France in the preparation for a French expedition to explore unknown lands. A full inventory of all the goods that Velho brought to France is also known. Still, Charles IX did not have much time to profit from the Portuguese cosmographer’s work and expertise, as he died in 1568 at Nantes, and it is unknown if Velho had time to make further contributions to that planned French expedition.

Velho’s story was not a unique case, even in his time. However, it is an enlightening example of the key role played by information networks used by ambassadors, to successfully acquire the rival’s maritime knowledge. The consequent globalization of cosmographical knowledge in sixteenth-century Europe, as Velho’s case illustrates, was, thus, an unstoppable process, and ambassadors played a pivotal role in this reality. [Nuno Vila-Santa]

Sailing in Green Waters

The experience of long-distance voyages made pilots develop new skills, including training their eyes to read the different colors of the waters. Why were colors so important?

Vicente Rodrigues’ first rutter (c. 1575), first published by Linschoten, informed that near the Bay of Arguin, the pilots could see “water of green color”. If the green water was seen “twice”, it was a clear sign of proximity to the continent, otherwise, the ships were closer to Cape Verde’s Islands. This information was crucial to the safe continuation of the journey.

We can find the description of green waters also in connection with the Brazilian Run. In fact, the chief cosmographer Manuel Pimentel (1650-1719), in his collection of sailing directions, wrote that in the Maranhão basin there were many dangerous sandbanks of different sizes. The biggest ones were typically introduced by green water. The same author describing the sea route from Tobago Island to Cartagena de Indias noted that the pilot might see “very green water at high sea”. In any case, the pilot should not be afraid, because this water should be interpreted as a good sign (“não tema nada [o piloto], esta agua é certa”).

According to this rutter, the color of water could be very different in a certain place, depending on the season of the year. In the proximity of the Andaman Archipelago, in September, the surface of the sea was like a patchwork, full of spots, while in May, when rainfall was insufficient, the water was fully blue.

The nuances of water helped pilots not only to identify the location of the ship, but also to understand atmospherical phenomena which were previously unknown. [Luana Giurgevich]

The Chemistry of the Portuguese Empire II: Eugenol

This is the second post inspired by the book Napoleon’s Buttons – 17 Molecules that Changed History, by Penny Le Couteur & Jay Burreson.

Myristica fragrans, the nutmeg tree, and Syzygium aromaticum, the clove tree, are precious plants that originally could be found only on the Molucca Islands.

Just as for black pepper, the paramount importance of nutmeg and clove, and the role they had in shaping history, lies in their chemistry. Eugenol in clove and isoeugenol in nutmeg are two aromatic molecules very similar in structure and with a smell close to that of ginger. They only differ in a double bond position (in red in the figure).

Produced by the plants for protection against animal grazing, insects eating and microorganisms’ infections, these substances full of aroma have been used for centuries in traditional medicine as analgesic, antiseptic and to treat a series of diseases.

These spices were traded for centuries by Chinese, Malay, and Arab merchants, arriving in Europe after a lengthy route along which their price and value increased constantly. They were a major reason for Afonso de Albuquerque to conquer Ceylon and Malacca in 1511, while he looked for indications on how to reach the Banda Island and other spice locations. Venetian merchants were quickly ruled out from the spice commerce between the Moluccas and Europe.

In the 17th century, the Dutch replaced the Portuguese in the control of clove and nutmeg trade. Curiously, it was the Dutch botanist Maartyn Houttuyn who described and gave the scientific name Myristica fragrans to the nutmeg plant in 1774.

The Dutch tried to protect their monopoly as hard as they could, but eventually clove cultivation started in the French colony of Mauritius and then spread along the East African coast. Nutmeg cultivation, on the other hand, proved more difficult to export, since the plant requires specific soil characteristics and climatic conditions. However, tropical areas provided suitable conditions and today Grenada in the Caribbean is the major producer of the spice. [Silvana Munzi]

Fernão de Oliveira: a Globalization Agent of Iberian Maritime Knowledge

Fr Fernão de Oliveira (1507-1581?) was a significant author in 16th century nautical science. In 1555, he published the Arte da Guerra do Mar (The Art of Sea Warfare) and around 1570 he wrote another work, which remained in manuscript, named Ars Nautica (a treatise on nautical construction). In 1580, he also wrote the Livro da Fábrica das Naus (The Book on Shipbuilding). Oliveira’s works are intimately connected with his adventurous life between Portugal and Europe.

Oliveira completed initial studies in Évora at a Dominican Convent. He then went to Spain for unclear reasons. After his return, he published the first ever Portuguese grammar in 1536, and became the preceptor of important figures at the Portuguese court. During the 1540s, his life took other paths. In 1541 he intended to travel to Italy, but he only went as far as France. His maritime knowledge impressed the French baron of Saint Blanchard, who employed him as his pilot. By this time, Oliveira had already learned much on board Spanish, Italian and French ships in European waters. When France invaded England in 1545, Oliveira participated in the expedition and was captured by the English in a naval fight. Brought to Henry VIII’s court, Oliveira gave his contributions to the English art of naval construction. When he returned to Portugal in 1547, he was jailed by the Inquisition because of his sympathies for Henry VIII’s position towards Rome. Soon afterwards he was released, but by the time of his death (circa 1580), Oliveira had been imprisoned again by the Inquisition. While working on his books, he also considered leaving Portugal again. In 1566, the Spanish ambassador in Lisbon reported that Oliveira received proposals to pass to France. He did not depart because the Spanish ambassador prevented him from going to France by enlisting him in the service of Philip II. It remains unknown whether Oliveira left Portugal to serve Philip II, but it seems improbable.

Throughout his career, Father Oliveira became an object of attention for the main maritime powers of the period: Spain, France and England. His ties with all of them motivated their interests in hiring him and learning from him. This is explained because as a skilled pilot, Oliveira’s 1555 Arte da Guerra no Mar (The Art of War at Sea) is the first important European treatise on maritime warfare, and the 1570 Ars Nautica is a systematic encyclopaedia on navigation. Not innocently, the Ars Nautica’s manuscript is held at the University of Leiden, as the Dutch Republic during the 1590s also became interested in Oliveira’s work for its maritime expansion.

Thus, Father Oliveira’s agitated life and works are a good example of how far an important humanist could contribute to the globalization of Iberian nautical knowledge and produce a major impact on the overall process of European maritime expansion. Nevertheless, Father Oliveira works’ circulation was not a unique case in 16th century Europe, as the circulation of maritime knowledge was truly unstoppable by any power. [Nuno Vila-Santa]