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Natalie Hoage, s<=>?@@> MA Thesis MA Program Book and Digital Media Studies Leiden University First reader: Prof. dr. P.G. Hoftijzer Second reader: M. Storms MA @< July TU<= (<=.=>U) Words
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INTRODUCTION
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CHAPTER I: SEA MONSTERS AS REAL
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!. MA P S A S T O O L S O F D IS S E M I N A T I O N 01. BE L I E V I N G I N T H E S E A M O N S T E R IS B E L IE V IN G IN T H E P R IN T E D IM A G E !7 8. T H E S E A M O N S T E R A N D N A T U R A L H IS T O R Y !; 7. SE A M O N S T E R S, F E A R A N D T H E U N K N O W N 8?
CHAPTER II: THE VALUE OF SEA MONSTERS ON MAPS
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!. MA P S A T S E A 8; 1. MO N E Y A N D IN F L U E N C E 78 8. AR T IS T S A N D C A R T O G R A P H E R S A T T H E P R I N T E R 70 7. SE A M O N S T E R S O N S I X T E E N T H C E N T U R Y A T L A S E S IN T H E L O W C O U N T R IE S 7; B. TH E A U T H O R I T A T I V E M A P A N D S E A M O N S T E R S B0CHAPTER III: DEATH TO THE SEA MONSTER
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!. TH E A B S T R A C T I O N O F N A T U R E A N D T H E E A R L Y M O D E R N M A P C8 1. A S E A O F S H IP S C0CONCLUSION
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WORKS CITED
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NTRODUCTION
There is a fish not yet mentioned which it is scarcely advisable to speak
about on account of its size, which to most men will seem incredible. There
are, moreover, but very few who can tell anything definite about it, inasmuch
as it is rarely seen by men; for it almost never approaches the shore or
appears where fishermen can see it, and I doubt that this sort of fish is very
plentiful in the sea. In our language it is usually called the “Kraken”.
1–Konungs Skuggsjá in The King’s Mirror Monsters of the sea, like the Kraken described in the medieval Norse tale The King’s Mirror, not only found refuge in folklore circulating peripatetically about early modern Europe, but they also existed in oceans and seas on maps. In the sixteenth century, sea monsters on maps were considered more than mere decoration, instead they were symbolic, deliberate, and purposeful. Viewers regarded marvels with either fear, fascination or curiosity. The sea monster and the map, however, was a marriage that lasted only a hundred years; by the seventeenth century, the map had become an inhospitable environment for the marvels and wonders of the seas and oceans. This thesis will concern itself with the significance of the inclusion of the sea monster on the printed sixteenth century map, particularly in the Low Countries, and postulate reasons for its later exclusion from seventeenth century publications. The early modern European map was without guidelines: mapmakers had just begun conceptualizing the abstraction of the physical world. Both geographers and artists had free reign in the map’s definition, making the map an ideal surface for the mingling of art, cartography, myth and science. Notably, mapmakers found inspiration from the Renaissance revival of classical texts, the continuation of medieval traditions, and the discovery and observations of new continents. In the sixteenth century, the map was often compared to a painting or drawing and as such, it was viewed as a work of art that revealed information beyond topography. This consideration allowed its elements and aesthetic features to be both symbolic and functional.2 Because the map, akin to art, used abstract symbols to share a cultural experience of the natural world, all its features,
1 K. Skuggsjá, The King’s Mirror (Speculum regale-Konungs skuggsjá), trans. L.M. Larson (New York: New York American-Scandinavian Foundation, <h<=), p. <T>. 2 U. Ehrensvärd, ‘Color in Cartography: A Historical Survey’, in D. Woodward (ed.), Art and Cartography: Six Historical Essays (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, <hk=), pp. <T@-<?=, p. <T@.
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including the sea monster, are able to represent temporal cultural change.3 It is significant, therefore, to document the sea monster’s inclusion and exclusion on maps in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, respectively. In this thesis, it will be argued that the sea monster’s placement on the map was not strictly for ornamentation, but had a deliberate purpose reflecting cultural value and likewise, their gradual exclusion in the seventeenth century demonstrates the shifting worldview and function of the map. Throughout the thesis, it will be claimed that the sea monster’s admission or omission on the map represents the societal and cultural changes occurring in early modern Europe. The first chapter will detail how the conceptions of nature as well as the conditions for mapmaking, printing and natural history, positioned the sea monster to be perceived as real opposed to outrageous by some early modern Europeans. It will demonstrate that map features, like the sea monster, had purpose and symbolism beyond decorative function. In the second chapter, the value of the map will be defined according to its use by different groups within society. Consequently, the role of the map will be shown to correlate to the presence or absence of marvels and wonders in the ocean. The last chapter will detail the disappearance of the sea monster on maps with a conceptual analysis on the early modern perspective on marvels in consideration of the approaching views of the Enlightenment. It will argue that the presence and later exclusion of marvels on maps in the seventeenth century, a mere one hundred years after their initial popularity, was just as deliberate and significant. There were multiple types of sea monsters commonly encountered on sixteenth century maps including the Kraken described reeling about The King’s Mirror’s murky Norwegian Sea. Many sea monsters were specified and labeled by the mapmaker with an accompanying text about their characteristics and habitat, while others were depicted without any explanation. Some were even copies deriving from other publications, dating from the sixteenth century or earlier. To familiarize the reader with what sea monsters could be encountered on a sixteenth century European printed map, the following two examples (fig. < and fig. T) serve as common interactions for this period.
3 Ehrensvärd, ‘Color in Cartography: A Historical Survey’, p. <T?.
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I. Lucas Jansz Waghenaer, Het tweede deel vanden Spieghel der Zeevaert: inhoudende de gheheele Noordtsche ende Oostersche schipvaert, beghinnende vande hoofden oft Voorlant van Enghelant, tot Wyburch ende der Nerue in verscheyden caerten begrepen: Midtsgaders tgebruyck van dien (Leiden: Christopher Plantin, <>k>), Thysia k<n:T.
Figure O: This map of the North coast of Spain was composed by Lucas Jansz Waghenaer (<>@@-<nUn),
a Dutch sailor and cartographer aspiring to provide accurate maps for sea navigation. He incorporated many map features from sea charts and portolanos in his editions, including a profile of the coast for approaching ships, as well port names and rhumb lines. Notably, despite his focus on navigation and sailing background, sea monsters were still included in the water. Source:
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II. Olaus Magnus, Historia de gentium septentrionalium variis conditionibus statibusque item de bellis
item de mineris metallicis opus expressis figuris pictis illustratum. Historias multas admirandas inseruimus (Basel: Sebastian Henricpetri, <>n=), Thysia TT@<. Figure R: A detailed section of Swedish mapmaker Olaus Magnus’s (<?hU-<>>=) Carta Marina (<>@>), featured in his natural history book, Historia de gentium septenrionalium. The map mostly focuses on Scandinavia and this particular section covers the Westcoast of Norway. The kraken described in
The Kings Mirror is located off the coast of Bergen, next to a large serpent. Magnus included
descriptions of the sea monsters featured on his map in an accompanying table. Source: Bibliotheca Thysiana. Photo by author.
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EA MONSTERS AS REAL
This first chapter will explore sea monsters as actual, corporeal entities, represented on sixteenth century maps and atlases. By first establishing the way maps were realized by their early modern European makers and viewers, this chapter will expose the map’s versatile functionality and the maker’s varied academic background. It will illustrate that the undetermined criteria for what could exist on a map and the careful consideration of every detail in earnest, made conditions perfect for the inclusion of sea monsters. The credible printed image will be discussed in relation to the marvel’s propagation on maps and in the developing discipline of natural history. Natural history will be examined in its documentation of all living and hypothesized creatures, a scholarship that positioned the sea monster in a plausible and fascinating light. Lastly, this chapter will conclude by demonstrating how the sea monster’s presence on maps shaped early modern Europe’s perception of nature, religion, and understanding of the world.
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APS AS TOOLS OF DISSEMINATIONMaps were not only used as tools of geographic abstraction in the sixteenth century, but also as platforms for the dissemination of a variety of subjects. Not limiting themselves solely to providing accurate topography, cartographers, or as they were more commonly designated, cosmographers, were interested in telling the story of the whole world, including the cosmos.4 The cosmographers of early modern Europe had no formal education in the developing discipline of cartography and therefore drew from an array of academic backgrounds, as well as from ancient and classical sources to produce their maps. In addition to the lack of formal training, mapmaking was further complicated by the absence of a specified framework for the parameters of a map. Cosmographers were thus required to determine some map features for themselves, such as, the perspective, the manner of abstraction, the scale, the design elements, the viewer’s orientation and the globe’s projection.5 To confront these challenges in the map’s construction, a mapmaker would often consult his own culture, education, and subjective religious, political or financial views.6 Due to the mapmaker’s various influences, the composition of a sixteenth century map often included subjects not pertaining to geography; it was common for the map’s borders to contain the cosmographer’s view on physics, theology, natural history or any number of items from their scholarly treasure-chest. The early modern map was understood by its author as a tool that could disseminate general, indiscriminate knowledge. Consequently, viewers expected to find a range information in the work: including descriptions of the landscape, such as the flora and fauna of a region, but not excluding subjects unrelated a region’s physical features, such as the cosmographer’s opinion on Copernican astronomy. Information was incorporated or omitted at the mapmaker’s fancy; even unusual elements included on the map, such as a sea monster, were not necessarily acknowledged or explained by the author.7 In the absence of strict guidelines and as a consequence of the map’s flexible definition, elements of design and those of content were often indistinguishable. The intermingling of geography or other topics with design features, was also encouraged by the Renaissance revival of ancient and classical perspectives that combined science and art. These three factors, the map’s lack of framework, definition, and clear separation between elements of geography and elements of design, indicate that early modern Europeans considered the entire map, rather than only its
4 J. Brotton, A History of the World in Twelve Maps (New York: Viking Penguin, TU<T), p. <h. 5 Brotton, A History of the World in Twelve Maps, p. <@. 6 Brotton, A History of the World in Twelve Maps, p. <@. 7 C. Van Duzer, Sea Monsters on Medieval and Renaissance Maps (London: The British Library, TU<@), p. k.
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depiction of topography. Thus, all geographical and non-geographical features had equal authority, importance, and recognition. Furthermore, the mapmaker’s deliberate composition of the map, suggested there was a purpose for the inclusion of each element. Under these pretenses, both the sea monster and the topographical features had significance and consequently, substance. On the basis that all the map’s features carry the same weight and that the mapmaker conveyed intention, one may assume that some early modern Europeans evaluated the sea monster’s presence as representing its corporal existence in the world. Both the map’s developing structure and its use to disseminate knowledge, allowed the map to depict wonders and monsters to sixteenth century viewers in a meaningful fashion. The deliberate inclusion of sea monsters, representing either actual entities or symbolic meanings, is reinforced by the parallel example of the decision to incorporate or omit color. The use of color on a map, like the inclusion of a sea monster, could also have been interpreted as an actual, symbolic, or decorative feature of the geography. Modern viewers mostly regard color on maps symbolically. Color is expected to follow fixed rules for the abstraction of land and water, embodied in green and blue, respectively.8 In the beginning of the development of the map, however, color was not always rigidly designated; the mapmaker, draftsman, patron, publisher, or even the owner had full discretion over the colors to be used, if any at all. Like the decision to depict a sea monster in the misty Norwegian fjords, the choice to use color had a potentially deliberate purpose and thus, could be considered a meaningful detail in the composition of the map and the construction of the early modern European worldview. The use of color was varied among cosmographers; there was no consistency in indicating the seas as blue or the land as green. Although the rise of humanist values did make the realistic picture an important factor in regulating map color by the end of the Renaissance, the earlier period of mapmaking saw a creative assortment of colors.9 Both the revival of ancient or classical texts and the continuation of the medieval tradition, supported the variety and symbolic use of color on sixteenth century maps. For example, a vestigial practice from medieval manuscripts to use vibrant colors to indicate works of value, inspired the use of unnaturally bright colors on maps to highlight elements deemed important.10 Beyond indicating value, colors could also signify symbolic meanings. In the Middle Ages, mapmakers would intentionally shade the Red Sea red, a practice that demonstrated the perception of the environment as mystical.11 The classical scholar Claudius
8 Ehrensvärd, ‘Color in Cartography: A Historical Survey’, p. <@h. 9 Ehrensvärd, ‘Color in Cartography: A Historical Survey’, pp. <@<-<@T. 10 Ehrensvärd, ‘Color in Cartography: A Historical Survey’, p. <T=. 11 Ehrensvärd, ‘Color in Cartography: A Historical Survey’, pp. <Th-<@U.
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Ptolemaeus (AD <UU-<=U), whose works on geography largely influenced sixteenth century mapmakers, also assigned a meaning to the use of color. Seasons and cardinal points in maps and images were associated with a specific hue: winter and the northeast were symbolized with black, spring and the southeast with red, summer and the southwest with white, and autumn and the northwest with yellow.12 In congruence with this idea, many early modern scholars revived the use of four as an ideal number; maps were ornamented with the four seasons, directions, and elements. Renaissance mapmakers even attempted to harmonize newly discovered realities, like continents and oceans with this classical alignment.13 In some cases, the historical and literary instance of color, like the historical and literary instance of sea monsters, influenced mapmakers to precisely, deliberately, and meaningfully locate and designate these features among others, on the map. Although it was possible for the mapmaker to specifically designate the hues of a printed map by using inked woodblocks, the difficulty and expense of enhancing a print with color made it customary for maps to be hand-colored only on an individual basis. Unlike color, sea monsters could be engraved and printed, thus their addition by hand was not common. The coloring of sea monsters, however, varied from map to map, either due to preference or to the technical constraints that prevented the hue to be replicated exactly. Variation of color could reveal trends in map ornamentation or in contrast, the individual tastes and preferences of the illuminators, patrons or owners. In certain cases, the manner in which the sea monsters on a map were colored to stand out or blend in, reflected the early modern European’s fear and fascination or conversely, their distaste for marvels. Printed maps during this time were either carved on woodblocks or engraved in copperplates; each method introduced separate challenges to the addition of color. The mechanization of mapmaking allowed woodblocks to shade maps one color at a time; although a slow process, it was the most uniform and harmonizing way to color a map.14 Copperplate engraving, however, could not support separate inking because of its precise and delicate nature; maps produced with this method continued to be hand-colored well into the nineteenth century.15 Despite advancements in printing technology, the expense of production motivated most patrons to purchase maps uncolored. If color was desired, clients would either shade the map themselves or hire an illuminator to hand-color it to their liking.16 The cost of illumination, prompted atlases
12 Ehrensvärd, ‘Color in Cartography: A Historical Survey’, p. <@U. 13 Ehrensvärd, ‘Color in Cartography: A Historical Survey’, p. <@<. 14 Ehrensvärd, ‘Color in Cartography: A Historical Survey’, p. <T?. 15 Ehrensvärd, ‘Color in Cartography: A Historical Survey’, p. <@@. 16 Ehrensvärd, ‘Color in Cartography: A Historical Survey’, p. <@@.
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containing numerous maps to remain mostly in black and white. On the contrary, those clients purchasing wall-maps almost always chose the colored option. Hand-coloring, in addition to being an expensive indulgence for patrons, fated each copy of an edition to be illuminated in a different approach. Elements such as ink hue and the artisan’s dexterity were unable to be replicated precisely.17 Furthermore, once the map was in the hands of the illuminators or patrons, authors had very little authority over the design or quality of a map.18 Individuals could have been shading a sea monster in light of a fascination, a distaste or in favor of a map trend. Because virtually all copies of sixteenth century atlases are uniquely and individually colored, the hue of the sea monsters on these maps cannot be reduced to one overall meaning. In specific cases, however, the appearance of deliberate shading indicates the conflicting worldview on sea monsters and marvels in early modern Europe. For example, those that believed in these gregarious creatures, might be willing to proudly emphasize their presence on maps with bright colors; conversely, those renouncing, might downplay their appearance by blending them into the sea. Two copies of the atlas Theatrum Orbis Terrarum, by the Flemish cartographer Abraham Ortelius (<>T=-<>hk), exemplify this conflict with their colorful illumination of the sea monsters. In a copy of the <>kh edition of Theatrum (fig. @), kept at the Bibliotheca Thysiana in Leiden, the sea monsters are highly noticeable, with flashy, vibrant colors. In a copy of an earlier edition, published in <>=U, the sea monsters are shaded with subdued tones that are nearly the same color as the water; the sea monsters in this atlas disappear in a manner that apologizes for their presence (fig. ?). One possibility of the color decision in these two copies was that the patron, publisher or illuminator, used the map to disseminate their worldview on marvels. The map could support or discourage the original incorporation of these creatures within its geographic borders by carefully designating a color that promotes horror and fascination or in contrast, repugnance. Alternatively, instead of the color indicating an ontological opinion on the existence of sea monsters, price and taste could have also influenced the color decision. In the sixteenth century, the prices of the vibrant inks featured in Ortelius’ <>kh brightly colored copy, were more expensive and required multiple layers of ink. In comparison, the restrained version used less color variety and would have been less expensive to commission. The patrons of each copy could have had distinct price points fulfilled by an illuminator or by themselves. Taste also could have been an influential factor; the lighter map could be following the trend at the time to use soft pink and violet hues, like
17 Ehrensvärd, ‘Color in Cartography: A Historical Survey’, p. <T?. 18 Ehrensvärd, ‘Color in Cartography: A Historical Survey’, p. <@h.
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other maps published around the sixteenth century.19 Perhaps though, the patron, publisher, illuminator or buyer of the subdued map pushed for a color that would not provoke the sea monsters, while the benefactor behind the brightly colored map, valued the horrific and fascinating wonders of the world. It is important to recognize that potentially all design features on the map, like the color choice and the presence of sea monsters, were deliberately included by an early modern European participant and therefore, represent academic, societal and cultural movements manifesting in the sixteenth century.
19 Ehrensvärd, ‘Color in Cartography: A Historical Survey’, p. <@=.
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Figure @: In this copy of Ortelius’s Theatrum (<>kh) of North and South America, the sea monsters are exemplified with bright colors. Source: Leiden University Special Collections, COLLBN Atlas =<h. Photo by author.20
20 Abraham Ortelius, Epitome Theatri Orteliani praecipuarum orbis regionum delineationis, minoribus tabulis expressas, brevioribusque declarationibus illustrates […] (Antwerp: Christopher Plantin, <>kh).
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Figure ?: This copy of Ortelius’s Theatrum (<>=U) is hand colored in a subdued theme. In this map of North and South America the sea monsters are shaded to blend in with the color of the land. Source: Library of Congress.21
21 Abraham Ortelius, Gills Coppens van Diest, and Humphrey Llwyd, ‘Americae sive novi orbis, nova descriptio’, in Theatrum orbis terrarium (Antwerp: Gillis Coppens van Diest, <>=U), Library of Congress Control Number: TUU@nk@?kT, <https://lccn.loc.gov/TUU@nk@?kT> (n July, TU<=).
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ELIEVING IN THE SEA MONSTER IS BELIEVING IN THE PRINTED IMAGEThe cartographers and cosmographers involved in mapmaking faced challenges not only in the designing of the map, but also in its recognition as a credible source to objectively portray the world. Because of its association with printed images, pictures, and paintings in early modern Europe, the map was initially judged as unreliable. Thus, both the printed map and the printed image, developing simultaneously, had to overcome traditional judgements on pictures to be considered credible and factual representations. The understanding of the printed image as a trustworthy contributor to world knowledge about the world was necessary for the progress in both the disciplines of cartography and natural history and facilitated the circulation of the sea monster on maps. This section will detail how the printed image gained a reliable reputation, and how its use to document all known geography and nature in the sixteenth century, led to the distribution and fascination with the sea monster in both disciplines. The introduction of the printing press made a sizeable impact on the development of natural history and mapmaking in early modern Europe. Printing advanced the commercialization of the traditional, scribal book production and for the first time, allowed texts to be duplicated in a quick, accurate, and uniform manner. Consequently, the resulting amplitude and dispersion of works enabled scholars to access and compare multiple texts on similar topics that eventually standardized the disciplines of mapmaking and natural history.22 The production of prints in Europe went far beyond what the scribes were capable of achieving; by the year <nUU, mapmakers had distributed up to <.@ million identical copies of printed maps alone.23 Cartography, among other disciplines like natural history, progressed greatly from the development of the printing press and the subsequent acceptance of printed images as a reflection of reality. At the beginning of the sixteenth century, however, scholars were still confronted with lingering criticisms from the classical and medieval ages on whether the image was a factual and necessary way to represent knowledge in academia. Especially in the classical period, pictures were not trusted as accurate sources of information and naturalists relied solely on text to describe flora and fauna.24 These residual anxieties grew during the time prior to the printing press, when the only images available were manuscript drawings and maps, infamous in their varied and inconsistent quality. Considering this skepticism, the printed image was not immediately accepted as a valuable and
22 Brotton, A History of the World in Twelve Maps, p. <>=. 23 Brotton, A History of the World in Twelve Maps, p. <>h. 24 B.W. Ogilvie, The Science of Describing: Natural History in Renaissance Europe (Chicago/London: The University of Chicago Press, TUUn), p. <U>.
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accurate method for sharing ideas. Gaining a reputation for a reliable visual image was an essential factor in developing the map as objective and in accepting its contents, like the sea monster, as actual truths. The distrust of illustrations was a legitimate grievance for academics before the advent of the printed image. Scribes simply remained too unreliable for the copying of manuscript images, mainly because pictures could never be exact replicas when passed from hand to hand. The original image was distorted with the frequency of copying; uncertainty often chased the spotting of splotchy letters or arrows shooting off a diagram.25 Scholars before the printing press renounced the use of images to identify particulars and instead, chronicled flora and fauna by text alone.26 The progress of science, botany, zoology, and cartography, however, was hindered by this decision. Text unaccompanied by a picture could not designate plants, animals and geographical features in a recognizable fashion, especially because prior to a universal classification and the tracking of etymology, it was common for each region to refer to a species by a local name. The printed picture solved many of the problems caused by scribal copying; the original was now less deviated from its printed copy. This replicability allowed natural historians to compare illustrations of similar specimens, correct and classify them, and clarify written ambiguities. In cartography, the ability to produce an exact duplication, allowed stars and geographical features to be precisely fixed on maps.27 Lastly, by freeing the academic of transcribing and reading simultaneously, printing sped up the research process and communication significantly between scholars, who could now gather and read several books or maps in a short time. In the sixteenth century, scholars sought to reintroduce the new method of printed pictures as objective and trustworthy sources after a long period of reservation. There were several steps in the drafting of an illustration that could result in an inconsistency: in the original sketch, in the mock-up on the woodblock or copperplate, and in the whittling or engraving of the block or plate for print. The quality of the paper, ink, and the experience of the artist’s or artisan’s hand could also jeopardize the accuracy of the final image.28 Those mapmakers and naturalists wishing to be recognized as reliable sources, would have to produce their own illustrations or supervise their draughtsman in the illustration process. Conrad Gessner (<><n-<>n>), a Swiss natural historian, compiled and consolidated as many ancient, classical and modern sources that were available in his encyclopedia of natural history, Historia Animalium (<>><): an homage to the ancient Greek
25 E.L. Eisenstein, The Printing Press as an Agent of Change: Communication and Cultural Transformations in Early-Modern Europe, T vols. (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, <h=h), p. ?k@. 26 W.M. Ivins, Jr., Prints and Visual Communication (Cambridge, Massachusetts: The MIT Press, <hk>), p. <>. 27 Eisenstein, The Printing Press as an Agent of Change, p. nkn. 28 Ogilvie, The Science of Describing, p. <U>.
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philosopher Aristotle and his publication with the same title.29 Gessner’s book describes all known or hypothesized animals by including their geographical distribution, behavior, vices and virtues, utility for humans, edibility, etymology, philological questions, and associated metaphors.30 In addition to the textual information, Gessner paired woodblock prints of the animals to their descriptions (fig. > and n). By the late sixteenth century, Gessner’s use of woodblocks and descriptions in the Historia, had provided a resolute identification of many animals in early modern Europe.31 Gessner in particular, took great care to ensure the illustrations and the sources he drew from were the most accurate available. He would either copy them himself, oversee the artist, source them from a correspondent who had sketched the animal alive or procure the illustration from trusted, reliable works and maps that were popular at the time.32 In addition to sixteenth century authors assuming responsibility for the accuracy and objectivity of their works, maps and images were aided by a more realistic style of perspective of nature and topography that enabled art to be considered an investigation of reality. The combination of the new trust in the image’s objectivity and the realistic rendering of nature, meant the viewers were more willing to trust the images as credible ways to document the world. Maps began to resemble their regions and likewise the flora and fauna depicted looked familiar to those surrounding contemporary Europeans. Leon Battista Alberti (<?U?-<?=T) furthered the realistic nature of the map with his method of perspective drawing and architecture introduced in <?@>, which implemented basic geometry to form a qualitative perspective.33 This innovative composition of nature in combination with the objective management and selection of printed images, were contributing factors to the circulation and belief in horrific and fascinating natural marvels, like the sea monster.
29 L. Pinon, ‘Conrad Gessner and the Historical Depth of Renaissance Natural History’, in Historia: Empiricism and Erudition in Early Modern Europe, eds. G. Pomata and N.G. Siraisi (Cambridge, Massachusetts: The MIT Press, TUU>), pp. T?<-Tnk, p. T??. 30 Pinon, ‘Conrad Gessner and the Historical Depth of Renaissance Natural History’, p. T?k. 31 C.A. Gmelig-Nijboer, Conrad Gessner’s ‘Historia Animalium’: An Inventory of Renaissance Zoology (Meppel: Krips Repro B.V., <h==), p. @<. 32 Gmelig-Nijboer, Conrad Gessner’s ‘Historia Animalium’, pp. =k-=h. 33 Ivins, Prints and Visual Communication, p. T@.
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Figure >: Illustration of sea animals from Conrad Gessner’s Nomenclator aquatillum animantium […]
(Zurich: Christoph I Froschauer, <>nU), that includes two previously recorded sea monsters and accompanying descriptions. Source: Biodiversity Heritage Library.34
34 Biodiversity Heritage Library, ‘Nomenclator aquatilium animantium [page image: @<k=@T@?]’ <www.biodiversitylibrary.org/pageimage/@<k=@T@?> (> July TU<=).
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Figure n: This woodcut of a sea horse was most likely drawn from textual description and the artist
or draftsman’s conception of familiar animals. After its appearance in Gessner’s Nomenclator
aquatilium animantium […] (Zurich: Christoph I Froschauer, <>nU), it is also featured in Pierre
Belon’s natural history book, De aquatilibus (fig. h). Source: Biodiversity Heritage Library.35
35 Biodiversity Heritage Library, ‘Nomenclator aquatilium animantium [page image: @<k=@T@n]’
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6.
T
HE SEA MONSTER AND NATURAL HISTORYThe sea monster’s appearance on maps and in natural history books, aided their credibility and circulation in the sixteenth century. Sea monsters existed in natural history books and concurrently on maps partly because of the drive to document, record, and classify the world and its nature. At the time, this included the monstrous marvels derived from classical texts, as well as from traveler’s narratives. Another contributing factor was the massive increase of undocumented and unfamiliar flora and fauna from the New World and other continents. These exotic creatures were as foreign and unknown as the proposed sea monsters. The unreliable documentation of natural history including both the misrepresentation of unfamiliar foreign specimens and the use of erroneous ancient sources, increased the likelihood that a sea monster would be included in early modern texts and maps. Finally, a fascination with marvels, wonders, and those creatures believed to be exotic, cultivated an audience for maps and natural history books during this time and effected sea monsters as essential in sustaining readership. The drive for a complete report on all the world’s geography and nature was largely initiated by the revival of classical texts during the sixteenth century. Because of their preservation in manuscript in monastic libraries throughout the Middle Ages, ancient and classical works were among of the first non-religious texts to be disseminated by the printing press.36 Humanist scholars were generally well-read in these works and would compile their own editions and compose their own translations, and eventually, would supplement them with their own research. Thus, the printing press encouraged the renewed sourcing of old texts, amplified their distribution, and encouraged the subsequent production of new editions. Among the classical works that were meticulously read, were books on natural history, cosmography, and other knowledge about the world. The works by the Greek philosopher Aristotle in particular, were revered among Renaissance natural historians, first and foremost his encyclopedia Historia Animalium, because of its recognition as one of the first comprehensive attempts to record all known and hypothesized animals in the world. Inspired by classical authors, early modern scholars also adopted the goal to classify and document all the world’s geography and nature, a task that was nearly impossible for any one to complete.37 Hence, collaboration between scholars was a necessity and led to the formation of the disciplines of cartography and natural history. In natural history, the use of common terminology allowed scholars to consolidate regional designators for plants and animals that had become
36 Ogilvie, The Science of Describing, p. @?. 37 Ogilvie, The Science of Describing, p. >?.
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isolated by scribal practices. Through the textual comparison of available printed works, the etymology and label ascribed to a species could now be traced and cross-referenced. Scholars were passively working towards a universal classification, and subsequently, an academic community formed based on their new capability of scholars to communicate their individual observations.38 Thus, because of the printing press and the revival of classical texts, a movement that encouraged scientists and artists to record and classify zoology and botany was born. The regard for past sources and the desire to produce a comprehensive account of flora and fauna, often meant that marvels, like sea monsters, from classical texts were included into modern editions. Naturalists noticed, however, that the descriptions they recorded from their surroundings differed from those they read about in classical sources.39 Consequently, authors preferred to rely more heavily on modern experience to supplement the inaccurate or absent records of past works to impart a more holistic view of the world. When new knowledge could no longer be appropriated into the teachings of classical texts, traditional views in natural history and geography began to lose credibility, resulting in an increasing distance between the old and the new knowledge. As a result, modern scholars assumed the responsibility to conduct objective research and question whether a plant, animal or marvel was likely to present itself in the natural world.40 Academics began to travel to accurately record diverse wildlife and contribute to the universal classification of natural history. A similar undertaking ensued with mapmakers, who would trek their locality to compose a detailed geography of a region that had never been mapped before. Due to the time necessitated, the danger and expense involved, and the overall taxing constraints of travel in early modern Europe, most authors only traveled locally or regionally to research for their publications. With a few exceptions, information about foreign lands was not experienced by scholars firsthand. When a scholar desired to report on an area he had not traveled to or about a subject he had not observed, he consulted outside sources. Among these were the classical authors, but also correspondents abroad, travel reports, and other popular publications available at the time.41 Indubitably, authors had little first-hand experience with many of the plants and animals they included in their publications and consequently, the monsters and marvels they recorded were considered ‘objective’ and ‘reliable’ sources.
38 Ogilvie, The Science of Describing, p. T@. 39 Ogilvie, The Science of Describing, p. >. 40 Ogilvie, The Science of Describing, p. TU@. 41 L. Daston and K. Park, Wonders and the Order of Nature: OO[\-O][\ (New York: Zone Books, <hhk), p. <<k.
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The biggest influence on the inclusion of marvels, wonders, and sea monsters in natural history books, literature, and maps in early modern Europe, were the fifteenth and sixteenth century voyages to Africa, Asia and the New World.42 These travels introduced plants and animals never seen or hypothesized previously in ancient or classical texts. Both the fields of cartography and natural history were overwhelmed by the size and expansion of the known world. Maritime explorers brought back narratives, sketches, and sometimes even dead or alive specimens from expeditions.43 By <nT@, the number of known species of plants and animals had increased from around <,>UU at the start of the Renaissance to n,UUU.44 The frequency in which reports of marvels and unseen animals occurred, readied readers to expect wonders in printed works, made hypothesized animals more probable and reinforced many medieval and classical narratives encompassing sea monsters.45 For example, explores from Portugal, an empire in the center of the Age of Discovery, brought back many fascinating reports of marvels that would circulate among early modern Europeans in word and image.46 Similarly, marvels and wonders were expected to make an appearance on maps during this period, which disseminated reports on wonders occurring in the edges of the known world.47 The sea monster’s presence on maps, reflected this interest in marvels, providing the user with an overall richer experience.48 As a result of the exploration and the documentation of unknown, captivating creatures, individuals following the discovery of the new worlds exhibited ‘a heightened sense of novelty and possibility’.49 Marvel writing that had long ago captivated Greek and Roman audiences similarly enriched early modern readers in the sixteenth century. Scholarly authors would often copy the style of this genre to satisfy the needs of the readers for the novel, fascinating, and monstrous.50 Exotics and novelty were reported both in foreign places and within the confines of Europe more frequently during the sixteenth century.51 Travel writers and traveler’s accounts especially, propagated marvels and the sighting of sea monsters in European and distant waters. Particularly
42 Daston and Park, Wonders and the Order of Nature, p. <@n. 43 Ogilvie, The Science of Describing, p. <U?. 44 D. Margocsy, ‘The Camel’s Head. Representing Unseen Animals in Sixteenth-Century Europe’, Netherlands Yearbook for History of Art, n<.< (TU<<), pp. nT-k>, p. n=. 45 J. Flores, ‘Distant Wonders: The Strange and the Marvelous between Maghal India and Habsburg Iberia in the Early Seventeenth Century’, Comparative Studies in Society and History, ?h.@ (TUU=), pp. >>@->k<, p. >>?. 46 Flores, ‘Distant Wonders’, p. >>?. 47 S. Davies, Renaissance Ethnography and the Invention of the Human: New Worlds, Maps and Monsters (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, TU<n), p. Th=. 48 Van Duzer, Sea Monsters on Medieval and Renaissance Maps, p. <T. 49 Daston and Park, Wonders and the Order of Nature, p. <?=. 50 C.R. Johnson, ‘Buying Stories: Ancient Tales, Renaissance Travelers, and the Market for the Marvelous’, Journal of Early Modern History, <<.n (TUU=), pp. ?U>-??n, pp. ?<T-?<@. 51 Margocsy, ‘The Camel’s Head’, p. n=.
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the topics of nature and the New World were popularized among travel literatures, encyclopedias, maps, and atlases.52 Since the known world was relentlessly becoming an extension of Europe, reports of marvels had to substantiate their claims with personal experience to be seen as credible.53 Therefore, imagined and sighted creatures commonly resembled those found in revived classical tales, medieval bestiaries or as described by early modern encyclopedias.54 In fact, the monsters witnessed abroad did not vary significantly from those sighted in Europe.55 The humanist revival of classical texts, like the Roman scholar Pliny the Elder’s (T@-=h AD) in his Naturalis Historia, were also influential in the spotting of sea monsters. Both natural historians and mapmakers of the early modern period humored Pliny’s notorious proclamation that all land animals had an inverse in the sea; consequently, this notion inspired the creation of new sea monsters, like the sea lion, seahorse, sea-dog, and sea-monk.56 Artists in particular encountered difficulties in drafting a sea monster based only on a textual description that utilized metaphorical comparisons to known animals. It was common for artists to draw exotic plants and animals from notes and sketches and not from actual observation, in which the artist would base off known animals, resulting in inaccurate images resembling monsters or marvels.57 As exemplified in Olaus Magnus’s Carta Marina, sketching a sea monster based on familiar fauna often resulted in a facsimile with an aquatic twist. The creative liberty undertaken by artists in the drafting of these creatures could thus be considered more of a suggestion for what could be possible, rather than a documentation of what exists. Although nature’s variability was recognized in the Renaissance, the move to classify nature began to enforce rules on which animals looked natural and which looked imaginary. For example, the text Gessner provided to accompany a selection of sea monsters in the fourth volume of Historia Animalium, indicated many of the derivative sources as unreliable. In particular, Gessner claimed that a sea monster called the sea-monk, ‘looks as all this was painted according to seamen’s stories, not according to nature.’58 Variability was often attributed to divine interventions, mating across species, and the artistic imagination. Since all of these causes produced both imaginary monsters
52 W. Eamon, Science and the Secrets of Nature (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, <hh?), p. T=@. 53 Daston and Park, Wonders and the Order of Nature, p. n?. 54 Johnson, ‘Buying Stories’, p. ?Tn. 55 Margocsy, ‘The Camel’s Head’, p. nk. 56 B. Sax, Imaginary Animals: The Monstrous, the Wondrous, and the Human (London: Reaktion Books, TUU<), p. <n@. 57 Margocsy, ‘The Camel’s Head’, p. nn. 58 Gmelig-Nijboer, Conrad Gessner’s ‘Historia Animalium’, pp. <Uh-<<<.
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and actual animals, natural historians had less traction to label drawings as outright fictions and instead considered questionable drawings as educated guesses.59 Ships returning from long sea voyages brought back an overwhelming number of narratives, sketches, hand-drawn maps, and specimens of plants and animals for natural historians to document and for the public to admire. The difficulty to obtain and transport these exotic specimens in their most natural condition, however, required scholars in Europe to mostly rely on second-hand written and sketched sources. Large sea creatures were particularly problematic to record and depict because they were challenging to encounter and capture. The walrus, for example, was sighted frequently, but was not accurately depicted until the seventeenth century.60 Sea monsters were included in the craze in early modern Europe over exotic and beastly looking animals; many of which, living or preserved, made their exhibition at fairs drawing large crowds.61 Merchants at the time even sold stuffed-animals from oversea voyages to natural historians who were not able to travel there themselves for their research. Occasionally, parts of different animals would be sewn or grafted together to create a brand new, never before seen exotic animal which the merchant could sell at a considerable profit.62 Without the author knowing, these fictitious animals would be drawn and published among real flora and fauna with an accompanying description. Texts and illustrations would inspire their readership to consume and collect these wonders and merchants to sell such items at high prices. Unicorn horns, for example, were only known to readers through printed publications, yet horns labeled as such were being sold in the market at prices fueled by their rarity (but really originated from narwhals caught in the Northern Atlantic).63 The unintentional use of unreliable and scarce sources, resulted in imaginary plants and animals that were presented as real, objective truths in influential natural history publications. Among these problematic animals also were sea monsters. The cosmographer and natural historian most recognized for incorporating sea monsters in his publications, particularly the Historia de Gentibus Septentrionalibus (<>>>), is the Swedish scholar Olaus Magnus. As a member of the movement to classify nature, Magnus traversed the terrain of Scandinavia to become the first to record its wildlife. His book scientifically documented
59 Margocsy, ‘The Camel’s Head’, p. =T. 60 Margocsy, ‘The Camel’s Head’, pp. =?-=>. 61 J.M. Koppenol, ‘Noah’s Ark Disembarked in Holland: Animals in Dutch Poetry, <>>U-<=UU’, in K.A.E. Enekel and P.J. Smith (eds.), Early Modern Zoology: The Construction of Animals in Science, Literature and the Visual Arts, vol. T. [Intersections Yearbook for Early Modern Studies, =.T] (Leiden: Brill, TUU=), pp. ?><->Tk. 62 S. Kusukawa, ‘The Role of Images in the Development of the Renaissance Natural History’, in Archives of Natural History, @k.T (TU<<), pp. <kh-T<@, p. <h?. 63 Daston and Park, Wonders and the Order of Nature, p. n=.
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the flora, fauna, and geography of the far North.64 The Historia de Gentibus Septentrionalibus (A Description of the Northern Peoples), captured animals not yet documented at the time, such as the polar bear and the walrus, which were still considered speculative.65 The publication included a smaller version of his great wall map, the Carta Marina (fig. =), published in <>@>, which contained nine different sea monsters and an accompanying table that described their names, features, and sources.66 The sea monsters were presented alongside other, better known creatures and the descriptions Magnus provided were similar to how other animals were classified at the time. For example, for each sea monster on the map of Scandinavia, he included their etymology, behavior, habitat, diet, and associated fables. In his Historia, Magnus describes the sea monsters as follows: They [the people] who in works of navigation on the coasts of Norway employ themselves in fishing or mechanize do all agree in the this strange story that there is a serpent there which is of a vast magnitude, namely TUU feet long, and moreover, TU feet thick; and is wont to live in rocks and caves toward the sea-coast about Bergen: which will go alone from his holes on a clear night in summer, and devour calves, lambs, and hogs or else he goes into the sea to feed on polypus [octopus], locusts [lobsters], and all sorts of sea-crabs. He hath commonly hair hanging from his neck a cubit long, and sharp scales, and is black, and he hath flaming, shining eyes.67 The artist who drew this sea monster on the Carta Marina, most likely did so without an original sketch, relying solely on Magnus’s portrayal to illustrate and position the serpent off the coast of Bergen, Norway. The inclusion of zoological descriptions and labels for each sea monster displayed on the map, indicates that Magnus intended these creatures to be considered alongside other animals; not being simply decorations on a map, sea monsters were part of the overall natural history of Scandinavia. Although not unusual in view of the increasing number of exotic animals and plants reported from long-voyage explorations and the renewed interest in natural history, the arrangement of sea monsters alongside other zoological descriptions had various academic, religious, and societal consequences. Their presentation as real animals inspired many other natural historians to include them in their comprehensive accounts of all possible flora and fauna. Since Magnus was the only modern authority on Scandinavia, his reports received no opposition
64 K. Johannesson, The Renaissance of the Goths in Sixteenth-Century Sweden, Johannes and Olaus Magnus as Politicians and Historians, trans. J. Larson (Berkeley/Los Angeles: University of California Press, <hh<), pp. <@h-TUn, p. <=>. 65 Ogilvie, The Science of Describing, p. <kU. 66 Ogilvie, The Science of Describing, p. <kU. 67 H. Lee, Sea Monsters Unmasked (London: William Clowes and Sons, <kk@), p. >n.
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and he was sourced in many other contemporary publications. As Gessner and other naturalists aimed to report a reliable image of the world’s natural creations, this necessitated numerous sources, eyewitness reports, and the resolution of conflicting accounts.68 In the event of the lack of sources, as was the case with Scandinavia, it was standard practice to report the creature with some reservations.69 Consequently, the sea monsters from Magnus’s map and book trickled down in European natural history publications and maps alike for a good century after their introduction in the sixteenth century. Their most famous appearances were in the following maps and natural history publications: Sebastian Münster’s Monstra Marina & Terrestria (<>??), Abraham Ortelius’s map of Iceland, Islandia (<>hU), woodcuts in Conrad Gesnner’s Historian Animalium (<>><-<>>k), Adriaen Coenen’s manuscript of North Sea marine life (<>k>), Gérard Mercator’s terrestrial globe (featuring the sea cow), and in the publications by Pierre Belon.70 It is evident that the influences of sea monsters and the fascination with mythology engaged authors and the public into the seventeenth century, as the creatures made their way through various publications and editions without any verification of their actual existence. For example, the Dutch salvager Adriaen Coenen (<><?-<>k=), copied an image of a flying turtle from the account of another Dutchman, Cornelis Anthonisz (ca. <>U>-<>>@). Even though recent investigation has revealed the turtle’s origin, Coenen included a description of the animal in his Visboek (<>=h) and claimed he had drawn it from life (fig. k). Out of thin air, he created a creature that subsequent authors, such as the Flemish cartographer Abraham Ortelius (<>T=-<>hk), copied enthusiastically.71 Curiosities in early modern Europe, whether real or imagined, influenced their viewers in consumption, fascination and, fear. The French natural historian Pierre Belon (<><=-<>n?), who is considered the father of Marine Biology, had a scientific approach to documenting sea animals, but still included monstrosities, noting that it is ‘the playfulness of nature and her ability to transgress the usual rules of generation’ that accounts for the curious animals. 72 Scholars like Belon, who were more aligned to zoology than history, considered sea monsters in the realm of possibility and thus, included them in their publications (fig. h). For his Histoire de la nature des estranges poisons marins (<>><), he had performed dissections to research each specimen’s composition and provide anatomical
68 Kusukawa, ‘The Role of Images in the Development of the Renaissance Natural History’, pp. <h?-<h>. 69 Ogilvie, The Science of Describing, p. TU@. 70 J. Nigg, Sea Monsters: A Voyage Around the World’s Most Beguiling Map (Chicago/London: The University of Chicago Press, TU<@). 71 Van Duzer, Sea Monsters on Medieval and Renaissance Maps, p. <UU. 72 Pinon, ‘Conrad Gessner and the Historical Depth of Renaissance Natural History’, p. T>?.
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descriptions alongside printed images.73 Belon was one of the first zoologists to break from the moralizing tradition that accompanied animals in books up to this period. Although natural history veered towards science in this period, sea monsters were still considered possible and their presence on maps was still common place for contemporary Europeans. The popularity that sea monsters gained from their presence in books and maps marked the beginning of their end; the same scientific speculation that led to their inclusion in natural history also led to their eventual dismissal. Yet, the sea monster, although considered demystified in academia by the beginning of the Enlightenment, still received support from many other communities, including certain religions and those engaging in medieval practices. Also, their common placement on maps perhaps captivated the superstitious of the sea, as sailors, travelers, and fishermen continued to sight and report sea monsters long after their disappearance from natural history books and maps. Maps, due to their widespread use throughout early modern Europe, certainly helped propagate the awareness of sea monsters and could prepare a sailor for a chance encounter. They also played an essential role in establishing the sea monster as a possible creature of the sixteenth century, reflecting the period’s unique perspective of a vast, expanding, and unknown world.
73 A. Cutler, ‘Pierre Belon: Pioneer of Comparative Anatomy (<><=-<>n?)’, in R. Huxley (ed.), The Great Naturalistis (London: Thames & Hudson, TUU=), pp. n=-=U, p. nk.
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Figure ]: The <>@> edition of Olaus Magnus’s Carta Marina featuring Scandinavia in full. Source: Barry Lawrence Ruderman Antique Maps Inc.74
74 Barry Lawrence Ruderman Antique Maps Inc., ‘Olaus Magnus [Scandinavia]’, <https://www.raremaps.com/gallery/detail/T=hUT/Scandinavia/Magnus.html> (TU April, TU<=).
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Figure k: Adriaen Coenen’s image of a flying turtle from his ‘Visboeck’, Scheveningen, <>==-<>=h.
Source: Koninklijke Bibliotheek, The Hague. 75
75 Koninklijke Bibliotheek, ‘Visboek Adriaen Coenen’, <https://galerij.kb.nl/kb.html#/nl/visboek/page/TU>/> (> July, TU<=).
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Figure h: Image of a seahorse from Pierre Belon, De aquatilibus, libri duo […] (Paris: Apud C.
Stephanus, <>>@), p. <=. Source: Biodiversity Heritage Library.76
76 Biodiversity Heritage Library, ‘Petri Bellonii Cenomani De aquatilibus, libri duo’, p. T=, fig. <T,
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C.
S
EA MONSTERS,
FEAR,
AND THE UNKNOWNDespite criticism on the lack of objective sources, the contention that sea monsters are real found support from persisting religious and medieval views in the sixteenth century. Early modern Europe bordered two periods with distinctly different understandings of wonders: the scholars of the Middle Ages feared marvels because of their association with divinity and on the contrary, the scientists of the Enlightenment found them distastefully imaginary. The sixteenth century generally regarded marvels with fascination, but because of lingering medieval views the sea monster’s presence on maps was not only met with captivation, but also with fear. Motivated by medieval works that included sea monsters, sixteenth century mapmakers would also employ them on maps loaded with religious symbolism. Those mapmakers, compelled by the religious conflicts of the Reformation and Counter-Reformation, utilized the medieval symbolism of sea monsters to disseminate their religious preferences. Also noteworthy for the early modern perspective on sea monsters, is the fact that the medieval literature that was circulating was engulfed in marvels and wonders. Their inclusion on the medieval mappamundi and TO map, encouraged their appropriation on the early modern map, which sought to unify medieval and old world attempts at abstracting geography. Finally, the significance and placement of the sea monster on maps from the Middle Ages, provides insight into their effect on viewers in the sixteenth century. The significance of the sea monster and other marvels during the Middle Ages, was dependent on the Christian, Augustinian position that nature imitated divine commands.77 Monsters were considered divine signs that deliberately deviated from the natural world, which God could use to communicate his approval or disproval of a situation.78 The envisioned world in medieval times had a calm center and monsters located on its extremities.79 The introduction of Christianity made God capable of interrupting nature’s casual order to communicate messages in the form of miracles, prodigies, and other divine creations, like monsters and beasts.80 Divine spontaneity implied that monsters could exist anywhere, not only at the extremities; they were plausible at any point or place, even in Europe’s backyard.81 A monster’s ominous presence in literature and on maps would stress viewers in the Middle Ages, notably because they would
77 Daston and Park, Wonders and the Order of Nature, p ?h. 78 Daston and Park, Wonders and the Order of Nature, p. >T. 79 Daston and Park, Wonders and the Order of Nature, p. n<. 80 Daston and Park, Wonders and the Order of Nature, p. n<. 81 Daston and Park, Wonders and the Order of Nature, p. n<.
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indicate oncoming calamity and divine wrath.82 Not only did monsters mark the unknown areas of the world, but they also indicated divine intervention and retribution. In the sixteenth century, some mapmakers and patrons still subscribed to this understanding of marvels. The fear inspired by marvels presence on maps, indicated a worldview that was under an omnipotent God, with much of the world unknown and unexplored. In early modern Europe, the disciplines of natural history and geography were particularly combative with religion, because the link between wonder and God was being threatened.83 Those supporting the medieval view on nature viewed curiosity, then aligned with wonder and the divine, as endorsing the belief that only God is qualified to understand His wonders. Under this framework, any investigation of marvels by man is God-like and sinful. Even the possibility of discovering new terra firma was evil enough to threaten biblical authority, and also, the knowledge of the classical authors.84 In the sixteenth century, this debate surfaced in the confrontation between the protestant Reformation and the catholic Counter Reformation, which pressured all sections of society, and especially academia. Opinions from both sides were voiced throughout Europe, resulting in intense religious debate and conflict. The fundamental arguments of each side were applied to almost every discipline, including cartography and natural history. Not only would publications in the early modern period weigh-in on these debates, but it has been observed that mapmakers used sea monsters as symbolism to convey their religious preferences.85 Cartographers, cosmographers, natural historians and other scholars would sometimes position themselves openly with one side of the debate or the other. For example, the mapmaker Olaus Magnus championed the Counter Reformation and defended his use of sea monsters by claiming no curse on the North, but ‘rather the grace of nature and God, because God created everything, so there was nothing superfluous or irrational.’86 His maps in Historia de Gentibus Septentrionalibus, which are frequented by sea monsters, reflect this religious interpretation of nature that bolstered God’s power and disavowed curiosity.87 Magnus used the presence of these sea monsters to send religious messages; the sea serpent off the coast of Norway, for instance, was an omen symbolizing the prosecution of prelates in the country.88 In the twelfth volume of his
82 Gmelig-Nijboer, Conrad Gessner’s ‘Historia Animalium’, p. @T. 83 R. Pelederer, Finding Their Way at Sea: The Story of Portolan Charts, the Cartographers Who Drew Them and the Mariners Who Sailed by Them (‘t Goy-Houten: Hes & De Graaf Publishers, TU<T), p. T=@. 84 Brotton, A History of the World in Twelve Maps, p. <>@. 85 Johannesson, The Renaissance of the Goths in Sixteenth-Century Sweden, p. <k>. 86 Johannesson, The Renaissance of the Goths in Sixteenth-Century Sweden, p. <k>. 87 Johannesson, The Renaissance of the Goths in Sixteenth-Century Sweden, p. TUU. 88 Johannesson, The Renaissance of the Goths in Sixteenth-Century Sweden, p. TUU.
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