Jomard vs Santarém

Retelling the Dispute at the Origin of the History of Cartography

Update 27 May 2021: significant updates and corrections have been made throughout. Changes include to the title, which was originally “Map History’s Big Bang: Rethinking the Dispute between Santarém and Jomard at the Origin of the History of Cartography”

It is commonly accepted that the first major publications in the history of cartography were the large facsimile collections that were prepared and published in Paris by Edme François Jomard, curator of geography and maps at the Bibliothèque royale, and the second viscount of Santarém, Portuguese émigré and historian of discoveries. Jomard’s project was titled Les monuments de la géographie and was officially published in 1854, although the first fascicule had been issued in 1842 and more fascicules were issued through 1862 (Jomard 1854–62); the full set were described and placed in a final sequence by Jomard’s colleague Marie Armand Pascale d’Avezac (1867). Santarém issued what is commonly thought of as a single “atlas,” as he called his collection, that appeared in three parts or editions (generally dated to 1841, 1842-44. and 1849).

Despite the fame of these works, their histories and characters remain little known. It is to fill these lacunae that I have written an essay, “The First Facsimile Collections and the Origins of the History of Cartography,” that has been accepted for publication in Imago Mundi. (Another essay, accepted for the Portolan, considers the quite different map work of Joachim Lelewel in 1845–50, which historians have often improperly grouped with Jomard’s and Santarém’s efforts.)

Map historians have been largely distracted from studying the collections themselves both by their rarity and by the distraction offered by the acrimonious public debate between Jomard and Santarém over credit for the idea of such collections. Certainly, even as I have been writing up a short account of their work for the current book, I have found myself getting into the weeds of the debate. This is especially inappropriate and distracting because, in the end, the debate had no impact on how the history of cartography would develop as a field of study. It was indeed “full of sound and fury, signifying nothing” (Macbeth V.5). So, let’s rethink the debate here, if only to get it out of my own system!

Previous Accounts of the Debate

The principle account of the dispute between Jomard and Santarém is in Armando Cortesão’s historiographical introduction to his History of Portuguese Cartography (Cortesão 1969, 15–22, 29–32). Like other Portuguese scholars before him and since, Cortesão saw Santarém as the founder of the critical study of cartography and its history. Not only had Santarém coined the word “cartography,” as he recorded in a letter of 8 December 1839 to the Portuguese diplomat Francisco Adolfo de Varnhagen (Santarém 1906, 25–30, esp. 30), his Essai sur l’histoire de la cosmographie et de la cartographie had been the first systematic study in the history of cartography and he had even used the phrase “history of cartography” in its title (Santarém 1849–52). It was manifestly clear to Cortesão that Santarém should be given credit for the idea of the facsimile collection and for the creation of the field as a whole. He used some commentary by Santarém in his correspondence with the Portuguese government to argue that Jomard was jealous at the fact that Santarém’s work had funded by the Portuguese government whereas the French state had declined to underwrite Jomard’s work (Cortesão 1969, esp. 32).

Anne Godlewska was more equivocal and did not seek to assign credit. Instead, she argued that Jomard had a pattern of reacting strongly when someone else stole a march on him without having done any of the hard work that he had. This had happened with Jean François Champollian’s decipherment of Egyptian hieroglyphics, courtesy of the Rosetta Stone, and now it seemed to have happened when Santarém began publishing his facsimiles well before Jomard (Godlewska 1995, 122–28; Godlewska 1999, 142–43).

Finally, Mike Heffernan has most recently pointed to the political dimensions of the dispute. Santarém began to prepare his facsimiles in support of the Portuguese government’s imperial claims, against those of the French, to Casamance, a district in the Senegal. Jomard’s colleague at the Marine, Marie Armand Pascale d’Avezac, would forcefully advance the pro-French position. For Heffernan, Jomard-Santarém dispute manifested nationalistic and imperialistic competition (Heffernan 2014, 13–15).

Problems

All of these discussions have, however, been hampered by several factors:

1) both Jomard and Santarém shaded the record about their projects so as to put themselves in the better light. Their commentaries are internally contradictory about dates, initial concepts and plans, and rates of progress. They simply cannot be relied upon without further corroboration. Godlewska (1995, 123, 127) has explored some of the inconsistencies in Jomard’s recollections. I have also found several inconsistencies in Santarém’s recollections of his project, e.g., between the introduction to volume one of the Essai (Santarém 1849–52, 1:xiii–lxxxvii) and a report he sent in June 1854 to the Portuguese Foreign Office (reproduced in Cortesão 1969, 16–18).

2) Santarém did not, in fact, coin the word “cartography”: that was the achievement of the Danish émigré in Paris, Conrad Malte-Brun, who had used chartographie in 1808 and later publicized the word in the 1820s, when it was accepted as cartographie by several members of the Société de géographie. Indeed, the first use in English of “chartographie” seems to have been in 1834, by a German émigré to the USA (van der Krogt 2015; Edney 2019, 114–20). Moreover, Jomard (1840, 438) had already used the “history of cartography.”

3) it is not actually clear in the accounts of the debate, just what the debate was over: was it over the priority of creating a collection of facsimiles, or was it over the creation of a collection of facsimiles curated so as to show the “history of cartography”? This question becomes important when it is realized that others in Paris had published collections of facsimiles just previously, as the essay in Imago Mundi explains. [n1] The issue was the purpose of the facsimile collections.

4) it is assumed that Santarém’s Atlas constituted a single project, issued in three editions, or three distinct atlases (Cortesão 1969, 15–22; Skelton 1972, 77–78; Wallis and Sijmons 1985, 10–24; Harley 1987, 12; García 2006, 9–13; Protásio 2006). It is in fact more appropriate to consider it as two atlases, for reasons that will be clarified in the book, in the Imago Mundi article, and below.

5) it is assumed that the dispute was a single and coherent affair but, by understanding the changing nature of Santarém’s work, we can construct a chronology that is more sensitive to what it was that Jomard and Santarém objected at different times.

It is also possible, thanks to the ongoing digitization of the period’s publications, to dig a bit deeper into the records to clarify the chronology. Note that newly available material might require the following to be refined but I don’t think that it will have to be completely reorganized.

Rethinking the Debate

Previous Facsimile Collections in Paris

Neither Jomard nor Santarém worked in isolation; both were well-connected scholars and both were members of the Société de géographie. In the 1830s, the frequent visitor to Paris from Berlin, Alexander von Humboldt, was continuing to work on the many volumes stemming from his voyage with Aimé Bonpland to the Americas (1799–1804). Prompted by the acquisition by Baron Charles Athanase Walckenaer of the manuscript world map in marine style signed by Juan de la Cosa and dated 1500, Humboldt engaged in a brief passion for the history of discoveries and cartography. One product of this was his collection of five folios of facsimiles of details of the new world on early maps he issued with his history of Columbus’s and Vespucci’s expeditions (Humboldt [1835–37]; see Buchholz 2020, 135–39, 199–216). The de la Cosa map also prompted the work of Ramón de la Sagra in preparing a small collection of facsimiles of Cuba and the Caribbean on early maps, as I have previously discussed (Sagra 1842–61, 1:5–6).

So, Jomard and Santarém were certainly aware of the idea of a collection of facsimiles, both Humboldt’s and de la Sagra’s.

Round One

Santarém began work on his first Atlas in December 1840 as a graphic version of the argument he had been commissioned to make by the Portuguese government in support of Portuguese claims to Casamance. He displayed some of the folios of facsimiles to the Société de géographie late in 1841 (Berthelot 1841, 368–70) and the completed work on 18 February 1842 (Anon. 1842, 158). It seems that this atlas was issued with a title page dated 1841 with the title, Atlas composé de mappemondes et de cartes hydrographiques et historiques du XIe au XVIIe siècle…. It contained 21 numbered folios, mostly focused on Africa and its western coast:

Santarém’s facsimile of the western coast of Africa from a chart by Grazioso Benincasa, 1467 (BnF DD 1988), Santarém (1842[–44]), pl. 7. Biblioteca Nacional de Portugal.

The atlas was accompanied by a French translation of his memoir on the priority of the Portuguese discovery of the western coast of Africa, to which Santarém added a lengthy introduction explaining the maps in the atlas (Santarém 1842). Santarém made it clear that this atlas was a political and diplomatic work, by quoting a pithy passage from a recent essay by Jomard (1841, 184) about the value of early maps in resolving boundary disputes.

Santarém further emphasized the explicitly political and conceptually focused nature of his first Atlas when Jomard rose before the assembly of the Société de géographie on 4 March 1842 to ward off any potential claims that he might have plagiarized Santarém. According to the published minutes, Jomard observed that he had already spent “several years” in creating a collection of facsimiles so that it would be inappropriate, when he finally began to publish them, for people to think that he had copied from the facsimiles published by the viscount. (On this occasion, d’Avezac also stated that he had a facsimile project in mind but that he had deferred to Jomard’s priority when he had discovered that Jomard was already pursuing his own project.) The minutes to this meeting also record that Santarém responded that he had acknowledged the priority of Jomard’s project in the introduction of his accompanying volume, which acknowledgment Jomard had accepted (Anon. 1842, 221–22). In his introduction, Santarém (1842, xvi) had indeed praised Jomard’s work in creating a collection of “cartographic monuments” that served to “shed light on the history of cartography.” By contrast, he had clearly intimated that his own collection served only a narrowly political argument.

Moreover, in a further statement that he made at the society’s next meeting (18 March 1842), Santarém reiterated the political nature of his work, in particular by stating that “several scholars in Europe are [already] occupied with similar publications” (“Il ajoute que plusieurs savants en Europe s’occupent de publications semblables”). At first sight, this statement seems to refer to the preparation of facsimile collections. However, Santarém specifically identified Joaquim José da Costa de Macédo (1777–1867), perpetual Secretary of the Royal Academy of Sciences at Lisbon, as having published such work 35 years before; Macédo had written on the priority of Portuguese discoveries along the African coast (Cortesão 1969, 37) so the reference referred to Santarém’s project as a political effort (Anon. 1842, 282).

The published minutes of the society’s meetings might well have been made anodyne. They did not provide a verbatim transcript. I am intrigued about why Santarém should have felt the need to reiterate the difference in his own work. I am left to think that Jomard did speak intemperately and might have misspoken in the heat of the moment. For his part, Santarém seems to have been perturbed by what he took to be Jomard’s active hostility. In a letter to the Portuguese government of 14 May 1842, he blamed that hostility on a nationalistic jealousy that the Portuguese authorities would underwrite such a work when the French government would not (quoted by Cortesão 1969, 30).

And that was that. If the minutes are to be believed in content (if not in tone), and I think that they should be, Jomard was concerned about future impressions of plagiarism. And Santarém publicly acquiesced but also reminded everyone that Jomard’s project was not itself new.

End of round one.

Jomard’s Monuments

One effect of Santarém’s presentation of his Atlas to the Société de géographie in February 1842 was that it seems to have stung Jomard to start publishing his facsimiles. The first fascicule, containing six large folios that together reproduced the famous mappamundi at Hereford, appeared later in the same year (Jomard 1842) and he continued to publish more under the title Les monument de la géographie until his death in 1862 (Jomard 1854[–62]). While it is undeniable that there were many more maps that he wanted to include in the atlas, Jomard also was able to present a narrative of the development of the endeavor of cartography: three threads in the medieval era—comprising Islamic astronomy, detailed chorographical mapping, and cosmography—all came together in the European Renaissance, culminating in Gerhard Mercator’s eight-sheet world map of 1569 on his new projection.

Sheet 3 of Jomard’s facsimile of Mercator’s 1569 world map, published in 1862: Jomard (1854[–62]), provisional sheet 77. Courtesy Harvard Map Collection.

At the same time, Jomard was not averse to others making facsimile collections. He seems to have helped de la Sagra prepare his collection. He also gave his two manuscript copies of the circular world map commonly attributed to al-Sharīf al-Idrīsī to Joachim Lelewel for his use in his own facsimile collection; Lelewel (1850, viii, x) admitted combining into one the two images, one from the Bodleian, the other from the Bibliothèque royale (Edney in the Portolan).

Round Two

The real dispute between Jomard and Santarém began when the latter thought to expand his first facsimile project still further.

The possible acrimony of Jomard’s and Santarém’s verbal exchange or the reaction of the assembled geographers to his facsimiles led Santarém to begin to reconfigure his own facsimile project. In May 1842 he wrote for approval from the Portuguese government, granted in June, to expand his collection with the inclusion of more medieval world maps. In seeking permission, Santarém played up how the Parisian scholars had been ‘astonished’ by his collection and that if another series of mappaemundi were not soon published then the French would steal a march and claim all the intellectual glory for themselves. Although, as ever, one must take Santarém’s protestations to his funders with a grain of salt (Freitas 1909, 82–84, esp. 83; Cortesão 1969, 16).

When the Portuguese authorities agreed to the request, Santarém had a new title page and preface prepared. Dated 1842, the title now read, Atlas composé de mappemondes et de cartes hydrographiques et historiques du XIe au XVIIe siècle…. Santarém continued to add a few more folios of cosmographical works to the first atlas, through 1844.

But then he developed plans for a still larger atlas, one that would reproduce many maps in their entirety. He formally announced the new project in 1847, when he staked out what he claimed was new intellectual territory:

The history of cartography is an entirely new science.

He began.

The works of ancient cosmographers were all buried in the obscurity of libraries and archives of different nations of Europe. Only two or three scholars at most have occupied themselves with some of these monuments and then for a very special and restricted purpose. But no one has yet conceived the idea and the general plan of bringing them [early maps] together by coordinating them systematically in chronological order, in order to publish them for the benefit of science, and to note the priority of the discoveries of the Portuguese in West Africa, and the services that this nation rendered to the geographic sciences. (Santarém 1847a, 289–90, original emphasis)

“Les travaux des anciens cosmographes se trouvaient tous enfouis dans l'obscurité des bibliothèques et dans les archives des différentes nations de l'Europe. A peine si deux ou trois savants s'étaient occupés de quelques uns de ces monuments dans un but tout à fait spécial et restreint. Mais personne n’avait conçu l’idée et le plan général de les rassembler en les coordonnant systématiquement par ordre chronologique, afin de les publier au profit de la science, et de constater la priorité des découvertes des Portugais dans l’Afrique occidentale, et les services que cette nation prêta aux sciences géographiques.”

That is, while retaining his emphasis on the political narrative of Portuguese discoveries, Santarém would further demonstrate Portuguese contributions to the history of the “geographical sciences.”

With such a restricted remit, the new facsimile collection could indeed be considered, technically speaking, as new and innovative, but placed within the context of the pursuit of the history of cartography, these statements proved a red flag to Jomard, who promptly asserted his priority of conceiving a facsimile collection that would narrate the history of cartography. He responded accordingly (Jomard 1847) and Santarém responded in kind (Santarém 1847b).

It is not necessary to get into the details of their tedious recriminations about who had what idea first, especially when much of what they say cannot be accepted prima facie. Moreover, there was little effect on the projects: Jomard continued publishing his facsimiles; Santarém went ahead and produced his enlarged Atlas composé de mappemondes, de portulans, et de cartes hydrographiques et historiques (Santarém 1849[–54]), to which he did give a structure to narrate his understanding of the history of cartography, which was very much focused on Europe’s change of cultural state as it passed into the Renaissance (see Edney 2020); and Santarém also completed and published, before his own death from tuberculosis, three of the six planned volumes of the associated Essai sur l’histoire de la cosmographie et de la cartographie (Santarém 1849–52). At most, the dispute prevented Santarém from reproducing more maps from the collections of the Bibliothèque royale.

Conclusion

The intensity with which Jomard and Santarém asserted their respective claims in 1847 demonstrates that, right from the start, the new field of study of the “history of cartography” entailed significant cultural and political stakes. Their debate was less about the idea of a curated collection of facsimiles and more about their role in creating the “history of cartography.” Initially, Santarém saw himself working within the history of discoveries, adducing maps to serve a history of Portuguese exploration and of European geographical knowledge. Santarém’s first Atlas was sufficiently different from Jomard’s that the latter was threatened only by the possibility that people might think he had plagiarized Santarém. But Santarém’s second Atlas offered too great a competition to Jomard’s intellectual vision.

In the end, Jomard’s vision for the history of cartography was not widely adopted, whereas Santarém’s was very much in close alignment with the need to support Western imperialism. The irony is that when Armando Cortesão (1969) argued that scholar needed to pursue a new kind of “history of cartography,” which he understood as a field aligned with the histories of astronomy, navigation, and science, in distinction to the “historical cartography” that supported the history of geography and discoveries, he completely got Santarém’s and Jomard’s work the wrong way round. For Cortesão, it was his hero Santarém who had first advanced the “history of cartography” only for his vision to be subverted by the “historical cartography” of Humboldt, Jomard, and d’Avezac; now, Cortesão argued, Santarém’s vision of the “history of cartography” had to be resurrected, to which end he offered his new history of Portuguese cartography as a preliminary contribution. However, it had been Jomard whose vision of the history of cartography had aligned with Cortesão’s and had been short lived; Santarém’s had persisted. (This is one reason why a new historiography is needed: too much confusion over basic terms.)

Note

n1. This point is not entirely new. Harley (1987, 13 n. 96) expressed doubt that by the 1830s anyone could have considered “the idea of a facsimile atlas” to be “the private property of any one scholar.” In justification, he cited two other scholars who had pursued such atlases: Lelewel, although he began his map historical work only in 1845 and is therefore irrelevant to Harley’s argument; and Marie Armand Pascale d’Avezac, who observed in 1842 that he had long since begun and abandoned, out of deference to Jomard’s project, his own facsimile project (Anon 1842, 222). D’Avezac’s work is not only from this statement and a brief, late, and unreliable elaboration by Jomard (1847, 6), who asserted that d’Avezac had been collaborating with the British medievalist Thomas Wright (1810–77). Santarém, in the preface dated 10 January 1844 that he included in his first facsimile collection, had previously identified Wright as having searched the British Museum collections for maps on Santarém’s behalf (Freitas 1909, 199). Jomard had previously paid Wright to have a copy made of the Royal Geographical Society’s 1831 tracing of the Hereford mappamundi (Bailey 2006, 59–60).

References

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