Christopher Columbus: His Life and His Work

by Charles Kendall Adams

The discovery of this casket very naturally awakened the greatest interest in San Domingo, and indeed wherever the story of Columbus was known. The bishop of the cathedral, recognizing the importance of the event, invited to a formal inspection of the remains, not only the representatives of the civil government, but also all the foreign consuls that were present in San Domingo. These united in the belief that the bones of the Admiral were still in the cathedral, and that the remains which had been carried to Havana in 1796 were those of his son Diego. Having arrived at this conclusion, the authorities enclosed the casket, with its contents, in a glass case, and locked it with three keys, two of which were to be guarded by members of the Government, and one by the bishop. They then bound the glass case with ribbons, which were carefully sealed, not only with the seals of the cathedral and of the Government, but also with those of all the foreign consuls then at San Domingo. Finally, they placed the sarcophagus containing the box and the remains in a side chapel of the cathedral.

So full an account of this interesting discovery would hardly have been appropriate, but for the controversy which immediately ensued. The Spanish authorities in the mother-country and in Cuba were very naturally reluctant to believe, except upon the most conclusive evidence, that a mistake had been made in 1796. The cry of fraud was soon raised. The inscriptions, a rough fac-simile of which had been made and published by the bishop, were declared to be the work of a modern forger. Pamphlet after pamphlet was issued from the press, until there came to be a voluminous literature on the subject.

Against the genuineness of the inscriptions there were only two arguments of any considerable weight. The first was in the assertion that the inscriptions were of too modern and crude a nature to have been placed upon the casket in the sixteenth century by those having in charge the moving of the remains. The other was the presence of the abbreviation which was supposed to stand for America. It was confidently alleged that the Spaniards had refused to adopt the name America until after the time of the removal. In both of these objections there seemed to be considerable force. But they cannot be regarded as conclusive; for in the first place a more careful copying of the inscriptions has revealed the fact that they are not so dissimilar to the prevailing methods of the sixteenth century as was at first supposed; and in answer to the second objection, it is to be said that Waldseemüller’s book suggesting the name America was published in April of 1507, and that as early as 1520 the name America began to appear on the maps published for common use. It must be conceded that the crudeness of the inscriptions seems incompatible with what we may well conceive to have been the ceremonious nature of a removal of such importance conducted under royal patronage. But no account whatever of the ceremony has been preserved. We simply know that the removal was permitted by royal order; and the fact that no record of the event is now extant would seem to give plausibility to the conjecture that the remains were transported privately by the family alone. If such was the case, the nature of the inscriptions placed upon the leaden box would depend upon circumstances in regard to which we can now have no knowledge whatever.

In the autumn of 1890 the German explorer Rudolf Cronau determined to investigate this vexed question, and if possible remove it from the domain of doubt. Armed with letters of introduction from the German Government, he passed a month in San Domingo for the purpose of examining every phase of the subject. He not only obtained evidence from the workmen who had exhumed the casket in 1877, but he also secured the privilege of conducting a public examination of the inscriptions. In the presence of the consuls of the United States, England, France, Germany, and Italy, as well as the officials of the cathedral and of the city, he conducted the examination on the 11th of January, 1891. Removing the glass case from the side chapel to the nave of the cathedral, he deposited it upon a table prepared for the purpose. The seals placed upon the case in 1877 having been examined and declared to be intact, the surrounding ribbons were then removed, and with the help of the several keys the case was opened.

It is unnecessary to describe all the processes of investigation. It is, however, important to say that all the inscriptions were photographed upon zinc, in order that they might be etched in exact fac-simile. They have since been reproduced in the first volume of Cronau’s “Amerika.” As the result of his examination, the author expresses his confident belief that the inscriptions were cut in the sixteenth century; for the processes of oxidation that have taken place since the inscriptions were made, seem to preclude the possibility of their being the work of a modern hand. He states that a careful investigation of all the circumstances attending the opening of the tomb in 1877 failed to give any trace of opportunity for a forging of the inscriptions. The character of the bishop in charge in 1877 was above reproach. The presence of the bullet is, in the opinion of the author, to be regarded as confirmatory proof of genuineness, inasmuch as it is hardly conceivable that it would have been placed in the casket by any fraudulent intent. In short, it is the opinion of Cronau that the difficulties in the way of supporting the theory of fraud are so much greater than those in the way of supporting the theory of genuineness that the charges of fraud must be dismissed, and the theory of genuineness must be finally and conclusively adopted. It seems probable that this conclusion will be accepted by the most judicious investigators of the subject, and that in consequence the belief will come to prevail that the remains of Columbus are now at San Domingo, and not at Havana.

After the ceremony of inspection was completed, the casket and its contents were replaced in the glass box, and this, after being wound about with red, white, and blue ribbons and put under the seals of the several consuls and of the local authorities, was returned to the side chapel as its permanent resting-place.

It would be a great pleasure if we could know that it is now easy to obtain definite and precise information in regard to those subtile peculiarities of manner and expression which marked and determined the appearance of the Admiral. But it seems to be impossible. Of brief descriptions by personal acquaintances there is an abundance; and in these accounts, moreover, there is substantial agreement. Trevisan, after meeting the Admiral in 1501, says of him: “He was a robust man, with a tall figure, a ruddy complexion, and a long visage.” Oviedo, who knew him with some intimacy, says: “Of good figure and a stature above the medium, Columbus had strong limbs, keen eyes, a well-proportioned body, very red hair, a complexion that was a little ruddy and marked with freckles.” Las Casas, who saw him often and under diverse circumstances, described him in these words: “He had a figure that was above medium height, a countenance long and imposing, an aquiline nose, clear blue eyes, a light complexion tinged with red, beard and hair blond in youth, but early turned to white. He was rough in character, with little amiability of speech, affable, however, when he wished to be, and passionate when he was irritated.”

In the matter of dress Columbus was in the habit of wearing sombre colors, often appearing in the frock of one of the religious orders. Las Casas in one place says: “I saw the Admiral at Seville, on his return from the second voyage, clad as a Franciscan friar.” Bernaldez relates that he saw him in 1496 “bound about with the cord of the Franciscan monks;” and Diego Columbus affirms that his father died “clad in the frock of the Franciscan order, to which he was much attached.”

It is from these descriptions that the numerous portraits which have passed for likenesses of the Admiral have generally been composed. In all the vast number of paintings and engravings bearing his name, there is probably not one that can be regarded as unquestionably authentic; for it is not known that a single painting or drawing of him was ever made by any person that had ever seen him. Harrisse makes the sweeping statement, “as for the portraits painted, engraved, or sculptured, which figure in the collections, in public places, and in prints, there is not one that is authentic; they are all pure fancy.” This learned critic probably means that the numerous pictures have been made, not from life, but from extant descriptions of the Admiral, according to the fancy of the individual artists.

Any one at all familiar with the various portraits that pass, here and there, for likenesses of Columbus, must have been impressed with the fact that, while a few of them present considerable resemblance to one another, they are, almost without exception, lacking in those elements of individuality that are necessary to impress themselves firmly on the attention and memory of the beholder. From the collection as a whole, one is apt to derive a very confused impression as to how Columbus really appeared. If there is to be any exception to this general statement, it should perhaps be made in favour of the portrait by Lorenzo Lotto, recently discovered at Venice. Lotto was quite the most distinguished of the contemporaneous painters whose portraits of Columbus have been preserved. He was absent from Venice during the later years of Columbus’s life, and it is possible that he was in Spain during the winter and spring just before the Admiral set out for his fourth voyage. We know that Columbus was in Granada during the winter and spring of 1501–1502, and that during those winter months the Venetian ambassador Pisani and his secretary Camerino were assiduous in courting and entertaining him, in order to obtain maps, charts, and other information about the newly discovered countries. It is possible that Lotto also was present at Granada and that he had an opportunity to paint the portrait from life. But there is no positive evidence on the subject. After all the possibilities are admitted, there is nothing more than a doubtful conjecture that he ever saw the discoverer; still less is it probable that Columbus sat for his portrait.