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Introduction: Imag(in)ing the Southern Continent, 1567 – 1606

Introduction: Imag(in)ing the Southern Continent, 1567 – 1606

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1. Introduction: Imag(in)ing the Southern Continent, 1567 - 1606



as a geo-political space that is rendered readable by means of the

mental activities of imagining and inventing as well as the

performative and productive activities that make it “real” for viewers

and audiences.

In order to trace the process of signification in which a space

becomes culturally meaningful I analyse here narratives, maps and

rituals, which are central to the idea of producing the Pacific. This

process, which originates in the representation of exploration in

written narratives, is also embedded in maps and rituals that

effectively stage and perform a spatial environment. As will be seen

below, the study of maps, narratives and rituals as a single object of

study affords an insight into the peculiar ethnography of exploration

that informed the production of the South Pacific.

The movement studied in this book thus goes from the mental

activity of imagining to the ultimate production of the South Pacific.

In other words, I trace the transition from invention to performance to

product. The final outcome is the “Pacific,” as we understand it, that is

to say, a space that has been rendered readable and therefore

accessible by means of a productive process. As Henri Lefebvre

observes: “an already produced space can be decoded, can be read.

Such a space implies a process of signification” (1991: 17). To trace

the process of signification that culminates in the production of the

Pacific as a space that is culturally and geographically relevant means

interpreting these various “representations” as cultural texts. In other

words, my study fits in with the analysis of culture as “thick

description,” as proposed by Clifford Geertz (1973).

The earlier voyage of Ferdinand Magellan (1519-21) and the

important journeys of James Cook in the last third of the eighteenth

century provide the points of departure and closure for the

development of the Pacific. The importance of those voyages for the

history of world exploration has been amply documented. This is not

the case with the three voyages of Spanish exploration of the Pacific

from the west coast of South America that took place between 1567

and 1606, that are the central point of this book. For these voyages, as

will be seen below, the Americas are important because, from the

Spanish point of view, they were meant to extend their discovery of

the new world. Moreover, the expeditions departed from Callao in

Peru and were staffed by many people already living in this colony.



1. Introduction: Imag(in)ing the Southern Continent, 1567 – 1606



17



Consequently, the colonial development of the Americas provides the

departure point, literal as well as discursive, for a “Spanish lake” that

gradually grew to acquire the contemporary dimensions of what today

is known as the South Pacific basin.2

The last ocean to be thoroughly explored and mapped, the

South Sea was imagined during the fifteenth century from resilient

myths that were finally laid to rest by Captain Cook. Before Cook’s

voyages, the South Pacific remained one of the least known parts of

the world. The Solomons, discovered in 1567 by Álvaro de Mendaña,

found their way into maps but remained elusive to later explorers until

well into the eighteenth century. From New Zealand to Tasmania in

the west and to Easter Island in the east there were blank spaces that

still suggested the possibility of a large Southern Continent, normally

referred to as Terra Australis Incognita or Magellanica. For two and a

half centuries after Magellan’s circumnavigation mapmakers laid

down Terra Australis on their maps with little new evidence for its

existence or lack of it, even after Pedro Fernández de Quirós’ second

journey in 1606 and Abel Tasman’s voyage in 1642-43.3 This view is

clearly presented in the most famous map of the time, Abraham

Ortelius’ Typus Orbis Terrarum, which appeared in the first world

published in 1570, the Theatrum Orbis Terrarum (Fig. 1).

The discovery of the Southern Continent or Terra Australis

Incognita was behind the sixteenth-century journeys to the South

Pacific. Enthusiasts such as Quirós and Menda buttressed a belief

whose last remarkable upholder was Alexander Dalrymple in the

eighteenth century.4 The elusive geography of this area of the world

informs two and a half centuries of exploration, ranging from the first

round-the-world circumnavigation led by Magellan to the first voyage

of Cook in 1768-71. In fact, Cook arrived in the Bay of St Philip and

St James (“Big Bay”) in Vanuatu’s Santo (named Espiritu Santo by

Quirós) in 1774. The island’s previous European visitor had been its

discoverer, Quirós, who nearly 170 years before, in 1606, believed

this island to be the northern tip of the Southern Continent and named

it Austrialia del Espiritu Santo.

Previous to Cook’s voyages, the prevalent view of the Pacific

was largely the result of various myths that were peppered with

second-hand accounts of the Spanish and Dutch journeys during the

sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Classical and medieval

geographers had, in turn, informed these voyagers’ belief that, if the



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1. Introduction: Imag(in)ing the Southern Continent, 1567 - 1606



earth were to remain in equilibrium, the landmasses of the Northern

Hemisphere must be balanced.5 The concept of a vast southern

continent was inherited from the cosmography of the Classical era and

the Christian Middle Ages. As imagined, this continent embraced

today’s Antartica, New Zealand and Australia as well as the islands in

the South Pacific, and was thought to extend from the South Pole into

the Tropics, and to be bounded by the Atlantic, Pacific, and Indian

Oceans.

Of paramount importance in the construction of the South

Pacific was the account of Marco Polo’s voyages, written c.1298.

Polo’s legacy was enduring indeed, and it was circulated in the

sixteenth and seventeenth centuries by means of maps in which the

names Beach, Locach and Maletur appeared, as will be seen below.6

Polo’s narrative, which was widely used by mapmakers as well as

explorers during the early modern period, deals briefly with this area

of the world that, he said, could be found

[u]pon leaving the island of Java, and steering a course between

south and south-west, seven hundred miles, you fall in with two

islands, the larger of which is named Sondur, and the other Kondur.

Both being uninhabited, it is unnecessary to say more respecting

them. Having run the distance of fifty miles from these islands, in a

south-easterly direction, you reach an extensive and rich province,

that forms a part of the main land, and is named Lochac [sic]. Its

inhabitants are idolaters. They have a language peculiar to

themselves, and are governed by their own king, who pays no tribute

to any other, the situation of the country being such as to protect it

from any hostile attack [...] In this country sappan, or brezil wood, is

produced in large quantities. Gold is abundant to a degree scarcely

credible; elephants are found there; and objects of the chase, either

with dogs or birds, are in plenty [...] Besides these circumstances

there is nothing further that requires mention, unless it be that the

country is wild and mountainous, and is little frequented by

strangers. (1983: 335-36)



Sixteenth-century explorers, including Magellan, were

mesmerised by the idea of Polo’s Southern Continent and the belief

that somewhere in the mythical east there were wealthy islands of gold

and silver that they were destined to encounter. From classical times,

geographers had alluded repeatedly to the existence of these islands,

Chryse and Argyre.7 However consistent their belief in the existence



1. Introduction: Imag(in)ing the Southern Continent, 1567 – 1606



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of these islands, they were rather vague concerning their location. For

example, Pliny indicated their proximity to the river Indus (Sind),

whereas Pomponius Mela located Argyre by the Ganges and Chryse

by Tamu.8

In the Christian Middle Ages, there was some debate among

scholars about these islands as well as the possible existence of the

fourth continent and whether it could be inhabited. Since it was said in

the Bible that the Gospel had reached all peoples on earth, St

Augustine was adamant that this continent could not be inhabited.9

Similarly, the influential work of the fifth-century Roman philosopher,

Ambrosius Macrobius, presented the fourth area of the world as

uninhabitable on account of the heat of the Torrid Zone, which

separated it from the known universe or oikumene (Fig. 2). Macrobius

was very influential throughout the Middle Ages and his book, In

Somnium Scipionis, included versions of this diagrammatical

representation of the world in which the world was divided into

climatic zones.

Unlike other classical and Christian scholars, Beatus of

Liebana’s conception of the world followed St Isidore of Seville in

considering that this Antipodean stretch of land could be inhabited, as

seen in the maps based on his worldview published throughout the

Middle Ages (Fig. 3).10 Though he was an eighth-century scholar,

Beatus’ view was of lasting importance, and medieval editions of his

book, Commentary on the Apocalypse of Saint John (776-86),

reproduced a mappamundi with this worldview. Beatus’ maps also

locate the isles of Chryse and Argyre in the east; that is, at the top of

the map, just opposite the Terrestrial Paradise.11 Similarly, the

seventh-century Christian scholar, Saint Isidore, also located them in

the east.12 In his study on early mapping of the Pacific, Lawrence

Wroth sums up the geographical notions developed by these medieval

thinkers as follows:

Thus the idea of the Terra Australis came to the Middle Ages with

double authority—the belief in the theory expressed by St. Isidore of

Seville, embodied graphically in the maps that accompanied certain

manuscripts of the Beatus Apocalypse, and the acceptance of it by

Cicero, transmitted by the commentary and map of Macrobius.

(2001: 168)



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1. Introduction: Imag(in)ing the Southern Continent, 1567 - 1606



The most famous of medieval apocryphal travellers, John of

Mandeville, suggested that the islands of silver and gold could be

found next to Taproban. In fact, two distinct wealthy and mythical

islands are identified in the Bible as Ophir and Tarshish. It is written

there that the servants of King Solomon brought the gold with which

the Temple was built from the islands of Ophir and Tarshish.13 The

relevant passage reads as follows:

And King Solomon made a navy of ships in Ezionber, which is

beside Eloth, on the shore of the Red Sea, in the land of Edom. And

Hiram sent in the navy his servants, shipmen that had knowledge of

the sea, with the servants of Solomon. And they came to Ophir, and

fetched thence gold, four hundred and twenty talents, and brought it

to King Solomon.

For the King had at sea a navy of Tharshish with the navy of Hiram,

once in three years came the navy of Tharshish, bringing gold, and

silver, ivory and apes, and peacocks.14



In relation to the Ophirian conjecture, Columbus set a clear

precedent for the explorers-to-come. The search for the gold of

“Tarsis,” which he believed to be in the Far East, next to Cathay,

could serve, Columbus thought, for the reconstruction of a second

temple like that of Solomon and help deliver Jerusalem (Gil 25).15

These elusive islands were also one of the objectives of the

Magellanic circumnavigation. As Oskar Spate points out: “[T]he

design [of this journey] [...] was not for a circumnavigation but for a

Southwest Passage to the Moluccas; and another possible objective in

Magellan’s mind was the gold of Tarshish and Ophir, identified with

the Lequeos—the Ryukyu islands—already known to the Portuguese”

(1979: 37).

A few years later, Sebastian Cabot’s journey of 1526 was

likewise directed to encounter the islands of Ophir and Tarshish, the

search for which is amalgamated with that of Cathay, Cipango and the

Spice Islands.16 The goal of Cabot’s journey is suggested in Robert

Thorne’s map of 1527, which is reproduced in Richard Hakluyt’s The

principal navigations, voyages, traffics and discoveries of the English

nation made by sea or over land, first published in 1582 (Fig.4).

Thorne’s map shows in the southern hemisphere, close to Moabar and

Gelolo, the islands of Tarshish and Ophir, which leads Juan Gil to

conclude that Cabot was searching not so much for spices as for the

gold, silver and precious stones from these islands:17



1. Introduction: Imag(in)ing the Southern Continent, 1567 – 1606



21



[E]n 1527 envió Thorne al embajador inglés Lee un mapamundi que

indica a las claras la meta a la que se dirigía Caboto: en efecto, en el

hemisferio austral al lado de Moabar y Gelolo, aparecen dibujadas

Insule Tharsis et Offir ditissime [...] la expedición de Caboto no iba

por especiería, sino por oro, plata y piedras preciosas, los productos

que daba la tierra de las islas de Salomón. (31)

In 1527 Thorne sent to the English ambassador, Lee, a mappamundi

that clearly indicates Cabot’s goal: in the southern hemisphere,

alongside Moabar and Gelolo appear drawings marked Insule

Tharsis et Offir ditissime [...] Cabot’s expedition was not looking for

spices but for gold, silver and precious stones, products of the earth

of the Isles of Solomon.



Not surprisingly, many sixteenth- and seventeenth-century

people confused these biblical sites, Ophir and Tarshish, with the

classical Chryse and Argyre and their search informs the three

journeys of exploration studied here. These three voyages, which took

place between 1567 and 1606, are the only journeys that up to this

time were directed exclusively to exploring the southern regions of the

Pacific. The first, which was led by Alvaro de Mendaña de Neira in

1567, left the harbour of Callao in Lima with the fleet that would

discover the Solomons (Itinerary 1). Mendaña also commanded the

second journey to the Pacific in 1595-1596, with Pedro Fernández de

Quirós as pilot (Itinerary 2). During this journey the Solomons were

not found again but the Santa Cruz archipelago was discovered before

Mendaña died. The expedition then returned to the Philippines with

Quirós as pilot under the command of Menda’s wife, Isabel Barreto,

who was the first-ever woman Admiral. Quirós was to lead the third

expedition, which also left from Callao in December 1605, with Luis

Vaez de Torres as admiral (Itinerary 3). After five months of

navigation they arrived in Vanuatu’s Espiritu Santo, which they

named and took possession of on the 14th of May 1606.18 The fleet

then separated and Torres travelled along the route today known by

his name, the Torres Strait, thus inferring the insularity of New

Guinea.19 His feat, however, like much documentation concerning

these three journeys, remained largely unknown until the relevant

letter left in the Manila archive was bought, translated and published

by Alexander Dalrymple.



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1. Introduction: Imag(in)ing the Southern Continent, 1567 - 1606



Between the dates of these three journeys, other people

traversed the Pacific, including the English privateers, Sir Francis

Drake (1577) and John Cavendish (1587). The main objective of both

voyages, however, does not seem to have been exploration of the

Pacific per se, but the attack and plunder of the Spanish towns of the

western South American coast and the Manila Galleon.20 Jonathan

Lamb remarks on this point that:

If there was a point of origin to the history of the British in the

Pacific it would not be found in Drake’s circumnavigation (1577) or

in Narborough’s reconnaissance of the western coast of South

America (1669). These were peeps into the storehouse of the

Spanish Empire that had no hope of establishing a foothold

anywhere near it. (2000: 4)



Nevertheless, by crossing the Pacific, Drake contributed to the

cartographic representations of the area and to the invention of the

Pacific. Therefore, his contribution will be assessed below in the

sections devoted to the maps of the Pacific produced and consumed at

this time.

The three Iberian-sponsored explorations taking place

between 1567 and 1606 and their aims, their achievements or lack of

them, are scrutinised in the first chapter of this book, “Exploring the

South Pacific.” Here the journeys are looked at in their socioeconomic context. Also, the way journeys have been classed as

journeys of discovery, exploration, religious conversion, commerce,

acquisition of knowledge, settlement and/or conquest is questioned.

This functional study leads to the negotiation of previous

classifications in the first section of the chapter, “Failure and Futility

in the Voyages of Menda and Quirós.” The second section studies

the contribution to the exploration of the Pacific by Mendaña’s wife,

Isabel Barreto, the first female to command a fleet. “The

(Mis)representation of Isabel Barreto” looks into the reasons for her

historical silencing and the inferences that can be drawn about

historical narrative and its role in the production of the Pacific.

The inextricable relationship between exploration and

representation looked at in the first chapter is complemented with an

analysis of maps as ways to acquire knowledge and power in the

second chapter, “Mapping the Pacific.” The first section of this



1. Introduction: Imag(in)ing the Southern Continent, 1567 – 1606



23



chapter, “Plotting the Southern Continent,” exposes various maps

produced and used at this time and presents them as cultural artifacts

where art, fiction and reality merge to create an idea of the world that

is as geographical as it is social, moral or religious. This reading is

furthered in the next section, “Staging the Southern Continent,” which

interprets the topos of the world as a stage in relation to world maps

and the Pacific. In these maps, I show, the universe becomes an

imperial theatre where various notions of hegemony and political

dominance are interwoven with the pervading baroque idea of vanitas.

The way meaning is externalised in these maps is likewise

communicated in the important rituals enacted, especially those

related to the possession in the name of the Spanish Crown. The

histrionic ceremonies of possession performed by the discoverers are

seen to contribute to the creation of a geographical and symbolic

space. These rituals are studied in their multiplicity and complexity in

the chapter on “Performing the South Pacific.” Here I consider how

these rituals “perform” a physical space thus invented and

subsequently produced for the occupiers and their intended audiences

away in Europe.21

I offer some concluding remarks about the process of

producing the Pacific in my last chapter, “Inventing, Performing and

Practising: The Production of the Early Modern Pacific.” This

conclusion departs from the assumption that the concepts of image

and imagining are imbricated in the creation and reproduction of

hegemonic relationships. As W. J. T. Mitchell puts it: “visual and

verbal representations are inseparable from struggles in cultural

politics and political culture” (1994: 3).

My study of narratives alongside maps and rituals does not

seek to privilege one or the other, but presents both as equally

valuable sources of cultural information that are always political

constructs. Consequently, their reading is not unique, uniform or

uncontestable.22 I have looked at cultural products as, to borrow John

Berger’s idiom, ways of seeing and interpreting the world, which give

us a multifaceted view of the relationship between culture and society.

This involves stressing the various conditioning factors that have

inhered in the production of the Pacific. In Michel de Certeau’s words,

to interpret means to take into account that culture only exists “in the

plural.”23 Tensions between homogenization and differentiation are



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1. Introduction: Imag(in)ing the Southern Continent, 1567 - 1606



central to a study of maps and narratives that foregrounds their

production, usage and transformation. This discussion will bring to the

fore relations of production and consumption in order to show how the

world is not a sort of objective given but it is constantly being

(re)produced by historical relations of power.24

Like other spaces we inhabit, the Pacific, I submit, is not

something that is or has always been there, but a space that is

conceptualized, created, invented and produced by means of what

Certeau calls “the practice of everyday life.” Space, as Certeau puts it,

requires practices to be made into a living environment: “A space

exists when one takes into consideration vectors of direction,

velocities, and time variables. Thus space is composed of intersections

of mobile elements. It is in a sense actuated by the ensemble of

movements deployed within it. Space is a practiced place” (1988b:

117). The early modern practice of the Pacific I trace thus not only

illustrates Henri Lefebvre’s claim that “(Social) space is a (social)

product” but also demonstrates that space is as much a social product

as a social producer.



Notes

1



José de Acosta sums up the classical and biblical arguments related to the existence

and habitability of the Antipodes (1987: 74-93) as well as the location of Ophir and

Tarshis (1987: 93-104) in Historia natural y moral de las Indias.



2



This area, which included Australasia and the Moluccan archipelago, was

interestingly described by Lancelot du Voisin as the “third world” (le troisieme

monde). On du Voisin, see Tom Conley(1996: 8 and 278-85).



3



“In 1643 Tasman’s expedition from Batavia passed south of the known west coast of

Australia, discovering the southern coast of Tasmania and the western coast of New

Zealand […[ All the trans-Pacific voyages kept, or were driven by wind and current,

to tropical latitudes for the ocean crossing, and consequently all after Mendaña passed

through islands now identified as the Tuamotu Archipelago. None found the larger

islands of Tahiti, Fiji or Samoa, but all treated their western Pacific landfall […[ as

part of a mainland” (Cook 20). On Tasman’s voyages of 1642-43 and 1644, see

Günter Schilder 1976: 139-205.

4



“Whatever may have been the expressed motives of the next century and a half, or

more, of exploration of the Pacific—the Dutch in the Indies and on the coast of

Australia, the English and Dutch buccaneers on all the coasts, the French with their



1. Introduction: Imag(in)ing the Southern Continent, 1567 – 1606



25



____________________________________________________

great Compagnie des Indes Orientales—there seems never to have been far from the

minds of the leaders and projectors the discovery of the great continent of the south”

(Wroth 2001: 176).

5



Mercator wrote about this balance on his world chart of 1569: “under the Antarctic

Pole [by] a continent so great that, with the southern parts of Asia, and the new India

or America, it should be a weight equal to the other lands.” On this map, see Shirley

1983: 137-42.



6



According to Shirley, “Dubious ancient authorities were given implicit authenticity

and embodied in the map [Mercator’s] to be copied again by many lesser geographers

[...] For nearly a hundred years nearly all world maps copied Mercator’s vast but

imaginary southern continent. The large promontary [sic] jutting northwards towards

the East Indies and corresponding approximately to the position of Australia is

described under the names Beach, Regio Lucach and Maletur. These are all taken

from accounts of Marco Polo’s travels and misapplied geographically, but such was

Mercator’s own authority that these names were only slowly displaced and sometimes

not until long after the actual discoveries of the 1630s and 1640s in that area […] The

influence of Mercator’s world map was widespread. Shortly afterwards, in 1570, it

was redrawn on a much-reduced oval projection by Abraham Ortelius for his new

atlas the Theatrum Orbis Terrarum and in this form widely circulated for over forty

years. Virtually every world map for several decades was based on either Mercator’s

original or its reduction by Ortelius” (1983: 139). The name Beach appears

prominently in, among other maps, Ortelius Typus (1570), which is reproduced above

(Fig. 1).



7



Peter Whitfield rightly emphasises “the difficulty of reconstructing the Greek

sciences”: “Many important writers are known only through second- or even thirdhand reports, so that we do not have a coherent presentation of their ideas. We have

outlines, or suggestions, or guiding principles, and the precise meaning of crucial

words and phrases may be elusive. In the case of geography, the overwhelming fact is

that no world map in any form has survived from the entire classical period […] we

have only descriptive texts which must be used to reconstruct fundamental

geographical concepts” (4). Miriam Estensen sums up these concepts in the second

chapter of her book, which she entitles “A View of the World” (2000: 5-18).

8



The relevant passage reads as follows: “ad Tamum insula est chryse, ad gangem

argyre. Altera aurei soli: ita ueteres tradidere: altera argentei" (Book 3, i-iv). Chryse

and Argyre are both Greek names meaning respectively "Gold" and "Silver." The

translation of Mela's description is as follows: "Chryse is at the island of Tamu,

Argyre is by the Ganges, the one with golden earth, and the other (so the tradition

says) with silver." I am indebted to Paul McKechnie for help with this and other Latin

translations in this book.



9



Whitfield observes that “In the case of the world map, the authoritative text was

considered to be the description in Genesis chapters nine and ten of the division of the

world among the three sons of Noah. This was related to the three known continents,

and gave rise to the tripartite image of the world which became a cornerstone of



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1. Introduction: Imag(in)ing the Southern Continent, 1567 - 1606



____________________________________________________

medieval geography. Where the basis of the world map in the classical period had

been theoretical geometry, it was now the religious imagination” (1994: 12).

10



To quote Whitfield’s explanation: “These rectangular maps were done throughout

the Middle Ages and follow a tradition that is traced back to Beatus’s Commentary on

the Apocalypse of Saint John of 776-86.” On the fourth continent, beyond the Red

Sea, Whitfield comments that: “This conflicts strikingly with the orthodox religious

picture of a tripartite world, but speculation concerning a fourth continent beyond the

southern sea, beyond the torrid zone and perhaps inhabited by Antipodeans has a long

pedigree in classical literature, and is found explicitly in late Roman geographical

writers such as Pliny, Solinus and Mela. The idea was echoed by Isidore of Seville

(c.560-636) whose encyclopaedic works were of seminal influence throughout early

Christendom” (1994: 16). For a detailed commentary and description of this map, see

Harvey 1991: 23. David Faussett remarks that: “It is thought that Anaximander of

Miletus made a map and envisaged a spherical earth in the sixth century B.C., and in

the mid-fifth century Parmenides expressed similar ideas, incorporating an equatorial

axis and symmetrical climatic bands or ‘zones.’ […] [I]n general, the unknown world

was defined on the basis of symmetry with the known. The same logic implied that

the southern continent might be inhabited, but this idea was rejected-it was thought to

be peopled (if at all) by monsters. (1993: 10).

11

The fifth-century Church Father, Saint Jerome, placed Chryse and Argyre on the

Indian Ocean. This can be seen in, for example, a twelfth-century manuscript map of

Asia illustrating his writings held by the British Library (ADD ms 10049, f. 64).

According to Harvey, "This map of Asia may have accompanied works of Jerome as

early as the fourth or fifth century, but this twelfth-century copy is the only surviving

example. East is at the top; at the bottom of the map are the Black Sea (left), Greece

and the Aegean (centre) and the eastern Mediterranean (right)" (1991: 73).

12



This map is held by the Bayerische-Staatsbibliothek in Munich (Clm 10058, f.

154v). A reproduction can be seen in Harvey 1991: 22.

13

Gil mentions several occurrences of the mythical Tarshish, including a legend in

Abraham Cresques’ Catalan Atlas (1375), an inscription in Fra Mauro’s map and

references in Mandeville and Ptolemy (“A legend in the Catalan Atlas of 1375

referring to the region of Tarsia […] Likewise, Fra Mauro signals in the oriental

centre of Asia the “kingdom Tharse from which the Magi came [...] John Mandeville

speaks of Tarshish as a region subject to the Three Kings [...] The alphabetical index

to Ptolemy, s.u. Tharsos, indicates that from that direction came the star to guide the

Kings” “Una leyenda del mapa catalán de 1375 [que] se refiere a la región de Tarsia

[...] Asimismo fra Mauro señala en el centro oriental de Asia un "regno Tharse, del

qual vene hi magi". Juan de Mandevilla habla de Tarsis como de una región sometida

a los Reyes Magos. El índice alfabético a Ptolemeo, s.u. Tharsos, sala que de allí

había salido la estrella para guiar a los Reyes” [c1989: 53]).

14



See Chapter IX of the Third Book of Kingss (Vulgate Version) or Chapter X, verse

22, of the First Book of Kings (King James Version). See also Chapter VIII of the



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