Mapmaker: The life and times of Abraham Ortelius

By Margaret Bolton

Abraham Ortelius was a map maker in the 1500s in Antwerp. His chief claim to fame was that he made the first map book, now called an atlas. Abraham had a huge circle of family, colleagues, friends and acquaintances. He was an avid humanist who met regularly to discuss humanist issues. His friends included geographers and map makers, printers, pa

• Language: English
• Publisher: Debbie Lee
• Release date: Jun 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9781761091193

Book preview

Prologue

He’s getting very old now, stooped and balding, and fading fast. Racked with pain and confined to his chair. He’s even finding it difficult to read any more. It’s not that he can’t see; it’s more that he can’t concentrate as waves of gripping pain roll over him.

All he can do is sit in front of the open fire and reflect. At least it’s warm inside, although it’s snowing outside. The flames warm his hands and feet. But his mind is as alert as ever.

He still finds some small pleasure in remembering…remembering the journey, the good times and the bad times, for there were plenty of both. He has surely been blessed throughout his life, despite all the horror that recent history has thrown our way.

And while I sit with him, he likes to remember dear family, friends and associates, many of whom have already died. To dwell again on the whispered endearments of his little ones, the heady conversations with friends and foe, the haggling for a better price in business dealings and the discussions over a frothy beer about humanist ideas. He’s had a full and productive life.

Then he turns to recall all the colouring and producing of maps, both old and new, and the collecting of beautiful things. He was so proud of all the accolades that came his way when he produced the very first atlas, or mapbook as he called it, twenty years before Mercator produced his.

But above all, he remembers the books and the wealth of knowledge contained in them. He has spent his whole life learning.

This is his story, the story of my brother Abraham Ortels. I agree with Socrates, who said that the unexamined life is not worth living. I want to get it all down.

Chapter One

We lived in exciting times. Not too long before Abraham’s story began, about thirty-five years beforehand, explorers set forth across the immense Atlantic Ocean in their little ships and discovered a whole new world, which is exactly what they called the new lands: the New World. At least at first; later, the new continent came to be known as the Americas. From 1492 to 1503, Christopher Columbus made four voyages westwards into the unknown to reach the Spice Islands of the Far East, but discovered much of Central America and its islands. In 1519, Ferdinand Magellan set out on an expedition to the west. He sailed across the Atlantic and into the Pacific. He didn’t fall off the edge of the world but rather was the first to sail all the way around it.

Later explorers discovered fabulous riches in the Americas. Gold, silver and gems found their way to Lisbon and then on to the Exchange in Antwerp. And exotic spices from the east were traded in the city of Antwerp too.

At the time when Abraham was born, the Seventeen Provinces of the Netherlands were under the control of the Holy Roman Emperor, Charles V, the King of Spain. Antwerp on the River Scheldt had become the great trading centre of the Netherlands, and one of the greatest in the whole world.

Each province of the country was like a separate state, having its own state council and constitution. Each organised its own affairs. We lived in a freedom that was greater than commonly enjoyed in most other parts of Europe.

Before this time, the Catholic Church had been dominant throughout western Europe. Both Charles V and later on his son, Philip II, were rabid protectors of Catholicism in their kingdom, largely through the workings of the Inquisition. In the Netherlands, more than thirteen hundred people were executed as heretics in Charles V’s reign.

So not only was our world an exciting place to live in but it was also very dangerous. We had to be on our guard all the time, being careful what we said in public and who we said it to.

Martin Luther first posted his theses of belief on the church door at Wittenberg in 1517. It only took a few years before his ideas filtered into the Netherlands. Charles V acted with great hard-heartedness against those who were Lutheran. Philip II was even more rigorous.

But onto Abraham’s story…

Mother always said that of signs or wonders at his birth on the fourth day of April in 1527 there were none. Well, what did she expect?

He was the firstborn child and only son of Leonard and Hannah Ortels. Mother adored her son from first sight. She said his birth was easy. After just five hours, it took one almighty push and he slid out like a slug.

Father wanted to name him Wilhelm after his grandfather but Mother thought he was more special than that. So Mother chose something grand from the Bible that would befit such a perfect little fellow: Abraham, the father of the chosen people, the wanderer through the desert, the one blessed with sons in his old age. Not that our Abe was blessed with these attributes.

Mother wondered who he would turn out like. Would he have the hard-nosed business head of his father, the successful merchant, or would he be of a gentler nature like his mother, the want-to-be painter.

Whichever, she was convinced that Antwerp was the best place to grow up in. It was the commercial centre of the whole world. Ships came and went from the bustling port bringing all sorts of goods to city shores. Foreigners from all lands and religions settled here. Fabulous riches came with being the business heart of Europe. Added to that, lots of painters, engravers and tapestry weavers produced their wares in the city.

‘What more could you want?’ Mother asked her little babe. ‘You’ve got it all, my son. You’ll go a long way, I’m sure of that.’ She was always telling him to dream big dreams.

When we were still young children, there was a time that really terrified us. The fright of it imprinted itself indelibly on our minds for the rest of our lives.

Father and his brother-in-law, Jacob van Meteren, were intrigued by Protestant ideals and the faith of Martin Luther. Dare I say it, but many of Luther’s ideals seemed to make much more sense than those of Catholics. Countless Catholic clerics lived such wanton lives and then believed that they could buy their way into heaven through indulgences. What a lot of rot! Luther preached that faith is the only necessity for salvation. Many in Antwerp were fully committed to the Lutheran way of thinking, despite the danger of the Catholic Inquisition that was imposed upon us by Spanish rulers in their efforts to get rid of every last Protestant, every last heretic.

Uncle Jacob worked as a publisher, printer and linguist at the time. Father had helped him secretly publish a Bible translated into the English language. Despite the danger, it was much safer to do this in Antwerp than in volatile London, where King Henry VIII was actively persecuting Catholics. Other Protestant books and works of Luther had been published in Antwerp for some time before this. But it had also been here in Antwerp that the first Protestant was burnt at the stake, becoming our first martyr. Then it all erupted: books and martyrs all consigned to the flames.

At the time, Father and Uncle Jacob were away in London trying to find suitable outlets for sales of their Bible.

A very loud banging on the front door put Mother on high alert.

‘Go outside and play,’ she whispered to us children, ‘and keep your mouths tightly shut.’

While Elisabeth and I hid behind the cypress tree in the backyard, Abraham stayed near the back door, shaking with fear and hoping to overhear what was going on.

Three large black-robed priests, like big black bears, were menacing Mother. ‘We suspect that Protestants live in this place, and you know what that means.’

‘No, no, you’ve got it entirely wrong.’ Mother hoped that they would notice the large and gory crucifix and statue of the Virgin Mary on the mantelpiece. ‘We are Catholics here, through and through.’

‘Where is Leonard Ortels?’ they demanded. ‘We’ve come to arrest him on suspicion of heresy. And others of us have gone to arrest your kinsman, van Meteren.’

Mother was greatly alarmed, as she knew these people of the Inquisition were harsh and cruel.

They pushed roughly past her and started to empty shelves and trunks and scatter books and papers all over the floor. ‘Looks like you’re in the clear, this time,’ they barked. ‘Can’t find anything suspicious-looking here,’ and they stamped out of the room. ‘We will be back sometime,’ they said.

‘What a relief.’ said Mother. ‘That was indeed a narrow escape.’

Abraham rushed into Mother’s arms. Everyone began to breathe easily again.

But within the hour, there was another more timid knock at the door. It was a very pregnant Aunt Orillia van Meteren sobbing and trembling. She told a similar story of priests of the Inquisition at her house. ‘I prayed to Almighty God,’ she said, ‘that they wouldn’t find what they were searching for. And I promised God that if he protected me, I would mark his kindness by naming the child in my womb in honour of his deliverance.’

Although the searchers frequently laid their hands on the very chest that contained the hidden books, they didn’t find them. So when Aunt Orillia’s son was born, she named him Emanuel, a name that means God with us.

Abraham was only twelve when Father died, almost on the brink of manhood but still with much to learn.

Father had been feeling ill for weeks. He looked grey and wan. Such a terrible pain in his head and his gut. He hadn’t been able to eat anything for two weeks.

We heard him talking to Mother. ‘What will become of the children after I pass away? Ann and Elisabeth will be all right, they will find suitable husbands, but what of Abraham? At twelve, he’s so earnest, yet at the same time he’s a dreamer. He collects old coins and fragments of maps and frequents the docks talking to sailors who have come from journeys of exploration.’ A rasping cough caused him to stop and catch his breath. ‘And reading. He’s always got his nose in a book. He likes to draw, not only pictures but maps too. He’s got a real inclination for maps, has our Abe.’

‘Yes, yes, I know all that,’ said Mother, caressing what was left of his hair.

‘Abraham needs to continue his education. The Classics, Latin and Greek, and mathematics: the foundations of humanism. He needs to be introduced to the whole gamut of humanism.’ Another deep sigh followed by a great indrawing of breath. ‘I’ll see to it that Jacob becomes the children’s guardian and supervises Abraham’s learning.’

Mother nodded for these were her wishes for Abraham too.

‘Then,’ Father continued, ‘after that, he should be old enough to take over my business that I hope you, my dearest Hannah, will look after while he’s growing up.’

‘I hope you’ve put all that in your will,’ replied Mother.

As tears of grief spilled down our faces, Abraham could hardly see the spade when it was his turn to shovel the earth back into Father’s grave. Father had been a good man and a loving father to all of us.

‘Make sure Abraham continues with his education’ were Father’s parting words to Uncle Jacob van Meteren. And so it was.

Before he died, Father made sure that the three of us were well on our way to gaining an elementary education. We could all read and write fluently and calculate where calculations were needed. We were expected to read the recently printed Dutch Bible that was based on Luther’s translations. Later, Abraham read the Latin Vulgate version, the only version authorised by the Catholic Church. We were encouraged to find out as much as we could about European countries and their history. This gave Abraham a great desire to go and see them all.

We learnt to play recorders and the lute, and to sing madrigals: a trio who were happy to entertain when called on. Mother introduced us to the world of art and took us to see works produced in Antwerp. The Lady Cathedral was an education in itself, especially the Last Supper portrayed in a stained-glass window. She encouraged us to draw and sketch all the time. Abraham could often be found down at the docks drawing ships and charts and the wide murky river itself.

Elisabeth and I were considered to have received enough learning by the age of twelve to last a lifetime but, being a boy, more was expected of Abraham.

‘Lucky you!’ We were envious.

‘There’s nothing to stop you from keeping on reading,’ was his rejoinder.

It wasn’t as if us girls didn’t have a brain. It wasn’t as if we couldn’t go on to higher learning. It was just the custom that further education was only for boys. I decided then and there, by hook or by crook, to keep up with Abraham. However, I didn’t care for mathematics.

Our younger van Meteren cousins joined our classes as they got old enough.

Sometimes Uncle Jacob, sometimes a tutor came to the house and directed the learning. The plan for Abe was a simple one. ‘You must grasp the principles set out in Euclid’s mathematical Elements and Ptolemy’s Geographica, and you must be well-versed in basic Latin and Greek. Read all the classical authors from ancient Rome and Greece, and modern authors too, like Erasmus,’ Uncle insisted.

Sometimes, it wasn’t what Abraham actually learnt from these subjects that left a lasting impression. It was the underlying principles that became part of Abraham’s being. Euclid stressed the importance of logical reasoning behind the proofs of his geometry. Thales proposed that all things could be explained in natural terms rather than as a result of supernatural or mythical happenings. Seneca advised that contentment is achieved through a simple, unruffled life that reflects nature and civic duty.

But it was most important to acquire the skills of speaking and writing persuasively. Verbal sparring at the dinner table gave us all lots of practice which stood us in good stead for adulthood. Cicero would have been proud of us.

Perhaps the most fundamental thing we all learnt was that learning didn’t finish at the end of formal education. It is a lifelong pursuit, and that’s what we did, especially Abraham. He spent the rest of his life learning; discovering the ins and outs of all sorts of things that he encountered in life. And I tried hard to keep up with him.

For Abe, the most exciting thing he learnt was that there were groups of people called humanists who studied the Classics for their relevance today. He wanted to join their conversations.

‘You need to walk before you can run,’ said Mother. ‘Just wait until you’re a little older to meet your humanists. It will happen soon enough.’

Before Father died, he had traded quite successfully in the antiquities business. After he died, Mother, who had always helped Father especially by keeping track of costs and payments, took over the running of the business. We children helped where we were able, at first running errands, delivering and fetching parcels large and small from people who did business with us.

As we grew