Published: August 11, 1991
(Page 3 of 6)
Perhaps. But an effusive Irving got carried away. Columbus's "conduct was characterized by the grandeur of his views and the magnanimity of his spirit," he wrote. "Instead of ravaging the newly found countries . . . he sought to colonize and cultivate them, to civilize the natives." Columbus may have had some faults, Irving acknowledged, such as his part in enslaving and killing people, but these were "errors of the times."
The historian Daniel J. Boorstin observes that people "once felt themselves made by their heroes" and cites James Russell Lowell: "The idol is the measure of the worshiper." Accordingly, writers and orators of the 19th century ascribed to Columbus all the human virtues that were most prized in that time of geographic and industrial expansion, heady optimism and an unquestioning belief in progress as the dynamic of history.
This image of Columbus accorded with the popular rags-to-riches, log-cabin-to-the-White-House scenario of human advancement. This was the ideal Columbus that schoolchildren learned about in their McGuffey readers. The orator Edward Everett reminded his audience in 1853 that Columbus had once been forced to beg for bread at the convent doors of Spain. "We find encouragement in every page of our country's history," Everett declared. "Nowhere do we meet with examples more numerous and more brilliant of men who have risen above poverty and obscurity. . . . One whole vast continent was added to the geography of the world by the persevering efforts of a humble Genoese mariner, the great Columbus; who, by the steady pursuit of the enlightened conception he had formed of the figure of the earth, before any navigator had acted upon the belief that it was round, discovered the American continent."
With the influx of millions of immigrants after the American Civil War, Columbus assumed a new role, that of ethnic hero. Irish Catholic immigrants organized the Knights of Columbus in New Haven in 1882. The fraternity's literature described Columbus as "a prophet and a seer, an instrument of Divine Providence" and an inspiration to each knight to become "a better Catholic and a better citizen." The knights grew in number and influence, promoting academic studies in American history, lobbying for the Columbus memorial erected in front of Union Station in Washington and seeking the canonization of their hero.
At the same time, French Catholics were mounting a campaign to elevate Columbus to sainthood, on the grounds that he had "brought the Christian faith to half the world." But, despite encouragement from Pope Pius IX, the proponents got nowhere with the Vatican. Columbus's rejection was based largely on his relationship with Beatriz Enriquez de Arana, his mistress and the mother of his son Ferdinand, and the lack of proof that he had performed a miracle, as defined by the church.
The 400th anniversary of Columbus's voyage was marked by a yearlong commemoration throughout the United States. To the beat of brass bands and a chorus of self-congratulation, Americans hailed the man who had crossed uncharted seas as they had now leaped a wide and wild continent. As part of the celebration, Antonin Dvorak composed "From the New World," a symphony evoking the sweep and promise of the beckoning American landscape. President Benjamin Harrison proclaimed, "Columbus stood in his age as the pioneer of progress and enlightenment." In New York, Italian immigrants, who had joined the Irish in search of an identity with the larger American community, raised money for a statue atop a column of Italian marble, placed at the southwest corner of Central Park, which was renamed Columbus Circle.
The grandest of all the celebrations, the World's Columbian Exposition, in Chicago, was billed as "the jubilee of mankind." President Grover Cleveland threw the switch on that new invention, electricity, to set in motion the many machines and architectural marvels by which the United States advertised itself as an emerging giant among the nations. Columbus was now the symbol of American success. The invocation was a prayer of thanksgiving for "that most momentous of all voyages by which Columbus lifted the veil that hid the New World from the Old and opened the gateway of the future of mankind." Clearly, the exposition was more than a commemoration of the past; it was also the exclamation of a future that self-confident Americans were eager to shape and enjoy.
A few historians, seeking the man behind the myth, struck chords of a refreshing counterpoint to the adulatory hymns. Henry Harrisse's diligent examination of all known Columbus materials left scholars no excuse for continuing to treat the man as a demigod, though he, too, rendered a largely favorable judgment. "Columbus removed out of the range of mere speculation the idea that beyond the Atlantic Ocean lands existed and could be reached by sea," he wrote in "Christopher Columbus and the Bank of Saint George." He "made of the notion a fixed fact, and linked forever the two worlds. That event, which is unquestionably the greatest of modern time, secures to Columbus a place in the pantheon dedicated to the worthies whose courageous deeds mankind will always admire."