On the morning of January 25th, 1516, a ship slipped out of Lisbon harbor bound for the Italian port of Civitavecchia, carrying what the crew understood to be the strangest cargo any of them had ever hauled: a living rhinoceros, chained to the deck, on its way to become a gift for the Pope. Sailors, always superstitious, distrusted bananas and flowers as bad luck. What did they make of a creature some half-believed might be a unicorn? When a storm hit, the ship went down with all hands, and the rhinoceros, unable to break free of her iron chains, drowned along with them.
That should have been the end of the story. It wasn't.
The first rhinoceros in a thousand years
The rhinoceros, named Ganda, had arrived in Lisbon as a diplomatic gift to King Manuel I of Portugal from Sultan Muzaffar Shah II of Cambay, on India's western coast. She was the first rhinoceros to set foot on European soil since the fall of the Roman Empire, and Lisbon turned out in droves to gawk at her. King Manuel, curious about old Roman claims that elephants and rhinos were mortal enemies, staged an impromptu test: he set a young elephant loose in front of her. The elephant took one look and bolted, settling nothing about rhinos versus elephants but confirming which animal in the room had better sense.
Manuel had reason to want a spectacular gift for Rome. Two years earlier he'd sent Pope Leo X an elephant named Hanno, hauled from India on a six-month sea voyage, then marched through the streets of Rome to adoring crowds who'd never seen a living elephant before. Hanno reportedly knelt before the Pope, trumpeted three times, and sprayed the crowd with water from a trough, and the pontiff fell hopelessly in love with him. That love didn't save Hanno. When he developed a respiratory illness two years later, papal physicians treated him the way they treated ailing humans: bloodletting, followed by a laxative — this one infused with gold, because nothing but the best for the Pope's pet. Hanno died at six, decades short of a natural elephant lifespan, and was buried in a Vatican courtyard, where he remains.
A replacement for a beloved pet
Grieving, and eager to stay in the good graces of the powerful Medici family that had put Leo on the papal throne, King Manuel decided a rhinoceros would make a fitting replacement gift. Ganda was dressed for her voyage in a green velvet collar, a gilded chain, and garlands of roses and carnations. She never made it. The ship wrecked off the coast of Liguria, and she drowned still shackled to the deck.
The most famous rhinoceros in the history of art is one the artist never saw: Albrecht Dürer drew it from a secondhand description, and his armor-plated invention was reprinted as zoological fact for centuries.
Raised from the wreck
Here is where the story turns genuinely strange. When Manuel's message reached Rome explaining that the rhinoceros had been lost at sea, the Pope's response was, in essence, disappointment bordering on irritation — he had been looking forward to meeting her. So the king ordered his men back out to the wreck site with instructions not to return without Ganda's body. Astonishingly, they found her. Then came the real problem: what do you do with a massive, waterlogged, decomposing rhinoceros carcass when the king has ordered you to deliver it to the Vatican?
The answer, apparently, was to skin her, cure the hide, stitch it back together stuffed with hay, and — when that still didn't look convincing enough — cram in pieces of her actual skeleton in an attempt to restore some semblance of shape. Nobody involved had books, photographs, or more than a glancing memory of what a living rhinoceros looked like to work from. The finished object was shipped to Rome anyway. Pope Leo X, unsurprisingly, was furious and sent it straight back to Portugal.
More famous in death
Ganda's strange legacy survived that indignity. The German artist Albrecht Dürer never traveled to Lisbon and never saw a rhinoceros with his own eyes, but working from secondhand descriptions, he set about making a pen-and-ink drawing, later printed as a woodcut. His rhinoceros is armored in overlapping plates like a knight, with a small second horn sprouting from its back and skin rendered as hard scale rather than tough hide. It's inaccurate in nearly every particular and is still considered one of the most influential animal images in the history of European art — reproduced and believed as gospel truth for centuries by people who had even less chance than Dürer of ever seeing the real thing. Stonecarvers in Lisbon also worked her likeness into the base of a turret on the Belém Tower, where a weathered version of Ganda can still be seen today.
Pope Leo X died of pneumonia in December 1521, remembered mostly for failing to stop the Protestant Reformation. King Manuel I had died a few weeks earlier, remembered for opening the trade route to India and expanding Portugal into a global empire. Both men are gone. Hanno's bones are still somewhere under a Vatican courtyard. And Ganda, who never even made it to Rome the first time, ended up more famous in death than most rhinos have ever managed in life — immortalized in a woodcut made by a man who'd never laid eyes on her, and carved in stone on a tower that's now a UNESCO World Heritage Site.
