 | CHAPTER VIII. Mercedes of Castile, or, The voyage to Cathay |  |
8. CHAPTER VIII.
I've seen my fondest hopes decay;
I never loved a tree or flower,
But 't was the first to fade away.”
Lalla Rookh.
The season had now advanced to the first days of February,
and, in that low latitude, the weather was becoming
genial and spring-like. On the morning succeeding that
of the interview just related, some six or eight individuals,
attracted by the loveliness of the day, and induced morally
by a higher motive, were assembled before the door of one
of those low dwellings of Santa Fé that had been erected
for the accommodation of the conquering army. Most of
these persons were grave Spaniards of a certain age, though
young Luis de Bobadilla was also there, and the tall, dignified
form of Columbus was conspicuous in the group.
The latter was equipped for the road, and a stout, serviceable
Andalusian mule stood ready to receive its burthen,
near at hand. A charger was by the side of the mule,
showing that the rider of the last was about to have company.
Among the Spaniards were Alonzo de Quintanilla,
the accountant-general of Castile, a firm friend of the navigator,
and Luis de St. Angel, the receiver of the ecclesiastical
revenues of Aragon, who was one of the firmest
converts that Columbus had made to the philosophical accuracy
The two last had been in earnest discourse with the navigator,
but the discussion had closed, and Señor de St.
Angel, a man of generous feelings and ardent imagination,
was just expressing himself warmly, in the following
words—
“By the lustre of the two crowns!” he cried, “this ought
not to come to pass. But, adieu, Señor Colon — God have
you in his holy keeping, and send you wiser and less prejudiced
judges, hereafter. The past can only cause us shame
and grief, while the future is in the womb of time.”
The whole party, with the exception of Luis de Bobadilla,
then took their leave. As soon as the place was clear,
Columbus mounted, and passed through the thronged
streets, attended by the young noble on his charger. Not
a syllable was uttered by either, until they were fairly on
the plain, though Columbus often sighed, like a man oppressed
with grief. Still his mien was calm, his bearing
dignified, and his eye lighted with that unquenchable fire
which finds its fuel in the soul within.
When fairly without the gates, Columbus turned courteously
to his young companion and thanked him for his
escort; but, with a consideration for the other, that was
creditable to his heart, he added —
“While I am so grateful for this honour, coming from
one so noble and full of hopes, I must not forget your own
character. Didst thou not remark, friend Luis, as we passed
through the streets, that divers Spaniards pointed at me,
as the object of scorn?”
“I did, Señor,” answered Luis, his cheek glowing with
indignation, “and had it not been that I dreaded your displeasure,
I would have trodden the vagabonds beneath my
horse's feet, failing of a lance to spit them on!”
“Thou hast acted most wisely in showing forbearance.
But these are men, and their common judgment maketh
public opinion; nor do I perceive that the birth, or the opportunities,
causeth material distinctions between them,
though the manner of expression vary. There are vulgar
among the noble, and noble among the lowly. This very
in the court of the two sovereigns.”
“Let him look to it, who presumeth to speak lightly of
you, Señor, to Luis de Bobadilla! We are not a patient
race, and Castilian blood is apt to be hot blood.”
“I should be sorry that any man but myself should draw
in my quarrel. But, if we take offence at all who think
and speak folly, we may pass our days in harness. Let
the young nobles have their jest, if it give them pleasure—
but do not let me regret my friendship for thee.”
Luis promised fairly, and then, as if his truant thoughts
would revert to the subject unbidden, he hastily resumed —
“You speak of the noble as of a class different from
your own — surely, Señor Colon, thou art noble?”
“Would it make aught different in thy opinions and
feelings, young man, were I to answer no?”
The cheek of Don Luis flushed, and, for an instant, he
repented of his remark; but falling back on his own frank
and generous nature, he answered immediately, without
reservation or duplicity—
“By San Pedro, my new patron! I could wish you were
noble, Señor, if it were merely for the honour of the class.
There are so many among us who do no credit to their
spurs, that we might gladly receive such an acquisition.”
“This world is made up of changes, young Señor,” returned
Columbus, smiling. “The seasons undergo their
changes; night follows day; comets come and go; monarchs
become subjects, and subjects monarchs; nobles lose
the knowledge of their descent, and plebeians rise to the
rank of nobles. There is a tradition among us, that we
were formerly of the privileged class; but time and our
unlucky fortune have brought us down to humble employments.
Am I to lose the honour of Don Luis de Bobadilla's
company in the great voyage, should I be more fortunate
in France than I have been in Castile, because his
commander happeneth to have lost the evidences of his
nobility?”
“That would be a most unworthy motive, Señor, and I
hasten to correct your mistake. As we are now about to
part for some time, I ask permission to lay bare my whole
it struck me as a madman's scheme”—
“Ah! friend Luis,” interrupted Columbus, with a melancholy
shake of the head, “this is the opinion of but too
many! I fear Don Ferdinand of Aragon, as well as that
stern prelate, his namesake, who hath lately disposed of
the question, thinketh in the same manner.”
“I crave your pardon, Señor Colon, if I have uttered
aught to give you pain; but if I have once done you injustice,
I am ready enough to expiate the wrong, as you will
quickly see. Thinking thus, I entered into discourse with
you, with a view to amuse myself with fancied ravings;
but, though no immediate change of opinion followed as to
the truth of the theory, I soon perceived that a great philosopher
and profound reasoner had the matter in hand.
Here my judgment might have rested, and my opinion been
satisfied, but for a circumstance of deep moment to myself.
You must know, Señor, though come of the oldest
blood of Spain, and not without fair possessions, that I may
not always have answered the hopes of those who have
been charged with the care of my youth”—
“This is unnecessary, noble sir”—
“Nay, by St. Luke! it shall be said. Now, I have two
great and engrossing passions, that sometimes interfere
with each other. The one is a love for rambling—a burning
desire to see foreign lands, and this, too, in a free and
roving fashion — with a disposition for the sea and the
doings of havens; and the other is a love for Mercedes de
Valverde, the fairest, gentlest, most affectionate, warmest-hearted,
and truest maiden of Castile!”
“Noble, withal,” put in Columbus, smiling.
“Señor,” answered Luis, gravely, “I jest not concerning
my guardian angel. She is not only noble, and every
way fitted to honour my name, but she hath the blood of
the Guzmans, themselves, in her veins. But I have lost
favour with others, if not with my lovely mistress, in yielding
to this rambling inclination; and even my own aunt,
who is her guardian, hath not looked smilingly on my suit.
Doña Isabella, whose word is law among all the noble virgins
of the court, hath also her prejudices, and it hath become
necessary to regain her good opinion, to win the Doña
his mistress by confessing that the thought was hers — “it
struck me, that if my rambling tastes took the direction of
some noble enterprise, like this you urge, that what hath
been a demerit might be deemed a merit in the royal eyes,
which would be certain soon to draw all other eyes after
them. With this hope, then, I first entered into the present
intercourse, until the force of your arguments hath completed
my conversion, and now no churchman hath more
faith in the head of his religion, than I have that the shortest
road to Cathay is athwart the broad Atlantic; or no Lombard
is more persuaded that his Lombardy is flat, than I
feel convinced that this good earth of ours is a sphere.”
“Speak reverently of the ministers of the altar, young
Señor,” said Columbus, crossing himself, “for no levity
should be used in connection with their holy office. It
seemeth, then,” he added, smiling, “I owe my disciple to
the two potent agents of love and reason; the former, as
most potent, overcoming the first obstacles, and the latter
getting uppermost at the close of the affair, as is wont to
happen — love, generally, triumphing in the onset, and reason,
last.”
“I 'll not deny the potency of the power, Señor, for I feel
it too deeply to rebel against it. You now know my secret,
and when I have made you acquainted with my intentions,
all will be laid bare. I here solemnly vow”—Don Luis
lifted his cap and looked to heaven, as he spoke—“to join
you in this voyage, on due notice, sail from whence you
may, in whatever bark you shall choose, and whenever you
please. In doing this, I trust, first to serve God and his
church; secondly, to visit Cathay and those distant and
wonderful lands; and lastly, to win Doña Mercedes de Valverde.”
“I accept the pledge, young sir,” rejoined Columbus,
struck by his earnestness, and pleased with his sincerity—
“though it might have been a more faithful representation
of your thoughts, had the order of the motives been reversed.”
“In a few months I shall be master of my own means,”
continued the youth, too intent on his own purposes to heed
what the navigator had said—“and then, nothing but the
our having one caravel, at least; and the coffers of Bobadilla
must have been foully dealt by, during their master's
childhood, if they do not afford two. I am no subject of
Don Fernando's, but a servant of the elder branch of the
House of Trastamara; and the cold judgment of the king,
even, shall not prevent it.”
“This soundeth generously, and thy sentiments are such
as become a youthful and enterprising noble; but the offer
cannot be accepted. It would not become Columbus to use
gold that came from so confiding a spirit and so inexperienced
a head; and there are still greater obstacles than
this. My enterprise must rest on the support of some powerful
prince. Even the Guzman hath not deemed himself
of sufficient authority to uphold a scheme so large. Did
we make the discoveries without that sanction, we should
be toiling for others, without security for ourselves, since the
Portuguese or some other monarch would wrong us of our
reward. That I am destined to effect this great work, I
feel, and it must be done in a manner suited to the majesty
of the thought and to the magnitude of the subject. And,
here, Don Luis, we must part. Should my suit be successful
at the court of France, thou shalt hear from me, for I
ask no better than to be sustained by hearts and hands like
thine. Still, thou must not mar thy fortunes unheedingly,
and I am now a fallen man in Castile. It may not serve
thee a good turn, to be known to frequent my company any
longer—and I again say, here we must part.”
Luis de Bobadilla protested his indifference to what
others might think; but the more experienced Columbus,
who rose so high above popular clamour in matters that
affected himself, felt a generous reluctance to permit this
confiding youth to sacrifice his hopes, to any friendly impressions
in his own favour. The leave-taking was warm,
and the navigator felt a glow at his heart, as he witnessed
the sincere and honest emotions that the young man could
not repress at parting. They separated, however, about
half a league from the town, and each bent his way in his
own direction; Don Luis de Bobadilla's heart swelling with
indignation at the unworthy treatment that there was, in
received.
Columbus journeyed on, with very different emotions.
Seven weary years had he been soliciting the monarchs
and nobles of Spain to aid him in his enterprise. In that
long period, how much of poverty, contempt, ridicule, and
even odium, had he not patiently encountered, rather than
abandon the slight hold that he had obtained on a few of
the more liberal and enlightened minds of the nation! He
had toiled for bread while soliciting the great to aid themselves
in becoming still more powerful; and each ray of
hope, however feeble, had been eagerly caught at with joy,
each disappointment borne with a constancy that none but
the most exalted spirit could sustain. But he was now required
to endure the most grievous of all his pains. The
recal of Isabella had awakened within him a confidence to
which he had long been a stranger; and he awaited the
termination of the siege, with the calm dignity that became
his purpose, no less than his lofty philosophy. The
hour of leisure had come, and it produced a fatal destruction
to all his buoyant hopes. He had thought his motives
understood, his character appreciated, and his high objects
felt; but he now found himself still regarded as a visionary
projector, his intentions distrusted, and his promised services
despised. In a word, the bright expectations that had
cheered his toil for years, had vanished in a day, and
the disappointment was all the greater for the brief but delusive
hopes produced by his recent favour.
It is not surprising, therefore, that, when left alone on
the highway, even the spirit of this extraordinary man
grew faint within him, and he had to look to the highest
power for succour. His head dropped upon his breast, and
one of those bitter moments occurred, in which the past and
the future crowd the mind, painfully as to sufferings endured,
cheerlessly as to hope. The time wasted in Spain
seemed a blot in his existence, and then came the probability
of another long and exhausting probation, that, like
this, might lead to nothing. He had already reached the
lustrum that would fill his threescore years, and life seemed
slipping from beneath him, while its great object remained
unachieved. Still the high resolution of the man sustained
felt to be his rights — not once did he doubt of the practicability
of accomplishing the great enterprise that others
derided. His heart was full of courage even while his bosom
was full of grief. “There is a wise, a merciful, and
omnipotent God!” he exclaimed, raising his eyes to heaven.
“He knoweth what is meet for his own glory, and in him
do I put my trust.” There was a pause, and the eyes kindled
while a scarcely perceptible smile lighted the grave
face, and then were murmured the words—“Yea, he taketh
his time, but the infidel shall be enlightened, and the blessed
sepulchre redeemed!”
After this burst of feeling, that grave-looking man, whose
hairs had already become whitened to the colour of snow,
by cares, and toils, and exposures, pursued his way, with
the quiet dignity of one who believed that he was not created
for nought, and who trusted in God for the fulfilment
of his destiny. If quivering sighs occasionally broke out
of his breast, they did not disturb the placidity of his venerable
countenance; if grief and disappointment still lay
heavy on his heart, they rested on a base that was able to
support them. Leaving Columbus to follow the common
mule-track across the Vega, we will now return to Santa
Fé, where Ferdinand and Isabella had re-established their
court, after the few first days that succeeded the taking
possession of their new conquest.
Luis de St. Angel was a man of ardent feelings and generous
impulses. He was one of those few spirits who live
in advance of their age, and who permitted his reason to
be enlightened and cheered by his imagination, though it
was never dazzled by it. As he and his friend Alonzo de
Quintanilla, after quitting Columbus, as already related,
walked towards the royal pavilion, they conversed freely
together concerning the man, his vast conceptions, the
treatment he had received, and the shame that would alight
on Spain in consequence, were he suffered thus to depart,
for ever. Blunt of speech, the receiver of the ecclesiastical
revenues did not measure his terms, every syllable of which
found an echo in the heart of the accountant-general, who
was an old and fast friend of the navigator. In short, by
the time they reached the pavillion, they had come to the
yield to Columbus's terms and to recal him to her presence.
Isabella was always easy of access to such of her servants
as she knew to be honest and zealous. The age was
one of formality, and, in many respects, of exaggeration,
while the court was renowned for ceremony; but the pure
spirit of the queen threw a truth and a natural grace around
all that depended on her, which rendered mere forms, except
as they were connected with delicacy and propriety, useless,
and indeed impracticable. Both the applicants for the
interview, enjoyed her favour, and the request was granted
with that simple directness that this estimable woman loved
to manifest, whenever she thought she was about to oblige
any whom she esteemed.
The queen was surrounded by the few ladies among
whom she lived in private, as Luis de St. Angel and Alonzo
de Quintanilla entered. Among them, of course, were the
Marchioness of Moya and Doña Mercedes de Valverde.
The king, on this occasion, was in an adjoining closet, at
work, as usual, with his calculations and orders. Official
labour was Ferdinand's relaxation, and he seldom manifested
more happiness than when clearing off a press of
affairs that most men would have found to the last degree
burthensome. He was a hero in the saddle, a warrior at
the head of armies, a sage in council, and respectable, if
not great, in all things, but motives.
“What has brought the Señor St. Angel and the Señor
Quintanilla, as suitors, so early to my presence?” asked
Isabella, smiling in a way to assure both that the boon
would be asked of a partial mistress. “Ye are not wont
to be beggars, and the hour is somewhat unusual.”
“All hours are suitable, gracious lady, when one cometh
to confer and not to seek favour,” returned Luis de St.
Angel, bluntly. “We are not here to solicit for ourselves,
but to show Your Highness the manner in which the crown
of Castile may be garnished with brighter jewels than any
it now possesseth.”
Isabella looked surprised, both at the words of the
speaker, and at his hurried earnestness as well as his freedom
of speech. Accustomed, however, to something of
she even seem displeased.
“Hath the Moor another kingdom of which to be despoiled,”
she asked, “or would the receiver of the church's
revenues have us war upon the Holy See?”
“I would have Your Highness accept the boons that
come from God, with alacrity and gratitude, and not reject
them unthankfully,” returned de St. Angel, kissing the
queen's offered hand with a respect and affection that neutralized
the freedom of his words. “Do you know, my
gracious mistress, that the Señor Christoval Colon, he, from
whose high projects we Spaniards have hoped so much,
hath actually taken mule and quitted Santa Fé?”
“I expected as much, Señor, though I was not apprized
that it had actually come to pass. The king and I put the
matter into the hands of the Archbishop of Granada, with
other trusty counsellors, and they have found the terms of
the Genoese arrogant; so full of exceeding and unreasonable
extravagance, that it ill befitted our dignity, and our
duty to ourselves to grant them. One who hath a scheme
of such doubtful results, ought to manifest moderation in
his preliminaries. Many even believe the man a visionary.”
“It is unlike an unworthy pretender, Señora, to abandon
his hopes before he will yield his dignity. This Colon
feeleth that he is treating for empires, and he negotiates like
one full of the importance of his subject.”
“He that lightly valueth himself, in matters of gravity,
hath need to expect that he will not stand high in the estimation
of others,” put in Alonzo de Quintanilla.
“And, moreover, my gracious and beloved mistress,”
added de St. Angel, without permitting Isabella even to answer,
“the character of the man, and the value of his
intentions, may be appreciated by the price he setteth on
his own services. If he succeed, will not the discovery
eclipse all others that have been made since the creation of
the world? Is it nothing to circle the earth, to prove the
wisdom of God by actual experiment, to follow the sun in
its daily track, and imitate the motions of that glorious
moving mass? And then the benefits that will flow on
Castile and Aragon—are they not incalculable? I marvel
that a princess who hath shown so high and rare a spirit
as this!”
“Thou art earnest, my good de St. Angel,” returned
Isabella, with a smile that betrayed no anger, “and when
there is much earnestness there is sometimes much forgetfulness.
If there were honour and profit in success, what
would there be in failure? Should the king and myself
send out this Colon, with a commission to be our viceroy,
for ever, over undiscovered lands, and no lands be discovered,
the wisdom of our councils might be called in question,
and the dignity of the two crowns would be fruitlessly
and yet deeply committed.”
“The hand of the Lord Archbishop is in this! This
prelate hath never been a believer in the justice of the navigator's
theories, and it is easy to raise objections when
the feelings lean against an enterprise. No glory is obtained
without risk. Look, Your Highness, at our neighbours,
the Portuguese — how much have discoveries done
for that kingdom, and how much more may it do for us!
We know, my honoured mistress, that the earth is round”—
“Are we quite certain of that important fact, Señor?”
asked the king, who, attracted by the animated and unusual
tones of the speaker, had left his closet, and approached
unseen. “Is that truth established? Our doctors at Salamanca
were divided on that great question, and, by St.
James! I do not see that it is so very clear.”
“If not round, my Lord the King,” answered de St. Angel,
turning quickly to face this new opponent, like a well-drilled
corps wheeling into a new front, “of what form can
it be? Will any doctor, come he of Salamanca, or come
he from elsewhere, pretend that the earth is a plain, and
that it hath limits, and that one may stand on these limits
and jump down upon the sun as he passeth beneath at night
—is this reasonable, honoured Señor, or is it in conformity
with scripture?”
“Will any one, doctor of Salamanca, or elsewhere,” rejoined
the king, gravely, though it was evident his feelings
were little interested in the discussion, “allege that there
are nations who for ever walk with their heads downwards,
where the rain falleth upwards, and where the sea remaineth
and is not placed beneath?”
“It is to explain these great mysteries, Señor Don Fernando,
my gracious master, that I would have this Colon
at once go forth. We may see, nay, we have demonstration,
that the earth is a sphere, and yet we do not see that
the waters fall from its surface anywhere. The hull of a
ship is larger than her top-masts, and yet the last are first
visible on the ocean, which proveth that the body of the
vessel is concealed by the form of the water. This being
so, and all who have voyaged on the ocean know it to be
thus, why doth not the water flow into a level, here, on our
own shores? If the earth be round, there must be means
to encircle it by water, as well as by land—to complete the
entire journey, as well as to perform a part. Colon proposeth
to open the way to this exploit, and the monarch
that shall furnish the means will live in the memories of
our descendants, as one far greater than a conqueror. Remember,
illustrious Señor, that all the east is peopled with
Infidels, and that the head of the church freely bestoweth
their lands on any Christian monarch that may drag them
from their benighted condition, into the light of God's
favour. Believe me, Doña Isabella, should another sovereign
grant the terms Colon requireth, and reap the advantages
that are likely to flow from such discoveries, the enemies
of Spain would make the world ring with their songs
of triumph, while the whole peninsula would mourn over
this unhappy decision.”
“Whither hath the Señor Colon sped?” demanded the
king, quickly; all his political jealousies being momentarily
aroused by the remarks of his receiver-general: “He hath
not gone again to Dom Joao of Portugal?”
“No, Señor, my master, but to King Louis of France,
a sovereign whose love for Aragon amounteth to a proverb.”
The king muttered a few words between his teeth, and
he paced the apartment, to and fro, with a disturbed manner;
for, while no man living cared less to hazard his
means, without the prospect of a certain return, the idea of
another's reaping an advantage that had been neglected by
himself, brought him at once under the control of those
policy. With Isabella the case was different. Her pious
wishes had ever leaned towards the accomplishment of
Columbus's great project, and her generous nature had
sympathized deeply with the noble conception, vast moral
results, and the glory of the enterprise. Nothing but the
manner in which her mind, as well as her religious aspirations,
had been occupied by the war in Granada, had prevented
her from entering earlier into a full examination of
the navigator's views; and she had yielded to the counsel
of her confessor, in denying the terms demanded by Columbus,
with a reluctance it had not been easy to overcome.
Then the gentler feelings of her sex had their influence,
for, while she too reflected on what had just been
urged, her eye glanced around the room and rested on
the beautiful face of Mercedes, who sate silent from diffidence,
but whose pale eloquent countenance betrayed all
the pleadings of the pure enthusiastic love of woman.
“Daughter-Marchioness,” asked the queen, turning as
usual to her tried friend, in her doubts, “what thinkest thou
of this weighty matter? Ought we so to humble ourselves
as to recal this haughty Genoese?”
“Say not haughty, Señora, for to me he seemeth much
superior to any such feeling; but rather regard him as one
that hath a just appreciation of that he hath in view. I
agree fully with the receiver-general, in thinking that Castile
will be much discredited, if, in sooth, a new world
should be discovered, and they who favoured the enterprise
could point to this court, and remind it that the glory of the
event was in its grasp, and that it threw it away, heedlessly”—
“And this, too, on a mere point of dignity, Señora,” put
in St. Angel—“on a question of parchment and of sound.”
“Nay, nay”—retorted the queen—“there are those who
think the honours claimed by Colon would far exceed the
service, even should the latter equal all the representations
of the Genoese, himself.”
“Then, my honoured mistress, they know not at what
the Genoese aims. Reflect, Señora, that it will not be an
every-day deed to prove that this earth is a sphere, by actual
measurement, whatever we may know in theories.
a quarter of the world whence all riches flow—
spices, pearls, silks, and the most precious metals. After
these, again, cometh the great glory of God, which crowneth
and exceedeth all!”
Isabella crossed herself, her cheek flushed, her eye kindled,
and her matronly but fine form seemed to tower with
the majesty of the feelings that these pictures created.
“I do fear, Don Fernando,” she said, “that our advisers
have been precipitate, and that the magnitude of this project
may justify more than common conditions!”
But the king entered little into the generous emotions of
his royal consort; feeling far more keenly the stings of
political jealousy, than any promptings of a liberal zeal for
either the church or science. He was generally esteemed
a wise prince, a title that would seem to infer neither a
generous nor a very just one. He smiled at the kindling
enthusiasm of his wife, but continued to peruse a paper
that had just been handed to him by a secretary.
“Your Highness feels as Doña Isabella of Castile ought
to feel when the glory of God and the honour of her crown
are in question,” added Beatriz de Cabrera, using that freedom
of speech that her royal mistress much encouraged in
their more private intercourse. “I would rather hear you
utter the words of recal to this Colon, than again listen to
the shouts of our late triumph over the Moor.”
“I know that thou lovest me, Beatriz!” exclaimed the
queen: “if there is not a true heart in that breast of thine,
the fallen condition of man does not suffer the gem to
exist!”
“We all love and reverence Your Highness,” continued
de St. Angel, “and we wish nought but your glory. Fancy,
Señora, the page of history open, and this great exploit of
the reduction of the Moor, succeeded by the still greater
deed of a discovery of an easy and swift communication
with the Indies, the spread of the church, and the flow of
inexhaustible wealth into Spain! This Colon cannot be
supported by the colder and more selfish calculations of
man, but his very enterprise seeks the more generous support
of her who can risk much for God's glory and the
good of the church.”
“Nay, Señor de St. Angel, thou flatterest and offendest
in the same breath.”
“It is an honest nature pouring out its disappointment,
my beloved mistress, and a tongue that hath become bold
through much zeal for Your Highnesses' fame. Alas!
alas! should King Louis grant the terms we have declined,
poor Spain will never lift her head again for very shame!”
“Art certain, St. Angel, that the Genoese hath gone for
France?” suddenly demanded the king, in his sharp authoritative
voice.
“I have it, Your Highness, from his own mouth. Yes,
yes, he is at this moment striving to forget our Castilian
dialect, and endeavouring to suit his tongue to the language
of the Frenchman. They are bigots and unreflecting disciples
of musty prejudices, Señora, that deny the theories of
Colon. The old philosophers have reasoned in the same
manner; and though it may seem to the timid an audacious
and even a heedless adventure to sail out into the broad
Atlantic, had not the Portuguese done it he would never
have found his islands. God's truth! it maketh my blood
boil, when I bethink me of what these Lusitanians have
done, while we of Aragon and Castile have been tilting
with the Infidels for a few valleys and mountains, and contending
for a capital!”
“Señor, you are forgetful of the honour of the sovereigns,
as well as of the service of God,” interrupted the
Marchioness of Moya, who had the tact to perceive that
the receiver-general was losing sight of his discretion, in
the magnitude of his zeal. “This conquest is one of the
victories of the church, and will add lustre to the two
crowns, in all future ages. The head of the church, himself,
hath so recognized it, and all good Christians should
acknowledge its character.”
“It is not that I undervalue this success, but that I consider
the conquest that Colon is likely to achieve over so
many millions, that I have thus spoken, Doña Beatriz.”
The marchioness, whose spirit was as marked as her
love for the queen, made a sharp reply, and, for a few
minutes, she and Luis de St. Angel, with Alonzo de Quintanilla,
maintained the discussion, by themselves, while
Isabella conversed apart, with her husband, no one presuming
was earnest and evidently much excited, but Ferdinand
maintained his customary coolness and caution, though his
manner was marked with that profound respect which the
character of Isabella had early inspired, and which she
succeeded in maintaining throughout her married life. This
was a picture familiar to the courtiers, one of the sovereigns
being as remarkable for his wily prudence, as was
the other for her generous and sincere ardour, whenever
impelled by a good motive. This divided discourse lasted
half an hour, the queen occasionally pausing to listen to
what was passing in the other group, and then recurring to
her own arguments with her husband.
At length, Isabella left the side of Ferdinand, who coldly
resumed the perusal of a paper, and she moved slowly towards
the excited party, that was now unanimous and rather
loud in the expression of its regrets—loud, for even the indulgence
of so gentle a mistress. Her intention to repress
this ardour by her own presence, however, was momentarily
diverted from its object, by a glimpse of the face of
Mercedes, who sate alone, her work lying neglected in her
lap, listening anxiously to the opinions that had drawn all
her companions to the general circle.
“Thou takest no part in this warm discussion, child,”
observed the queen, stopping before the chair of our heroine,
and gazing an instant into her eloquently expressive
face. “Hast thou lost all interest in Colon?”
“I speak not, Señora, because it becometh youth and
ignorance to be modest; but though silent, I feel none the
less.”
“And what are thy feelings, daughter? Dost thou, too,
think the services of the Genoese cannot be bought at too
high a price?”
“Since Your Highness doth me this honour,” answered
the lovely girl, the blood gradually flushing her pale face,
as she warmed with the subject—“I will not hesitate to
speak. I do believe this great enterprise hath been offered
to the sovereigns, as a reward for all that they have done
and endured for religion and the church. I do think Colon
hath been guided to this court by a divine hand, and, by a
divine hand hath he been kept here, enduring the long servitude
I do think that this late appeal in his favour cometh of a
power and spirit that should prevail.”
“Thou art an enthusiast, daughter, more especially in
this cause,” returned the queen, smiling kindly on the
blushing Mercedes. “I am greatly moved by thy wishes
to aid in this enterprise!”
Thus spoke Isabella, at a moment when she had neither
the leisure nor the thought to analyze her own feelings,
which were influenced by a variety of motives, rather than
by any single consideration. Even this passing touch of
woman's affections, however, contributed to give her mind
a new bias, and she joined the group, which respectfully
opened as she advanced, greatly disposed to yield to de St.
Angel's well-meant though somewhat intemperate entreaties.
Still she hesitated, for her wary husband had just been reminding
her of the exhausted state of the two treasuries,
and the impoverished condition in which both crowns had
been left by the late war.
“Daughter-Marchioness,” said Isabella, slightly answering
the reverences of the circle, “dost thou still think this
Colon expressly called of God, for the high purposes to
which he pretendeth?”
“Señora, I say not exactly that, though I believe the
Genoese hath some such opinion of himself. But this much
I do think — that Heaven beareth in mind its faithful servitors,
and when there is need of important actions, suitable
agents are chosen for the work. Now, we do know that
the church, at some day, is to prevail throughout the whole
world; and why may not this be the allotted time, as well
as another? God ordereth mysteriously, and the very adventure
that so many of the learned have scoffed at, may
be intended to hasten the victory of the church. We should
remember, Your Highness, the humility with which this
church commenced; how few of the seemingly wise lent it
their aid; and the high pass of glory to which it hath
reached. This conquest of the Moor savoureth of a fulfilment
of time, and his reign of seven centuries terminated,
may merely be an opening for a more glorious future.”
Isabella smiled upon her friend, for this was reasoning
after her own secret thoughts; but her greater acquirements
was the case with the warm-hearted and ardent Marchioness.
“It is not safe to affix the seal of Providence to this or
that enterprise, Daughter-Marchioness”—she answered —
“and the church alone may say what are intended for
miracles, and what is left for human agencies. What sum
doth Colon need, Señor de St. Angel, to carry on the adventure
in a manner that will content him?”
“He asketh but two light caravels, my honoured mistress,
and three thousand crowns — a sum that many a
young spendthrift would waste on his pleasures, in a few
short weeks.”
“It is not much, truly,” observed Isabella, who had been
gradually kindling with the thoughts of the nobleness of
the adventure; “but, small as it is, my Lord the King
doubteth if our joint coffers can, at this moment, well bear
the drain.”
“Oh! it were a pity that such an occasion to serve God,
such an opportunity to increase the Christian sway, and to
add to the glory of Spain, should be lost for this trifle of
gold!” exclaimed Doña Beatriz.
“It would be, truly,” rejoined the queen, whose cheek
now glowed with an enthusiasm little less obvious than that
which shone so brightly in the countenance of the ardent
Mercedes. “Señor de St. Angel, the king cannot be prevailed
on to enter into this affair, in behalf of Aragon; but
I take it on myself, as Queen of Castile, and, so far as it
may properly advance human interests, for the benefit of
my own much-beloved people. If the royal treasury be
drained, my private jewels should suffice for that small
sum, and I will freely pledge them as surety for the gold,
rather than let this Colon depart without putting the truth
of his theories to the proof. The result, truly, is of too
great magnitude, to admit of further discussion.”
An exclamation of admiration and delight escaped those
present, for it was not a usual thing for a princess to deprive
herself of personal ornaments in order to advance
either the interests of the church or those of her subjects.
The receiver-general, however, soon removed all difficulties
on the score of money, by saying that his coffers
crown of Castile, and that the jewels so freely offered,
might remain in the keeping of their royal owner.
“And now to recal Colon,” observed the queen, as soon
as these preliminaries had been discussed. “He hath
already departed, you say, and no time should be lost in
acquainting him with this new resolution.”
“Your Highness hath here a willing courier, and one
already equipped for the road, in the person of Don Luis
de Bobadilla,” cried Alonzo de Quintanilla, whose eye had
been drawn to a window by the trampling of a horse's
foot; “and the man who will more joyfully bear these
tidings to the Genoese, cannot be found in Santa Fé.”
“'Tis scarce a service suited to one of his high station,”
answered Isabella, doubtingly; “and yet we should consider
every moment of delay a wrong to Colon”—
“Nay, Señora, spare not my nephew,” eagerly interposed
Doña Beatriz; “he is only too happy at being employed
in doing Your Highness's pleasure.”
“Let him, then, be summoned to our presence, without
another instant's delay. I scarce seem to have decided,
while the principal personage of the great adventure is
journeying from the court.”
A page was immediately dispatched in quest of the young
noble, and in a few minutes the footsteps of the latter were
heard in the antechamber. Luis entered the presence,
flushed, excited, and with feelings not a little angered, at
the compelled departure of his new friend. He did not fail
to impute the blame of this occurrence to those who had
the power to prevent it; and when his dark expressive eye
met the countenance of his sovereign, had it been in her
power to read its meaning, she would have understood that
he viewed her as a person who had thwarted his hopes on
more than one occasion. Nevertheless, the influence of Doña
Isabella's pure character and gentle manners was seldom
forgotten by any who were permitted to approach her person;
and his address was respectful, if not warm.
“It is Your Highness's pleasure to command my presence,”
said the young man, as soon as he made his reverences
to the queen.
“I thank you for this promptitude, Don Luis, having
befel the Señor Christoval Colon, the Genoese navigator,
with whom, they inform me, you have some intimacy?”
“Forgive me, Señora, if aught unbecoming escape me;
but a full heart must be opened lest it break. The Genoese
is about to shake the dust of Spain from his shoes, and, at
this moment, is on his journey to another court, to proffer
those services that this should never have rejected.”
“It is plain, Don Luis, that all thy leisure time hath not
been passed in courts,” returned the queen, smiling; “but
we have now service for thy roving propensities. Mount
thy steed, and pursue the Señor Colon, with the tidings that
his conditions will be granted, and a request that he will
forthwith return. I pledge my royal word, to send him
forth on this enterprise, with as little delay as the necessary
preparations and a suitable prudence will allow.”
“Señora!—Doña Isabella!—My gracious queen!—Do I
hear aright?”
“As a sign of the fidelity of thy senses, Don Luis,
here is the pledge of my hand.”
This was said kindly, and the gracious manner in which
the hand was offered, brought a gleam of hope to the mind
of the lover, which it had not felt since he had been apprized
that the queen's good opinion was necessary to secure his
happiness. Kneeling respectfully, he kissed the hand of
his sovereign, after which, without changing his attitude,
he desired to know if he should that instant depart on the
duty she had named.
“Rise, Don Luis, and lose not a moment to relieve the
loaded heart of the Goroese—I might almost say, to relieve
ours, also; for, Daughter-Marchioness, since this holy enterprise
hath broken on my mind with a sudden and almost
miraculous light, it seemeth that a mountain must lie on my
breast until the Señor Christoval shall learn the truth!”
Luis de Bobadilla did not wait a second bidding, but hurried
from the presence, as fast as etiquette would allow, and
the next minute he was in the saddle. At his appearance,
Mercedes had shrunk into the recess of a window, where
she now, luckily, commanded a view of the court. As her
lover gained his seat, he caught a glimpse of her form;
and though the spurs were already in his charger's flanks,
on his haunches. So elastic are the feelings of
youth, so deceptive and flattering the hopes of those who
love, that the glances which were exchanged were those
of mutual delight. Neither thought of all the desperate
chances of the contemplated voyage; of the probability of
its want of success; or of the many motives which might
still induce the queen to withhold her consent. Mercedes
awoke first from the short trance that succeeded, for, taking
the alarm at Luis's indiscreet delay, she motioned him hurriedly
to proceed. Again the rowels were buried in the
flanks of the noble animal; fire flashed beneath his armed
heels, and, at the next minute, Don Luis de Bobadilla had
disappeared.
In the mean time, Columbus had pursued his melancholy
journey across the Vega. He travelled slowly, and several
times, even after his companion had left him, did he check
his mule, and sit, with his head dropped upon his breast,
lost in thought, the very picture of woe. The noble resignation
that he manifested in public, nearly gave way in
private, and he felt, indeed, how hard his disappointments
were to be borne. In this desultory manner of travelling
he had reached the celebrated pass of the bridge of Piños,
the scene of many a sanguinary combat, when the sound
of a horse's hoofs first overtook his ear. Turning his head,
he recognized Luis de Bobadilla in hot pursuit, with the
flanks of his horse dyed in blood, and his breast white with
foam.
“Joy! joy! a thousand times, joy, Señor Colon!”
shouted the eager youth, even before he was near enough
to be distinctly heard. “Blessed Maria be praised! Joy!
Señor, joy! and nought but joy!”
“This is unexpected, Don Luis,” exclaimed the navigator.
“What meaneth thy return?”
Luis now attempted to explain his errand, but eagerness
and the want of breath rendered his ideas confused and his
utterance broken and imperfect.
“And why should I return to a hesitating, cold, and undecided
court?” demanded Columbus. “Have I not wasted
years in striving to urge it to its own good? Look at these
hairs, young Señor, and remember that I have lost a time
the rulers of this peninsula that my project is founded
on truth.”
“At length you have succeeded. Isabella, the true-hearted
and never-deceiving Queen of Castile, herself, hath
awoke to the importance of thy scheme, and pledges her
royal word to favour it.”
“Is this true? Can this be true, Don Luis?”
“I am sent to you express, Señor, to urge your immediate
return.”
“By whom, young Lord?”
“By Doña Isabella, my gracious mistress, through her
own personal commands.”
“I cannot forego a single condition already offered.”
“It is not expected, Señor. Our excellent and generous
mistress granteth all you ask, and hath nobly offered, as I
learn, to pledge her private jewels, rather than that the enterprise
fail.”
Columbus was deeply touched with this information, and
removing his cap, he concealed his face with it, for a moment,
as if ashamed to betray the weakness that came over
him. When he uncovered his face it was radiant with
happiness, and every doubt appeared to have vanished.
Years of suffering were forgotten in that moment of joy,
and he immediately signified his readiness to accompany
the youth back to Santa Fé.
| CHAPTER VIII. Mercedes of Castile, or, The voyage to Cathay | |