Christopher Columbus: His Life and His Work

by Charles Kendall Adams

At this audience it is not probable that Queen Isabella was present; at least, the only part of the discussion taken by the monarchs seems to have been that of the king. It is said that Columbus unfolded his scheme with entire self-possession. He appears to have been neither dazzled nor daunted; for in a letter to the sovereign, in 1501, he declares that on this occasion “he felt himself kindled as with a fire from on high, and considered himself as an agent chosen by Heaven to accomplish a grand design.”

But so important a matter as that now urged upon the sovereigns was not to be entered upon lightly or in haste. However willing the king may have been to be the promoter of discoveries far more important than those which had shed glory upon Portugal, he was too cool and shrewd a man to decide a matter hastily which involved so many scientific principles. Of the details of what followed we have no authentic account. After more than a hundred years had passed away, and the glory of the discovery had come in some measure to be appreciated, the claim was set up that a congress or junta of learned men was called together, and that the whole subject was submitted to their consideration. The account, however, is accompanied with many suspicious circumstances. The historian Remesal was a Dominican monk and a member of the monastery of St. Stephen at Salamanca, where, it is said, the junta was held. In his narrative he claims that the ecclesiastical members, for the most part monks of St. Stephen, listened with approval to the presentation of the case, while those who might be called the scientific members strenuously opposed it. This statement, which is the basis of Irving’s account, is not only inherently improbable, but is supported by no contemporaneous evidence whatever. The absence of such evidence, moreover, is enough to condemn the whole story. The records of the monastery, which are supposed to be complete, contain no reference to any such meeting. Las Casas, himself a Dominican, would have been sure to introduce the account into his narrative if it had rested upon any basis of fact. He makes no allusion to any such meeting, and we are forced to conclude that the story was fabricated for ecclesiastical purposes. But although no such formal meeting was ever held, there is evidence that Ferdinand obtained, in an informal way, the opinions of some of the most learned men of the time.

The city of Salamanca, where this order was issued, seemed in every way favourable for such a hearing; for at this ancient capital was situated one of the most renowned universities of Spain. It is difficult to suppose that the professors of that venerable institution were not familiar with the latest theories in regard to the sphericity of the earth; but notwithstanding this fact, Columbus had to confront, not only the prudent conservatism of learning, but also the obstinate conservatism of the Church. The faculties were made up partly of ecclesiastics, and partly of others who soon became fully imbued with the ecclesiastical spirit. It was at a time when there was no more thought of tolerating heresy than there was of tolerating arson. The Inquisition, as we have just seen, had recently been established. In both the king and the queen an ardent religious zeal was united with great political and military skill, as well as great personal popularity. Heresy was the most dangerous of crimes, and the strictest adherence to traditional doctrines was encouraged by all the considerations of loyalty, of interest, and of prudence. To the dark colours in which heresy was painted by the Church in the fifteenth century, a still deeper hue was now added by the horrors of the Moorish wars. It is therefore easy to explain why the people of Spain surpassed the people of other countries in the fervour of religious intolerance. Columbus was obliged to plead the cause of his departure from traditional methods in an atmosphere charged with all these predispositions, prejudices, and motives. By the vulgar crowd the navigator had persistently been scoffed at as a visionary; but with something of the hopeful enthusiasm of an adventurer, he had steadily maintained the belief that it was only necessary to meet a body of enlightened men to insure their conversion to his cause.

But his hopefulness was destined to be disabused. We can well believe that his project appeared in a somewhat unfavourable light before the learned men of the day. To them he was simply an obscure navigator, and a foreigner at that, depending upon nothing more than the force of the reasons he might be able to present. Some of them, no doubt, looked upon him simply as an adventurer, while others were disposed to manifest their impatience at any doctrinal innovation. The predominance of opinion seemed to intrench itself in the belief that after so many cosmographers and navigators had been studying and exploring the globe for centuries, it was simply an absurd presumption to suppose that any new discoveries of importance were now to be made.

The discussion, almost at the very first, was taken out of the domain of science. Instead of attempting to present astronomical and geographical objections to the proposed voyage, the objectors assailed the scheme with citations from the Bible and from the Fathers of the Church. The book of Genesis, the Psalms of David, the Prophets, and the Gospels were all put upon the witness-stand and made to testify to the impossibility of success. Saint Chrysostom, Saint Augustine, Lactantius, Saint Jerome, Saint Gregory, and a host of others, were cited as confirmatory witnesses. Philosophical and mathematical demonstrations received no consideration. The simple proposition of Columbus that the earth was spherical was met with texts of Scripture in a manner that was worthy of Father Jasper.

These various presentations, however, were by no means in vain; for there was far from unanimity of opinion. There were a few who admitted that Saint Thomas Aquinas and Saint Isadore might be right in believing the earth to be globular in form; though even these were inclined to deny that circumnavigation was possible. It is a pleasure to note, however, that there was one conspicuous exception to the general current of opposition and resistance. Whether dating from this period we do not know, but it is certain that an early interest was taken in the cause by Diego de Deza, a learned friar of the order of St. Dominic, who afterward became archbishop of Seville, one of the highest ecclesiastical dignitaries of the realm. Deza appears to have risen quite above the limitations of mere ecclesiastical lore; for he not only took a generous interest in the cause of the explorer, but he seconded and encouraged his efforts with all the means at his command. Perhaps it was by his efforts that so deep an impression was made on the most learned men of the conference. However this may have been, the ignorant and the prejudiced remained obstinate in their opposition, and so the season at Salamanca passed away without bringing the monarchs to any decision.

After the winter of 1486–87, there occurred a long and painful period of delays. In the following spring the court departed from Salamanca and went to Cordova to prepare for the memorable campaign against Malaga. Columbus accompanied the expedition in the vain hope that there would be an opportunity for a further hearing. At one time when the Spanish armies were encamped on the hills and plains surrounding the beleaguered city, Columbus was summoned to court; but amid the din of a terrible contest there was no place for a calm consideration of the great maritime project. The summer was full of incident and peril. At one time the king was surprised and nearly cut off by the craft of the old Moorish monarch; at another a Moorish fanatic attempted to assassinate both king and queen, only to be cut to pieces after he had wounded the prince of Portugal and the Marchioness de Moya, supposing them to be Ferdinand and Isabella.

But it is easy to imagine that this seemingly untoward event contributed to help on the cause of Columbus. The Marchioness de Moya had warmly espoused his cause, and the attempt upon her life can hardly have failed to appeal to the interest of Queen Isabella.

Malaga surrendered in August, and the king and queen almost immediately returned to Cordova. The pestilence, however, very soon made that old city an unsafe abode. For a while the court was in what might be called the turmoil of migration. At one time it was in Valladolid, at another in Saragossa, at another in Medina de Campo. But during all this period its ardent business was the pressing forward of the Spanish armies into the Moorish territories. As every reader of Irving knows, the ground was stubbornly contested, inch by inch. Columbus remained for the most part with the army; but he sought in vain for the quiet necessary for a dispassionate hearing.

It could hardly have been otherwise. Ferdinand and Isabella have often been reproached with needless delays in the matter of rendering the required assistance; but such a reproach cannot be justified. The custom of the time sanctioned, even if it did not require, that the court should accompany the military camp. The Government was not only at the head of the army, but it was actually and continuously in the field. All other questions were absorbed by the military interests of the moment; and it would have been singular indeed, if, in such a situation, the resources of the treasury had been called upon to subsidize an expedition that as yet had been unable to secure the approval of the learned men who had been asked to consider its merits. It would be difficult to show that the course taken by the monarchs was not both wise and natural. The period of the war was a fit time in which to ascertain the merits of the proposal; and if after the contest should be brought to an end, the reports should be found favorable, the expedition could be fitted out with such assistance as might comport with the condition of the treasury and the necessities of the case.