Charles V was in his promise of glory now. In 1519, as we have before stated, he had been elected Emperor of Germany; and in 1520 he had been crowned at Aix la Chapelle, amid great rejoicings, and the Pope had bestowed upon him the title of Cæsar or Emperor of the Roman world. He was called "Cæsar" in the chronicles of the times.
Poor Juana took no interest in any of these pomps of her son, as they shook the world. Her ears were deaf to them, her heart was dead to them all. The mother of "Cæsar" was almost the only person in Spain who hailed not the glory of Cæsar.
Amid all the splendors of his court the dream of Magellan must still have haunted the mind of the new Cæsar. He had accepted the story brought by the returned ship; but Magellan the madman might come back again. Madmen had returned before.
The period was a wonderful one. Printing, the art of which had been but recently developed after the discovery of Gutenberg, was revealing its great possibilities. These were the times of Francis in France, and of Henry VIII in England. The Reformation was overturning Germany. The whole world seemed to be changing.
If the ships of Magellan were to find a new way to the East, and were to sail around the world, what surprising events might follow!
So, night after night, Mesquita could but hope and ask:
"Where is the lantern of Magellan now?"
Seville was full of maritime prosperity. The tuneful bells in her many churches had frequent occasions to ring out for national festivals. The sailors loved these services, and especially those that celebrated the triumphs of the Virgin whose dominion had become, as was supposed, the sea, and who was hailed as the "Star of the Deep."
The happy crowds on their way to the rejoicing churches must have passed the prison walls where Mesquita was detained. Life indeed must have been mysterious to him. The world in which he deserved so much honor and happiness was shut out from him—even the sun and stars.