A CARAVEL UNDER SAIL
FROM COLUMBUS’S FIRST LETTER
In spite of his condemnation by learned men, Isabel had not forgotten him, and a quarterly salary of 3000 maravedis, small though it was, and messages, that she would herself examine his claims when she had time, kept them in touch; but such things could not satisfy an explorer, fretting to be once more on the broad seas. In 1491 he renewed his application for assistance.
The Court was then at Santa Fé, pressing Boabdil to his last surrender, and before the conquest of Moslem Granada, the attraction of unknown islands paled. For the second time a committee of the learned declared the proposed journey impracticable and contrary to the opinions of Saint Augustine and the early Fathers; though Alessandro Geraldino, tutor of the royal Infantas, ventured to urge in Cardinal Mendoza’s ear, that Saint Augustine, no doubt a good theologian, might yet prove a bad geographer.
Disgusted at his failure and the years he had wasted, Columbus with his son Diego turned his back on Santa Fé. His journey took him near the little seaside town of Palos, where at the Franciscan convent of La Rabida he sought food and shelter for the night. Its prior, Fra Juan Perez, once the Queen’s confessor, was delighted to have first-hand news from the seat of war, and eagerly welcomed his guest; with the result that all Christopher’s disappointed hopes came pouring out in a stream of eloquence that soon made a convert of his listener.
A secret letter from the prior to the Queen, full of respectful expostulations, her quick response that Columbus should return at once to Court, her gift of 20,000 maravedis to provide him with suitable clothing and a mule,—and Juan Perez could write with fervent joy:
Our Lord has listened to the prayers of His servant. The wise and virtuous Isabel, touched by the grace of Heaven, gave a favourable hearing to the words of this poor monk. All has turned out well.
“All has turned out well!” Face to face, Queen and would-be-discoverer could realize how much their minds were in tune; even more now than in the early days of his project; for, to the material benefits he hoped to reap, Columbus, inspired perhaps by the crusading character of the Moorish war, had added the burning desire to carry the light of the Catholic Faith across “the sea of darkness.” This was no mere pose. Religion to the sailor as to the Queen was an intrinsic part of daily life, something vital and overshadowing that in the hour of triumph intensified glory, in days of depression or danger spread protecting wings. In the foreword of his journal addressed to the sovereigns, he shows very clearly that he regarded himself not only as pioneer but missionary:
Your Highnesses, as Catholic sovereigns and princes, loving the Holy Christian Faith and the spreading of it, and enemies of the sect of Mahomet and of all idolatries and heresies, decided to send me, Christopher Columbus, to the said regions of India, to see the said princes and peoples and lands, and learn of their disposition and of everything, and of the measures that could be taken for their conversion to our Holy Faith.
Behind and beyond “the spreading of the Catholic Faith” in the far East was another design of still bolder conception, the employment of the wealth to be found in Cathay and the territories of the great Khan towards the recovery of the Holy Sepulchre. The latter was the crowning enthusiasm of every earnest Christian in mediæval times, and Christopher believing himself “inspired, elected, foreordained,” held amongst his cherished visions the glory of a final crusade, to which he should have contributed the war fund.