The Son of Columbus

by Molly Elliot Seawell

“This very night,” added Don Felipe.

The gift of the swords seemed at once to make men of the two youths. They were too intelligent not to understand the full meaning of what they had received.

Below in the street well-caparisoned horses were awaiting them. The Admiral, accompanied by his unfailing friends, De Quintanilla and Luis de St. Angel and Juan Perez, the Prior of La Rabida, rode in advance. Behind him came Fray Piña, while Brother Lawrence, mounted on a steady mule, carried in his arms the little Fernando. Diego and Don Felipe brought up the rear. The eyes of the curious crowd of soldiers and citizens were turned upon the cavalcade. They no longer ridiculed the Admiral, but regarded him with fear, as a person likely to draw to him many ardent souls in his voyage into the unknown. Many remarked, however, upon the beauty of the little Fernando and the manly and noble appearance of Diego. They rode through the town of Santa Fé, across the bridge of the Xeni, and climbed the broad acclivity down which the abject Moorish king had traveled on a January day. Neither Diego nor Don Felipe had been within the walls of Granada, and they were deeply interested in the strange and gorgeous architecture of the city, the barred windows of the women’s quarters, and the mosques, now converted into Christian churches.

At the Gate of the Pomegranates the Alhambra really begins, that marvel of beauty, palace and citadel in one, with walls a mile in circumference, and containing within itself wonderful varieties of loveliness. At this gate the party dismounted and proceeded on foot through the gardens and courtyards leading to the Hall of Ambassadors, where the King and the Queen in state would pledge themselves to the Admiral and sign and seal their agreements. Never had any of them seen anything like the splendors of the glorious courts and superb corridors. The gardens were blooming in all the beauty of the late April, and in the trees and shrubbery were the rare birds caught and tamed for the pleasure of the Moorish kings.

Through long, arched colonnades of gleaming malachite they passed; through the exquisite gardens watered by the icy waters of the Darro, trickling in silver streams or in crystal waterfalls. In every beautiful courtyard great fountains played, making showers of diamonds in the April sun of Andalusia. The air was drenched with the perfume of violets and hyacinths, jasmine and myrtle blooming in splendid profusion.

At the entrance to the magnificent Court of the Lions they were met by a brilliant group of court officials, and passed from one superb apartment to another until they reached the splendid Hall of Ambassadors.

The scene was worthy of the stupendous event that was to take place in it. The walls of polished marble, inlaid with arabesques, its graceful columns, its lofty and beautiful ceilings, its riot of color, was overwhelming in its beauty. Here had the Moorish kings exercised their despotic power; here had they treated with haughty contempt the ambassadors of the Christian nations. Upon this glorious throne-room had been spent the vast sums wrung from the toilers of the land and sea, the money gained by piracy, robbery, and the ransom of Christian captives. Driven forth at last from it, their places had been taken by great and enlightened Christian monarchs. Ferdinand of Arragon was a brilliant soldier, a statesman, shrewd in affairs, and of enlightened views according to his time. The name of Isabella of Castile makes a blaze of splendor upon the page of history. Not less desirous than Ferdinand for the glory and material welfare of her country, Isabella had a loftier mind, a nobler conception of all things, than any monarch of the age. She looked to the spread of the Christian religion, to the civilization of the new peoples in those far lands which Columbus might discover. It was her great and magnanimous mind which caused the introduction into the compact with Columbus of that clause providing that the inhabitants of the new world to be discovered should have the same protection of law as the Spaniards themselves.

At the farther end of the Hall of Ambassadors, upon the great gilded throne of the Moorish kings, sat in throne chairs King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella, Prince Juan and Princess Katharine seated below them, and surrounded by a huge company of officials, statesmen, soldiers, and ecclesiastics. At the steps of the throne was a small table with pens and inkhorns and a great document inscribed upon many leaves of parchment. It was the agreement between the courts of Arragon and Castile with Columbus, and it was in that hour to be signed by King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella and the great Admiral.

It is the prerogative of men of the first order of genius that those nearest to them, who see them oftenest, should have greater reverence for them than those who do not know them so well. So it was with Columbus. Never had those who had been associated with him through his eighteen years of toil, poverty, disappointment, broken hopes, and baffled plans admired him so much as at the moment when he entered the great hall. The friends who escorted him fell back. Columbus, taking the hand of the little Fernando, placed it in that of Diego and advanced alone to the foot of the throne, where he knelt respectfully. All present, from the King and the Queen down to Diego and Don Felipe, showed a visible agitation and tremulous emotion at what was about to take place, except one person; that was the great Admiral himself. He, a man of the people, a foreigner without fortune, with no endowment but his genius, his courage, his virtue, was about to be invested, in case of his successful return, with honors and dignities that dwarfed those of the highest nobles present and placed him one step in advance of all of them. King Ferdinand’s keen face wore an expression of triumph he could not conceal. The cost of the expedition was small, and the King had become convinced that the chances of a stupendous return were very great. Queen Isabella was inspired with a profound and noble enthusiasm; she had eagerly offered to pledge her jewels, and on this offer the amount of money had been raised necessary for the expedition.

The Queen’s face was unusually pale; but her eyes, of a dark and beautiful blue, were shining, and she leaned forward in her chair, returning with a deep bow the reverence made her by the Admiral. He alone was perfectly composed, and gave no sign either of triumph or of nervousness. When he rose from his knees, a chair was placed for him, and then Luis de St. Angel read in a loud voice the terms of the agreement which was to be signed. These were as follows: