by Hugh Thomas
Years later, people would remember how Columbus arrived on foot at the monastery, a brilliant white building under a sparkling blue sky, and how he begged water and bread for his son Diego, then about six years old.54 The garden is doubtless more lovely today than it was then; the bougainvillea and the cypresses that now give such beauty were not there in the 1480s. But the rich yellow stone in the patio, the white walls, and the tiled roofs and towers are surely much as they were in the fifteenth century.
Marchena and Pérez urged Columbus to make his way to the court of Castile. They were well connected, for Pérez had once been a confessor to the Queen herself. They gave him letters so that he could establish his credentials. So, no doubt praying first before the beautiful Christ of La Rábida, Columbus left for Seville and then for Córdoba, where the court was, leaving Diego, his son, with his sister-in-law, Briolanja Muñiz, who had married an Aragonese, Miguel Muliart, and was living near Huelva at San Juan del Puerto.55
Columbus reached Córdoba in the summer of 1485. There he met Beatriz Enríquez de Araña, a girl from Santa María de Trasierra, a few miles to the north of the city. She was the ward of her uncle, a locally powerful citizen, Rodrigo Hernández de Araña. Columbus lived with her and by her had a second, if illegitimate, child, Fernando. He also met long-standing advisers of the monarchs, such as Talavera, Isabel’s confessor; Santangel, the treasurer; Quintanilla, the most effective of the Queen’s courtiers; Juan Cabrero, the closest friend of the King; and even Cardinal Mendoza, whose support was so desirable.56 Probably he made these acquaintanceships thanks to Fray Marchena and Pérez. But though Columbus encountered these powerful men, they could not ensure that he saw the Queen, and he had to follow the court, in the autumn of 1485, across Castile, on its usual peregrinations past Andújar and Linares, and then Valdepeñas, Ocaña, and Alcalá de Henares, outside Madrid.
Alcalá was a city of the Mendozas, half a day’s ride to the west of their main palace in Guadalajara. There, on the site of the destroyed Moorish Alcázar, in the substantial episcopal palace, which still stands gigantic on the edge of the city, and thanks to the backing of the great cardinal, Columbus saw the Queen. Mendoza had told Isabel that the Genoese was astute, intelligent, able, and well versed in cosmography. He therefore suggested that the Crown should assist him with a few ships. They would cost little and might bring many benefits.57
Mendoza was still the most powerful individual in Spain after the monarchs, and he was the first public man in either Spain or Portugal to see the significance of Columbus’s ideas. Quintanilla for his part seems to have thought that it would be wise for Spain to explore beyond Cape Bojador so as not to leave Portugal alone in the task of exploring the ocean. His foresight should not be forgotten.
The first discussion between Columbus and the monarchs, on January 20, 1486, in the cardinal’s palace, did not prosper.58 Fernando had provided himself with a copy of Ptolemy’s Geography beforehand, and it did not seem to support Columbus’s case. The King was interested in the Canary Islands, but only as a possible stepping-stone on the route to the African gold mines.59 True, the monarchs seemed curious about the route of which Columbus spoke, and they were interested in the map of the world that he showed them and that perhaps had been drawn by his brother Bartolomeo (“the map put them in the mood to see what he had described”).60 But Columbus allowed his imagination a free run61 and, most unwisely, he must have made it clear that he wanted to be admiral of the Ocean Sea, viceroy, and governor, too. (Probably he had made the same demands in Portugal.)62 These titles all had implications for the Spanish Crown. Though the designation “admiral” may, in Columbus’s mind, have had connections with the Genoese Pessagho family’s use of the title in the Portuguese navy, it invited comparison in Spain with the “admiral of Castile,” an office recently named hereditary in the family of the Enríquez, cousins of Fernando.63 There was only one precedent for a viceroy in Castile, namely that of Galicia—even if there had been several such officials in the service of the King of Aragon. Probably Fernando was specially irritated by these demands. Governor? It, too, was a title recently used in connection with Galicia, the marquisate of Villena, and the Canary Islands, but was not otherwise known.
Both Fernando and Isabel were the heirs of kings who, in their time, had promoted much foreign activity. The civilized royal house of Aragon had always been interested in the outside world, and Fernando’s uncle, King Alfonso the Magnanimous, had spent more time in Naples than he had in Spain. Tunis had been an Aragonese dependency in the thirteenth century, and African conquests were still coveted. Columbus was not dealing with isolationists.
But Columbus’s self-assertions ignored the royal preoccupations with the war against Granada. As Las Casas put it, “When monarchs have a war to deal with, they understand little, and wish to understand little, of other matters.”64
The Catholic Kings’ relations with the Republic of Genoa were also at the time poor. Thus it seemed as if the ideas of Columbus would be laid aside. About thirty years later, a lawyer, Tristán de León, wrote that the difficulty was that “the only certainty was what Columbus said.”65 Then Columbus told the monarchs that he would present to them a person who believed in him. He sent for Fray Antonio de Marchena of La Rábida, who agreed that what Columbus had claimed was largely true. Marchena wrote to suggest that at least an inquiry should be made, as had happened in Lisbon.66 His monastery had supported the conquest of the Canary Islands so as to add to the total of Christian souls. Columbus seemed to be offering the opportunity for even more evangelization.
The monarchs agreed to an inquiry. The most important member of the committee, the “chairman,” was the Queen’s confessor, Talavera, who was told to assemble “people who were most versed in that matter of cosmography, of whom there were, however, few in Castile.”67 While the specialists were at work, it was agreed that Columbus should remain at court, wherever that was, and be paid a small pension of 12,000 maravedís.68
But the work of Talavera and his friends was delayed because of setbacks in the war in Granada. Columbus had to wait. He used his time well. He earned some money making maps, and he met more influential people. These included his fellow Genoese, the two rich Francescos, Piñelo and Rivarolo, who had helped to finance the conquest of the Canaries, and the even more powerful Gutierre de Cárdenas, he of the naked sword in Segovia in 1474. Perhaps these men thought that at least Columbus might give Castile some new islands, like the Canaries. Most important, Columbus made friends with the Dominican theologian Diego Deza, till recently professor of theology at Salamanca and now prior of the college of San Sebastian there, as well as tutor-in-chief to the heir to the throne, the Infante Juan, to whom he gave daily Latin lessons. Why Deza and Columbus should have become so friendly is unclear, but they did so, elective affinities obviously playing their customary part. It was a friendship that stood Columbus in good stead.69
Deza found Columbus lodgings in the Dominican convent in Salamanca and introduced him to his friends, including the nurse of the Infante, Juana Velázquez de la Torre, and her cousin, Juan Velázquez de Cuéllar, the prince’s treasurer. The Infante was fond of Juana and once, still under ten, said to her, “You must have me for a husband and nobody else.” Columbus also became attached to Juana, and she became his confidante.70 Cardinal Mendoza maintained his interest and sometimes had Columbus to dine, as did the contador Quintanilla. Talavera continued to give Columbus small regular payments, as decided by the monarchs.
The committee of inquiry, in which Talavera was the dominant influence, met during the winter of 1486–87, in Salamanca. Its conclusions were as negative as those of the similar body in Lisbon. These good and great men, like their Portuguese equivalents, thought that what Columbus claimed about the distance of China and the ease of travel there could not be true. They considered that the Crown could gain nothing from supporting Columbus and that, if it did give such backing, the royal authority would be diminished.71
This depressi
ng decision was communicated to Columbus in August 1487. The committee reduced the brutality of their conclusion by saying that they did not exclude the possibility that one day, when the Crown’s war with Granada had been won, their judgment might be reconsidered; perhaps the agreeable Dr. Deza had insisted on that qualification to the committee’s reply. All the same, Columbus was naturally disheartened. He decided to return to Portugal. Bartolomeo, his brother, had written recently of a new optimism there while the explorer Bartolomeu Díaz was setting out that same August, to make another attempt to reach the southernmost point of Africa (Las Casas thought that Bartolomeo Colón took part in that heroic voyage).72 That was the year, too, that another remarkable Portuguese traveler, Pero de Covilhan, reached Calicut, in India, in a Muslim pilgrim boat from the Red Sea.
Early in 1488, King João sent Columbus a safe-conduct to Lisbon, which Columbus showed to King Fernando and Queen Isabel in Murcia.73 But at that time the Spanish monarchs were still preoccupied by the war against Granada, and the document had no effect one way or the other.
Back in Lisbon by October 1488, Columbus was once again thwarted. King João had half-changed his mind about the value of an Atlantic route to China, but had sent westward a small expedition under a Fleming, Ferdinand van Olmen, with two caravels (at his own cost) to discover “a great island or islands where it is said that there might be the site of seven cities.” But no one heard any more of that journey. Van Olmen, presumed lost, had had to start from the Azores, which was a less helpful point of embarkation, as Columbus knew, than the Canaries.
Columbus was probably in Lisbon, though, in December 1488 when Bartolomeu Díaz returned, perhaps accompanied by Bartolomeo Colón, from rounding the southern promontory of Africa, which he had optimistically named the Cape of Good Hope.74 Having found a southern route to India, the King of Portugal had no interest in a new western way.
Failing yet again to find the backing that he needed, Columbus contemplated an approach to the kings of France and England. After all, Spain and Portugal were not the only seafaring states. So he dispatched his brother Bartolomeo to London.75 But his ill luck held: Bartolomeo was captured at sea by pirates and spent two years in a private prison. Columbus, who did not hear of this new setback immediately, returned to the monastery of La Rábida, which then seemed the only place that had time for him and his ideas. Fray Antonio de Marchena maintained his enthusiasm, as did Fray Juan Pérez. Marchena suggested that Columbus might approach with advantage the Duke of Medina Sidonia, whose ships dominated the Straits of Gibraltar and who, from his white palace that overlooked Sanlúcar de Barrameda, at the mouth of the River Guadalquivir, controlled local fishing. The Duke was popularly known as the king of tuna fish (“El Rey de los Atunes”). He had invested heavily in sugar in the Canary Islands and would soon have substantial property in Tenerife. Surely he had ships to spare. But Medina Sidonia had committed his ships to the war against Granada and did not expose himself to Columbus’s charm.76
Columbus’s next activity is mysterious, for we find the monarchs sending letters to the municipal councils of Andalusia telling them to be sure to provide food and lodging for Columbus because he was engaged in various services for them.77 Perhaps he was providing intelligence about the war, though what it might have been is difficult to imagine. Whatever it was, it must have helped to make possible another discussion with the Queen. On this occasion, he saw Isabel alone, in the castle at Jaén, for Fernando was in the military camp at Baza.
Isabel seems to have talked to Columbus at length and to have left the clear impression that she might help him once Granada had fallen. She had at that time a copy of the wild stories of “Sir John Mandeville” and, though usually hardheaded, she always had a weakness for plausible dreamers. Her first ally, Archbishop Carrillo, for example, had introduced her in the 1470s to a certain Fernando Alarcón, who had promised to turn all her iron to gold. Perhaps in this new conversation, Isabel learned of Columbus’s journey to Africa in the 1480s, and perhaps he discussed with her his conviction that he had divine support, and how Jerusalem and its liberation were always on his mind. At the end of their talk, Isabel gave Columbus more money for his expenses and invited him to be present in her train at the expected surrender of the Moorish city of Baza at the end of 1490.
Having heard nothing from his brother Bartolomeo, though presumably knowing that he had encountered difficulties, Columbus determined to go himself to France. He was dissuaded by the theologian Dr. Deza.78 But then he had some good luck: he met the Duke of Medinaceli.
The Duke of Medinaceli, Luis de la Cerda, was then nearly fifty. He was the first duke. He might have been king, but his ancestors had abandoned their excellent claim. Still, King Fernando had recognized that if the royal family were to die out—and it could—the Duke might succeed to the throne.79 Like most other noblemen, the Duke was a grandson of the celebrated Marqués de Santillana, and thus was a nephew of Cardinal Mendoza and a cousin of the Duke of Alba. Medinaceli shared jurisdiction over Puerto de Santa María, and he controlled Huelva. Though not a warrior, he took part in most of the wars of Granada. He once refused to detach any of his own troops from his white standard and place them under the Count of Benavente, saying, “Tell your master that I came here at the head of my household to serve him, and they go nowhere without me as leader.”80
Medinaceli had his main residence now in Puerto de Santa María, and there, by a servant, Catalina del Puerto, he had several children, one of whom, Juan, would succeed him. His butler, a certain Romero, possibly a Jew, talked to him of Columbus, and the Duke summoned the Genoese to see him.81 He was impressed. Indeed, he was convinced. He gave him food, money, and lodging. Columbus talked extensively not only with the Duke but with his sailors and probably also with the corregidor of El Puerto, the historian Diego de Valera, then in his seventies. Valera had written several histories of Castile in which he had taken a monarchist position. “Remember, you reign in God’s stead on earth,” he had told the King after the capture of Ronda. “It is clear that Our Lord intends to carry out what has been proposed for centuries, to wit, you shall not only put all the realms of Spain under your royal scepter, but you will subjugate regions beyond the sea.” He had also informed King Fernando in 1482 of his ideas of how to gain victory in Granada.82 He was just the kind of man with whom Columbus would have liked to have talked extensively. He and his son Charles had performed well in the naval war against Portugal of the 1470s and gained the royal confidence. No doubt, too, Columbus talked to Charles, who had commanded a fleet off Africa.
Medinaceli wanted to help Columbus. But as a loyal duke, not too far from the throne, he did not feel able to act without royal approval.83 He wrote to the Queen telling of his willingness to support Columbus.84 The Queen wrote to thank Medinaceli for his suggestions, saying what a pleasure it was to have in her realm such wonderful people as he, disposed to act with such public spirit. But an enterprise such as Columbus proposed “could only be one for monarchs.”85 She did not want noblemen carving out independent domains for themselves in the Indies or anywhere else. She asked, too, that Columbus be asked to go to the court again without delay.
The Duke was annoyed, but he accepted that the will of the Queen constituted the will of God. A year or two later, he wrote to his uncle, Cardinal Mendoza:86
I don’t know if your eminence knows that I had in my house for a long time Christopher Columbus who came from Portugal and wished to go to see the King of France to seek his support. I myself wanted to send him from El Puerto with three or four caravels with a good infrastructure. But, as I saw that this was something for the Queen, I wrote to her, and she asked me to send him to her because, if anyone had to support him, it had to be her.87
So the weary Genoese prepared to return once more to the court, by now outside Granada. All the same, he lingered with Medinaceli and did not reach the valley of Granada till midsummer 1491. He reached his destination, as so often, at the wrong moment. The camp burned down j
ust after he arrived. No one was interested in his ideas. Columbus decided once and for all to go to France. Before setting off, though, he decided to return to the monastery of La Rábida; and on the way, in Córdoba, he also said goodbye, probably for the last time, to his mistress, Beatriz Enríquez, and his son Fernando.
He reached La Rábida in October. The monks realized that Columbus was now going to seek French backing and beseeched him to remain with them for a few more weeks, while they communicated again with the Queen; and Fray Juan Pérez, Isabel’s onetime confessor, the “guardian of the monastery,” wrote to tell her that if she did not change her mind about Columbus, it would be too late. His letter was taken to Santa Fe by a pilot of Lepe, Sebastián Rodríguez. The Queen replied that she would see Columbus immediately, and sent 20,000 maravedís for clothes to be worn at court and for a mule for him to ride in her presence. Once more he set off optimistically across Andalusia.
The role of Fray Juan Pérez was significant: he belonged to that branch of the Franciscan order that had been influenced by the millenarian Cistercian Joaquín de Fiore, abbot in two monasteries of Calabria in the twelfth century. Fray Juan wanted to secure royal support for Columbus on the supposition that what Abbot Joaquín had fancifully called “the last age of humanity” might be about to begin.
Once more, however, Pérez’s and Columbus’s hopes were thwarted. First, Columbus had again to make his case to a committee of “men most eminent in rank.” Again, we do not know exactly who these were, but probably as ever Talavera was the president of the committee. Perhaps Medinaceli participated, as well as Alessandro Geraldini, a recently arrived humanist from Genoa, one of the teachers of the Infante Juan. We can imagine how Columbus produced his maps again, his letters from Toscanelli, his interpretation of d’Ailly, his notes on Ptolemy, his well-remembered quotations from Mandeville and from Pope Pius II, his own memories of the Atlantic. Perhaps he mentioned again the possibility of being able to finance a campaign to recover Jerusalem: “I protested to Your Highnesses that everything gained as a result of this voyage would be spent in the conquest of Jerusalem, and your Highnesses laughed and said that the idea pleased them.”88
