Columbus and Beatriz: a novel

Preface

THE object of this work is to attempt the reparation of an injustice which history has done to a noble and long-suffering woman. Beatriz Enriquez has been denied her lawful position as the wife of Columbus by writers from Humboldt and Irving to the tourist who publishes his impressions of a few weeks' sojourn in Spain; and the illicit connection of Columbus with a beautiful lady of Cordova has been expatiated upon in every tone of impartial narrative and jesting allusion. The slander is, however, of modern origin. Although Columbus was loaded with calumny during his lifetime, no one dreamed of denying his connection by marriage with the noble house of Arana, or of questioning the legitimacy of his second son, Fernando.

It was not till an obscure lawyer at a later time raised a legal quibble about the matter for the purpose of gaining a suit for a client, that the idea was suggested ; and that it was repugnant to the facts of history is evident, since the

Vlll PREFACE.

unscrupulous attorney lost his case, and the affair remained forgotten until, in 1805, Napione, followed by Sportorno and Navarrete, revived the unwarranted assumption with eagerness, as throwing a new hght upon the character of Columbus.

The only apparent support to this theory of an illicit connection is the fact that Columbus in his will mentions Beatriz Enriquez by name without adding the title of wife, and adds that in recommending her to the care of his heir he eases his conscience, since he is under great obligation to her, " the reason of which," as he says, '' it is not expedient to mention here."

Out of this weak material the web of falsehood has been spun. Without following the discussion in its full extent, the argument of common-sense may be applied in Beatriz's justification. It is known that her two brothers (some say a nephew and a brother) sailed with Columbus upon two of his voyages in a distinguished position of trust under the Admiral. Would the sons of a noble house thus condone their sister's dishonor?

The mystery involved in Columbus's allusion to Beatriz without giving her the title of wife is supplemented by the singular fact that in the most important crises of his life she was absent from his side or unmentioned. The theory upon which the following story is constructed

PREFACE. IX

offers an explanation which is maintained to be more deserving of credence than that of Sportorno, since it fits every subsequent event in the life of Columbus with the congruity of a historical fact. It is not the reputation of Columbus that is at stake. History, while accepting his offence, has readily excused it, — " He was a man of his times," forsooth ; but the beautiful young Beatriz Enriquez, whose life linked to his was undoubtedly a sad one, should be delivered from unmerited reproach; and the open-minded student of history as well as the enthusiastic champion of slandered innocence should unite in rendering a tardy justice to her memory.

The motif of this book was gained from Roselly de Lorgues's Life of Columbus, which has been, for the most part, closely followed in the relation of facts and the sequence of events.

C. G. DuB.

Waterbury, Conn.,

February i8, 1892.

Contents

Chapter Page

I. In the Cathedral 13

II. Heart to Heart 22

Chapter I. In The Cathedral

CORDOVA, on an August day, dazzling with sunshine, palpitating with heat, seemed to a stranger who trod its streets one afternoon in the year i486, a city of the dead, so deserted were its thoroughfares. An ox-cart laden with country produce passed now and then, with straining ropes and londcreaking axles, making an unwonted noise on the clean, rough-paved streets. On the fashionable promenade by the gently flowing Guadalquivir, where later a gay throng would assemble, a solitary fisherman was the only moving figure, as he went with line and basket to seek the shadow of the bridge where he could carry on his indolent occupation with the least effort.

In the cathedral square, at most hours, a stream of worshippers, entering and departing, made a continual movement. At this time they came and went unnoticed, and few in number. The fountains that had once been used for Mohammedan ablutions plashed, as of old, in their worn marble basins ; the arched colonnades and the thick shade of the orange-trees in the enclosed gardens invited to repose ; but it was the cathedral itself that drew the stranger's footsteps with magnetic attraction. Built a Mohammedan mosque, it expressed a conception so noble that it stirred the heart of the Christian who gave little credit to the infidels' devotion. The ambition of Abd-ur-rhaman, the khalif, had been to make it the shrine of the Mohammedan faith, a western Mecca. Its vast caverns of shade, its countless pillars and arches, suggested a forest turned to stone. Its vistas stretching in every direction gave the idea of infinite extent. The ranks of gleaming pillars of porphyry and many-colored marble might lead the worshipper's footsteps through an endless round of adoration. Prayer was here the instinct of the soul.

The stranger flung himself upon his knees before a shrine of the Virgin, which, with its crudely colored panels and filigree ornamentation, looked out of place amid the simple harmonies of the Moorish architecture. To him it was the dwelling-place of the presence that animated the whole. He prayed with the fervor of one who has the habit of spiritual communion, the power to see visions and hear voices, the perception of heights and depths of immaterial realities denied to ordinary men. He was lost to outward circumstance until aroused from his devotions by an obtrusive sound, a woman's sob.

He rose and looked about him. By the same shrine, not far from him in the shadow of a pillar, a young girl knelt in prayer as fervent as his own had been. Her dark blue mantle had slipped from her shoulders, and lay upon the pavement. Her enveloping veil was thrown back, disclosing a youthful face of wonder-

IN THE CATHEDRAL. 1 5

ful beauty, in spite of the sorrow that forced tears from her eyes. She clasped her rosary with its cross to her breast, while she cast an appealing glance upward to the unresponsive waxen countenance of the Virgin's image.

" Hear me. Holy Mother," she said ; " hear my prayer." At this moment her eyes fell upon the stranger who stood near. She started with a movement of alarm, clutching at her veil and mantle with fingers still wound within her rosary. He gently placed his hand upon her shoulder, as one would soothe a frightened child.

" I doubt not your prayer is heard and will be answered," he said.

The young girl rose with a look of wonder and reverence fixed upon the man, whose face in its mild benignity was like that of a pictured saint, and whose vigorous manly form expressed energy and strength.

" How can you know? " she asked, with a trustful appeal in voice and eyes which the stranger answered with a smile.

" I am no prophet," he said ; " but your soul was near mine as we prayed. Something assures me that your petition will be fulfilled, as mine will also in God's own time. I am patient, and can wait in hope."

" I must go," said the young girl, with a slight blush, as she arranged her mantle. " My nurse will soon be seeking me. I told her to follow me in an hour. I wished to pray alone, I was so unhappy."

" Tell me your grief, and I may be able to aid you," said the stranger. '^ Let us sit upon a bench outside yonder beneath the orange-trees. Your nurse will find you there."

His voice and manner inspired confidence. His hair was streaked with gray, and there were lines of age upon his brow. He was a Christian, for he had prayed with reverence and devotion. The young girl seated herself beside him on a marble bench in the shade near a fountain.

" I was praying that the Blessed Virgin would grant me escape from a hateful marriage," she said in a faltering voice. " For my father's sake I would obey him in everything but this. I cannot respect Don Francisco, who is old, decrepit, selfish, jealous, and tyrannical. It would be a mockery to take the solemn vows. Yet my father's will is strong, and I am weak and young. The Blessed Virgin alone can help me."

" You love, I doubt not, a younger man," said the stranger.

" No, I love no man save my father and my brothers," she answered frankly, lifting her clear, grave eyes to his face. " I know not what love is, as the poets sing it. It seems to me a foolish thing."

" Some day you will learn the secret, which is both foolish and wise," said the stranger, looking at her with a smile.

The bright light of the unclouded day brought out the absolute perfection of her complexion, the faultless beauty of her features, the charm and freshness of her youth. The leaves of the orange-trees stirred gently. The soft languor of the Spanish air disposed the mind to tender fancies. A breath of his lost youth seemed to the stranger to be wafted with the breeze from the Guadalquivir.

IN THE CATHEDRAL. 1 7

The young girl respected her companion's reverie. She looked with sympathy at his melancholy face, which interested her strangely. The lines of his mouth were capable of expressing the gentlest emotion or the most inflexible resolve. He was a man to whom a child would run for love and protection. His arms were strong, his heart pure. No doubt he was a good husband. His wife need fear no unkindness, no jealousy, nor angry reproaches.

" Where is your home? " she asked at last. " Your accent is not that of a CastiHan or an Aragonese. Are you a stranger in Cordova? "

"I am a stranger, and I have no home," he answered. " I am a widower and alone, without money and without friends. My little son is left behind me to be educated by the good friars of La Rabida, near Palos. I came from thence hither, to seek the favor of the king, hoping that the prior of Prado would advance me to his notice by virtue of a letter I brought to him. Foolish hope ! He refuses me the honor of his own countenance. For a week I have waited in his anteroom amid a crowd of suppliants. The prior is busy. All others win his attention before me. No matter. Patience will unlock the door at which haste and distrust beat in vain. God fulfils his purposes."

The young girl's hand stole from the folds of her mantle. With an impulse of generous pity, she extended it to the stranger.

" Accept me for your friend," she said.

** Beautiful child," he exclaimed, as he took the offered hand, smiling upon her with a sudden light in his eyes which gave his face for the time a look of youth, " we are both servants of the Virgm, who received our united prayers at the same moment into her infinite heart of love. Such virtue endures from that companionship that we can never be as strangers to each other. A celestial tie binds our souls."

Both faces glowed with emotion which a spectator could not interpret, — Don Francisco Hernandez less than another, since jealousy led him astray. Unseen by the two chance companions, an elderly woman and a gray- haired man had entered the garden and approached them.

" Dona Beatriz," called the woman, anxiously, " your father is expecting us ! Let us make haste ! Don Francisco came with me — "

" To see with my own eyes my undoing ! " interrupted the old man, in a voice hoarse with rage. " So, my pretty Senorita, you receive your lovers by secret appointment in the very shelter of the church ! Go back to your father, and tell him I will have none of you ! "

Beatriz colored with the anger of wounded pride.

"You wrong this lady ! " cried the stranger. *' She is as good as she is fair. I am a new-comer in Cordova, and have met her this hour for the first time."

" Yet you hold her hand, and look upon her with the eyes of admiration unrebuked ! " cried Don Francisco. " Fie, fie, worse and worse ! "

The old nurse wrung her hands.

" Explain yourself to Don Francisco, and entreat his pardon, Senorita ! " she said in a trembling voice.

IN THE CATHEDRAL. 19

" It is too great a calamity that you should thus offend him."

Beatriz rose in the dignity of her stainless youth.

"I have nothing to explain," she said. "This man has spoken the truth. I will go home with you, Teresa."

"Alas, alas, you will lose your husband by this chance ! " exclaimed Teresa. " A man so rich you will never find again. Bend your pride, and ask his pardon."

" I have offended in nothing," said Beatriz, simply. " He should ask my pardon for his unjust suspicions."

She walked towards the gateway with the movement of a queen. Don Francisco ground his teeth in rage.

" It is you who are to blame for this," he exclaimed, glaring at the stranger, and clutching his cane with his thin jewelled fingers, as if he longed to vent his anger in blows, but was restrained in spite of himself by the calm superiority of the man before him, which awed the choleric old man in spite of the threadbare and travel- stained clothes the stranger wore.

" Who are you ? Where do you come from ? What are you doing here? " he added.

"My name is Cristoval Colon," 1 responded the stranger. " I came of late from the sea-coast to your city, where I have a petition to urge upon their highnesses the king and queen."

1 Pronounced Co-lone'. The Spanish form of the name of Christopher Columbus is used here and elsewhere throughout the book, as being more consistent than its English equivalent with the local coloring of the story.

" Aha, I have heard of you ! " exclaimed Don Francisco. " A threadbare ItaHan adventurer ; a dancer of attendance in anterooms; a hanger-on of the court who never advances beyond the squires' quarters ; a mad dreamer of absurdities which every one derides, such as seeking cities of gold in the boiling torrid zone or through the abysses of the whirlpool. Oh, yes, I have heard of you, Seilor Court -jester ! Had I known it was you whom I believed my rival, I should have been moved to laughter rather than to anger, which too much honors your pretensions."

The color deepened in Colon's face.

"Your age insures you my forbearance," he said.

"Age!" exclaimed Don Francisco, indignantly, while the veins on his forehead swelled ominously, and he felt a choking sensation in his throat. His physician had warned him against the effects of excessive anger. " As for age, I am scarce older than yourself. Remember that I forbid you ever again to approach the lady who is my betrothed," he added. " She is of the highest rank. How dare you, a low-born wanderer, seat yourself familiarly in her presence? "

" I acknowledge no nobility higher than that of a soul at peace with God," replied Colon. " I, who may commune with the Virgin and the saints, may talk to a simple young girl, whatever her rank, on terms of equality, nay, of superiority. ^My right to offer her marriage — if such a wish occurred to me — is as good as yours, Seiior Don Francisco."

He rose as he spoke, bowed with grave composure.

IN THE CATHEDRAL. 2i

and left the garden without a look behind. He was vaguely conscious that the old man had shaken his cane and gasped for utterance in an access of sudden fury. He did not see Don Francisco stagger, clutch at his throat, and fall dying in an apoplectic seizure upon the grass beneath the orange-trees.

Chapter II. Heart To Heart

HTHE sudden death of Don Francisco Hernandez -*■ was the talk of the day in Cordova. He was reported to be immensely rich ; and his position as the favored suitor of a celebrated beauty had won him the envy of many younger men, in spite of the fact that the bride was portionless. It was known that the wealth of the Enriquezes had been squandered by the present head of the family in an attempt to solve the problem of the philosopher's stone. The furnace and the crucible had melted and dissipated into smoke the value of many a treasure and family heirloom.

Don Fernando Enriquez was prostrated by the blow which deprived him of his wealthy son-in-law. He lay in a darkened room, and his daughter devotedly administered to his wants. It was the day of the funeral; and the reports brought in from time to time by Teresa, the old nurse and housekeeper, were received with new groans by the sufferer.

" Keep up a good heart, Seiior," said Teresa, encouragingly. '■'■ I know of more than one young gallant who is only waiting for Don Francisco to be cold in the ground to offer himself as your son-in-law. It is not for nothing that our Sefiorita has been called the queen of beauty in Cordova. Young Garcia de

Silva has been deep in love with her since he met her at Don Aguilar's wedding. I never see him on the street but he makes some attempt to converse with me. I shall no longer put on a long face, and slip by him as if I were blind and deaf. He is not as rich as Don Francisco, — Heaven rest his soul ! — but he is a proper man and a generous. Some day, I doubt not, he will be high in favor at the court."

" Speak not to me of that young spendthrift ! " commanded Don Fernando ; " and do not take it upon thyself to choose a husband for my daughter, or to encourage the penniless young nobles who write sonnets in praise of her eyes and her hair. I will have none of them, dost thou understand me? A man of age and discretion, who has wealth and knows how to keep what he has, — such is my choice. Find me one if thou canst."

" They do not grow on every bush," said Teresa, pursing her lips and shrugging her shoulders, " and something is better than nothing."

" Quote me no proverbs," said Enriquez, "but go dress thy mistress for the funeral. Let her wear her heaviest veil, and lean on her brother Rodrigo's arm. In my absence, he is the head of the family. My son Pedro may stay with me."

" I cannot go, my father," said Beatriz, in a faltering voice. " Let Pedro take my place, and let me remain at home with you."

" She has heard the silly talk of the maids, and it has frightened her," explained Teresa, officiously. " The ignorant folk mamtain that Don Francisco was murdered, since his forehead was cut as if by a blow from a stick, though the fall alone might account for that."

"Why hast thou not told me?" asked Enriquez, starting.

" Because the priests say there is no word of truth in the story, and my lady bade me not mention it to you."

" It is not true ; it cannot be tnie," said Beatriz. "Who could wish his death?"

" Many a one who loved you," muttered Teresa, under her breath.

" Then why dost thou fear to go to the church, my daughter?" demanded Enriquez.

Beatriz hesitated.

" She is still thinking of the story of the maids," interposed Teresa. " They say that the murderer — if murder there was — will be discovered by his presence in the crowd about the bier, for at his approach the wound on the dead man's brow will bleed afresh."

" No doubt such things have been," said Enriquez ; " but it is not to be beHeved that a man so high in rank could come to his end by foul means unavenged. The city would be aroused. The magistrates and clergy would take it up. Since it is only the voice of servants that deals in this foolish gossip, rebuke it and silence it, my daughter. Go to the church, as is thy place, and pray for the soul of the departed."

Beatriz had been much shocked by Don Francisco's sudden death. She saw him constantly before her as she had left him in the cathedral garden in angry altercation with a stranger. What had been the result of that interview? Were the stranger's hands reddened with blood ? Did his forehead bear unseen the mark of Cain? If so, she was the unwilUng cause of a foul murder. It was this thought that agitated her, and banished rest, filhng her fancy with horrible imaginings. She was unwilling to believe evil of the man with the saintly face who had predicted the answer to her prayer which had been thus tragically fulfilled. It was as if she had prayed unknowingly for the death of Don Francisco. A shadow of guilt darkened the sanctuary of her holiest thoughts. Had that moment of spiritual communion before the Virgin's shrine been imaginary ? Was the man with whose heart her own had been fused and blended in angelic friendship by a spark from a divine altar, — was he less pure and noble than she had imagined?

Beatriz lived a secluded life, her father being of late unwilling that she should mingle freely in the gay society of the city by which she was admired and courted ; poverty being his plea for withdrawing her from it, together with the invalid state of his health, which demanded the sacrifice of her time and strength in his serv'ice. She had never known the careless freedom of a happy girlhood ; nor, among her many admirers, had she found one who could teach her the meaning of love. Her father contrived that the expression of their feelings should be limited to a distant homage of compliments, looks, and sighs ; and Beatriz, having neither vanity nor coquetry, was quite unmoved by this. Friendship was her highest ideal. If she could have admired and respected Don Francisco, she would have been willing to become his wife.

Young Garcia de Silva was the most ardent and daring of her lovers. No repulse discouraged him.

He delighted in overcoming the obstacles that were persistently placed in his path. In time his youthful courage, reinforced by his handsome figure, might have won his way to Beatriz's shy favor ; but Teresa, recognizing the extreme danger of incurring the rich Don Francisco's wrath, took every means to prejudice her mistress against the young man. Since Don Francisco's death, Teresa had suddenly changed her tone. She wearied her young mistress with praises of De Silva, which were honestly given in exchange for the golden bribes which she no longer refused to receive from him. She carried his letters and messages, and smuggled his valuable gifts into the house, only to meet with stern reproof and rejection from Beatriz.

"A week ago, Teresa, thou didst represent Don Garcia as a wild young libertine ; now thou dost declare him to be possessed of all the virtues," Beatriz said severely.

" He has always been virtuous, but I have not known him," Teresa replied. " We cannot credit all we hear. He is as handsome as a picture, and as brave as the Cid. When the period of mourning is passed, you will meet him again, and you will believe what I say."

These incongruous declarations did not tend to relieve the trouble of Beatriz's mind. No prodigy occurred at the funeral, which took place with pomp and ceremony in the cathedral ; but Beatriz looked in vain among the crowd for the melancholy face and inspired eyes of the Italian.

A month later she met him upon the street as she was going for prayers to the cathedral with Teresa at her side, the latter bearing a silken bag containing a heavy wax-candle, which was to be bestowed in favor of the repose of Don Francisco's soul. Beatriz paused and beckoned with an imperious gesture. Teresa frowned as the stranger approached. Don Garcia's ducats lay heavy in her pocket, yet she dared not interfere when Beatriz's face wore a certain look of fixed resolve. Colon smiled as one does to greet a child. Then he saw the mourning veil, and his face grew serious.

*' You have my sympathy," he said, as he respectfully returned her greeting. '' It was a strange and sudden death."

« When you left him, was he well? " asked Beatriz, in a trembling voice.

" He was half beside himself with anger," replied Colon, " but I had no thought that evil would befall him. My mind was full of other things, I did not look behind me."

" Were you in the cathedral when he lay there ? Did you see him? " asked Beatriz, anxiously.

"I approached the bier and looked at him," he answered. '' He was as if asleep. Let us hope that the sin of anger was but a stain of the flesh forgiven the departed soul."

" Amen," said Teresa, crossing herself devoutly. « Did the wound upon his temple bleed when you looked at him?" asked Beatriz, close to his ear, so that Teresa should not overhear the words.

Colon started. This superstition was not new to him. With quick intuition he realized what Beatriz had thought and feared.

"I cannot talk to you here," he said. "I will come to your father's house this evening. I know your brother, the honorable Rodrigo. He has been kind to me. The Pope's former nuncio, the accomplished Antonio Geraldini, presented me to him as one worthy of his regard. I lodge near your house. I have watched you come and go, and it seemed to me that good angels were with you. May they shield you from evil fancies ! "

He was gone ; and Beatriz walked on, blushing and chiding herself for her fears, and her too frank expression of them. Her mind was relieved. Words of denial were unnecessary. Heart spoke to heart. The blessing of the Virgin's smile had made their friendship strange and unearthly, but real and abiding.

Colon, for his part, was not indifferent to the interest which he had excited in this beautiful girl. Beatriz's modesty was as evident as her beauty. There was a radiant spirituality about her that appealed to his own deep religious sense, and made the understanding between them the result of intuitive sympathy. But Colon was not content, as Beatriz had been, with the moment's perfection. Life to him was full of serious responsibilities. The present was laden with the burden of a mighty future ; and he saw a supernatural guidance in the most trivial occurrences. His meeting with Beatriz, when he was still a stranger in Cordova ; the quick impulse of prophecy which had welled from his heart to his Hps regarding the fulfilment of her prayer ; the death of Don Francisco, which had left her free ; his own bereaved state, and his need of a woman's sympathy to bind the wounds which fate inflicted, and to console him for the disappointments he foresaw in a tedious course of supplication at the Court of Spain, — all pointed unmistakably, he believed, to a path which Heaven had marked out for him to follow. He was thrilled with gratitude for the divine interposition which echoed the primeval utterance of the Creator : "It is not good that man should be alone; I will make him an help meet for him."

All day the voice of Beatriz sounded in his ears, and her image was before him. He did not resist the pleasing allurements of his fancy, and it seemed an inevitable fate which led his steps in the cool of the evening to the house of Enriquez.

An old servant bade him enter, and conducted him to a marble-paved patio in the centre of the house, where a fountain plashed musically, reflecting the sky and the sunset glow. Beatriz sat here with her younger brother. Her round white arm was about his neck, and his bright face was upturned to hers, which, although hardly more mature, wore a tender maternal look, as she bent towards him with words of counsel and sympathy. Beatriz rose as the stranger approached, and her brother stood beside her, holding her hand, both youthful figures leaning slightly forward, half curious, half startled.

" Oh ! it is the mad Genoese," whispered Pedro, hurriedly. " I met him at our brother's. What brings him here? "

Beatriz blushed, and leaned more heavily on Pedro's arm. She was conscious of a sudden feeling of alarm, as if the sanctuary of her home had been boldly invaded. She half read the Italian's purpose in the look he bent upon her. She was not displeased, and yet she trembled.

30 COLUMBUS AND BEATRTZ.

*' Good- evening, Seiior," said Pedro. "Would you see my father? "

Colon smiled into the boy's handsome eyes ; and Pedro's prejudice was dissipated, and replaced with the loyalty of sudden friendship which children always gave the Italian at first sight.