THE SOJOURN IN MADEIRA
Columbus had not been very long in Lisbon when he met, at church, a girl
named Felipa Monez Perestrello. Felipa was of noble birth; Christopher
was not; but he was handsome--tall, fair-haired, dignified,--and full of
earnestness in his views of life. Felipa consented to marry him.
Felipa must have been a most interesting companion for a man who loved
voyaging, for she had been born in the Madeiras. Her father, now dead,
had been appointed governor, by Prince Henry, of a little island called
Porto Santo, and Felipa and her mother (with whom the young couple went
to live) had many a tale to tell about that far outpost of the Atlantic.
This is probably what set Christopher yearning for the sea; and so,
about 1479, he and his wife and her mother, Senora Perestrello, all
sailed off for Porto Santo. The Senora must have liked her new son-in-
law's enthusiasm for the sea, for she gave him the charts and
instruments that had belonged to her husband; but as Governor
Perestrello had never been a navigator, these could not have been either
very numerous or very helpful.
From Porto Santo, Columbus made a voyage to Guinea and back; and after
that he and his family went to live on the larger island of Madeira.
There, according to many men who knew Columbus well, the following event
happened.
One day a storm-tossed little caravel, holding four sick, battered,
Portuguese sailors and a Spanish pilot, all of them little more than
living skeletons, was blown on the Madeira shore near where Christopher
dwelt. Their tale was a harrowing one. They had started, they said,
months before from the Canaries for the Madeiras, but had been blown
far, far, far, to the west; and then, when the wind quieted down so that
they could try to get back, their ship became disabled and their food
gave out. Starvation and exposure had nearly finished them; four, in
fact, died within a day or two; but the Spanish pilot, the one who had
kept his strength long enough to steer toward Madeira, lived longer. The
kind-hearted Christopher, who was devoured with curiosity, had had the
poor fellow carried to his own home. He and Felipa did all they could
for him, but their nursing could not restore him. The pilot, seeing that
he would never be able to make another voyage, added a last detail to
the story he first told; namely, that his ship had actually visited a
new land hundreds of miles out in the Atlantic Ocean! A proof of
Christopher's own suspicions! Can you not see him, the evening after his
talk with the pilot, standing at sunset on some high point of Madeira,
and looking wistfully out over the western water, saying, "I _must_
sail out there and find those lands. I know I can do it!" So he went
back to Lisbon to try.
Certain it is that Columbus's absorbing interest in the unknown,
mysterious west dates from his returning to Lisbon to live. Not only did
he talk earnestly with men who had interests in the Atlantic isles, he
studied all the available geographical works. Before the time came to
leave for Spain he had read the wonderful "Relation" (or Narrative) of
Marco Polo; the "Imago Mundi" (Image of the World) by Cardinal d'Ailly;
the "Historia Rerum" (History of Things) by Pope Pius II.; and he had
studied Ptolemy's "Geography." From this small library came all the
scientific knowledge, true and false, that Christopher ever had. From
these he built up whatever theories of the universe he may have laid
before the sovereigns of Spain.
Marco Polo, the Venetian, had traveled, as every one knows, across Asia
to Cathay (China) in the thirteenth century and had visited the Great
Khan or Emperor. On his return he wrote the "Relation," a most
exaggerated but fascinating account of the wealth of that remote land
and of Cipango (Japan) also, which the Chinese had told him about. The
"Imago Mundi" was certainly better reading for him, because less
exaggerated; whatever myths and fables it contained, it was not the sort
of book to turn a young man's thoughts toward amassing wealth. Instead,
its author had gathered together all that was known or seriously argued
concerning this world. On this curious old volume Christopher pinned his
entire faith. It became his bedside companion; and his copy of it, full
of notes in his own handwriting and in that of his brother Bartholomew
as well, may be seen to-day in the Columbian Library in Sevilla.
For centuries it has been asserted by men who have written about
Columbus that the most important event during his Lisbon days was his
correspondence with a learned astronomer named Paolo Toscanelli.
Columbus, they argue, having formed the plan of sailing west to discover
a route to the Indies (which Columbus never thought of doing at that
early day), wrote to ask Toscanelli's advice, and the wise Florentine
approved most heartily. It appears from the astronomer's letter that he
never dreamed, any more than did Columbus, that a whole continent lay
far off in the unexplored western ocean. He supposed the world to be
much smaller than it really is, with the ocean occupying only a seventh
of it; and that if one sailed three or four thousand miles west, he
would surely come to the islands of Cipango (pronounced in Italian Tchi-
pango), or Japan, lying off the mainland of Cathay or China. Toscanelli,
like Columbus, had read all about the Far East in Marco Polo's book, and
was convinced that if the Venetian had reached it by going east
overland, some one else might reach it by going west oversea.
Accordingly he encouraged the aspiring young explorer. He told Columbus,
furthermore, that he had talked with an ambassador from the Far East who
came to the court of Pope Eugenius IV. "I was often in the Ambassador's
company," he wrote, "and he told me of the immense rivers in his
country, and of two hundred cities with marble bridges upon the banks of
a single river." Of Cipango he wrote, "This island contains such an
abundance of precious stones and metals that the temples and royal
palaces are covered with plates of gold!"
The Toscanelli letter is dated 1474, and begins: "To Christopher
Columbus, Paul the Physician, health: I see thy noble and great desire
to go there where grow the spices." But the strange thing is that
Columbus never made use of it in pleading before kings, nor did he even
mention Toscanelli and the route to India. Neither in all his writings
can the name of Toscanelli be found; and it was not till after
Columbus's death (and Toscanelli's), when others began to write history,
that the document was made public. Most Columbian scholars therefore
doubt its genuineness, and think it was not written by Toscanelli in
1474, but by some one in Lisbon long after Columbus had actually made
his discovery.
In any case, the pilot's story was a far more likely factor in sending
Christopher west. Nor is it to his discredit that he was willing to risk
his life on a dying sailor's wild, improbable tale, rather than on an
astronomer's carefully worked out theory. Whether our navigator had
theories or not is of little consequence compared to the fact that he
had boldness, tenacity, and the spirit of adventure.
"The King of Portugal refused with blindness to second me in my projects
of maritime discovery."
So Christopher declares in his Journal; but in spite of his way of
putting it, King John did not blindly refuse to listen to him. Let us
see what, according to two Portuguese historians, really happened when,
on his return from Madeira about 1483, he solicited aid.
Columbus told the monarch, who himself knew a great deal about
navigation, but who was not nearly as intelligent as his uncle, Prince
Henry, how the persistent rumors he had heard at Madeira concerning land
in the west made him eager to undertake a western voyage of discovery;
and how, if only the king would give him a fleet and some sailors, he
would lead them out until they found "lands." The king, who was really
not so blind as Columbus thought, did not refuse, but said he must first
submit the idea to his Council for Geographical Affairs. This Council
consisted of two Jewish doctors and a bishop. The doctors were noted
students of geography, yet they declared the scheme to be impossible,
and Columbus to be a "visionary."
That such an answer could have been made by men whose nation had been so
bold on the sea for fifty years past is at first glance surprising. But
one must remember that the Portuguese had been merely feeling their way
along Africa. They had perfect confidence in a southern route that
hugged the shore. South was safe; but west beyond the Azores, where
there was no shore to hug, was quite another matter; they felt that
their own navigators, in finding the Azores, had reached the ultimate
limits in that direction. Their disagreement may not have been caused by
fear, but by realizing that the instruments and ships of the day were
not sufficient for such hazardous undertakings. This fact Columbus
realized too, and hence his greater bravery. Besides, argued the
Portuguese, would there be any profit at the end of the enterprise? They
felt sure that at the end of their own southern expeditions lay those
same rich (but vague) Indies which Arab merchants reached by going
overland southeast through Asia or south through Egypt; it was all "the
Indies" to them, and their navigators were sure to come in touch with
it. But who could possibly predict what would be reached far off in the
vast west! Why, they wondered, was this Italian so sure of himself (for
the story of the shipwrecked pilot had not yet come to their ears); and
why, they further wondered, should he ask such large rewards for finding
islands that would probably be nothing more than rocky points in the
ocean, like the Azores. No, they concluded, the Italian was a
"visionary," and the Council for Geographical Affairs advised the king
accordingly.
Seeing that nothing was to be gained by remaining in Portugal, and
having become involved soon after in some political trouble, Columbus
decided to leave for Spain, and offer to Ferdinand and Isabella the
western lands which King John of Portugal had refused.