CHAPTER IV.

What thing a right line is, the learned know;
But how availes that him, who in the right
Of life and manners doth desire to grow?
What then are all these humane arts, and lights,
But seas of errors? In whose depths who sound,
Of truth finde only shadowes, and no ground.”
Human Learning.

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The morning of the 2d of January, 1492, was ushered
in with a solemnity and pomp that were unusual even in a
court and camp as much addicted to religious observances
and royal magnificence, as that of Ferdinand and Isabella.
The sun had scarce appeared, when all in the extraordinary
little city of Santa Fé were afoot, and elate with triumph.
The negotiations for the surrender of Granada, which had
been going on secretly for weeks, were terminated; the army
and nation had been formally apprised of their results, and
this was the day set for the entry of the conquerors.

The court had been in mourning for Don Alonso of Portugal,
the husband of the Princess Royal of Castile, who
had died a bridegroom; but on this joyous occasion the
trappings of woe were cast aside, and all appeared in their
gayest and most magnificent apparel. At an hour that was
still early, the Grand Cardinal moved forward, ascending
what is called the Hill of Martyrs, at the head of a strong
body of troops, with a view to take possession. While
making the ascent, a party of Moorish cavaliers was met;
and at their head rode one in whom, by the dignity of his
mien and the anguish of his countenance, it was easy to
recognize the mental suffering of Boabdil, or Abdallah, the
deposed monarch. The cardinal pointed out the position
occupied by Ferdinand, who, with that admixture of piety
and worldly policy which were so closely interwoven in his
character, had refused to enter within the walls of the conquered
city, until the symbol of Christ had superseded the

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banners of Mahomet; and who had taken his station at
some distance from the gates, with a purpose and display
of humility that were suited to the particular fanaticism
of the period. As the interview that occurred has often
been related, and twice quite recently by distinguished
writers of our own country, it is unnecessary to dwell on
it here. Abdallah next sought the presence of the purerminded
and gentle Isabella, where his reception, with less
affectation of the character, had more of the real charity
and compassion of the Christian; when he went his way
towards that pass in the mountains that has ever since been
celebrated as the point where he took his last view of the
palaces and towers of his fathers, from which it has obtained
the poetical and touching name of El Ultimo Suspiro
Del Moro.

Although the passage of the last King of Granada, from
his palace to the hills, was in no manner delayed, as it
was grave and conducted with dignity, it consequently occupied
some time. These were hours in which the multitude
covered the highways, and the adjacent fields were
garnished with a living throng, all of whom kept their eyes
riveted on the towers of the Alhambra, where the signs of
possession were anxiously looked for by every good Catholic
who witnessed the triumph of his religion.

Isabella, who had made this conquest a condition in the
articles of marriage — whose victory in truth it was — abstained,
with her native modesty, from pressing forward on
this occasion. She had placed herself at some distance in
the rear of the position of Ferdinand. Still, unless indeed
we except the long-coveted towers of the Alhambra, she
was the centre of attraction. She appeared in royal magnificence,
as due to the glory of the occasion; her beauty
always rendered her an object of admiration; her mildness,
inflexible justice, and unyielding truth, had won all hearts;
and she was really the person who was most to profit by
the victory, Granada being attached to her own crown of
Castile, and not to that of Aragon, a country that possessed
little or no contiguous territory.

Previously to the appearance of Abdallah, the crowd
moved freely, in all directions; multitudes of civilians
having flocked to the camp to witness the entry. Among

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others were many friars, priests and monks, the war, indeed,
having the character of a crusade. The throng of
the curious was densest near the person of the queen,
where, in truth, the magnificence of the court was the most
imposing. Around this spot, in particular, congregated most
of the religious, for they felt that the pious mind of Isabella
created a sort of moral atmosphere in and near her presence,
that was peculiarly suited to their habits, and favourable
to their consideration. Among others, was a friar of
prepossessing mien, and, in fact, of noble birth, who had
been respectfully addressed as Father Pedro, by several
grandees, as he made his way from the immediate presence
of the queen, to a spot where the circulation was easier.
He was accompanied by a youth of an air so much
superior to that of most of those who did not appear that
day in the saddle, that he attracted general attention.
Although not more than twenty, it was evident, from his
muscular frame, and embrowned but florid cheeks, that he
was acquainted with exposure; and by his bearing, many
thought, notwithstanding he did not appear in armour on an
occasion so peculiarly military, that both his mien and his
frame had been improved by familiarity with war. His
attire was simple, as if he rather avoided than sought observation,
but it was, nevertheless, such as was worn by
none but the noble. Several of those who watched this youth,
as he reached the less confined portions of the crowd, had
seen him received graciously by Isabella, whose hand he
had even been permitted to kiss, a favour that the formal
and fastidious court of Castile seldom bestowed except on
the worthy, or, on those, at least, who were unusually
illustrious from their birth. Some whispered that he was a
Guzman, a family that was almost royal; while others
thought that he might be a Ponce, a name that had got to be
one of the first in Spain, through the deeds of the renowned
Marquis-Duke of Cadiz, in this very war; while others,
again, affected to discern in his lofty brow, firm step, and
animated eye, the port and countenance of a Mendoza.

It was evident that the subject of all these commentaries
was unconscious of the notice that was attracted by his
vigorous form, handsome face, and elastic, lofty tread; for,
like one accustomed to be observed by inferiors, his

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attention was confined to such objects as amused his eye, or
pleased his fancy, while he lent a willing ear to the remarks
that, from time to time, fell from the lips of his reverend
companion.

“This is a most blessed and glorious day for Christianity!”
observed the friar, after a pause a little longer than
common. “An impious reign of seven hundred years hath
expired, and the Moor is at length lowered from his pride;
while the cross is elevated above the banners of the false
prophet. Thou hast had ancestors, my son, who might
almost arise from their tombs, and walk the earth in exultation,
if the tidings of these changes were permitted to
reach the souls of Christians long since departed.”

“The Blessed Maria intercede for them, father, that they
may not be disturbed, even to see the Moor unhoused; for
I doubt much, agreeable as the Infidel hath made it, if they
find Granada as pleasant as Paradise.”

“Son Don Luis, thou has got much levity of speech, in
thy late journeyings; and I doubt if thou art as mindful of
thy paters and confessions, as when under the care of thy
excellent mother, of sainted memory!”

This was not only said reprovingly, but with a warmth
that amounted nearly to anger.

“Chide me not so warmly, father, for a lightness of
speech that cometh of youthful levity, rather than of disrespect
for holy church.—Nay, thou rebukest warmly, and
then, as I come like a penitent to lay my transgressions before
thee, and to seek absolution, thou fastenest thine eye on
vacancy, and gazest as if one of the spirits of which thou
so lately spokest actually had arisen and come to see the
Moor crack his heart-strings at quitting his beloved Alhambra!”

“Dost see that man, Luis?” demanded the friar, still
gazing in a fixed direction, though he made no gesture to
indicate to which particular individual of the many who
were passing in all directions, he especially alluded.

“By my veracity, I see a thousand, father, though not
one to fasten the eye as if he were fresh from Paradise.
Would it be exceeding discretion to ask who, or what, hath
thus riveted thy gaze?”

“Dost see yonder person of high and commanding

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stature, and in whom gravity and dignity are so singularly
mingled with an air of poverty; or, if not absolutely of
poverty—for he is better clad, and seemingly in more prosperity
now, than I remember ever to have seen him—still,
evidently not of the rich and noble; while his bearing and
carriage would seem to bespeak him at least a monarch?”

“I think I now perceive him thou meanest, father; a
man of very grave and reverend appearance, though of
simple deportment. I see nothing extravagant, or ill placed,
either in his attire, or in his bearing.”

“I mean not that; — but there is a loftiness in his dignified
countenance that one is not accustomed to meet in
those who are unused to power.”

“To me he hath the air and dress of a superior navigator,
or pilot — of a man accustomed to the seas — ay, he
hath sundry symbols about him that bespeak such a pursuit.”

“Thou art right, Don Luis, for such is his calling. He
cometh of Genoa, and his name is Christoval Colon — or,
as they term it in Italy—Christoforo Colombo.”

“I remember to have heard of an admiral of that name,
who did good service in the wars of the south, and who
formerly led a fleet into the far east.”

“This is not he, but one of humbler habits, though possibly
of the same blood, seeing that both are derived from
the identical place. This is no admiral, though he would
fain become one—ay, even a king!”

“The man is then either of a weak mind, or of a light
ambition.”

“He is neither. In mind, he hath outdone many of our
most learned churchmen; and it is due to his piety to say
that a more devout Christian doth not exist in Spain. It is
plain, son, that thou hast been much abroad, and little at
court, or thou would'st have known the history of this extraordinary
being, at the mention of his name, which has
been the source of merriment for the frivolous and gay,
this many a year, and which has thrown the thoughtful and
prudent into more doubts than many a fierce and baneful
heresy.”

“Thou stirrest my curiosity, father, by such language.
Who and what is the man?”

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“An enigma that neither prayers to the Virgin, the learning
of the cloisters, nor a zealous wish to reach the truth,
hath enabled me to read. Come hither, Luis, to this bit of
rock where we can be seated, and I will relate to thee the
opinions that render this being so extraordinary. Thou
must know, son, it is now seven years since this man first
appeared among us. He sought employment as a discoverer,
pretending that by steering out into the ocean, on a
western course, for a great and unheard-of distance, he could
reach the farther Indies, with the rich island of Cipango,
and the kingdom of Cathay, of which one Marco Polo hath
left us some most extraordinary legends.”

“By St. James of blessed memory! the man must be
short of his wits!” interrupted Don Luis, laughing. “In
what way could this thing be, unless the earth were round—
the Indies lying east, and not west of us?”

“That hath been often objected to his notions; but the
man hath ready answers to much weightier arguments.”

“What weightier than this can be found? Our own eyes
tell us that the earth is flat.”

“Therein he differeth from most men — and to own the
truth, son Luis, not without some show of reason. He is
a navigator, as thou wilt understand, and he replies that,
on the ocean, when a ship is seen from afar, her upper sails
are first perceived, and that as she draweth nearer, her
lower sails, and finally her hull cometh into view. But,
thou hast been over sea, and may have observed something
of this?”

“Truly have I, father. While mounting the English sea,
we met a gallant cruiser of the king's, and, as thou said'st,
we first perceived her upper sail, a white speck upon the
water — then followed sail after sail, until we came nigh
and saw her gigantic hull, with a very goodly show of
bombards and cannon—some twenty at least, in all.”

“Then thou agreest with this Colon, and thinkest the
earth round?”

“By St. George of England! not I. I have seen too
much of the world, to traduce its fair surface in so heedless
a manner. England, France, Burgundy, Germany, and
all those distant countries of the north, are just as level
and flat as our own Castile.”

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“Why then didst thou see the upper sails of the Englishman
first?”

“Why, father — why — because they were first visible.
Yes, because they came first into view.”

“Do the English put the largest of their sails uppermost
on the masts?”

“They would be fools if they did. Though no great
navigators—our neighbours the Portuguese, and the people
of Genoa, exceeding all others in that craft — though no
great navigators, the English are not so surpassingly
stupid. Thou wilt remember the force of the winds, and
understand that the larger the sail the lower should be its
position.”

“Then how happened it that thou sawest the smaller
object before the larger?”

“Truly, excellent Fray Pedro, thou hast not conversed
with this Christoforo for nothing! A question is not a reason.”

“Socrates was fond of questions, son; but he expected
answers.”

“Peste! as they say at the court of King Louis. I am
not Socrates, my good father, but thy old pupil and kinsman,
Luis de Bobadilla, the truant nephew of the queen's
favourite, the Marchioness of Moya, and as well-born a
cavalier as there is in Spain — though somewhat given to
roving, if my enemies are to be believed.”

“Neither thy pedigree, thy character, nor thy vagaries,
need be given to me, Don Luis de Bobadilla; since I have
known thee and thy career from childhood. Thou hast one
merit that none will deny thee, and that is, a respect for
truth; and never hast thou more completely vindicated thy
character, in this particular, than when thou saidst thou
wert not Socrates.”

The worthy friar's good-natured smile, as he made this
sally, took off some of its edge; and the young man
laughed, as if too conscious of his own youthful follies to
resent what he heard.

“But, dear Fray Pedro, lay aside thy government, for
once, and stoop to a rational discourse with me on this extraordinary
subject. Thou, surely, wilt not pretend that
the earth is round?”

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“I do not go as far as some, on this point, Luis, for I see
difficulties with Holy Writ, by the admission. Still, this
matter of the sails much puzzleth me, and I have often felt
a desire to go from one port to another, by sea, in order to witness it. Were it not for the exceeding nausea that I
ever feel in a boat, I might attempt the experiment.”

“That would be a worthy consummation of all thy wisdom!”
exclaimed the young man, laughing. “Fray Pedro
de Carrascal turned rover, like his old pupil, and that, too,
astride a vagary! But set thy heart at rest, my honoured
kinsman and excellent instructor, for I can save thee the
trouble. In all my journeyings, by sea and by land — and
thou knowest that, for my years, they have been many—
I have ever found the earth flat, and the ocean the flattest
portion of it, always excepting a few turbulent and uneasy
waves.”

“No doubt it so seemeth to the eye; but, this Colon, who
hath voyaged far more than thou, thinketh otherwise. He
contendeth that the earth is a sphere, and that, by sailing
west, he can reach points that have been already attained
by journeying east.”

“By San Lorenzo! but the idea is a bold one! Doth
the man really propose to venture out into the broad
Atlantic, and even to cross it to some distant and unknown
land?”

“That is his very idea; and for seven weary years hath
he solicited the court to furnish him with the means. Nay,
as I hear, he hath passed much more time — other seven
years, perhaps—in urging his suit in different lands.”

“If the earth be round,” continued Don Luis, with a
musing air, “what preventeth all the water from flowing to
the lower parts of it? How is it, that we have any seas
at all? and if, as thou hast hinted, he deemeth the Indies
on the other side, how is it that their people stand erect?—
it cannot be done without placing the feet uppermost.”

“That difficulty hath been presented to Colon, but he
treateth it lightly. Indeed, most of our churchmen are getting
to believe that there is no up, or down, except as it relateth
to the surface of the earth; so that no great obstacle existeth
in that point.”

“Thou would'st not have me understand, father, that a

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man can walk on his head — and that, too, with the noble
member in the air? By San Francisco! thy men of Cathay
must have talons like a cat, or they would be falling, quickly!”

“Whither, Luis?”

“Whither, Fray Pedro? — to Tophet, or the bottomless
pit. It can never be that men walk on their heads, heels
uppermost, with no better foundation than the atmosphere.
The caravels, too, must sail on their masts—and that would
be rare navigation! What would prevent the sea from
tumbling out of its bed, and falling on the Devil's fires and
extinguishing them?”

“Son Luis,” interrupted the monk, gravely, “thy lightness
of speech is carried too far. But, if thou so much
deridest the opinion of this Colon, what are thine own notions
of the formation of this earth, that God hath so honoured
with his spirit and his presence?”

“That it is as flat as the buckler of the Moor I slew in
the last sortie, which is as flat as steel can hammer iron.”

“Dost thou think it hath limits?”

“That do I — and please Heaven, and Doña Mercedes
de Valverde, I will see them before I die!”

“Then thou fanciest there is an edge, or precipice, at the
four sides of the world, which men may reach, and where
they can stand and look off, as from an exceeding high
platform?”

“The picture doth not lose, father, for the touch of thy
pencil! I have never bethought me of this before; and
yet some such spot there must be, one would think. By
San Fernando, himself! that would be a place to try the
metal of even Don Alonso de Ojeda, who might stand on
the margin of the earth, put his foot on a cloud, and cast
an orange to the moon!”

“Thou hast bethought thee little, of any thing serious, I
fear, Luis; but to me, this opinion and this project of Colon
are not without merit. I see but two serious objections to
them, one of which is, the difficulty connected with Holy
Writ — and the other, the vast and incomprehensible, nay,
useless, extent of the ocean that must necessarily separate
us from Cathay; else should we long since have heard
from that quarter of the world.”

“Do the learned favour the man's notions?”

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“The matter hath been seriously argued before a council
held at Salamanca, where men were much divided upon it.
One serious obstacle is the apprehension that should the
world prove to be round, and could a ship even succeed in
getting to Cathay by the west, there would be great difficulty
in her ever returning, since there must be, in some
manner, an ascent and a descent. I must say that most
men deride this Colon; and I fear he will never reach his
island of Cipango, as he doth not seem in the way even to
set forth on the journey. I marvel that he should now be
here, it having been said he had taken his final departure for
Portugal.”

“Dost thou say, father, that the man hath long been in
Spain?” demanded Don Luis, gravely, with his eye riveted
on the dignified form of Columbus, who stood calmly regarding
the gorgeous spectacle of the triumph, at no great
distance from the rock where the two had taken their seats.

“Seven weary years hath he been soliciting the rich and
the great to furnish him with the means of undertaking his
favourite voyage.”

“Hath he the gold to prefer so long a suit?”

“By his appearance, I should think him poor — nay, I
know that he hath toiled for bread, at the occupation of a
map-maker. One hour he hath passed in arguing with philosophers
and in soliciting princes, while the next hath been
occupied in labouring for the food that he hath taken for
sustenance.”

“Thy description, father, hath whetted curiosity to so
keen an edge, that I would fain speak with this Colon. I
see he remaineth yonder, in the crowd, and will go and tell
him that I, too, am somewhat of a navigator, and will extract
from him a few of his peculiar ideas.”

“And in what manner wilt thou open the acquaintance,
son?”

“By telling him that I am Don Luis de Bobadilla, the
nephew of the Doña Beatriz of Moya, and a noble of one
of the best houses of Castile.”

“And this thou thinkest will suffice for thy purpose,
Luis!” returned the friar, smiling. “No — no — my son;
this may do with most map-sellers, but it will not effect thy
wishes with yonder Christoval Colon. That man is so

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filled with the vastness of his purposes; is so much raised
up with the magnitude of the results that his mind intently
contemplateth, day and night; seemeth so conscious of his
own powers, that even kings and princes can, in no manner,
lessen his dignity. That which thou proposest, Don
Fernando, our honoured master, might scarcely attempt,
and hope to escape without some rebuke of manner, if not
of tongue.”

“By all the blessed saints! Fray Pedro, thou givest an
extraordinary account of this man, and only increasest the
desire to know him. Wilt thou charge thyself with the
introduction?”

“Most willingly, for I wish to inquire what hath brought
him back to court, whence, I had understood, he lately
went, with the intent to go elsewhere with his projects.
Leave the mode in my hands, son Luis, and we will see
what can be accomplished.”

The friar and his mercurial young companion now arose
from their seats on the rock, and threaded the throng,
taking the direction necessary to approach the man who
had been the subject of their discourse, and still remained
that of their thoughts. When near enough to speak, Fray
Pedro stopped, and stood patiently waiting for a moment
when he might catch the navigator's eye. This did not
occur for several minutes, the looks of Colon being riveted
on the towers of the Alhambra, where, at each instant, the
signal of possession was expected to appear; and Luis de
Bobadilla, who, truant, and errant, and volatile, and difficult
to curb, as he had proved himself to be, never forgot his
illustrious birth and the conventional distinctions attached
to personal rank, began to manifest his impatience at being
kept so long dancing attendance on a mere map-seller and
a pilot. He in vain urged his companion to advance, however;
but one of his own hurried movements at length
drew aside the look of Columbus, when the eyes of the
latter and of the friar met, and being old acquaintances,
they saluted in the courteous manner of the age.

“I felicitate you, Señor Colon, on the glorious termination
of this siege, and rejoice that you are here to witness
it, as I had heard affairs of magnitude had called you to
another country.”

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“The hand of God, father, is to be traced in all things.
You perceive in this success the victory of the cross; but
to me it conveyeth a lesson of perseverance, and sayeth,
as plainly as events can speak, that what God hath decreed,
must come to pass.”

“I like your application, Señor; as, indeed, I do most
of your thoughts on our holy religion. Perseverance is
truly necessary to salvation; and I doubt not that a fitting
symbol to the same may be found in the manner in which
our pious sovereigns have conducted this war, as well as in
its glorious termination.”

“True, father; and also doth it furnish a symbol to the
fortunes of all enterprises that have the glory of God and
the welfare of the church in view,” answered Colon, or
Columbus, as the name has been Latinized; his eye kindling
with that latent fire which seems so deeply seated in the
visionary and the enthusiast. “It may seem out of reason
to you, to make such applications of these great events;
but the triumph of their Highnesses this day, marvellously
encourageth me to persevere, and not to faint, in my own
weary pilgrimage, both leading to triumphs of the cross.”

“Since you are pleased to speak of your own schemes,
Señor Colon,” returned the friar, ingeniously, “I am not
sorry that the matter hath come up between us; for here is
a youthful kinsman of mine, who hath been somewhat of a
rover, himself, in the indulgence of a youthful fancy, that
neither friends nor yet love could restrain; and having
heard of your noble projects, he is burning with the desire
to learn more of them from your own mouth, should it suit
your condescension so to indulge him.”

“I am always happy to yield to the praiseworthy wishes
of the young and adventurous, and shall cheerfully communicate
to your young friend all he may desire to know,”
answered Columbus, with a simplicity and dignity that at
once put to flight all the notions of superiority and affability
with which Don Luis had intended to carry on the conversation,
and which had the immediate effect to satisfy the
young man that he was to be the obliged and honoured
party, in the intercourse that was to follow. “But, Señor,
you have forgotten to give me the name of the cavalier.”

“It is Don Luis de Bobadilla, a youth whose best claims

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to your notice, perhaps, are, a most adventurous and roving
spirit, and the fact that he may call your honoured friend
the Marchioness of Moya, his aunt.”

“Either would be sufficient, father. I love the spirit of
adventure in the youthful; for it is implanted, no doubt, by
God, in order that they may serve his all-wise and beneficent
designs; and it is of such as these that my own chief
worldly stay and support must be found. Then, next to
Father Juan Perez de Marchena and Señor Alonzo de
Quintanilla, do I esteem Doña Beatriz, among my fastest
friends; her kinsman, therefore, will be certain of my esteem
and respect.”

All this sounded extraordinary to Don Luis; for though
the dress and appearance of this unknown stranger, who
even spoke the Castilian with a foreign accent, were respectable,
he had been told he was merely a pilot, or
navigator, who earned his bread by toil; and it was not
usual for the noblest of Castile to be thus regarded, as it
might be, with a condescending favour, by any inferior to
those who could claim the blood and lineage of princes.
At first he was disposed to resent the words of the stranger;
then to laugh in his face; but observing that the friar
treated him with great deference, and secretly awed by the
air of the reputed projector, he was not only successful in
maintaining a suitable deportment, but he made a proper
and courteous reply, such as became his name and breeding.
The three then retired together, a little aloof from the
thickest of the throng, and found seats also, on one of the
rocks, of which so many were scattered about the place.

“Don Luis hath visited foreign lands, you say, father,”
said Columbus, who did not fail to lead the discourse, like
one entitled to it by rank, or personal claims, “and hath a
craving for the wonders and dangers of the ocean?”

“Such hath been either his merit, or his fault, Señor;
had he listened to the wishes of Doña Beatriz, or to my
advice, he would not have thrown aside his knightly career
for one so little in unison with his training and birth.”

“Nay, father, you treat the youth with unmerited severity;
he who passeth a life on the ocean, cannot be
said to pass it in either an ignoble or a useless manner.
God separated different countries by vast bodies of water,

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not with any intent to render their people strangers to each
other, but doubtless that they might meet amid the wonders
with which he hath adorned the ocean, and glorify his
name and power so much the more. We all have our moments
of thoughtlessness in youth, a period when we yield
to our impulses rather than to our reason; and as I confess
to mine, I am little disposed to bear too hard on Señor Don
Luis, that he hath had his.”

“You have probably battled with the Infidel, by sea,
Señor Colon,” observed the young man, not a little embarrassed
as to the manner in which he should introduce the
subject he most desired.

“Ay, and by land, too, son”—the familiarity startled the
young noble, though he could not take offence at it—“and
by land, too. The time hath been, when I had a pleasure
in relating my perils and escapes, which have been numerous,
both from war and tempests; but since the power of
God hath awakened my spirit to mightier things, that his
will may be done, and his word spread throughout the
whole earth, my memory ceaseth to dwell on them.” Fray
Pedro crossed himself, and Don Luis smiled and shrugged
his shoulders, as one is apt to do when he listens to any
thing extravagant; but the navigator proceeded in the
earnest grave manner that appeared to belong to his character.
“It is now very many years, since I was engaged
in that remarkable combat between the forces of my kinsman
and namesake, the younger Colombo, as he was called,
to distinguish him from his uncle, the ancient admiral of
the same name, which took place not far north from Cape
St. Vincent. On that bloody day, we contended with the
foe, Venetians richly laden, from morn till even, and yet
the Lord carried me through the hot contest unharmed.
On another occasion, the galley in which I fought was consumed
by fire, and I had to find my way to land, no trifling
distance, by the aid of an oar. To me it seemeth that the
hand of God was in this, and that he would not have taken
so signal and tender a care of one of his insignificant creatures,
unless to use him largely for his own honour and
glory.”

Although the eye of the navigator grew brighter as he
uttered this, and his cheek flushed with a species of holy

[figure description] Page 067.[end figure description]

enthusiasm, it was impossible to confound one so grave, so
dignified, so measured even in his exaggerations — if such
they were — with the idle and light-minded who mistake
momentary impulses for indelible impressions, and passing
vanities for the convictions that temper character. Fray
Pedro, instead of smiling, or in any manner betraying that
he regarded the other's opinions lightly, devoutly crossed
himself again, and showed by the sympathy expressed in
his countenance, how much he entered into the profound
religious faith of the speaker.

“The ways of God are often mysteries to his creatures,”
said the friar; “but we are taught that they all lead to the
exaltation of his name, and to the glory of his attributes.”

“It is so that I consider it, father; and with such views
have I always regarded my own humble efforts to honour
him. We are but instruments, and useless instruments,
too, when we look at how little proceedeth from our own
spirits and power.”

“There cometh the blessed symbol that is our salvation
and guide!” exclaimed the friar, holding out both arms
eagerly, as if to embrace some distant object in the heavens,
immediately falling to his knees, and bowing his
shaven and naked head, in deep humility, to the earth.

Columbus turned his eyes in the direction indicated by
his companion's gestures, and he beheld the large silver
cross that the sovereigns had carried with them throughout
the late war, as a pledge of its objects, glittering on the
principal tower of the Alhambra. At the next instant, the
banners of Castile and of St. James were unfolded from
other elevated places. Then came the song of triumph,
mingled with the chants of the church. Te Deum was
sung, and the choirs of the royal chapel chanted in the
open fields the praises of the Lord of Hosts. A scene of
magnificent religious pomp, mingled with martial array,
followed, that belongs rather to general history than to the
particular and private incidents of our tale.

CHAPTER V.

“Who hath not proved how feebly words essay
To fix one spark of beauty's heavenly ray?
Who doth not feel, until his failing sight
Faints into dimness with its own delight,
His changing cheek, his sinking heart confess
The might — the majesty of loveliness!”
Byron.

[figure description] Page 068.[end figure description]

That night the court of Castile and Aragon slept in
the palace of the Alhambra. As soon as the religious ceremony
alluded to in the last chapter had terminated, the
crowd rushed into the place, and the princes followed, with a
dignity and state better suited to their high character. The
young Christian nobles, accompanied by their wives and
sisters — for the presence of Isabella, and the delay that
attended the surrender, had drawn together a vast many of
the gentler sex, in addition to those whose duty it was to
accompany their royal mistress — hurried eagerly through
the celebrated courts and fretted apartments of this remarkable
residence; nor was curiosity appeased even when
night came to place a temporary stay to its indulgence.
The Court of the Lions, in particular, a place still renowned
throughout Christendom for its remains of oriental beauty,
had been left by Boabdil in the best condition; and, although
it was mid-winter, by the aid of human art it was even then
gay with flowers; while the adjacent halls, those of the Two
Sisters, and of Abencerrages, were brilliant with light, and
alive with warriors and courtiers, dignified priests and luxuriant
beauty.

Although no Spanish eye could be otherwise than familiar
with the light peculiar graces of Moorish architecture, these
of the Alhambra so much surpassed those of any other palace
which had been erected by the Mussulman dynasties
of that part of the world, that their glories struck the beholders
with the freshness of novelty, as well as with the

[figure description] Page 069.[end figure description]

magnificence of royalty. The rich conceits in stucco, an
art of eastern origin, then little understood in Christendom;
the graceful and fanciful Arabesques — which, improved on
by the fancies of some of the greatest geniuses the world
ever saw, have descended to our own times, and got to be
so familiar in Europe, though little known on this side of
the Atlantic — decorated the walls, while brilliant fountains
cast their waters into the air, and fell in glittering spray,
resembling diamonds.

Among the throng that moved through this scene of
almost magical beauty, was Beatriz de Bobadilla, who had
long been the wife of Don Andres de Cabrera, and was now
generally known as the Marchioness of Moya; the constant,
near, and confidential friend of the queen, a character
she retained until her royal mistress was numbered
with the dead. On her arm leaned lightly, a youthful
female, of an appearance so remarkable, that few strangers
would have passed her without turning to take a second
look at features and a countenance that were seldom seen
and forgotten. This was Doña Mercedes de Valverde, one
of the noblest and richest heiresses of Castile; the relative,
ward, and adopted daughter of the queen's friend; favourite
being hardly the term one would apply to the relation
in which Doña Beatriz stood towards Isabella. It was not
the particular beauty of Doña Mercedes, however, that rendered
her appearance so remarkable and attractive; for,
though feminine, graceful, of exquisite form, and even of
pleasing features, there were many in that brilliant court
who would generally be deemed fairer. But no other
maiden of Castile had a countenance so illuminated by the
soul within, or no other female face habitually wore so deep
an impression of sentiment and sensibility; and the professed
physiognomist would have delighted to trace the evidences
of a deeply-seated, earnest, but unobtrusive enthusiasm,
which even cast a shade of melancholy over a face
that fortune and the heart had equally intended should be
sunny and serene. Serene it was, notwithstanding; the
shadow that rested on it seeming to soften and render interesting
its expression, rather than to disturb its tranquillity
or to cloud its loveliness.

On the other side of the noble matron walked Luis de

[figure description] Page 070.[end figure description]

Bobadilla, keeping a little in advance of his aunt, in a way
to permit his own dark flashing looks to meet, whenever
feeling and modesty would allow it, the fine, expressive,
blue eyes of Mercedes. The three conversed freely, for
the royal personages had retired to their private apartments,
and each group of passengers was so much entranced
with the novelty of its situation and its own conversation,
as to disregard the remarks of others.

“This is a marvel, Luis,” observed Doña Beatriz, in
continuation of a subject that evidently much interested
them all, “that thou, a truant and a rover thyself, should
now have heard for the first time of this Colon! It is
many years since he has been soliciting their Highnesses
for their royal aid in effecting his purposes. The matter
of his schemes was solemnly debated before a council at
Salamanca; and he hath not been without believers at the
Court, itself.”

“Among whom is to be classed Doña Beatriz de Cabrera,”
said Mercedes, with that melancholy smile that had
the effect to bring out glimpses of all the deep but latent
feeling that lay concealed beneath the surface: “I have
often heard Her Highness declare that Colon hath no truer
friend in Castile.”

“Her Highness is seldom mistaken, child—and never in
my heart. I do uphold the man; for to me he seemeth
one fitted for some great and honourable undertaking; and
surely none greater hath ever been proposed or imagined
by human mind, than this he urgeth. Think of our becoming
acquainted with the nations of the other side of the
earth, and of finding easy and direct means of communicating
with them, and of imparting to them the consolations
of Holy Church!”

“Ay, Señora my aunt,” cried Luis, laughing, “and of
walking in their delightful company with all our heels in
the air, and our heads downwards! I hope this Colon hath
not neglected to practise a little in the art, for it will need
some time to gain a sure foot, in such circumstances. He
might commence on the sides of these mountains, by way
of a horn-book, throwing the head boldly off at a rightangle;
after which, the walls and towers of this Alhambra

[figure description] Page 071.[end figure description]

would make a very pretty grammar, or stepping-stone to
new progress.”

Mercedes had unconsciously but fervently pressed the
arm of her guardian, as Doña Beatriz admitted her interest
in the success of the great project; but at this sally of Don
Luis, she looked serious, and threw a glance at him, that
he himself felt to be reproachful. To win the love of his
aunt's ward was the young man's most ardent wish; and a
look of dissatisfaction could at any moment repress that
exuberance of spirits which often led him into an appearance
of levity that did injustice to the really sterling qualities
of both his heart and mind. Under the influence of
that look, then, he was not slow to repair the wrong he had
done himself, by adding almost as soon as he had ceased to
speak —

“The Doña Mercedes is of the discovering party, too,
I see; this Colon appeareth to have had more success with
the dames of Castile than with her nobles”—

“Is it extraordinary, Don Luis,” interrupted the pensive-looking
girl, “that women should have more confidence in
merit, more generous impulses, more zeal for God, than
men?”

“It must be even so, since you and my aunt, Doña Beatriz,
side with the navigator. But I am not always to be
understood in the light I express myself;”—Mercedes now
smiled, but this time it was archly—“I have never studied
with the minstrels, nor, sooth to say, deeply with the
churchmen. To be honest with you, I have been much
struck with this noble idea; and if Señor Colon doth, in
reality, sail in quest of Cathay and the Indies, I shall pray
their Highnesses to let me be of the party, for, now that
the Moor is subdued, there remaineth little for a noble to
do in Spain.”

“If thou should'st really go on this expedition,” said
Doña Beatriz, with grave irony, “there will, at least, be
one human being topsy-turvy, in the event of thy reaching
Cathay. But yonder is an attendant of the court; I doubt
if Her Highness doth not desire my presence.”

The Lady of Moya was right—the messenger coming to
announce to her that the queen required her attendance.
The manners of the day and country rendered it unseemly

[figure description] Page 072.[end figure description]

that Doña Mercedes should continue her promenade accompanied
only by Don Luis, and the marchioness led the way
to her own apartments, where a saloon suitable to her rank
and to her favour with the queen, had been selected for her
from among the numberless gorgeous rooms of the Moorish
kings. Even here, the marchioness paused a moment, in
thought, before she would leave her errant nephew alone
with her ward.

“Though a rover, he is no troubadour, and cannot charm
thy ear with false rhymes. It were better, perhaps, that I
sent him beneath thy balcony, with his guitar; but knowing
so well his dulness, I will confide in it, and leave him
with thee, for the few minutes that I shall be absent. A
cavalier who hath so strong a dislike to reversing the order
of nature, will not surely condescend to go on his knees,
even though it be to win a smile from the sweetest maiden
in all Castile.”

Don Luis laughed; Doña Beatriz smiled, as she kissed
her ward, and left the room; while Doña Mercedes blushed,
and riveted her gaze on the floor. Luis de Bobadilla was
the declared suitor and sworn knight of Mercedes de Valverde;
but, though so much favoured by birth, fortune,
affinity, and figure, there existed some serious impediments
to his success. In all that was connected with the considerations
that usually decide such things, the union was
desirable; but there existed, nevertheless, a strong influence
to overcome, in the scruples of Doña Beatriz, herself.
High-principled, accustomed to the just-minded views of
her royal mistress, and too proud to do an unworthy act,
the very advantages that a marriage with her ward offered
to her nephew, had caused the marchioness to hesitate.
Don Luis had little of the Castilian gravity of character—
and, by many, his animal spirits were mistaken for lightness
of disposition and levity of thought. His mother was
a woman of a very illustrious French family; and national
pride had induced most observers to fancy that the son inherited
a constitutional disposition to frivolity, that was to
be traced to the besetting weakness of a whole people. A
consciousness of his being so viewed at home, had, indeed,
driven the youth abroad; and as, like all observant travellers,
he was made doubly sensible of the defects of his

[figure description] Page 073.[end figure description]

own state of society, on his return, a species of estrangement
had grown up between him and his natural associates,
that had urged the young man, again and again, to wander
into foreign lands. Nothing, indeed, but his early and constantly
increasing passion for Mercedes had induced him to
return; a step that, fortunately for himself, he had last
taken in time to assist in the reduction of Granada. Notwithstanding
these traits, which, in a country like Castile,
might be properly enough termed peculiarities, Don Luis
de Bobadilla was a knight worthy of his lineage and name.
His prowess in the field and in the tourney, indeed, was so
very marked as to give him a high military character, in
despite of what were deemed his failings; and he passed
rather as an inconsiderate and unsafe young man, than as
one who was either debased or wicked. Martial qualities,
in that age in particular, redeemed a thousand faults; and
Don Luis had even been known to unhorse, in the tourney,
Alonzo de Ojeda, then the most expert lance in Spain.
Such a man could not be despised, though he might be distrusted.
But the feeling which governed his aunt, referred
quite as much to her own character as to his. Deeply conscientious,
while she understood her nephew's real qualities
much better than mere superficial observers, she had her
doubts about the propriety of giving the rich heiress who
was entrusted to her care, to so near a relative, when all
could not applaud the act. She feared, too, that her own
partiality might deceive her, and that Luis might in truth
be the light and frivolous being the sometimes appeared to
be in Castilian eyes, and that the happiness of her ward
would prove the sacrifice of the indiscretion. With these
doubts, then, while she secretly desired the union, she had
in public looked coldly on her nephew's suit; and, though
unable, without a harshness that circumstances would not
warrant, to prevent all intercourse, she had not only taken
frequent occasions to let Mercedes understand her distrust,
but she had observed the precaution not to leave so handsome
a suitor, notwithstanding he was often domiciliated in
her own house, much alone with her ward.

The state of Mercedes' feelings was known only to herself.
She was beautiful, of an honourable family, and an
heiress; and, as human infirmities were as besetting

[figure description] Page 074.[end figure description]

beneath the stately mien of the fifteenth century, as they are
to-day, she had often heard the supposed faults of Don
Luis's character sneered at, by those who felt distrustful of
his good looks and his opportunities. Few young females
would have had the courage to betray any marked preference
under such circumstances, until prepared to avow their
choice, and to take sides with its subject against the world;
and the quiet but deep enthusiasm that prevailed in the
moral system of the fair young Castilian, was tempered by
a prudence that prevented her from running into most of its
lighter excesses. The forms and observances that usually surround young women of rank, came in aid of this native
prudence; and even Don Luis, himself, though he had
watched the countenance and emotions of her to whom he
had so long urged his suit, with a lover's jealousy and a
lover's instincts, was greatly in doubt whether he had succeeded
in the least, in touching her heart. By one of those
unlooked-for concurrences of circumstances that so often
decide the fortunes of men, whether as lovers or in more
worldly-minded pursuits, these doubts were now about to be
unexpectedly and suddenly removed.

The triumph of the Christian arms, the novelty of her
situation, and the excitement of the whole scene, had
aroused the feelings of Mercedes from that coy concealment
in which they usually lay smothered beneath the covering
of maiden diffidence; and throughout the evening
her smile had been more open, her eye brighter, and her
cheeks more deeply flushed, than was usual even with one
whose smiles were always sweet, whose eyes were never
dull, and whose cheeks answered so sensitively to the varying
impulses within.

As his aunt quitted the room, leaving him alone with Mercedes
for the first time since his return from his last ramble,
Don Luis eagerly threw himself on a stool that stood near
the feet of his adored, who placed herself on a sumptuous
couch, that, twenty-four hours before, had held the person
of a princess of Abdallah's family.

“Much as I honour and reverence Her Highness,” the
young man hurriedly commenced, “my respect and veneration
are now increased ten-fold! Would that she might
send for my beloved aunt thrice where she now wants her

[figure description] Page 075.[end figure description]

services only once! and may her presence become so necessary
to her sovereign that the affairs of Castile cannot
go on without her counsel, if so blessed an opportunity as
this, to tell you all I feel, Doña Mercedes, is to follow her
obedience!”

“It is not they who are most fluent of speech, or the
most vehement, who always feel the deepest, Don Luis de
Bobadilla.”

“Nor do they feel the least. Mercedes, thou canst not
doubt my love! It hath grown with my growth—increased
with each increase of my ideas—until it hath got to be so
interwoven with my mind itself, that I can scarce use a
faculty that thy dear image doth not mingle with it. In all
that is beautiful, I behold thee; if I listen to the song of a
bird, it is thy carol to the lute; or if I feel the gentle south
wind from the fragrant isles fanning my cheek, I would
fain think it thy sigh.”

“You have dwelt so much among the light conceits of
the French court, Don Luis, you appear to have forgotten
that the heart of a Castilian girl is too true, and too sincere,
to meet such rhapsodies with favour.”

Had Don Luis been older, or more experienced in the
sex, he would have been flattered by this rebuke — for he
would have detected in the speaker's manner, both feeling
of a gentler nature than her words expressed, and a tender
regret.

“If thou ascribest to me rhapsodies, thou dost me great
injustice. I may not do credit to my own thoughts and
feelings; but never hath my tongue uttered aught to thee,
Mercedes, that the heart hath not honestly urged. Have I
not loved thee since thou and I were children? Did I ever
fail to show my preference for thee when we were boy and
girl, in all the sports and light-hearted enjoyments of that
guileless period?”

“Guileless, truly,” answered Mercedes, her look brightening
as it might be with agreeable fancies and a flood of
pleasant recollections — doing more, in a single instant, to
break down the barriers of her reserve, than years of
schooling had effected towards building them up. “Thou
wert then, at least, sincere, Luis, and I placed full faith in
thy friendship, and in thy desire to please.”

[figure description] Page 076.[end figure description]

“Bless thee, bless thee, for these precious words, Mercedes!
for the first time in two years, hast thou spoken to
me as thou wert wont to do, and called me Luis, without
that courtly, accursed, Don.”

“A noble Castilian should never regard his honours
lightly, and he oweth it to his rank to see that others respect
them, too;” answered our heroine, looking down, as
if she already half repented of the familiarity. “You are
quick to remind me of my forgetfulness, Don Luis de Bobadilla.”

“This unlucky tongue of mine can never follow the path
that its owner wisheth! Hast thou not seen in all my looks—
all my acts — all my motives — a desire to please thee,
and thee alone, lovely Mercedes? When Her Highness
gave her royal approbation of my success, in the last
tourney, did I not seek thine eye, in order to ask if thou
noted'st it? Hast thou ever expressed a wish, that I have
not proved an eager desire to see it accomplished?”

“Nay, now, Luis, thou emboldenest me to remind thee
that I expressed a wish that thou would'st not go on thy
last voyage to the north, and yet thou didst depart! I felt
that it would displease Doña Beatriz; thy truant disposition
having made her uneasy lest thou should'st get altogether
into the habits of a rover, and into disfavour with
the queen.”

“It was for this that thou mad'st the request, and it
wounded my pride to think that Mercedes de Valverde
should so little understand my character, as to believe it
possible a noble of my name and lineage could so far forget
his duties as to sink into the mere associate of pilots
and adventurers.”

“Thou didst not know that I believed this of thee.”

“Hadst thou asked of me, Mercedes, to remain for thy
sake — nay, hadst thou imposed the heaviest services on
me, as thy knight, or, as one who enjoyed the smallest degree
of thy favour—I would have parted with life sooner than
I would have parted from Castile. But not even a look of
kindness could I obtain, in reward for all the pain I had
felt on thy account”—

“Pain, Luis!”

“Is it not pain to love to the degree that one might kiss

[figure description] Page 077.[end figure description]

the earth that received the foot-print of its object—and yet
to meet with no encouragement from fair words, no friendly
glance of the eye, nor any sign or symbol to betoken that
the being one hath enshrined in his heart's core, ever thinketh
of her suitor except as a reckless rover and a harebrained
adventurer?”

“Luis de Bobadilla, no one that really knoweth thy
character, can ever truly think thus of thee.”

“A million of thanks for these few words, beloved girl,
and ten millions for the gentle smile that hath accompanied
them! Thou might'st mould me to all thy wishes”—

“My wishes, Don Luis!”

“To all thy severe opinions of sobriety and dignity of
conduct, would'st thou but feel sufficient interest in me to let
me know that my acts can give thee either pain or pleasure.”

“Can it be otherwise? Could'st thou, Luis, see with indifference
the proceedings of one thou hast known from
childhood, and esteemed as a friend?”

“Esteem! Blessed Mercedes! dost thou own even that
little in my favour?”

“It is not little, Luis, to esteem—but much. They who
prize virtue never esteem the unworthy; and it is not possible
to know thy excellent heart and manly nature, without
esteeming thee. Surely I have never concealed my
esteem from thee, or from any one else.”

“Hast thou concealed aught? Ah! Mercedes, complete
this heavenly condescension, and admit that one—as lightly
as thou wilt — but, that one soft sentiment hath, at times,
mingled with this esteem.”

Mercedes blushed brightly, but she would not make the
often-solicited acknowledgment. It was some little time
before she answered at all. When she did speak, it was
hesitatingly, and with frequent pauses, as if she distrusted
the propriety or the discretion of that which she was about
to utter.

“Thou hast travelled much and far, Luis,” she said,
“and hast lost some favour on account of thy roving propensities;
why not regain the confidence of thy aunt by
the very means through which it has been lost?”

[figure description] Page 078.[end figure description]

“I do not comprehend thee. This is singular counsel to
come from one like thee, who art prudence itself!”

“The prudent and discreet think well of their acts and
words, and are the more to be confided in. Thou seemest
to have been struck with these bold opinions of the Señor
Colon; and while thou hast derided them, I can see that
they have great weight on thy mind.”

“I shall, henceforth, regard thee with tenfold respect,
Mercedes; for thou hast penetrated deeper than my foolish
affectation of contempt, and all my light language, and discovered
the real feeling that lieth underneath. Ever since I
have heard of this vast project, it hath indeed haunted my
imagination; and the image of the Genoese hath constantly
stood beside thine, dearest girl, before my eyes, if
not in my heart. I doubt if there be not some truth in his
opinions; so noble an idea can not be wholly false!”

The fine, full eye of Mercedes was fastened intently on
the countenance of Don Luis; and its brilliancy increased,
as some of that latent enthusiasm which dwelt within, kindled
and began to glow at this outlet of the feelings of the
soul.

“There is,” she answered, solemnly — “there must be
truth in it! The Genoese hath been inspired of Heaven,
with his sublime thoughts, and he will live, sooner or later,
to prove their truth. Imagine this earth fairly encircled by
a ship; the farthest east, the land of the heathen, brought
in close communion with ourselves, and the cross casting
its shadows under the burning sun of Cathay! These are
glorious, heavenly, anticipations, Luis; and would it not be
an imperishable renown, to share in the honour of having
aided in bringing about so great a discovery?”

“By Heaven! I will see the Genoese as soon as the
morrow's sun shall appear, and offer to make one in his
enterprise. He shall not need for gold, if that be his only
want.”

“Thou speakest like a generous, noble-minded, fearless
young Castilian, as thou art!” said Mercedes, with an enthusiasm
that set at naught the usual guards of her discretion
and her habits, “and as becometh Luis de Bobadilla.
But gold is not plenty with any of us at this moment,
and it will surpass the power of an ordinary subject

[figure description] Page 079.[end figure description]

to furnish that which will be necessary. Nor is it meet
that any but sovereigns should send forth such an expedition,
as there may be vast territories to govern and dispose
of, should Colon succeed. My powerful kinsman, the Duke
of Medina Celi, hath had this matter in close deliberation,
and he viewed it favourably, as is shown by his letters to
Her Highness; but even he conceived it a matter too
weighty to be attempted by aught but a crowned head, and
he hath used much influence with our mistress, to gain her
over to the opinion of the Genoese's sagacity. It is idle to
think, therefore, of aiding effectually in this noble enterprise,
unless it be through their Highnesses.”

“Thou knowest, Mercedes, that I can do nought for
Colon, with the court. The king is the enemy of all who
are not as wary, cold, and as much given to artifice as himself”—

“Luis! thou art in his palace — beneath his roof, enjoying
his hospitality and protection, at this very moment!”

“Not I,” answered the young man, with warmth—“this
is the abode of my royal mistress, Doña Isabella; Granada
being a conquest of Castile, and not of Aragon. Touching
the queen, Mercedes, thou shalt never hear disrespectful
word from me, for, like thyself, she is all that is virtuous,
gentle, and kind in woman; but the king hath many of the
faults of us corrupt and mercenary men. Thou canst not
tell me of a young, generous, warm-blooded cavalier, even
among his own Aragonese, who truly and confidingly
loveth Don Fernando; whilst all of Castile adore the Doña
Isabella.”

“This may be true, in part, Luis, but it is altogether imprudent.
Don Fernando is a king, and I fear me, from the
little I have seen while dwelling in a court, that they who
manage the affairs of mortals must make large concessions
to their failings, or human depravity will thwart the wisest
measures that can be devised. Moreover, can one truly
love the wife and not esteem the husband? To me it seemeth
that the tie is so near and dear as to leave the virtues
and the characters of a common identity.”

“Surely, thou dost not mean to compare the modest
piety, the holy truth, the sincere virtue, of our royal

[figure description] Page 080.[end figure description]

mistress, with the cautious, wily, policy of our scheming
master!”

“I desire not to make comparisons between them, Luis.
We are bound to honour and obey both; and if Doña Isabella
hath more of the confiding truth and pure-heartedness
of her sex, than His Highness, is it not ever so as between
man and woman?”

“If I could really think, that thou likenest me, in any
way, with that managing and false-faced King of Aragon,
much as I love thee, Mercedes, I would withdraw, for ever,
in pure shame.”

“No one will liken thee, Luis, to the false-tongued or the
double-faced; for it is thy failing to speak truth when it might
be better to say nothing, as witness the present discourse,
and to look at those who displease thee, as if ever ready to
point thy lance, and spur thy charger in their very teeth.”

“My looks have been most unfortunate, fair Mercedes,
if they have left such memories in thee!” answered the
youth, reproachfully.

“I speak not, in any manner, touching myself, for to
me, Luis, thou hast ever been gentle and kind,” interrupted
the young Castilian girl, with a haste and earnestness that
hurried the blood to her cheeks a moment afterwards; “but,
solely, that thou may'st bo more guarded in thy remarks
on the king.”

“Thou began'st by saying that I was a rover”—

“Nay, I have used no such term of reproach, Don Luis;
thy aunt may have said this; but it could have been with
no intent to wound. I said that thou hadst travelled far
and much.”

“Well — well — I merit the title, and shall not complain
of my honours. Thou saidst that I had travelled far and
much, and thou spokest, approvingly, of the project of this
Genoese. Am I to understand, Mercedes, it is thy wish
that I should make one of the adventurers?”

“Such was my meaning, Luis, for I have thought it an
emprise fitting thy daring mind and willing sword; and the
glory of success would atone for a thousand trifling errors
committed under the heat and inconsideration of youth.”

Don Luis regarded the flushed cheek and brightened eyes
of the beautiful enthusiast nearly a minute, in silent but

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intense observation; for the tooth of doubt and jealousy
had fastened on him, and, with the self-distrust of true affection,
he questioned how far he was worthy to interest so
fair a being, and had misgivings concerning the motive that
induced her to wish him to depart.

“I wish I could read thy heart, Doña Mercedes,” he at
length resumed; “for, while the witching modesty and coy
reserve of thy sex, serve but to bind us so much the closer
in thy chains, they puzzle the understanding of men more
accustomed to rude encounters in the field than to the mazes
of their ingenuity. Dost thou desire me to embark in an
adventure that most men, the wise and prudent Don Fernando
at their head — he whom thou so much esteemest,
too — look upon as the project of a visionary, and as leading
to certain destruction? Did I think this, I would depart
to-morrow, if it were only that my hated presence should
never more disturb thy happiness.”

“Don Luis, you have no justification for this cruel suspicion,”
said Mercedes, endeavouring to punish her lover's
distrust by an affection of resentment, though the tears
struggled through her pride, and fell from her reproachful
eyes. “You know that no one, here or elsewhere, hateth
you; you know that you are a general favourite, though
Castilian prudence and Castilian reserve may not always
view your wandering life with the same applause as they
give to the more attentive courtier and rigidly observant
knight.”

“Pardon me, dearest, most beloved Mercedes; thy coldness
and aversion sometime madden me.”

“Coldness! aversion! Luis de Bobadilla! When hath
Mercedes de Valverde ever shown either, to thee?”

“I fear that Doña Mercedes de Valverde is, even now,
putting me to some such proof.”

“Then thou little knowest her motives, and ill appreciatest
her heart. No, Luis, I am not averse, and would not
appear cold, to thee. If thy wayward feelings get so much
the mastery, and pain thee thus, I will strive to be more
plain. Yes! rather than thou should'st carry away with
thee the false notion, and perhaps plunge, again, into some
unthinking sea-adventure, I will subdue my maiden pride,
and forget the reserve and caution that best become my sex

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and rank, to relieve thy mind. In advising thee to attach
thyself to this Colon, and to enter freely into his noble
schemes, I had thine own happiness in view, as thou hast,
time and again, sworn to me, thy happiness could only be
secured”—

“Mercedes! what mean'st thou? My happiness can
only be secured by a union with thee!”

“And thy union with me can only be secured by thy ennobling
that besetting propensity to roving, by some act
of worthy renown, that shall justify Doña Beatriz in bestowing
her ward on a truant nephew, and gain the favour
of Doña Isabella.”

“And thou!—would this adventure win thee, too, to view
me with kindness?”

“Luis, if thou wilt know all, I am won already—nay—
restrain this impetuosity, and hear all I have to say.
Even while I confess so much more than is seemly in a
maiden, thou art not to suppose I can farther forget myself.
Without the cheerful consent of my guardian, and the gracious
approbation of Her Highness, I will wed no man—
no, not even thee, Luis de Bobadilla, dear as I acknowledge
thee to be to my heart”— the ungovernable emotions of
female tenderness caused the words to be nearly smothered
in tears—“would I wed, without the smiles and congratulations
of all who have a right to smile, or weep, for any
of the house of Valverde. Thou and I cannot marry like
a village hind and village girl; it is suitable that we
stand before a prelate, with a large circle of approving
friends to grace our union. Ah! Luis, thou hast reproached
me with coldness and indifference to thee” — sobs nearly
stifled the generous girl — “but others have not been so
blind—nay, speak not, but suffer me, now that my heart is
overflowing, to unburthen myself to thee, entirely, for I
fear that shame and regret will come soon enough to cause
repentance for what I now confess — but all have not been
blind as thou. Our gracious queen well understandeth the
female heart, and that, thou hast been so slow to discover,
she hath long seen; and her quickness of eye and thought
hath alone prevented me from saying to thee, earlier, a part
at least of that which I now reluctantly confess”—

“How! Is Doña Isabella, too, my enemy? Have I Her

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Highness's scruples to overcome, as well as those of my
cold-hearted and prudish aunt?”

“Luis, thy intemperance causeth thee to be unjust.
Doña Beatriz of Moya is neither cold-hearted nor prudish,
but all that is the reverse. A more generous or truer spirit
never sacrificed self to friendship, and her very nature is
frankness and simplicity. Much of that I so love in thee,
cometh of her family, and thou should'st not reproach her
for it. As for Her Highness, certes, it is not needed that I
should proclaim her qualities. Thou knowest that she is
deemed the mother of her people; that she regardeth the
interests of all equally, or so far as her knowledge will
allow; and that what she doth for any, is ever done with
true affection, and a prudence that I have heard the cardinal
say, seemeth to be inspired by infinite wisdom.”

“Ay, it is not difficult, Mercedes, to seem prudent, and
benevolent, and inspired, with Castile for a throne, and
Leon, with other rich provinces, for a footstool!”

“Don Luis, if you would retain my esteem,” answered
the single-minded girl, with a gravity that had none of her
sex's weakness in it, though much of her sex's truth —
“speak not lightly of my royal mistress. Whatever she
may have done in this matter, hath been done with a mother's
feelings and a mother's kindness — thy injustice
maketh me almost to apprehend, with a mother's wisdom.”

“Forgive me, adored, beloved Mercedes! a thousand
times more adored and loved than ever, now that thou hast
been so generous and confiding. But, I cannot rest in
peace until I know what the queen hath said and done, in
any thing that toucheth thee and me.”

“Thou knowest how kind and gracious the queen hath
ever been to me, Luis, and how much I have reason to be
grateful for her many condescensions and favours. I know
not how it is, but, while thy aunt hath never seemed to detect
my feelings, and all those related to me by blood have
appeared to be in the same darkness, the royal eye hath
penetrated a mystery that, at the moment, I do think, was
even concealed from myself. Thou rememberest the tourney
that took place just before thou left us on thy last mad
expedition?”

“Do I not? Was it not thy coldness after my success

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in that tourney, and when I even wore thy favours, that
not only drove me out of Spain, but almost drove me out
of the world?”

“If the world could impute thy acts to such a cause, all
obstacles would at once be removed, and we might be happy
without further efforts. But,” and Mercedes smiled archly,
though with great tenderness in her voice and looks, as she
added, “I fear thou art much addicted to these fits of madness,
and that thou wilt never cease to wish to be driven to
the uttermost limits of the world, if not fairly out of it.”

“It is in thy power to make me as stationary as the
towers of this Alhambra. One such smile, daily, would
chain me like a captive Moor at thy feet, and take away
all desire to look at other objects than thy beauty. But Her
Highness — thou hast forgotten to add what Her Highness
hath said and done.”

“In that tourney thou wert conqueror, Luis! The whole
chivalry of Castile was in the saddle, that glorious day, and
yet none could cope with thee! Even Alonzo de Ojeda
was unhorsed by thy lance, and all mouths were filled with
thy praises; all memories — perhaps it would be better to
say that all memories but one, forgot thy failings.”

“And that one was thine, cruel Mercedes!”

“Thou knowest better, unkind Luis! That day I remembered
nothing but thy noble, generous heart, manly
bearing in the tilt-yard, and excellent qualities. The more
mindful memory was the queen's, who sent for me, to her
closet, when the festivities were over, and caused me to
pass an hour with her, in gentle, affectionate, discourse,
before she touched at all, on the real object of her command.
She spoke to me, Luis, of our duties as Christians,
of our duties as females, and, most of all, of the solemn
obligations that we contract in wedlock, and of the many
pains that, at best, attend that honoured condition. When
she had melted me to tears, by an affection that equalled a
mother's love, she made me promise — and I confirmed it
with a respectful vow — that I would never appear at the
altar, while she lived, without her being present to approve
of my nuptials; or, if prevented by disease or duty, at
least not without a consent given under her royal signature.”

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