Читать книгу The Velvet Doublet - James Howell Street - Страница 6

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Benjamin Marino was the greatest man ever to cross my path, and this encompassing declaration includes Christopher Columbus, whose standard I followed into the Unknown, and Martin Alonso Pinzon, whose caravel I helped sail on the voyage that ended the Age of Darkness.

O God, the Clement, the Merciful: how well I remember! O Mita, my beloved, that hour I can never forget.

The college assembled at six o’clock on Monday morning for the Marino lecture and, after prayers, the friars counseled their students to attention and we sat erect on the benches until the sun brushed the last shadows from the room, and then Benjamin Marino entered.

He had no books, no charts, but only himself; a slight man of infinite patience, and proudly wearing the beard of David and a brown doublet loosely woven of goat hair. One of the students snickered and Fray Juan cuffed his cheek with an open palm.

Teacher Marino went straight to the podium and there, to the witness of all, he bowed his head in the supplication of Judah, then lifted his eyes to us, and his eyes were brighter than the flames of old Quemadero. “Friars Preachers and young Sirs.” His voice rang the salutation. “By your gracious leave, I will borrow your minds and the interest thereon will be knowledge of things mundane and not godly, if any man can separate the world from the God who willed it. Seek ye the truth!”

The words sang like the wind in sails full-blown and my heart swelled with a new yearning, and suddenly nothing else was important; not my father, neither Maraela, but only this man whose eyes burned bright.

“Mundi formam omnes fere consentiunt rotundam esse.” His Latin was immaculate and he was quoting the pronouncement of Sylvius Piccolomini, who, as a writer, had given us The Story of Two Lovers, but who, as Pope Pius II, had given us the dictum: “Virtually everyone is agreed that the world is round.”

Teacher Marino gave the words free flight, watching our faces, and seemingly mine more than all the others, and then he gripped the edges of the podium and spoke again.

“Yes! The world is round. The Prophet Esdras was right. God’s earth is a sphere. And, yet, Esdras was wrong.”

It was a bold thing to say to the Dominicans, who espoused the teachings of that ancient messenger. I glanced at Fray Juan and his jaw was still and his eyes were fastened on Benjamin Marino, the meek Jewish schoolmaster who was daring to contradict Esdras, the Jewish prophet.

“This great man of my people, this Esdras of your sacred books, held that the world is only one-seventh water. That is his error. The world is larger than you believe, for the sin of this age is man’s conviction that he alone is master and that the stars revolve around his head. It is worse than sin. It is stupidity.”

Here again was dangerous ground, but he trod it underfoot, undaunted and unafraid, and the college was as hushed as the blue distance of Andalusia’s sky.

“We are gnats and the earth is larger than you think. The seas are deeper. The seas are wider. The skies are higher. The world is older than you say and will live longer than you teach.

“We journey east to India. Then is India also west?” He leaned forward and his ardor held us transfixed. “Yes. India is east, and India is west. But how far?” Teacher Marino straightened and smiled for the first time. “Answer that conundrum and Spain will hold the world in her palm.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, staring up at the arched ceiling as though awaiting the Word, and then resumed his lecture, speaking slowly in Latin and only rarely in Spanish to strengthen a point. “The cartographers and astronomers of the College of San Esteban, University of Salamanca, now hold that land is only 700 leagues to the west of the Canary Isles. They dispute among themselves as to whether that land is India. I say it is not.” He stressed the negative, rapping the stand to emphasize his point.

“The illustrious Florentine, Paolo del Pozzo Toscanelli, has prepared a map for the Portuguese Crown. Colleague Toscanelli is an excellent physicist, but a naïve cartographer. He places Asia 8,000 miles to the west.” His smile was wan and he covered it quickly by rubbing his chin and his mouth. “The earth is larger than Toscanelli thinks.

“Hence, we have two schools. Salamanca says unknown land is 700 leagues west, or roughly 3,000 miles. Toscanelli says Asia is due west.” He lowered his voice and prepared us for the calculated thrust that we knew was coming.

“They both are right!

“There is land in the Ocean Sea. Terra incognita. Perhaps the Atlantis of Plato’s vision. Or——” And he hurled the words at us. “Or Antilia and her Seven Cities.”

I heard Fray Juan gasp his incredulity and the other Dominicans scowled their disapproval of myth-teaching, but Benjamin Marino was not perturbed. “Do not scorn the stubborn tradition that, more than seven hundred years ago when the Moors expelled Spaniards from Spain, your breed followed seven bishops into the West of mist and mystery. Scorn nothing. And never tradition. As a Jew, I counsel this.”

He was so sure of himself that our college, mostly Andalusians and therefore men of abundant confidence, gave him our most meticulous heed although he already had strained our credibility. If he sensed the skepticism, he nevertheless chose to hammer on.

“We know that strange trees have washed to the shores of Ireland and Scotia. That strange birds have been seen. Whence came they? Cathay? Never! For Marco Polo discovered, and we have confirmed, that Cathay is a place of seafarers. Assuredly then”—he smiled at the simplicity of his own logic—“if winds and channels of the Ocean Sea can move huge trees to Europe’s shores they would have moved Cathay’s ships, or the wreckage thereof: if Cathay were so near.” The point impressed even the Dominicans and they stole glances, each at the next.

Teacher Marino clasped his hands behind him and hunched his shoulders for one more thrust. “It is not Cathay. Of this I am convinced. It is not India or even Asia. It is unknown land of a sedentary people, if there are people there at all.” His voice rose in the passion of his scholarly vision. “New Land! New flora! New fauna! A virgin world, a treasure chest, awaiting the touch of Jason.”

I was enthralled and my heart beat a cadence to the drumming of his words and then he closed his formal lecture with a quotation from the ancient Medea of Seneca:

“ ‘There will come a time in the long years of the world when the ocean sea will loosen the shackles that bind things together and a great part of the earth will be opened up and a new sailor such as the one who was Jason’s guide, whose name was Thyphis, shall discover a new world, and then shall Thule be no longer the last of lands.’ ”

The prophecy echoed against the high ceiling and the stone walls and he bowed his gratitude for our attention, and the college, led by Fray Juan, arose and bowed its tribute to his wisdom.

Then Marino relaxed at the podium and scratched his beard and neck, and flexed his muscles in a luxurious stretch, until his audience was still again. “We have arrived at the hour of discussion,” he said, and the college no longer was stiff and formal. He reached into his doublet and lifted forth an orange and sucked it noisily, and spat out the pips. Fray Juan took a handful of beans from his habit and soon his jaw was revolving again.

“From the court of Portugal, there has come to the town of Palos de la Frontera——” Teacher Marino laid the wrinkled orange on the stand. “Rather to the Franciscan monastery of La Rabida, which is near Palos—a most extraordinary adventurer who gives the name of Christopher Columbus——”

It was the first time I heard his name and it impressed itself upon me only because it was the name of my saint, the sturdy Christopher who braved bridgeless waters in the service of mankind.

“One report is that this Columbus is a Genoese explorer, a cosmographer of envious repute.” The learned Marino was discoursing as matter-of-factly as a merchant discussing accounts. “Another report is that he is a Galician astronomer. Neither of these is true as no Christopher Columbus is counted among the scholars of Spain or Genoa.”

It came to me then that this was the strange pilot mentioned by Alonso Pinzon to my father that day on the barge. Obviously Columbus had arrived from Portugal and had gone to Palos while Pinzon was yet in Seville.

Here was a suggestion of mystery, possibly of deception, and my interest, nettled by his name, increased with each observation propounded by our teacher. “I am concerned only with the scholarly pretensions of this stranger and with a most singular fact: he has a copy of Toscanelli’s map of the Ocean Sea, a work prepared exclusively for the King of Portugal. And, most interesting of all, he seeks support for an expedition westward and glibly prattles knowledge of India that we do not have. Therefore, it might behoove this college to invite this alien to our counsels. And now I surrender this podium to Juan Ruiz de Medina who”—a quick smile lighted his face—“as the Queen’s Inquisitor is in position to extract facts that are denied to me.”

He stepped back to a bench near the wall and Fray Juan arose slowly, gouging his teeth with a long fingernail to dislodge the bean hulls, and moved to the station of authority. There he unrolled the scroll he had prepared and began reading, his Latin being as proper as that of Teacher Marino’s.

“In the name of God, the Clement:

“Firstly.” My fray wet his lips as though to oil the words. “Christopher Columbus will not attend this college to share his wisdom, feigned or genuine, with us. He seeks audience with our blessed Queen here in Seville and is concerned only with money and grants, and not with impoverished Friars Preachers of the sweet St. Dominic. Also——” A grimace twisted his lips. “He wears the girdle of the Third Order of St. Francis and, regretfully, Franciscans do not willingly share their benefits with Dominicans.

“Secondly. This Columbus is most secretive as to his origin. He has left the impression that he is a native of Genoa, or at least of the province of Liguria, but never so declaring forthrightly. Moreover, he neither speaks nor writes Italian, but rather Spanish with a Catalan accent, and idioms of an earlier age.

“Thirdly.” Fray Juan paused and motioned to one of his fellow Dominicans, who looked around and rapped the nodding heads of two students, extracting a howl from them that brought titters from the other students and a raucous guffaw from our portly prior.

Then Fray Juan resumed. “Thirdly. Our subject of inquiry once was in the employ of Di Negro and Spinola, the renowned Genoese exporters, in the capacity of a traveling agent, or salesman. As such, he traveled possibly to England. He pretends to have visited Ultima Thule^[1] and Ireland. The first we challenge categorically; the second we accept suspiciously.”

Already, looking back at it now, the Fates had cast my lot with Christopher Columbus, for as my Dominican mentor indicted the adventurer I found myself leaning his way in spirit. At least he was in activity and accomplishment, at least he was daring attempt things while his critics canted scholarly judgment.

Fray Juan cleared his throat and held the scroll closer to his eves. “Fourthly. This Columbus has turned his hand at seamanship in many ways and is a proved captain, a man of masterly persuasion. He has sailed as a corsair in the service of France’s René Anjou and under the standard of a French admiral also named Columbus, or, more properly. Coullon, which is to say Colon in Spanish.”

My ears burned for more and my spine tingled in anticipation, for here indeed was mystery and a hint of devious plots and plans, with fame and fortune as the prize; a New Land as the booty.

“Fifthly. As a raider under French colors, he attacked Genoese shipping; a most remarkable incident. For if he be Genoese, would he fight his own state? In a battle off Cape St. Vincent, eight years ago, his ship was sunk by the Genoese and he was cast upon the Portuguese shore. The firm of Di Negro and Spinola has, as you know, offices in Lisbon, and the adventurer, a man of rare guile and laudable patience, ingratiated himself into their service and made the voyages of which he boasts, or, more truthfully, some of them. The lure of the open sea gripped him in Portugal, for, as is well known, the fever of exploration is epidemic in that kingdom and Lisbon is in ferment with schemes for expeditions down the coast of Guinea and also west into the Unknown Sea.”

Fray Juan laid his scroll on the podium and rested his eyes while his colleagues yawned and stretched, a luxury they denied the students. Benjamin Marino was staring at the ceiling in obvious contemplation of all he had heard, and I was eager for resumption of the session; my fancy churning my mind into images of gallant caravels in boiling seas.

The college settled again into silence and Fray Juan picked up his scroll and continued. “Sixthly. At Lisbon’s convent of the Military Order of St. James, where maidens are trained in virtuous endeavor, Christopher Columbus met Felipa Moniz Perestrello, a lady of noble birth, and, most important, the sister of Bartholomew Perestrello, governor of the Isle of Porto Santo, which is a steppingstone to the Ocean Sea. This lady became his wife and bore him a son, christened Diego, and then this Columbus took residence on the said island of Porto Santo and there had frequent opportunities to engage in nautical enterprises and thus improve his knowledge of navigation. He entertained and succored mariners who called at that outpost and examined them shrewdly on their adventures and observations.

“Seventhly. One Martin Vicente, pilot, showed him a utility found floating some two thousand miles west of Portugal and made of a wood unknown in Europe. One Pedro Correa, pilot, showed him a cane tree, also found floating, each section of which would hold a gallon of wine. A persistent report, although wisely suspect, asserts that Columbus talked with the valiant Alonso Sanchez soon after that navigator was washed ashore on Porto Santo and a few days before the redoubtable Sanchez expired from the ordeals of his adventure, and, as we all know, Sanchez insisted he had seen the shores of Antilia beyond the Ocean Sea.”

Even the dunderheads among the students were alert at this juncture of the report and I, enthralled by the unfolding narrative, was annoyed that Fray Juan should hesitate long enough to clear his throat and mop his brow on the hem of his mantle.

“Eighthly. It is possible, albeit far from confirmation, that Christopher Columbus also knew on Porto Santo the Unknown Pilot whose exploits, fanciful or real, have sharpened the imaginations of all men concerned with exploration. My investigation of this story has foundered on the rocks of myth and rumors, but the Unknown Pilot swore that, blown from his course, he sailed about seven hundred leagues west and there came upon a floating meadow——”

A gasp went up from the college and even the unperturbable Benjamin Marino arched his black eyebrows, and Fray Juan hammered on:

“Yes, a floating meadow. A sea of grass. And through this he sailed and saw an island, but so frightened were his sailors that they forced him to turn back. This corresponds, in position and description, to the Newly Discovered Island that appeared so mysteriously on Bedaire’s map of sixty years ago and subsequently on Bianco’s map with the legend: Questo he mar di Spagna. Here is Spain’s sea.”

My fray moistened his lips and thrust out his chin and I envisioned how he looked and how he performed before the Queen’s Court of the Inquisition, thorough and relentless as he recruited for old Quemadero and the faggots of purification.

“Ninthly. From Porto Santo, this Columbus returned to Portugal and eked out an existence by drawing charts and tracing maps and then, abetted by the influence of his wife’s family, projected himself into the councils of his betters. Let us assume that this is the point where he came into knowledge of Toscanelli’s map, although that document was prepared under the patronage of King John of Portugal and was a state paper, supposedly safe from the prying eyes of schemers.”

The constant disdain and frequent flares of contempt were so flagrant, and the bias so obvious, that I was puzzled as to why Fray Juan was so scathing of a man he did not know except through channels open only to an Inquisitor. Was it because the stranger seemingly preferred Franciscans to Dominicans? Nonsense. Juan Ruiz de Medina was as loyal to his order as any friar, but he was not a blinded partisan in matters of letters.

“Meanwhile——” Fray Juan’s voice grew stronger as the report lengthened. “His wife died and left their son, Diego, only a year or so out of swaddling clothes. This blow did not deter Christopher Columbus one whit from a dream he was nourishing into an obsession. Eventually he reached King John himself and brazenly proposed a voyage to India, advocating with more fervor than reason that Asia is 700 leagues across the Ocean Sea. It is astounding but true, the King of Portugal was swayed by the indomitable audacity of this interloper who offered not one item of nautical lore or wisdom that was new to Portuguese mariners. When pressed for facts, or even theory, he wrapped himself in a cloak of omnipotence like a prophet from the wilderness, argued that he was anointed of God to find the Holy City of the Mysteries, and prattled parables about the rivers of Paradise and pretended knowledge for himself that is known to no other man. So eloquent was his plea that King John actually asked his terms——” Here my fray paused and smiled, and it was one of the few times I ever saw him smile.

“Without one gold ducat in his purse, without one sail at his command, this namesake of our stalwart St. Christopher did propose to voyage west or south and discover happy lands, islands, and terra firma most rich in gold, silver, aloes, pearls, and precious stones and infinite peoples; and to come upon the lands of India and the kingdoms of the Grand Khan, the same having been previously discovered to the east by Marco Polo.”

Several students snickered and a few of the friars themselves smiled their amusement at such fancy, at such wild dreaming. Benjamin Marino, however, did not smile. His brow was furrowed in thought and his eyes never left the countenance of Juan Ruiz de Medina, Inquisitor for the Queen and judge of converses.

“In payment for this fantastic enterprise——” Fray Juan’s face was solemn again. “This said Christopher Columbus, known as Christovam Colom in Portugal, demanded immediate knighthood and golden spurs. Next he demanded heraldry and titles perpetually, including Admiral of the Ocean Sea.” All the college laughed, save only Benjamin Marino, and even I smiled at the temerity of an itinerant entrepreneur, a pauperized wayfarer and promoter, presuming such demands of the King of Portugal.

“Hold! And hear you!” My Dominican mentor held up his hand for silence. “Furthermore, he demanded one tenth of all income accruing to the King within limits of the Admiralty. One pearl of every ten pearls! One ounce of gold of every ten ounces! In addition to all this, he also demanded the right to contribute one eighth of the expenses of every expedition to any lands he discovered and to derive one-eighth profit.”

A gale of laughter swept the college and even Benjamin Marino smiled.

Fray Juan waited until the merriment subsided and then added: “The King of Portugal declined.”

The Inquisitor rolled the scroll and tied it and put it away, and a fellow Dominican handed him another, which he opened carefully and resumed his array. “Tenthly. Rebuffed in Portugal, this unspurred knight-errant of ludicrous imagination considered offering himself to England or France, but aware that those kingdoms are remiss in knowledge of cosmography and astronomy, he decided that Queen Isabel should be his patron and that our Spain should launch his expedition to India. His retreat from Portugal was most furtive, possibly due to debt but more likely because he had seen the Toscanelli map and had noted its secrets.

“Lastly. In a manner we have not solved, he secured passage for himself and his son, Diego, now of five years, and left Lisbon for the Condado de Niebla,^[2] that territory that includes Andalusia’s Palos, Huelva, and other ports. He landed at Palos, wearing the garb of the lay order of the Friars Minor, and, his son by his side, walked the three miles to the Franciscan monastery at La Rabida; well aware of the hospitality of the Minorites and surely also aware that the prior of La Rabida has confessed the Queen and is among her favorites.

“Fray Juan Perez welcomed the stranger and offered sanctuary and schooling for Diego, and Christopher Columbus tarried there until the return of Fray Antonio de Marchena, the astronomer of the monastery and a man of quizzical mind and boundless curiosity. Fray Antonio himself saw to it that our new luminary was in communication with the Duke of Medina-Sidonia——”

The words quickened my brain and awakened sleeping intelligence. Fray Juan Ruiz de Medina was of the same lineage as the Duke of Medina-Sidonia. Was this then the source of my mentor’s information? But why the antagonism? The bias and contempt? Why a hundred things?

“And, as is known to every Spaniard——” Fray Juan was reciting without a glance at his scroll. “The Duke of Medina-Sidonia is the richest man in the kingdom and a confidant of our gracious Queen. He has seen a map based on Toscanelli’s theories but prepared by this gross upstart who calls himself Christopher. This map——” His voice crackled ridicule. “This devilish hoax has the Cipango^[3] of Marco Polo’s journey only 700 leagues west of the Canary Isles and in the position of Antilia.^[4]

“This is his secret; that Cipango and Antilia are the same. This is the lodestone with which he intrigues to lure our Queen into a reckless venture for his own profit.”

Fray Juan dropped the scroll on the stand and it rolled into shape and he tied it and put it under his arm, then faced us all. “In conclusion, a few observations. This Columbus, this charlatan in matters mundane, is, nevertheless, firm in the Faith, a man of much piety and frequent prayers. However——” His tone hardened to a rasp. “This shipless mariner, this impostor, seeks the company, the solace, and the wisdom of converses at every opportunity.”

So that was it. That explained the prejudice, the cynical denunciation by the Inquisitor. Christopher Columbus trafficked with the peculiar people, the Hebrews who had turned Christian. This charge demanded an immediate explanation and Fray Juan was quick to give it.

“Let it be said, in justice to truth, that the converses of his circle all are true Christians, staunch in the Faith and high in the graces of our Queen. They are men of wealth and influence, which may explain his affinity. I submit to this college, as I will submit to the Queen, that Christopher Columbus, if that be his true name, is a man to be watched.”

He bowed his head and mumbled a Pax vobiscum and we mumbled the same words in echo, and the morning session was over. All the students crowded around Benjamin Marino and none gave attention or praise to my fray, and he, in majestic solitude, walked slowly out of the hall.

I, too, preferred a minute of chitchat with Teacher Marino, but I renounced that privilege and caught up with Fray Juan and fell in step with him. He was the one who could give me liberty to visit my father, and thus, incidentally, see Maraela Harana, and so it was his favors I curried.

“A masterly presentation,” I volunteered, seeking to flatter him. “This Columbus is a trickster.”

He turned his cold, yellow eyes on me and grunted. “The same was said of Marco Polo, who gave us more knowledge of the East than any man, before or since.” Then he looked into the blue distance, the sky free and unbounded. “At least this wandering and homeless Christopher dares dream of a new world and dares scheme its conquest while we peck at his flesh like starving ravens.”

I did not comprehend. He had condemned in public and now he defended in private, and I was turning the riddle in my mind when he said:

“It is not necessary, Rodrigo, to pamper my vanity. A visit to your father will depend on your knowledge of Isidore. I will examine you Friday morning.”

“Thank you, Fray Juan.”

“Your father is well and busy. So is Luis Harana and his daughter. Your friend Mudarra, the wise old fool, is making her a vase with a glaze of azure and gold.”

I thanked him again and went to my stall and there waded into the morass of Isidore until boredom subdued my ambition, and then I stepped to my window and watched that small portion of the city that was visible to me. First the ships, and no new ones were in, and next the streets, along which sauntered groups of soldiers in convivial abandon. Seville was accustomed to soldiers and these were the King’s own guard, stationed in Seville because the court was here, and awaiting his command which would send them, and all the army, against the Moors in Granada.

Ships and soldiers, and the Andalusian sun in golden glory behind the Castle of Triana, where the Inquisitors met. The dying splendor of Moorish grandeur in western Europe; old Quemadero and his crackling wrath; and now Christopher Columbus. These days were to shake the earth and reshape it, maybe for a thousand years, maybe forever. What an age was my youth.

However, I had no thoughts for such things, for in the sun’s golden warmth I saw only the radiance of Maraela’s hair. There was a surging in my heart and a yearning in my loins and for this I was ashamed of my manliness and sought to banish my lustful hunger; but it had seized me and I surrendered my mind to my enraptured fancy, kindling an image of Maraela in sweet and joyous submission, and knowing this was one sin I would never confess to Juan Ruiz de Medina.

[1]

Iceland.

[2]	Condado de Niebla, hereafter called the Niebla, was a small area on the Atlantic, facing North Africa, and included the towns of Palos, Huelva, and Moguer, and the lower reaches of the rivers Tinto and Odiel, which flow into the Saltes River and thence to the Atlantic.

[3]

Japan.

[4]

Cuba?