not?—­and appointed a council of astronomers and map-makers to examine the project and to pass upon its feasibility.  This council, not without the connivance of the king and queen, who were absorbed in war with the Moors, and who, at the same time, did not wish the plan to be taken elsewhere, kept Columbus waiting for six years, alternating between hope and despair, and finally reported that the project was “vain and impossible of execution.”

Indignant at thought of the years he had wasted, Columbus determined to proceed to Paris, to seek an audience of the King of France.  His wife was dead, and he started for Palos, with his little son, Diego, intending to leave the boy with his wife’s sister there, while he himself journeyed on to Paris.  Trudging wearily across the country, they came one night to the convent of La Rabida, and Columbus stopped to ask for a crust of bread and cup of water for the child.  The prior, Juan Perez de Marchena, struck by his noble bearing, entered into conversation with him and was soon so interested that he invited the travellers in.

Marchena had been Isabella’s confessor, and still had great influence with her.  After carefully considering the project which Columbus laid before him, he went to the queen in person and implored her to reconsider it.  His plea was successful, and Columbus was again summoned to appear at court, a small sum of money being sent him so that he need not appear in rags.  The Spanish monarchs received him well, but when they found that he demanded the title of admiral at once, and, in case of success, the title of viceroy, together with a tenth part of all profits resulting from either trade or conquest, they abruptly broke off the negotiations, and Columbus, mounting a mule which had been given him, started a second time for Paris.  He had proceeded four or five miles, in what sadness and turmoil of spirit may be imagined, when a royal messenger, riding furiously, overtook him and bade him return.  His terms had been accepted.

This is what had happened:  In despair at the departure of Columbus, Luis de Santangel, receiver of the revenues of Aragon, and one of the few converts to his theories, had obtained an audience of the queen, and pointed out to her, with impassioned eloquence, the glory which Spain would win should Columbus be successful.  The queen’s patriotic ardor was enkindled, and when Ferdinand still hesitated, she cried, “I undertake the enterprise for my own crown of Castile.  I will pledge my jewels to raise the money that is needed!” Santangel assured her that he himself was ready to provide the money, and advanced seventeen thousand florins from the coffers of Aragon, so that Ferdinand paid for the expedition, after all.