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  Christopher Columbus (standing and pointing) has an audience with King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella at the Royal Court of Spain. (This lithograph was made in 1892 by Mast, Cowell & Kirkpatrick.)

  In 1892 Harrisse contacted Everett’s son, William, who said he did not know the whereabouts of the documents his father had written about. Everett, in fact, had previously been queried about them by the nineteenth-century historian Justin Winsor. In the introduction to his book Christopher Columbus: His Own Book of Privileges, 1502, Harrisse wrote that to his knowledge the Paris and Genoa codices were the only known vellum copies to exist, although he suspected the documents Everett described might indeed be the missing third vellum copy. (Harrisse conjectured that the paper copy taken to Hispaniola was consumed by “worms and ants.”)

  Subsequently, William Everett was going through some papers in an old desk of his father’s and found what seemed to be the missing Columbus documents. He took them to England, where an authority asserted they were of little value. So he returned to Massachusetts, placed the documents in a desk drawer, and essentially dismissed any notion that they might be significant. A few years later a fire broke out, but fortunately the Columbus documents were not damaged. Everett decided he should make another attempt to find out what they were.

  This time he brought the transcripts to Wilberforce Eames, a librarian for James Lenox, the great American bibliophile whose collection of books in part formed the New York Public Library. Eames immediately recognized the compilation as having tremendous historical significance, and he contacted Herbert Putnam, the librarian of Congress. Some months later, in 1901, the library purchased this compilation (the Washington or Florentine codex).

  How this Book of Privileges surfaced in Italy is not known, but historians have offered speculations. One possibility is that Columbus’s grandson, Luis, sold the documents to someone in Italy around 1520. Another is that the documents left Spain in the seventeenth century following a court case in which Baldassare Colombo, an Italian claiming to be a descendant of Columbus, exhibited to the Council of the Indies a compilation of privileges notarized by Martin Rodrigues in 1502 as proof that he should be the next heir to the title. He may have legally or illegally brought back the documents with him to Italy in 1605.

  Because of the Washington codex’s undocumented history, there remains the possibility that it is not one of the original copies made in Christopher Columbus’s home in Seville in 1502, although none of its transcripts bear a date later than 1502 and no evidence has surfaced that contradicts this being the original’s partner at the monastery. Although this copy lacks some of the documents contained in the Genoa and Paris codices, the fact that it also lacks an elaborate rubricated title page and colored coat of arms supports the possibility that this was the file copy retained with the originals. Still, the Washington codex awaits a thorough, scholarly investigation before it can irrefutably be affirmed as the missing file copy.

  And what of the original Book of Privileges? The historical record is also basically silent on this set, but there is a possibility that some of the original documents are today in the Veragua codex acquired with the Veragua papers by the Spanish government in 1927.

  Containing documents written through 1497 and in 1498 (there is also a 1501 transcript, but this does not seem to have been an original part of the book), the Veragua codex is the oldest known compilation of Columbus’s privileges to exist. Most of its transcripts were written before Columbus’s third voyage to the New World in May 1498, with one document written while he was in Santo Domingo (dated December 4, 1498). The Genoa, Paris, and Washington codices appear to be based, at least partially, on the Veragua codex.

  Little is known about the history of the Veragua codex except that it once was part of the archive of the duke of Veragua in Madrid. (A descendant of Columbus, the duke was named after a region in the New World, later part of Panama, that the admiral had explored.) In 1927 the codex was acquired by the Spanish state and placed with other Columbus documents in the General Archives of the Indies in Seville. The Veragua codex is written in Castilian Spanish, as are the copies made in 1502.

  The Veragua codex is not a complete set of Columbus’s privileges. For that reason the historical importance of the 1502 codices becomes greater. As the only complete or nearly complete compilation of Columbus’s documents, they present a better record and perspective of his life and the nature of his voyages.

  In the wake of Columbus’s monumental 1492 achievement, numerous other explorers including Cabot, Cabral, Balboa, Ponce de León, Verrazano, Pizarro, Cartier, Drake, Champlain, and Hudson sailed to the Americas in search of riches, land, fulfillment of political and religious objectives, and adventure. This new wave of exploration was inevitable. Realizing the competitive aspects of his profession, Columbus undoubtedly had a greater appreciation for his privileges.

  What is astonishing about the books of privileges is not only that they have survived through the centuries and not only that the codices are a few of the small number of Columbus artifacts to exist today, but that they are in essence the contracts accorded for opening up the western half of the world to Europeans.

  In a romantic sense what we have today is a written representation of the dreams and hopes, of the ambitions and purpose, that motivated one man to embark half a millennium ago on a dangerous mission that became a turning point in history. And were it not for the “Admiral of the Ocean Sea” possessing enough business savvy to negotiate these privileges in the first place, and to protect himself with multiple copies in the second, we wouldn’t have a record today of his objectives and rewards, of what are known as Columbus’s Books of Privileges.

  LOCATIONS: Genoa codex: Municipality of Genoa, Genoa, Italy.

  Paris codex: Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Paris, France.

  Veragua codex: General Archives of the Indies, Seville, Spain. Washington codex: Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.

  Footnotes

  *Other Europeans and Asians may have preceded Columbus into the New World, parts of which were clearly inhabited by the time he arrived, but by “discovery” it is meant that with his 1492 voyage Columbus initiated a Renaissance exploration of the New World by Europeans, which led to colonization and settlement, and the cultural, economic, and sociological development of the Western Hemisphere. It should be noted that much criticism has been directed at Columbus, particularly during the period of the 1992 Columbus quincentenary, when the explorer was accused of committing numerous atrocities, but historians have traditionally credited Columbus with “discovering” America and have cited his navigational skills, bravery, and indomitable spirit.

  *Translated by Henry Harrisse in his introduction to Christopher Columbus: His Own Book of Privileges, 1502, published in London in 1893.

  THE CANTINO MAP

  DATE: 1502.

  WHAT IT IS: A highly decorative planisphere that showed the course of the New World to Europeans of the Renaissance period. It was considered a treasure in its day and is today the oldest Portuguese handmade nautical map in Italy showing the coast of America.

  WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE: The planisphere is designed on parchment consisting of six sheets of different sizes glued together to form a chart 85.53 inches by 40.16 inches. It is mounted on a canvas backing.

  The d’Este dynasty was one of the most powerful families of Italy of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. Like other ruling clans such as the Gonzaga and the Medici, they collected notable artifacts and relics of the day and displayed them prominently in their homes. This not only showed off their wealth but demonstrated their passion for knowledge and culture.

  The duke of Ferrara, Ercole I d’Este, was devoted to intellectual pursuits and had a pipeline to the exciting voyages the Portuguese were making through Alberto Cantino, who may have been his emissary or secret agent. Stationed in Lisbon, Cantino was directed by the duke to report discoveries in the New World and to furnish him with any maps he could acquire of new lands and
routes. The world was expanding as European explorers made their first forays to exotic places, purportedly full of riches and strange peoples.

  Cantino finally found for his master an elaborate map of the Old and New Worlds. Called La Charta del navicare, it was probably the most up-to-date geographical chart of the world. This chart showed the world as it was known in 1502, with the newly discovered territories up to Columbus’s second voyage. It also indicated ownership of the various areas, mainly Spanish and Portuguese, with captions and flags placed about the map. It was especially important for its inclusion of the boundary lines (raja) laid down by Pope Alexander VI in the Tordesillas Treaty of June 7, 1494, to end the quarrel between Ferdinand V of Spain and John II of Portugal.

  Mapmaking was a specialized and highly regarded profession at the time. It is not known who in Lisbon made the map, and the circumstances under which Cantino obtained it are vague and slightly suspicious, but in a letter written in November 1502 from Rome, Cantino was pleased to advise Ercole d’Este that for twelve ducats he had purchased a map that would be of interest to him.

  The duke received the map, and it stayed in the possession of his family until 1598, when Pope Clement VIII stripped away all royal authority from Cesare d’Este. The deposed duke moved to Modena, a city near Ferrara in northern Italy, and brought with him the collection of treasures accumulated over the years by his family. The map that Alberto Cantino had secured almost one hundred years earlier came too, finding a home in Cesare’s new residence, in a red leather case bearing the gold seals of the duke, where it remained for more than two and a half centuries. In 1859 the people of Modena rebelled, and in the turmoil the Cantino Map was pilfered, after which it vanished and was thought to have been destroyed.

  The Cantino Map, once perhaps the greatest contemporary nautical map of the New World, was rediscovered in 1870 in an Italian grocery shop hanging as a partition.

  After the 1859 uprising, when the rebels wanted Modena to join the kingdom of Vittorio Emanuele di Savoia (the future Kingdom of Italy), Francesco V d’Austria Este sought refuge in Vienna, bringing with him some of the most important manuscripts from his library. Nine years later, in 1868, the Treaty of Florence mandated that the duke, who was still living in Vienna, must return to the Italian Kingdom and the Regia Biblioteca Estense all the manuscripts he took with him, with the exception of a few that Italian authorities recognized to be family properties.

  In 1870, Giuseppi Boni, a collector living in Modena, was walking down the Via Farini when he happened to peer into a grocery store. Unbelievably, the Cantino Map, the old map that had been in the Este palace, was there in the store, hanging on a board used as a room divider. Boni persuaded the store owner to sell it to him. On April 25, 1870, Boni donated the Cantino Map along with several other maps to the Regia Biblioteca Estense, the deed of the gift reading, “Tutte queste carte io le dono alla R. Biblioteca Estense, perchè in essa siano custodite e conservate (“I donate all these maps to the Royal Estense Library because I want them to be kept and preserved there.”)

  The Cantino Map has remained at the library ever since.

  LOCATION: Estense Library, Modena, Italy.

  THE HOPE DIAMOND

  DATE: 1642 (inconclusive).

  WHAT IT IS: A diamond noted for its remarkable color, size, clarity, beauty, and history.

  WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE: It is a very brilliant deep blue faceted ovoid diamond that measures 25.60 millimeters by 21.78 millimeters by 12.00 millimeters (length, width, depth) and weighs 45.52 carats. The diamond is set in a pendant in which it is encircled by sixteen white diamonds. The Hope’s color is a combination of blue, caused by boron, as in all blue diamonds, and gray. The depth and intensity of its color and the occasional highlights that flash from its facets are unique. Vivid reds, yellows, and greens can be seen from different angles.

  It was owned by three, maybe four kings. It disappeared from the public eye for twenty years before probably surfacing in an altered form, then returned to obscurity for twenty-seven more years. Its alteration is said to have produced other magnificent stones that may or may not exist today. And it is most famous for bringing great misfortune upon whoever owns or wears it. What is fact, what is legend, and what is speculation about the Hope Diamond—one of the largest blue diamonds in the world and one of the most famous gems ever to have existed—and what are its mysteries still waiting to be solved?

  The story of the “blue” begins in the seventeenth century in India, with Jean-Baptiste Tavernier, a French jewel trader. Tavernier made a half-dozen journeys to the Orient during his lifetime, marvelously adventurous excursions lasting four, five, or six years, and in 1642, at the end of his second trip to India, he probably acquired a 112³/₁₆-carat, rough-cut deep blue diamond that may have come from the nearby Kollur mine in the great diamond market of Golconda.

  What Tavernier paid or exchanged for the diamond or from whom he purchased it is not known. In his memoirs he wrote of his visits to the diamond mines but never mentioned his commercial transactions. It was the law of the mines that all gems belonged to the Grand Mogul, so Tavernier may have dealt with the ruler himself in acquiring the large stone.

  Tavernier’s blue diamond became part of the magnificent French crown jewels in 1668 when King Louis XIV, the Sun King, purchased it along with fourteen others shown to him by the trader. Louis XIV was a man of extravagant tastes—just eight years earlier he began building a palace at Versailles whose cost would eventually run to $100 million—and he had a passion for fine jewels. In 1673, to enhance the brilliance in the stone, the king had the royal jeweler recut it (actually it was sawn), and the result was a sparkling sixty-seven-and-one-eighth-carat gem almost in the shape of a triangle. This diamond, which became known as the French Blue, was set later by Louis XV’s court jeweler in another of the French crown jewels, the Golden Fleece. During the one hundred twenty years it remained a crown jewel, it passed from Louis XIV to Louis XV, and to Louis XV’s grandson, Louis XVI, who was crowned in 1774 and continued the extravagant ways of his forebears.

  During the eighteenth century in France, the peasantry and working class grew increasingly restless under the oppressive rule of the monarchy. By 1789 the country—under King Louis XVI and his profligate wife, Marie Antoinette—was bankrupt, and revolution finally erupted. Mobs stormed the Bastille prison in Paris; poor people around the country invaded the homes of the upper class; men and women attacked the Versailles palace.

  Under a new constitution in 1791, the king was granted limited powers. The indignant Louis XVI sought assistance from other European leaders to quash the uprising. In June 1791 the king and Marie Antoinette attempted to flee to Austria where the queen’s brother, Joseph II, was emperor, but they were stopped and returned to Paris. Shortly after, custody of the French crown jewels was returned to the National Assembly. They were stored in Paris in a repository called the Garde Meuble and put on public display.

  The Garde Meuble then became the scene of a bizarre spree of burglaries. The repository was not usually well guarded or sealed tightly, and on a few evenings in September 1792, when bands of men came to steal its valuable contents, one of the metal bars that were supposed to keep the windows shut was unsecured, granting the men easy access. The looting of the crown jewels was a prelude to the fatal blows that would be dealt to the royal family. In January 1793 the guillotine’s blade fell on Louis XVI, and nine months later on his wife, Marie Antoinette.

  Ostensibly, the French Blue disappeared from history because no blue diamond of its weight and appearance was ever recovered. But could the same diamond have emerged later under a new “identity,” in a new shape?

  There is documentation that a large blue diamond of almost forty-five carats was owned in 1812 by one Daniel Eliason, a London diamond merchant who died in 1824. The diamond was described and sketched in color by an English jeweler, John Francillon, in a legal memorandum that he signed and dated London, September 19, 1812.

  This
blue diamond was in fact what came to be called the Hope Diamond by 1839. The description and measurements of the traced stone matched with the Hope; Francillon’s writing and illustrations are the first recorded evidence of the Hope Diamond. And though there is virtually no definitive way of proving this is the recut French Blue—the only way would be to compare it with the original or by chemical analysis, which wasn’t performed on the French Blue—the likelihood that it is is very strong.

  The French Blue was stolen before the South African diamond fields had been discovered (in the 1860s) and had begun producing blue diamonds. There were few, if any, other large blue diamonds known in Europe through the eighteenth century, which is why, along with its extremely brilliant and dark blue color, it was simply called the French Blue. For the Hope suddenly to emerge in 1812 without any prior history is so unlikely that one may safely assume it began its public existence as the well-known earlier stone.

  Claims have been made that certain other blue diamonds of European vintage are the issue of the re-cutting of the French Blue. These diamonds have ranged in weight from one to fourteen carats and most prominently include the so-called Brunswick Blue. But scholars who have compared the dimensions and shape of the sixty-seven-carat French Blue in illustrations with those of the forty-five-carat Hope gem have concluded that the cutting could have resulted in no other stone.

  Many people believed the Hope Diamond brought a curse upon whoever owned or wore it.

  Because of an amnesty law passed in France in 1804 forgiving all crimes committed in time of war after the passage of twenty years, Francillon’s documentation of the stone owned by Daniel Eliason in 1812 signaled its appearance on the gem market. At that date it was legally marketable because twenty years and one day had elapsed since the last possible date of the disappearance of the French Blue from the Garde Meuble in Paris in 1792. However, the history of the blue diamond from its 1812 documentation through 1839, when another record of it was made, is mostly obscure. But there is published evidence and a portrait to suggest that for a period during this interval, in the 1820s, the diamond was owned by the king of England, George IV.