Prologue In Norwegian My Album My PublisherWelcome to My World
This is Chapter One of my newly published book, THE ROAD TO XANADU. A Journey
in Marco Polo's footsteps (Cappelen, Oslo, 2001.) Join me!
Myself, the Venice waterfront - and my new book.A Strange Illness
by Torbjorn Faerovik
The Polo-fever is a strange illness. It can strike
at any moment in time, and often without forewarning.
It especially affects older and middle aged men. As of
today there are no cures for this illness.
JONATHAN SPENCE, PROFESSOR OF CHINESE HISTORYSpring. Spring in Venice.
Gone is the fog, gone is the rain, and the masks from February's carnival have been packed away in drawers and chests. The living have recaptured the streets. Heat is unmistakably oozing from the cobblestone, and the gondoliers have begun to sing "O Sole Mio" and "Tu Sei Romantica". The boats have been overhauled, and the varnish has dried. WELCOME ABOARD! The pigeons and the tourists have opened a new season on St. Mark's Square, and the music of Haydn, Schubert and Chopin is being played on the velvet covered platform outside of Caffe Florian. The female violinist, daringly draped in black silk, moves the bow with bare arms and shoulders, a few beads of perspiration playing on her forehead. Today's temperature: 78 degrees Fahrenheit. The boy running between the small tables selling red roses is suddenly empty handed - sold out..
St. Mark's Square - Piazza San Marco - is the heart of Venice. A majestic rectangle, airy and overpowering, framed by thousand-year-old architecture. And now, in the middle of April, this heart is beating with severe intensity. The whole world has come to Venice, and languages unite in a mutual song of praise.
From St. Mark's Square it seems natural to walk the hundred yards to The Grand Canal - Canal Grande - to enjoy the view from The Bridge of Sighs. We then follow the alleys northward towards the Rialto Bridge, another meeting point in the city which floats on the sea. Breakfast is enjoyed on both banks of the canal - small tables, people and parasols - and while the aroma of freshly brewed coffee is penetrating the air the wiser patrons lean quietly back to enjoy the architecture. The Rialto Bridge, a massive arch of white marble was erected between 1588 and 1591. Michelangelo participated in the competition, but didn't make it to the lead. The victor's name was Antonio da Ponte. Congratulations, Antonio!
It appears that love is flourishing in this earthly paradise. As the morning sun rises the gondolas fill up with couples in love. The gondolier, dressed in black freshly pressed trousers, a blue and white striped T-shirt and a straw hat with a red silk ribbon, casts off for the first trip of the day. The slender boat glides nearly inaudibly into the canal kingdom, and the enamoured couple has found each other in a warm embrace before the boat rounds the first corner.
And I? I have found a stairway. Cold, stone steps in a dim gateway, situated only two stone throws from the Rialto, behind a portal with the inscription "Corte del Milion". A place for reflection, because it was here he was born 800 years ago, the greatest of all travelers: Marco Polo.
Marco Polo. Born in 1254, died in 1324. There are no memorials adorning the cool dimness, no inscriptions in marble nor granite. No busts nor statues. No eternal flames. Nothing. Just trivialities and emptiness. A pigeon lands in front of my feet and picks up a forgotten breadcrumb from yesterday. Occasionally a creaky window opens, and small, unintelligible tirades of private bickering filter through the emptiness. A woman's chubby hand snatches a pair of panties from the nearest clothesline under the eaves. Now and then some townspeople walk by. "Corte del Milion" is obviously a good shortcut. In entrance number two, fourth floor, the morning news is announced behind threadbare curtains. The voice from the radio is rushed and sharp, but fear not - everything is the same as before in Italy.
It's a little chilly where I'm sitting, and I feel rejected. Why did the city forget her great son? Wasn't he both the first and the greatest?
Slowly I open the book before me. Marco Polo: A Description of the World. The prologue is written in ink by a certain Rustichello of Pisa, one of Marco Polo's contemporaries:Great Princes, Emperors and Kings, Dukes and Marquises, Counts, Knights and Burgesses, and People of all degrees who desire to get knowledge of the various races of mankind and of the diversities of the sundry regions of the World, take this Book and cause it to be read to you. For ye shall find therein all kinds of wonderful things, and the diverse histories of the Great Armenia, and of Persia, and of the Land of the Tartars, and of India, and of many another country of which our Book doth speak, particularly and in regular succession, according to Messer Marco Polo, a wise and noble citizen of Venice, as he saw them with his own eyes. Some things indeed there be therein which he beheld not; but these he heard from men of credit and veracity. And we shall set down things seen as seen, and things heard as heard only, so that no jot of falsehood may mar the truth of our Book, and that all who shall read it or hear it read may put full faith in the truth of all its contents.
For let me tell you that since our Lord God did mould with his hands our First Father Adam, even until this day, never hath there been Christian, or Pagan, or Tartar, or Indian, or any man of any nation, who in his own person hath had so much knowledge and experience of the divers parts of the World and its Wonders as hath had this Messer Marco! And for that reason he bethought himself that it would be a very great pity did he not cause to be put in writing all the great marvels that he had seen, or on sure information heard of, so that other people who had not these advantages might, by his Book, get such knowledge. And I may tell you that in acquiring this knowledge he spent in those various parts of the World good six-and-twenty years.
Now, being thereafter an inmate of the Prison of Genoa, he caused Messer Rustichello of Pisa, who was in the said prison likewise, to reduce the whole thing to writing; and this befell in the year 1298 from the birth of Jesus.Marco Polo, none better, no one equal. While most Europeans lived quiet, despondent lives cooped up in their villages, this 17 year old packed his bag and traveled to China. Thousands of miles, first by sea, then through unexplored valleys, red hot deserts and dangerous mountain passes. The trip took him three and a half years. When he finally returned home at an age of 41, only a few, if any, believed him. Marco Polo got branded a braggart, an idiot, and the palaces he had seen in China were nothing but castles in the air. After all, civilization was in Europe, not in Asia.
That's how the building that Marco Polo grew up in got its unusual name.
In "Corte del Milion" I suddenly get company. A young couple with slanted eyes come toddling along, equipped with camera and map. They are Chinese. Could it be here? Their index fingers search the map. Could it be here that Marco Polo was born? Muttering and slightly confused they stand regarding the century year old bricks, the doors, the decayed window frames and the slanted, dilapidated roof.
- That's right, I say. - It is here. Slowly, almost in disbelief, the young couple back out of the gateway.
- Xie, xie, they whisper; that means 'thank you'.
I should, of course, have added that the house that Marco Polo grew up in burned to the ground in 1596. It's not the original we're looking at. Yet the atmosphere is as if brought here from a distant past. The only thing seemingly missing is Marco himself.
Venice has stopped sinking. That happened in 1983, but even so the Venetians are moving away. Young people don't want to live in a museum. In a museum there's only room for the museum guards.There are only 80 000 permanent residents left, and the facades are progressively fading before the eyes of the tourists. Cornices crashing into the streets and on to floors is an almost daily occurance. The new, hightech Italy is being built elsewhere - in Trieste, Milan and Genoa. Even in Sicily.
But once upon a time the city was big. Venice was "The Queen of the Mediterranean". The sea kept the Queen alive, and the Queen kept the sea alive. It was from here that thousands of vessels sailed destined for Accra, Alexandria, Athens and Constantinople. The Venetians went in all directions and where they didn't trade, they waged war.
The height of the city's glory was around 1400 and 1500. But the 1200's, Marco Polo's century, was nothing to be disposed of lightly either. The Venetians participated with great ardour in the Crusades, they transported tens of thousands of pilgrims, they pillaged and plundered and returned home with the most valuable treasures. The muslims were their enemies, but divergents of Christianity, the Greek Catholics, were also made to suffer. The fourth Crusade between 1201 and 1204 became the most ferocious of all. Commanded by Venice's prince, the blind 90 year old Enrico Dandolo, the Venetian fleet of warships set sail destined for Constantinople. Dandolo stood at the bow shouting: "Death to heretics!" The looting that followed laid the city waste.
In the wake of tragedy came the merchants. Constantinople and the areas beyond, the vast, undefinable "East" was considered the market of opportunity. Niccolo Polo, Marco's father, and Maffeo, his uncle, were among the many who seized the opportunity. If we are to believe Rustichello's version, Marco wasn't even born when the two waved farewell. Niccolo's wife was left at the pier with her half way bulging stomach. When would they return? The time frames were wide in those days. Perhaps she would see them again in a year or two, maybe longer, maybe never. Nobody knew.
Years passed. Fourteen long years. And then the day came: A fully loaded boat docked at the pier and two grown men went ashore, tired and sunburned from the voyage across the sea.
Where had they been?
Not only in Constantinople. The had traveled on to the city of Sudak in Crimea and further into the Russian empire. There they came in contact with a race of people who hailed from the other side of the Earth - the Mongols. People who were horsemen, small and stocky, with narrow, slanted eyes and fat, red cheeks. The Mongols had, for several decades, been spreading fear and terror over vast areas of Asia. From horseback. They had, under the command of their ingenious king, the unconquerable Genghis Khan, created a world empire which stretched from the Pacific to the Black Sea, the largest common market in history. They had even managed to leave their footprints in Europe.
Faced against this common market the Polo brothers capitulated. They had been lured to Karakorum, the capital of the Mongols, which was the longest journey imaginable at that time. They had crossed Russia, Central Asia and great parts of China on foot and on horseback. Once finally there they fell on their knees before the feet of the new "world king", Kublai Khan. Kublai was Genghis' grandson - reportedly a handsome man, "well proportioned and with defined, chiseled features".
Kublai Khan had received them well. He had inquired about everything under the sun, about the habits and way of life in the west, of forms of government and the rulers and their ways of waging war. He had invited them to banquets and parties and they had eaten and drunk well. At the end of their stay he asked a favor: Come back, and bring with you one hundred Christian men! They should be learned and well educated in "the seven sciences" - in grammar, rhetoric, logic, music, geometry, mathematics and astronomy. He would give these learned men a chance to prove that Christianity was better than all other religions, and if they did, then Kublai and his subjects would embrace Christianity as their religion. The world king also asked for a few drops of holy oil from the grave of Jesus in Jerusalem. To insure they would have a safe and troublefree journey home he furnished them with a golden tablet endorsed with his own signature - a form of travel pass through the new world empire.
Quite some assignment!
Full of pride and happiness the two Polo brothers commenced the long trip home. To prove his sincerity, Kublai Khan had given them a long letter - addressed to the Pope. But, where was the Pope? When the Polo-brothers trudged in to Accra on the east coast of the Mediterranean they were told the Pope had died. What should they do then? There they were, sweaty and sore after five thousand miles on horseback, with a letter they couldn't deliver. They remained in Accra for two years in the hopes that the Papal church should elect a new supreme head, but all in vain. The cardinals wouldn't reach an agreement. Ultimately the brothers gave up and traveled home to Venice.
Such was the state of affairs when Niccolo and Maffeo Polo - perplexed, and at a loss of what to do - crawled ashore in Venice in 1269.
Imagine that moment. With no forewarning two tired men knock on the Polo family's door. In walk Niccolo and Maffeo. In the corner sits the 15 year old Marco Polo. The embraces that followed must have been long and intense - especially if they were of the Venetian type. But Niccolo's wife, Marco's mother, was conspicuous by her absence. She had died. Grief and happiness at the same time.
Two years passed before the Catholic church came to an agreement about a new Pope. After a while the Polo brothers became impatient, and decided to return to the world king on the other side of the planet, cost what it may. Once there they would explain what had happened, and if luck were on their side, they would be able to resume their profitable commercial activity.
In 1271 they sailed out of the harbor of Venice, and this time Marco Polo was with them. He had reached the age of 17. The plan was to sail to the Holy Land. From there they would retrace their steps to China, and once more the brothers could display the world king's golden plate. The inscription on the plate was clear enough: "With the power of the Eternal heaven! Holy is the name of the Khan. Whoever neglects to show him respect must die and shall be killed!" Even so the journey was long and arduous, filled with detours and long waiting periods. Rustichello explains why: "This because they frequently had to take long breaks in their rides due to rough weather and snow, or violent rainstorms and floods which often obstructed their way."
Early in their trip, while they still were in Turkey, they received a message that the papal election finally was over. This was in time for them to turn back and bring the Pope's greeting to Kublai Khan, as well as a few drops of holy oil from Jesus' grave. Two munks, not one hundred, were appointed to accompany them on their journey. Quite disappointing, perhaps, and after a short period of time the monks left them. The monks didn't want to risk their lives and health as there were wars and instability in Turkey's interior.
The three others continued on. Three and a half years later they reached their goal.
"What more can I tell you?" asks Rustichello rhetorically. "When the brothers and Marco arrived, they went on to the king's palace where they found the king in the company of a large entourage of barons. They knelt before the king and greeted him as humbly as they could. The king asked them to stand and received them with the mark of respect. He displayed great and sincere joy and asked how they were and what they had done since last they were there. They replied that they were quite excellent since they now had returned to find His Royal Highness in good health. Thereafter they showed him the letters which they had brought from the Pope, which pleased him immensely. Then they gave him the holy oil from Jesus' burial place, and he was quite satisfied."
Moreover:
"When he saw Marco, who was a young man, he asked who he was. 'Your Royal Highness', said Niccolo. 'This is my son and your servant.' 'He is welcome" replied the king.
Marco, his father and uncle stayed on in China for 17 years. Kublai Khan held the young man to his chest and appointed him right away to be his personal advisor. The next years he traveled all over the country. The purpose was to gather as much information as possible about the empire's state of affairs and bring this information to the world king. This was a job he evidently tended to with great diligence. To quote Rustichello: "Each time he returned from an assignment he told him everything in the proper sequence. This pleased the king immensely, he was therefore sent out more and more frequently on the most important and demanding assignments, and Master Marco executed these tasks with great wisdom and competence by the help of God. And this is how Master Marco Polo, as time went by, gathered greater knowledge and experience about the different countries of the world than any other human being."
"What more can I tell you?" repeats Rustichello.
Yes, at long last the three Venetians started longing for home. They hadn't seen their beloved Venice in many years. The time had come to pack up and leave, and that they did - supposedly in 1292. The trip home went across the sea to Persia. From there they rode on horseback to the Turkish coast of the Black Sea, where they obtained another boat conveyance. The journey was over in 1295; possibly the most widely renowned trip in history.
Marco Polo folded his hands and thanked his God:
"Deo gratias. Amen."
But - stop for a moment. Did Marco Polo really go to China?
Unlikely, answers Frances Wood. This reply suits me poorly where I'm sitting with my cappuchino, with a view of the Grand Canal, seafoam and faded palaces.
Frances Wood is no nobody. She's the leader for the China department at The British Library in London. She is a Sinologue and has scrutinized Marco Polo and his time period forward and backward. She summarized the results in a book which created quite a sensation when it was published in 1995. The book's title: Did Marco Polo go to China?
Wood's skepticism was founded on inexplicable omissions in Marco Polo's account. Not a word about The Great Wall. Neither about the Chinese characters, the Chinese tea and the women's bound feet. Why not? Because Marco, his father and uncle most likely had traveled no farther than Constantinople or Sudak. There they settled, and the knowledge that Marco Polo acquired about countries beyond he simply had snapped up from other travelers. Eventually he mixed up all the bits and pieces, the result being the book which later made him famous. It wasn't so strange that Marco Polo under such conditions "forgot" to make mention of The Great Wall. He never saw it with his own eyes.
Wood's book is not long. But it is punctuated and well written, and full of irony over the man who claimed having been in China - but unlikely went farther than Crimea. What she seems to emphasize less is the correct information Marco Polo relays. Marco was the first to tell that the Chinese used paper money, something Europeans found ridiculous and unbelievable. He was the first to tell of glowing rocks which exuded heat. At that time coal was an unknown phenomena in Europe. He was the first to give detailed descriptions of the conditions at the Mongolian emperor's court, of the city Khanbalik (Beijing) and several other cities, among them Hangzhou - reputed to be the world's most beautiful city. Many of these descriptions contain an abundance of details, and more importantly: they have withstood future's scrutinizing eyes.
That should also be considered when Marco Polo's words are weighed on the gold scale.
Another point: Marco Polo's book isn't only about his experiences in China. The journey both ways went through many countries and all are mentioned, some quite fleetingly, others in more detail such as India and Sri Lanka. How would he have been able to obtain that information if he only had stayed on the Crimean peninsula? A tough question, perhaps another cup of cappuchino will help.
- Waiter! Another cappuchino, please!
- Right away, Sir! Right away!
The tiny thimble of a cup gives me the strength to complete yet another reasoning:
Frances Wood finds it unbelievable that Marco Polo traveled to China. To the contrary, she doesn't dispute the account of his father and uncle visiting the country around 1260. Strange. If the two were able to journey there once, why shouldn't they be able to make the trip a second time - especially since they had now been given an assignment of world historical importance? Sure the trip was long, but not impossible. Many had traveled there before them. The only thing differentiating them from Marco Polo was that they hadn't written about their experiences.
Frances Wood, of course, got an army of Marco Polo specialists, many of whom were Italians, on her neck. Others hailed from China. The Chinese were very embarrassed, which isn't at all strange, as the Venetian has held an heroic status in the Middle Kindom for hundreds of years. Here was the foreigner who finally had something nice to say about the Chinese people, who had praised the Chinese civilization up to the sky. And then he hadn't been in China? That hurt too much to be true.
"I've become an old man. But now I'll come out with the last that I have," replied China's foremost Marco Polo expert, the 81 year old Yang Zhiju in an interview in 1996. "Marco Polo is famous, and now many people try to gain fame by stepping on his dead body. But I'll stop them! What do they know? Nothing. The arguments are the same old ones. I've heard them time and time again for 50 years, and here they reappear once more."
"People marked Marco Polo a liar even before he died," Yang continued. "When he told of the Chinese paper money, they became furious. An impossibility! A provocation against sound reasoning! But, who was right? Marco Polo! I can go on and on, I can take the whole list from beginning to end, and disprove the critics' arguments point by point."
Exhausted?
Let's relax with a canal trip. If all goes well we'll dock at The Bridge of Sighs. From there we'll stroll the short distance to Biblioteca Nazionale Marciana. There, in an orderly world of shelves containing 1000 year old treasures, rests Marco Polo's last will and testament. - Papa, wait - stop!
Pietro, one of Venice's 400 gondoliers glides slowly past. An elderly man showing signs of a lifetime of heavy smoking blends with the antiquated architecture of the city. There's not a smile to be had, he has been doing this work too long for that, but his movements are still limber. When he docks the gondola before my feet it happens with ease, rhytmically and almost inaudibly. We reach an agreement. I'm going to Marciana, and since the canals of Venice are guarded by pure beauty I would like to glide as slowly as possible to my destination. Don't sing, Pietro, just relax and let the city speak for itself.
The Venetian gonodola is said to be as old as the city itself. And when was the city born? In the 4th century after Christ. That's when the first houses were built on stilts in the lagoon. But real growth wasn't encountered before about 700 A.D., and by the time the first millennium was over the city was powerful enough to control the trade in the Adriatic. Heavy galleys run by galley slaves and sails waving in the wind went to sea filled with merchandise. But at home - home in this canal kingdom - the gondola rules. They slip through the labyrinths of water and noise like sleek, streamlined fish. In the 1600's, a busy phase in the city's life, Venice had more than 10,000 gondoliers. And almost equally as many prostitutes.
- Look out! calls Pietro; he's about to collide with an oncoming gondola. We manage to avoid the black missile in the last second. Collisions can sometimes release intensely profane tirades in the canal kingdom.
While the Grand Canal plows through the city like a wide river, the smaller canals run crosswise and lengthwise, semi-circularly and diagonally, all according to the settlements they pass by. Pietro promises to punt through Rialto, the district where Marco Polo was born, and from there along the narrow waterways to Marco Polo's testament. We glide past walls of burgundy colored stone, past ochre and beige palaces, and we round corners where masonry and plaster have loosened. Laundry is dangling from clotheslines between the walls, and from the flower boxes the roses are nodding their first greeting to spring. The pigeons under the eaves also feel that spring is in the air- they are more vocal than usual, and once in a while they reward the boaters with a wet blob on their heads.
Even so, at this moment I'm tempted to close my eyes to relive the homecoming of the Polos in 1295. What happened? What kind of reception did they get?
The answer comes from a certain Giabattista Ramusio:
"Nobody recognized them! That may sound strange, esteemed reader, but remember that they had been away for 24 years. Their clothing was dirty and raggedy, and so foreign to them was their childhood alley that they had to ask directions to their home. When they finally stood in the entryway their relatives wouldn't even acknowledge them. Niccolo, Maffeo and Marco, weren't they dead? Not quite, and after a while a reunion and family feast were in the making. During dinner, they cut open their raggedy clothes, and out rolled the most costly pearls and precious jewels."
The problem with this version is that Ramusio lived in the 1500's. He had heard it from "others" who again had heard it from "others". Not to be counted on. Furthermore, Marco Polo told nothing of the homecoming, neither did his fellow prisoner and co-author Rustichello.
In 1296, one year after their return home, war broke out between Venice and their arch rival, Genoa. The two cities had for years on end fought over control of the oceans. Marco Polo was appointed commander of one of the Venetian war galleons, but it was of little or no help that he had sailed from China to Persia when the two fleets met in a violent clash. Marco was taken captive, and Ramusio writes that he was incarcerated for nine months. During his imprisonment he got to know the author Rustichello of Pisa, and, together - possibly to make the time pass - they composed the most renowned travel account of all times. Marco Polo dictated, Rustichello wrote. Whether Marco had access to his own notes or not, we don't know. Regardless, this was collaboration with room for misconstructions and misinterpretations.
Later Rustichello disappears from history, as does Marco Polo. After his release in 1299 little is heard of the personal advisor of the 'world emperor'. He disappears in Venice's multitude of people, but people jokingly started dubbing him "Il Milione". A man with a sense of exaggerations and high numbers. A man of a thousand lies. At that time books were copied by hand, or not at all. Marco Polo's book did not become a success during his lifetime. In 1307 he gave a copy of the book to a French acquaintance, nobleman Thibault of Cepoix. The original - handwritten by Rustichello - has never been found. A great loss for history. But Marco Polo's testament exists.
- Ciao! calls Pietro to one of his colleagues.
We have punted in to Rio Canonica, a nearly straight waterway. For five long minutes the two colleagues stand there talking to one another. The Lombardic dialect crackles like sharp gunshots between the housewalls, and make the half opened windows rattle. I want to go on!
Rio Canonica ends at The Bridge of Sighs. Thanks, Pietro, here are your lira! Situated in front of me is Biblioteca Nazionale Marciana. A five story treasure trove, conceived in 1305 by Francesco Petrarca, the great renaissance poet. The collection is close to the Doge's Palace overlooking the sea, light and life. A whole hall is dedicated to Marco Polo's literary legacy, among them 57 older editions of his famous book, the first dating back to 1496.
But, at this moment I am mostly curious about his last will, penned January 9, 1323. Marco Polo must have felt death nearing and therefore called on a priest and the local notary public. The great traveler was in his 69th year, only the last, dark stage of life remaining:
"IN GOD'S ETERNAL NAME. AMEN! In the year 1323 after Our Lord Jesus Christ's birth, on the ninth day of the month of January, in the first half of the seventh indiction, in Rialto. It is the advise of the Holy Inspiration as well as common, sound sense, that all persons should dedicate their thoughts to the distribution of their estate prior to the arrival of death. Therefore have I, Marcus Paulo, in the congregation of St. Johannes Chrysotom, who due to increasing physical frailty feel weaker and weaker for each day that passes, sent for Johannes Giustiniani, priest and notarius publicus,and asked him to execute my complete testament...."
Roberto Malate, a Marco Polo specialist, shows me the long, yellowing document with apparent respect. He is holding it as a proud father carrying his newborn child, and places it gently down on the glass plate in front of us. - Don't touch it, he warns. He himself is donning white gloves.
Marco Polo's last will and testament has rested in the Marciana library's dark interior for nearly 700 years. A long document, neatly handwritten on parchment with constant underlinings.
What does it tell us? Did Marco Polo die a rich man?
- Not rich, but not poor either, says Roberto Malate, squinting through his glasses.
Black on yellow we read that Marco Polo leaves behind his wife, Donata, and his three daughters, Fantina, Bellela and Moreta. Each of them shall be remembered with their share of the inheritance. The guilds and fraternities he belongs to, also get their lira. And, befitting a God- fearing man, he wills a nice sum, a so-called tithe, to the city's poor and needy.
Further he decides to free his personal slave, the "Tartar Peter". Aha, I think to myself, Marco Polo had a slave, and he was a tartar. Most likely an Asian. Another proof that Marco traveled the whole way to China. But director Malate keeps his composure. He has scrutinized the text a thousand times down to the most insignificant comma. The term "tartar" was at that time used about most slaves, whether they came from Asia or not, he says. - That does not leave out the possibility of Peter being of Asian origin, but the term itself proves nothing.
Otherwise the testament says very little about what Marco Polo's estate consisted of. No Chinese artifacts are mentioned - no jewels, vases, urns, pictures, furniture or rugs.
- So, what's your conclusion?
- I don't think it's possible to prove that Marco Polo traveled to China. But, in my opinion, neither is it possible to disprove it.
- What do you think?
- He traveled to China. But most believers have room for doubt. There's nothing wrong with that; every thinking being should reserve room for doubt.
The library's editions of Marco Polo's book enjoy their beautiful golden age in newly washed glass cabinets. None are handwritten, all are printed. Johann Gutenberg invented the art of printing in 1452, and the first printed edition of "A Description of the World" was made available 23 years later. Many of the editions are soberly illustrated in colors and black and white. Fantasy pictures from Marco's wonderful world. From now on there's progress! Marco Polo's writings are constantly distributed in larger editions. The road to fame lies straight ahead, and in the 1800's he had become popular reading among Europe's intellectual elite. Too bad that Marco never had a chance to cash in on his royalties.
One of Marco's earlier admirers was Christopher Columbus. Before he sailed to America in 1492, he had read A Description of the World thoroughly. When he returned home four years later he bought his own copy, and this time he felt free to write his own comments in the margin - almost one hundred in all. Columbus was obviously taken by the trade possibilities in distant lands, not to mention China. Where he found especially important information, he made a drawing of a fist with a straight index finger. The finger pointed right to the topic of interest in the text. One such tidbit was Marco Polo's account of the conditions in the city of Khanbalik (Beijing). Columbus added: mercacciones inumeras - unlimited trade opportunities!
In reference to the later editions, whether handwritten or printed, there's a big problem: "Somebody" has tampered with the original. Repeatedly new hands and heads have smuggled in their own additions and explanations, others have made sloppy translations. In this manner the book can have become even more fantastic than it really was.
- Therefore the discussions about Marco Polo's credibility will never come to an end, says Roberto Malate. He smiles and throws his hands in the air.
There is no help to get from Niccolo and Maffeo Marco neither. The first - Marco's father - died a few years after their homecoming from China, most likely in year 1300, and Maffeo passed away in 1310. Little has been found after them, and what has been found does not prove one thing nor the other.
Malate and I finish off the day at Harry's Bar by The Grand Canal. An old watering hole where authors of the past enjoyed their drinks. Ernest Hemingway, of course, who drank the world over; James Joyce and Marcel Proust. The latter used to live in Venice for long periods of time, and justified his habit with this one-liner: "My dream has become my address."
- Well put. Exceptionally well put, says Malate and sets his glass on the bar counter. - Personally I feel the same way. Therefore I'll never move away from here.
On the contrary, I'm ready to leave. I've decided to travel to China in Marco Polo's footsteps. Not to prove anything at all, but just to travel, live, and soak up new knowledge. It's beginning to cool off outside, and the spring evening's late-comers hasten past Harry's Bar dressed in heavier clothes. But inside it's warm, and inside my body it's even warmer. The Polo- fever has struck me face on, and the only way to stabilize it is to get going.
I awaken early the next morning. The open sea is next. But where's my galley? And where are my galley slaves?
Translated by Anne Faerovik
Published by Cappelen forlag, Oslo, Norway, 2001. All rights reserved. No part of this chapter may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission except in the case of brief quotations.
