I shall now tell you how it came about that Marco Polo went to China
with his uncle and father, though he had no eye for a bargain, or
interest in courting foreign women, or sense of horses.
Now, as you may know, this was a great religious time. The Crusaders,
feeling shame that the Sepulchre of the Lord Jesus should be in Saracen
hands, had come with horse, foot and artillery to Palestine to give
tribute of arms to Him who had died for them on the Bitter Tree. And
great feats were performed and grand battles won. And kings became
saints, like Louis of France, and saints became kings, like Baldwin of
Constantinople. Mighty wonders were seen and miracles performed, so
that people said, "Now will be the second coming of Christ and the end
of the world."
And a great desire came on the Christian people to tell the truth of
Christ to the strange and foreign peoples of the world. So that every
day out of Jerusalem you would see friars hitting the road, some of
them to confront the wizards of the Land of Darkness, and some to argue
theology with the old lamas of Tibet, and some to convert the sunny
Southern islands, where the young women do be letting down their hair
and the men do be forgetting God for them. And all over the world there
was spreading a great rumor that the truth of all things was at last
known.
Even Kubla Khan had heard of it far off in China, and he had charged
the uncle and father of Marco with a message to the Pope of Rome. Let
the pope be sending some theologians to his court, and they'd argue the
matter out; and if he was satisfied that this new religion was the True
Religion, then he'd turn Christian and tell his people to turn
Christian, too. And let them be bringing back some of the Oil of the
Lamp which burns in the Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem and is a cure for
all the ills in the world.
And when they came to the City of Acre, sure the pope was dead. And
they waited a long time, but no new pope was chosen, so they decided to
go back, because they had a good business there, and they didn't want
to lose it. And yet they knew there'd be trouble with the Grand Khan,
if they didn't bring back the news of the True Religion and people to
argue it.
"I've been a long time trading," says Nicolo, "and it's a queer thing,
but the more trading you do, the less religion you have. The arguing
of religion would not come easy to me. And I'd be up against experts.
I'm not the man for it," says he. "How about you, Matthew?"
"Oh, sure, they'd never listen to me," Matthew laughs--"me that's drank
with them, and deludhered their women, and gambled until I left them
nothing but the sweat of their brows. I'd be a great one to preach
religion to them. Why, man, they'd laugh at me. But I tell you what,
Nicolas. There's a bishop in Negropont, and I know where he lives, and
I know his house and everything. What do you say, Nicolas? We'll just
throw a bag over his head and tie him on a horse. Oh, sure, he'd give
grand discourses to the Great Khan!"
"Have sense, Matthew; have sense. You're always too rough; always
ready to end an argument with a knife, or just lift what you want. Have
sense, man; you can't kidnap a bishop like you'd kidnap a woman.
"Well, I don't see why not," says Matthew. "It would be easier, too,
because a woman will scratch like a wildcat. But if you're set against
it, I won't do it," he says. "Well, then, how about young Marco?"
"My sound man Matthew! My bully fellow! Sure you were never at a loss
yet! Young Marco it is; sure, 'tis the elegant idea. There's not a
man born of woman better for the job."
Now, all the Christian world had gone religious, and young Marco was no
exception; for't is not only the old that are religious. The young are,
too; but there's a difference. The religion of old men is reason and
translation; the religion of the young is just a burning cloud. The
Tragedy of the Bitter Tree is not a symbol to them, but a reality, and
their tears are not of the spirit, but of the body, too.
And there are no half-way houses, no compromises, in a young man's
creed. It's swallow all, or be damned to you. It's believe or be lost.
And thinking over the little girl in the Chinese garden, there had come
into Marco's heart, a thought past enduring. If little Golden Bells
did not believe, then little Golden Bells was lost. She might have
everything in this world, in this life, an emperor for a father, kings
for suitors, a great poet for a minstrel, a wizard for an entertainer;
but once the little blue shadow left her body, she was lost forever.
And the sight came to him of little Golden Bells going down the dim and
lonely alleys of death, and weeping, weeping, weeping... Her eyes
would be shot with panic, and the little mouth twisted, and the little
flowery hands twitching at each other. And it would be cold there for
her who was so warm, and it would be dark there for her who loved
light, and the Golden Bells of her voice would be lost in the whistling
and clanging of the stars as they swung by in their orbits. He to be
in the great delight of paradise, and she to be in the blue-gray maze
between the worlds--what tragedy!
Kings might bring her presents, a husband might bring her happiness;
but if he could only bring her salvation! If he could only tell her of
the Bitter Tree!
The body, when you came to think of it, mattered little. All the
beauty in the world could not endure more than its appointed span.
Helen was dust now, and Deirdre nothing. What had become of the beauty
of Semiramis, Alexander's darling; and Cleopatra, who loved the great
proconsul; and Bathsheba, for whom David of the Psalms fell from grace?
And Balkis, queen of Sheba, with her apes, ivory, and peacocks? Dust
and ashes, dust and ashes! And Scheherazade was but a strange, sad
sound. Beauty increased and waned like the moon. A little shadow
around the eyes, a little crinkle in the neck, the backs of the hands
stiffening like parchment. Dust and ashes, dust and ashes!
But the little blue shadow would glow like an Easter morning.
Or it would be a poor, lonely, unlit shadow in the cold gloom of the
clanging worlds.
Poor Golden Bells! Poor little weeping Golden Bells! If he could only
tell her about the Bitter Tree!
And then what happens but his uncle Matthew claps him on the back,
"How would you like to go to China, Marco Markeen," says he, "and
preach religion to the benighted people!"
"How did you know, Uncle Matthew?"
"How did I know what?"
"That I wanted to go to China and preach religion to the--the people!"
"Well, if that doesn't beat Banagher," says Matthew Polo, "and Banagher
beats the devil! Tell me, did you ever hear an old tune called 'Bundle
and Go!'?"
And so the three of them leave upon their journey, but at Layas, where
the King of Armenia had his castle, they heard of the election of a new
pope, so they came back to Acre to get his instructions and blessing.