Travelling, clearly, came naturally to Marco Polo, as we all know Venice’s most famous son for his prowess as a traveller. He left his Venetian home in 1271 and travelled all the way to China and India, following the Silk Road that had not been much traversed by Westerners before. More than two decades later, when Marco returned home to Venice in 1295, he had the misfortune of being imprisoned by Venice’s enemies, the Genoese (Venice and Genoa were then at war). Yet Marco made exceedingly good use of his Genoese incarceration, dictating to his cellmate Rustichello da Pisa a full account of his travels. That account, published around the year 1300 as Il Milione (“The Million”) or Book of the Marvels of the World, is now generally known as The Travels of Marco Polo, or simply The Travels. By any name, it is truly a vibrant and compelling account of the adventures of a brave and open-minded man whose travels brought two worlds together. If you love travel as I do, you should make a point of reading this book.
Translator and commentator Ronald Latham of the University of Belfast helpfully sets forth the historical context against which Marco Polo made his epic journey. East and West had been engaging in violent conflict for centuries, through the eight Crusades that occurred between 1096 and 1270. At the same time, there was a growing awareness that not all East-West interaction needed to be violent: across Asia, there were great civilizations with resources that could enrich the businesspeople enterprising enough to go forth and open the right trade routes. In Venice, a republic with a robust free-enterprise economy, such news resonated; and when Marco Polo’s father and uncle, Niccolò and Maffeo Polo, returned in 1269 from a successful journey all the way to China, the die was cast. The three of them – father with son, uncle with nephew – would travel into Asia together.
Part of the fun of reading The Travels, of travelling with the Polos into new lands, is the sheer storytelling verve of the book. This is one of those “classics” that is actually fun to read. Indeed, Marco Polo’s eagerness to tell a good story sometimes may cause him to play a bit fast and loose with the facts. Chapter 5, “From Peking to Amoy,” shows Marco Polo and his father and uncle playing a decisive role in the siege by the Great Khan of a city called Siang-yang-fu. As Marco tells it, the siege has been going on for three years without success, until “Messer Niccolò and Messer Maffeo and Messer Marco declared: ‘We shall find you a means by which the city will be forced to surrender forthwith’”. In response, the Great Khan “told Messer Niccolò and his brother and his son that nothing should please him better”, and told his troops to do as the Venetians told them. Promptly they manufactured a mangonel (a kind of trebuchet or catapult) that could launch 300-pound stones, and with this new technology they forced the people of Siang-yang-fu to surrender. “And the credit for this achievement was due to the good offices of Messer Niccolò and Messer Maffeo and Messer Marco” (pp. 208-09). It’s a lovely story, and no doubt it would have brought pride to the heart of many a Venetian reader.
But hold on a moment, please. There is contrasting testimony, to the effect that the mangonels may have been designed by Muslim engineers. It is even possible that the historical siege of Xiangyang, which ended in 1273, may have predated Marco Polo’s arrival in that part of China. One must read these parts of The Travels with a critical and questioning eye.
Indeed, there are parts of The Travels that are clearly – to us, if not to all readers of Marco Polo’s time – mythological. In the “Arabian Sea” chapter, Marco Polo tells the reader all about a “gryphon bird” and informs the reader that these gryphons are not the “half bird and half lion” creatures of European heraldry. Rather, gryphons are birds that “are just like eagles but of the most colossal size”, and are “so huge and bulky that one of them can pounce on an elephant and carry it up to a great height in the air” (p. 300). Here, plainly, we are in the realm of legend and myth – specifically, the legend of the rukh or roc, the giant bird that would figure importantly in the 1001 Nights or Arabian Nights tales a couple of centuries later.
Marco Polo is on firmer ground when describing important people of his time. It was through The Travels that many Western readers got their first impression of Genghis Khan – or, as Marco calls him, “Chinghiz Khan, a man of great ability and wisdom, a gifted orator and a brilliant soldier” (p. 93). Marco Polo’s reflections on the life and career of Genghis Khan are of great value – even if Marco spends a number of pages describing a nonexistent conflict between Genghis Khan and “Prester John,” a completely mythical Christian emperor of East Asia.
More vivid and more reliable, because they are first-hand, are Marco Polo’s impressions of Kublai Khan. Genghis Khan’s grandson, Kublai Khan was of Mongol heritage, and was the founder and first emperor (reigned 1271-94) of China’s Yuan dynasty. Marco Polo clearly made a good impression on Kublai Khan, as he served the Khan for years as a diplomatic representative. The picture of Kublai Khan that emerges from the Travels is strongly positive. Translator and commentator Latham seems to hit the mark when he writes that Kublai Khan “was a very different character” from previous emperors – a man who “had absorbed many of the best elements of Chinese culture, including something of the humanitarian spirit of Buddhism, while retaining much of the vigour and simplicity of the nomad” (p. 12).
Kublai Khan reminded me of Augustus Caesar in Rome – a savvy leader and effective administrator who could use either force or diplomacy to expand and protect his empire. He seems to have known the value of playing his cards close to the vest and keeping his options open. At one point, Marco Polo exults at how Kublai Khan has “sent word to the Pope that he should send up to a hundred men learned in the Christian religion, well versed in the seven arts, and skilled to argue and demonstrate plainly to idolaters…that the Christian religion is better than theirs” (p. 36).
Did Kublai Khan really hope that massive numbers of his subject would convert to Christianity and then find that their primary allegiance was to the Pope in Rome? Of course not. But Kublai Khan was clearly a canny ruler who knew the ways of individuals and nations. And if an important nation in the far West - a prosperous republic that could prove a lucrative trade partner - wanted to send representatives of their religion, then let them do so. Kublai Khan was going to make sure that things continued to go his way in his empire, no matter how many missionaries the Pope might send.
Marco Polo’s time with Kublai Khan has had a major influence on the history and culture of the Western world, as when Marco Polo describes how, in “a city called Shang-tu,” Kublai Khan had “built a huge palace of marble and other ornamental stones. Its halls and chambers are all gilded, and the whole building is marvellously embellished and richly adorned.” Another palace in the complex has its interior “all gilt and decorated with beasts and birds of very skillful workmanship. It is reared on gilt and varnished pillars, on each of which stands a dragon, entwining the pillar with his tail and supporting the roof on his outstretched limbs.” Shang-tu is a summer palace, where “The Great Khan stays…for three months in the year – June, July, and August – to escape from the heat, and for the sake of the recreation it affords” (pp. 108-09).
Shang-tu. Xanadu! It is this passage from Marco Polo’s Travels that inspired Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s 1797 poem Kubla Khan – “In Xanadu did Kublai Khan/A stately pleasure dome decree” – as well as the name of Charles Foster Kane’s retreat in Orson Welles’s film Citizen Kane (1941), and a 1977 song-suite by the Canadian progressive-rock band Rush, and a not-terribly-well-received Olivia Newton-John film from 1980, and so on and so forth. Marco Polo gave the people of the West the image of Xanadu, and so much else as well.
What brought me to The Travels was a visit to Hangzhou, China. Marco Polo loved Hangzhou (a city he knew as Kinsai), and said that the city “well merits a description, because it is, without doubt, the finest and most splendid city in the world” (p. 213). Marco Polo’s high regard for the city he knew as Kinsai, the “City of Heaven,” is reciprocated by the people of modern Hangzhou, where a very fine statue of Marco Polo stands alongside a picturesque stretch of the city’s West Lake.
Marco Polo’s travels took him through the modern nations of Israel, Armenia, Georgia, Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan, Mongolia, China, Myanmar, Indonesia, Sri Lanka, India, and Turkey, before he returned home to Venice. How happy it must have made him to behold the Grand Canal and the Rialto bridge, and to reflect on all that he had seen and done in his adventures. I love travel (80 countries so far), and Marco Polo has always inspired me. He was a traveller who loved experiencing new nations, cultures, and landscapes. And anyone who enjoys travel will no doubt draw inspiration from going along with Marco Polo on his Travels.