Vinland The Good Emerges From The Mists

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History, like an iceberg, lies mostly submerged, hidden from our sight; only rarely, through some strange upset, does a forgotten portion of it suddenly rise up and give us a glimpse backward through the mists of time. Now such an event has happened at the Yale University Library in New Haven, Connecticut.
 
The story begins, in essence, with the voyages a thousand years ago of nearly mythical men, Icelanders and Greenlanders led by Leif Ericson (or Eiriksson), Bjarni Herjolfsson, Thorfinn Karlsefni, and other Viking sailors who found new lands far to the west, which they named Helluland, Markland, and Vinland. It was Vinland that really attracted them, a country rich in grapes, trees, and green-growing things, inhabited by a warlike people they called Skraelings. The heroic tales the Norsemen told when they came home to Iceland and Greenland were passed from mouth to mouth, and long afterward written down in sagas. Of all this, so historians have long believed, the rest of the then civilized medieval world knew almost nothing; Vinland, and even Greenland, passed out of the mind of man, and when fresh expeditions set out, led by Bristol sailors, Christopher Columbus, and John Cabot, the ancient landfalls were all forgotten.

Now we must move to the year of grace 1247, and Poland, where a Franciscan friar named C. (his first name is lost) de Bridia wrote on July 30—so he noted—the last words of an intelligence report on the Tartars, or Mongols, which he had been compiling on the orders of his superior. Only a lew years before, the Mongols, led by the dreaded Batu Khan, had swept through eastern Europe up to the gates of Vienna. Western Europe and above all the Papacy feared their reappearance; in the year 1245 Pope Innocent IV had sent a mission to the Mongol court, far away in Central Asia. Miraculously preserved after great adventures, the leader of the expedition, Friar John de Piano Carpini, and two companions, Benedict the Pole and Ceslaus of Bohemia, were returning home when de Bridia met them and obtained their story. He set down at once what they had to tell and show him about the Mongols, their history, their fearful customs, beliefs, and ways of making war—particularly the last, which were then very urgent matters to Christian Europe. The menace of the Tartars passed in God’s good time, but the account of Friar de Bridia, like other narratives by and about Carpini’s mission, survived in copied manuscripts. (We are dealing, it must be recalled, with the centuries before Gutenberg, with an era in which knowledge, such as it was, continued to exist thanks to the labors of learned monks.)

The curtain drops on this drama, only to rise again some seven hundred years later in New Haven, Connecticut. There, in October, 1957, a local antiquarian bookseller, Laurence Witlen, dropped in at the Yale Library. He had come to show two of the scholars a manuscript he had obtained in Europe. The scholars, Alexander O. Vietor (the Curator of Maps in the Yale Library) and Thomas E. Marston (the Curator of Medieval and Renaissance Literature) were suitably impressed by Mr. Witten’s slim vellum volume. It contained, first of all, a manuscript copy of Friar de Briidia’s hitherto unknown account of the Mongols, or Tartar Relation. The copy was unsigned but seemed to date to the mid-fifteenth century. What made it more interesting, however, was a folded map, in brownish ink on parchment about 11 x 16 inches in size, which was bound in with the manuscript. The map seemed to be in the same ancient hand, and in its elliptical form and content roughly contemporary; it had the usual distortions, the usual mythical Atlantic islands. But the arresting thing was that it contained an amazingly accurate representation of Greenland and—the truly great surprise—a crude one of Vinland, as “discovered by Bjarni and Leif”! A genuine pre-Columbian map showing the discoveries of the Norsemen had never turned up, and such a find would be news indeed. It would be the first map, however primitive, of any part of America.

But there was one great hitch: the map did not seem to belong to the manuscript with which it had been bound. The binding was relatively modern, and the telltale worm holes in the map did not match the adjoining ones in the Tartar Relation. A note on the back of the map threw further doubt on the matter.

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But then, seven months later and by pure chance, Dr. Marston, in the course of buying some rare books from a London firm, happened on another interesting document. He purchased, by mail, two manuscripts, one of them a copy of a portion of a medieval history called the Speculum Historiale, written in the thirteenth century by Vincent of Beauvais. As Dr. Marston tells it: