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without number。 But the scholars do be turning up their noses。 And；
mind you； I've got as much scholarship as the next man； as you'll see from
my story。
〃Barring myself； is there no one in this house that takes snuff？ No！
Ah； well； times do be changing。〃
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Messer Marco Polo
CHAPTER I
Now it's nearing night on the first day of spring； and you could see
how loath day was to be going for even the short time until the rising of
the sun again。 And though there was a chill on the canals； yet there was
great color to the sunset； the red of it on the water ebbing into orange； and
then to purple； and losing itself in the olive pools near the mooring…ties。
And a little wind came up from the Greek islands； and now surged and
fluttered； the way you'd think a harper might be playing。 You'd hear no
sound； but the melody was there。 It was the rhythm of spring； that the
old people recognize。
But the young people would know it was spring； too； by token of the
gaiety that was in the air。 For nothing brings joy to the heart like the
coming of spring。 The folk who do be blind all the rest of the year； their
eyes do open then； and a sunset takes them； and the wee virgin flowers
coming up between the stones； or the twitter of a bird upon the
bough。 。 。And young women do be preening themselves； and young men
do be singing； even they that have the voices of rooks。 There is something
stirring in them that is stirring； in the ground； with the bursting of the
seeds。 。 。
And young Marco Polo threw down the quill in the counting house
where he was learning his trade。 The night was coming on。 He was
only a strip of a lad； and to lads the night is not rest from work； and the
quietness of sleeping； but gaming； and drinking； and courting young
women。 Now； there were two women he might have gone to； and one
was a great Venetian lady； with hair the red of a queen's cloak； and a great
noble shape to her and great dignity。 But with her he would only be
reciting verses or making grand； stilted compliments； the like of those you
would hear in a play。 And while that seemed to fit in with winter and
candlelight； it was poor sport for spring。 The other one was a black； plump
little gown…maker； a pleasant； singing little woman； very affectionate； and
very proud to have one of the great Polos loving her。 She was eager for
kissing； and always asking the lad to be careful of himself； to be putting
his cloak on； or to be sure and drink something warm when he got home
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Messer Marco Polo
that night； for the air from the canals was chill。 The great lady was too
much of the mind； and the little gown…maker was too much of the body；
either of them； to be pleasing young Marco on the first night of spring。
Now； it is a queer thing will be pleasing a young man on the first night
of spring。 The wandering foot itches； and the mind and body are keen to
follow。 There is that inside a young man that makes the hunting dog rise
from the hearth on a moonlit night： 〃Begor！ it's myself'll take a turn
through the fields on the chance of a bit of coursing。 A weasel； maybe； or
an otter； would be out the night。 Or a hare itself。 Ay； there would be sport
for you！ The hare running hell…for…leather； and me after him over brake
and dell。 Ay！ Ay！ Ay！ A good hunt's a jewel！ I'll take a stretch along
the road。〃
Or there is in him what does be troubling the birds； and they on tropic
islands。 〃Tweet…tweet；〃 they grumble。 〃A grand place this surely； and
very comfortable for the winter。 The palm…trees are green； but I'd rather
have the green of young grass。 And the sea； you ken； it becomes
monotonous。 Do you remember the peaches of Champagne； wife； and
the cherry…trees of Antrim？ Do you remember the farmer who was such
a bad shot； and his wife with the red petticoat？ I'm feeling fine and
strong in the wings； AVOURNEEN。 What do you say？ Let's bundle and
go！〃
He wandered out with the discontent of the season on him。 The sun
had dropped at last； and everywhere you'd see torches； and the image of
torches in the water。 On the canals of the town great barges moved。
Everywhere were fine； noble shadows and the splashing of oars。 There
was a great admiral's galley； ready to put to sea against Genoa。 There a big
merchantman back from Africa。 And along the canals went all the people
in the world； you'd think。 Now it was a Frenchman； all silks and satins
and 'la…di…da； monsieur！' Or a Spaniard with a pointed beard and long；
lean legs and a long； lean sword。 And now it was a Greek courtesan；
white as milk； sitting in her gondola as on a throne。 Here was a
Muscovite； hairy； dirty； with fine fur and fine jewels and teeth sharp as a
dog's。 And now an effeminate Greek nobleman； languid as a bride。
And here were Moorish captains； Othello's men； great giants of black
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Messer Marco Polo
marble； and swarthy； hook…nosed merchants of Palestine； and the squires
of Crusaders pretty； ringleted boys； swearing like demons。 And here
and there were Scots and Irish mercenaries； kilted； sensitive folk； one
moment smiling at you and the next a knife in your gizzard。
And as he went through the courts there were whispers and laughter；
and occasionally a soft voice invited him to enter； but he smiled and shook
his head。 Near the Canal de Mestre； which is close by the Ghetto； he
stopped by the wine…shop called The Prince of Bulgaria； and he could hear
great disputation。 And some were speaking of Baldwin II； and how he
had no guts to have let Palaeologus take Constantinople from him。 And
others were murmuring about Genoa。
〃Mark us； they mean t