Vinland The Good Emerges From The Mists (October 1965 | Volume: 16, Issue: 6)

Vinland The Good Emerges From The Mists

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Authors: Oliver Jensen

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October 1965 | Volume 16, Issue 6

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