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Ebook has 453 lines and 56210 words, and 10 pages

Illustrator: G. P. Jacomb-Hood

THE CAPSINA

E. F. Benson

HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS

NEW YORK AND LONDON

"HE RAISED THE MUSKET TO HIS SHOULDER" "UP THE STEPS CAME THE SINGER, FROM THE SEA AND THE SUN" "THE SPIRIT OF THE STILLNESS TOUCHED THE CAPSINA'S SOUL" "HALF A DOZEN MEN BURST INTO THE CUSTOM-HOUSE"

The little town of Hydra, white-walled and trailing its skirts in the AEgean, climbs steeply up the northeastern side of the island from which it is named, and looks towards the hills of Argolis on the mainland and the setting of the sun. Its harbor sheltered from the northern and southern winds, and only open towards the west, where the sea is too narrow ever to be lashed into fury by gales of that quarter, was defended in the year 1819 by a very creditable pier and a good deal of swift and rakish shipping. The inhabitants lived a life somewhat sequestered from their oppressed and down-trodden countrymen, supporting themselves by enterprises of fishing and the humble sort of commerce, and the hand of the Turk, then as now lustful, cruel, and intolerable, lay but lightly on them, for the chief products of the island itself were only stones and cold water, untaxable goods. But something of the spirit of stones and cold water, something of the spirit, too, of that quickly roused sea, soon made furious, soon appeased, but always alive, had gone to the making of the men of Hydra; and they were people frugal and hardy, resourceful and industrious, men of the wave and the mountain. Of its various clans--and its regime was highly feudal--that of Capsas was the wealthiest and most influential; but just now, a tragic prologue to this tale, a blow so direful had fallen on those much-esteemed men, and in particular on Christos Capsas, a youth of about two and twenty, that the clan generally, and Christos in particular, were in a state of paralyzed inaction strange to such busy folk. It had happened thus:

The head of the clan, Nicholas Capsas, had died some nine months before, leaving an only daughter, Sophia, henceforth officially called the Capsina, just nineteen years of age. The clan all remembered that they had warned each other that trouble would come on account of the Capsina, and they found to their unspeakable dismay, and without a grain of pleasure in the fulfilment of their prophecy, that their gloomy forebodings were completely accomplished. Sophia was a girl of much greater force of will than it was at all usual to look for in a woman, for the most refractory women, so the clan believed, chattered and scolded, but obeyed. The Capsina had struck out a new and eminently disconcerting line in following her own desires in silence, deaf to remonstrance. The beginning of trouble had been a very stormy scene between her and her father when, following the invariable law of clan etiquette, she had been betrothed on her eighteenth birthday to her cousin Christos, on whom now so paralyzing a consternation had fallen. She had submitted to the ordeal of formal betrothal only on condition that she should marry Christos when she thought fit, and at no other time. Such an irregularity was wholly unprecedented, but Sophia declared herself not only ready, but even wishful to throw the betrothal wreaths into the fire sooner than marry Christos at any time not fixed by herself, and the ceremony took place only on this understanding. Three months later her father had died suddenly, and when Christos on this morning, one tremble of timorousness, but conscious of the support of the entire clan, went to the Capsina, offering his hand and heart, to be taken by her with the greatest expedition that mourning allowed, she looked him over slowly from head to heel and back again, and said, very distinctly, "Look in the glass." This her betrothed had rightly interpreted as a sign of dismissal.

Sophia, after hurling this defiance at her family, gave Christos time to retreat, and then went about her daily business. Her mother had died some years before, and since her father's death she had had sole management of the house and of all his business, which was ship-building. But she had been accustomed from the time she could walk to be in and out of the building-yards with him, and the outraged clan, even in the unequalled bitterness of this moment, would have confessed that she was quite capable of managing anything. She was tall and finely made, and the sun had joined hands with the winds of the sea to mould her face with the lines of beauty and serene health. Her eyes and hair were of the South, her brow and nose of her untainted race, her mouth firm and fine. She watched Christos out of the gate with all the complete indifference her great black eyes could hold, and then set off down to the ship-yard where a new brig was to be launched that day.

There she stood all morning among the workmen, bareheaded to the sun and wind, directing, and often helping with her own strong hands, and though it would have seemed that she had her eyes and all her mind at the work, she yet found time to glance through the open gate on to the pier, where she could see a talking knot of her clan gathered round the rejected Christos; and, in fact, her mind was more given over to the difficult question of what step she should next take with regard to the question of marriage than to the work on hand. For, indeed, she had no intention of marrying Christos at all. Since her father's death her work and position had become more and more absorbingly dear, and she did not propose to resign her place to a somewhat slow-minded cousin, whom, as she had candidly declared on her betrothal, she loved only as much as is usual among cousins. The question was how to make this indubitably evident.

The ship was to be launched about mid-day, and, as the time drew near, Sophia began to wonder to herself, not without a spice of amusement, whether the clan would think it consistent with the correct attitude of disapproval to attend the launching to which they were as a matter of course invited. After the barrel of wine, in which the success of the new ship would be drunk, had been hoisted on deck, she even delayed the event a few minutes to give them time if they wished still to come. But it was evident that she had offended beyond forgiveness, and she stood alone on the ship when she hissed stern foremost, true to an inch, into the frothed water. Sophia, ever candid, was not at heart ill-pleased at the absence of the clan, for as she was godmother so also she was peculiarly mother to the new ship, departing therein from certain formulated rules as to the line of the bows and the depth of the keel, which, so she thought, if made deeper would enable her to sail closer to the wind, and she loved her great child more than she loved her betrothed. She had even, which was unusual with her, spent several intent and sleepless hours in bed at night when the ship was yet on the stocks, her mind busy at the innovations. Surely the ships that others built were too high in the water, especially forward; a sudden squall always made them sheer off into the wind, losing way without need. A less surface in the bows was possible. Again, a longer depth of keel would give more grip on the water and greater stability, and it was with much tremulous hope and frequent misgivings lest this new departure should involve some vital and unforeseen error that she had laid down the lines of the ship in a manner perfectly new to the shipwrights of the island.

And as the building progressed and the timbers of the hull rose to their swifter shape, her hopes triumphed over misgiving, and she felt that this new ship was peculiarly hers--hers by the irresistible right of creation, not shared with any.

She stayed on board till a late hour that evening, seeing to the hoisting of the tackle by which the masts should be raised the next day, absorbed in the work, and dwelling with a loving care on the further details, and it was nearly dark, and the workmen had gone ashore an hour already when she rowed herself back to the yard. Not till then did her mind return to the less enticing topic of Christos, which she had left undetermined, and she walked home slowly, revolving the possibilities. Her great, stately watch-dog, a terror to strangers, and not more than doubtfully neutral to friends, received her with the silent greeting of a wet nose pushed into her hand, and when she had eaten her supper, the two went out on to the veranda. That was the companionship she liked best, silent, unobtrusive, but sensitive, and she took the great brute's fore-paws and laid them on her lap, and talked to him as a child talks to its doll.

She laughed softly at herself, and buried her face in the dog's shaggy ruff. "Oh, Michael," she whispered, "the cousins are all saying how queer a girl I am. So perhaps am I, but not as they think. I should be the queerer if I married Christos, and yet to their minds my queerness is that I do not. Why did you not bite him when he came here this morning? for so he would have run away, and this thinking would have been saved. Yet you were right, he is a familiar thing, and we do not bite what is familiar. Perhaps, when the strange man comes, I shall hate him, although I do nothing else but love him. Yet, oh, I am proud, for we are prouder, as the proverb says, than the Mavromichales of Maina. But, Christos, he is slower than a tortoise, and less amusing than a mule; oh, well enough no doubt for some, but not for me. Perhaps I shall marry none; that is very likely, for the men I see here, for instance, are not fit things to marry, and so, I make no doubt, they think me. And there is always the ship-building. Oh, we will get very wise, Michael, and sail our ship ourselves, and see strange countries and over-sea people. There must be some one in this big world as well as I, and yet I have not seen him, but we will do nothing without thinking, Michael, unless it so happens that some day we no longer want or are able to think. Perhaps that--there, get down, you are heavy."

She pushed the dog's paws off her lap, and, rising from her chair, went to the end of the veranda to look out upon the night. The full moon swung high and white among the company of stars, and the sea was all a shimmer of pearly light. A swell was rolling in soft and huge from the south, and the end of the pier was now and again outlined with broken foam. Beneath the moonlight the massive seas looked only a succession of waving light and shadow, and the rattle of the pebbles on the shingly beach outside the pier in the drag of the swell came rhythmical and muffled. The Capsina, in the unrest and ferment of her thoughts, was unwittingly drawn towards that vastness of eternal and majestic movement, and slipping her embroidered Rhodian hood over her head, she whistled softly to Michael, and went down through the strip of garden towards the shore.

She whistled to Michael and turned back into the town. Several groups of men were scattered along the length of the quay, and the Capsina, walking swiftly by, saw that Christos was among them. She hung on her step a moment, and then, with a sudden idea, turned round and called to him.

"Christos Capsas," she said, "I would speak to you a moment. Yes, it is I, Sophia."

Christos disengaged himself from the group a little reluctantly and followed her. He was a somewhat handsome-looking fellow, but rather heavily made, and slow and slouching in his movements. The Capsina, seeming by his side doubly alert, walked on with him in silence for a space, and then stopped again.

"See, Christos," she said, "I have no wish to offend you or any. If what I said this morning was an offence to you, please know that to me now my words were an offence. Yet I will not marry you," and on the word she suddenly flared out--"oh! be very sure of that! And I have something to say to the clan. Be good enough to tell them that I expect all the men to dinner with me to-morrow, when I will speak to them. You will come yourself. Yes? Let me know how many will be there to-morrow early. Good-night, my cousin. Michael, be quiet, and come with me."

Sophia received him with a sort of regal dignity as befitted the head of the clan: "You are most welcome, Uncle Christos," she said, "and you also, cousin. I was sorry that your business prevented your being able to come to the launching of the new boat, but perhaps you will like to see her after dinner."

Uncle Christos shifted uneasily from one foot to the other.

"I had no idea you would be so grand, Sophia," he said, "and I have come in my old clothes. Christos, too, you slovenly fellow, your shirt is no fresh thing."

"But, Sophia," went on the old man, "they will not be all here yet. I will run to my house and be back in a moment," and he fairly bolted out of the garden.

"It is not my wish," she said, "to hurt the feelings of any one, but I will not violate my own. As you perhaps have heard"--and the slightest shadow of a smile passed over her face, for she knew that nothing else had been spoken of for the last four-and-twenty hours--"my cousin Christos has asked me to fulfil my betrothal to him, and I wish to make my answer known to you all. You understand me, then: I will not marry my cousin, either now or at any other time. I have here"--and she took up from the table the deed of the betrothal--"I have here that which is witness of my betrothal to Christos Capsas. With the approval of my family and clan I will tear it up and burn it. If there is any one here who objects to this, let him say so, and I will tell you what I shall then do. Without his approval, and without the approval of any one else, I shall send to the town for the notary, procure witnesses, and sign my name to this other deed. I am no hand with the pen, but so much I can write. In it I bequeath all my property, to which I am sole heiress--for my father, as you know, died without a will, suddenly--not to my clan, nor to any one of my clan, but to the priests."

A subdued murmur of consternation ran round the table, and the elder Christos called gently on the names of five or six saints, for the clan were not on good terms with the church, and the Capsina herself had threatened to loose Michael on the first priest who set foot uninvited in her house. A paralyzed silence succeeded, and Sophia continued her speech.

"See," she said, "I am perfectly in earnest. We are prouder, as our proverb says, than they of Maina, and, being proud, I for one do not threaten things which I am unable or unwilling to perform. Perhaps marriage seems to me a different thing from what it seems to you. But that is no reason that I am wrong or that you are right. My betrothed I believe to be an admirable man, but I am so made that I do not choose to marry him, nor, at present, any other man. And now the choice is with you. I destroy in your presence and with your consent both these papers, or I will sign in your presence and without your consent that which only needs my signature. I will leave you here for half an hour, and when I return, Christos Capsas, the father of Christos, my betrothed, will tell me what you have decided. Uncle Christos, you will please take my place here and tell the servants to bring you more wine when you want it. You will find the white wine also very good, I think."

And with these paralyzing words the Capsina dropped her eyes, bowed with a wonderful dignity and grace to the clan, who rose to their feet despite themselves at the beauty of the girl, and marched into the house.

At the end of half an hour she returned, and standing a moment in her place turned to the elder Christos.

"You have decided," she said, and taking up the two deeds in answer to a nod from her uncle, she tore them across and across. Then she gave the pieces to a servant.

"Burn them," she said, "there, out in the garden, where we can all see."

Certainly the Capsina had a sense for the dramatic moment, for she stood quite still where she was in dead silence until a puff of wind dispersed the feathers of the ash. Then she turned briskly and filled her glass.

"I drink prosperity to him who was betrothed to me," she said, "and wish him with all my heart a better wife than I should ever have made him. And here," she cried, unbuckling the great gold belt, "take your wife to-morrow, if you will, or when you will, and here is my gift to the bride."

And she handed the gorgeous thing across to her cousin, clinked glasses with him, and, draining her own, flung it to the ground, so that none other should drink from it.

Then sitting down again:

"This is a fortunate day for you, Christos, if only you knew it, and for you all. For here am I, a free woman, who knows her trade, and will give all her time and energy to it, and indeed I am not lazy, and so double the riches of the house, instead of sitting at the distaff and picking up the olives. For, in truth, I do not think that I am of the stuff that wives are made of. You have often told me, uncle, that I should have been a man, and, before God, I think you were right. And you, dear Christos, some day I should have tried your patience beyond all bearing, and you would have raised your hand to strike me, and then, perhaps, you would have felt my fists rattling about your face, or maybe, if I really was angry, for I do not think I could take a blow from any man, I should have set Michael at you. And then, if you were wise, you would have run away, for I think Michael would kill whomever I told him to kill, for he is greatly obedient, and a fine thing it would have been for the folk to see the head of the clan running from a four-legged dog, while his wife hished the beast on from the threshold."

A roar of laughter greeted this, and Sophia looked up, smiling herself. "So we are friends again, are we not?" she said; "and we will never again give others cause to say that they of the clan are of two minds among themselves. And now, cousins, if you have smoked and drunk what you will, let us go down and see the new brig, for indeed I think she will have no luck unless you all come. To-morrow the masts are hoisted; this morning I have had no time to attend to my business."

"Michael," she whispered, "does it not seem to you that Christos desired the money more than he desired me? Yet, perhaps, it was the others who urged him, for, in truth, he looked a little downcast. But that a man should consent to that! Well, I am too happy to-day to find fault with any one."

In 1821, when she was now near the end of her twenty-first year--alert for adventure--came the stinging news of the outbreak of the revolution.

To Hydra, that small and frugal island, tales of Turkish cruelty, greed, and lust, and the inchoate schemes of vengeance, had come only as echoes vague and remote, and the news of the outbreak was like the bolt out of the clear sky. For the Turks had formed a sufficiently accurate conception of the character of those dour islanders, and while there were women, and to spare, in the other places, and it seemed that on the mainland, peopled, so they considered, with richer and softer folk, taxation might be indefinitely increased, it was not for a fattened pasha to procure with trouble and fighting what an indolent order given over his pipe could bring him. Sophia, on the eve of her return from a prolonged and prosperous cruise, interviewed the captain of a caique who had put in with the news of the taking of Kalamata, and heard a tale to make the blood bubble and boil--how the rising had run like fire through summer-dry stubble from north to south and east to west, how that Greece was to be free, and pull no longer under an infidel yoke. Tale followed tale; the man had seen with his own eyes free-born Greeks, man, woman, and child, treated as an unmerciful master will not treat his beast; he had tales of torture, followed at the last by death, lingerasta avusta.

Vaikka heid?n olopaikkansa oli kaikin puolin hyv?, p??ttiv?t he kuitenkin, koska se ei luvannut mit??n turvallisuutta skr?lingej? vastaan, palata takaisin kotimaahansa. Niin purjehtivat he siis j?lleen pohjoseen p?in, tappoivat m.m. matkalla viisi rannalla nukkuvaa skr?lingi? ja tulivat Straumfjordiin, jossa tavattiin ylt?kyllin mit? tarvittiin. Sielt? tehtiin viel? retki? ymp?rist??n ja saatiin kokea sen seitsem?n seikkailusta. Niinp? tapahtui kerran ett? Karlsefni miehineen n?ki muutaman kimaltelevan pilkun liikkuvan avonaisella paikalla mets?ss?. T?m? pilkku oli yksijalkainen ihminen. Kummitus ampui Thorvaldin, Erik R?den pojan, sis?lmyksiin nuolen, jonka saattamasta haavasta t?m? pian heitti henkens?. Yksijalka katosi meren syvyyteen. He luulivat n?hneens? Yksijalkain maan. Purjehdittiin taas pohjoseen p?in. Eripuraisuus syntyi heid?n keskens? sen johdosta, ett? "ne, joilla ei ollut vaimoja, yrittiv?t ottaa omikseen niiden, joilla oli; ja siit? tuli kova levottomuus."

Snorri, Karlsefnin poika, syntyi ensim?isen? syksyn?, ja h?n oli kolmen vuoden vanha heid?n l?htiess??n Vinlandista. Viimein tulivat he takaisin Gr?nlantiin, jossa Karlsefni viel? vietti yhden talven, purjehtiakseen sitten takaisin Islantiin. --

Niin kuuluu yleisimmiss? piirteiss??n luotettavin tarina Viinimaan l?yd?st?. Se puolestaan l?ydettiin er??st? vanhasta k?sikirjoituksesta, jonka 16-sataluvun keskivaiheilla muutamat is?nmaalliset islantilaiset vetiv?t esiin pitk?llisest? piilosta, jossa se ynn? muiden islantilaisten kirjallisten tuotteiden kanssa oli kauvan aikaa lev?nnyt. K?sikirjoituskokoelma, jossa se l?ytyy, on saanut nimekseen Hauk'in-kirja, ensim?isen omistajansa, islantilaisen laamannin Hauk Erlendinpojan, mukaan, ja itse tarinaa nimitet??n siin?: Thorfinn Karlsefnin satu, mutta sanotaan my?skin Erik R?de'n saduksi.

Toinen tarina -- s?ilytettyn? Flat?-kirjassa, joka on saanut nimens? sen saaren mukaan Islannin l?nsirannassa, jossa sit? monet sukupolvet l?pitsens? talletettiin -- jakaantuu kahteen kertomukseen: Pieni juttu Erik R?de'st? ja Pieni juttu Gr?nlantilaisista. N?m? pit?v?t p??asiassa yht? Haukinkirjan kertomuksen kanssa Gr?nlannin ensim?isest? asuttamisesta, mutta eroavat siit? siin? kohden, ett'ei se mies, joka ensiksi n?ki Viinimaan, muka ollutkaan Leif Eerikinpoika, vaan munan Bjarni Herjulfinpoika, ja ett? t?m? tapahtui jo vuonna 985. Vasta kuusitoista vuotta my?hemmin olisi, Flat?-kirjan mukaan, Leif Eerikinpoika tehnyt varsinaisen l?yt?retken Viinimaahan. Flat?-kirja n?kyy kuitenkin, kaikesta p??tt?en, perustuvan h?m?r?mp??n muistoon kuin Haukinkirja, vaikka se toiselta puolen antaa tukea t?lle.

Kummastakin k?y yht? hyvin selville ett? kohta 11:n vuosisadan alussa muutamat Islantilaiset l?nness?p?in Gr?nlannista l?ysiv?t siihen saakka Euroopalaisille tuntemattomia rannikkoja, ett? he oleskelivat siell? v?hint?inkin kolme talvea, mutta sitten "skr?lingien" hy?kk?ysten johdosta pakoitettiin l?htem??n tiehens?. Siin?kin pit?v?t molemmat kertomukset yht?, ett? l?yt?j? nimitti n?it? rannikkoja: Helluland, Markland ja Vinland.

Ett? n?m? maat olivat Pohjois-Amerikan it?rantaa, sit? ei ole k?ynyt ep?ill?kk??n. Niinik??n osoitti tutkimus varsin pian ett? Helluland oli Labrador-niemen koillisranta ja Markland New-Foundlandin kaakkoinen rannikko. N?iden seutujen nykyinen maanlaatu sopii aivan t?sm?lleen islantilaisiin kertomuksiin Hellulannin ja Marklannin luonnosta. Sit? vastoin eroavat mielipiteet melkoisesti Viinimaan aseman suhteen. ?skett?in on kuitenkin historioitsija, professori G. Storm Kristianiassa varsin tukevilla perusteilla osoittanut ett? Vinland arvattavasti oli Uuden Skotlannin kaakkoisrannalla. Siell? kasvaa viinik?ynn?s viel? t?n? p?iv?n? itsest??n ja vuorten notkoissa on pitk?t kaistaleet villisti kasvavaa riisi?, tarinan "omakylv?iset vehn?vainiot."

Islantilaisten l?yt?retket Amerikaan eiv?t vaikuttaneet mit??n pysyv?ist? asuttamista Euroopalaisten puolelta, vaan j?iv?t pian kyll? melkein aivan unohduksiin. Leif Eerikinpojan ja h?nen seurueensa l?yt? ei ollut aikaan saanut mit??n k?yt?nn?llist? tulosta. Lystillisyyden t?hden sopii my?skin mainita ett? Islannissa uskottiin siihen aikaan, kuin tarina kirjoitettiin, ett? Viinimaa oli yhdess? -- Afrikan kanssa, johon luuloon antoi syyt? juttu yksijalkaisesta miehest?? Keski-ajan kansanluulojen mukaan oli, n?et, Afrikassa olemassa ihmisi?, joilla muka ei ollut muuta kuin yksi jalka.

Islantilaisten Amerikan l?yt? siten tapahtui viel? v?hemm?ll? tietoisuudella kuin sen miehen, jota syyst? kyll? pidet??n Amerikan varsinaisena l?yt?j?n?, vaikkapa h?n arvelikin l?yt?m??ns? maata Aasiaksi ja suoritti suuren ty?ns? viisisataa vuotta my?hemmin kuin Leif Eerikinpoika satunnaisen retkens?.

Kolumbus.

Genovan mahtava kauppakaupunki oli 14 sataluvulla ik??skuin id?n ja l?nnen yhtym?paikkana, jossa varhain saatiin tiet?? mit? maailmassa merkillist? tapahtui. Sen suuressa satamassa vilisi laivoja kaikilta ??rilt?, ja sen merimiehet kulkivat kaikkia tunnettuja vesi?, nauttien etevimp?in merentuntijain mainetta. Sielt? olivat m.m. ne miehet l?hteneet, jotka tulivat Portugalilaisten opettajiksi merenkulku-taidossa ja loivat t?st? valtakunnasta mahtavan merivallan. Niinik??n oli Genovan kaupunki mainio teollisuudestaan ja etenkin kutomateoksistaan. Sen tukkukauppiaat olivat kustantajia suurelle joukolle verkakankureita, jotka kodeissansa vaimoineen lapsineen ammattiaan harjoittivat.

T?mm?isess? vilkkaassa paikkakunnassa n?ki p?iv?n valon ja vietti nuoruutensa kuuluisa Cristoforo Colombo, Amerikan "varsinainen l?yt?j?." H?nen is?ns? oli verkakankuri Domenico Colombo, jonka kangaspuut jyskyiv?t Quinto nimisess? kyl?ss? puolen penikulmaa kaupungista. Kuten muinoin seitsem?n paikkakuntaa Kreikassa riiteli tuosta kunniasta, mik? heist? olisi Homeroksen syntym?paikka, niinp? eri kyl?t ja kaupungit viel? t?n? p?iv?n? k?yv?t lystillist? kyn?kiistaa siit?, miss? heist? Amerikan l?yt?j? ensin olisi avannut silm?ns?. Niinkuin ruotsalainen tohtori O.W. Alund, jonka vasikoilla t?ss? parasta p??st? kynn?mme, annamme kunnian Quinto-kyl?lle, jossa siis Domenicolle ja h?nen vaimolleen Susanna Pontanarossalle vuonna 1446 taikka 1447 syntyi poika Cristoforo sek? my?hemmin Giovanni Pellegrino ja Bartolommeo. Jo vuonna 1451 muutti perhe San Stefano nimiseen Genovan esikaupunkiin, jossa jatkettiin kankaan-kutomista ja elettiin kuin ennenkin. Siell? syntyi sille viel? tytt? Blanchinetta ja nuorin poika Diego. Pojat antautuivat kaikki is?n ammattiin, kuten ajan tapa vaati; eik? heill? ollut mit??n valitsemisen oikeutta. Ammattikunnan koulumestarilta oppivat he lukemaan, kirjottamaan ja lukua laskemaan. Mit??n korkeampaa koulu-opetusta eiv?t pojat n?y saaneen, eik? olisi siihen ollut varaakaan. Amerikan l?yt?j? j?i itse teossa jokseenkin "oppimattomaksi mieheksi", jos varsinaista koulu-opetusta silm?ll? pidet??n. Mutta itse Genovan kaupunki oli h?nelle oivallisena kouluna h?nen vastaista el?m?n-ty?t??n varten. Hallitsevista luokista levisi tiedot maailman tapahtumista sukkelasti alempiinkin, joiden perheen-j?seni? oli purjehtimassa ylt'ymp?ri maailmaa. Varsinkin kiinnittiv?t sen ajan suuret l?yt?retket kaikkein mielt?, ja Cristoforo Colombo kuunteli jo pienest? pit?en korvat pystyss? merimiesten juttuja, niin hyvin totta kuin valhetta. Paljon sai h?n kuulla puhuttavan "San Brandanin salaper?isest? saaresta", "Amazonien maasta" ja "Antillasta, jossa oli seitsem?n kaupunkia", jotka oli rakentanut seitsem?n piispaa, jotka L?nsi-G?tien valtakunnan h?vitty? Espanjassa kerran olivat l?hteneet tuohon kaukaiseen saareen, jonka sitten muutamat merenkulkijat olivat n?hneet, mutta joka my?hemmin oli k?ynyt mahdottomaksi l?yt??.

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