The Story of Mankind [1]
for the benefit of the
country-folk who had come to market to buy and sell and hear
what the big world had been doing. But in a corner--all alone
and shunned by the others--a big black bell, silent and stern,
the bell of death.
Then darkness once more and other ladders, steeper and
even more dangerous than those we had climbed before, and
suddenly the fresh air of the wide heavens. We had reached
the highest gallery. Above us the sky. Below us the city--
a little toy-town, where busy ants were hastily crawling hither
and thither, each one intent upon his or her particular business,
and beyond the jumble of stones, the wide greenness of the
open country.
It was my first glimpse of the big world.
Since then, whenever I have had the opportunity, I have
gone to the top of the tower and enjoyed myself. It was hard
work, but it repaid in full the mere physical exertion of climbing
a few stairs.
Besides, I knew what my reward would be. I would see the
land and the sky, and I would listen to the stories of my kind
friend the watchman, who lived in a small shack, built in a
sheltered corner of the gallery. He looked after the clock
and was a father to the bells, and he warned of fires, but he
enjoyed many free hours and then he smoked a pipe and
thought his own peaceful thoughts. He had gone to school almost
fifty years before and he had rarely read a book, but he
had lived on the top of his tower for so many years that he had
absorbed the wisdom of that wide world which surrounded him
on all sides.
History he knew well, for it was a living thing with him.
``There,'' he would say, pointing to a bend of the river, ``there,
my boy, do you see those trees? That is where the Prince of
Orange cut the dikes to drown the land and save Leyden.''
Or he would tell me the tale of the old Meuse, until the broad
river ceased to be a convenient harbour and became a wonderful
highroad, carrying the ships of De Ruyter and Tromp upon
that famous last voyage, when they gave their lives that the
sea might be free to all.
Then there were the little villages, clustering around the
protecting church which once, many years ago, had been the
home of their Patron Saints. In the distance we could see the
leaning tower of Delft. Within sight of its high arches,
William the Silent had been murdered and there Grotius had
learned to construe his first Latin sentences. And still further
away, the long low body of the church of Gouda, the early home
of the man whose wit had proved mightier than the armies of
many an emperor, the charity-boy whom the world came to
know as Erasmus.
Finally the silver line of the endless sea and as a contrast,
immediately below us, the patchwork of roofs and chimneys
and houses and gardens and hospitals and schools and railways,
which we called our home. But the tower showed us
the old home in a new light. The confused commotion of the
streets and the market-place, of the factories and the workshop,
became the well-ordered expression of human energy
and purpose. Best of all, the wide view of the glorious past,
which surrounded us on all sides, gave us new courage to face
the problems of the future when we had gone back to our daily
tasks.
History is the mighty Tower of Experience, which Time
has built amidst the endless fields of bygone ages. It is no easy
task to reach the top of this ancient structure and get the benefit
of the full view. There is no elevator, but young feet are
strong and it can be done.
Here I give you the key that will open the door.
When you return, you too will understand the reason for
my enthusiasm.
HENDRIK WILLEM VAN LOON.
CONTENTS
1. THE SETTING OF THE STAGE
2. OUR EARLIEST ANCESTORS
3. PREHISTORIC MAX BEGINS TO MAKE THINGS FOR HIMSELF
4. THE EGYPTIANS INVENT THE ART OF WRITING AND THE RECORD
country-folk who had come to market to buy and sell and hear
what the big world had been doing. But in a corner--all alone
and shunned by the others--a big black bell, silent and stern,
the bell of death.
Then darkness once more and other ladders, steeper and
even more dangerous than those we had climbed before, and
suddenly the fresh air of the wide heavens. We had reached
the highest gallery. Above us the sky. Below us the city--
a little toy-town, where busy ants were hastily crawling hither
and thither, each one intent upon his or her particular business,
and beyond the jumble of stones, the wide greenness of the
open country.
It was my first glimpse of the big world.
Since then, whenever I have had the opportunity, I have
gone to the top of the tower and enjoyed myself. It was hard
work, but it repaid in full the mere physical exertion of climbing
a few stairs.
Besides, I knew what my reward would be. I would see the
land and the sky, and I would listen to the stories of my kind
friend the watchman, who lived in a small shack, built in a
sheltered corner of the gallery. He looked after the clock
and was a father to the bells, and he warned of fires, but he
enjoyed many free hours and then he smoked a pipe and
thought his own peaceful thoughts. He had gone to school almost
fifty years before and he had rarely read a book, but he
had lived on the top of his tower for so many years that he had
absorbed the wisdom of that wide world which surrounded him
on all sides.
History he knew well, for it was a living thing with him.
``There,'' he would say, pointing to a bend of the river, ``there,
my boy, do you see those trees? That is where the Prince of
Orange cut the dikes to drown the land and save Leyden.''
Or he would tell me the tale of the old Meuse, until the broad
river ceased to be a convenient harbour and became a wonderful
highroad, carrying the ships of De Ruyter and Tromp upon
that famous last voyage, when they gave their lives that the
sea might be free to all.
Then there were the little villages, clustering around the
protecting church which once, many years ago, had been the
home of their Patron Saints. In the distance we could see the
leaning tower of Delft. Within sight of its high arches,
William the Silent had been murdered and there Grotius had
learned to construe his first Latin sentences. And still further
away, the long low body of the church of Gouda, the early home
of the man whose wit had proved mightier than the armies of
many an emperor, the charity-boy whom the world came to
know as Erasmus.
Finally the silver line of the endless sea and as a contrast,
immediately below us, the patchwork of roofs and chimneys
and houses and gardens and hospitals and schools and railways,
which we called our home. But the tower showed us
the old home in a new light. The confused commotion of the
streets and the market-place, of the factories and the workshop,
became the well-ordered expression of human energy
and purpose. Best of all, the wide view of the glorious past,
which surrounded us on all sides, gave us new courage to face
the problems of the future when we had gone back to our daily
tasks.
History is the mighty Tower of Experience, which Time
has built amidst the endless fields of bygone ages. It is no easy
task to reach the top of this ancient structure and get the benefit
of the full view. There is no elevator, but young feet are
strong and it can be done.
Here I give you the key that will open the door.
When you return, you too will understand the reason for
my enthusiasm.
HENDRIK WILLEM VAN LOON.
CONTENTS
1. THE SETTING OF THE STAGE
2. OUR EARLIEST ANCESTORS
3. PREHISTORIC MAX BEGINS TO MAKE THINGS FOR HIMSELF
4. THE EGYPTIANS INVENT THE ART OF WRITING AND THE RECORD