The Story of Mankind [178]
for half
a dozen years in the musty stacks of a library, can compile a
ponderous tome which gives an account of the events in every
land during every century. But that was not the purpose of
the present book. The publishers wanted to print a history
that should have rhythm--a story which galloped rather than
walked. And now that I have almost finished I discover that
certain chapters gallop, that others wade slowly through the
dreary sands of long forgotten ages--that a few parts do not
make any progress at all, while still others indulge in a veritable
jazz of action and romance. I did not like this and I suggested
that we destroy the whole manuscript and begin once
more from the beginning. This, however, the publishers would
not allow.
As the next best solution of my difficulties, I took the type-
written pages to a number of charitable friends and asked them
to read what I had said, and give me the benefit of their advice.
The experience was rather disheartening. Each and every
man had his own prejudices and his own hobbies and preferences.
They all wanted to know why, where and how I dared
to omit their pet nation, their pet statesman, or even their most
beloved criminal. With some of them, Napoleon and Jenghiz
Khan were candidates for high honours. I explained that I
had tried very hard to be fair to Napoleon, but that in my
estimation he was greatly inferior to such men as George
Washington, Gustavus Wasa, Augustus, Hammurabi or
Lincoln, and a score of others all of whom were obliged to
content themselves with a few paragraphs, from sheer lack of
space. As for Jenghiz Khan, I only recognise his superior
ability in the field of wholesale murder and I did not intend to
give him any more publicity than I could help.
``This is very well as far as it goes,'' said the next critic,
``but how about the Puritans? We are celebrating the tercentenary
of their arrival at Plymouth. They ought to have
more space.'' My answer was that if I were writing a history
of America, the Puritans would get fully one half of the first
twelve chapters; that however this was a history of mankind
and that the event on Plymouth rock was not a matter of far-
reaching international importance until many centuries later;
that the United States had been founded by thirteen colonies
and not by a single one; that the most prominent leaders of the
first twenty years of our history had been from Virginia, from
Pennsylvania, and from the island of Nevis, rather than from
Massachusetts; and that therefore the Puritans ought to content
themselves with a page of print and a special map.
Next came the prehistoric specialist. Why in the name of
the great Tyrannosaur had I not devoted more space to the
wonderful race of Cro-Magnon men, who had developed such
a high stage of civilisation 10,000 years ago?
Indeed, and why not? The reason is simple. I do not take
as much stock in the perfection of these early races as some of
our most noted anthropologists seem to do. Rousseau and
the philosophers of the eighteenth century created the ``noble
savage'' who was supposed to have dwelt in a state of perfect
happiness during the beginning of time. Our modern scientists
have discarded the ``noble savage,'' so dearly beloved by
our grandfathers, and they have replaced him by the ``splendid
savage'' of the French Valleys who 35,000 years ago made an
end to the universal rule of the low-browed and low-living
brutes of the Neanderthal and other Germanic neighbourhoods.
They have shown us the elephants the Cro-Magnon painted
and the statues he carved and they have surrounded him with
much glory.
I do not mean to say that they are wrong. But I hold that
we know by far too little of this entire period to re-construct
that early west-European society with any degree (however
humble) of accuracy. And I would rather not state certain
things than run the risk of
a dozen years in the musty stacks of a library, can compile a
ponderous tome which gives an account of the events in every
land during every century. But that was not the purpose of
the present book. The publishers wanted to print a history
that should have rhythm--a story which galloped rather than
walked. And now that I have almost finished I discover that
certain chapters gallop, that others wade slowly through the
dreary sands of long forgotten ages--that a few parts do not
make any progress at all, while still others indulge in a veritable
jazz of action and romance. I did not like this and I suggested
that we destroy the whole manuscript and begin once
more from the beginning. This, however, the publishers would
not allow.
As the next best solution of my difficulties, I took the type-
written pages to a number of charitable friends and asked them
to read what I had said, and give me the benefit of their advice.
The experience was rather disheartening. Each and every
man had his own prejudices and his own hobbies and preferences.
They all wanted to know why, where and how I dared
to omit their pet nation, their pet statesman, or even their most
beloved criminal. With some of them, Napoleon and Jenghiz
Khan were candidates for high honours. I explained that I
had tried very hard to be fair to Napoleon, but that in my
estimation he was greatly inferior to such men as George
Washington, Gustavus Wasa, Augustus, Hammurabi or
Lincoln, and a score of others all of whom were obliged to
content themselves with a few paragraphs, from sheer lack of
space. As for Jenghiz Khan, I only recognise his superior
ability in the field of wholesale murder and I did not intend to
give him any more publicity than I could help.
``This is very well as far as it goes,'' said the next critic,
``but how about the Puritans? We are celebrating the tercentenary
of their arrival at Plymouth. They ought to have
more space.'' My answer was that if I were writing a history
of America, the Puritans would get fully one half of the first
twelve chapters; that however this was a history of mankind
and that the event on Plymouth rock was not a matter of far-
reaching international importance until many centuries later;
that the United States had been founded by thirteen colonies
and not by a single one; that the most prominent leaders of the
first twenty years of our history had been from Virginia, from
Pennsylvania, and from the island of Nevis, rather than from
Massachusetts; and that therefore the Puritans ought to content
themselves with a page of print and a special map.
Next came the prehistoric specialist. Why in the name of
the great Tyrannosaur had I not devoted more space to the
wonderful race of Cro-Magnon men, who had developed such
a high stage of civilisation 10,000 years ago?
Indeed, and why not? The reason is simple. I do not take
as much stock in the perfection of these early races as some of
our most noted anthropologists seem to do. Rousseau and
the philosophers of the eighteenth century created the ``noble
savage'' who was supposed to have dwelt in a state of perfect
happiness during the beginning of time. Our modern scientists
have discarded the ``noble savage,'' so dearly beloved by
our grandfathers, and they have replaced him by the ``splendid
savage'' of the French Valleys who 35,000 years ago made an
end to the universal rule of the low-browed and low-living
brutes of the Neanderthal and other Germanic neighbourhoods.
They have shown us the elephants the Cro-Magnon painted
and the statues he carved and they have surrounded him with
much glory.
I do not mean to say that they are wrong. But I hold that
we know by far too little of this entire period to re-construct
that early west-European society with any degree (however
humble) of accuracy. And I would rather not state certain
things than run the risk of