THE THORNY ROAD OF HONOR [1]
for centuries; and they have kept me locked up here for more than
twenty years!"
Who is the man?
"A madman," replies the keeper of the madhouse. "What whimsical
ideas these lunatics have! He imagines that one can propel things by
means of steam."
It is Solomon de Cares, the discoverer of the power of steam,
whose theory, expressed in dark words, is not understood by Richelieu;
and he dies in the madhouse.
Here stands Columbus, whom the street boys used once to follow and
jeer, because he wanted to discover a new world; and he has discovered
it. Shouts of joy greet him from the breasts of all, and the clash
of bells sounds to celebrate his triumphant return; but the clash of
the bells of envy soon drowns the others. The discoverer of a world-
he who lifted the American gold land from the sea, and gave it to
his king- he is rewarded with iron chains. He wishes that these chains
may be placed in his coffin, for they witness to the world of the
way in which a man's contemporaries reward good service.
One picture after another comes crowding on; the thorny path of
honor and of fame is over-filled.
Here in dark night sits the man who measured the mountains in
the moon; he who forced his way out into the endless space, among
stars and planets; he, the mighty man who understood the spirit of
nature, and felt the earth moving beneath his feet- Galileo. Blind and
deaf he sits- an old man thrust through with the spear of suffering,
and amid the torments of neglect, scarcely able to lift his foot- that
foot with which, in the anguish of his soul, when men denied the
truth, he stamped upon the ground, with the exclamation, "Yet it
moves!"
Here stands a woman of childlike mind, yet full of faith and
inspiration. She carries the banner in front of the combating army,
and brings victory and salvation to her fatherland. The sound of
shouting arises, and the pile flames up. They are burning the witch,
Joan of Arc. Yes, and a future century jeers at the White Lily.
Voltaire, the satyr of human intellect, writes "La Pucelle."
At the Thing or Assembly at Viborg, the Danish nobles burn the
laws of the king. They flame up high, illuminating the period and
the lawgiver, and throw a glory into the dark prison tower, where an
old man is growing gray and bent. With his finger he marks out a
groove in the stone table. It is the popular king who sits there, once
the ruler of three kingdoms, the friend of the citizen and the
peasant. It is Christian the Second. Enemies wrote his history. Let us
remember his improvements of seven and twenty years, if we cannot
forget his crime.
A ship sails away, quitting the Danish shores. A man leans against
the mast, casting a last glance towards the Island Hueen. It is
Tycho Brahe. He raised the name of Denmark to the stars, and was
rewarded with injury, loss and sorrow. He is going to a strange
country.
"The vault of heaven is above me everywhere," he says, "and what
do I want more?"
And away sails the famous Dane, the astronomer, to live honored
and free in a strange land.
"Ay, free, if only from the unbearable sufferings of the body!"
comes in a sigh through time, and strikes upon our ear. What a
picture! Griffenfeldt, a Danish Prometheus, bound to the rocky
island of Munkholm.
We are in America, on the margin of one of the largest rivers;
an innumerable crowd has gathered, for it is said that a ship is to
sail against the wind and weather, bidding defiance to the elements.
The man who thinks he can solve the problem is named Robert Fulton.
The ship begins its passage, but suddenly it stops. The crowd begins
to laugh and whistle and hiss- the very father of the man whistles
with the rest.
"Conceit! Foolery!" is the cry. "It has happened just as he
deserved. Put the crack-brain under lock and key!"
Then suddenly a little nail breaks, which had stopped the
machine for a few moments; and now the wheels turn again, the floats
twenty years!"
Who is the man?
"A madman," replies the keeper of the madhouse. "What whimsical
ideas these lunatics have! He imagines that one can propel things by
means of steam."
It is Solomon de Cares, the discoverer of the power of steam,
whose theory, expressed in dark words, is not understood by Richelieu;
and he dies in the madhouse.
Here stands Columbus, whom the street boys used once to follow and
jeer, because he wanted to discover a new world; and he has discovered
it. Shouts of joy greet him from the breasts of all, and the clash
of bells sounds to celebrate his triumphant return; but the clash of
the bells of envy soon drowns the others. The discoverer of a world-
he who lifted the American gold land from the sea, and gave it to
his king- he is rewarded with iron chains. He wishes that these chains
may be placed in his coffin, for they witness to the world of the
way in which a man's contemporaries reward good service.
One picture after another comes crowding on; the thorny path of
honor and of fame is over-filled.
Here in dark night sits the man who measured the mountains in
the moon; he who forced his way out into the endless space, among
stars and planets; he, the mighty man who understood the spirit of
nature, and felt the earth moving beneath his feet- Galileo. Blind and
deaf he sits- an old man thrust through with the spear of suffering,
and amid the torments of neglect, scarcely able to lift his foot- that
foot with which, in the anguish of his soul, when men denied the
truth, he stamped upon the ground, with the exclamation, "Yet it
moves!"
Here stands a woman of childlike mind, yet full of faith and
inspiration. She carries the banner in front of the combating army,
and brings victory and salvation to her fatherland. The sound of
shouting arises, and the pile flames up. They are burning the witch,
Joan of Arc. Yes, and a future century jeers at the White Lily.
Voltaire, the satyr of human intellect, writes "La Pucelle."
At the Thing or Assembly at Viborg, the Danish nobles burn the
laws of the king. They flame up high, illuminating the period and
the lawgiver, and throw a glory into the dark prison tower, where an
old man is growing gray and bent. With his finger he marks out a
groove in the stone table. It is the popular king who sits there, once
the ruler of three kingdoms, the friend of the citizen and the
peasant. It is Christian the Second. Enemies wrote his history. Let us
remember his improvements of seven and twenty years, if we cannot
forget his crime.
A ship sails away, quitting the Danish shores. A man leans against
the mast, casting a last glance towards the Island Hueen. It is
Tycho Brahe. He raised the name of Denmark to the stars, and was
rewarded with injury, loss and sorrow. He is going to a strange
country.
"The vault of heaven is above me everywhere," he says, "and what
do I want more?"
And away sails the famous Dane, the astronomer, to live honored
and free in a strange land.
"Ay, free, if only from the unbearable sufferings of the body!"
comes in a sigh through time, and strikes upon our ear. What a
picture! Griffenfeldt, a Danish Prometheus, bound to the rocky
island of Munkholm.
We are in America, on the margin of one of the largest rivers;
an innumerable crowd has gathered, for it is said that a ship is to
sail against the wind and weather, bidding defiance to the elements.
The man who thinks he can solve the problem is named Robert Fulton.
The ship begins its passage, but suddenly it stops. The crowd begins
to laugh and whistle and hiss- the very father of the man whistles
with the rest.
"Conceit! Foolery!" is the cry. "It has happened just as he
deserved. Put the crack-brain under lock and key!"
Then suddenly a little nail breaks, which had stopped the
machine for a few moments; and now the wheels turn again, the floats