the story of mankind-第1章

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The　Story　of　Mankind



by　Hendrik　van　Loon







THE　STORY　OF　MANKIND

BY　HENDRIK　VAN　LOON；　PH。D。

Professor　of　the　Social　Sciences　in　Antioch　College。

Author　of　The　Fall　of　the　Dutch　Republic；　The　Rise　of　the　Dutch

Kingdom；　The　Golden　Book　of　the　Dutch　Navigators；

A　Short　Story　of　Discovery；　Ancient　Man。

















To　JIMMIE

‘‘What　is　the　use　of　a　book　without　pictures？''　said　Alice。









FOREWORD



For　Hansje　and　Willem：





WHEN　I　was　twelve　or　thirteen　years　old；　an　uncle　of

mine　who　gave　me　my　love　for　books　and　pictures　promised

to　take　me　upon　a　memorable　expedition。　I　was　to　go　with

him　to　the　top　of　the　tower　of　Old　Saint　Lawrence　in　Rotterdam。



And　so；　one　fine　day；　a　sexton　with　a　key　as　large　as　that

of　Saint　Peter　opened　a　mysterious　door。　‘‘Ring　the　bell；''

he　said；　‘‘when　you　come　back　and　want　to　get　out；''　and　with

a　great　grinding　of　rusty　old　hinges　he　separated　us　from　the

noise　of　the　busy　street　and　locked　us　into　a　world　of　new　and

strange　experiences。



For　the　first　time　in　my　life　I　was　confronted　by　the　phenomenon

of　audible　silence。　When　we　had　climbed　the　first

flight　of　stairs；　I　added　another　discovery　to　my　limited

knowledge　of　natural　phenomenathat　of　tangible　darkness。　A

match　showed　us　where　the　upward　road　continued。　We　went

to　the　next　floor　and　then　to　the　next　and　the　next　until　I　had

lost　count　and　then　there　came　still　another　floor；　and　suddenly

we　had　plenty　of　light。　This　floor　was　on　an　even　height　with

the　roof　of　the　church；　and　it　was　used　as　a　storeroom。　Covered

with　many　inches　of　dust；　there　lay　the　abandoned　symbols

of　a　venerable　faith　which　had　been　discarded　by　the　good

people　of　the　city　many　years　ago。　That　which　had　meant　life

and　death　to　our　ancestors　was　here　reduced　to　junk　and　rub…

bish。　The　industrious　rat　had　built　his　nest　among　the　carved

images　and　the　ever　watchful　spider　had　opened　up　shop　between

the　outspread　arms　of　a　kindly　saint。



The　next　floor　showed　us　from　where　we　had　derived　our

light。　Enormous　open　windows　with　heavy　iron　bars　made

the　high　and　barren　room　the　roosting　place　of　hundreds　of

pigeons。　The　wind　blew　through　the　iron　bars　and　the　air　was

filled　with　a　weird　and　pleasing　music。　It　was　the　noise　of　the

town　below　us；　but　a　noise　which　had　been　purified　and　cleansed

by　the　distance。　The　rumbling　of　heavy　carts　and　the　clinking

of　horses'　hoofs；　the　winding　of　cranes　and　pulleys；　the　hissing

sound　of　the　patient　steam　which　had　been　set　to　do　the　work

of　man　in　a　thousand　different　waysthey　had　all　been

blended　into　a　softly　rustling　whisper　which　provided　a　beautiful

background　for　the　trembling　cooing　of　the　pigeons。



Here　the　stairs　came　to　an　end　and　the　ladders　began。　And

after　the　first　ladder　（a　slippery　old　thing　which　made　one　feel

his　way　with　a　cautious　foot）　there　was　a　new　and　even　greater

wonder；　the　town…clock。　I　saw　the　heart　of　time。　I　could　hear

the　heavy　pulsebeats　of　the　rapid　secondsonetwothree

up　to　sixty。　Then　a　sudden　quivering　noise　when　all　the　wheels

seemed　to　stop　and　another　minute　had　been　chopped　off　eternity。

Without　pause　it　began　againonetwothreeuntil

at　last　after　a　warning　rumble　and　the　scraping　of　many　wheels

a　thunderous　voice；　high　above　us；　told　the　world　that　it　was

the　hour　of　noon。



On　the　next　floor　were　the　bells。　The　nice　little　bells　and

their　terrible　sisters。　In　the　centre　the　big　bell；　which　made

me　turn　stiff　with　fright　when　I　heard　it　in　the　middle　of　the

night　telling　a　story　of　fire　or　flood。　In　solitary　grandeur　it

seemed　to　reflect　upon　those　six　hundred　years　during　which

it　had　shared　the　joys　and　the　sorrows　of　the　good　people　of

Rotterdam。　Around　it；　neatly　arranged　like　the　blue　jars　in

an　old…fashioned　apothecary　shop；　hung　the　little　fellows；　who

twice　each　week　played　a　merry　tune　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　cornerall　alone

and　shunned　by　the　othersa　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

　　　　　　　OF　HISTORY　BEGINS

5。　　THE　BEGINNING　OF　CIVILISATION　IN　THE　VALLEY　OF　THE　NILE

6。　　THE　RISE　AND　FALL　OF　EGYPT