The Story of Mankind by Hendrik Willem van Loon

Here the stairs came to an end and the ladders began. 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 ways–they had all been blended into a softly rustling whisper which provided a beautiful background for the trembling cooing of the pigeons. It was the noise of the town below us, but a noise which had been purified and cleansed by the distance. The wind blew through the iron bars and the air was filled with a weird and pleasing music. Enormous open windows with heavy iron bars made the high and barren room the roosting place of hundreds of pigeons. The next floor showed us from where we had derived our light. 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. That which had meant life and death to our ancestors was here reduced to junk and rub- bish. 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. This floor was on an even height with the roof of the church, and it was used as a storeroom. 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. A match showed us where the upward road continued. When we had climbed the first flight of stairs, I added another discovery to my limited knowledge of natural phenomena–that of tangible darkness. “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.įor the first time in my life I was confronted by the phenomenon of audible silence. I was to go with him to the top of the tower of Old Saint Lawrence in Rotterdam.Īnd so, one fine day, a sexton with a key as large as that of Saint Peter opened a mysterious door.

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. “What is the use of a book without pictures?” said Alice.

THE SCENE OF OUR HISTORY IS LAID UPON A LITTLE PLANET, LOST IN THE VASTNESS OF THE UNIVERSE.

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. Professor of the Social Sciences in Antioch College.

The Story of Mankind by Hendrik Willem van Loon