rologue Tolerance
亨德里克·威廉·房龙 / Hendrik Willem Van Loon
Happily lived Mankind in the peaceful Valley of Ignorance.
To the north， to the south， to the west and to the east stretched the ridges of the Hills Everlasting.
A little stream of Knowledge trickled slowly through a deep worn gully.
It came out of the Mountains of the Past.
It lost itself in the Marshes of the Future.
It was not much， as rivers go. But it was enough for the humble needs of the villagers.
In the evening， when they had watered their cattle and had f？illed their casks， they were content to sit down to enjoy life.
The Old Men who knew were brought forth from the shady corners where they had spent their day， pondering over the mysterious pages of an old book.
They mumbled strange words to their grandchildren， who would have preferred to play with the pretty pebbles， brought down from distant lands.
Often these words were not very clear.
But they were writ a thousand years ago by a forgotten race. Hence they were holy.
For in the Valley of Ignorance， whatever was old was venerable. And those who dared to gainsay the wisdom of the fathers were shunned by all decent people.
And so they kept their peace.
Fear was ever with them. What if they should be refused the common share of the products of the garden？
Vague stories there were， whispered at night among the narrow streets of the little town， vague stories of men and women who had dared to ask questions.
They had gone forth， and never again had they been seen.
A few had tried to scale the high walls of the rocky range that hid the sun.
Their whitened bones lay at the foot of the cliffs.
The years came and the years went by.
Happily lived Mankind in the peaceful Valley of Ignorance.
Out of the darkness crept a man.
The nails of his hands were torn.
His feet were covered with rags， red with the blood of long marches.