8/3/2019 DMir_1937_07!21!010- Morte de Marconi

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P a g e 10 T H E D A I L Y M I R R O R Wednesday, July 21, 1937There Were Tears inHis Eyes W hen He Said: DIS ILLUS IONED .. M a rc o n i i s d e a d . M a rc o n i th e g e n iu s w l io d idn e a r l y e v e ry t h in g fo r w i r e l e s s e x c e p t d i s c o v e r t h ea c tu a l p r i n c ip l e a n d t h e o ry o f w i r e l e s s w a v e s .

H e b ro u g h t h a p p in e s s t o m i l l i o n s a l l o v e r t h ew o r ld . H e sa v e d l i v e s a t s e a b y h i s i n v e n t i o n s . H ewa s a lw ays f igh ting to b ri ng new b lessings to ma nk i n d .

B u t h e h a d o n e G R E A T F A IL U R E . T h e b l e s s in gh e w a n te d t o b e s to w ^h e c o u ld n o t . . . .

"N ' O, I have no miracles to-day," he said," but please come m.I had never listened to his soft, slow words before thatday, and I have never listened to them since. Jus t for tjtreasured minutes I passed.in his presence; no morsthan tha t .But in those forty minut es I learned moreso much moreaboutthe modest genius \vhom MussoUni has enthroned as The Magicianof Space than from ali I had ever read or studied of !iis life.>^ -f -fSide by side we were stand ing in a rose-tinted suite on the very topfloor of a vast hotel." A charm ing view, isn ' t it ? " he said. " Mywife likes it herehigh up: high up in theclouds."We talked; looked up at the burning sun,

then down upon the crazy confusion of roofsthat is London. The Marchese was visitingEngland once more with the graceful Marchesa.For businessfor pleasure; for work to him waslife itself, and idleness a living death." Tha t world below has bestowed upon youmore honours than upon any other livingscientist," I said. " The universities of everygreat capital have been proud to lay theirdegrees at your feet, and crown you with theirfidoration.

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B y Hugh Cudl ipp"Italy worships your very name."You are the weaver of spells and themaker of miracles, a man they think of as agod. But . . . are you happy ?"It was an intimat e question. And I waitedfor an honest answer." Yes," said the Senator. " I think I can sayI am." I have seen my d reams come true, yetknow that there can never be an end to my

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dreaming . I have a lovely wifeand lovelychildren. And there is my country to serve.My yacht to enjoy, andwell, why shouldn'tI be hap py ? "We discussed his years of labour, the experiments upon which he had slaved all his life.And then I came to my last question." Look at that world below. Tha t world isproud of you, Marconi. Is Marconi proud ofhimself ? "The gentle smile faded, and he turned to mea little shyly." No one," he said, " has ever asked me tha tquestion before, and I am sorry that you haveasked me now."" Thenis t here no answ er ? "" "^es," he said. " And th at answ er is ' No.'Marconi Is not proud. Marconi is ashamed."

f -f -fT h i s .From the lips of the first man to visualiseand materialise the huge commercial possibilities of wireless waves.This confession,Fi'om the brilliant scientist who had madethe Radio into the great world force tiiat hasnow become so terrifying in its vastness. TheRadio tha t made a new world . ; . andwhoknowsmay plunge it soon into the hoiTorand bloodshed of another hellish war.These tea rs . P rom Sena to r the MarcheseGuglielmo Marconi, "the man who was wireless."He told me then the secret of his sorrow, thesecret that I shall tell to you. But fli^t, pleaseread this little story . . ,It is the morning of Thursday, December 12,1901; a wild wintry day.A young man of twenty-seven Is waiting inan old army barracks on a hill in Newfoundland, his face aflame with hope; and on hislips a prayer to God for victory.Pour hundred feet above, battered to and froby the fury of the wind, there flies a kite, andhanging from it is an aerial.Two thousand miles away, on the coast ofCornwall, is the transmitter which Marconi andDr. Fleming had set up five months before thefateful day. .It is 12 noon, now: th e,ti me for the signalto be sent across the ether. Jus t three magic" dots "the Morse symbols" If only the experimen t succeeds ! "Marconi looks at the grim, determined facesof his two assistan ts. ThenBrr . . , brr . . . brr.He had heard a faint sound." Listen, Ke mp ! "Err . . . brr . . . brr." Do you hear it, Kem p ? "" YesI do! The message Is throug h I Itw o r k s ! "Marconi had bridged the great Atlantic.Marconi had conquered the world."Tha t was wha t I though t ," sa id the in ventor as we still looked down upon the city." I thought I had conquered the world formanliind."But no. M ankind had conquered him.As he sat in th at hut, h e told me, he made

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W I F EN E V E RK N O W !a solemn pledge. He swore that he wouldwork to bring the world Peacework hard andlovingly, all his life, for the ideal that seemedto him so sweet, so just, so wonderful.

f -f +I linew now the secret of his sorrow. Re-membercd the headlines that had recorded thefruits of Iiis Inbours." Marconi's Gre at New War Inve ntion."" Death Ray. Marconi's Latest."And so on.Marconi, the young idealist, became swept upin the afSairs of state. He wanted to becomethe saviour of the world. Instead he became acitizen of Italy, a soldier of Mussolini." I canno t speak of these things," he said tome. " But please do not ask me If I amp ro u d . . . . "We were Interrupted then by the tovel/Marchesa, the scientist's wife." I will go and get the new snapsh ots of t heyacht," she said." Here are our childrcn-^see them ? And thisone is of Mussolini photographed with them.And here you see my husband receiving thehonour bestowed upon him by . . ,"

It was time to leave. And Marconi saw me tothe door." I do not want the JVIarchesa to knoiv of whatI have been gpeaking," he said. " It is too lat enow to do anythin g. I am, after all, an oldman . She must never know .how I have failed."He showed me then the little treasure ofwhich he was proudest." This medalit is mad e of goldwas givento me by the survivors of the Titanic." I got tha t medal for saving lives," he said,

P R O U D .

She showed mc picturesl i i i s i > !i i i d . " o l be r

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