GRADUAL SPREAD OF LIGHTNING CONDUCTORS IN EUROPE.
In singular contrast with the burst of applause with which the whole
scientific world of Europe received the great discovery of Benjamin
Franklin, was the extreme slowness of the actual introduction
into Europe of lightning conductors. The opposition they met
with in Franklin’s own country was trifling to that which they
encountered in the principal states of Europe, more particularly
in England and France. It was natural, perhaps, that the lower
classes--ultra-conservative, through the mere effect of ignorance, in
every country in the world--should see danger in the setting-up of
iron rods which, as they were told, drew lightning from the skies;
and it was, perhaps, equally natural that religious fanatics should
regard them with extreme suspicion, as removing one of their imagined
instruments of heaven for punishing sinful mortals. Both these classes,
the untaught multitude and the bigoted zealots, opposed in Europe,
as they did in America, the establishment of lightning conductors;
but to the strength of these parties was unexpectedly added a third
in a not numerous but powerful section of learned literary men. They
were chiefly French, but had many adherents in England, as well as in
Germany, the _savants_ of both countries looking then upon France as
the seat of all science, and indeed human knowledge.
The opposition raised against lightning conductors in France was
entirely personal, its origin being due to the wounded vanity of a
very estimable but likewise a very weak man, the already mentioned
Abbé Nollet. Born in 1700, the Abbé had very early in life gained
renown for his scientific researches, and after a while devoted much
of his time to electrical experiments, in conjunction with two other
celebrated men, Dufay and De Réaumur. When the report of Franklin’s
discoveries arrived in Europe, the Abbé Nollet was generally looked
upon as the greatest of living ‘electricians,’ and the general homage
paid to him having roused his self-esteem to an inordinate degree, he
got fiercely irritated that another man, a previously quite unknown
person, in a distant land, should have dared to snatch from him his
scientific laurels. Accordingly, he used all his influence among the
public, in the scientific world, and at the French court, where he held
a high position as tutor of the King’s children, not only to depreciate
Franklin’s lightning conductors, but to set them down as something like
an imposture. In various treatises and articles published in learned
papers, Abbé Nollet sought to prove that the person called Benjamin
Franklin--in whose very existence he formerly refused to believe, but
which he now grudgingly acknowledged--was an individual unacquainted
even with the first principles of the science of electricity, and that
his proposal for protecting houses against lightning was so absurd
as not to be worth engaging the attention of any thinking man. More
than this, he argued that the proposed lightning conductors were not
only inefficacious, but positively dangerous. By thus joining in the
vulgar cry of lightning being, so to speak, sucked from the clouds
by Franklin’s conductors, the learned Abbé had the satisfaction of
retarding their introduction in his own, as well as other European
countries, for a number of years.
In France itself the thus awakened resistance to the setting-up of
lightning conductors was strikingly shown by an incident which occurred
at the town of St. Omer, not far from Calais. A manufacturer settled
here, who had been in America, and there learnt to appreciate the
usefulness of Franklin’s lightning conductors, had one made for his
own house, and quietly fixed it to wall and roof. But the populace no
sooner heard of it when there arose a public disturbance, and the iron
rod was torn down by force. So far from repressing the rioters, the
municipality of St. Omer, acting under priestly influence, forbade the
manufacturer to erect another lightning conductor, on the ground that
it was ‘against law and religion.’ Thereupon the bold manufacturer, a
man of English descent, to try his right, appealed to the tribunals,
and the judges at last, after protracted pleadings, not being able to
discover any statutes against the fastening of metal rods to buildings,
declared that the thing might be done, but with precautions. The lawyer
who pleaded the case of the lightning conductors before the French
tribunals at this momentous period was a very young man, quite unknown
to fame at the time, but destined for a superabundance of it. His name
was Robespierre.
Perhaps the violent opposition which the erection of lightning
conductors--or ‘Franklin rods,’ as they were often called--met almost
everywhere, would have proved more effective than it ultimately turned
out, had not the great discoverer himself showed admirable temper in
meeting his enemies, thus pouring oil upon the stormy waters. His
calmness and confidence is admirably shown in a letter, dated July 2,
1768, addressed to Professor John Winthrop, of Cambridge, in answer to
one in which astonishment was expressed at the ‘force of prejudice,
even in an age of so much knowledge and free inquiry,’ of not placing
lightning conductors upon all elevated buildings. Franklin--or he must
now be called Dr. Franklin, having received the degrees of LL. D.
and D. C. L. from the universities of St. Andrew’s, Edinburgh, and
Oxford--was residing in England at the time, as agent of the people of
Pennsylvania. He was thoroughly acquainted with the state of public
feeling, yet so far from being angry, smiled down upon it like a
true philosopher. ‘It is perhaps not so extraordinary,’ he wrote to
his friend, ‘that unlearned men, such as commonly compose our church
vestries, should not yet be acquainted with, and sensible of, the
benefits of metal conductors in averting the stroke of lightning, and
preserving our houses from its violent effects, or that they should
still be prejudiced against the use of such conductors, when we see
how long even philosophers, men of science and of great ingenuity, can
hold out against the evidence of new knowledge that does not square
with their preconceptions; and how long men can retain a practice that
is conformable to their prejudices, and expect a benefit from such
practice, though constant experience shows its inutility. A late piece
of the Abbé Nollet, printed last year in the Memoirs of the French
Academy of Sciences, affords strong instances of this; for though
the very relations he gives of the effects of lightning in several
churches and other buildings show clearly that it was conducted from
one part to another by wires, gildings, and other pieces of metal
that were _within_, or connected with the building, yet in the same
paper he objects to the providing of metallic conductors _without_ the
building, as useless or dangerous. He cautions people not to ring the
church bells during a thunderstorm, lest the lightning, in its way to
the earth, should be conducted down to them by the bell ropes, which
are but bad conductors; and yet he is against fixing metal rods on the
outside of the steeple, which are known to be much better conductors,
and through which lightning would certainly choose to pass, rather than
through dry hemp. And though, for a thousand years past, church bells
have been solemnly consecrated by the Romish Church, in expectation
that the sound of such blessed bells would drive away thunderstorms,
and secure buildings from the stroke of lightning; and, during so long
a period, it has not been found by experience, that places within
the reach of such blessed sound are safer than others where it is
never heard, but that, on the contrary, the lightning seems to strike
steeples by choice, and at the very time the bells are ringing, yet
still they continue to bless the new bells, and jangle the old ones
whenever it thunders.’
‘One would think,’ continues Dr. Franklin, with exquisite humour,
‘that it was now time to try some other trick. Ours is recommended,
whatever the able French philosopher may say to the contrary, by more
than twelve years’ experience, during which, among the great number of
houses furnished with iron rods in North America, not one so guarded
has been materially hurt by lightning, and many have been evidently
preserved by their means; while a number of houses, churches, barns,
ships, &c., in different places, unprovided with rods, have been struck
and greatly damaged, demolished, or burnt. Probably, the vestries of
English churches are not generally well acquainted with these facts;
otherwise, since as good Protestants they have no faith in the blessing
of bells, they would be less excusable in not providing this other
security for their respective churches, and for the good people that
may happen to be assembled in them during a tempest, especially as
these buildings, from their greater height, are more exposed to the
stroke of lightning than our common dwellings.’
While Franklin thus wrote of ‘the great number of houses furnished with
iron rods in North America,’ there was not a single public building
so protected in England. Several private persons had adopted them for
their houses, following the example of Dr. William Watson--subsequently
Sir William--vice-president of the Royal Society, who had been the
first to set up a lightning conductor in England, erecting one over
his cottage at Payneshill, near London, in 1762. But notwithstanding
the evident utility of the ‘Franklin rods,’ they were refused where
they were most wanted--for larger buildings, and particularly for
churches. The ‘unlearned men, such as commonly compose our church
vestries,’ openly declared against them, and among the clergy there
was a steady, if often silent, antagonism to their introduction. The
first movement towards its being upset was given by an occurrence which
caused much commotion, and gave rise to a vast amount of discussion.
On Sunday, June 18, 1764, a few minutes before three in the afternoon,
the splendid steeple of St. Bride’s Church, in the city of London, one
of the architectural monuments of Sir Christopher Wren, was struck by
lightning, the flash being intensely vivid, blinding several people.
The damage done was so serious that about ninety feet of the steeple
had to be taken down entirely, while great and expensive repairs
were required for the rest. Dr. Watson, as the first introducer, so
one of the chief promoters of Franklin’s invention in England, took
this opportunity of publishing in the ‘Philosophical Transactions’
a detailed account of the effects of lightning upon St. Bride’s
steeple, explaining the potency of conductors in the very action of the
electric force. He showed how the lightning first struck the metallic
weathercock at the top of the steeple, and ran down, without injuring
anything, the large iron bars by which it was supported. At the bottom
of the bars, the electric force shattered a number of huge stones into
fragments, to make its way to some other pieces of iron, inserted into
the walls to give them strength. So it went on till there were no more
metals, when havoc and destruction became the greatest. Thus, as Dr.
Watson conclusively proved, the beautiful steeple of St. Bride was
wilfully made over to ruin for want of a few hundred yards of iron, or
other metal, which would lead the electric force harmlessly from the
weathercock on the summit into the earth. He finished by telling in
the plainest terms, to all on whom devolved the duty of taking care of
churches, that it was neglectful, even to criminality, not to protect
them by conductors against the always imminent danger of being struck
by lightning.
The lay-sermon of Dr. Watson, deeply impressive by the power of the
indisputable facts on which it was based, had a considerable effect
in rousing public opinion, finding its way even into the dull ears of
‘such as commonly compose church vestries.’ Among the most important
results was a step taken, after long and solemn deliberations,
extending over several years, by the Dean and Chapter of St. Paul’s.
They made an application to the Royal Society, asking for advice as
to the best means of protecting the great cathedral, Sir Christopher
Wren’s noblest creation, against the perils of lightning. The
application was made on March 22, 1769, as recorded under that date in
the ‘Gentleman’s Magazine.’ ‘A letter from the Dean and Chapter of St.
Paul’s,’ it was stated, ‘was read at the Royal Society, requesting the
direction of that learned body for the sudden effects of lightning.
It was referred to a committee consisting of Dr. Franklyn (_sic_),
Dr. Watson, Mr. Canton, Mr. Edward Delaval, and Mr. Wilson, who,
after having examined the building, are to report their opinion.’ The
committee thus nominated embraced all the most eminent men of the
day who had studied the phenomena of electricity, and in the order
in which they ranked. Next to the great discoverer of the lightning
conductor himself, Dr. Watson could claim to stand; and next to him Mr.
John Canton, a most painstaking and intelligent worker in the field,
inventor of the pith-ball electrometer, and other instruments.
But a curious element of discord pervaded from the first this small
conclave of learned men, chosen to decide the not unimportant question
as to the best means of providing the cathedral of St. Paul with
lightning conductors. That the noble building should be so protected,
all were agreed; and it was clearly understood, besides, that if once
St. Paul’s had lightning conductors, all the other cathedrals and
principal churches of England would follow suit. What they differed
upon was not this, but the best form of lightning conductors.
Franklin’s steadfast assertion that points to the elevated rods were
not only far preferable to any other form of conductors, but the only
really protective ones, was adopted by Dr. Watson and Mr. Canton; but
they were opposed by Mr. Wilson, who asserted, with some degree of
vehemence, that points were dangerous, and that balls on the summit of
the rods afforded infinitely better protection. Standing alone in this
view among the eminent members of the committee of the Royal Society,
his arguments naturally had no effect, and the recommendation to the
Dean and Chapter of St. Paul’s was to protect the cathedral by pointed
lightning conductors. This was done accordingly. ‘Franklin rods’ were
attached to Wren’s splendid structure, worthy to be the introducer of
them, on a large scale, in Europe.
The dispute as to pointed conductors, or balls, was by no means brought
to a termination by the decision that was come to regarding St. Paul’s.
Endless pamphlets were published on the subject, and it went so far as
to being turned into a political question. As priests scented heresy
in the daring attempt to draw lightning from the clouds, so the court
faction and ultra-conservatives of England smelt republicanism in the
erection of iron rods designed by the representative of the disaffected
American colonies. The king was understood to have given his own high
opinion entirely against points, and in favour of balls, declaring his
preference by ordering a cannon ball of large size to be placed on
the top of a conductor erected over the royal palace at Kew. Meeting
such high patronage, the ‘anti-Franklinians’ only sought an occasion
to break out into open scientific warfare, and they were not long in
finding it. On May 15, 1777, a large public building at Purfleet, on
the Thames, serving as a storehouse for war material, was struck and
greatly damaged by lightning, although protected by a pointed lightning
conductor. Thereupon arose an instant outcry against the system
advocated by Dr. Franklin. From much evidence adduced, there could be
no doubt that the building at Purfleet had been hurt simply because the
conductor was defective in parts, and was besides not laid deep enough
into the ground; still this did not stop the clamour raised. Chiefly
through the agitation of Mr. Wilson, the members of the Royal Society
entered into hot discussions about the respective merits of pointed
and round conductors. The feeling of the partisans of the latter side
ran so high on this occasion, that Sir John Pringle had to resign the
presidency of the Royal Society, which post he had ably filled since
1772, for making himself an advocate of points against balls. When the
fever of the learned men had cooled down a little, it was resolved to
settle the great question of points _versus_ balls by a series of
experiments, to be held in the Pantheon, a large building in Oxford
Street, dome-like in the interior. The arrangement, in fact, carried
out under the direction of Mr. Wilson, leader of the ‘ball’ party, was
to create an artificial thunderstorm--or, as it should properly be
called, ‘lightning storm’--by means of powerful electrical batteries,
to be discharged upon conductors of various forms. His Majesty George
III., greatly interested in the subject, and cherishing fond hopes that
cannon-balls would carry off the victory in the scientific dispute,
as well as in the graver political one with Franklin’s countrymen,
undertook to pay all the expenses of the Pantheon experiments, and
they took place accordingly on an elaborate scale. But though prepared
entirely with a view of showing the inefficiency of Dr. Franklin’s
points, they proved absolutely the contrary. Artificial, like real,
lightning clearly showed its preference for a lancet over a ball; it
would glide down the former quietly, but fall heavily, mostly with an
explosion, upon the latter. However, the question being in reality less
a scientific controversy than a dispute arising from the fiery heat
of political passions, it was by no means set at rest by the Pantheon
trials. ‘Franklin rods’ were more than ever abhorred by a multitude of
persons, learned and unlearned, after the great citizen of Philadelphia
had set his hand, on July 4, 1776, to the declaration of independence
of the ‘United States of America,’ and more than a quarter of a century
had to elapse, a new generation of men growing up, before there arose
clear and unimpassioned views about lightning conductors.
While thus the battle of the rods was being fought in England, it raged
no less hotly on the continent of Europe. Here there was religious
prejudice alone at work, the political sympathies running in favour
of anything coming from America. But priestly animosity by itself
proved as strong an obstacle as any other to the erection of lightning
conductors. Where it did not exist, they sprang up with rapidity; but
wherever its influence was felt, the movement was arrested. In the
most enlightened parts of Germany, the seat and home of Protestantism,
the ‘Franklin rods’ early made their appearance. The first lightning
conductor set up over a public building in Europe was erected early
in 1769 on the steeple of the church of St. Jacob, Hamburg; and so
rapid was the spread of them that, at the end of five years from
this date, there were estimated to be over seven hundred conductors
within a circle of ten miles of the old Hanse town. To this day
they are comparatively more numerous in this district than anywhere
else in Europe. In contrast with Northern Protestant Germany, the
Roman Catholic South refused the ‘Franklin rods,’ and so did France,
although making a hero of Franklin personally. For many years after
young Robespierre pleaded the case of lightning conductors before the
tribunal of St. Omer, the strongest abhorrence to them was expressed
by the priests and their mob following in almost all parts of France,
and the active antagonism did not cease till after the outbreak of the
great revolution.
It was the same in most countries of southern and central Europe. Even
in Geneva, famous for the enlightenment of its citizens, the populace
made an attempt to pull down the first lightning conductor. It was
erected, in the summer of 1771, by the celebrated naturalist, Professor
Horace de Saussure, over his own house, after directions furnished
by Dr. Franklin. But notwithstanding that the professor was himself
highly respected, his lightning conductor created general abhorrence,
and to appease it he found it necessary to issue a public address or
‘manifesto,’ as he called it, to his fellow-citizens. The address,
dated November 21, 1771, was strangely characteristic of the times. ‘I
hear with regret,’ Professor de Saussure declared, ‘that the conductor
which I have placed over my house to protect it against lightning, as
well as to observe, occasionally, the electricity of the clouds, has
spread terror among many persons, who seem to fear that by this means
I draw upon the heads of others those dangers from which I myself
wish to escape. Now, I beg you to believe that I would never have
decided upon erecting this apparatus, if I had not been fully persuaded
both of its harmlessness and its utility. There is no possibility of
its causing damage to my own house, or of doing harm to others. All
those who are now labouring under fear would be precisely of the same
opinion, if they had entered upon the same inquiries to which I am
called in the course of my studies.’ After which the professor goes
on minutely to describe the ‘electric conductor,’ which he had been
bold enough to place over his house, dwelling upon the fact of its
having protected, as he believed, already his own residence from being
struck by lightning, and of having been found, likewise, universally
efficacious in the same manner in ‘the English colonies of North
America.’ The citizens of Geneva, much given to reasoning, earnestly
read and studied the ‘manifesto’ of Professor de Saussure, and the
consequence was, not only that he was spared further attacks and
reproaches, but that there arose soon over the churches and houses of
the town some hundreds of lightning conductors.
In Italy the progress in the erection of conductors was accompanied
by some very curious incidents. The priests here, as in other Roman
Catholic countries, actively opposed their introduction, and to do
so more effectively, they craftily attached to them a stinging name,
calling them ‘heretical rods.’ As a consequence, the mob fiercely
opposed the putting-up of any such accursed pieces of metal, and
whenever the attempt was made to fasten them to houses, it met
with forcible opposition. However, some of the highly accomplished
professors of the universities of Italy, enthusiastic in their
reception of Franklin’s discovery, proved themselves victorious
over both priests and mob. They got the Grand Duke Leopold of
Tuscany--subsequently German Emperor, under the title of Leopold I.--a
man of high scientific acquirements, to place lightning conductors
over his own palace, as well as over all the powder magazines in his
dominions. Here the mob and priest rule ceased, and only silent
curses could be levelled against the ‘heretical rods.’ Another still
more important step in advance was made by the influence of the
Abbé Giuseppe Toaldo, a warm admirer of Franklin, in correspondence
with him, and author of various scientific works, among them one on
lightning conductors. He had some influence with the ecclesiastical
authorities at Siena, in Tuscany, and brought it to bear upon them by
getting them to consent to make trial, in a manner so as not to excite
public attention, of one of the ‘heretical rods,’ over the cathedral.
This was only permitted on account of the extreme danger in which the
edifice stood, having been struck several times by lightning, and
greatly damaged. Placed on the summit of the highest of the three hills
on which stands the ancient city of Siena, the cathedral was opposed
to the dangers brought in the womb of every passing thunderstorm, and
they were all the greater as the building, erected by Pisano in the
thirteenth century, was deemed to be priceless, being one of the most
magnificent structures of the kind in Italy, of red and white marble,
filled with the choicest specimens of art, statues, pictures, gold and
jewelry. It seemed well worth risking a little heresy to guard such
treasures.
Very silently, in the dark of night, the priests of the Siena
cathedral, directed by Abbé Toaldo, laid their iron rods along the
walls of the building, but inside, planting them deep into the
ground, and with the pointed summit only a few feet above the highest
point of the steeple, so as to be scarcely perceptible from below by
the naked eye. Still the secret of what had been done could not be
entirely kept from the multitude. Some of the workmen, engaged in the
operation of fixing the iron rods to the inner walls and steeple of the
cathedral, whispered about what they had been doing, trembling at the
evil consequences of their work, notwithstanding having received full
absolution from their employers. Murmurs were now heard everywhere,
and there were signs of a popular outbreak, just when one of the many
thunderstorms regularly visiting the mountain city crept over it on
April 18, 1777. Portentously the black clouds laid themselves thicker
and thicker over the high cathedral, till all the people of Siena
crept forth from their houses, awaiting in breathless expectation the
terrors to come. Then the dark masses discharged their fiery streams;
flash followed flash, till one, a long hissing tongue of flame, fell
down upon the cathedral steeple, distinctly visible to thousands
of beholders. A few minutes after, a ray of sunshine pierced the
dark clouds, and to the bewildering astonishment of the masses, the
cathedral was standing there absolutely unhurt. As if to exhibit its
wonderful power, the gilded point of the lightning conductor stood
out brilliantly in the sun, pointing in radiant silence up to heaven.
‘Maraviglia, maraviglia!’ cried people and priests in chorus. High
mass was held forthwith in the wonderfully preserved cathedral, and
on the same day the magistrates of Siena went into the town hall and
had a record made in the book containing the annals of the city, to
make known to all posterity that their noble cathedral had just been
preserved from destruction by the astounding influence of an ‘heretical
rod.’ Though not in the least intended to be sarcastic, the irony could
not have been more complete.
There was a most remarkable historical concurrence between the gradual
introduction of lightning conductors into Europe and that of the art of
vaccination. Both the great scientific discoveries had the same end in
view for the benefit of mankind, the one teaching the art of drawing
the dangerous electric fire of the clouds harmlessly into the earth,
and the other that of extracting the poisonous seed of disease from
the human body. Both were brought forward with the noblest intentions;
and both encountered the most violent opposition from religious
fanatics, the same in substance, as interfering with the decrees of
Providence, and the ordained wrath of heaven. Both triumphed in the
end, and almost exactly at the same time, though the battle of the
great medical discovery lasted longer, and was more fiercely fought
than that of Franklin’s invention. To make the analogy between the
progress of lightning conductors and of vaccination complete, it so
happened that in at least one conspicuous instance the same man was
an important agent in forwarding the success of both discoveries. The
person in question was Dr. Johan Ingenhousz, a native of Breda, in the
Netherlands, born in 1730. A man of great natural gifts, he came to
England when about thirty years of age, practising as a physician, and
attending specially to the so-called Suttonian method of inoculation
against the small-pox, then an entirely new branch of medical science.
At the same time he eagerly embarked in electrical experiments, got
into correspondence with Benjamin Franklin, and, having made many
friends, was elected a fellow of the Royal Society in 1769. Recommended
to the king, Dr. Ingenhousz became a favourite at court, owing chiefly
to his perfect knowledge of German, which resulted in his being
recommended to a highly profitable as well as distinguished mission.
The famous Imperial lady, the Elizabeth of her age, Maria Theresa of
Austria, had read of the benefits of vaccination, then chiefly known in
England, and wishing to confer them on her own family and friends, she
asked King George the Third to recommend to her some able physician,
who could come to Vienna for the purpose. His Majesty at once named Dr.
Johan Ingenhousz, a recommendation warmly supported by the President of
the Royal Society, Sir John Pringle, who had taken an affection for the
young Dutch physician on account of his electrical researches, which
had resulted in the invention of a novel apparatus, subsequently known
as the plate electrical machine.
Dr. Ingenhousz set out for Vienna in 1772, was received with marked
honours by the great Empress, and having done his work, and wishing to
visit Italy, received an autograph letter of Maria Theresa to her son,
Grand Duke Leopold of Tuscany. At the court of this enlightened prince,
Dr. Ingenhousz resided for some time, practising vaccination, but also
engaged in electrical experiments, which created the greatest interest.
It was partly by his advice that the Grand Duke consented, in the
teeth of desperate priestly opposition, to erect one of Franklin’s
lightning conductors over his own palace, and to set them up likewise
for the protection of all the powder magazines in Tuscany. This done,
Dr. Ingenhousz went forward to Padua, invited by some of the professors
of the university, and by the famous senator of Venice, Angelo Querini,
who had a magnificent palace in the neighbourhood of the city. In this
palace, bearing the name of Altichiera, the ‘English doctor,’ as he
was called, was made to reside, practising vaccination, the same as
at the court of Florence, but following as a favourite occupation the
setting-up of ‘heretical rods.’ Altichiera itself had the first erected
in May 1774, and soon after Dr. Ingenhousz had the satisfaction of
planting another over the astronomical observatory of the university
of Padua, in the presence of an enormous crowd of students who lustily
applauded, and of an angry multitude, kept in the background less by
persuasion than the strong arms of the young men. As at Siena, so at
Padua, the mob became pacified not long after by seeing the lightning
fall upon the observatory, much exposed by its situation, and which had
often been struck before, without doing the least damage. From Padua,
Dr. Ingenhousz went to Venice, in company of his friend and patron,
Senator Angelo Querini. Here his efforts to spread the knowledge of
lightning conductors, together with vaccination, had the best results.
The church of St. Mark and other public buildings were surmounted
before long by the awe-striking ‘heretical rods,’ and on May 9, 1778,
the Senate of Venice issued a decree ordering the erection of lightning
conductors throughout the republic. It was the first recognition of the
value of conductors by any government of Europe, or, indeed, of the
world.