SGB Chapter 309

## Chapter 309: Not the Best of Times, Nor the Worst

The laboratory of the Royal Society was bathed in a soft, diffused light. Michael Faraday, as usual, sat hunched over a workbench, meticulously winding insulated copper wire onto a wooden rod with a pair of pliers.

He was no longer the young apprentice who carried bags for Sir Humphry Davy. Now, as the head of the Royal Society’s laboratory, Faraday could easily delegate such basic tasks to his apprentices. But when his schedule allowed, he still preferred to engage in these fundamental details, his hands moving with practiced ease.

Twenty years had passed since he became Davy’s assistant at the age of 20. His meticulous approach to every aspect of his experiments had become ingrained in his very being. To those who met him for the first time, it seemed like a peculiar habit, but for Faraday, it was simply a part of his life, as familiar as breathing.

He expertly wound the copper wire, a practiced rhythm in his movements. After a while, he tied the final knot and held the wire up to the window, letting the light filter through. As always, it was flawless, every insulated wire neatly aligned.

A gentle smile graced Faraday’s kind face. He exuded the same charm, warmth, and humility he always had, the Michael Faraday who had captivated the hearts of London’s ladies.

Suddenly, his gaze shifted, catching a figure standing behind the copper wire. It was Arthur Hastings, the young electromagnetic researcher who shared his mentor’s humility and passion for science.

“When did you get here?” Faraday asked, leaning back on the workbench with a smile.

Arthur hesitated, “Not long ago. I just arrived.”

“Arthur, you always do this,” Faraday chuckled, rising from his stool. “I’ve told you, you’re always welcome at the Royal Society. But you’re too polite, too formal. Maybe that’s why you and Mr. Wheatstone are friends. You’re both introverts, able to understand each other. But you shouldn’t be so reserved, you’re a Scotland Yard detective. Can an introvert really be a good detective?”

Arthur laughed, a bright, open sound. “I don’t think my personality can be categorized as simply introverted or extroverted. It’s uncertain, really. Mr. Faraday, your work is not so different from mine. Would you consider yourself an introvert?”

Faraday looked puzzled, “How do you mean?”

Arthur explained, “When you discover a truth that God has veiled with a curtain, you can work for weeks on end without sleep or rest, without uttering a word, appearing like the most introverted person. But when you finally uncover the truth, you’re happy to stand on a podium and share your discovery with everyone – men, women, old and young, nobles and commoners. You patiently explain it to them, again and again, until they understand. At that moment, you become the most extroverted person. So I say, your work and a detective’s work are essentially the same.”

Faraday burst into laughter, “Alright, I get it now. You’re a natural detective. Extrovert or introvert, you’ll succeed in any job with that eloquence. Speaking of which, have you considered giving a lecture at the Royal Society? Even just one, I’m sure there’d be plenty of people eager to hear your stories.”

Arthur patted his bandaged arm, a wry smile on his face. “Mr. Faraday, you see me like this, do you think I’m in any condition to give a lecture?”

Faraday, remembering Arthur’s recent ordeal, chastised him gently, “I shouldn’t meddle in your life. But Arthur, next time, don’t go. You’re still young, with a bright future ahead of you. You can make many discoveries for the world, unlock many secrets hidden by God. There’s still so much joy to be found in life.

There are many reasons to die, but dying in a fit of anger is simply foolish. Think about your work, you run around every day, busy trying to save lives in London, and now you’ve done this to yourself. Arthur, I’m sorry, I might be sounding like an old fuddy-duddy, but I truly hope you’ll cherish your life more.”

Arthur agreed with Faraday’s words, he had certainly never considered sacrificing his life on a duel’s stage.

But knowing Faraday’s honesty, Arthur decided to keep the inside story of the duel – the shady dealings behind it – to himself.

He patted his arm, nodding in agreement, “Even without you saying it, I won’t do anything like that again. Honestly, it does hurt quite a lot.”

Faraday was amused by Arthur’s response, waving his hand dismissively. “Alright, alright, as long as you’re okay. Many ladies and gentlemen who attended your lecture told me that you were amazing on the dueling stage. The theater was filled with smoke, lightning flashed everywhere. They were still in shock from the duel when you started playing the piano with your bloodstained fingers. They were all worried sick, but when the lights came up, a Polish pianist was on stage. What can I say, Arthur? If you’d put your mind to staging plays instead of science, you would have surpassed me in no time.”

Arthur denied this with a laugh, “On the contrary, Mr. Faraday, if you had chosen drama over science in your youth, London’s theaters would be showing your new plays by now. But then my friends Dumas, Dickens, and Disraeli would be miserable.

They’ve been struggling for years, one being hunted by the French government, another working two or three jobs to make ends meet. As for the last one, his debut novel was met with condemnation from the entire British literary world, and he nearly went mad from the pressure. If you had chosen to be a playwright, your plays would have been the final straw that broke the camel’s back. I can guarantee that there would be three more patients at Bethlem Royal Hospital.”

Faraday waved his hand, “Arthur, don’t flatter me. I know Dumas, his talent is far beyond anything I could achieve. Besides, he’s as eager to learn as you are. He often goes to Gresham College to ask professors about science for his novels. It’s an honor to be able to help him. And compared to you, I was just an average person in my youth. I’m not like you brilliant minds. I’m not particularly intelligent. If I’m stronger than others, it’s because I love science, so all those hardships I faced were turned into blessings.”

Arthur took a teacup from the apprentice, thanking him before asking, “I haven’t heard you talk about your past very often. But you said you’re not intelligent, I think you’re being too modest. Sir Davy, with all his achievements, said on his deathbed that his greatest discovery wasn’t potassium, sodium, calcium, strontium, barium, or iodine, not even writing ‘Elements of Chemical Philosophy’ or becoming the president of the Royal Society. His greatest discovery was finding you.”

Faraday’s hand trembled slightly as he held the teacup. His feelings for Davy were complex, impossible to summarize with simple respect or resentment.

On the one hand, Davy had been envious of his brilliant student’s talent for a long time. Knowing that Faraday had not plagiarized, he chose to look the other way, even making veiled remarks that hinted at Faraday’s misconduct.

If not for Faraday’s wife, who had been his unwavering support during those difficult times, he might have been the one sent to a madhouse.

This complex relationship between master and student lasted for many years, until Sir Davy finally found peace in his later years, leaving behind that final affirmation of Faraday’s worth. The 28-year-long saga between them finally came to a seemingly perfect end.

Seeing Faraday silent, Arthur gently asked, “It’s probably impolite to pry, but would you be willing to talk about Sir Davy? When I started my scientific career, he had already passed away in Geneva. But I find it hard to imagine him doing such a thing to you. Sir Davy always gave a positive impression in society.

During the Napoleonic Wars, when there was a food shortage, he put aside his work and dedicated himself to teaching agricultural chemistry, hoping to use his knowledge to help farmers increase their yields. To improve the filthy conditions in leather factories, he spent five years refining tanning techniques. And let’s not forget his Davy lamp, which saved countless miners’ lives. How could he…”

Faraday held the teacup, the wind blowing through his sideburns, his face reflecting a look of reminiscence.

He smiled softly, “Arthur, it’s nothing really. We all know that humans are imperfect. As Lord Byron said, ‘To love for love’s sake is divine. To love for the sake of being loved is human.’ Perhaps Sir Davy went too far sometimes, but he has always been a great man in my heart. I owe everything to his guidance and teaching, my journey to where I am today.

Whether it’s my lectures at the Royal Society or my work in electrochemistry, I was always the shadow following Sir Davy’s footsteps. He… taught me so much, about science and about being human. I know there are many people in Britain who are standing up for me, they think Sir Davy was too harsh and too cold towards me.

But they don’t understand, I don’t hate Sir Davy. I respect him, I always have, from twenty years ago to today.

You may have heard me mention this, I come from a poor family. My father was a blacksmith, his shop was near Elephant and Castle, it’s still there. If you have time, you can visit, it’s almost a century-old shop. It’s not very big, the tools are never organized, the forge bellows are weak. My father and the owner complained many times, the owner always said he’d replace it next month, but after forty years, they’re still using that creaky old thing.”

When he spoke about his poverty, one might expect a sense of hardship, but Faraday’s face held a gentle smile.

“You know, if a child is born into a poor family in London, especially a mischievous boy, they’re already half-way down the wrong path as soon as they learn to walk. I used to steal iron, steal toys when I was young. One time, my father caught me.

He called me over, serious, and said, ‘Michael, we may be poor, but we don’t want anything unclean. We have hands, we have feet, we have an honest and hardworking heart. You can’t keep doing this. I don’t expect you to become a gentleman riding in a carriage, but I hope you can become an honest and strong man. Michael, my dear son, do you know? Your mother and I are very worried about you. We’re afraid that one day we’ll see our son hanging from the gallows at Tyburn. Promise me, don’t do it anymore, okay? If you want toys, Dad will buy them for you.’

After he said that, my father hugged me and cried. I cried too, heartbroken. I told my father that I wouldn’t do those things anymore, I swore I would be an honest man. From that day on, I would ask myself before doing anything, could I live with my conscience, could I live with my parents?

I didn’t ask my father for toys, I asked for a book. My father kept his promise, and the next day he bought me a book, it cost him a whole shilling and a half.

I remember it was an old science magazine I bought from a second-hand bookstore, the cover was peeling. But even though it was old, I was completely captivated. That book made me realize there were so many amazing things in the world.

Soon after, I volunteered to be a delivery boy for George Reber’s bookstore. No pay, just voluntary work. Mr. Reber was a regular customer of my father, he took good care of his business, so I wanted to return the favor. Mr. Reber recognized my dedication, he not only allowed me to read in the bookstore for free, but he also made me his apprentice without tuition fees.

I worked at Reber’s bookstore for seven years, and in those seven years, I practically read every book in the store. Isaac Watts’ ‘The Improvement of the Mind’ taught me how to redeem myself, and Jane Marcet’s ‘Conversations on Chemistry’ was my nightly bedtime reading.

After my apprenticeship ended, I was lost, not knowing what to do. That’s when I met Sir Davy. I attended many of his lectures, and I took notes for three hundred pages. When I had questions I didn’t understand, he always answered me kindly.

I was just a nobody at the time, but Sir Davy treated me like his own student, patiently explaining things to me. So when I heard that Sir Davy had lost his eyesight and needed an assistant, I didn’t hesitate to apply. He didn’t reject me because I only had a basic education, he directly recommended me to the Royal Society, and I officially became a chemical assistant.

From then on, I travelled Europe with him, absorbing knowledge like a sponge, he taught me everything he knew without reservation. Although there were some unpleasant things that happened along the way, Lady Davy didn’t like me, she treated me like a servant, wouldn’t let me ride in the carriage, wouldn’t let me eat at the same table. But what did it matter? I was already lucky enough to learn from Sir Davy.

It was through Sir Davy that I was able to enter the Royal Society, to meet many of Europe’s renowned scientists, to understand the cutting edge of research. I am very grateful to him for giving me this opportunity, for allowing me to constantly embrace the science I love. As a teacher, Sir Davy has done everything he could. I don’t hate him, whatever he did, I still respect and love him.

When Sir Davy did that, I was really heartbroken. I told my wife, ‘My dear Sarah, I’m utterly miserable, I’m going crazy.’

My wife hugged me gently, kissed my forehead, and said, ‘I’d rather you be like a child, hurt because of your innocence, than like a villain, hurt because you’re suspicious of everyone.’

Those words reminded me of the promise I made to my father many years ago, to do things that would live up to my conscience. I am grateful to everyone who has helped me, I am willing to dedicate my insignificant life to repaying their kindness, to live up to my conscience.

From then on, I gradually understood and came out of my mental turmoil. The sun was still shining brightly, science was still beautiful. Two months later, when I demonstrated the rotation of a current-carrying wire under the influence of the Earth’s magnetic field, the loudest applause in the auditorium came from Professor Oersted, the one I was rumored to have plagiarized from. The rumors were dispelled, and I believe this was God’s best reward for my conscience.”

Arthur, deeply moved, took a deep breath and nodded. “Mr. Faraday, I understand you now. You have so many supporters, and for good reason. Your nobility doesn’t come from your research or your accolades, it comes from your sincere heart. To be honest, even Bertrand, who shot me, I can’t forgive. But you, you can forgive someone like Sir Davy, what can’t you forgive?”

(End of Chapter)