Dale Seymour Publications

Galois sank into a worn chair and allowed painful memories to parade through his mind. None of it could be blamed on his parents. They were fine people, he reflected. His mother was a strong woman of character. She came from a family of judges and had taught Galois to hate injustice. Actually, she had taught him almost every subject until he turned twelve and started attending school. His father had contributed, too. He was headmaster of the boarding school in their village. Monsieur Galois' hobby was making up rhymes, mostly for fun. Evariste smiled in spite of himself as he remembered mimicking his father's verses.
...[Evariste's father had been mayor who opposed royalists] Galois hung his head and shuddered as he remembered that awful day. Overwhelmed by the attacks against him, his father had slipped into Paris and killed himself.

"...Seeing Pythagoras must have been worth waiting for. He had a flair for the dramatic and dressed like a stage performer. While the students waited for Pythagoras's entrance, musicians played popular music. Finally the curtain was drawn back and Pythagoras, stately in his white robe, appeared befre the learners. His feet were strapped with gold sandals, and his head was crowned with a golden wreath. No wonder people suspected him of having gods for ancestors.

Pythagoras worked most of his problems in the sand. His classroom always had a good supply of sand on the floor, and his attendants stood by with a selection of differently-colored sand in containers. When Pythagoras wanted to show one part of a geometric shape, for instance, the attendants would fill that part with blue or green sand so the students could see it more easily."

"Now don't criticize our lighthouse, Father. I'm honored to live near one of the Seven Wonders of the World."

"You're right, Hypatia. But I can't help remembering how the city first became famous. I long for those days when instead of commercial goods, sailing ships brought the greatest minds in the world to Alexandria." he explained. "In those times the city built museums and libraries. Now, under the Romans. it builds manufacturing and trading centers."

"It looks like each piece of paper has a separate idea on it - as if Blaise had recorded his thoughts whenever and wherever they came to him," Gilberte said to herself.

"Shall I get a waste can, ma'am?" the housekeeper asked. "Perhaps it would be easiest to just dump the whole drawer at once."

..."Wait!" interrupted Gilberte. "In this box the pieces are sewn together with string, as if he wanted to publish them in this order. I'd better take a closer look at this!"

After examining the fragments, Gilberte decided that Blaise's insighted should be preserved, so she organized them into a book called Pensees, "thoughts." This rich storehouse of ideas has been an important influence on theologians and philosophers since Pascal's day.

On morning Sophie's parents discovered her asleep at her desk. Her slate was full of calculations, and the ink was frozen in its well.

"Sophie. Sophie, wake up!"
"Ummm...uh...Mother, Father?"
"Sophie, haven't we been clear about what we expect of you? Why must you disobey us?" her father implored.
"Oh, Father, I'm so sorry, but I just can't stop," Sophie cried. "These problems are so fascinating! When I work on them I feel like I'm really alive."
"But Sophie," her mother said softly, "remember, you're a girl. It isn't good for you to fill your mind with numbers."
"Mother, I promise I will stop if I become sick or tired. Can't you see that not being able to study this would make me really ill?"

With that her parents gave up. Sophie was allowed to study to her heart's content. Fortunately, her father had an excellent library. As wealthy citizens, the Germain family knew many educated people in Paris and throughout France.