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things. And Paris too is a motor, a boiler in which the future isboiling, while we scientists keep the eternal flame burning underneath.Guillaume, my good fellow, you are one of the stokers, one of theartisans of the future, with that little marvel of yours, which willstill further extend the influence of our great Paris over the wholeworld."
These words impressed Pierre, and he again thought of a gigantic vatstretching yonder from one horizon to the other, a vat in which thecoming century would emerge from an extraordinary mixture of theexcellent and the vile. But now, over and above all passions, ambitions,stains and waste, he was conscious of the colossal expenditure of labourwhich marked the life of Paris, of the heroic manual efforts inwork-shops and factories, and the splendid striving of the young men ofintellect whom he knew to be hard at work, studying in silence,relinquishing none of the conquests of their elders, but glowing withdesire to enlarge their domain. And in all this Paris was exalted,together with the future that was being prepared within it, and whichwould wing its flight over the world bright like the dawn of day. IfRome, now so near its death, had ruled the ancient world, it was Paristhat reigned with sovereign sway over the modern era, and had for thetime become the great centre of the nations as they were carried on fromcivilisation to civilisation, in a sunward course from east to west.Paris was the world's brain. Its past so full of grandeur had prepared itfor the part of initiator, civiliser and liberator. Only yesterday it hadcast the cry of Liberty among the nations, and to-morrow it would bringthem the religion of Science, the new faith awaited by the democracies.And Paris was also gaiety, kindness and gentleness, passion for knowledgeand generosity without limit. Among the workmen of its faubourgs and thepeasants of its country-sides there were endless reserves of men on whomthe future might freely draw. And the century ended with Paris, and thenew century would begin and spread with it. All the clamour of itsprodigious labour, all the light that came from it as from a beaconoverlooking the earth, all the thunder and tempest and triumphantbrightness that sprang from its entrails, were pregnant with that finalsplendour, of which human happiness would be compounded.Marie raised a light cry of admiration as she pointed towards the city."Look! just look!" she exclaimed; "Paris is all golden, covered with aharvest of gold!"
They all re-echoed her admiration, for the effect was really one ofextraordinary magnificence. The declining sun was once more veiling theimmensity of Paris with golden dust. But this was no longer the city ofthe sower, a chaos of roofs and edifices suggesting brown land turned upby some huge plough, whilst the sun-rays streamed over it like goldenseed, falling upon every side. Nor was it the city whose divisions hadone day seemed so plain to Pierre: eastward, the districts of toil, mistywith the grey smoke of factories; southward, the districts of study,serene and quiet; westward, the districts of wealth, bright and open; andin the centre the districts of trade, with dark and busy streets. It nowseemed as if one and the same crop had sprung up on every side, impartingharmony to everything, and making the entire expanse one sole, boundless
