第 85 页

Guillaume, my good fellow, you are one of the stokers, one of the

artisans of the future, with that little marvel of yours, which will

still further extend the influence of our great Paris over the whole

world."

These words impressed Pierre, and he again thought of a gigantic vat

stretching yonder from one horizon to the other, a vat in which the

coming century would emerge from an extraordinary mixture of the

excellent and the vile. But now, over and above all passions, ambitions,

stains and waste, he was conscious of the colossal expenditure of labour

which marked the life of Paris, of the heroic manual efforts in

work-shops and factories, and the splendid striving of the young men of

intellect whom he knew to be hard at work, studying in silence,

relinquishing none of the conquests of their elders, but glowing with

desire to enlarge their domain. And in all this Paris was exalted,

together with the future that was being prepared within it, and which

would wing its flight over the world bright like the dawn of day. If

Rome, now so near its death, had ruled the ancient world, it was Paris

that reigned with sovereign sway over the modern era, and had for the

time become the great centre of the nations as they were carried on from

civilisation to civilisation, in a sunward course from east to west.

Paris was the world's brain. Its past so full of grandeur had prepared it

for the part of initiator, civiliser and liberator. Only yesterday it had

cast the cry of Liberty among the nations, and to-morrow it would bring

them the religion of Science, the new faith awaited by the democracies.

And Paris was also gaiety, kindness and gentleness, passion for knowledge

and generosity without limit. Among the workmen of its faubourgs and the

peasants of its country-sides there were endless reserves of men on whom

the future might freely draw. And the century ended with Paris, and the

new century would begin and spread with it. All the clamour of its

prodigious labour, all the light that came from it as from a beacon

overlooking the earth, all the thunder and tempest and triumphant

brightness that sprang from its entrails, were pregnant with that final

splendour, 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 a

harvest of gold!"

They all re-echoed her admiration, for the effect was really one of

extraordinary magnificence. The declining sun was once more veiling the

immensity of Paris with golden dust. But this was no longer the city of

the sower, a chaos of roofs and edifices suggesting brown land turned up

by some huge plough, whilst the sun-rays streamed over it like golden

seed, falling upon every side. Nor was it the city whose divisions had

one day seemed so plain to Pierre: eastward, the districts of toil, misty

with the grey smoke of factories; southward, the districts of study,

serene and quiet; westward, the districts of wealth, bright and open; and

in the centre the districts of trade, with dark and busy streets. It now

seemed as if one and the same crop had sprung up on every side, imparting

harmony to everything, and making the entire expanse one sole, boundless

field, rich with the same fruitfulness. There was corn, corn everywhere,

an infinity of corn, whose golden wave rolled from one end of the horizon

to the other. Yes, the declining sun steeped all Paris in equal

splendour, and it was truly the crop, the harvest, after the sowing!

"Look! just look," repeated Marie, "there is not a nook without its

sheaf; the humblest roofs are fruitful, and every blade is full-eared

wherever one may look. It is as if there were now but one and the same

soil, reconciled and fraternal. Ah! Jean, my little Jean, look! see how

beautiful it is!"

Pierre, who was quivering, had drawn close beside her. And Mere-Grand and

Bertheroy smiled upon that promise of a future which they would not see,

whilst beside Guillaume, whom the sight filled with emotion, were his

three big sons, the three young giants, looking quite grave, they who

ever laboured and were ever hopeful. Then Marie, with a fine gesture of

enthusiasm, stretched out her arms and raised her child aloft, as if

offering it in gift to the huge city.

"See, Jean! see, little one," she cried, "it's you who'll reap it all,

who'll store the whole crop in the barn!"

And Paris flared--Paris, which the divine sun had sown with light, and

where in glory waved the great future harvest of Truth and of Justice.

THE END

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