For refusing to bear the cross of Gothic ideas, the poet plunges deliberately into the inferno of modern life. And each fresh circle but kindles his ardour and inflames his Muse. For he will pass with growing exaltation from the muscled teeming life of the port to the garish ballet of a music hall where
"Des bataillons de chair et de cuisses en marche
Grouillent sur des rampes ou sous des arches,
Jambes, hanches, gorges, maillots, jupes, dentelles,"
and then, as midnight strikes and the crowd ebbs away, he will stalk into the "brilliant chemical atmosphere" where
"Au long de promenoirs qui s'ouvrent sur la nuit
—Balcons de fleurs, rampes de flammes—
Des femmes en deuil de leur âme
Entrecroisent leurs pas sans bruit."
Nor does the poet disdain the grinding factories where
"Entre des murs de fer et pierre
Soudainement se lève altière
La force en rut de la matière,"
or even the Bourse itself, where he sings in feverish staccato rhythm the
"Langues sèches, regards aigus, gestes inverses,
Et cervelles qu'en tourbillons les millions traversent."
But it is typical of Verhaeren's essential optimism that after describing with Zolaesque detail both a strike and a "shop of luxury," he should find the ransom of the future in
"La maison de la science au loin dardée
Obstinément par à travers les faits jusqu'aux idées."