"Ô ces foules, ces foules Et la misère et la détresse qui les foulent."
But note the sociological symbolism of the climax:
"Et les vitraux grands de siècles agenouillés Devant le Christ avec leurs papes immobiles Et leurs martyrs et leurs héros semblent trembler Au bruit d'un train lointain qui roule sur la ville."
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."
In _Les Heures Claires_ (1896) the drastic violence of _Les Villes Tentaculaires_ abates for the time being into a mood of resigned, but yet robust melancholy, which immortalises the sweetness, deepness, and softness of the poet's love for his wife.
In _Les Forces Tumultueuses_, however, the poet has got once again into the full swing of his drastic stride. The mood is to some extent the same as that of _Les Villes Tentaculaires_, though the Zolaesque concreteness of detail is merged in the broadness of a genuine Lucretian sweep. The book consists of a series of lyrical poems, lyrical, albeit, in the sense rather of Pindar than of Herrick, which exalt the various phases of human energy. Thus in the poem, _L'Art,_ Verhaeren soars upwards with a tremendous rush:
