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There, in the forests, at the feet of the brown and hairy occidental hills, two round fire
pupils explode and glow as tiger's eyes.
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Here, by the roadside, is a scaring 80 feet high candlestick,
burning in the landscape and throwing sinister reflections on the rocks, the forests and
the ravines. Further away, at the entrance of this valley buried in shadows, there's a
mouth full of live coals that opens and closes itself quickly, and from which exits from
time to time a flame tongue, with horrible hiccups.
These are the plants lighting up.
When you are beyond the place called "La Petite Flémalle", this thing becomes
inexpressible and truly wonderful. The whole valley seems cut by erupting craters. Some
discharge whirlwinds of scarlet vapour studded with sparks behind the copses ; some other
gloomily sketch the black silhouette of the villages on a red backdrop ; elsewhere the
flames appear through the cracks of a group of buildings.
It's as if an ennemy army had just marched through the country, and twenty pillaged
villages offer you all the aspects and phases of a fire in this dark night, some burning,
some smoking, some other blazing. This war sight is given by peace ; this horrible copy of
devastation is done by industry. You just have M. Cockerill's blast furnaces in front of
your eyes . |
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Victor Hugo, 1838-1839
in Industria - Architecture industrielle en Belgique
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