The multitude encumbers the plain that bristles with dark chimneys and cranes, with ladders of iron planted black and vertical in nakedness--a plain vaguely scribbled with geometrical lines, rails and cinder paths--a plain utilized yet barren.
In some places about the approaches to the factory cartloads of clinker and cinders have been dumped, and some of it continues to burn like pyres, throwing off dark flames and darker curtains.

Higher, the hazy clouds vomited by the tall chimneys come together in broad mountains whose foundations brush the ground and cover the land with a stormy sky.

In the depths of these clouds humanity is let loose.

The immense expanse of men moves and shouts and rolls in the same course all through the suburb.

An inexhaustible echo of cries surrounds us; it is like hell in eruption and begirt by bronze horizons.
At that moment I am afraid of the multitude.