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Updated: June 15, 2025
Nor can we bid more fitting adieu to Lutetia than by translating Goethe's words to Eckermann: "Think of the city of Paris where all the best of the realms of nature and art in the whole earth are open to daily contemplation, a world-city where the crossing of every bridge or every square recalls a great past, and where at every street corner a piece of history has been unfolded."
His rays tremble on the white wall, as if he wished to write down on it what he can tell, what he has seen there and elsewhere during thousands of years in our rolling world. Let us hear one of his stories. "A short time ago" the Star's "short time ago" is called among men "centuries ago" "my rays followed a young artist. It was in the city of the Popes, in the world-city, Rome.
New York had drawn her as it draws all the youth of the land, for youth lusts for life and rushes eagerly to the spot where life is most intense and most exciting. The romance of crowds, of wealth, of art, of concentrated pleasure and concentrated vice, of immense money-power, the very architecture of the world-city, the maelstrom of people, drew the young Fall River woman irresistibly.
And she thought: "This is the bench we sat on; and it was here, that morning, that we quarreled; and this is the little pond; and those the trees but how changed! how changed!" A world-city practises magic. Any one who for years has slept in her walls and worn the pave of her streets and mingled with her crowds and her lighted nights, is changed by her subtle enchantment into a child of the city.
It was the defect of London one of two or three, the very short list of those she recognised in the teeming world-city she adored that there were too few good chances for talk; you never had time to carry anything far. "Too many things too many things!" Paul said, quoting St. George's exclamation of a few days before. "Ah yes, for him there are too many his life's too complicated."
She thought of Mary, poor Mary, the ragged merry child, who wore the red flowers in her black hair. Mary was now here, in the world-city, rich and magnificent as in that day when she drove past the house of the old clergyman, and past the tree of the Dryad, the old oak. Here she was certainly living, in the deafening tumult.
The people were the masters of Rome, and they had chosen their Cæsar in the hero whom they had already deified. Taurus Antinor's gaze swept over the vista that lay stretched out before him: it pictured the entire political situation of the world-city. With treachery lurking on the hill and a determined mob in the valley, the murder of the Cæsar was but a question of hours. And after that?
Rome was the world-city, a centre from which radiated honours, distinctions, and fortune. Gifts of oratory, facility in debate, ability in the conduct of diplomatic negotiations, a masterly style in Latin composition, and even perfection in penmanship, were all marketable accomplishments, for which Rome was the highest bidder.
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