The day was June 20, 1991. I had arrived in the early evening the day before from sun-drenched Trets in the south of France. …
A downtown hotel room was my base for the day’s activities. I left and entered the room many times, and whenever I returned, I went to the window and looked out.
On the balcony were delicate red geraniums. Across the street lay the Tuileries Gardens. Marronnier, acacia, and linden trees looked fresh, cloaked in their various shades of green. In Paris, nature, too, is stylish. With her proud smile, Nature seems to say: “Ça c’est Paris! [This is Paris!].”
Once the area surrounding the garden was a tumultuous stage upon which was played the drama of the French Revolution. Just before my eyes stood the National Assembly, where the Parliament declared the overthrow of a monarchy and the birth of a republic.
In this space, so rich with a sense of history, a row of French flags—blue, white and red—thrust themselves forward as if silently asserting their will. The tricolor flag symbolizes the Republic’s founding spirit of liberty, equality and fraternity. …
What kind of flag do we raise? Under what flag do we leave? A flag is one’s “spiritual coat of arms.” …
At last came the day of liberation for Paris. One radio announcer, declaring that he was “mad with elation,” broadcast the news and then recited a poem by Victor Hugo:
Wake up!
We have had enough
humiliation.
Rebuild great France!
Rebuild great Paris!
(translated from Japanese)
To this, Parisians opened their curtains and windows. Neighbors embraced one another. People ran through the streets, shouting with joy. A great chorus of “La Marseillaise” resounded through Paris. …
Happy are those who hold high such flags and advance until they score the final victory in life—until the very last moment when the flame of their life force is extinguished.
“This is the flag of my life!” “This is the flag of my conviction!” is their declaration.
People are born to realize their ideals. We are born not to drag ourselves along in shackles, but to spread wide our wings. This was Hugo’s passionate message.
Adapted from an essay in Our Beautiful Earth: Photos and Essays of My Travels, by Daisaku Ikeda, April 2, 2000, Seikyo Press, Tokyo, Japan.
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