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巴黎圣母院|Notre-Dame de Paris

Book 5 Chapter 2 This Will Kill That

属类： 双语小说 【分类】世界名著 -[作者: 维克多-雨果] 阅读：[34197]
Book 5 Chapter 2 This Will Kill That
《 字+字- 行+行- 页+页- 字+字- 行+行- 页+页- 》
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请读者允许我们停顿一下，好弄清楚副主教说的“这个要消灭那个，这本书要消灭那座建筑”这两句难懂的话包含着什么意思。

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照我们看来，这一意思有两方面。这首先是一种神甫的思想。这是僧侣在新的代理者印刷术跟前的恐惧。这是一座圣殿上的人在古腾堡光辉的印刷品跟前的惊恐和晕眩。这是讲道同手稿、讲出来的话以及写下来的话对于印出来的话所感到的惊慌不安，这好象是一只燕雀看到天使莱戎张开六百万只翅膀时所感到的那种麻木。这是预言家已经听到解放了的人类在轻微细语和开始活动时发出的惊呼，他看出了将来智慧要代替教义，舆论要推翻信仰，人们要摆脱罗马。这是哲学家在看到人类的思想被印刷术所截取，在神权政治的蓄水槽里蒸发干时所作的预言。这是兵士在观察青铜破城鎚时说“塔快要倒了”所感到的恐怖。这表示一种权力要被另一种权力所取代。这意思就是说：“印刷品要消灭教堂。”

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但是我们认为，在第一层简单的意思下面，还有另一层更新的意思。它是第一层意思的一个推论，不那么容易看出，却比较容易发生争议。它纯粹是一种哲学观点，不再是神甫的见解，而是学者和艺术家的见解了。它预示着人类的思想在改变形式的同时也将改变表现方式，每代人的思想不再用同样的方式同样的材料来写，哪怕是用石头写的十分坚固持久的著作，也将让位给用纸张印刷成的更加坚固更加持久的著作。因此副主教的含糊的话还有第二层意思，它表示一种艺术将要推翻另一种艺术，它的意思是说：“印刷术要消灭建筑艺术。”

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事实上，自从洪荒时代直到公元十五世纪，建筑艺术一直是人类的大型书籍，是人在各种发展状况里的主要表现形式，它可以是力的表现，也可以是智慧的表现。

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当最初几代人的记忆感到负担过重的时候，当人类记忆的行李变得沉重和繁杂的时候，当名言没有收集、失散开去，有可能完全消失的时候，人就用最容易看见，最持久，同时又最自然的方式，把它们抄写在泥土上。人们把各种习俗刻写在一座座纪念碑上。

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最早的纪念碑就象摩西所说，是用“没有被铁碰过”的石头修成的。建筑艺术开始的时候就象书法一样，起先它是一些字母。人们把一块石头竖起来，这就是一个字母。每个字母都是象形的，每个象形字都代表一些概念，就象柱顶上的花叶雕饰一样。最初几代人同时在世界各地这样做。在亚洲西伯利亚的克尔特人中，在美洲的潘帕斯草原上，到处可以看见一些“竖起的碑石”。

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稍后一些时，人们就创造单词。人们把石头堆叠起来，把花岗石的音缀拼合起来，动词便试着去把这些词联接起来。克尔特人的石棚和石环，伊特鲁立亚人的坟墓，希伯来人的墓室，这些都是单词。有些是专有名词，尤其是那些坟墓。有时，只要有很多石头和一个宽阔的场所，人们就写出一句话来。卡纳克巨大的土石堆积已经是一个完整的表达形式了。

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最后人们就开始著书。传说产生了符号，而且在符号底下消失了，就象树干消失在它的枝叶下面一样。所有这些人类所信赖的符号增多起来，聚集起来，交错起来，愈来愈繁杂。最初的几个纪念碑容纳不下它们了，它们散布到各处。当时这些纪念碑还勉强能表达原始的传统，这些象纪念碑一样简单，毫无修饰而且半埋在土中的传说。象征需要在建筑上开花，于是建筑艺术同人类的思想一道发展起来，它成了千头万臂的巨人，把有着象征意义的飘浮不定的思想固定在一种永恒的，看得见的，捉摸得到的形式下面。

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当代表才干的代达罗斯测量的时候，当代表智慧的俄耳甫斯歌唱的时候，柱子就是一个字母，拱廊就是一个音节，方尖塔就是一个单词，它们同时被一条几何学的定理与一条诗律所组合，在地面上聚集起来，连接起来，混和起来，上升下降，排列成行，耸入天际，直到它们按照一个时代的一致观念写出了这些最好的书——也是最好的建筑，如艾克林加的塔，埃及的拉姆雪昂以及所罗门神庙。

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主要的概念——动词，不只是表现在建筑的内部，而且也表现在它的外形上。例如所罗门神庙，它绝不单纯是圣书的封面，它就是圣书本身。在这座神庙的每一间有着同样内容的关闭着的大厅外面，神甫们能读到那些出现在眼前的被表达和显示出来的动词。他们就这样从一座祭台间到另一座祭台间看着这个被表达的动词的种种变化，直到他们最后在神庙的圣幕那里看到它的最具体的形式，这种形式还是属于建筑艺术的，那就是圣约柜。动词就是这样被封闭在建筑物里面，但它的形象却停留在建筑物的外表上，就象装木乃伊的棺材上面画有人的肖像一样。

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不仅是建筑的形式，就连他们所选择的地点都显露出它们所代表的思想。根据所要表现的象征性的东西是雅致还是阴暗，希腊人在山顶上修一座庙宇来使山峰看上去更为和谐，而印度人则开山劈岭，为了建造由一排排巨大的花岗岩石象支撑的地下怪塔。

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这样，在世界最初的六千年里，从印度斯坦最古老的塔到科隆的大教堂，建筑已经成为人类的伟大手迹。这是千真万确的，不但一切宗教的象征，而且连人类的全部思想，在这本大书和它的纪念碑上都有其光辉的一页。

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一切文明始于神权政治而终于民主。继统一而来的这个自由法则，也写在建筑艺术里。因为，假若我们坚持这一观点，就不必相信泥水工程只能修建庙宇，只能表现神话和成为司祭的象征，只能用象形文字来把作为法则的神秘的十诫书写在这些石头的篇页上。假若情况就象我们所说的那样，假若整个人类社会忽然碰到那么一天，神圣的象征在自由思想下面失去影响和消失了，那时候人就要躲开神甫，哲学与制度的肿瘤就要侵蚀宗教的面目，建筑艺术就不再表现人类精神的新状况，它那些正面写得满满的篇页，反面将会是空空如也，它的作品将被大肆删节，它的书将会是不完整的了。不过情况还不完全是这样。

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就以中世纪为例。这个时期离我们较近，我们能够看得比较清楚。在它最初的时期，在神权政治统治整个欧洲的时期，那个时期梵蒂冈把那个倒塌在加比多尔山附近的罗马遗迹重新组织在自己的周围，重新再组合成一个罗马。那个时期基督教开始在古代文化的破砖碎瓦中找寻社会的每个地层，并且在它的遗址上重新建立一个新的等级制度的世界，而僧侣就是这个世界的拱顶石。这时人们首先在这一片混乱里听到，随后在基督教的气氛下，在蛮族的手底下逐渐看到发掘出来的希腊罗马式建筑物的残余，这种神秘的罗曼式建筑，它是埃及和印度的神权时代泥水工程的姊妹，一种纯粹天主教的永恒标志，一种表现罗马教皇的统一权力的不变的象形文字。那个时代的整个思想，实际上都是写在那罗曼式的阴暗风格上。人们在那儿到处都感觉得到权威、难测、绝对、格雷果瓦七世；到处都是牧师，不是普通人；到处都是上等阶级，决没有平民。然而十字军来了。那是一个群众性的大运动，而凡是群众性的大运动，则不论其起因及其目的如何，总是在最后的阶段带来了自由的精神。新的事物即将出现，于是雅克团、布拉格派和联盟的暴风雨时代来临了。权威动摇了，统一分裂了，封建制度要求同神权制度分享权利，它等待着人民的加入，这是必然的，象常有的情形那样，来要求该得的那份权利。“因为我的名字叫狮子。”领主政权从僧侣团体下显露出来，而公社又在领主政权下滋长起来。欧洲的面貌变了。好哇！建筑的式样也改变了。

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象整个文明一般，它也翻过了一页。时代的新精神发现它已准备好按照它的启示来写作。它同尖拱一道和十字军一起回来，就象民族获得了自由一样。

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于是，当罗马逐渐瓦解的时候，罗曼式建筑艺术就死去了。象形文字抛弃了大教堂，跑去装饰城堡主塔，以便给封建制度增加一点威望。而过去充满教理的大教堂本身，从此就被市民、公社和自由思想淹没了，它逃脱了神甫，而落入艺术家之手。艺术家按照自己的爱好去建造它。永别了，神秘性、神话性和规律性。于是来了幻想和任性。神甫既然有了自己的大教堂和祭坛，也就没什么可说。四壁都是艺术家的。建筑艺术这本书不再属于僧侣，不再属于宗教，不再属于罗马；它是属于想象，属于诗歌，属于人民的了。由此而来的这个只有三个世纪的建筑艺术的迅速而无数的改变和这个已有六七个世纪的罗曼建筑艺术的停滞不前相比，这是多么不同啊。这时的艺术用巨人的步伐前进着。群众的才智和独创性完成了过去主教的工作。每一代人走过时都要在这本书上写下一行字。他们抹去了大教堂正面古老的罗曼象形文字，我们顶多还能看见在他们那新的象征下面四处显露出来的教义。民间的帏幔使人很难想见宗教的骸骨。人们无法想象当时建筑师的放肆，甚至对待教堂也是如此。那刻着男女修士们无耻地混杂在一起的柱顶雕饰，如在巴黎司法宫的壁炉大厅；那用各种文字刻成的挪亚历险记，如在布尔日教堂的大门廊；那个长着驴耳，手里举着酒杯在一大群人面前笑闹的喝醉酒的修士，如在波歇韦尔修道院的洗脸台上所见。至于写在石头上的思想，在那个时代是存在着一种特权的，同我们今日的印刷的自由十分相象，那就是建筑艺术这种自由走得很远，有时一道门廊、一堵前墙、甚或整座教堂都表现出一种与宗教毫无关系、甚至与教堂敌对的象征意义。巴黎的居约姆在十三世纪，尼古拉·弗拉梅尔在十五世纪，就在这些骚动的篇页上留下了他们的字迹。圣雅克·德·拉·布谢里教堂就完全是一座矛盾的教堂。

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那时的思想只有在这种方式下才是自由的，它也只能全部标明在人们称为建筑的这些书上。假若它不是凭借着建筑的形式而是凭借着手稿的形式保

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存下来，假若它敢于不小心去冒那种危险，那它早就被刽子手在公共场所烧掉了。教堂大门廊所代表的思维目击了书籍这种思维蒙受的苦难。泥水工程要想得见天日，只有这一条路，于是它就从各方面迅速地汇集到这里。这样就产生了大量的大教堂，覆盖了整个欧洲，其数目之多简直难以相信，哪怕是在把它们核对过之后。社会的一切物质力量，一切精神力量，都集中于同一个焦点——建筑艺术上。用这个方法，借口给上帝修建教堂，艺术就以宏伟的规模发展起来了。

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于是，有些生来是诗人的人也变成了建筑家。散布在群众里的天才，在封建统治下各方面都受到压抑，就象处在青铜的头盔下一样，他们只有在建筑艺术身边才能找到出路，只有通过这门艺术才能涌现出来。他们的《伊利亚特》就采取了大教堂的形式，别的艺术也全都顺从建筑艺术，而且成为建筑艺术的一门分支。这是些伟大作品的匠师。建筑家、诗人和大师们都亲自来计算它前墙上共有多少雕刻，它玻璃窗上有多少彩色绘画以及聆听它的管风琴和钟的齐鸣。就连那可怜的坚持要在手稿中过日子的所谓诗学，也不得不在圣歌或散文的形式下进入教堂。总之，它们和希腊牺牲节上演的埃斯库罗斯的悲剧以及所罗门神庙上演的《创世记》一样，起的都是同样的作用。

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这样，在古腾堡之前，建筑艺术一直是主要的普遍的创作体裁。这部花岗岩的书从东方开始，被古希腊和古罗马所继承，在中世纪写出了最后一页。

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而且，人民艺术这一社会现象，它替代了我们刚才在中世纪所见到的等级建筑，在历史上其他伟大的时代里，将和一切与人类智慧有关的运动同时出现。

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因此在这里，我们只是以卷轴的形式简要地陈述其发展的规律。在远古时代的东方——这原始时代的摇篮——在印度建筑之后，是腓尼基建筑——这位丰满的阿拉伯建筑的母亲；在古代，在埃及建筑——那伊特鲁立亚和蛮石建筑风格只不过是它的一个变种——之后，是希腊建筑，它的罗马风格只不过是装饰物过多的迦太基圆屋顶的延续而已；在近代，在罗曼建筑之后，是哥特式建筑。我们在把这三组建筑都各分为二的时候，就能在印度建筑艺术、埃及建筑艺术和罗曼建筑艺术这三位姐姐身上找到同样的象征，即神权政治、等级、统一、教义、神话和上帝；至于腓尼基建筑艺术、希腊建筑艺术、哥特式建筑艺术这三位妹妹，不管她们原有的形式如何迥异，在她们身上也能找到同样的标记，即自由，民众和人。

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不管名叫婆罗门、袄教僧侣还是教皇，我们在印度、埃及或罗曼式泥水工程上永远只能感觉到“祭司的存在”，除了祭司之外别无其他。在人民的建筑艺术中就不是这样，它们较为富丽堂皇，但并不那么神圣。腓尼基的建筑艺术有商人气息，希腊的则有共和政体气息，而哥特式艺术则有市民气息。

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神权时代一切建筑的普遍特征是一成不变，害怕进步，固守传统，它把一切原始形式当作神圣，把不可理解的随意想象当作人和自然界一切形态的象征已经由来已久，成为习惯。这是些特定的被授以宗教奥秘的人才读得懂的晦涩的书，再说所有的形式，所有的变形本身，都还具有一种使它变得不可侵犯的意味在内。不要去要求印度的、埃及的和罗曼的泥水工程改进它们的图案或是改善它们的雕刻艺术，任何改进对它们来说都是违反教规的。在这些建筑艺术里，教条的生硬仿佛散发到了石头里，有如第二次石化一样。

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同这种情况相反，人民的泥水工程的一般特征却是变化，进步，奇特，丰富和无穷的动力。它们已经在一定程度上摆脱了宗教，它们想的只是自己的美，只注意并且不断改进自己的雕塑或阿拉伯式的装饰图案。它们是属于世俗生活的，它们有了一些人性的东西，它们不断使之渗入神圣的象征并在其下发展自己。因此有些建筑可以被一切人，被一切聪明和富于想象力的人所接受，虽然依旧是象征性的，但它们好象大自然一样容易了解。在神权时代的建筑艺术和这种建筑艺术之间，存在着神的语言与凡人的语言、象形文字与美术、所罗门与费狄亚的差异。

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要是把到目前为止的那些简要叙述来概括一下，而不去管那上千种证据和上千种不足道的反对意见，人们就会看出建筑艺术一直到十五世纪都是人类的主要记录，在那段时期，世界上没有一种稍为复杂的思想不以建筑形式表达的。人民的思想就象宗教的一切法则一样，也有它们自己的纪念碑，最后人类没有任何一种重要的思想不被建筑艺术写在石头上。为什么呢？因为一切思想，无论是宗教的还是哲学的，都有兴趣永远流传下去，因为激动过一代人的思想，还想留下来去激动另外几代人。况且手稿的经久性又是何等的不可靠！而一座建筑却是一部多么结实耐久经得起考验的书！一把火或者一个残暴的人，就能将那写下的语言毁掉，但是要毁掉那建筑物所代表的语言，却需要一次社会革命或尘世的革命。野蛮人曾践踏过古罗马的大剧场，洪水或许会淹没古埃及的金字塔。

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到十五世纪情况就完全改变了。

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人类的思想发现了一种能永久流传的方式。它不仅比建筑艺术更耐久更坚固，而且更简单更容易。建筑艺术走下了它的宝座。俄耳甫斯的石头文字将要由古腾堡的铅字继承下来。

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书籍将要消灭建筑。

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印刷术的发明是最重大的历史事件，它是革命之母，它是人类完全革新了的表现方式，这是抛弃了一种形式而获得另一种形式的人类思想，是从亚当以来就象征着智慧的那条蛇的最后一次蜕变。

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在印刷的形式下，思想比任何时候都更易于流传，它是飞翔的，逮不住的，不能毁坏的，它和空气溶合在一起。在建筑艺术统治时期它就以大山的形式出现，强有力地占领一个地区，统治一个世纪。现在它变成了一群飞鸟，飞散在四面八方，同时占领了空中和地面。

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我们再说一遍，这样看来它是更难以消灭了，它从坚硬的变成生动活泼的了，它从有期限的变成不朽的了。你可以毁坏那成堆的东西，但你怎么去消灭那无处不在的东西呢？假若发生了洪水，在大山被波涛淹没很久之后鸟儿却仍然飞翔如故，在洪水里会浮起仅有的一艘方舟，鸟儿便会去停息在上面，和方舟一道飘浮水面，一道来观看洪水的退去。在这场混乱中诞生的新世界，一出世就会看见被淹没了的那个旧世界的思想在它上面飞翔，生动活泼得象长着翅膀一样。

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当人们看见这种表现方式不但最容易保存，并且最为简单、最为便当、最易实现时，当人们想到它并不拖带一件巨大的行李，并不搬动一件笨重的用具时，当人们把那种为了要借一座建筑来表达一种思想便不得不去求助四五种其他艺术以及成吨的金属、整座大山的石头、整座森林的木材以及成群成群的工人时，当人们把它同那种以书的形式出现的思想，那种只要有少许纸张和墨水，只要有支笔就能表达的思想来作对比时，人类的智慧就抛弃了建筑艺术而采取了印刷术，这有什么可以惊奇的呢？要是突然把一条河流原来水道里的水和挖在它水位线下渠道里的水来一次截流，河水就会舍弃原来的河床他去。

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同样，自从发明了印刷术以后，建筑艺术就逐渐变得枯燥无味，日益衰老和剥落。人们似乎感到水位下落了，活力消失了，各个时期各民族的思想从它那里退出来了。那种衰退的情况，在十五世纪还是几乎感觉不到的，那时印刷业还太弱，顶多只能从强有力的建筑艺术过剩的精力里汲取一点力量。但是从十六世纪以来，建筑艺术的弊病变得更加明显，它基本上已经不能表现社会，它变成了可怜的古典艺术，它从高卢人的艺术、欧洲人的艺术和土著人的艺术变成了希腊罗马式的，从真正的现代的作品变成仿古的赝品了。这种衰落就是人们所谓的文艺复兴。然而这却是一种体面的衰落，因为哥特式的古老天才，这个在美因兹巨大印刷机背后落山的太阳，有时依旧把它最后的余晖投射在拉丁式拱廊和戈林斯式柱廊的一大堆混合建筑物上。

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这就是我们当作黎明旭日的那个黄昏夕照。

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而且，当建筑艺术已经只是一种象其他艺术那样的艺术时，当它不再是一种艺术的总和、一种统治一切压制一切的艺术时，它便不再具有阻挡其他艺术的力量了。那些艺术便自行解放，脱离了建筑家的掌握，各自走它们自己的路。它们全都达到了这种决裂的地步。分离在增长，雕刻变成了雕塑艺术，画片变成了绘画，音乐摆脱了经文。那真如同一个帝国在它的亚历山大死后便瓦解了，它的那些省份便都自封为王国一样。

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于是产生了拉斐尔、米盖朗琪罗、若望·古戎和巴来斯特里纳，那些在光辉的十六世纪里涌现出来的优秀艺术家。

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和各种艺术同时，思想也从各方面自行解放。中世纪的异端邪说已经给天主教留下了巨大的创伤。十六世纪破坏了宗教的统一。在印刷术以前，宗教改革不过是一种分裂，印刷术却给了它一个革命。没有印刷机，异端邪说便会软弱无力。不管是命中注定的还是出于天意，古腾堡总是路德的先驱。

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那时，中世纪的太阳完全西落了，哥特式的天才永远在艺术的天际熄灭了，建筑艺术也就日渐暗淡，褪色，消逝了。印刷的书——建筑物的蛀虫——把它蛀空，吃掉了。看来它已经剥落，凋零，憔悴，它变得毫无价值，贫乏而一无所有。它再也不能表现什么，甚至不再引起大家对另一个时代艺术的回忆。它还原到自己的本来面目，被别的艺术抛弃了，因为人类的思想抛弃了它。它把那些建筑上的粗制滥造归咎于缺少艺术家，普通玻璃代替了彩绘玻璃，石匠继承了雕刻家。永别了，所有的特色，所有的元气，一切充满智慧和生命力的东西，都再见了。建筑艺术好象工场里可怜的乞丐，从一本抄本爬行到另一本抄本。在十六世纪就觉得它一定要死去的米盖朗琪罗，有过一个最后的想法，一个失望的想法，这位曾经在巴特农神殿的废墟上再现了万神庙的艺术巨人，建造了罗马的圣比埃尔教堂。那是值得单独留存下来的伟大工程，那是建筑艺术的最后新颖之作，是那位伟大艺术家在那本合上了的宏伟的石头记事册下面留下的签名。米盖朗琪罗逝世了，在幽灵与阴影的状态中残存下来的建筑艺术又能干些什么呢？它抓住罗马的圣比埃尔教堂，模仿它，歪曲它。这是种怪癖，这也真是可悲。每个世纪各有自己的罗马圣比埃尔教堂呀。十七世纪有慈惠谷女修院，十八世纪有圣热纳维埃夫大寺院。每个国家各有自己的罗马圣比埃尔教堂，伦敦有它自己的，彼得堡有它自己的，巴黎有两座或三座。这是不足道的遗嘱，是一种衰落的伟大艺术临终前回到童年时代去的胡言乱语。假若我们放下刚才提到的这些特殊的纪念性建筑而去考察这一艺术从十六世纪到十八世纪间的一般情况，我们就会看到同样的低落和衰败。从弗朗索瓦二世以来，建筑物的建筑形式就逐渐消失，而几何形式随之产生，就象一个消瘦的病人的骨架一样。那些艺术性的美丽的线条，让位给几何图形的冷峻的线条。一座建筑不再是一座建筑了，它变成了一个多面体几何图形。于是建筑艺术苦于去遮掩那种裸露。希腊式三角楣同罗马式三角楣互相参杂在一起，这就是巴特农神殿式的万神庙，罗马的圣比埃尔教堂。这就是亨利四世的四角由石头砌就的砖房，王宫广场，太子广场。这就是路易十三的那些教堂，沉重，低矮，象驼子那样背着一个低低的，矮矮的圆拱顶。这就是马扎兰式的建筑艺术，如四国大学那个意大利劣等仿制品。这就是路易十四的那些宫殿，廷臣们的长排营房，呆板，冰冷，使人生厌。最后是路易十五的宫殿，连同那些菊形花纹和细面条般的装饰，以及使这一陈旧过时、残缺而又精心布置的建筑艺术变形了的全部弊病和废物。从弗朗索瓦二世到路易十五，由于几何形建筑的发展，使情况变得越来越糟。现在艺术仅仅是骨架上的一层皮而已，它可怜地发出了临终的呻吟。

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这时印刷术变得怎么样了？离建筑艺术而去的全部生命力都来到了它的身上。随着建筑艺术的衰落，印刷术膨胀了，变得更为有力。人类思想花费在建筑上的精力，它从此就去倾注在书籍上。在建筑艺术日渐衰落的情况下成长起来的印刷术，从十六世纪起就同建筑术进行斗争而且把它消灭了。到了十七世纪，印刷术已经享有相当的权威，变得相当神气了，它已经稳稳当当地坐在自己胜利的宝座上，给世界带来了因伟大的文艺世纪的到来而感到的喜悦。在路易十四的宫廷里得到长期发展的印刷术，到了十八世纪就重新握起路德的古剑，以伏尔泰为武器，气势汹汹地奔去攻击古老的欧洲，它早就不以建筑艺术作为自己的表现方式了。到十八世纪告终时，它已经摧毁了一切。到了十九世纪，它将要重新创建一切。

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不过，现在我们要问，这两种艺术中到底是哪一种真正地表现了三个世纪以来的人类思想呢？是哪种艺术把它表达出来了呢？是哪种艺术不仅表现了它的文学的和经院哲学的爱好，而且还表现了它的广阔、深刻和普遍的变迁？是哪种艺术既不中断而又不留空隙地经常盘踞在人类这种行动着的千足怪物之上？是建筑术呢还是印刷术？

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是印刷术。假若我们不想欺骗自己，建筑艺术是死去了，永不复返地死去了，被印刷的书消灭了，由于不够耐久和费用较贵而被消灭了。每座教堂都价值亿万。请大家想一想，到底需要多少投资，假若要去重写那本建筑艺术的书，要在大地上重新建造起千万座建筑，要回到那种时代，那时建筑物之多就象一个亲眼看见过的人说的那样：“我们可以这么说，为了穿上一身教会的白衣服，这个世界就整个地摇晃起来，它已经把旧衣服都扔掉了。”

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（格拉倍·拉居尔孚斯）

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一本书很快就印出来了，价钱如此便宜，又能够流传广远！人类全部的思想在这个斜坡上滚转时多么令人惊奇啊！这并不是说建筑艺术再也不能在什么地方去修建一座漂亮的宏伟建筑，一件孤零零的杰作。在印刷术的统治下，人们依旧能够随时看到一根柱子，我想那是由一支军队用乱七八糟的大炮建造成的，就象在建筑艺术统治时的《伊利亚特》和《罗曼赛罗》、《摩诃婆罗多》和《尼伯龙之歌》一样，都是由全体民众把许多吟游史诗合并和堆砌而成的。二十世纪可能会突然诞生一位天才的建筑家，就象十三世纪忽然诞生了但丁一样。然而建筑艺术将不再是社会的艺术，集体的艺术，占统治地位的艺术了。人类的伟大诗篇，伟大建筑，伟大作品不会再修建起来，而是要印刷出来。

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从此，纵然建筑艺术还可能东山再起，它也不再是主人了。它将要服从文学的管辖，就象文学过去服从它的管辖一样。这两种艺术各自的地位都会转化。在建筑艺术的时代，诗歌同建筑的确很少有相似之处。在印度，毗耶娑就象一座塔一样，楼台林立，奇特而又难以捉摸。在埃及东部，诗歌也象建筑物一样，有其线条的雄伟与庄严；在古希腊，诗歌是美的，宁静的，沉着的；在基督教的欧洲，诗歌有天主教的尊严，有民众的朴实，有一个复兴时期丰富多采的发展。《圣经》就象金字塔，《伊利亚特》就象巴特农神殿，荷马就象费狄亚。但丁是十三世纪最后的一座罗曼式教堂，莎士比亚是十六世纪最后的一座哥特式大教堂。

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这样，把我们已经讲过的当然不算完整的一切概括起来，人类就有两种书籍，两种记事簿，两种经典，即泥水工程和印刷术。一种是石头的圣经，一种是纸的圣经。我们瞻仰这两部在许多世纪中大大地打开着的圣经时，我们一定会惋惜那花岗石书法的显明的庄严，会追忆那些由巨大字母构成的柱廊、塔门、方尖碑以及那遮蔽全世界的各种人类建造的大山的历史，追忆这部从金字塔到钟楼，从盖奥甫斯到斯特拉斯堡的全部历史。应该重读一下写在那些大理石篇页上的过去。应该不断地欣赏和翻阅建筑艺术写下的著作，而不应去否认应时兴起的印刷术这一建筑的伟大。

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这种建筑是高大无比的。我不知道哪个爱吹牛的统计员计算过自古腾堡以来所有印刷出版的书籍。假若把它们一本本地堆积起来，真可以填满从地球到月亮的空间呢。但我们想说明的并不是这种高大，要是人们愿意对直到今天为止的所有印刷品有个总的印象，它难道不象一座占据整个世界的巨大建筑吗？为这一建筑人类至今仍不倦地为之劳动，而它那巨大的头颅还隐藏在未来茫茫的云雾深处。它是智慧的蚁穴，是一切想象的蜂房，想象如同金色的蜜蜂一样，带着蜜汁飞到这里来了。这座建筑是层楼重叠的，到处可以看到从楼梯栏杆那里通往内部的那些错综复杂的科学暗窟。在它的表面，艺术处处用阿拉伯花纹、雕刻和雕花窗花边来使人目不暇接。一些看起来似乎充满狂想而又独特的作品，每件都有其价值和特色，一切都是和谐的。从莎士比亚的大教堂到拜伦的清真寺院，成千的小钟楼混杂地聚集在这座无所不包的各种思想的首府里。在它的底层，写着一些人类过去的篇章标题，那是建筑艺术从没有记录下来的。在它的入口处左侧刻着古老的白色大理石的荷马浮雕像，右边刻着挺起七个脑袋的各种文字的圣经。再过去一点直竖着《罗曼赛罗》这条七头蛇，还有另外一些神怪的事物，如《吠陀》和《尼伯龙之歌》。尽管如此，这座奇妙的建筑总是没有完工。印刷机这一庞大的机器，不停地迸出社会上智慧的种子，把不断倾泻出新产品作为自己的任务。人类全都在脚手架上劳动。每一个有才学的人都是一名泥瓦工人。最卑微的人也在给它填补空白或是放上石块。布雷东式的顽强给它带来了一筐筐的灰泥，每天都有一层砖石建成。除了每位作家独特的个人的作品之外，还有一些集体创作的作品。十八世纪给了我们一部百科全书，革命给了我们一份《通报》。

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当然它也是一项不断发展和螺旋式上升的建筑工程，是各种语言的混合，是不停的活动，是持续不懈的操作，是

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Our lady readers will pardon us if we pause for a moment to seek what could have been the thought concealed beneath those enigmatic words of the archdeacon: "This will kill that. The book will kill the edifice."

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To our mind, this thought had two faces. In the first place, it was a priestly thought. It was the affright of the priest in the presence of a new agent, the printing press. It was the terror and dazzled amazement of the men of the sanctuary, in the presence of the luminous press of Gutenberg. It was the pulpit and the manuscript taking the alarm at the printed word: something similar to the stupor of a sparrow which should behold the angel Legion unfold his six million wings. It was the cry of the prophet who already hears emancipated humanity roaring and swarming; who beholds in the future, intelligence sapping faith, opinion dethroning belief, the world shaking off Rome. It was the prognostication of the philosopher who sees human thought, volatilized by the press, evaporating from the theocratic recipient. It was the terror of the soldier who examines the brazen battering ram, and says:--"The tower will crumble." It signified that one power was about to succeed another power. It meant, "The press will kill the church."

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But underlying this thought, the first and most simple one, no doubt, there was in our opinion another, newer one, a corollary of the first, less easy to perceive and more easy to contest, a view as philosophical and belonging no longer to the priest alone but to the savant and the artist. It was a presentiment that human thought, in changing its form, was about to change its mode of expression; that the dominant idea of each generation would no longer be written with the same matter, and in the same manner; that the book of stone, so solid and so durable, was about to make way for the book of paper, more solid and still more durable. In this connection the archdeacon’s vague formula had a second sense. It meant, "Printing will kill architecture."

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In fact, from the origin of things down to the fifteenth century of the Christian era, inclusive, architecture is the great book of humanity, the principal expression of man in his different stages of development, either as a force or as an intelligence.

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When the memory of the first races felt itself overloaded, when the mass of reminiscences of the human race became so heavy and so confused that speech naked and flying, ran the risk of losing them on the way, men transcribed them on the soil in a manner which was at once the most visible, most durable, and most natural. They sealed each tradition beneath a monument.

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The first monuments were simple masses of rock, "which the iron had not touched," as Moses says. Architecture began like all writing. It was first an alphabet. Men planted a stone upright, it was a letter, and each letter was a hieroglyph, and upon each hieroglyph rested a group of ideas, like the capital on the column. This is what the earliest races did everywhere, at the same moment, on the surface of the entire world. We find the "standing stones" of the Celts in Asian Siberia; in the pampas of America.

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Later on, they made words; they placed stone upon stone, they coupled those syllables of granite, and attempted some combinations. The Celtic dolmen and cromlech, the Etruscan tumulus, the Hebrew galgal, are words. Some, especially the tumulus, are proper names. Sometimes even, when men had a great deal of stone, and a vast plain, they wrote a phrase. The immense pile of Karnac is a complete sentence.

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At last they made books. Traditions had brought forth symbols, beneath which they disappeared like the trunk of a tree beneath its foliage; all these symbols in which humanity placed faith continued to grow, to multiply, to intersect, to become more and more complicated; the first monuments no longer sufficed to contain them, they were overflowing in every part; these monuments hardly expressed now the primitive tradition, simple like themselves, naked and prone upon the earth. The symbol felt the need of expansion in the edifice. Then architecture was developed in proportion with human thought; it became a giant with a thousand heads and a thousand arms, and fixed all this floating symbolism in an eternal, visible, palpable form. While Daedalus, who is force, measured; while Orpheus, who is intelligence, sang;--the pillar, which is a letter; the arcade, which is a syllable; the pyramid, which is a word,--all set in movement at once by a law of geometry and by a law of poetry, grouped themselves, combined, amalgamated, descended, ascended, placed themselves side by side on the soil, ranged themselves in stories in the sky, until they had written under the dictation of the general idea of an epoch, those marvellous books which were also marvellous edifices: the Pagoda of Eklinga, the Rhamseion of Egypt, the Temple of Solomon.

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The generating idea, the word, was not only at the foundation of all these edifices, but also in the form. The temple of Solomon, for example, was not alone the binding of the holy book; it was the holy book itself. On each one of its concentric walls, the priests could read the word translated and manifested to the eye, and thus they followed its transformations from sanctuary to sanctuary, until they seized it in its last tabernacle, under its most concrete form, which still belonged to architecture: the arch. Thus the word was enclosed in an edifice, but its image was upon its envelope, like the human form on the coffin of a mummy.

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And not only the form of edifices, but the sites selected for them, revealed the thought which they represented, according as the symbol to be expressed was graceful or grave. Greece crowned her mountains with a temple harmonious to the eye; India disembowelled hers, to chisel therein those monstrous subterranean pagodas, borne up by gigantic rows of granite elephants.

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Thus, during the first six thousand years of the world, from the most immemorial pagoda of Hindustan, to the cathedral of Cologne, architecture was the great handwriting of the human race. And this is so true, that not only every religious symbol, but every human thought, has its page and its monument in that immense book.

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All civilization begins in theocracy and ends in democracy. This law of liberty following unity is written in architecture. For, let us insist upon this point, masonry must not be thought to be powerful only in erecting the temple and in expressing the myth and sacerdotal symbolism; in inscribing in hieroglyphs upon its pages of stone the mysterious tables of the law. If it were thus,--as there comes in all human society a moment when the sacred symbol is worn out and becomes obliterated under freedom of thought, when man escapes from the priest, when the excrescence of philosophies and systems devour the face of religion,--architecture could not reproduce this new state of human thought; its leaves, so crowded on the face, would be empty on the back; its work would be mutilated; its book would he incomplete. But no.

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Let us take as an example the Middle Ages, where we see more clearly because it is nearer to us. During its first period, while theocracy is organizing Europe, while the Vatican is rallying and reclassing about itself the elements of a Rome made from the Rome which lies in ruins around the Capitol, while Christianity is seeking all the stages of society amid the rubbish of anterior civilization, and rebuilding with its ruins a new hierarchic universe, the keystone to whose vault is the priest--one first hears a dull echo from that chaos, and then, little by little, one sees, arising from beneath the breath of Christianity, from beneath the hand of the barbarians, from the fragments of the dead Greek and Roman architectures, that mysterious Romanesque architecture, sister of the theocratic masonry of Egypt and of India, inalterable emblem of pure catholicism, unchangeable hieroglyph of the papal unity. All the thought of that day is written, in fact, in this sombre, Romanesque style. One feels everywhere in it authority, unity, the impenetrable, the absolute, Gregory VII.; always the priest, never the man; everywhere caste, never the people.

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But the Crusades arrive. They are a great popular movement, and every great popular movement, whatever may be its cause and object, always sets free the spirit of liberty from its final precipitate. New things spring into life every day. Here opens the stormy period of the Jacqueries, Pragueries, and Leagues. Authority wavers, unity is divided. Feudalism demands to share with theocracy, while awaiting the inevitable arrival of the people, who will assume the part of the lion: ~Quia nominor leo~. Seignory pierces through sacerdotalism; the commonality, through seignory. The face of Europe is changed. Well! the face of architecture is changed also. Like civilization, it has turned a page, and the new spirit of the time finds her ready to write at its dictation. It returns from the crusades with the pointed arch, like the nations with liberty.

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Then, while Rome is undergoing gradual dismemberment, Romanesque architecture dies. The hieroglyph deserts the cathedral, and betakes itself to blazoning the donjon keep, in order to lend prestige to feudalism. The cathedral itself, that edifice formerly so dogmatic, invaded henceforth by the bourgeoisie, by the community, by liberty, escapes the priest and falls into the power of the artist. The artist builds it after his own fashion. Farewell to mystery, myth, law. Fancy and caprice, welcome. Provided the priest has his basilica and his altar, he has nothing to say. The four walls belong to the artist. The architectural book belongs no longer to the priest, to religion, to Rome; it is the property of poetry, of imagination, of the people. Hence the rapid and innumerable transformations of that architecture which owns but three centuries, so striking after the stagnant immobility of the Romanesque architecture, which owns six or seven. Nevertheless, art marches on with giant strides. Popular genius amid originality accomplish the task which the bishops formerly fulfilled. Each race writes its line upon the book, as it passes; it erases the ancient Romanesque hieroglyphs on the frontispieces of cathedrals, and at the most one only sees dogma cropping out here and there, beneath the new symbol which it has deposited. The popular drapery hardly permits the religious skeleton to be suspected. One cannot even form an idea of the liberties which the architects then take, even toward the Church. There are capitals knitted of nuns and monks, shamelessly coupled, as on the hall of chimney pieces in the Palais de Justice, in Paris. There is Noah’s adventure carved to the last detail, as under the great portal of Bourges. There is a bacchanalian monk, with ass’s ears and glass in hand, laughing in the face of a whole community, as on the lavatory of the Abbey of Bocherville. There exists at that epoch, for thought written in stone, a privilege exactly comparable to our present liberty of the press. It is the liberty of architecture.

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This liberty goes very far. Sometimes a portal, a fa?ade, an entire church, presents a symbolical sense absolutely foreign to worship, or even hostile to the Church. In the thirteenth century, Guillaume de Paris, and Nicholas Flamel, in the fifteenth, wrote such seditious pages. Saint-Jacques de la Boucherie was a whole church of the opposition.

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Thought was then free only in this manner; hence it never wrote itself out completely except on the books called edifices. Thought, under the form of edifice, could have beheld itself burned in the public square by the hands of the executioner, in its manuscript form, if it had been sufficiently imprudent to risk itself thus; thought, as the door of a church, would have been a spectator of the punishment of thought as a book. Having thus only this resource, masonry, in order to make its way to the light, flung itself upon it from all quarters. Hence the immense quantity of cathedrals which have covered Europe--a number so prodigious that one can hardly believe it even after having verified it. All the material forces, all the intellectual forces of society converged towards the same point: architecture. In this manner, under the pretext of building churches to God, art was developed in its magnificent proportions.

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Then whoever was born a poet became an architect. Genius, scattered in the masses, repressed in every quarter under feudalism as under a ~testudo~ of brazen bucklers, finding no issue except in the direction of architecture,--gushed forth through that art, and its Iliads assumed the form of cathedrals. All other arts obeyed, and placed themselves under the discipline of architecture. They were the workmen of the great work. The architect, the poet, the master, summed up in his person the sculpture which carved his fa?ades, painting which illuminated his windows, music which set his bells to pealing, and breathed into his organs. There was nothing down to poor poetry,--properly speaking, that which persisted in vegetating in manuscripts,--which was not forced, in order to make something of itself, to come and frame itself in the edifice in the shape of a hymn or of prose; the same part, after all, which the tragedies of AEschylus had played in the sacerdotal festivals of Greece; Genesis, in the temple of Solomon.

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Thus, down to the time of Gutenberg, architecture is the principal writing, the universal writing. In that granite book, begun by the Orient, continued by Greek and Roman antiquity, the Middle Ages wrote the last page. Moreover, this phenomenon of an architecture of the people following an architecture of caste, which we have just been observing in the Middle Ages, is reproduced with every analogous movement in the human intelligence at the other great epochs of history. Thus, in order to enunciate here only summarily, a law which it would require volumes to develop: in the high Orient, the cradle of primitive times, after Hindoo architecture came Phoenician architecture, that opulent mother of Arabian architecture; in antiquity, after Egyptian architecture, of which Etruscan style and cyclopean monuments are but one variety, came Greek architecture (of which the Roman style is only a continuation), surcharged with the Carthaginian dome; in modern times, after Romanesque architecture came Gothic architecture. And by separating there three series into their component parts, we shall find in the three eldest sisters, Hindoo architecture, Egyptian architecture, Romanesque architecture, the same symbol; that is to say, theocracy, caste, unity, dogma, myth, God: and for the three younger sisters, Phoenician architecture, Greek architecture, Gothic architecture, whatever, nevertheless, may be the diversity of form inherent in their nature, the same signification also; that is to say, liberty, the people, man.

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In the Hindu, Egyptian, or Romanesque architecture, one feels the priest, nothing but the priest, whether he calls himself Brahmin, Magian, or Pope. It is not the same in the architectures of the people. They are richer and less sacred. In the Phoenician, one feels the merchant; in the Greek, the republican; in the Gothic, the citizen.

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The general characteristics of all theocratic architecture are immutability, horror of progress, the preservation of traditional lines, the consecration of the primitive types, the constant bending of all the forms of men and of nature to the incomprehensible caprices of the symbol. These are dark books, which the initiated alone understand how to decipher. Moreover, every form, every deformity even, has there a sense which renders it inviolable. Do not ask of Hindoo, Egyptian, Romanesque masonry to reform their design, or to improve their statuary. Every attempt at perfecting is an impiety to them. In these architectures it seems as though the rigidity of the dogma had spread over the stone like a sort of second petrifaction. The general characteristics of popular masonry, on the contrary, are progress, originality, opulence, perpetual movement. They are already sufficiently detached from religion to think of their beauty, to take care of it, to correct without relaxation their parure of statues or arabesques. They are of the age. They have something human, which they mingle incessantly with the divine symbol under which they still produce. Hence, edifices comprehensible to every soul, to every intelligence, to every imagination, symbolical still, but as easy to understand as nature. Between theocratic architecture and this there is the difference that lies between a sacred language and a vulgar language, between hieroglyphics and art, between Solomon and Phidias.

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If the reader will sum up what we have hitherto briefly, very briefly, indicated, neglecting a thousand proofs and also a thousand objections of detail, be will be led to this: that architecture was, down to the fifteenth century, the chief register of humanity; that in that interval not a thought which is in any degree complicated made its appearance in the world, which has not been worked into an edifice; that every popular idea, and every religious law, has had its monumental records; that the human race has, in short, had no important thought which it has not written in stone. And why? Because every thought, either philosophical or religious, is interested in perpetuating itself; because the idea which has moved one generation wishes to move others also, and leave a trace. Now, what a precarious immortality is that of the manuscript! How much more solid, durable, unyielding, is a book of stone! In order to destroy the written word, a torch and a Turk are sufficient. To demolish the constructed word, a social revolution, a terrestrial revolution are required. The barbarians passed over the Coliseum; the deluge, perhaps, passed over the Pyramids.

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In the fifteenth century everything changes.

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Human thought discovers a mode of perpetuating itself, not only more durable and more resisting than architecture, but still more simple and easy. Architecture is dethroned. Gutenberg’s letters of lead are about to supersede Orpheus’s letters of stone.

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*The book is about to kill the edifice*.

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The invention of printing is the greatest event in history. It is the mother of revolution. It is the mode of expression of humanity which is totally renewed; it is human thought stripping off one form and donning another; it is the complete and definitive change of skin of that symbolical serpent which since the days of Adam has represented intelligence.

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In its printed form, thought is more imperishable than ever; it is volatile, irresistible, indestructible. It is mingled with the air. In the days of architecture it made a mountain of itself, and took powerful possession of a century and a place. Now it converts itself into a flock of birds, scatters itself to the four winds, and occupies all points of air and space at once.

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We repeat, who does not perceive that in this form it is far more indelible? It was solid, it has become alive. It passes from duration in time to immortality. One can demolish a mass; bow can one extirpate ubiquity? If a flood comes, the mountains will have long disappeared beneath the waves, while the birds will still be flying about; and if a single ark floats on the surface of the cataclysm, they will alight upon it, will float with it, will be present with it at the ebbing of the waters; and the new world which emerges from this chaos will behold, on its awakening, the thought of the world which has been submerged soaring above it, winged and living.

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And when one observes that this mode of expression is not only the most conservative, but also the most simple, the most convenient, the most practicable for all; when one reflects that it does not drag after it bulky baggage, and does not set in motion a heavy apparatus; when one compares thought forced, in order to transform itself into an edifice, to put in motion four or five other arts and tons of gold, a whole mountain of stones, a whole forest of timber-work, a whole nation of workmen; when one compares it to the thought which becomes a book, and for which a little paper, a little ink, and a pen suffice,--how can one be surprised that human intelligence should have quitted architecture for printing? Cut the primitive bed of a river abruptly with a canal hollowed out below its level, and the river will desert its bed.

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Behold how, beginning with the discovery of printing, architecture withers away little by little, becomes lifeless and bare. How one feels the water sinking, the sap departing, the thought of the times and of the people withdrawing from it! The chill is almost imperceptible in the fifteenth century; the press is, as yet, too weak, and, at the most, draws from powerful architecture a superabundance of life. But practically beginning with the sixteenth century, the malady of architecture is visible; it is no longer the expression of society; it becomes classic art in a miserable manner; from being Gallic, European, indigenous, it becomes Greek and Roman; from being true and modern, it becomes pseudo-classic. It is this decadence which is called the Renaissance. A magnificent decadence, however, for the ancient Gothic genius, that sun which sets behind the gigantic press of Mayence, still penetrates for a while longer with its rays that whole hybrid pile of Latin arcades and Corinthian columns.

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It is that setting sun which we mistake for the dawn.

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Nevertheless, from the moment when architecture is no longer anything but an art like any other; as soon as it is no longer the total art, the sovereign art, the tyrant art,--it has no longer the power to retain the other arts. So they emancipate themselves, break the yoke of the architect, and take themselves off, each one in its own direction. Each one of them gains by this divorce. Isolation aggrandizes everything. Sculpture becomes statuary, the image trade becomes painting, the canon becomes music. One would pronounce it an empire dismembered at the death of its Alexander, and whose provinces become kingdoms.

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Hence Raphael, Michael Angelo, Jean Goujon, Palestrina, those splendors of the dazzling sixteenth century.

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Thought emancipates itself in all directions at the same time as the arts. The arch-heretics of the Middle Ages had already made large incisions into Catholicism. The sixteenth century breaks religious unity. Before the invention of printing, reform would have been merely a schism; printing converted it into a revolution. Take away the press; heresy is enervated. Whether it be Providence or Fate, Gutenburg is the precursor of Luther.

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Nevertheless, when the sun of the Middle Ages is completely set, when the Gothic genius is forever extinct upon the horizon, architecture grows dim, loses its color, becomes more and more effaced. The printed book, the gnawing worm of the edifice, sucks and devours it. It becomes bare, denuded of its foliage, and grows visibly emaciated. It is petty, it is poor, it is nothing. It no longer expresses anything, not even the memory of the art of another time. Reduced to itself, abandoned by the other arts, because human thought is abandoning it, it summons bunglers in place of artists. Glass replaces the painted windows. The stone-cutter succeeds the sculptor. Farewell all sap, all originality, all life, all intelligence. It drags along, a lamentable workshop mendicant, from copy to copy. Michael Angelo, who, no doubt, felt even in the sixteenth century that it was dying, had a last idea, an idea of despair. That Titan of art piled the Pantheon on the Parthenon, and made Saint-Peter’s at Rome. A great work, which deserved to remain unique, the last originality of architecture, the signature of a giant artist at the bottom of the colossal register of stone which was closed forever. With Michael Angelo dead, what does this miserable architecture, which survived itself in the state of a spectre, do? It takes Saint-Peter in Rome, copies it and parodies it. It is a mania. It is a pity. Each century has its Saint-Peter’s of Rome; in the seventeenth century, the Val-de-Grace; in the eighteenth, Sainte-Geneviève. Each country has its Saint-Peter’s of Rome. London has one; Petersburg has another; Paris has two or three. The insignificant testament, the last dotage of a decrepit grand art falling back into infancy before it dies.

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If, in place of the characteristic monuments which we have just described, we examine the general aspect of art from the sixteenth to the eighteenth century, we notice the same phenomena of decay and phthisis. Beginning with Fran?ois II., the architectural form of the edifice effaces itself more and more, and allows the geometrical form, like the bony structure of an emaciated invalid, to become prominent. The fine lines of art give way to the cold and inexorable lines of geometry. An edifice is no longer an edifice; it is a polyhedron. Meanwhile, architecture is tormented in her struggles to conceal this nudity. Look at the Greek pediment inscribed upon the Roman pediment, and vice versa. It is still the Pantheon on the Parthenon: Saint-Peter’s of Rome. Here are the brick houses of Henri IV., with their stone corners; the Place Royale, the Place Dauphine. Here are the churches of Louis XIII., heavy, squat, thickset, crowded together, loaded with a dome like a hump. Here is the Mazarin architecture, the wretched Italian pasticcio of the Four Nations. Here are the palaces of Louis XIV., long barracks for courtiers, stiff, cold, tiresome. Here, finally, is Louis XV., with chiccory leaves and vermicelli, and all the warts, and all the fungi, which disfigure that decrepit, toothless, and coquettish old architecture. From Fran?ois II. to Louis XV., the evil has increased in geometrical progression. Art has no longer anything but skin upon its bones. It is miserably perishing.

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Meanwhile what becomes of printing? All the life which is leaving architecture comes to it. In proportion as architecture ebbs, printing swells and grows. That capital of forces which human thought had been expending in edifices, it henceforth expends in books. Thus, from the sixteenth century onward, the press, raised to the level of decaying architecture, contends with it and kills it. In the seventeenth century it is already sufficiently the sovereign, sufficiently triumphant, sufficiently established in its victory, to give to the world the feast of a great literary century. In the eighteenth, having reposed for a long time at the Court of Louis XIV., it seizes again the old sword of Luther, puts it into the hand of Voltaire, and rushes impetuously to the attack of that ancient Europe, whose architectural expression it has already killed. At the moment when the eighteenth century comes to an end, it has destroyed everything. In the nineteenth, it begins to reconstruct.

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Now, we ask, which of the three arts has really represented human thought for the last three centuries? which translates it? which expresses not only its literary and scholastic vagaries, but its vast, profound, universal movement? which constantly superposes itself, without a break, without a gap, upon the human race, which walks a monster with a thousand legs?--Architecture or printing?

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It is printing. Let the reader make no mistake; architecture is dead; irretrievably slain by the printed book,--slain because it endures for a shorter time,--slain because it costs more. Every cathedral represents millions. Let the reader now imagine what an investment of funds it would require to rewrite the architectural book; to cause thousands of edifices to swarm once more upon the soil; to return to those epochs when the throng of monuments was such, according to the statement of an eye witness, "that one would have said that the world in shaking itself, had cast off its old garments in order to cover itself with a white vesture of churches." ~Erat enim ut si mundus, ipse excutiendo semet, rejecta vetustate, candida ecclesiarum vestem indueret~. (GLABER RADOLPHUS.)

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A book is so soon made, costs so little, and can go so far! How can it surprise us that all human thought flows in this channel? This does not mean that architecture will not still have a fine monument, an isolated masterpiece, here and there. We may still have from time to time, under the reign of printing, a column made I suppose, by a whole army from melted cannon, as we had under the reign of architecture, Iliads and Romanceros, Mahabahrata, and Nibelungen Lieds, made by a whole people, with rhapsodies piled up and melted together. The great accident of an architect of genius may happen in the twentieth century, like that of Dante in the thirteenth. But architecture will no longer be the social art, the collective art, the dominating art. The grand poem, the grand edifice, the grand work of humanity will no longer be built: it will be printed.

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The edifice has a thousand stories. Here and there one beholds on its staircases the gloomy caverns of science which pierce its interior. Everywhere upon its surface, art causes its arabesques, rosettes, and laces to thrive luxuriantly before the eyes. There, every individual work, however capricious and isolated it may seem, has its place and its projection. Harmony results from the whole. From the cathedral of Shakespeare to the mosque of Byron, a thousand tiny bell towers are piled pell-mell above this metropolis of universal thought. At its base are written some ancient titles of humanity which architecture had not registered. To the left of the entrance has been fixed the ancient bas-relief, in white marble, of Homer; to the right, the polyglot Bible rears its seven heads. The hydra of the Romancero and some other hybrid forms, the Vedas and the Nibelungen bristle further on.

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Nevertheless, the prodigious edifice still remains incomplete. The press, that giant machine, which incessantly pumps all the intellectual sap of society, belches forth without pause fresh materials for its work. The whole human race is on the scaffoldings. Each mind is a mason. The humblest fills his hole, or places his stone. Retif dè le Bretonne brings his hod of plaster. Every day a new course rises. Independently of the original and individual contribution of each writer, there are collective contingents. The eighteenth century gives the _Encyclopedia_, the revolution gives the _Moniteur_. Assuredly, it is a construction which increases and piles up in endless spirals; there also are confusion of tongues, incessant activity, indefatigable labor, eager competition of all humanity, refuge promised to intelligence, a new Flood against an overflow of barbarians. It is the second tower of Babel of the human race.

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