The church of Notre-Dame de Paris is still no doubt, a majestic1 and sublime2 edifice3. But, beautiful as it has been preserved in growing old, it is difficult not to sigh, not to wax indignant, before the numberless degradations4 and mutilations which time and men have both caused the venerable monument to suffer, without respect for Charlemagne, who laid its first stone, or for Philip Augustus, who laid the last.
On the face of this aged5 queen of our cathedrals, by the side of a wrinkle, one always finds a scar. ~Tempus edax, homo edacior*~; which I should be glad to translate thus: time is blind, man is stupid.
* Time is a devourer8; man, more so.
If we had leisure to examine with the reader, one by one, the diverse traces of destruction imprinted9 upon the old church, time's share would be the least, the share of men the most, especially the men of art, since there have been individuals who assumed the title of architects during the last two centuries.
And, in the first place, to cite only a few leading examples, there certainly are few finer architectural pages than this fa?ade, where, successively and at once, the three portals hollowed out in an arch; the broidered and dentated cordon11 of the eight and twenty royal niches12; the immense central rose window, flanked by its two lateral13 windows, like a priest by his deacon and subdeacon; the frail14 and lofty gallery of trefoil arcades15, which supports a heavy platform above its fine, slender columns; and lastly, the two black and massive towers with their slate6 penthouses, harmonious16 parts of a magnificent whole, superposed in five gigantic stories;--develop themselves before the eye, in a mass and without confusion, with their innumerable details of statuary, carving17, and sculpture, joined powerfully to the tranquil18 grandeur19 of the whole; a vast symphony in stone, so to speak; the colossal20 work of one man and one people, all together one and complex, like the Iliads and the Romanceros, whose sister it is; prodigious21 product of the grouping together of all the forces of an epoch22, where, upon each stone, one sees the fancy of the workman disciplined by the genius of the artist start forth23 in a hundred fashions; a sort of human creation, in a word, powerful and fecund24 as the divine creation of which it seems to have stolen the double character,--variety, eternity25.
And what we here say of the fa?ade must be said of the entire church; and what we say of the cathedral church of Paris, must be said of all the churches of Christendom in the Middle Ages. All things are in place in that art, self-created, logical, and well proportioned. To measure the great toe of the foot is to measure the giant.
Let us return to the fa?ade of Notre-Dame, as it still appears to us, when we go piously26 to admire the grave and puissant27 cathedral, which inspires terror, so its chronicles assert: ~quoe mole30 sua terrorem incutit spectantibus~.
Three important things are to-day lacking in that fa?ade: in the first place, the staircase of eleven steps which formerly31 raised it above the soil; next, the lower series of statues which occupied the niches of the three portals; and lastly the upper series, of the twenty-eight most ancient kings of France, which garnished32 the gallery of the first story, beginning with Childebert, and ending with Phillip Augustus, holding in his hand "the imperial apple."
Time has caused the staircase to disappear, by raising the soil of the city with a slow and irresistible33 progress; but, while thus causing the eleven steps which added to the majestic height of the edifice, to be devoured34, one by one, by the rising tide of the pavements of Paris,--time has bestowed35 upon the church perhaps more than it has taken away, for it is time which has spread over the fa?ade that sombre hue36 of the centuries which makes the old age of monuments the period of their beauty.
But who has thrown down the two rows of statues? who has left the niches empty? who has cut, in the very middle of the central portal, that new and bastard37 arch? who has dared to frame therein that commonplace and heavy door of carved wood, à la Louis XV., beside the arabesques38 of Biscornette? The men, the architects, the artists of our day.
And if we enter the interior of the edifice, who has overthrown39 that colossus of Saint Christopher, proverbial for magnitude among statues, as the grand hall of the Palais de Justice was among halls, as the spire28 of Strasbourg among spires29? And those myriads40 of statues, which peopled all the spaces between the columns of the nave41 and the choir42, kneeling, standing43, equestrian44, men, women, children, kings, bishops46, gendarmes47, in stone, in marble, in gold, in silver, in copper48, in wax even,--who has brutally49 swept them away? It is not time.
And who substituted for the ancient gothic altar, splendidly encumbered50 with shrines51 and reliquaries, that heavy marble sarcophagus, with angels' heads and clouds, which seems a specimen52 pillaged53 from the Val-de-Grace or the Invalides? Who stupidly sealed that heavy anachronism of stone in the Carlovingian pavement of Hercandus? Was it not Louis XIV., fulfilling the request of Louis XIII.?
And who put the cold, white panes54 in the place of those windows," high in color, "which caused the astonished eyes of our fathers to hesitate between the rose of the grand portal and the arches of the apse? And what would a sub-chanter of the sixteenth century say, on beholding55 the beautiful yellow wash, with which our archiepiscopal vandals have desmeared their cathedral? He would remember that it was the color with which the hangman smeared56 "accursed" edifices57; he would recall the H?tel du Petit-Bourbon, all smeared thus, on account of the constable's treason. "Yellow, after all, of so good a quality," said Sauval, "and so well recommended, that more than a century has not yet caused it to lose its color." He would think that the sacred place had become infamous58, and would flee.
And if we ascend59 the cathedral, without mentioning a thousand barbarisms of every sort,--what has become of that charming little bell tower, which rested upon the point of intersection60 of the cross-roofs, and which, no less frail and no less bold than its neighbor (also destroyed), the spire of the Sainte-Chapelle, buried itself in the sky, farther forward than the towers, slender, pointed61, sonorous62, carved in open work. An architect of good taste amputated it (1787), and considered it sufficient to mask the wound with that large, leaden plaster, which resembles a pot cover.
'Tis thus that the marvellous art of the Middle Ages has been treated in nearly every country, especially in France. One can distinguish on its ruins three sorts of lesions, all three of which cut into it at different depths; first, time, which has insensibly notched63 its surface here and there, and gnawed64 it everywhere; next, political and religious revolution, which, blind and wrathful by nature, have flung themselves tumultuously upon it, torn its rich garment of carving and sculpture, burst its rose windows, broken its necklace of arabesques and tiny figures, torn out its statues, sometimes because of their mitres, sometimes because of their crowns; lastly, fashions, even more grotesque65 and foolish, which, since the anarchical and splendid deviations66 of the Renaissance67, have followed each other in the necessary decadence68 of architecture. Fashions have wrought69 more harm than revolutions. They have cut to the quick; they have attacked the very bone and framework of art; they have cut, slashed70, disorganized, killed the edifice, in form as in the symbol, in its consistency71 as well as in its beauty. And then they have made it over; a presumption72 of which neither time nor revolutions at least have been guilty. They have audaciously adjusted, in the name of "good taste," upon the wounds of gothic architecture, their miserable73 gewgaws of a day, their ribbons of marble, their pompons of metal, a veritable leprosy of egg-shaped ornaments74, volutes, whorls, draperies, garlands, fringes, stone flames, bronze clouds, pudgy cupids, chubby- cheeked cherubim, which begin to devour7 the face of art in the oratory75 of Catherine de Medicis, and cause it to expire, two centuries later, tortured and grimacing76, in the boudoir of the Dubarry.
Thus, to sum up the points which we have just indicated, three sorts of ravages77 to-day disfigure Gothic architecture. Wrinkles and warts78 on the epidermis79; this is the work of time. Deeds of violence, brutalities, contusions, fractures; this is the work of the revolutions from Luther to Mirabeau. Mutilations, amputations, dislocation of the joints80, "restorations"; this is the Greek, Roman, and barbarian81 work of professors according to Vitruvius and Vignole. This magnificent art produced by the Vandals has been slain82 by the academies. The centuries, the revolutions, which at least devastate83 with impartiality84 and grandeur, have been joined by a cloud of school architects, licensed85, sworn, and bound by oath; defacing with the discernment and choice of bad taste, substituting the ~chicorées~ of Louis XV. for the Gothic lace, for the greater glory of the Parthenon. It is the kick of the ass10 at the dying lion. It is the old oak crowning itself, and which, to heap the measure full, is stung, bitten, and gnawed by caterpillars86.
How far it is from the epoch when Robert Cenalis, comparing Notre-Dame de Paris to the famous temple of Diana at Ephesus, *so much lauded87 by the ancient pagans*, which Erostatus *has* immortalized, found the Gallic temple "more excellent in length, breadth, height, and structure."*
* _Histoire Gallicane_, liv. II. Periode III. fo. 130, p. 1.
Notre-Dame is not, moreover, what can be called a complete, definite, classified monument. It is no longer a Romanesque church; nor is it a Gothic church. This edifice is not a type. Notre-Dame de Paris has not, like the Abbey of Tournus, the grave and massive frame, the large and round vault88, the glacial bareness, the majestic simplicity89 of the edifices which have the rounded arch for their progenitor90. It is not, like the Cathedral of Bourges, the magnificent, light, multiform, tufted, bristling91 efflorescent product of the pointed arch. Impossible to class it in that ancient family of sombre, mysterious churches, low and crushed as it were by the round arch, almost Egyptian, with the exception of the ceiling; all hieroglyphics93, all sacerdotal, all symbolical95, more loaded in their ornaments, with lozenges and zigzags96, than with flowers, with flowers than with animals, with animals than with men; the work of the architect less than of the bishop45; first transformation97 of art, all impressed with theocratic98 and military discipline, taking root in the Lower Empire, and stopping with the time of William the Conqueror99. Impossible to place our Cathedral in that other family of lofty, aerial churches, rich in painted windows and sculpture; pointed in form, bold in attitude; communal100 and bourgeois101 as political symbols; free, capricious, lawless, as a work of art; second transformation of architecture, no longer hieroglyphic94, immovable and sacerdotal, but artistic102, progressive, and popular, which begins at the return from the crusades, and ends with Louis IX. Notre-Dame de Paris is not of pure Romanesque, like the first; nor of pure Arabian race, like the second.
It is an edifice of the transition period. The Saxon architect completed the erection of the first pillars of the nave, when the pointed arch, which dates from the Crusade, arrived and placed itself as a conqueror upon the large Romanesque capitals which should support only round arches. The pointed arch, mistress since that time, constructed the rest of the church. Nevertheless, timid and inexperienced at the start, it sweeps out, grows larger, restrains itself, and dares no longer dart103 upwards104 in spires and lancet windows, as it did later on, in so many marvellous cathedrals. One would say that it were conscious of the vicinity of the heavy Romanesque pillars.
However, these edifices of the transition from the Romanesque to the Gothic, are no less precious for study than the pure types. They express a shade of the art which would be lost without them. It is the graft105 of the pointed upon the round arch.
Notre-Dame de Paris is, in particular, a curious specimen of this variety. Each face, each stone of the venerable monument, is a page not only of the history of the country, but of the history of science and art as well. Thus, in order to indicate here only the principal details, while the little Red Door almost attains106 to the limits of the Gothic delicacy107 of the fifteenth century, the pillars of the nave, by their size and weight, go back to the Carlovingian Abbey of Saint-Germain des Prés. One would suppose that six centuries separated these pillars from that door. There is no one, not even the hermetics, who does not find in the symbols of the grand portal a satisfactory compendium108 of their science, of which the Church of Saint-Jacques de la Boucherie was so complete a hieroglyph92. Thus, the Roman abbey, the philosophers' church, the Gothic art, Saxon art, the heavy, round pillar, which recalls Gregory VII., the hermetic symbolism, with which Nicolas Flamel played the prelude109 to Luther, papal unity110, schism111, Saint-Germain des Prés, Saint-Jacques de la Boucherie,--all are mingled113, combined, amalgamated114 in Notre-Dame. This central mother church is, among the ancient churches of Paris, a sort of chimera116; it has the head of one, the limbs of another, the haunches of another, something of all.
We repeat it, these hybrid117 constructions are not the least interesting for the artist, for the antiquarian, for the historian. They make one feel to what a degree architecture is a primitive118 thing, by demonstrating (what is also demonstrated by the cyclopean vestiges119, the pyramids of Egypt, the gigantic Hindoo pagodas) that the greatest products of architecture are less the works of individuals than of society; rather the offspring of a nation's effort, than the inspired flash of a man of genius; the deposit left by a whole people; the heaps accumulated by centuries; the residue120 of successive evaporations of human society,--in a word, species of formations. Each wave of time contributes its alluvium, each race deposits its layer on the monument, each individual brings his stone. Thus do the beavers121, thus do the bees, thus do men. The great symbol of architecture, Babel, is a hive.
Great edifices, like great mountains, are the work of centuries. Art often undergoes a transformation while they are pending122, ~pendent opera interrupta~; they proceed quietly in accordance with the transformed art. The new art takes the monument where it finds it, incrusts itself there, assimilates it to itself, develops it according to its fancy, and finishes it if it can. The thing is accomplished123 without trouble, without effort, without reaction,--following a natural and tranquil law. It is a graft which shoots up, a sap which circulates, a vegetation which starts forth anew. Certainly there is matter here for many large volumes, and often the universal history of humanity in the successive engrafting of many arts at many levels, upon the same monument. The man, the artist, the individual, is effaced124 in these great masses, which lack the name of their author; human intelligence is there summed up and totalized. Time is the architect, the nation is the builder.
Not to consider here anything except the Christian125 architecture of Europe, that younger sister of the great masonries of the Orient, it appears to the eyes as an immense formation divided into three well-defined zones, which are superposed, the one upon the other: the Romanesque zone*, the Gothic zone, the zone of the Renaissance, which we would gladly call the Greco-Roman zone. The Roman layer, which is the most ancient and deepest, is occupied by the round arch, which reappears, supported by the Greek column, in the modern and upper layer of the Renaissance. The pointed arch is found between the two. The edifices which belong exclusively to any one of these three layers are perfectly126 distinct, uniform, and complete. There is the Abbey of Jumiéges, there is the Cathedral of Reims, there is the Sainte-Croix of Orleans. But the three zones mingle112 and amalgamate115 along the edges, like the colors in the solar spectrum127. Hence, complex monuments, edifices of gradation and transition. One is Roman at the base, Gothic in the middle, Greco-Roman at the top. It is because it was six hundred years in building. This variety is rare. The donjon keep of d'Etampes is a specimen of it. But monuments of two formations are more frequent. There is Notre-Dame de Paris, a pointed-arch edifice, which is imbedded by its pillars in that Roman zone, in which are plunged128 the portal of Saint-Denis, and the nave of Saint-Germain des Prés. There is the charming, half-Gothic chapter-house of Bocherville, where the Roman layer extends half way up. There is the cathedral of Rouen, which would be entirely129 Gothic if it did not bathe the tip of its central spire in the zone of the Renaissance.**
* This is the same which is called, according to locality, climate, and races, Lombard, Saxon, or Byzantine. There are four sister and parallel architectures, each having its special character, but derived130 from the same origin, the round arch.
~Facies non omnibus una, No diversa tamen, qualem~, etc.
Their faces not all alike, nor yet different, but such as the faces of sisters ought to be.
** This portion of the spire, which was of woodwork, is precisely131 that which was consumed by lightning, in 1823.
However, all these shades, all these differences, do not affect the surfaces of edifices only. It is art which has changed its skin. The very constitution of the Christian church is not attacked by it. There is always the same internal woodwork, the same logical arrangement of parts. Whatever may be the carved and embroidered132 envelope of a cathedral, one always finds beneath it--in the state of a germ, and of a rudiment133 at the least--the Roman basilica. It is eternally developed upon the soil according to the same law. There are, invariably, two naves134, which intersect in a cross, and whose upper portion, rounded into an apse, forms the choir; there are always the side aisles135, for interior processions, for chapels136,--a sort of lateral walks or promenades137 where the principal nave discharges itself through the spaces between the pillars. That settled, the number of chapels, doors, bell towers, and pinnacles138 are modified to infinity139, according to the fancy of the century, the people, and art. The service of religion once assured and provided for, architecture does what she pleases. Statues, stained glass, rose windows, arabesques, denticulations, capitals, bas-reliefs,--she combines all these imaginings according to the arrangement which best suits her. Hence, the prodigious exterior140 variety of these edifices, at whose foundation dwells so much order and unity. The trunk of a tree is immovable; the foliage141 is capricious.
巴黎圣母院这座教堂如今依旧是庄严宏伟的建筑。它虽然日渐老去，却依旧是非常美丽。但是人们仍然不免愤慨和感叹，看到时间和人使那可敬的纪念性建筑遭受了无数损伤和破坏，既不尊重给它放上第一块石头的查理曼大帝，也不把给它放上最后一块石头的菲立浦·奥古斯特皇帝放在眼里。
在这位教堂皇后衰老的面部，我们经常在一条皱纹旁边发现一个伤疤。
“Tempus edax ，homo edacior。”我们不妨把这句拉丁文译成“时间盲目，人类愚蠢”。
假若我们有工夫同读者去一一观察这座古代教堂身上的各种创伤，我们就可以看出，时间带给它的创伤，还不如人——尤其那些搞艺术的人——带给它的多呢。我说“搞艺术的人”，这是最恰当不过的，因为最近两个世纪以来，有些家伙竟然号称建筑艺术家。
先举几个比较显著的例子吧。确实很少有别的建筑比得上它的前墙那么漂亮。那三个挖成尖拱形的大门道，那一排有二十八位穿着旧的绣花长袍的君王的神龛，正中间有个巨大的玫瑰花饰圆窗洞，两旁各有一个小窗护卫着，就象祭师和助祭师陪伴着神甫一样。那高大而秀气的三叶形回廊，它的平顶被一些小柱子支撑着。最后还有那两座黝黑笨重的巨大钟塔，连同它们那石板的屋檐，在整体的宏伟中又各各协调，依次分为五大层展现在你的眼前，虽然拥挤却并不混乱，连同无数的雕刻、塑像以及雕镂装饰，很适合它整体的庄严伟大。可以说是一部规模宏大的石头交响乐。它是人类和民族的巨大工程，它也象它的姐妹《伊利亚特》和《罗曼赛罗》这两篇杰作一样，整个建筑既单一又复杂。它是整个时代各种力量的奇特的产物，从每块石头上可以看出，有水平的工匠在艺术家天才的启发下把神奇变成了现实。总之，它是人类的一种创造，象神的创造一样又有力又丰富，仿佛具备着两重性格：既永恒又多变。
我们所讲的关于这座教堂的前墙的这些情况，实际上应该说整座教堂都是这样。我们所说的关于这座巴黎大教堂的情况，实际上应该说中世纪所有的基督教教堂都是这样。这类艺术所保持的一切都存在于它本身，合乎逻辑而又自成比例。量一量巨人的脚趾，也就等于量巨人的全身了。
还是来说圣母院的前墙吧，就照它如今呈现在我们眼前的情况来说吧。
当我们正要虔诚地瞻仰这座庄严宏伟的大教堂的时候，它却象某些编年史家所说的：“用它的庞大把观众吓住了。”
它的前墙如今早已失去三件重要东西。第一件是往昔把它从地基加高的那十一级阶梯；第二件是三个大门道下部的壁龛里成排的塑像；第三件是二楼回廊上的二十八位法国古代君王的塑像，从西尔得倍尔到手里拿着帝国疆域球仪的菲立浦·奥古斯特。
是时间把旧城区的地平线不可抗拒地慢慢升高，使得那座阶梯消失不见了。巴黎路面的这种升高的浪潮，虽然把那使教堂显得更加巍峨宏伟的十一级阶梯逐渐吞没，但时间所给予它的，也许倒要比从它夺去的多些。把那种经历了几个世纪的幽暗色调给了它的前墙，使它的老年处于最美丽时期的，正是时间。
然而，把那两排塑像打坏了的是谁？把那些壁龛弄空了的是谁？在中央那个大门道的正当中修了一个新的粗劣尖拱的是谁？胆敢在比斯戈耐特的阿拉伯花纹旁边筑起了这道笨重难看的路易十五式木雕门的是谁？那是人，是建筑师们，是我们这一代的艺术家们。
假若我们走进这座建筑里面去看看，又是谁把巨大的克利斯朵夫的塑像翻倒了的？它是同类型像中公认的典范，正如殿堂中的皇宫大殿，钟塔里的斯特拉斯堡尖塔一样。还有，在教堂的本堂和唱诗室里，在许多柱子之间那千万个小雕像，有跪着的，站着的，骑马的，有男人、女人、儿童、帝王、主教和警察，有石头刻的，大理石刻的，有用金、银、铜甚至蜜蜡制造的。
把它们粗鲁地毁掉了的是谁？那并不是时间。
是谁把那富丽堂皇的堆满了圣龛和圣物龛的哥特式祭坛，换成了刻着天使的头颅和片片云彩的笨重的大理石棺材，使它看起来就象慈惠谷女修院或残废军人疗养院拆散了的模型一样？是谁把刻错了年代的笨重的石头，嵌进了艾尔康居斯修筑的加洛林王朝的石板路？难道不是路易十四为了完成路易十三的宿愿才这样干的吗？
是谁用一些冷冰冰的白色玻璃窗，代替了大门道顶上的圆花窗和半圆形后殿之间的那些曾令我们父辈目眩神迷的“色彩浓艳”的玻璃窗？要是十六世纪的唱经人看到我们那些汪达尔大主教们用来粉刷他们的大教堂的黄色灰粉，又会怎么说呢？他会想起那是刽子手涂在牢房里的那种颜色，他会想起小波旁宫由于皇室总管的叛变也给刷上了那种颜色。“那毕竟是一种质量很好的黄粉”，正如索瓦尔所说，“这种粉真是名不虚传，一百多年也没能使它掉色。”唱经人会认为那神圣的地方已经变成不洁的场所，因而逃跑开去。
假若我们不在数不清的野蛮迹象上停留，径直走上这座大教堂的屋顶，人们把那挺立在楼廊交点处的可爱的小钟楼弄成什么样子了？这座小钟楼的纤细和大胆不亚于旁边圣礼拜堂的尖顶（同样也毁坏了），它比旁边的两座钟塔更加突出在天空下，挺拔、尖峭、剔透而且钟声洪亮。它在一七八七年被一位具有“好鉴赏力”的建筑师截断了，他认为只要用一大张锅盖似的铅皮把伤痕遮住就行啦。
中世纪的卓绝艺术就是这样在各国被处置，尤其是在法国。我们从它们的遗迹上，可以看出它们遭受的三种伤害以及受害的三种不同程度：首先是时间，它使得教堂到处都有轻微的坼裂，并且剥蚀了它的表面。其次是政治和宗教的改革，它们以特有的疯狂和愤怒向它冲去，剥掉它到处是塑像和雕刻的华丽外衣，打破它的圆花窗，扭断它的链条式花纹，有的是阿拉伯式的，有的是一串肖像；捣毁它的塑像，有时是出于宗教的因素，有时是出于政治的因素。最后是那些越来越笨拙荒诞的时新样式，它们那从“文艺复兴”以来的杂乱而华丽的倾向，在建筑艺术的必然衰败过程中代代相因。时新样式所给它的损害，比改革所给它的还要多。这些样式彻头彻尾地伤害了它，破坏了艺术的枯瘦的骨架，截断，斫伤，肢解，消灭了这座教堂，使它的形体不合逻辑，不美观，失去了象征性。随后，人们又重新去修建它。
时间和改革至少还没有如此放肆，凭着那种“好鉴赏力”，它们无耻地在这座哥特式建筑的累累伤痕上装饰着短暂的毫无艺术趣味的东西，那些大理石纽带和那些金属的球状装饰，那些相当恶劣的椭圆形、涡形、螺旋形，那些帷幔，那些花饰，那些流苏，那些石刻的火焰、铜铸的云彩、肥胖的爱神以及浮肿的小天使，所有这一切，使得卡特琳·德·梅迪西的祈祷室的装饰失去了艺术价值，而在两个世纪之后，在杜巴依的客厅里，艺术又备受折磨，变得奇形怪状而终于一命呜呼。
这样，把我们指出的几个方面总括起来，导致哥特式艺术改变模样的破坏就可以分为三种。那些表面上的坼裂和伤痕，是时间造成的；那些粗暴毁坏，挫伤和折断的残酷痕迹，是从路德到米拉波时期的改革改成的；那些割裂，截断，使它骨节支离以后又予以复原的行为，是教授们为了模仿维特依维尔和韦略尔那种野蛮的希腊罗马式工程所造成的；汪达尔人所创造的卓越艺术，学院派把它消灭了。在时间和改革的破坏之后（它们的破坏至少还是公平的和比较光明正大的），这座教堂就同继之而来的一大帮有专利权的、宣过誓的建筑师们结了缘，他们用趣味低劣的鉴赏力和选择去伤害它，用路易十五的菊苣形去替代那具有巴特农神殿光荣色彩的哥特式花边。这真象驴子的脚踢在一头快死的狮子身上。这真象是老橡树长出了冠冕一般的密叶，由于丰茂，青虫就去螫它，把它咬伤，把它扯碎。
那个时代已经是多么遥远！罗贝尔·塞那里曾经把那个时代的巴黎圣母院和艾法斯著名的狄安娜神庙相比（那座神庙曾令“古代异教徒赞不绝口”，曾使艾罗斯特拉特因之留名于世），认为这座高卢人的大教堂“在长度、高度、宽度和结构方面，都比那座神庙更为卓绝。”
然而巴黎圣母院决不能称为一座完整的建筑，无法确定它属于什么类型。它既不是一座罗曼式教堂，也不是一座哥特式教堂。这座教堂不只属于一种类型。巴黎圣母院不象杜尔尼斯大寺院，它根本没有那种笨重建筑物的宽度，没有又大又圆的拱顶，没有那种冷冰冰、空荡荡，那种环形圆拱建筑物的庄严简朴。它也不象布尔日大教堂，不是那种华丽而轻浮、杂乱而多样的高耸入云的尖拱化建筑。不可能把它算在那些幽暗、神秘、低矮、仿佛被圆拱压垮了的古代建筑之列，这些教堂的天花板接近埃及的风格，一切都是难以理解的，一切都是祭典式的，一切都是象征式的。在那里，菱形和锯齿形的图案要比花的图案多，而花的图案比鸟兽的图案多，鸟兽图案又比人像多。与其说它们是建筑家的作品，不如说它们是主教的作品。这是艺术的第一类变种，处处流露着始于西罗马帝国而终于征服者居约姆的神权政治和军国主义的精神。也不可能把我们这座教堂列入另一些教堂里面，它们高耸入云，有着很多彩绘大玻璃窗和雕刻，形状尖峭，姿态大胆。这些教堂作为政治的象征散发着市镇和市民的气息，而在艺术方面又奇幻奔放，富于自由的色彩。这艺术的第二个变种，它的时期是从十字军东征归来开始到路易十一王朝为止，已不再是难以理解的、进步的、平民化的建筑了。巴黎圣母院既不象第一种类型的教堂那样纯粹是罗马式的，也不象第二种类型的教堂那样纯粹是阿拉伯式的。
它是一座过渡时期的建筑。沙克逊族的建筑家们给它竖起了本堂的第一批柱子，十字军东征带来的尖拱形，象征服者一般高踞在支撑环形圆拱的那些粗大的罗曼式柱子的顶端。尖拱从此就成了主要角色，构成教堂的其余部分。然而它起先还只是不熟练地、胆怯地约束着自己，逐渐地有所发展和扩大，但还不敢象后来在许多奇特的教堂里那样，突然变得象箭和柳叶刀那样尖峭。这可能是受了近旁那些笨重的罗曼式柱子的影响吧。
并且这种从罗曼式过渡到哥特式的建筑，和那两种单纯的样式同样值得研究。它们体现了艺术的某种色调变化，没有这些差异就谈不上什么艺术色调。这就是尖拱和圆拱的结合度。
巴黎圣母院尤其是这种变化的一个奇特的标本。这座可敬的纪念性建筑的每一面、每块石头，都不仅载入了我国的历史，而且载入了科学史和艺术史。我们不妨在这里举出主要的几处来吧：当小红门已经接近十五世纪精致的哥特式艺术的最好水平的时候，本堂里那些柱子却由于体积和重量，又把你带回到圣日尔曼·代·勃雷教堂的加洛林式修道院的时代去了。人们会认为那种小红门和那些柱子之间存在着六百年的差距呢。即使是炼金家们，在大门道的象征性图案里也找不到一种能满足他们那种科学所需要的解答，所以圣雅克·德·拉·布谢里教堂对他们来说，同样是那样难以理解。因此，这种罗曼式寺院，这种具有哲学意味的教堂，这种哥特式艺术，这种沙克逊艺术，这种使人想起格雷果瓦七世的笨重的圆柱子，这种成为路德先驱的尼古拉·弗拉梅尔的神秘的象征主义，教皇权力的统一和分裂，圣日尔曼· 代·勃雷教堂，圣雅克·德·拉·布谢里教堂，所有这些，通通融化，结合，混杂在这座圣母院里了。巴黎古老教堂里最中心的这座教堂象一只怪兽，它的头象是这一座教堂的，四肢是那一座教堂的，臀部又是另一座的，它是所有教堂的综合。
我们重申，这种混杂的构造，在艺术家、考古家和历史家看来是不乏兴味的。这些建筑物使人感到建筑艺术在某一点上是原始的东西，它表现出来的，就象古希腊的大型石建筑遗迹、埃及金字塔以及印度巨塔表现出来的一样，那就是：最伟大的建筑物大半是社会的产物而不是个人的产物。与其说它们是天才的创作，不如说它们是劳苦大众的艺术结晶。它们是民族的宝藏，世纪的积累，是人类社会才华不断升华所留下的残渣。总之，它们是一种岩层。每个时代的浪潮都给它们增添冲积土，每一代人都在这座纪念性建筑上铺上他们自己的一层土，每个人都在它上面放上自己的一块石。海狸和蜜蜂是这样做的，人类也是这样做的。建筑艺术的伟大标本巴别塔就是一个大蜂窝。
那些大教堂一如那些大山，同样是世纪的产物。往往在艺术已经改变时，他们却依然如故。但它们平静地随着改变了的艺术继续修建下去。新的建筑艺术抓住自己所能找到的纪念性建筑，就把自己和它镶嵌在一起，与它同化，按照自己的想象力来把它加以发展，要是可能的话，它就让工程进行到底。
就这样，事物按照一条自然而平静的规律，无所阻挠地、不费力地、没有反抗地实现了。它是一个突然长出来的接枝，一股环流树身的树浆，是再一次的生根发芽。这种在同一座建筑上几种不同的艺术向几个不同高度的发展，真可以写成好几本长篇巨著，而且往往是人类的通史。人、艺术家、个人在这些大建筑物上并没有留下自己的姓名，而人类的智慧却在那里凝聚，集中起来。时间就是建筑师，而人民就是泥瓦匠。
我们在这里只谈到欧洲基督教的建筑艺术，这位东方伟大泥水工程的妹妹，它看起来象巨大的岩层，明显地分为三个部分而又互相重叠，这就是罗曼层、哥特层和文艺复兴层——我们更情愿称之为希腊罗马层。罗曼层是最古最深的一层，它被环形圆拱占据着，这种环形圆拱被希腊式的柱子支撑着，在处于上层的近代的文艺复兴层中再现。而尖拱则处于两层之间。只属于三层中任何一层的那些建筑物是很容易被认出来的，它们单一而又完整。耶米埃日大寺院、兰斯的大教堂、奥尔良的神圣十字架都是这一类型。但那三层的边沿部分却互相混杂，就象太阳的七种色彩互相混杂一样。因此就产生了那些复杂的纪念性建筑和那些各具特色的过渡性建筑。有种建筑物是下部为罗曼式、中部为哥特式、头部为希腊罗马式，人们花了六百年才把它建成。
这种类型的建筑真是罕见，艾达普的主塔就是一个标本。但是两重构造的建筑就比较常见了，例如巴黎圣母院这座尖拱形的建筑，它最初的几根柱子扎在罗曼层里，和圣德尼教堂的大门道和圣日尔曼·代·勃雷教堂的本堂一样。
又如波歇韦尔的可爱的半哥特式大厅，它的罗曼层一直伸展到中部。卢昂的大教堂也是如此，要是它不把它那中央钟楼尖顶的尖端插进文艺复兴层里去的话，它就完全是哥特式的了。
再说，如此种种不同的色度和差异，也都只存在于那些建筑的表面，是艺术改变了它们的外表。基督教教堂的结构本身并没有受到影响，内部的骨架和各部分合乎逻辑的配置还是依旧。不管一座大教堂的有雕刻有花饰的外表是什么样子，我们仍旧可以在它的内部找到古罗马教堂的雏型。它们永远按照同一个规律在地面上发展。两个教堂不偏不斜地互相交叉成十字形，顶端后部成半圆状，形成唱诗室。总是那些侧面的过道来作为内部的通路，通往小礼拜堂，这是教堂内部散步的地方，它是由那个主要本堂的两侧构成的，是由许多柱子分隔开的通道。一定数量的小礼拜堂、大门道、钟楼和尖顶，随着世纪、人民与艺术的想象力，全部进行了安排，而且不断地有所变化。
每当宗教仪式经过准备而确定下来，建筑艺术就去尽善尽美地把它实现。它把塑像、彩绘大玻璃窗、圆花窗、阿拉伯花纹、齿形雕刻、柱子和浮雕，协调地组合在一起。因此，在那些建筑物外表不可思议的千变万化之中，却依然存在着秩序和一致。树干总是一成不变，树叶却时落时生。
收听单词发音 |
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majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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degradations
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| 堕落( degradation的名词复数 )； 下降； 陵削； 毁坏 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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slate
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| n.板岩，石板，石片，石板色，候选人名单；adj.暗蓝灰色的，含板岩的；vt.用石板覆盖，痛打，提名，预订 | |
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devour
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| v.吞没；贪婪地注视或谛听，贪读；使着迷 | |
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devourer
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| 吞噬者 | |
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imprinted
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| v.盖印（imprint的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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cordon
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| n.警戒线，哨兵线 | |
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niches
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| 壁龛( niche的名词复数 )； 合适的位置[工作等]； （产品的）商机； 生态位（一个生物所占据的生境的最小单位） | |
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lateral
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| adj.侧面的，旁边的 | |
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frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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arcades
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| n.商场( arcade的名词复数 )；拱形走道（两旁有商店或娱乐设施）；连拱廊；拱形建筑物 | |
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harmonious
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| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
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carving
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| n.雕刻品，雕花 | |
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tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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colossal
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| adj.异常的，庞大的 | |
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prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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epoch
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| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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fecund
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| adj.多产的，丰饶的，肥沃的 | |
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eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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piously
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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puissant
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| adj.强有力的 | |
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spire
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| n.(教堂)尖顶，尖塔，高点 | |
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spires
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| n.（教堂的） 塔尖，尖顶( spire的名词复数 ) | |
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mole
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| n.胎块；痣；克分子 | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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garnished
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| v.给（上餐桌的食物）加装饰( garnish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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devoured
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| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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arabesques
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| n.阿拉伯式花饰( arabesque的名词复数 )；错综图饰；阿拉伯图案；阿拉贝斯克芭蕾舞姿（独脚站立，手前伸，另一脚一手向后伸） | |
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overthrown
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| adj. 打翻的，推倒的，倾覆的 动词overthrow的过去分词 | |
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40
myriads
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| n.无数，极大数量( myriad的名词复数 ) | |
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41
nave
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| n.教堂的中部；本堂 | |
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42
choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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43
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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44
equestrian
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| adj.骑马的；n.马术 | |
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45
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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46
bishops
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| （基督教某些教派管辖大教区的）主教( bishop的名词复数 )； （国际象棋的）象 | |
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47
gendarmes
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| n.宪兵，警官( gendarme的名词复数 ) | |
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48
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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49
brutally
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| adv.残忍地，野蛮地，冷酷无情地 | |
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50
encumbered
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| v.妨碍，阻碍，拖累( encumber的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51
shrines
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| 圣地，圣坛，神圣场所( shrine的名词复数 ) | |
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52
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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53
pillaged
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| v.抢劫，掠夺( pillage的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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54
panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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55
beholding
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| v.看，注视( behold的现在分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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56
smeared
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| 弄脏； 玷污； 涂抹； 擦上 | |
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57
edifices
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| n.大建筑物( edifice的名词复数 ) | |
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58
infamous
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| adj.声名狼藉的，臭名昭著的，邪恶的 | |
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59
ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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60
intersection
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| n.交集，十字路口，交叉点；[计算机] 交集 | |
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61
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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62
sonorous
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| adj.响亮的，回响的；adv.圆润低沉地；感人地；n.感人，堂皇 | |
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63
notched
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| a.有凹口的，有缺口的 | |
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64
gnawed
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| 咬( gnaw的过去式和过去分词 )； （长时间） 折磨某人； （使）苦恼； （长时间）危害某事物 | |
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65
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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66
deviations
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| 背离，偏离( deviation的名词复数 )； 离经叛道的行为 | |
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67
renaissance
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| n.复活，复兴，文艺复兴 | |
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68
decadence
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| n.衰落，颓废 | |
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69
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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70
slashed
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| v.挥砍( slash的过去式和过去分词 )；鞭打；割破；削减 | |
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71
consistency
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| n.一贯性，前后一致，稳定性；(液体的)浓度 | |
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72
presumption
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| n.推测，可能性，冒昧，放肆，[法律]推定 | |
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73
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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74
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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75
oratory
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| n.演讲术；词藻华丽的言辞 | |
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76
grimacing
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| v.扮鬼相，做鬼脸( grimace的现在分词 ) | |
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77
ravages
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| 劫掠后的残迹，破坏的结果，毁坏后的残迹 | |
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78
warts
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| n.疣( wart的名词复数 )；肉赘；树瘤；缺点 | |
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79
epidermis
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| n.表皮 | |
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80
joints
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| 接头( joint的名词复数 )； 关节； 公共场所（尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所） （非正式）； 一块烤肉 （英式英语） | |
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81
barbarian
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| n.野蛮人；adj.野蛮(人)的；未开化的 | |
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82
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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83
devastate
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| v.使荒芜，破坏，压倒 | |
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84
impartiality
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| n. 公平, 无私, 不偏 | |
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85
licensed
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| adj.得到许可的v.许可，颁发执照(license的过去式和过去分词) | |
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86
caterpillars
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| n.毛虫( caterpillar的名词复数 )；履带 | |
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87
lauded
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| v.称赞，赞美( laud的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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88
vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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89
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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90
progenitor
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| n.祖先，先驱 | |
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91
bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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92
hieroglyph
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| n.象形文字， 图画文字 | |
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93
hieroglyphics
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| n.pl.象形文字 | |
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94
hieroglyphic
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| n.象形文字 | |
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95
symbolical
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| a.象征性的 | |
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96
zigzags
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| n.锯齿形的线条、小径等( zigzag的名词复数 )v.弯弯曲曲地走路，曲折地前进( zigzag的第三人称单数 ) | |
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97
transformation
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| n.变化；改造；转变 | |
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98
theocratic
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| adj.神权的，神权政治的 | |
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99
conqueror
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| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
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100
communal
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| adj.公有的，公共的，公社的，公社制的 | |
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101
bourgeois
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| adj./n.追求物质享受的(人)；中产阶级分子 | |
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102
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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103
dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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104
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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105
graft
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| n.移植，嫁接，艰苦工作，贪污；v.移植，嫁接 | |
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106
attains
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的第三人称单数 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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107
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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108
compendium
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| n.简要，概略 | |
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109
prelude
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| n.序言，前兆，序曲 | |
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110
unity
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| n.团结，联合，统一；和睦，协调 | |
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111
schism
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| n.分派，派系，分裂 | |
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112
mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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113
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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114
amalgamated
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| v.（使）（金属）汞齐化( amalgamate的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）合并；联合；结合 | |
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115
amalgamate
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| v.(指业务等)合并，混合 | |
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116
chimera
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| n.神话怪物；梦幻 | |
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117
hybrid
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| n.(动，植）杂种，混合物 | |
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118
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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119
vestiges
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| 残余部分( vestige的名词复数 )； 遗迹； 痕迹； 毫不 | |
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120
residue
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| n.残余，剩余，残渣 | |
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121
beavers
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| 海狸( beaver的名词复数 )； 海狸皮毛； 棕灰色； 拼命工作的人 | |
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122
pending
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| prep.直到，等待…期间；adj.待定的；迫近的 | |
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123
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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124
effaced
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| v.擦掉( efface的过去式和过去分词 )；抹去；超越；使黯然失色 | |
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125
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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126
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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127
spectrum
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| n.谱，光谱，频谱；范围，幅度，系列 | |
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128
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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129
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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130
derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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131
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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132
embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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133
rudiment
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| n.初步；初级；基本原理 | |
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134
naves
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| n.教堂正厅( nave的名词复数 )；本堂；中央部；车轮的中心部 | |
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135
aisles
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| n. (席位间的)通道, 侧廊 | |
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136
chapels
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| n.小教堂， （医院、监狱等的）附属礼拜堂( chapel的名词复数 )；（在小教堂和附属礼拜堂举行的）礼拜仪式 | |
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137
promenades
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| n.人行道( promenade的名词复数 )；散步场所；闲逛v.兜风( promenade的第三人称单数 ) | |
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138
pinnacles
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| 顶峰( pinnacle的名词复数 )； 顶点； 尖顶； 小尖塔 | |
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139
infinity
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| n.无限，无穷，大量 | |
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140
exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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141
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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