ibited
wasn't bad; only there was nothing new in it. It was all so much patient
marquetry of the school formulas. Ought not all the arts to advance
in one line of battle? Ought not the evolution that was transforming
literature, painting, even music itself, to renovate architecture as
well? If ever the architecture of a period was to have a style of its
own, it was assuredly the architecture of the period they would soon be
entering, a new period when they would find the ground freshly swept,
ready for the rebuilding of everything. Down with the Greek temples!
there was no reason why they should continue to exist under our sky,
amid our society! down with the Gothic cathedrals, since faith in legend
was dead! down with the delicate colonnades, the lace-like work of
the Renaissance--that revival of the antique grafted on
mediaevalism--precious art-jewellery, no doubt, but in which democracy
could not dwell. And he demanded, he called with violent gestures for an
architectural formula suited to democracy; such work in stone as would
express its tenets; edifices where it would really be at home; something
vast and strong, great and simple at the same time; the something that
was already being indicated in the new railway stations and markets,
whose ironwork displayed such solid elegance, but purified and raised
to a standard of beauty, proclaiming the grandeur of the intellectual
conquests of the age.

'Ah! yes, ah! yes,' repeated Dubuche, catching Claude's enthusiasm;
'that's what I want to accomplish, you'll see some day. Give me time to
succeed, and when I'm my own master--ah! when I'm my own master.'

Night was coming on apace, and Claude was growing more and more animated
and passionate, displaying a fluency, an eloquence which his comrades
had not known him to possess. They all grew excited in listening to him,
and ended by becoming noisily gay over the extraordinary witticisms
he launched forth. He himself, having returned to the subject of his
picture, again discussed it with a deal of gaiety, caricaturing the
crowd he had seen looking at it, and imitating the imbecile laughter.
Along the avenue, now of an ashy hue, one only saw the shadows of
infrequent vehicles dart by. The side-walk was quite black; an icy chill
fell from the trees. Nothing broke the stillness but the sound of song
coming from a clump of verdure behind the cafe; there was some rehearsal
at the Concert de l'Horloge, for one heard the sentimental