Ruskin and Viollet-Le-Duc
Ruskin and Viollet-Le-Duc
Ruskin and Viollet-Le-Duc
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Figures of Ruin and Restoration ✦ 143
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144 ✦ architecture and modern literature
De Man speaks here of the inauthentic or false nostalgia that seeks to re-
live the past by abstracting it from any historical reality. Allegory, on the
contrary, is without illusion and inconsolable; based on the principle of
disunity and discontinuity in its form of representation, it marks a perma-
nent exile from the past and in this way acquires for the modern world a
kind of authenticity that is lacking in the symbol.
For Benjamin, allegory is to the realm of thought what ruins are to the
realm of things. In both cases, the rupture between the material signi‹er
and the ideal signi‹ed appears irreconcilable. The parallel traditions of al-
legory and ruin come together, however, in the fragment, a ‹gure both lit-
erary and architectural. Benjamin likens baroque writing to the process of
ceaselessly piling up fragments, as opposed to a more organic model of lit-
erary creation, so that “the perfect vision of this new [literary] phenome-
non was the ruin” (178). Baroque writing is “constructed” (baut), a quality
that the writer does not attempt to conceal under the sign of genius or
heavenly inspiration. “Hence the display of the craftsmanship that, in
Calderón especially, shows through like the masonry in a building whose
rendering (Verputz) has broken away” (179). The recurring image here is
one of brokenness and fragmentation, both in the relation of the parts of
the composition to one another and in the relation of the composition to
its ostensible origin. According to Benjamin, this notion of an irreconcil-
able rupture lies at the heart of the cult of ruins in the baroque aesthetic of
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Figures of Ruin and Restoration ✦ 145
the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, for ruins testify to the irre-
versible effects of time even as they mark the rupture of the object with its
origins.
The aesthetic of ruins can thus be seen as an authentic nostalgia, as the
melancholy cult of the past arising out of the space of rupture, and con-
scious of the irremediable absence of its object. Diderot writes in his Salons
de 1767:
Les idées que les ruines éveillent en moi sont grandes. Tout s’anéantit,
tout périt, tout passe. Il n’y a que le monde qui reste. Il n’y a que le
temps qui dure. Qu’il est vieux ce monde! Je marche entre deux éter-
nités.
Great are the ideas that ruins awaken in me. Everything is annihilated,
everything perishes, everything passes away. There is only the world that re-
mains. There is only time that endures. How old this world is! I walk be-
tween two eternities. (Quoted in Mortier 94)
What perishes is history and its transcendental meaning; what remains are
merely the physical existence and temporal phenomena of the world. The
two eternities between which Diderot walks are not those of heaven and
hell; they are those of the void stretching out before and after life. These
re›ections belong to the more general baroque cult of ruins as a cult of ab-
sence. As Jean Starobinski describes it:
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146 ✦ architecture and modern literature
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Figures of Ruin and Restoration ✦ 147
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148 ✦ architecture and modern literature
This last phrase is aimed at the architects of the École des Beaux-Arts and
their supposed disdain for the practical work of restorers working in the
provinces. Viollet-le-Duc was to be associated with the École only brie›y;
appointed controversially to a professorship in 1863, he was prevented
from teaching his courses by his “classical” colleagues and students.3 For
our purposes, however, it is more important to note that for Viollet-le-
Duc, in opposition to the baroque and romantic traditions, ruins have no
value as such. On the contrary, the ruin of ancient buildings is to be
avoided at all costs because their restoration can transform them into mon-
uments of permanent and transcendent value. “The perpetual glory of the
French nation” here should be understood as a rhetorical appeal directed at
his imperial patrons in 1856 and not necessarily as an expression of Viollet’s
own political feeling, which was essentially republican. In any case, this
idealized and transcendent notion of architecture conforms to the famous
de‹nition with which Viollet-le-Duc begins his dictionary article on
restoration.
Le mot [restauration] et la chose sont modernes: restaurer un édi‹ce, ce
n’est pas l’entretenir, le réparer ou le refaire, c’est le rétablir dans un état
complet qui peut n’avoir jamais existé à un moment donné. (14)
The word [restoration] and the thing itself are modern: to restore a build-
ing is not to maintain it, repair it, or rebuild it; it is to reestablish it in a
complete state that might never have existed at any given moment.
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Figures of Ruin and Restoration ✦ 149
Baridon has shown how the architect’s ideas incorporate the scienti‹c con-
cept of organicism characteristic of the mid–nineteenth century: the ar-
chitectural restorer is to the medieval building what the paleontologist is to
the remains of a prehistoric animal: each of them seeks to reconstitute an
organism. This theory presupposes a number of qualities in the object to
be reconstituted: its unity, its internal logic, its visibility. Like the paleon-
tologist Georges Cuvier, Viollet-le-Duc saw in the object of his study a
“correlation of organs” and the subordination of its different elements, so
that every part could be understood in terms of its function within the
overall structure. The point, however, was not merely to re-create a build-
ing by imitating medieval practices but rather to ‹nd the solutions to ar-
chitectural problems that medieval artisans would have adopted had they
had the technical means available to the nineteenth century (Baridon
18–20). For Viollet-le-Duc, medieval architecture is not essentially a mul-
tiple series of historical phenomena rooted in distinct and local contexts.
Rather, his theory implies the existence of an ideal form of the building in-
dependent of its concrete realization at any given historical moment.
In other words, Viollet-le-Duc reached into the art of the Middle Ages
for a certain number of a priori principles, an architectural grammar that
guided his projects even where the work of restoration went consciously
against the historical realities of a given edi‹ce. As the studies of Viollet-le-
Duc are full of examples of this controversial practice in his major projects,
I shall cite a relatively minor but nonetheless instructive example from his
project for the restoration of the Chapelle des Macchabées in Geneva, built
in 1405 by Jean de Brogny as an annex to the twelfth-century Cathédrale
de Saint-Pierre. The chapel had been converted into a storeroom by
Calvin’s reformers and later had been used as a lecture hall by the
Académie de Genève, today the University of Geneva. Leila El Wakil has
shown how Viollet-le-Duc, based on his own understanding of Gothic
principles, proposed the “restoration” of several elements that in fact had
never belonged to the building. Among these was the erection of a spire
that Viollet-le-Duc freely admitted might never have existed. Nonetheless,
he argued, it ought to have existed even if it never did, because such a spire
conformed to “accepted practice in all independently built chapels” (El
Wakil 52). Similarly, he proposed to create a rose window in the otherwise
intact facade of the western gable, a pure invention justi‹ed on the aes-
thetic grounds that “an intact gable over the architecture of the ground-
level story will appear overly heavy” (53). Characteristically conservative,
the city of Geneva rejected these innovative features of the project, judging
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150 ✦ architecture and modern literature
that “one should put aside those things which, while they might beautify
the building, one cannot claim to have ever existed” (54). Although Viol-
let-le-Duc withdrew from this project after an administrative disagree-
ment, the city went ahead with the restoration of the chapel on the basis of
his plans but without the spire, the rose-window, and other innovative fea-
tures. Viollet-le-Duc’s original plans are reproduced in ‹gures 5 and 6. Fig-
ure 7 shows the chapel as it appears today.
A few years later, in restoring the cathedral adjacent to the chapel,
Geneva had to fend off pressure from a very different quarter. A sense of the
intense polemic surrounding the question of restoration is given in the
of‹cial report of the Association for the Restoration of Saint-Pierre, which
took on the task of restoring the cathedral proper in 1891. Having caught
wind of the new plans, William Morris’s Society for the Protection of An-
cient Buildings had made an urgent appeal to Geneva to abandon its plans
to restore Saint-Pierre, on the grounds that any such work would destroy
the work of time and risk betraying the ideas of the original builders. Mor-
ris’s society recommended instead that the protection of the cathedral be
limited to the simple reinforcement of those parts of the building that were
falling into ruin. The response of the Geneva association was unambiguous.
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Fig. 5. Viollet-le-Duc’s plan
for the restoration of the
Chapelle des Macchabées,
west face, 1875. (Musée d’art
et d’histoire, Geneva.)
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152 ✦ architecture and modern literature
alizes a given period, the Gothic era, as the privileged moment of all archi-
tectural history. Second, by consciously reconstructing a building into a
form that does not correspond to any of that building’s past forms, he re-
fuses a rigorously historical approach in favor of an aesthetic of timeless
unity. Of course, one might ask how could it be otherwise, once one has
started down the path of restoration. Given a building such as Notre-
Dame de Paris, which underwent continual transformation from the
twelfth to the seventeenth centuries, how does one decide which of its
many forms to restore it to unless one has, for example, an ideal notion of
what it might have been in the thirteenth century? The point is, however,
that for Viollet-le-Duc Gothic architectural form is not primarily histori-
cal; rather it consists of an ideal unity that is structurally analogous to the
unity of the romantic symbol, even if its content is different.
By its very nature, the romantic symbol represents the secularization of
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Figures of Ruin and Restoration ✦ 153
the metaphysical qualities once attributed to the sacred object. Given the
declining authority of religious institutions, the symbol responds to a de-
mand in the nineteenth century for a language that would bring material
being into harmony with spiritual being in atemporal but secular terms. In
Viollet-le-Duc the Gothic cathedral, like the romantic symbol, is secular-
ized as an aesthetic object.4 Neither his writings nor his architectural prac-
tices take seriously the status of the medieval Gothic church as an edi‹ce
designed for the ritual of worship and the administering of the holy sacra-
ments. On the contrary, he writes in the Entretiens that the great Gothic
cathedrals of medieval France are essentially the work of lay craftsmen or-
ganized into guilds. While employed by the bishops, these craftsmen
worked independently, adopting a new system of construction and new
forms in architecture and sculpture. Whereas the religious institutions of
the early Middle Ages could only reproduce designs in the Romanesque
and Byzantine traditions, the “lay school” of the late twelfth century made
a complete break from these traditions, replacing them with principles
founded on reason, that is, the principles of Gothic architecture. It is only
at this point, argues Viollet-le-Duc, that there emerges “le génie propre à
la nation française” (the special genius of the French nation) (Entretiens
1:265). From here it is a relatively short step to the national ideology that
Viollet-le-Duc invokes in support of his projects of restoration. In this way
the metaphysical dimension of the symbol, traditionally given the name of
the in‹nite, the eternal, and so on, acquires an identity rather more speci‹c
but equally eternal: the glory of France. This is a rhetorical strategy that we
might call the appropriation of the symbolic structure by ideology.
In order to understand Viollet-le-Duc’s aesthetic, we need to see it in
the context of France’s Second Empire and its ideology, which, while as-
piring to recover the imperial glories of the ‹rst Napoleonic era, nonethe-
less embraced the values of industrial progress inherited from the bour-
geois monarchy of Louis-Philippe. We see both elements in the discourse
of Viollet-le-Duc, who pays homage to Napoléon I while insisting on the
progress made in the artisanal industries of the provinces, thanks to the
works of architectural restoration under way all over France. To take up
just the ‹rst of these elements, we note that for Viollet-le-Duc, restoration
is above all a national project whose origins lie in the First Empire and “the
will of the Emperor Napoléon I, who was ahead of his times in all things,
and who understood the importance of restoration” (Dictionnaire 22). Vi-
ollet-le-Duc’s politics, however, are not a simple matter, for they suggest a
certain discrepancy between his personal convictions and his public dis-
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154 ✦ architecture and modern literature
course. If, after the fall of the Second Empire, he showed himself to be an
ardent republican, there was little to suggest such a conviction in his close
connections to the authoritarian regime of Napoléon III, connections he
needed for the support of his architectural projects. By no means the least
of these was his restoration of the fourteenth-century Château de Pierre-
fonds into an imperial residence, where his energetic direction of court en-
tertainments earned him the nickname “the stage prompter of Com-
piègne” (Gout 51).
Viollet-le-Duc’s discourse on art, however, is not predominantly royal-
ist. It is instead a texture of theories and observations that re›ects all of the
tensions inherent in mid-nineteenth-century aesthetics. This tension is ev-
ident from the very ‹rst of the Entretiens. On one hand, in keeping with
the emerging symbolist aesthetics of his age, Viollet-le-Duc argues for the
essential unity of art and its value as independent of historical circum-
stances: “Art has its value independent of the milieu in which it is born and
grows up.” On the other hand, and in keeping with the scienti‹c human-
ism of Charles-Augustin de Sainte-Beuve, Viollet-le-Duc sees the form if
not the essence of art as intimately tied to the way of life of a people: “[T]he
arts of the Middle Ages follow step by step the manners and customs of the
people in the midst of which they develop” (Entretiens 1:11). This double
discourse allows Viollet-le-Duc to argue both for an ideal Gothic, inde-
pendent of historical speci‹city, and for the revival of the Gothic as an ex-
pression of national unity and character. Thus, in the seventh Entretien,
Viollet-le-Duc claims that “l’art en France, dès les premières années du XI-
IIe siècle, est un instrument dont le pouvoir royal se sert pour développer
ses efforts vers l’unité nationale” (art in France, from the early years of the
thirteenth century, has been an instrument used by royal power in its ef-
forts to develop national unity) (1:282). This is not offered as a critique of
the instrumentalization of art for political ends. On the contrary, Viollet-
le-Duc is citing the precedent of the thirteenth century as an argument for
the continued support of his various projects of restoration by the imperial
regime. National unity is offered as a political justi‹cation for the pursuit
of an essentially aesthetic ideal.
Like Viollet-le-Duc, Ruskin defends the Gothic against architectural
classicism but with a very different declared ideology. For Ruskin, the in-
dividual freedom inherent in the Gothic style stands in opposition to the
authoritarian classicism of the ancien régime, while the nineteenth-cen-
tury revival of the Gothic marks a parallel revival of Christian faith, in re-
action to the declining authority of religious institutions in modern life.
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Figures of Ruin and Restoration ✦ 155
When Ruskin ‹rst went to Oxford in 1836, the Oxford movement of John
Keble and John Henry Newman had already begun. It helped to create an
intellectual climate in which Ruskin could write of art and architecture in
strongly ethical terms, which, in his work, resonated with the egalitarian-
ism of the equally important political movement that produced three re-
form bills between 1832 and 1884.
Like Viollet-le-Duc, Ruskin also speaks of a national architecture, de-
claring, for example, in The Crown of Wild Olive (1866), that “all good ar-
chitecture is the expression of national life and character; and it is pro-
duced by a prevalent and eager national taste” (Library Edition 18:434). But
this national character is to be distinguished from Viollet-le-Duc’s dis-
course of national unity. For Ruskin, it is a matter of the impact of archi-
tecture on public life, of the manner in which a building becomes a per-
manent part of the landscape, and of a certain ethical responsibility of the
architect toward the people. The monumental character of the Gothic
building resides in its capacity to bear witness to the history of a people,
which it does through the richness of documentation contained in its or-
namentation.
Its minute and multitudinous sculptural decorations afford means of
expressing, either symbolically or literally, all that need be known of
national feeling or achievement. . . . Better the rudest work that tells a
story or records a fact, than the richest without meaning. (8:229–30)
Already we may note two points on which Ruskin’s discourse differs from
Viollet-le-Duc’s. First, although he speaks of feeling and national achieve-
ment, Ruskin does not privilege any nation in particular. Where Ruskin
af‹rms the style and the moral force of what he calls the Goth (the English-
man, the Frenchman, the Dane, the German) against the supposed languor
and subjection of Mediterranean peoples, his use of nation is essentially racial
in the nineteenth-century sense and has little to do with the meaning given
this word by the nationalism of the modern state. Second, Ruskin wishes to
af‹rm the memorial function of the Gothic building: if poetry constitutes
what a people has thought and felt, then architecture constitutes “what their
hands have handled, and their strength wrought, and their eyes beheld, all
the days of their life” (8:224). For Ruskin, the Gothic building has the same
aura that Benjamin will attribute to the work of art that still bears the marks
of the artist’s hands, a quality lost in reproduction. In general, Ruskin’s no-
tion of the memorial function of the Gothic contrasts with Viollet-le-Duc’s
ideas, which are both more abstract and more pragmatic. Stephen Bayley has
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156 ✦ architecture and modern literature
remarked that in the French architect the Gothic is made into “a ›exible sys-
tem adapted to all needs and their changing nature. The Gothic describes a
language of many words” (32).
For Ruskin ruins also have a memorial function, but they are distin-
guished from other architectural formations by the quality of what he calls
“parasitical sublimity,” the sublime that derives, somewhat paradoxically,
from accident or the nonessential character of the object. This particularly
fortuitous form of the sublime corresponds, for Ruskin, to a certain sense
of the picturesque. He ‹nds it in the accessory details of a painting by Tin-
toretto or Rubens,
in the clefts and folds of shaggy hair, or in the chasms and rents of
rocks, or in the hanging of thickets or hill sides, or in the alternations
of gaiety and gloom in the variegation of the shell, the plume, or the
cloud. (8:240)
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Figures of Ruin and Restoration ✦ 157
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158 ✦ architecture and modern literature
Fig. 8. John Ruskin, Kenilworth Castle, 1847. (From Ruskin, Diaries, vol.
1, plate 31.)
It is as if ruins were still the dwelling places of the dead and that to restore
them would be to destroy the eloquent means by which the dead, or death
itself, make themselves understood.6 To declare “we have no right to touch
them” implies the kind of veneration for architectural ruins that is felt for
mortal human remains, which, for profoundly emotional and cultural rea-
sons, cannot be disinterred or displaced. This insistence on the presence of
death in ruins recalls Benjamin’s notion that the emblem of allegory is the
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Figures of Ruin and Restoration ✦ 159
facies hippocratica, the pale and shriveled aspect of the human face just be-
fore the moment of death.
Ruskin’s ideas on death and ruins force us to revise the common un-
derstanding that for him the Gothic is a primarily organic art, in both its
structural principles and its resemblance to vegetation. In fact, his essay
“The Lamp of Power” ‹nds that one of the elements of sublime architec-
ture is precisely its inorganic character, found in the geometric form of the
wall and other “wide, bold, and unbroken” surfaces (8:109). Both the or-
ganic and the inorganic principles are found in nature, “the one in her
woods and thickets, the other in her plains and cliffs and waters”(8:109). If
the former “gives grace to every pulse that agitates animal organisation,”
the latter “reproves the pillars of the earth, and builds up her barren
precipices into the coldness of the clouds” (8:102).
[T]he grey cliff loses not its nobleness when it reminds us of some Cyclo-
pean waste of mural stone . . . even the awful cone of the far-off moun-
tain has a melancholy mixed with that of its own solitude, which is cast
from the images of nameless tumuli on white sea-shores, and of the heaps
of reedy clay, into which chambered cities melt in their mortality. (8:103)
As Andrea Pinotti suggests, Ruskin expresses a nostalgia for death and
mineral stillness. The language of melancholy, solitude, and mortality with
which he contemplates the mountains and cliffs belongs also to the dis-
course of ruins. In the ruin, where climbing vegetation meets the resistance
of ancient stone, we witness the same eternal struggle between the organic
and the inorganic principles of nature. The stone, in its hardness and cold-
ness, but also in its marred and worn condition, has the awesome aspect of
death itself. It evokes the melancholy, “dead” relation of the allegorical sign
to its object, in contrast to the living, organic nature of the symbol.
This identi‹cation of Ruskin with the aesthetics of allegory is bound to
surprise those who read too literally his insistence on “naturalism” in ar-
chitectural representation. There is, for example, the passage in “The Na-
ture of the Gothic” where Ruskin contrasts the representations of purgato-
rial ‹re in two different churches. The ‹rst is in the twelfth-century mosaic
of the Last Judgment in the Romanesque cathedral of Torcello, in the
Venitian lagoon. Here, the ‹re is purely allegorical. It takes the form of a
red stream that descends from the throne of Christ and extends itself to en-
velop the wicked. The other, in the Gothic porch of Saint-Maclou in
Rouen, is strongly naturalistic: “The sculptured ›ames burst out of the
Hades gate, and ›icker up, in writhing tongues of stone, through the in-
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160 ✦ architecture and modern literature
terstices of the niches, as if the church itself were on ‹re” (10:233). Ruskin
offers this as a demonstration of the “love of veracity” re›ected in Gothic
design, by which he means a faithful imitation of natural form. As always
in Ruskin, however, there is a difference between factual representation
and truth. He goes on to say that, on re›ection, one will perhaps ‹nd more
truth in the allegorical ‹gure, “in that blood-red stream, ›owing between
de‹nite shores, and out of God’s throne, and expanding, as if fed by a per-
petual current, into the lake wherein the wicked are cast,” than in the
“torch-›ickerings” of the Gothic, naturalistic ‹gure (10:233). The point is
that for Ruskin allegory represents a deeper truth than naturalistic imita-
tion. A similar point has been made by Gary Wihl, who writes that for
Ruskin, “sincerity is increasingly ‹gured as allegory, as a writer’s or sculp-
tor’s self-consciousness about the ‹ctiveness . . . of his idealizations” (113).
The allegorical ‹gure acknowledges the gap between signi‹er and
signi‹ed, and this implicit acknowledgment of the inadequacy of
signi‹cation is itself the sign of a truth.
In general, we could say that Viollet-le-Duc’s aesthetic is to Ruskin’s
what symbol is to allegory: on one hand, the timeless unity of the object
with its ideal essence; on the other hand, rupture, disunity, and the pathos
evoked by the material remains of an irrecoverable past. Here it might be
useful to point out the af‹nity between the aesthetic of ruins and that of
the monument. The monument does not claim to evoke the totality of
what it commemorates. It signi‹es its object only allegorically, and by con-
vention; it presents itself as the dead letter of a departed spirit, and its af-
fective power resides precisely in this irreconcilable ontological difference.
Ruskin’s implacable rejection of modern architecture for a long time
caused him to be seen as an incurable nostalgic, devoted to a regressive pas-
toralism in the face of modernity.7 But there is in Ruskin’s particular form
of nostalgia a certain resistance to nostalgia, just as, conversely, there is nos-
talgia in Viollet-le-Duc’s particular form of modernism. To the extent that
the work of each of these ‹gures resonates in the twentieth century, Viollet-
le-Duc’s impact is on architectural modernism, whereas Ruskin’s is on liter-
ary modernism. It is on this latter point that I would like to conclude.
The aesthetic of the ruin and the fragment will be taken up, if trans-
formed, by poets such as T. S. Eliot and René Char in their fragmentation
of the word and literary form. This textual fragmentation will be justi‹ed
in terms identical to those that Benjamin uses to justify the allegorical frag-
ment, that is, in a discourse that privileges rupture and exteriority. Thus
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Figures of Ruin and Restoration ✦ 161
Maurice Blanchot writes that what he calls the parole du fragment (frag-
ment word) in Char is
un arrangement d’une sorte nouvelle, qui ne sera pas celui d’une har-
monie, d’une concorde ou d’une conciliation, mais qui acceptera la dis-
jonction ou la divergence comme le centre in‹ni à partir duquel, par la
parole, un rapport doit s’établir.
a new kind of arrangement, not of harmony, concord, or reconciliation, but
one that accepts disjunction or divergence as the in‹nite center from out of
which, through the word, relation is to be created. ( L’Entretien 453)
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