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slowly over the crowd. Her beauty was startling but too impersonal, as if it did

not belong to her; it seemed present in the room as a separate entity. People

thought of a vision that had not quite appeared, of a victim on a scaffold, of a

person standing at night at the rail of an ocean liner.

"What is your name?"

"Dominique Francon."

"And your occupation, Miss Francon?"

"Newspaper woman."

"You are the author of the brilliant column ’Your House’ appearing in the New

York Banner!"

"I am the author of ’Your House.’"

"Your father is Guy Francon, the eminent architect?"

"Yes. My father was asked to come here to testify. He refused. He said he did

not care for a building such as the Stoddard Temple, but he did not think that

we were behaving like gentlemen."

"Well, now, Miss Francon, shall we confine our answers to our questions? We are

indeed fortunate to have you with us, since you are our only woman witness, and

women have always had the purest sense of religious faith. Being, in addition,

an outstanding authority on architecture, you are eminently qualified to give us

what I shall call, with all deference, the feminine angle on this case. Will you

tell us in your own words what you think of the Stoddard Temple?"

"I think that Mr. Stoddard has made a mistake. There would have been no doubt

about the justice of his case if he had sued, not for alteration costs, but for

demolition costs."

The attorney looked relieved. "Will you explain your reasons, Miss Francon?"

"You have heard them from every witness at this trial."

"Then I take it that you agree with the preceding testimony?"

"Completely. Even more completely than the persons who testified. They were very

convincing witnesses."

"Will you...clarify that, Miss Francon? Just what do you mean?"

"What Mr. Toohey said: that this temple is a threat to all of us."

"Oh, I see."

"Mr. Toohey understood the issue so well. Shall I clarify it--in my own words?"

"By all means."

"Howard Roark built a temple to the human spirit. He saw man as strong, proud,

clean, wise and fearless. He saw man as a heroic being. And he built a temple to

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that. A temple is a place where man is to experience exaltation. He thought that

exaltation comes from the consciousness of being guiltless, of seeing the truth

and achieving it, of living up to one’s highest possibility, of knowing no shame

and having no cause for shame, of being able to stand naked in full sunlight. He

thought that exaltation means joy and that joy is man’s birthright. He thought

that a place built as a setting for man is a sacred place. That is what Howard

Roark thought of man and of exaltation. But Ellsworth Toohey said that this

temple was a monument to a profound hatred of humanity. Ellsworth Toohey said

that the essence of exaltation was to be scared out of your wits, to fall down

and to grovel. Ellsworth Toohey said that man’s highest act was to realize his

own worthlessness and to beg forgiveness. Ellsworth Toohey said it was depraved

not to take for granted that man is something which needs to be forgiven.

Ellsworth Toohey saw that this building was of man and of the earth--and

Ellsworth Toohey said that this building had its belly in the mud. To glorify

man, said Ellsworth Toohey, was to glorify the gross pleasure of the flesh, for

the realm of the spirit is beyond the grasp of man. To enter that realm, said

Ellsworth Toohey, man must come as a beggar, on his knees. Ellsworth Toohey is a

lover of mankind."

"Miss Francon, we are not really discussing Mr. Toohey, so if you will confine

yourself to..."

"I do not condemn Ellsworth Toohey. I condemn Howard Roark. A building, they

say, must be part of its site. In what kind of world did Roark build his temple?

For what kind of men? Look around you. Can you see a shrine becoming sacred by

serving as a setting for Mr. Hopton Stoddard? For Mr. Ralston Holcombe? For Mr.

Peter Keating? When you look at them all, do you hate Ellsworth Toohey--or do

you damn Howard Roark for the unspeakable indignity which he did commit?

Ellsworth Toohey is right, that temple is a sacrilege, though not in the sense

he meant. I think Mr. Toohey knows that, however. When you see a man casting

pearls without getting even a pork chop in return--it is not against the swine

that you feel indignation. It is against the man who valued his pearls so little

that he was willing to fling them into the muck and to let them become the

occasion for a whole concert of grunting, transcribed by the court

stenographer."

"Miss Francon, I hardly think that this line of testimony is relevant or

admissible..."

"The witness must be allowed to testify," the judge declared unexpectedly. He

had been bored and he liked to watch Dominique’s figure. Besides, he knew that

the audience was enjoying it, in the sheer excitement of scandal, even though

their sympathies were with Hopton Stoddard.

"Your Honor, some misunderstanding seems to have occurred," said the attorney.

"Miss Francon, for whom are you testifying? For Mr. Roark or Mr. Stoddard?"

"For Mr. Stoddard, of course. I am stating the reasons why Mr. Stoddard should

win this case. I have sworn to tell the truth."

"Proceed," said the judge.

"All the witnesses have told the truth. But not the whole truth. I am merely

filling in the omissions. They spoke of a threat and of hatred. They were right.

The Stoddard Temple is a threat to many things. If it were allowed to exist,

nobody would dare to look at himself in the mirror. And that is a cruel thing to

do to men. Ask anything of men. Ask them to achieve wealth, fame, love,

brutality, murder, self-sacrifice. But don’t ask them to achieve self-respect.

They will hate your soul. Well, they know best. They must have their reasons.

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They won’t say, of course, that they hate you. They will say that you hate them.

It’s near enough, I suppose. They know the emotion involved. Such are men as

they are. So what is the use of being a martyr to the impossible? What is the

use of building for a world that does not exist?"

"Your Honor, I don’t see what possible bearing this can have on..."

"I am proving your case for you. I am proving why you must go with Ellsworth

Toohey, as you will anyway. The Stoddard Temple must be destroyed. Not to save

men from it, but to save it from men. What’s the difference, however? Mr.

Stoddard wins. I am in full agreement with everything that’s being done here,

except for one point. I didn’t think we should be allowed to get away with that

point. Let us destroy, but don’t let us pretend that we are committing an act of

virtue. Let us say that we are moles and we object to mountain peaks. Or,

perhaps, that we are lemmings, the animals who cannot help swimming out to

self-destruction. I realize fully that at this moment I am as futile as Howard

Roark. This is my Stoddard Temple--my first and my last." She inclined her head

to the judge. "That is all, Your Honor."

"Your witness," the attorney snapped to Roark.

"No questions," said Roark.

Dominique left the stand.

The attorney bowed to the bench and said: "The plaintiff rests."

The judge turned to Roark and made a vague gesture, inviting him to proceed.

Roark got up and walked to the bench, the brown envelope in hand. He took out of

the envelope ten photographs of the Stoddard Temple and laid them on the judge’s

desk. He said:

"The defense rests."

13.

HOPTON STODDARD won the suit.

Ellsworth Toohey wrote in his column: "Mr. Roark pulled a Phryne in court and

didn’t get away with it. We never believed that story in the first place."

Roark was instructed to pay the costs of the Temple’s alterations. He said that

he would not appeal the case. Hopton Stoddard announced that the Temple would be

remodeled into the Hopton Stoddard Home for Subnormal Children.

On the day after the end of the trial Alvah Scarret gasped when he glanced at

the proofs of "Your House" delivered to his desk: the column contained most of

Dominique’s testimony in court. Her testimony had been quoted in the newspaper

accounts of the case but only in harmless excerpts. Alvah Scarret hurried to

Dominique’s office.

"Darling, darling, darling," he said, "we can’t print that."

She looked at him blankly and said nothing.

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"Dominique, sweetheart, be reasonable. Quite apart from some of the language you

use and some of your utterly unprintable ideas, you know very well the stand

this paper has taken on the case. You know the campaign we’ve conducted. You’ve

read my editorial this morning--’A Victory for Decency.’ We can’t have one

writer running against our whole policy."

"You’ll have to print it."

"But, sweetheart..."

"Or I’ll have to quit."

"Oh, go on, go on, go on, don’t be silly. Now don’t get ridiculous. You know

better than that. We can’t get along without you. We can’t..."

"You’ll have to choose, Alvah."

Scarret knew that he would get hell from Gail Wynand if he printed the thing,

and might get hell if he lost Dominique Francon whose column was popular. Wynand

had not returned from his cruise. Scarret cabled him in Bali, explaining the

situation.

Within a few hours Scarret received an answer. It was in Wynand’s private code.

Translated it read FIRE THE BITCH. G.W.

Scarret stared at the cable, crushed. It was an order that allowed no

alternative, even if Dominique surrendered. He hoped she would resign. He could

not face the thought of having to fire her.

Through an office boy whom he had recommended for the job, Toohey obtained the

decoded copy of Wynand’s cable. He put it in his pocket and went to Dominique’s

office. He had not seen her since the trial. He found her engaged in emptying

the drawers of her desk.

"Hello," he said curtly. "What are you doing?"

"Waiting to hear from Alvah Scarret."

"Meaning?"

"Waiting to hear whether I’ll have to resign."

"Feel like talking about the trial?"

"No."

"I do. I think I owe you the courtesy of admitting that you’ve done what no one

has ever done before: you proved me wrong." He spoke coldly; his face looked

flat; his eyes had no trace of kindness. "I had not expected you to do what you

did on the stand. It was a scurvy trick. Though up to your usual standard. I

simply miscalculated the direction of your malice. However, you did have the

good sense to admit that your act was futile. Of course, you made your point.

And mine. As a token of appreciation, I have a present for you." He laid the

cable on her desk. She read it and stood holding it in her hand. "You can’t even

resign, my dear," he said. "You can’t make that sacrifice to your pearl-casting

hero. Remembering that you attach such great importance to not being beaten

except by your own hand, I thought you would enjoy this."

She folded the cable and slipped it into her purse.

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"Thank you, Ellsworth."

"If you’re going to fight me, my dear, it will take more than speeches."

"Haven’t I always?"

"Yes. Yes, of course you have. Quite right. You’re correcting me again. You have

always fought me--and the only time you broke down and screamed for mercy was on

that witness stand."

"That’s right."

"That’s where I miscalculated."

"Yes."

He bowed formally and left the room.

She made a package of the things she wanted to take home. Then she went to

Scarret’s office. She showed him the cable in her hand, but she did not give it

to him.

"Okay, Alvah," she said.

"Dominique, I couldn’t help it, I couldn’t help it, it was--How the hell did you

get that?"

"It’s all right, Alvah. No, I won’t give it back to you. I want to keep it." She

put the cable back in her bag. "Mail me my check and anything else that has to

be discussed."

"You...you were going to resign anyway, weren’t you?"

"Yes, I was. But I like it better--being fired."

"Dominique, if you knew how awful I feel about it. I can’t believe it. I simply

can’t believe it."

"So you people made a martyr out of me, after all. And that is the one thing

I’ve tried all my life not to be. It’s so graceless, being a martyr. It’s

honoring your adversaries too much. But I’ll tell you this, Alvah--I’ll tell it

to you, because I couldn’t find a less appropriate person to hear it: nothing

that you do to me--or to him--will be worse than what I’ll do myself. If you

think I can’t take the Stoddard Temple, wait till you see what I can take."

#

On an evening three days after the trial Ellsworth Toohey sat in his room,

listening to the radio. He did not feel like working and he allowed himself a

rest, relaxing luxuriously in an armchair, letting his fingers follow the rhythm

of a complicated symphony. He heard a knock at his door. "Co-ome in," he

drawled.

Catherine came in. She glanced at the radio by way of apology for her entrance.

"I knew you weren’t working, Uncle Ellsworth. I want to speak to you."

She stood slumped, her body thin and curveless. She wore a skirt of expensive

tweed, unpressed. She had smeared some makeup on her face; the skin showed

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lifeless under the patches of powder. At twenty-six she looked like a woman

trying to hide the fact of being over thirty.

In the last few years, with her uncle’s help, she had become an able social

worker. She held a paid job in a settlement house, she had a small bank account