through a strange circumstance george arrived late for the opening lunch in the lower hall, but he was late in grave company. he had been wandering aimlessly and quite alone about the great interiors of the town hall when he caught sight of mr. phirrips, the contractor, with the bishop and the most famous sporting peer of the north, a man who for some mystical reason was idolized by the masses of the city. unfortunately mr. phirrips also caught sight of george. "bishop, here is mr. cannon, our architect. he will be able to explain perhaps better—" and in an instant mr. phirrips had executed one of those feats of prestidigitation for which he was renowned in contracting circles, left george with the bishop, and gone off with his highly prized quarry, the sporting peer. george, despite much worldliness, had never before had speech with a bishop. however, the bishop played his part in a soothingly conventional way, manipulated his apron and his calves with senile dignity, stood still and gazed ardently at ceilings and vistas, and said at intervals, explosively and hoarsely: "ha! very, interesting! very interesting! very fine! very fine! noble!" he also put intelligent questions to the youthful architect, such as: "how many bricks have been used in this building?" he was very leisurely, as though the whole of eternity was his.
"i'm afraid we may be late for the luncheon," george ventured.
the bishop looked at him blandly, leaning forward, and replied, after holding his mouth open for a moment:
"they will not begin without us. i say grace." his antique eye twinkled.
after this george liked him, and understood that he was really a bishop.
in the immense hubbub of the lower hall the bishop was seized upon by officials, and conducted to a chair a few places to the right of his worship the mayor. though there was considerable disorder and confusion (doubtless owing to the absence of alderman soulter, who had held all the strings in his hand) everybody agreed that the luncheon scene in the lower hall was magnificent. the mayor, in his high chair and in his heavy chain and glittering robe, ruled in the centre of the principal table, from which lesser tables ran at right angles. the aldermen and councillors, also chained and robed, well sustained the brilliance of the mayor, and the ceremonial officials of the city surpassed both mayor and council in grandeur. sundry peers and m.p.'s and illustrious capitalists enhanced the array of renown, and the bishop was rivalled by priestly dignitaries scarcely less grandiose than himself. and then there were the women. the women had been let in. during ten years of familiarity with the city's life george had hardly spoken to a woman, except mr. soulter's scotch half-sister. the men lived a life of their own, which often extended to the evenings, and very many of them when mentioning women employed a peculiar tone. but now the women were disclosed in bulk, and the display startled george. he suddenly saw all the city fathers and their sons in a new light.
the bishop had his appointed chair, with a fine feminine hat on either side of him, but george could not find that any particular chair had been appointed to himself. eventually he saw an empty chair in the middle of a row of men at the right-hand transverse table, and he took it. he had expected, as the sole artistic creator of the town hall whose completion the gathering celebrated, to be the object of a great deal of curiosity at the luncheon. but in this expectation he was deceived. if any curiosity concerning him existed, it was admirably concealed. the authorities, however, had not entirely forgotten him, for the town clerk that morning had told him that he must reply to the toast of his health. he had protested against the shortness of the notice, whereupon the town clerk had said casually that a few words would suffice—anything, in fact, and had hastened off. george was now getting nervous. he was afraid of hearing his own voice in that long, low interior which he had made. he had no desire to eat. he felt tired. still, his case was less acute than it would have been had the august personage originally hoped for attended the luncheon. the august personage had not attended on account of an objection, apropos of an extreme passage in an election campaign speech, to the occupant of the mayoral chair (who had thus failed to be transformed into a lord mayor). the whole city had then, though the mayor was not over-popular, rallied to its representative, and the council had determined that the inauguration should be a purely municipal affair, a family party, proving to the august and to the world that the city was self-sufficing. the episode was characteristic.
george heard a concert of laughter, which echoed across the room. at the end of the main table mr. phirrips had become a centre of gaiety. mr. phirrips, whom george and the clerk-of-the-works had had severe and constant difficulty in keeping reasonably near the narrow path of rectitude, was a merry, sharp, smart, middle-aged man with a skin that always looked as if he had just made use of an irritant soap. he was one of the largest contractors in england, and his name on the hoarding of any building in course of erection seemed to give distinction to that building. he was very rich, and popular in municipal circles, and especially with certain councillors, including a labour councillor. george wondered whether mr. phirrips would make a speech. no toast-list was visible in george's vicinity.
to george the meal seemed to pass with astounding celerity. the old bishop said grace in six words. the toast-master bawled for silence. the health of all classes of society who could rely upon good doctors was proposed and heartily drunk—princes, prelates, legislators, warriors, judges—but the catalogue was cut short before any eccentric person could propose the health of the one-roomed poor, of whom the city was excessively prolific. and then the mayor addressed himself to the great business of the town hall. george listened with throat dry; by way of precaution he had drunk nothing during the meal; and at each toast he had merely raised the glass to his lips and infinitesimally sipped; the coffee was bad and cold and left a taste in his mouth; but everything that he had eaten left a taste in his mouth. the mayor began: "my lords, ladies, and gentlemen,—during the building of this—er—er— structure ...." all his speech was in that manner and that key. nevertheless he was an able and strong individual, and as an old trade union leader could be fiercely eloquent with working-men. he mentioned alderman soulter, and there was a tremendous cheer. he did not mention alderman soulter again; a feud burned between these two. after alderman soulter he mentioned finance. he said that that was not the time to refer to finance, and then spoke of nothing else but finance throughout the remainder of his speech, until he came to the peroration—"success and prosperity to our new town hall, the grandest civic monument which any city has erected to itself in this country within living memory, aye, and beyond." the frantic applause atoned for the lack of attention and the semi-audible chattering which had marred the latter part of the interminable and sagacious harangue. george thought: "pardon me! the city has not erected this civic monument. i have erected it." and he thought upon all the labour he had put into it, and all the beauty and magnificence which he had evolved. alderman soulter should have replied on behalf of the town hall committee, and the alderman who took his place apologized for his inability to fill the role, and said little.
then the toast-master bawled incomprehensibly for the twentieth time, and a councillor arose and in timid tones said:
"i rise to propose the toast of the architect and contractor."
george was so astounded that he caught scarcely anything of the speech. it was incredible to him that he, the creative artist, who was solely responsible for the architecture and decoration of the monument, in whose unique mind it had existed long before the second brick had been placed upon the first, should be bracketed in a toast with the tradesman and middleman who had merely supervised the execution of his scheme according to rules of thumb. he flushed. he wanted to walk out. but nobody else appeared to be disturbed. george, who had never before attended an inauguration, was simply not aware that the toast 'architect and contractor' was the classic british toast, invariably drunk on such occasions, and never criticised. he thought: "what a country!" and remembered hundreds of mr. enwright's remarks.... phrases of the orator wandered into his ear. "the competition system.... we went to sir hugh corver, the head of the architectural profession [loud applause] and sir hugh corver assured us that the design of mr. george cannon was the best. [hear, hear! hear, hear!]... mr. phirrip, head of the famous firm of phirrips limited [loud applause] ... fortunate, after our misfortune with the original contractor to obtain such a leading light.... cannot sufficiently thank these two—er officials for the intellect, energy, and patience they have put into their work."
as the speech was concluding, a tactless man sitting next to george, with whom he had progressed very slowly in acquaintance during the lunch, leaned towards him and murmured in a confidential tone:
"did i tell you both naval yards up here have just had orders to work day and night? yes. fact."
george's mind ran back to mr. prince, and mr. prince's prophecy of war. was there something in it after all? the thought passed in an instant, but the last vestiges of his equanimity had gone. hearing his name he jumped up in a mist inhabited by inimical phantoms, and, amid feeble acclamations here and there, said he knew not what in a voice now absurdly loud and now absurdly soft, and sat down, amid more feeble acclamations, feeling an angry fool. it was the most hideous experience. he lit a cigarette, his first that day.
when mr. phirrips rose, the warm clapping was expectant of good things.
"when i was a little boy i remember my father telling me that this town hall had been started. i never expected to live to see it finished—"
delighted guffaws, uproarious laughter, explosions of mirth, interrupted this witty reference to the delays in construction. the speaker smiled at ease. his eyes glinted. he knew his audience, held it consummately, and went on.
in the afternoon there was a conversazione, or reception, for the lunchers and also for the outer fringe of the city's solid respectability. the whole of the town hall from basement to roof was open to view, and citizens of all ages wandered in it everywhere, admiring it, quizzing it, and feeling proudly that it was theirs. george too wandered about, feeling that it was his. he was slowly recovering from the humiliation of the lunch. much of the building pleased him greatly; at the excellence of some effects and details he marvelled; the entry into the large hall from the grand staircase was dramatic, just as he had had intended it should be; the organ was being played, and word went round that the acoustic (or acoostic) properties of the auditorium were perfect, and unrivalled by any auditorium in the kingdom. on the other hand, the crudity of certain other effects and details irritated the creator, helping him to perceive how much he had learnt in ten years; in ten years, for example, his ideas about mouldings had been quite transformed. what chiefly satisfied him was the demonstration, everywhere, that he had mastered his deep natural impatience of minutiae —that instinct which often so violently resented the exacting irksomeness of trifles in the realization of a splendid idea. at intervals he met an acquaintance and talked, but nobody at all appeared to comprehend that he alone was the creator of the mighty pile, and that all the individuals present might be divided artistically into two classes—himself in one class, the entire remainder in the other. and nobody appeared to be inconvenienced by the sense of the height of his achievement or of the splendour of his triumph that day. it is true that the north hates to seem impressed, and will descend to any duplicity in order not to seem impressed.
the town clerk's clerk came importantly up to him and asked:
"how many reserved seats would you like for the concert?"
a grand ballad concert, at which the most sentimental of contraltos, helped by other first-class throats, was to minister wholesale to the insatiable secret sentimentality of the north, had been arranged for the evening.
" one will be enough," said george.
"are you alone?" asked the town clerk's clerk.
george took the ticket. none of the city fathers or their fashionable sons had even invited him to dinner. he went forth and had tea alone, while reading in an evening paper about the austro-serbian situation, in the tea-rooms attached to a cinema-palace. the gorgeous rooms, throbbing to two-steps and fox-trots, were crammed with customers; but the waitresses behaved competently. thence he drove out in a taxi to the residence of alderman soulter. he could see neither the alderman nor miss soulter; he learnt that the condition of the patient was reassuring, and that the patient had a very good constitution. back at the hotel, he had to wait for dinner. in due course he ate the customary desolating table-d'hote dinner which is served simultaneously in the vast, odorous dining-rooms, all furnished alike, of scores and scores of grand hotels throughout the provinces. having filled his cigar-case, he set out once more into the beautiful summer evening. in broad side gate were massed the chief resorts of amusement. the façade of the empire music-hall glowed with great rubies and emeralds and amethysts and topazes in the fading light. its lure was more powerful than the lure of the ballad concert. ignoring his quasi-official duty to the greatest of sentimental contraltos, he pushed into the splendid foyer of the empire. one solitary stall, half a crown, was left for the second house; he bought it, eager in transgression; he felt that the ballad concert would have sent him mad.
the auditorium of the empire was far larger than the auditorium of the town hall, and it was covered with gold. the curving rows of plush-covered easy chairs extended backwards until faces became indistinguishable points in the smoke-misted gloom. every seat was occupied; the ballad concert had made no impression upon the music-hall. the same stars that he could see in london appeared on the gigantic stage in the same songs and monologues; and as in london the indispensable revue was performed, but with a grosser and more direct licentiousness than the west end would have permitted. and all proceeded with inexorable exactitude according to time-table. and in scores and scores of similar empires, hippodromes, alhambras, and pavilions throughout the provinces, similar entertainments were proceeding with the same exactitude—another example of the huge standardization of life. george laughed with the best at the inventive drollery of the knock-about comedians—britain's sole genuine contribution to the art of the modern stage. but there were items in the empire programme that were as awful in their tedium as anything at the ballad concert could be—moments when george could not bear to look over the footlights. and these items were applauded in ecstasy by the enchanted audience. he thought of the stupidity, the insensibility, the sheer ignorance of the exalted lunchers; and he compared them with these qualities in the empire audience, and asked himself sardonically whether all artists had lived in vain. but the atmosphere of the empire was comfortable, reassuring, inspiring. the men had their pipes, cigarettes, and women; the women had the men, the luxury, the glitter, the publicity. they had attained, they were happy. the frightful curse of the provinces, ennui, had been conjured away by the beneficent and sublime institution invented, organized, and controlled by three great trusts.
george stayed till the end of the show. the emptying of the theatre was like a battle, like the flight of millions from a conflagration. all humanity seemed to be crowded into the corridors and staircases. jostled and disordered, he emerged into the broad street, along which huge, lighted trams slowly thundered. he walked a little, starting a fresh cigar. the multitude had resumed its calm. a few noisy men laughed and swore obscene oaths; and girls, either in couples or with men, trudged, demure and unshocked, past the roysterers, as though they had neither ears to hear nor eyes to see. in a few minutes the processions were dissipated, dissolved into the vastness of the city, and the pavements nearly deserted. george strolled on towards the square. the town hall stood up against the velvet pallor of the starry summer night, massive, lovely, supreme, deserted. he had conceived it in an office in russell square when he was a boy. and there it was, the mightiest monument of the city which had endured through centuries of astounding corporate adventure. he was overwhelmed, and he was inexpressibly triumphant. throughout the day he had had no recognition; and as regards the future, few, while ignorantly admiring the monument, would give a thought to the artist. books were eternally signed, and pictures, and sculpture. but the architect was forgotten. what did it matter? if the creators of gothic cathedrals had to accept oblivion, he might. the tower should be his signature. and no artist could imprint his influence so powerfully and so mysteriously upon the un conscious city as he was doing. and the planet was whirling the whole city round like an atom in the icy spaces between the stars. and perhaps lois was lying expectant, discontented, upon the sofa, thinking rebelliously. he was filled with the realization of universality.
at the hotel another telegram awaited him.
"good old ponting!" he exclaimed, after reading it. the message ran:
"we have won it.—ponting"
he said:
"why 'we,' ponting? you didn't win it. i won it."
he said:
"sir hugh corver is not going to be the head of the architectural profession. i am." he felt the assurance of that in his bones.
