"If you want it right, will you do exactly as I say?"
"Yes. Yes. Yes, of course."
"First of all, the architect. That's very important."
"Yes, indeed."
"You don't want one of those satin-lined commercial boys with the dollar sign all over them. You want a man who believes in his work as — as you believe in God."
"That's right. That's absolutely right."
"You must take the one I name."
"Certainly. Who's that?"
"Howard Roark."
"Huh?" Hopton Stoddard looked blank. "Who's he?"
"He's the man who's going to build the Temple of the Human Spirit."
"Is he any good?"
Ellsworth Toohey turned and looked straight into his eyes.
"By my immortal soul, Hopton," he said slowly, "he's the best there is."
"Oh! ... "
"But he's difficult to get. He doesn't work except on certain conditions. You must observe them scrupulously. You must give him complete freedom. Tell him what you want and how much you want to spend, and leave the rest up to him. Let him design it and build it as he wishes. He won't work otherwise. Just tell him frankly that you know nothing about architecture and that you chose him because you felt he was the only one who could be trusted to do it right without advice or interference."
"Okay, if you vouch for him."
"I vouch for him."
"That's fine. And I don't care how much it costs me."
"But you must be careful about approaching him. I think he will refuse to do it, at first. He will tell you that he doesn't believe in God."
"What!"
"Don't believe him. He's a profoundly religious man — in his own way. You can see that in his buildings."
"Oh."
"But he doesn't belong to any established church. So you won't appear partial. You won't offend anyone."
"That's good."
"Now, when you deal in matters of faith, you must be the first one to have faith. Is that right?"
"That's right."
"Don't wait to see his drawings. They will take some time — and you mustn't delay your trip. Just hire him — don't sign a contract, it's not necessary — make arrangements for your bank to take care of the financial end and let him do the rest. You don't have to pay him his fee until you return. In a year or so, when you come back after seeing all those great temples, you'll have a better one of your own, waiting here for you."
"That's just what I wanted."
"But you must think of the proper unveiling to the public, the proper dedication, the right publicity."
"Of course ... That is, publicity?"
"Certainly. Do you know of any great event that's not accompanied by a good publicity campaign? One that isn't, can't be much. If you skimp on that, it will be downright disrespectful."
"That's true."
"Now if you want the proper publicity, you must plan it carefully, well in advance. What you want, when you unveil it, is one grand fanfare, like an opera overture, like a blast on Gabriel's horn."
"That's beautiful, the way you put it."
"Well, to do that you mustn't allow a lot of newspaper punks to dissipate your effect by dribbling out premature stories. Don't release the drawings of the temple. Keep them secret. Tell Roark that you want them kept secret. He won't object to that. Have the contractor put up a solid fence all around the site while it's being built. No one's to know what it's like until you come back and preside at the unveiling in person. Then — pictures in every damn paper in the country!"
"Ellsworth!"
"I beg your pardon."
"The idea's right. That's how we put over The Legend of the Virgin, ten years ago that was, with a cast of ninety-seven."
"Yes. But in the meantime, keep the public interested. Get yourself a good press agent and tell him how you want it handled. I'll give you the name of an excellent one. See to it that there's something about the mysterious Stoddard Temple in the papers every other week or so. Keep 'em guessing. Keep 'em waiting. They'll be good and ready when the time comes."
"Right."
"But, above all, don't let Roark know that I recommended him. Don't breathe a word to anyone about my having anything to do with it. Not to a soul. Swear it."
"But why?"
"Because I have too many friends who are architects, and it's such an important commission, and I don't want to hurt anybody's feelings."
"Yes. That's true."
"Swear it."
"Oh, Ellsworth!"
"Swear it. By the salvation of your soul."
"I swear it. By ... that."
"All right. Now you've never dealt with architects, and he's an unusual kind of architect, and you don't want to muff it. So I'll tell you exactly what you're to say to him."
On the following day Toohey walked into Dominique's office. He stood at her desk, smiled and said, his voice unsmiling:
"Do you remember Hopton Stoddard and that temple of all faith that he's been talking about for six years?"
"Vaguely."
"He's going to build it."
"Is he?"
"He's giving the job to Howard Roark."
"Not really!"
"Really."
"Well, of all the incredible ... Not Hopton!"
"Hopton."
"Oh, all right. I'll go to work on him."
"No. You lay off. I told him to give it to Roark."
She sat still, exactly as the words caught her, the amusement gone from her face. He added:
"I wanted you to know that I did it, so there won't be any tactical contradictions. No one else knows it or is to know it. I trust you to remember that."
She asked, her lips moving tightly: "What are you after?"
He smiled. He said:
"I'm going to make him famous."
Roark sat in Hopton Stoddard's office and listened, stupefied. Hopton Stoddard spoke slowly; it sounded earnest and impressive, but was due to the fact that he had memorized his speeches almost verbatim. His baby eyes looked at Roark with an ingratiating plea. For once, Roark almost forgot architecture and placed the human element first; he wanted to get up and get out of the office; he could not stand the man. But the words he heard held him; the words did not match the man's face or voice.
"So you see, Mr. Roark, though it is to be a religious edifice, it is also more than that. You notice that we call it the Temple of the Human Spirit. We want to capture — in stone, as others capture in music — not some narrow creed, but the essence of all religion. And what is the essence of religion? The great aspiration of the human spirit toward the highest, the noblest, the best. The human spirit as the creator and the conqueror of the ideal. The great life-giving force of the universe. The heroic human spirit. That is your assignment, Mr. Roark."
Roark rubbed the back of his hand against his eyes, helplessly. It was not possible. It simply was not possible. That could not be what the man wanted; not that man. It seemed horrible to hear him say that.
"Mr. Stoddard, I'm afraid you've made a mistake," he said, his voice slow and tired. "I don't think I'm the man you want. I don't think it would be right for me to undertake it. I don't believe in God."
He was astonished to see Hopton Stoddard's expression of delight and triumph. Hopton Stoddard glowed in appreciation — in appreciation of the clairvoyant wisdom of Ellsworth Toohey who was always right. He drew himself up with new confidence, and he said firmly, for the first time in the tone of an old man addressing a youth, wise and gently patronizing:
"That doesn't matter. You're a profoundly religious man, Mr. Roark — in your own way. I can see that in your buildings."
He wondered why Roark stared at him like that, without moving, for such a long time.
"That's true," said Roark. It was almost a whisper.