The Fountainhead Part 91

"Mankind will never destroy itself, Mr. Wynand. Nor should it think of itself as destroyed. Not so long as it does things such as this."

"As what?"

"As the Wynand Building."

"That is up to you. Dead things-such as the Banner Banner-are only the financial fertilizer that will make it possible. It is their proper function."

He picked up his copy of the contract, folded it and put it, with a precise gesture, into his inside coat pocket. He said, with no change in the tone of his voice: "I told you once that this building was to be a monument to my life. There is nothing to commemorate now. The Wynand Building will have nothing-except what you give it."

He rose to his feet, indicating that the interview was ended. Roark got up and inclined his head in parting. He held his head down a moment longer than a formal bow required.

At the door he stopped and turned. Wynand stood behind his desk without moving. They looked at each other.

Wynand said: "Build it as a monument to that spirit which is yours ... and could have been mine."

XX

ON A SPRING DAY, EIGHTEEN MONTHS LATER, DOMINIQUE WALKED to the construction site of the Wynand Building.

She looked at the skysc.r.a.pers of the city. They rose from unexpected spots, out of the low roof lines. They had a kind of startling suddenness, as if they had sprung up the second before she saw them and she had caught the last thrust of the motion; as if, were she to turn away and look again fast enough, she would catch them in the act of springing.

She turned a corner of h.e.l.l's Kitchen and came to the vast cleared tract.

Machines were crawling over the torn earth, grading the future park. From its center, the skeleton of the Wynand Building rose, completed, to the sky. The top part of the frame still hung naked, an intercrossed cage of steel. Gla.s.s and masonry had followed its rise, covering the rest of the long streak slashed through s.p.a.ce.

She thought: They say the heart of the earth is made of fire. It is held imprisoned and silent. But at times it breaks through the clay, the iron, the granite, and shoots out to freedom. Then it becomes a thing like this.

She walked to the building. A wooden fence surrounded its lower stories. The fence was bright with large signs advertising the names of the firms who had supplied materials for the tallest structure in the world. "Steel by National Steel, Inc." "Gla.s.s by Ludlow." "Electrical Equipment by Wells-Clairmont." "Elevators by Kessler, Inc." "Nash & Dunning, Contractors."

She stopped. She saw an object she had never noticed before. The sight was like the touch of a hand on her forehead, the hand of those figures in legend who had the power to heal. She had not known Henry Cameron and she had not heard him say it, but what she felt now was as if she were hearing it: "And I know that if you carry these words through to the end, it will be a victory, Howard, not just for you, but for something that should win, that moves the world-and never wins acknowledgment. It will vindicate so many who have fallen before you, who have suffered as you will suffer."

She saw, on the fence surrounding New York's greatest building, a small tin plate bearing the words: "Howard Roark, Architect"

She walked to the superintendent's shed. She had come here often to call for Roark, to watch the progress of construction. But there was a new man in the shed who did not know her. She asked for Roark.

"Mr. Roark is way up on top by the water tank. Who's calling, ma'am?"

"Mrs. Roark," she answered.

The man found the superintendent who let her ride the outside hoist, as she always did-a few planks with a rope for a railing, that rose up the side of the building.

She stood, her hand lifted and closed about a cable, her high heels posed firmly on the planks. The planks shuddered, a current of air pressed her skirt to her body, and she saw the ground dropping softly away from her.

She rose above the broad panes of shop windows. The channels of streets grew deeper, sinking. She rose above the marquees of movie theaters, black mats held by spirals of color. Office windows streamed past her, long belts of gla.s.s running down. The squat hulks of warehouses vanished, sinking with the treasures they guarded. Hotel towers slanted, like the spokes of an opening fan, and folded over. The fuming matchsticks were factory stacks and the moving gray squares were cars. The sun made lighthouses of peaked summits, they reeled, flas.h.i.+ng long white rays over the city. The city spread out, marching in angular rows to the rivers. It stood held between two thin black arms of water. It leaped across and rolled away to a haze of plains and sky.

Flat roofs descended like pedals pressing the buildings down, out of the way of her flight. She went past the cubes of gla.s.s that held dining rooms, bedrooms and nurseries. She saw roof gardens float down like handkerchiefs spread on the wind. Skysc.r.a.pers raced her and were left behind. The planks under her feet shot past the antennae of radio stations.

The hoist swung like a pendulum above the city. It sped against the side of the building. It had pa.s.sed the line where the masonry ended behind her. There was nothing behind her now but steel ligaments and s.p.a.ce. She felt the height pressing against her eardrums. The sun filled her eyes. The air beat against her raised chin.

She saw him standing above her, on the top platform of the Wynand Building. He waved to her.

The line of the ocean cut the sky. The ocean mounted as the city descended. She pa.s.sed the pinnacles of bank buildings. She pa.s.sed the crowns of courthouses. She rose above the spires of churches.

Then there was only the ocean and the sky and the figure of Howard Roark.

The End

AFTERWORD

by Leonard Peikoff

Before starting a novel, Ayn Rand wrote voluminously in her journals about its theme, characters, and plot. She wrote not for any outside reader, but for herself-for the clarity of her own understanding. For her admirers, however, the Fountainhead Fountainhead journals are a cornucopia of treasures, all of which will be published in due course. Among other things, they include her first sketches of the characters, notes indicating the evolution of the plot, her own editorial a.n.a.lysis of the first draft of Part One, and extensive architectural research, with pa.s.sages from the books of various authorities copied by hand and followed by her own comments. Throughout the journals, of course, in one form or another, there is also philosophy-that is, the ideas which were eventually to culminate in Objectivism. journals are a cornucopia of treasures, all of which will be published in due course. Among other things, they include her first sketches of the characters, notes indicating the evolution of the plot, her own editorial a.n.a.lysis of the first draft of Part One, and extensive architectural research, with pa.s.sages from the books of various authorities copied by hand and followed by her own comments. Throughout the journals, of course, in one form or another, there is also philosophy-that is, the ideas which were eventually to culminate in Objectivism.

From these journals, with the kind help of an a.s.sociate, Gary Hull, I have selected for this Afterword entries of several kinds. They are being offered here as an advance bonus for Miss Rand's readers, to mark the occasion of The Fountainhead The Fountainhead's 50th anniversary. This material will give the reader at least a glimpse of the novel being born-and of the author at work creating it by solving problems to which, thanks to her, he already knows the full, perfect answers.

Ayn Rand's working t.i.tle for the novel was Second-Hand Second-Hand Lives. The final t.i.tle, chosen after the ma.n.u.script was completed, changes the emphasis: like the book, it gives primacy not to the villains, but to the creative hero, the man who uses his mind first-handed and becomes thereby the fountainhead of all achievement. Lives. The final t.i.tle, chosen after the ma.n.u.script was completed, changes the emphasis: like the book, it gives primacy not to the villains, but to the creative hero, the man who uses his mind first-handed and becomes thereby the fountainhead of all achievement.

The first page of the handwritten ma.n.u.scripts of The Fountainhead The Fountainhead is dated June 26, 1938. But years earlier Miss Rand was hard at work thinking about the book. On December 26, 1935, for example, she outlined the following preliminary cast of characters (three of these were later cut and others were added): is dated June 26, 1938. But years earlier Miss Rand was hard at work thinking about the book. On December 26, 1935, for example, she outlined the following preliminary cast of characters (three of these were later cut and others were added):

Howard Roark-The n.o.ble soul par excellence. The man as man should be. The self-sufficient, self-confident, the end of ends, the reason unto himself, the joy of living personified. Above all-the man who lives for himself, as living for oneself should be understood. And who triumphs completely. A man who is what he should be.

Peter Keating-The exact opposite of Howard Roark, and everything a man should not be. A perfect example of a selfless man who is a ruthless, unprincipled egotist-in the accepted meaning of the word. A tremendous vanity and greed, which lead him to sacrifice all for the sake of a "brilliant career" A mob man at heart, of the mob and for the mob. His triumph is his disaster. Left as an empty, bitter wreck, his "second-hand life" takes the form of sacrificing all for the sake of a victory which has no meaning and gives him no satisfaction. Because his means become his end. He shows that a selfless man cannot be ethical. He has no self and, therefore, cannot have any ethics. A man who never could be [man as he should be]. And doesn't know it. exact opposite of Howard Roark, and everything a man should not be. A perfect example of a selfless man who is a ruthless, unprincipled egotist-in the accepted meaning of the word. A tremendous vanity and greed, which lead him to sacrifice all for the sake of a "brilliant career" A mob man at heart, of the mob and for the mob. His triumph is his disaster. Left as an empty, bitter wreck, his "second-hand life" takes the form of sacrificing all for the sake of a victory which has no meaning and gives him no satisfaction. Because his means become his end. He shows that a selfless man cannot be ethical. He has no self and, therefore, cannot have any ethics. A man who never could be [man as he should be]. And doesn't know it.

A great publisher (Gail Wynand)-A man who rules the mob only as long as he says what the mob wants him to say. What happens when he tries to say what he wants. A man who could have been. (Gail Wynand)-A man who rules the mob only as long as he says what the mob wants him to say. What happens when he tries to say what he wants. A man who could have been.

A Preacher?-A man who tries to save the world with an outworn ideology. Show that his ideals are actually in working existence and that they precisely are what the world has to be saved from.

An art producer-(Screen) A man who has no opinions and no values, save those of others.

The actress (Vesta Dunning)-A woman who accepts greatness in other people's eyes, rather than in her own. A woman who could have been. (Vesta Dunning)-A woman who accepts greatness in other people's eyes, rather than in her own. A woman who could have been.

Dominique Wynand-The woman for a man like Howard Roark. The perfect priestess.

John Eric Snyte-The real ghost-writer-liver. A man who glories in appropriating the achievements of others.

Ellsworth Monkton Toohey-Noted economist, critic and liberal. "Noted" anything and everything. Great "humanitarian" and "man of integrity." Glorifies all forms of collectivism because he knows that only under such forms will he, as the best representative of the ma.s.s, attain prominence and distinction, impossible to him on his own merits which do not exist. The idol-crusher par excellence. Born, organic enemy of all things heroic. Has a positive genius for the commonplace. Worst of all possible rats. A man who never could be-and knows it.

The two moral extremes in this cast are obviously Roark and Toohey. Here is Miss Rand creating the character of Roark, on February 9, 1936. Observe her concern both for the physical detail which will make him real, and for the spirit which will make him Roark.

Howard Roark Tall, slender. Somewhat angular-straight lines, straight angles, hard muscles. Walks swiftly, easily, too easily, slouching a little, a loose kind of ease in motion, as if movement requires no effort whatever, a body to which movement is as natural as immobility, without a definite line to divide them, a light, flowing, lazy ease of motion, an energy so complete that it a.s.sumes the ease of laziness. Large, long hands-prominent joints and knuckles and wrist-bones, with hard, prominent veins on the backs of the hands; hands that look neither young nor old, but exceedingly strong. His clothes always dishevelled, disarranged, loose and suggesting ... a certain savage unfitness for clothes. Definitely red, loose, straight hair, always dishevelled.

A hard, forbidding face, not in the least attractive according to conventional standards. More liable to be considered homely than handsome. Very prominent cheek-bones. A sharp, straight nose. A large mouth-long and narrow, with a thin upper lip and a rather prominent lower one, which gives him the appearance of an eternal, frozen half-smile, an ironic, hard, uncomfortable smile, mocking and contemptuous. Wrinkles or dimples or slightly prominent muscles, all of that and none definitely, around the corners of his mouth. A rather pale face, without color on the cheeks and with freckles over the bridge of the nose and the cheekbones. Dark red eyebrows, straight and thin. Dark gray, steady, expressionless eyes-eyes that refuse to show expression, to be exact. Very long, straight, dark red eyelashes-the only soft, gentle touch of the whole face-a surprising touch in his grim expression. And when he laughs-which happens seldom-his mouth opens wide, with a complete, loose kind of abandon. A low, hard, throaty voice-not rasping, but rather blurred in its tone, though distinct in its sound, with the same soft, lazy fluency as his movements, neither one being soft or lazy....

He is not even militant or defiant about his utter selfishness. No more than he could be defiant about the right to breathe and eat. He has the quiet, complete, irrevocable calm of an iron conviction. No dramatics, no hysteria, no sensitiveness about it-because there are no doubts. A quiet, almost indifferent acceptance of an irrevocable fact.

A quick, sharp mind, courageous and not afraid to be hurt, has long since grasped and understood completely that the world is not what he is and just exactly what that world is. Consequently, he can no longer be hurt. The world has no painful surprise for him, since he has accepted long ago just what he is to expect from the world....

He does not suffer, because he does not believe in suffering. Defeat or disappointment are merely a part of the battle. Nothing can really touch him. He is concerned only with what he does. Not how he feels. How he feels is entirely a matter of his own, which cannot be influenced by anything and anyone on the outside. His feeling is a steady, unruffled flame, deep and hidden, a profound joy of living and of knowing his power, a joy that is not even conscious of being joy, because it is so steady, natural and unchangeable....

He will be himself at any cost-the only thing he really wants of life. And, deep inside of him, he knows that he has the ability to win the right to be himself. Consequently, his life is clear, simple, satisfying and joyous-even if very hard outwardly.

He is in conflict with the world in every possible way-and at complete peace with himself. And his chief difference from the rest of the world is that he was born without the ability to consider others. As a matter of form and necessity on the way, as one meets fellow travellers-yes. As a matter of basic, primary consideration-no....

Religion-None. Not a speck of it. Born without any "religious brain center." Does not understand or even conceive of the instinct for bowing and submission. His whole capacity for reverence is centered on himself. Needs no mystical "consolation," no other life. Thinks too much of this world to expect or desire any other....

The story is the story of Howard Roark's triumph. It has to show what the man is, what he wants and how he gets it. It has to be a triumphant epic of man's spirit, a hymn glorifying a man's "I." It has to show every conceivable hards.h.i.+p and obstacle on his way-and how he triumphs over them, why he has to triumph.

A year later, on February 22, 1937, Miss Rand is working on an early sketch of Toohey. Here are some excerpts: Ellsworth Monkton Toohey the non-creative "second-hand" man par excettence-the critic, expressing and molding the voice of public opinion, the average man at large-condensed, representing the average man's qualities plus the peculiar qualities of his kind which make him the natural leader of average men. Theme song-a vicious, ingrown vanity coupled with an inane will to power, a l.u.s.t for superiority that can be expressed only only through others, whom, therefore, he has to dominate, a natural inferiority complex subconsciously leading to the bringing down of everything into inferiority... through others, whom, therefore, he has to dominate, a natural inferiority complex subconsciously leading to the bringing down of everything into inferiority...

Went into "Intellectualism" in a big way. Two reasons: first, a subconscious revenge for his obvious physical inferiority, a means to a power his body could never give him; second, and main-a cunning perception that only mental control over others is true control, that if he can rule them mentaly he is indeed their total ruler. His vanity is not the pa.s.sive one of Peter, who is really not concerned with other people as such, only as mirrors for his vanity; Toohey is very much concerned with other people in the sense of an overwhelming desire to dominate them....

[Toohey] has realized ahead of many others the tremendous power of numbers, the power of the ma.s.ses which, for the first time, in the XX century, are acquiring real significance in all, even in the intellectual, departments of life. In that sense, he is the man of the century, the genius of modern democracy in its worst meaning. The first cornerstone of his convictions is equality- equality-his greatest pa.s.sion. This includes the idea that, as two-legged human creatures, all possess certain intrinsic value by the mere fact of having been born in the shape of men, not apes. Any concrete, mental content inside the human shape does not matter. A great brain or a great talent or a magnificent character are of no importance as compared to that intrinsic value all possess as men-whatever that may be. He is never clear on what that may be and rather annoyed when the question is raised....

Inasmuch as beliefs are important to him only as a means to an end, and that is the extent of his belief in beliefs, he is not bothered by his inconsistencies, by the vagueness and logical fallacy of his convictions. They are efficient and effective to secure the ends he is seeking. They work-and that is all they're for....

Communism, the Soviet variety particularly, is not merely an economic theory. It does not demand economic equality and security in order to set each individual free to rise as he chooses. Communism is, above all, a spiritual theory which denies the individual, not merely as as an economic power, but in all and every respect. It demands spiritual subordination to the ma.s.s in every way conceivable, economic, intellectual, artistic; it allows individuals to rise on as servants of the ma.s.ses, only as mouthpieces for the great average. It places, among single individuals, Ellsworth Monkton Toohey at the top of the human pyramid.... an economic power, but in all and every respect. It demands spiritual subordination to the ma.s.s in every way conceivable, economic, intellectual, artistic; it allows individuals to rise on as servants of the ma.s.ses, only as mouthpieces for the great average. It places, among single individuals, Ellsworth Monkton Toohey at the top of the human pyramid....

In opposing the existing order of society, it is not the big capitalists and their money that Toohey opposes; he opposes the fading conceptions of individualism still existing in that society, and the privileged few as its material symbols. He says that he is fighting Rockefeller and Morgan; he is fighting Beethoven and Shakespeare....

Toohey studies voraciously. He has a magnificent memory for facts and statistics, he is known as a "walking encyclopedia." This is natural-since he has no creative mind, only a repeating, aping, absorbing "second-hand" one. By the same token-his absorption in studies: he has nothing new to create, but can acquire importance by absorbing the works and achievements of others. He is a sponge, not a fresh spring....

He is a man so completely poisoned spiritually, that his puny physical appearance seems to be a walking testimonial to the spiritual pus filling his blood vessels.

If her journals exhibit Ayn Rand in the pa.s.sionate act of creative work, they also reveal her dispa.s.sionately a.n.a.lyzing and criticizing some of the work's early stages. Here, for example, are her comments on the first draft of Chapter One (February 18, 1940):

Chapter I I Roark planted too soon-(too much of him given)-too obviously heroic-the author's sympathy too clear. (?) Don't like Roark's outbreak with Dean-can be treated differently. Roark planted too soon-(too much of him given)-too obviously heroic-the author's sympathy too clear. (?) Don't like Roark's outbreak with Dean-can be treated differently. Don't Don't dialogue thoughts-narrate them (such as Dean's and Mrs. Keating's) Roark changing his drawing-too much detail (?) In this first chapter-plant Roark: ornament-that his buildings are not modernistic boxes? dialogue thoughts-narrate them (such as Dean's and Mrs. Keating's) Roark changing his drawing-too much detail (?) In this first chapter-plant Roark: ornament-that his buildings are not modernistic boxes?