nother 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 mat