he got from him
some notion of the design. It was a representation of a fair, with
peasants and artisans in an orgy of enjoyment, drunk and absurd in
their modern dress, whirling ridiculously in roundabouts, gaping at
shows, kissing and staggering and rolling in knots, swinging in
swing-boats, and firing down shooting galleries, a frenzy of chaotic
motion.

There was a swift discussion of technicalities. Gudrun was very much
impressed.

'But how wonderful, to have such a factory!' cried Ursula. 'Is the
whole building fine?'

'Oh yes,' he replied. 'The frieze is part of the whole architecture.
Yes, it is a colossal thing.'

Then he seemed to stiffen, shrugged his shoulders, and went on:

'Sculpture and architecture must go together. The day for irrelevant
statues, as for wall pictures, is over. As a matter of fact sculpture
is always part of an architectural conception. And since churches are
all museum stuff, since industry is our business, now, then let us make
our places of industry our art--our factory-area our Parthenon, ECCO!'

Ursula pondered.

'I suppose,' she said, 'there is no NEED for our great works to be so
hideous.'

Instantly he broke into motion.

'There you are!' he cried, 'there you are! There is not only NO NEED
for our places of work to be ugly, but their ugliness ruins the work,
in the end. Men will not go on submitting to such intolerable ugliness.
In the end it will hurt too much, and they will wither because of it.
And this will wither the WORK as well. They will think the work itself
is ugly: the machines, the very act of labour. Whereas the machinery
and the acts of labour are extremely, maddeningly beautiful. But this
will be the end of our civilisation, when people will not work because
work has become so intolerable to their senses, it nauseates them too
much, they would rather starve. THEN we shall see the hammer used only
for smashing, then we shall see it. Yet here we are--we have the
opportunity to make beautiful factories, beautiful machine-houses--we
have the opportunity--'

Gudrun could only partly understand. She could have cried with
vexation.

'What does he say?' she asked Ursula. And Ursula translated, stammering
and brief. Loerke watched Gudrun's face, to see her judgment.

'And do you think then,' said Gudrun, 'that art should serve industry?'

'Art should INTERPRET industry, as art once interpreted religion,' he
said.

'But does your fair interpret industry?'