From: David Kerkeslager Date: Fri, 12 Feb 2021 18:14:56 +0000 (-0500) Subject: Move previous cryptopals work into an Erlang subfolder, start cryptopals in Python 3 X-Git-Url: https://code.kerkeslager.com/?p=sandbox;a=commitdiff_plain;h=b37c633b0ba51e497920762fa2eb4d732ebca291 Move previous cryptopals work into an Erlang subfolder, start cryptopals in Python 3 --- diff --git a/cryptopals-erlang/.gitignore b/cryptopals-erlang/.gitignore new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cd81191 --- /dev/null +++ b/cryptopals-erlang/.gitignore @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +*.beam +*.swp diff --git a/cryptopals-erlang/01.01/hex.erl b/cryptopals-erlang/01.01/hex.erl new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d778f15 --- /dev/null +++ b/cryptopals-erlang/01.01/hex.erl @@ -0,0 +1,7 @@ +-module(hex). +-export([decode/1]). + +data_in_pairs([]) -> []; +data_in_pairs([C1,C2|Tail]) -> [ [C1] ++ [C2] | data_in_pairs(Tail) ]. + +decode(Data) -> << <<(list_to_integer(C,16)):8>> || C <- data_in_pairs(Data) >>. diff --git a/cryptopals-erlang/01.01/hex_tests.erl b/cryptopals-erlang/01.01/hex_tests.erl new file mode 100644 index 0000000..80d95da --- /dev/null +++ b/cryptopals-erlang/01.01/hex_tests.erl @@ -0,0 +1,6 @@ +-module(hex_tests). +-include_lib("eunit/include/eunit.hrl"). + +decode_test() -> ?assertEqual( + <<1,35,69,103,137,171,205,239>>, + hex:decode("0123456789abcdef")). diff --git a/cryptopals-erlang/01.01/hex_to_base64.erl b/cryptopals-erlang/01.01/hex_to_base64.erl new file mode 100644 index 0000000..57b69af --- /dev/null +++ b/cryptopals-erlang/01.01/hex_to_base64.erl @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +-module(hex_to_base64). +-export([hex_to_base64/1]). + +hex_to_base64(Hex) -> base64:encode_to_string(hex:decode(Hex)). diff --git a/cryptopals-erlang/01.01/hex_to_base64_tests.erl b/cryptopals-erlang/01.01/hex_to_base64_tests.erl new file mode 100644 index 0000000..11ac698 --- /dev/null +++ b/cryptopals-erlang/01.01/hex_to_base64_tests.erl @@ -0,0 +1,6 @@ +-module(hex_to_base64_tests). +-include_lib("eunit/include/eunit.hrl"). + +basit_test() -> ?assertEqual( + "SSdtIGtpbGxpbmcgeW91ciBicmFpbiBsaWtlIGEgcG9pc29ub3VzIG11c2hyb29t", + hex_to_base64:hex_to_base64("49276d206b696c6c696e6720796f757220627261696e206c696b65206120706f69736f6e6f7573206d757368726f6f6d")). diff --git a/cryptopals-erlang/01.01/test.sh b/cryptopals-erlang/01.01/test.sh new file mode 100755 index 0000000..6c09747 --- /dev/null +++ b/cryptopals-erlang/01.01/test.sh @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +erl -make +erl -noshell -eval "eunit:test($1, [verbose])" -s init stop diff --git a/cryptopals-erlang/01.02/hex.erl b/cryptopals-erlang/01.02/hex.erl new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9c39538 --- /dev/null +++ b/cryptopals-erlang/01.02/hex.erl @@ -0,0 +1,23 @@ +-module(hex). +-export([decode/1,encode/1,fixed_xor/2]). + +data_in_pairs([]) -> []; +data_in_pairs([C1,C2|Tail]) -> [ [C1] ++ [C2] | data_in_pairs(Tail) ]. + +decode(Data) -> [ list_to_integer(P,16) || P <- data_in_pairs(Data) ]. + +fixed_xor(Data1,Data2) -> + DecodedData1 = decode(Data1), + DecodedData2 = decode(Data2), + XoredData = lists:zipwith( + fun(P1,P2) -> P1 bxor P2 end, + DecodedData1, + DecodedData2), + encode(XoredData). + +encode(L) -> string:join(lists:map(fun(X) -> int_to_hex(X) end, L), ""). + +int_to_hex(N) when N < 256 -> [hex(N div 16), hex(N rem 16)]. + +hex(N) when (0 =< N) and (N < 10) -> $0 + N; +hex(N) when (10 =< N) and (N < 16) -> $a + (N-10). diff --git a/cryptopals-erlang/01.02/hex_tests.erl b/cryptopals-erlang/01.02/hex_tests.erl new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2e41af0 --- /dev/null +++ b/cryptopals-erlang/01.02/hex_tests.erl @@ -0,0 +1,16 @@ +-module(hex_tests). +-include_lib("eunit/include/eunit.hrl"). + +decode_test() -> ?assertEqual( + [1,35,69,103,137,171,205,239], + hex:decode("0123456789abcdef")). + +encode_test() -> ?assertEqual( + "0123456789abcdef", + hex:encode([1,35,69,103,137,171,205,239])). + +fixed_xor_test() -> ?assertEqual( + "746865206b696420646f6e277420706c6179", + hex:fixed_xor( + "1c0111001f010100061a024b53535009181c", + "686974207468652062756c6c277320657965")). diff --git a/cryptopals-erlang/01.02/test.sh b/cryptopals-erlang/01.02/test.sh new file mode 100755 index 0000000..6c09747 --- /dev/null +++ b/cryptopals-erlang/01.02/test.sh @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +erl -make +erl -noshell -eval "eunit:test($1, [verbose])" -s init stop diff --git a/cryptopals-erlang/01.03/1984.html b/cryptopals-erlang/01.03/1984.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e489fa0 --- /dev/null +++ b/cryptopals-erlang/01.03/1984.html @@ -0,0 +1,11834 @@ + + +George Orwell's 1984 + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

+ + + + +

+

I

+

+ It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were +striking thirteen. Winston Smith, his chin nuzzled into his +breast in an effort to escape the vile wind, slipped quickly +through the glass doors of Victory Mansions, though not quickly +enough to prevent a swirl of gritty dust from entering along +with him. +

+

+ The hallway smelt of boiled cabbage and old rag mats. At +one end of it a coloured poster, too large for indoor display, +had been tacked to the wall. It depicted simply an enormous +face, more than a metre wide: the face of a man of about +forty-five, with a heavy black moustache and ruggedly handsome +features. Winston made for the stairs. It was no use trying the +lift. Even at the best of times it was seldom working, and at +present the electric current was cut off during daylight hours. +It was part of the economy drive in preparation for Hate Week. +The flat was seven flights up, and Winston, who was thirty-nine +and had a varicose ulcer above his right ankle, went slowly, +resting several times on the way. On each landing, opposite the +lift-shaft, the poster with the enormous face gazed from the +wall. It was one of those pictures which are so contrived that +the eyes follow you about when you move. BIG BROTHER IS +WATCHING YOU, the caption beneath it ran. +

+

+ Inside the flat a fruity voice was reading out a list of +figures which had something to do with the production of +pig-iron. The voice came from an oblong metal plaque like a +dulled mirror which formed part of the surface of the +right-hand wall. Winston turned a switch and the voice sank +somewhat, though the words were still distinguishable. The +instrument (the telescreen, it was called) could be dimmed, but +there was no way of shutting it off completely. He moved over +to the window: a smallish, frail figure, the meagreness of his +body merely emphasized by the blue overalls which were the +uniform of the party. His hair was very fair, his face +naturally sanguine, his skin roughened by coarse soap and blunt +razor blades and the cold of the winter that had just ended. +

+

+ Outside, even through the shut window-pane, the world +looked cold. Down in the street little eddies of wind were +whirling dust and torn paper into spirals, and though the sun +was shining and the sky a harsh blue, there seemed to be no +colour in anything, except the posters that were plastered +everywhere. The blackmoustachio'd face gazed down from every +commanding corner. There was one on the house-front immediately +opposite. BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU, the caption said, while +the dark eyes looked deep into Winston's own. Down at +streetlevel another poster, torn at one corner, flapped +fitfully in the wind, alternately covering and uncovering the +single word INGSOC. In the far distance a helicopter skimmed +down between the roofs, hovered for an instant like a +bluebottle, and darted away again with a curving flight. It was +the police patrol, snooping into people's windows. The patrols +did not matter, however. Only the Thought Police mattered. +

+

+ Behind Winston's back the voice from the telescreen was +still babbling away about pig-iron and the overfulfilment of +the Ninth Three-Year Plan. The telescreen received and +transmitted simultaneously. Any sound that Winston made, above +the level of a very low whisper, would be picked up by it, +moreover, so long as he remained within the field of vision +which the metal plaque commanded, he could be seen as well as +heard. There was of course no way of knowing whether you were +being watched at any given moment. How often, or on what +system, the Thought Police plugged in on any individual wire +was guesswork. It was even conceivable that they watched +everybody all the time. But at any rate they could plug in your +wire whenever they wanted to. You had to live -- did live, from +habit that became instinct -- in the assumption that every +sound you made was overheard, and, except in darkness, every +movement scrutinized. +

+

+ Winston kept his back turned to the telescreen. It was +safer, though, as he well knew, even a back can be revealing. A +kilometre away the Ministry of Truth, his place of work, +towered vast and white above the grimy landscape. This, he +thought with a sort of vague distaste -- this was London, chief +city of Airstrip One, itself the third most populous of the +provinces of Oceania. He tried to squeeze out some childhood +memory that should tell him whether London had always been +quite like this. Were there always these vistas of rotting +nineteenth-century houses, their sides shored up with baulks of +timber, their windows patched with cardboard and their roofs +with corrugated iron, their crazy garden walls sagging in all +directions? And the bombed sites where the plaster dust swirled +in the air and the willow-herb straggled over the heaps of +rubble; and the places where the bombs had cleared a larger +patch and there had sprung up sordid colonies of wooden +dwellings like chicken-houses? But it was no use, he could not +remember: nothing remained of his childhood except a series of +bright-lit tableaux occurring against no background and mostly +unintelligible. +

+

+ The Ministry of Truth -- Minitrue, in Newspeak* -- was +startlingly different from any other object in sight. It was an +enormous pyramidal structure of glittering white concrete, +soaring up, terrace after terrace, 300 metres into the air. +From where Winston stood it was just possible to read, picked +out on its white face in elegant lettering, the three slogans +of the Party: +

+

+ WAR IS PEACE
+ FREEDOM IS SLAVERY
+ IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH
+

+

+ The Ministry of Truth contained, it was said, three +thousand rooms above ground level, and corresponding +ramifications below. Scattered about London there were just +three other buildings of similar appearance and size. So +completely did they dwarf the surrounding architecture that +from the roof of Victory Mansions you could see all four of +them simultaneously. They were the homes of the four Ministries +between which the entire apparatus of government was divided. +The Ministry of Truth, which concerned itself with news, +entertainment, education, and the fine arts. The Ministry of +Peace, which concerned itself with war. The Ministry of Love, +which maintained law and order. And the Ministry of Plenty, +which was responsible for economic affairs. Their names, in +Newspeak: Minitrue, Minipax, Miniluv, and Miniplenty. +

+

+ The Ministry of Love was the really frightening one. There +were no windows in it at all. Winston had never been inside the +Ministry of Love, nor within half a kilometre of it. It was a +place impossible to enter except on official business, and then +only by penetrating through a maze of barbed-wire +entanglements, steel doors, and hidden machine-gun nests. Even +the streets leading up to its outer barriers were roamed by +gorilla-faced guards in black uniforms, armed with jointed +truncheons. +

+

+ Winston turned round abruptly. He had set his features +into the expression of quiet optimism which it was advisable to +wear when facing the telescreen. He crossed the room into the +tiny kitchen. By leaving the Ministry at this time of day he +had sacrificed his lunch in the canteen, and he was aware that +there was no food in the kitchen except a hunk of dark-coloured +bread which had got to be saved for tomorrow's breakfast. He +took down from the shelf a bottle of colourless liquid with a +plain white label marked VICTORY GIN. It gave off a sickly, +oily smell, as of Chinese rice-spirit. Winston poured out nearly +a teacupful, nerved himself for a shock, and gulped it down +like a dose of medicine. +

+

+ Instantly his face turned scarlet and the water ran out of +his eyes. The stuff was like nitric acid, and moreover, in +swallowing it one had the sensation of being hit on the back of +the head with a rubber club. The next moment, however, the +burning in his belly died down and the world began to look more +cheerful. He took a cigarette from a crumpled packet marked +VICTORY CIGARETTES and incautiously held it upright, whereupon +the tobacco fell out on to the floor. With the next he was more +successful. He went back to the living-room and sat down at a +small table that stood to the left of the telescreen. From the +table drawer he took out a penholder, a bottle of ink, and a +thick, quarto-sized blank book with a red back and a marbled +cover. +

+

+ For some reason the telescreen in the living-room was in +an unusual position. Instead of being placed, as was normal, in +the end wall, where it could command the whole room, it was in +the longer wall, opposite the window. To one side of it there +was a shallow alcove in which Winston was now sitting, and +which, when the flats were built, had probably been intended to +hold bookshelves. By sitting in the alcove, and keeping well +back, Winston was able to remain outside the range of the +telescreen, so far as sight went. He could be heard, of course, +but so long as he stayed in his present position he could not +be seen. It was partly the unusual geography of the room that +had suggested to him the thing that he was now about to do. +

+

+ But it had also been suggested by the book that he had +just taken out of the drawer. It was a peculiarly beautiful +book. Its smooth creamy paper, a little yellowed by age, was of +a kind that had not been manufactured for at least forty years +past. He could guess, however, that the book was much older +than that. He had seen it lying in the window of a frowsy +little junk-shop in a slummy quarter of the town (just what +quarter he did not now remember) and had been stricken +immediately by an overwhelming desire to possess it. Party +members were supposed not to go into ordinary shops ('dealing +on the free market', it was called), but the rule was not +strictly kept, because there were various things, such as +shoelaces and razor blades, which it was impossible to get hold +of in any other way. He had given a quick glance up and down +the street and then had slipped inside and bought the book for +two dollars fifty. At the time he was not conscious of wanting +it for any particular purpose. He had carried it guiltily home +in his briefcase. Even with nothing written in it, it was a +compromising possession. +

+

+ The thing that he was about to do was to open a diary. +This was not illegal (nothing was illegal, since there were no +longer any laws), but if detected it was reasonably certain +that it would be punished by death, or at least by twenty-five +years in a forced-labour camp. Winston fitted a nib into the +penholder and sucked it to get the grease off. The pen was an +archaic instrument, seldom used even for signatures, and he had +procured one, furtively and with some difficulty, simply +because of a feeling that the beautiful creamy paper deserved +to be written on with a real nib instead of being scratched +with an ink-pencil. Actually he was not used to writing by +hand. Apart from very short notes, it was usual to dictate +everything into the speak-write which was of course impossible +for his present purpose. He dipped the pen into the ink and +then faltered for just a second. A tremor had gone through his +bowels. To mark the paper was the decisive act. In small clumsy +letters he wrote: +

+

+ April 4th, 1984. +

+

+ He sat back. A sense of complete helplessness had +descended upon him. To begin with, he did not know with any +certainty that this was 1984. It must be round about that date, +since he was fairly sure that his age was thirty-nine, and he +believed that he had been born in 1944 or 1945; but it was +never possible nowadays to pin down any date within a year or +two. +

+

+ For whom, it suddenly occurred to him to wonder, was he +writing this diary? For the future, for the unborn. His mind +hovered for a moment round the doubtful date on the page, and +then fetched up with a bump against the Newspeak word +doublethink. For the first time the magnitude of what he +had undertaken came home to him. How could you communicate with +the future? It was of its nature impossible. Either the future +would resemble the present, in which case it would not listen +to him: or it would be different from it, and his predicament +would be meaningless. +

+

+ For some time he sat gazing stupidly at the paper. The +telescreen had changed over to strident military music. It was +curious that he seemed not merely to have lost the power of +expressing himself, but even to have forgotten what it was that +he had originally intended to say. For weeks past he had been +making ready for this moment, and it had never crossed his mind +that anything would be needed except courage. The actual +writing would be easy. All he had to do was to transfer to +paper the interminable restless monologue that had been running +inside his head, literally for years. At this moment, however, +even the monologue had dried up. Moreover his varicose ulcer +had begun itching unbearably. He dared not scratch it, because +if he did so it always became inflamed. The seconds were +ticking by. He was conscious of nothing except the blankness of +the page in front of him, the itching of the skin above his +ankle, the blaring of the music, and a slight booziness caused +by the gin. +

+

+ Suddenly he began writing in sheer panic, only imperfectly +aware of what he was setting down. His small but childish +handwriting straggled up and down the page, shedding first its +capital letters and finally even its full stops: +

+

+ April 4th, 1984. Last night to the flicks. All war +films. One very good one of a ship full of refugees being +bombed somewhere in the Mediterranean. Audience much amused by +shots of a great huge fat man trying to swim away with a +helicopter after him, first you saw him wallowing along in the +water like a porpoise, then you saw him through the helicopters +gunsights, then he was full of holes and the sea round him +turned pink and he sank as suddenly as though the holes had let +in the water, audience shouting with laughter when he sank. +then you saw a lifeboat full of children with a helicopter +hovering over it. there was a middle-aged woman might have been +a jewess sitting up in the bow with a little boy about three +years old in her arms. little boy screaming with fright and +hiding his head between her breasts as if he was trying to +burrow right into her and the woman putting her arms round him +and comforting him although she was blue with fright herself, +all the time covering him up as much as possible as if she +thought her arms could keep the bullets off him. then the +helicopter planted a 20 kilo bomb in among them terrific flash +and the boat went all to matchwood. then there was a wonderful +shot of a child's arm going up up up right up into the air a +helicopter with a camera in its nose must have followed it up +and there was a lot of applause from the party seats but a +woman down in the prole part of the house suddenly started +kicking up a fuss and shouting they didnt oughter of showed it +not in front of kids they didnt it aint right not in front of +kids it aint until the police turned her turned her out i dont +suppose anything happened to her nobody cares what the proles +say typical prole reaction they never +

+

+ Winston stopped writing, partly because he was suffering +from cramp. He did not know what had made him pour out this +stream of rubbish. But the curious thing was that while he was +doing so a totally different memory had clarified itself in his +mind, to the point where he almost felt equal to writing it +down. It was, he now realized, because of this other incident +that he had suddenly decided to come home and begin the diary +today. +

+

+ It had happened that morning at the Ministry, if anything +so nebulous could be said to happen. +

+

+ It was nearly eleven hundred, and in the Records +Department, where Winston worked, they were dragging the chairs +out of the cubicles and grouping them in the centre of the hall +opposite the big telescreen, in preparation for the Two Minutes +Hate. Winston was just taking his place in one of the middle +rows when two people whom he knew by sight, but had never +spoken to, came unexpectedly into the room. One of them was a +girl whom he often passed in the corridors. He did not know her +name, but he knew that she worked in the Fiction Department. +Presumably -- since he had sometimes seen her with oily hands +and carrying a spanner she had some mechanical job on one of +the novel-writing machines. She was a bold-looking girl, of +about twenty-seven, with thick hair, a freckled face, and +swift, athletic movements. A narrow scarlet sash, emblem of the +Junior Anti-Sex League, was wound several times round the waist +of her overalls, just tightly enough to bring out the +shapeliness of her hips. Winston had disliked her from the very +first moment of seeing her. He knew the reason. It was because +of the atmosphere of hockey-fields and cold baths and community +hikes and general clean-mindedness which she managed to carry +about with her. He disliked nearly all women, and especially +the young and pretty ones. It was always the women, and above +all the young ones, who were the most bigoted adherents of the +Party, the swallowers of slogans, the amateur spies and +nosers-out of unorthodoxy. But this particular girl gave him +the impression of being more dangerous than most. Once when +they passed in the corridor she gave him a quick sidelong +glance which seemed to pierce right into him and for a moment +had filled him with black terror. The idea had even crossed his +mind that she might be an agent of the Thought Police. That, it +was true, was very unlikely. Still, he continued to feel a +peculiar uneasiness, which had fear mixed up in it as well as +hostility, whenever she was anywhere near him. +

+

+ The other person was a man named O'Brien, a member of the +Inner Party and holder of some post so important and remote +that Winston had only a dim idea of its nature. A momentary +hush passed over the group of people round the chairs as they +saw the black overalls of an Inner Party member approaching. +O'Brien was a large, burly man with a thick neck and a coarse, +humorous, brutal face. In spite of his formidable appearance he +had a certain charm of manner. He had a trick of resettling his +spectacles on his nose which was curiously disarming -- in some +indefinable way, curiously civilized. It was a gesture which, +if anyone had still thought in such terms, might have recalled +an eighteenth-century nobleman offering his snuffbox. Winston +had seen O'Brien perhaps a dozen times in almost as many years. +He felt deeply drawn to him, and not solely because he was +intrigued by the contrast between O'Brien's urbane manner and +his prize-fighter's physique. Much more it was because of a +secretly held belief -- or perhaps not even a belief, merely a +hope -- that O'Brien's political orthodoxy was not perfect. +Something in his face suggested it irresistibly. And again, +perhaps it was not even unorthodoxy that was written in his +face, but simply intelligence. But at any rate he had the +appearance of being a person that you could talk to if somehow +you could cheat the telescreen and get him alone. Winston had +never made the smallest effort to verify this guess: indeed, +there was no way of doing so. At this moment O'Brien glanced at +his wrist-watch, saw that it was nearly eleven hundred, and +evidently decided to stay in the Records Department until the +Two Minutes Hate was over. He took a chair in the same row as +Winston, a couple of places away. A small, sandy-haired woman +who worked in the next cubicle to Winston was between them. The +girl with dark hair was sitting immediately behind. +

+

+ The next moment a hideous, grinding speech, as of some +monstrous machine running without oil, burst from the big +telescreen at the end of the room. It was a noise that set +one's teeth on edge and bristled the hair at the back of one's +neck. The Hate had started. +

+

+ As usual, the face of Emmanuel Goldstein, the Enemy of the +People, had flashed on to the screen. There were hisses here +and there among the audience. The little sandy-haired woman +gave a squeak of mingled fear and disgust. Goldstein was the +renegade and backslider who once, long ago (how long ago, +nobody quite remembered), had been one of the leading figures +of the Party, almost on a level with Big Brother himself, and +then had engaged in counter-revolutionary activities, had been +condemned to death, and had mysteriously escaped and +disappeared. The programmes of the Two Minutes Hate varied from +day to day, but there was none in which Goldstein was not the +principal figure. He was the primal traitor, the earliest +defiler of the Party's purity. All subsequent crimes against +the Party, all treacheries, acts of sabotage, heresies, +deviations, sprang directly out of his teaching. Somewhere or +other he was still alive and hatching his conspiracies: perhaps +somewhere beyond the sea, under the protection of his foreign +paymasters, perhaps even -- so it was occasionally rumoured -- +in some hiding-place in Oceania itself. +

+

+ Winston's diaphragm was constricted. He could never see +the face of Goldstein without a painful mixture of emotions. It +was a lean Jewish face, with a great fuzzy aureole of white +hair and a small goatee beard -- a clever face, and yet somehow +inherently despicable, with a kind of senile silliness in the +long thin nose, near the end of which a pair of spectacles was +perched. It resembled the face of a sheep, and the voice, too, +had a sheep-like quality. Goldstein was delivering his usual +venomous attack upon the doctrines of the Party -- an attack so +exaggerated and perverse that a child should have been able to +see through it, and yet just plausible enough to fill one with +an alarmed feeling that other people, less level-headed than +oneself, might be taken in by it. He was abusing Big Brother, +he was denouncing the dictatorship of the Party, he was +demanding the immediate conclusion of peace with Eurasia, he +was advocating freedom of speech, freedom of the Press, freedom +of assembly, freedom of thought, he was crying hysterically +that the revolution had been betrayed -- and all this in rapid +polysyllabic speech which was a sort of parody of the habitual +style of the orators of the Party, and even contained Newspeak +words: more Newspeak words, indeed, than any Party member would +normally use in real life. And all the while, lest one should +be in any doubt as to the reality which Goldstein's specious +claptrap covered, behind his head on the telescreen there +marched the endless columns of the Eurasian army -- row after +row of solid-looking men with expressionless Asiatic faces, who +swam up to the surface of the screen and vanished, to be +replaced by others exactly similar. The dull rhythmic tramp of +the soldiers' boots formed the background to Goldstein's +bleating voice. +

+

+ Before the Hate had proceeded for thirty seconds, +uncontrollable exclamations of rage were breaking out from half +the people in the room. The self-satisfied sheep-like face on +the screen, and the terrifying power of the Eurasian army +behind it, were too much to be borne: besides, the sight or +even the thought of Goldstein produced fear and anger +automatically. He was an object of hatred more constant than +either Eurasia or Eastasia, since when Oceania was at war with +one of these Powers it was generally at peace with the other. +But what was strange was that although Goldstein was hated and +despised by everybody, although every day and a thousand times +a day, on platforms, on the telescreen, in newspapers, in +books, his theories were refuted, smashed, ridiculed, held up +to the general gaze for the pitiful rubbish that they were in +spite of all this, his influence never seemed to grow less. +Always there were fresh dupes waiting to be seduced by him. A +day never passed when spies and saboteurs acting under his +directions were not unmasked by the Thought Police. He was the +commander of a vast shadowy army, an underground network of +conspirators dedicated to the overthrow of the State. The +Brotherhood, its name was supposed to be. There were also +whispered stories of a terrible book, a compendium of all the +heresies, of which Goldstein was the author and which +circulated clandestinely here and there. It was a book without +a title. People referred to it, if at all, simply as the +book. But one knew of such things only through vague +rumours. Neither the Brotherhood nor the book was a +subject that any ordinary Party member would mention if there +was a way of avoiding it. +

+

+ In its second minute the Hate rose to a frenzy. People +were leaping up and down in their places and shouting at the +tops of their voices in an effort to drown the maddening +bleating voice that came from the screen. The little +sandy-haired woman had turned bright pink, and her mouth was opening +and shutting like that of a landed fish. Even O'Brien's heavy +face was flushed. He was sitting very straight in his chair, +his powerful chest swelling and quivering as though he were +standing up to the assault of a wave. The dark-haired girl +behind Winston had begun crying out 'Swine! Swine! Swine!' and +suddenly she picked up a heavy Newspeak dictionary and flung it +at the screen. It struck Goldstein's nose and bounced off; the +voice continued inexorably. In a lucid moment Winston found +that he was shouting with the others and kicking his heel +violently against the rung of his chair. The horrible thing +about the Two Minutes Hate was not that one was obliged to act +a part, but, on the contrary, that it was impossible to avoid +joining in. Within thirty seconds any pretence was always +unnecessary. A hideous ecstasy of fear and vindictiveness, a +desire to kill, to torture, to smash faces in with a +sledge-hammer, seemed to flow through the whole group of people +like an electric current, turning one even against one's will +into a grimacing, screaming lunatic. And yet the rage that one +felt was an abstract, undirected emotion which could be +switched from one object to another like the flame of a +blowlamp. Thus, at one moment Winston's hatred was not turned +against Goldstein at all, but, on the contrary, against Big +Brother, the Party, and the Thought Police; and at such moments +his heart went out to the lonely, derided heretic on the +screen, sole guardian of truth and sanity in a world of lies. +And yet the very next instant he was at one with the people +about him, and all that was said of Goldstein seemed to him to +be true. At those moments his secret loathing of Big Brother +changed into adoration, and Big Brother seemed to tower up, an +invincible, fearless protector, standing like a rock against +the hordes of Asia, and Goldstein, in spite of his isolation, +his helplessness, and the doubt that hung about his very +existence, seemed like some sinister enchanter, capable by the +mere power of his voice of wrecking the structure of +civilization. +

+

+ It was even possible, at moments, to switch one's hatred +this way or that by a voluntary act. Suddenly, by the sort of +violent effort with which one wrenches one's head away from the +pillow in a nightmare, Winston succeeded in transferring his +hatred from the face on the screen to the dark-haired girl +behind him. Vivid, beautiful hallucinations flashed through his +mind. He would flog her to death with a rubber truncheon. He +would tie her naked to a stake and shoot her full of arrows +like Saint Sebastian. He would ravish her and cut her throat at +the moment of climax. Better than before, moreover, he realized +why it was that he hated her. He hated her because she was +young and pretty and sexless, because he wanted to go to bed +with her and would never do so, because round her sweet supple +waist, which seemed to ask you to encircle it with your arm, +there was only the odious scarlet sash, aggressive symbol of +chastity. +

+

+ The Hate rose to its climax. The voice of Goldstein had +become an actual sheep's bleat, and for an instant the face +changed into that of a sheep. Then the sheep-face melted into +the figure of a Eurasian soldier who seemed to be advancing, +huge and terrible, his sub-machine gun roaring, and seeming to +spring out of the surface of the screen, so that some of the +people in the front row actually flinched backwards in their +seats. But in the same moment, drawing a deep sigh of relief +from everybody, the hostile figure melted into the face of Big +Brother, black-haired, black-moustachio'd, full of power and +mysterious calm, and so vast that it almost filled up the +screen. Nobody heard what Big Brother was saying. It was merely +a few words of encouragement, the sort of words that are +uttered in the din of battle, not distinguishable individually +but restoring confidence by the fact of being spoken. Then the +face of Big Brother faded away again, and instead the three +slogans of the Party stood out in bold capitals: +

+

+ WAR IS PEACE
+ FREEDOM IS SLAVERY
+ IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH
+

+

+ But the face of Big Brother seemed to persist for several +seconds on the screen, as though the impact that it had made on +everyone's eyeballs was too vivid to wear off immediately. The +little sandy-haired woman had flung herself forward over the +back of the chair in front of her. With a tremulous murmur that +sounded like 'My Saviour!' she extended her arms towards the +screen. Then she buried her face in her hands. It was apparent +that she was uttering a prayer. +

+

+ At this moment the entire group of people broke into a +deep, slow, rhythmical chant of 'B-B! ... B-B!' -- over and +over again, very slowly, with a long pause between the first +'B' and the second-a heavy, murmurous sound, somehow curiously +savage, in the background of which one seemed to hear the stamp +of naked feet and the throbbing of tom-toms. For perhaps as +much as thirty seconds they kept it up. It was a refrain that +was often heard in moments of overwhelming emotion. Partly it +was a sort of hymn to the wisdom and majesty of Big Brother, +but still more it was an act of self-hypnosis, a deliberate +drowning of consciousness by means of rhythmic noise. Winston's +entrails seemed to grow cold. In the Two Minutes Hate he could +not help sharing in the general delirium, but this sub-human +chanting of 'B-B! ... B-B!' always filled him with horror. +Of course he chanted with the rest: it was impossible to do +otherwise. To dissemble your feelings, to control your face, to +do what everyone else was doing, was an instinctive reaction. +But there was a space of a couple of seconds during which the +expression of his eyes might conceivably have betrayed him. And +it was exactly at this moment that the significant thing +happened -- if, indeed, it did happen. +

+

+ Momentarily he caught O'Brien's eye. O'Brien had stood up. +He had taken off his spectacles and was in the act of +resettling them on his nose with his characteristic gesture. +But there was a fraction of a second when their eyes met, and +for as long as it took to happen Winston knew -- yes, he +knew! -- that O'Brien was thinking the same thing as +himself. An unmistakable message had passed. It was as though +their two minds had opened and the thoughts were flowing from +one into the other through their eyes. 'I am with you,' O'Brien +seemed to be saying to him. 'I know precisely what you are +feeling. I know all about your contempt, your hatred, your +disgust. But don't worry, I am on your side!' And then the +flash of intelligence was gone, and O'Brien's face was as +inscrutable as everybody else's. +

+

+ That was all, and he was already uncertain whether it had +happened. Such incidents never had any sequel. All that they +did was to keep alive in him the belief, or hope, that others +besides himself were the enemies of the Party. Perhaps the +rumours of vast underground conspiracies were true after all -- +perhaps the Brotherhood really existed! It was impossible, in +spite of the endless arrests and confessions and executions, to +be sure that the Brotherhood was not simply a myth. Some days +he believed in it, some days not. There was no evidence, only +fleeting glimpses that might mean anything or nothing: snatches +of overheard conversation, faint scribbles on lavatory walls -- +once, even, when two strangers met, a small movement of the +hand which had looked as though it might be a signal of +recognition. It was all guesswork: very likely he had imagined +everything. He had gone back to his cubicle without looking at +O'Brien again. The idea of following up their momentary contact +hardly crossed his mind. It would have been inconceivably +dangerous even if he had known how to set about doing it. For a +second, two seconds, they had exchanged an equivocal glance, +and that was the end of the story. But even that was a +memorable event, in the locked loneliness in which one had to +live. +

+

+ Winston roused himself and sat up straighter. He let out a +belch. The gin was rising from his stomach. +

+

+ His eyes re-focused on the page. He discovered that while +he sat helplessly musing he had also been writing, as though by +automatic action. And it was no longer the same cramped, +awkward handwriting as before. His pen had slid voluptuously +over the smooth paper, printing in large neat capitals +

+

+ DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER
+ DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER
+ DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER
+ DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER
+ DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER
+

+

over and over again, filling half a page. +

+

+ He could not help feeling a twinge of panic. It was +absurd, since the writing of those particular words was not +more dangerous than the initial act of opening the diary, but +for a moment he was tempted to tear out the spoiled pages and +abandon the enterprise altogether. +

+

+ He did not do so, however, because he knew that it was +useless. Whether he wrote DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER, or whether he +refrained from writing it, made no difference. Whether he went +on with the diary, or whether he did not go on with it, made no +difference. The Thought Police would get him just the same. He +had committed -- would still have committed, even if he had +never set pen to paper -- the essential crime that contained +all others in itself. Thoughtcrime, they called it. +Thoughtcrime was not a thing that could be concealed for ever. +You might dodge successfully for a while, even for years, but +sooner or later they were bound to get you. +

+

+ It was always at night -- the arrests invariably happened +at night. The sudden jerk out of sleep, the rough hand shaking +your shoulder, the lights glaring in your eyes, the ring of +hard faces round the bed. In the vast majority of cases there +was no trial, no report of the arrest. People simply +disappeared, always during the night. Your name was removed +from the registers, every record of everything you had ever +done was wiped out, your one-time existence was denied and then +forgotten. You were abolished, annihilated: vaporized +was the usual word. +

+

+ For a moment he was seized by a kind of hysteria. He began +writing in a hurried untidy scrawl: +

+

+ theyll shoot me i don't care theyll shoot me in the +back of the neck i dont care down with big brother they always +shoot you in the back of the neck i dont care down with big +brother +

+

+ He sat back in his chair, slightly ashamed of himself, and +laid down the pen. The next moment he started violently. There +was a knocking at the door. +

+

+ Already! He sat as still as a mouse, in the futile hope +that whoever it was might go away after a single attempt. But +no, the knocking was repeated. The worst thing of all would be +to delay. His heart was thumping like a drum, but his face, +from long habit, was probably expressionless. He got up and +moved heavily towards the door. +

+

II

+

+ As he put his hand to the door-knob Winston saw that he +had left the diary open on the table. DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER was +written all over it, in letters almost big enough to be legible +across the room. It was an inconceivably stupid thing to have +done. But, he realized, even in his panic he had not wanted to +smudge the creamy paper by shutting the book while the ink was +wet.

+

+ He drew in his breath and opened the door. Instantly a +warm wave of relief flowed through him. A colourless, +crushed-looking woman, with wispy hair and a lined face, was +standing outside.

+

+ 'Oh, comrade,' she began in a dreary, whining sort of +voice, 'I thought I heard you come in. Do you think you could +come across and have a look at our kitchen sink? It's got +blocked up and-'

+

+ It was Mrs Parsons, the wife of a neighbour on the same +floor. ('Mrs' was a word somewhat discountenanced by the Party +-- you were supposed to call everyone 'comrade' -- but with +some women one used it instinctively.) She was a woman of about +thirty, but looking much older. One had the impression that +there was dust in the creases of her face. Winston followed her +down the passage. These amateur repair jobs were an almost +daily irritation. Victory Mansions were old flats, built in +1930 or thereabouts, and were falling to pieces. The plaster +flaked constantly from ceilings and walls, the pipes burst in +every hard frost, the roof leaked whenever there was snow, the +heating system was usually running at half steam when it was +not closed down altogether from motives of economy. Repairs, +except what you could do for yourself, had to be sanctioned by +remote committees which were liable to hold up even the mending +of a window-pane for two years.

+

+ 'Of course it's only because Tom isn't home,' said Mrs +Parsons vaguely.

+

+ The Parsons' flat was bigger than Winston's, and dingy in +a different way. Everything had a battered, trampled-on look, +as though the place had just been visited by some large violent +animal. Games impedimenta -- hockey-sticks, boxing-gloves. a +burst football, a pair of sweaty shorts turned inside out -- +lay all over the floor, and on the table there was a litter of +dirty dishes and dog-eared exercise-books. On the walls were +scarlet banners of the Youth League and the Spies, and a +full-sized poster of Big Brother. There was the usual +boiled-cabbage smell, common to the whole building, but it was +shot through by a sharper reek of sweat, which-one knew this at +the first sniff, though it was hard to say how was the sweat of +some person not present at the moment. In another room someone +with a comb and a piece of toilet paper was trying to keep tune +with the military music which was still issuing from the +telescreen.

+

+ 'It's the children,' said Mrs Parsons, casting a +half-apprehensive glance at the door. 'They haven't been out today. +And of course-'

+

+ She had a habit of breaking off her sentences in the +middle. The kitchen sink was full nearly to the brim with +filthy greenish water which smelt worse than ever of cabbage. +Winston knelt down and examined the angle-joint of the pipe. He +hated using his hands, and he hated bending down, which was +always liable to start him coughing. Mrs Parsons looked on +helplessly.

+

+ 'Of course if Tom was home he'd put it right in a moment,' +she said. 'He loves anything like that. He's ever so good with +his hands, Tom is.'

+

+ Parsons was Winston's fellow-employee at the Ministry of +Truth. He was a fattish but active man of paralysing stupidity, +a mass of imbecile enthusiasms -- one of those completely +unquestioning, devoted drudges on whom, more even than on the +Thought Police, the stability of the Party depended. At +thirty-five he had just been unwillingly evicted from the Youth +League, and before graduating into the Youth League he had +managed to stay on in the Spies for a year beyond the statutory +age. At the Ministry he was employed in some subordinate post +for which intelligence was not required, but on the other hand +he was a leading figure on the Sports Committee and all the +other committees engaged in organizing community hikes, +spontaneous demonstrations, savings campaigns, and voluntary +activities generally. He would inform you with quiet pride, +between whiffs of his pipe, that he had put in an appearance at +the Community Centre every evening for the past four years. An +overpowering smell of sweat, a sort of unconscious testimony to +the strenuousness of his life, followed him about wherever he +went, and even remained behind him after he had gone.

+

+ 'Have you got a spanner?' said Winston, fiddling with the +nut on the angle-joint.

+

+ 'A spanner,' said Mrs Parsons, immediately becoming +invertebrate. 'I don't know, I'm sure. Perhaps the children -'

+

+ There was a trampling of boots and another blast on the +comb as the children charged into the living-room. Mrs Parsons +brought the spanner. Winston let out the water and disgustedly +removed the clot of human hair that had blocked up the pipe. He +cleaned his fingers as best he could in the cold water from the +tap and went back into the other room.

+

+ 'Up with your hands!' yelled a savage voice.

+

+ A handsome, tough-looking boy of nine had popped up from +behind the table and was menacing him with a toy automatic +pistol, while his small sister, about two years younger, made +the same gesture with a fragment of wood. Both of them were +dressed in the blue shorts, grey shirts, and red neckerchiefs +which were the uniform of the Spies. Winston raised his hands +above his head, but with an uneasy feeling, so vicious was the +boy's demeanour, that it was not altogether a game.

+

+ 'You're a traitor!' yelled the boy. 'You're a thought-criminal! +You're a Eurasian spy! I'll shoot you, I'll vaporize +you, I'll send you to the salt mines!'

+

+ Suddenly they were both leaping round him, shouting +'Traitor!' and 'Thought-criminal!' the little girl imitating +her brother in every movement. It was somehow slightly +frightening, like the gambolling of tiger cubs which will soon +grow up into man-eaters. There was a sort of calculating +ferocity in the boy's eye, a quite evident desire to hit or +kick Winston and a consciousness of being very nearly big +enough to do so. It was a good job it was not a real pistol he +was holding, Winston thought.

+

+ Mrs Parsons' eyes flitted nervously from Winston to the +children, and back again. In the better light of the +living-room he noticed with interest that there actually +was dust in the creases of her face.

+

+ 'They do get so noisy,' she said. 'They're disappointed +because they couldn't go to see the hanging, that's what it is. +I'm too busy to take them. and Tom won't be back from work in +time.'

+

+ 'Why can't we go and see the hanging?' roared the boy in +his huge voice.

+

+ 'Want to see the hanging! Want to see the hanging!' +chanted the little girl, still capering round.

+

+ Some Eurasian prisoners, guilty of war crimes, were to be +hanged in the Park that evening, Winston remembered. This +happened about once a month, and was a popular spectacle. +Children always clamoured to be taken to see it. He took his +leave of Mrs Parsons and made for the door. But he had not gone +six steps down the passage when something hit the back of his +neck an agonizingly painful blow. It was as though a red-hot +wire had been jabbed into him. He spun round just in time to +see Mrs Parsons dragging her son back into the doorway while +the boy pocketed a catapult.

+

+ 'Goldstein!' bellowed the boy as the door closed on him. +But what most struck Winston was the look of helpless fright on +the woman's greyish face.

+

+ Back in the flat he stepped quickly past the telescreen +and sat down at the table again, still rubbing his neck. The +music from the telescreen had stopped. Instead, a clipped +military voice was reading out, with a sort of brutal relish, a +description of the armaments of the new Floating Fortress which +had just been anchored between lceland and the Faroe lslands.

+

+ With those children, he thought, that wretched woman must +lead a life of terror. Another year, two years, and they would +be watching her night and day for symptoms of unorthodoxy. +Nearly all children nowadays were horrible. What was worst of +all was that by means of such organizations as the Spies they +were systematically turned into ungovernable little savages, +and yet this produced in them no tendency whatever to rebel +against the discipline of the Party. On the contrary, they +adored the Party and everything connected with it. The songs, +the processions, the banners, the hiking, the drilling with +dummy rifles, the yelling of slogans, the worship of Big +Brother -- it was all a sort of glorious game to them. All +their ferocity was turned outwards, against the enemies of the +State, against foreigners, traitors, saboteurs, +thought-criminals. It was almost normal for people over thirty +to be frightened of their own children. And with good reason, +for hardly a week passed in which The Times did not +carry a paragraph describing how some eavesdropping little +sneak -- 'child hero' was the phrase generally used -- had +overheard some compromising remark and denounced its parents to +the Thought Police.

+

+ The sting of the catapult bullet had worn off. He picked +up his pen half-heartedly, wondering whether he could find +something more to write in the diary. Suddenly he began +thinking of O'Brien again.

+

+ Years ago -- how long was it? Seven years it must be -- he +had dreamed that he was walking through a pitch-dark room. And +someone sitting to one side of him had said as he passed: 'We +shall meet in the place where there is no darkness.' It was +said very quietly, almost casually -- a statement, not a +command. He had walked on without pausing. What was curious was +that at the time, in the dream, the words had not made much +impression on him. It was only later and by degrees that they +had seemed to take on significance. He could not now remember +whether it was before or after having the dream that he had +seen O'Brien for the first time, nor could he remember when he +had first identified the voice as O'Brien's. But at any rate +the identification existed. It was O'Brien who had spoken to +him out of the dark.

+

+ Winston had never been able to feel sure -- even after +this morning's flash of the eyes it was still impossible to be +sure whether O'Brien was a friend or an enemy. Nor did it even +seem to matter greatly. There was a link of understanding +between them, more important than affection or partisanship. +'We shall meet in the place where there is no darkness,' he had +said. Winston did not know what it meant, only that in some way +or another it would come true.

+

+ The voice from the telescreen paused. A trumpet call, +clear and beautiful, floated into the stagnant air. The voice +continued raspingly:

+

+ 'Attention! Your attention, please! A newsflash has this +moment arrived from the Malabar front. Our forces in South +India have won a glorious victory. I am authorized to say that +the action we are now reporting may well bring the war within +measurable distance of its end. Here is the newsflash -'

+

+ Bad news coming, thought Winston. And sure enough, +following on a gory description of the annihilation of a +Eurasian army, with stupendous figures of killed and prisoners, +came the announcement that, as from next week, the chocolate +ration would be reduced from thirty grammes to twenty.

+

+ Winston belched again. The gin was wearing off, leaving a +deflated feeling. The telescreen -- perhaps to celebrate the +victory, perhaps to drown the memory of the lost chocolate -- +crashed into 'Oceania, 'tis for thee'. You were supposed to +stand to attention. However, in his present position he was +invisible.

+

+ 'Oceania, 'tis for thee' gave way to lighter music. +Winston walked over to the window, keeping his back to the +telescreen. The day was still cold and clear. Somewhere far +away a rocket bomb exploded with a dull, reverberating roar. +About twenty or thirty of them a week were falling on London at +present.

+

+ Down in the street the wind flapped the torn poster to and +fro, and the word INGSOC fitfully appeared and vanished. +Ingsoc. The sacred principles of Ingsoc. Newspeak, doublethink, +the mutability of the past. He felt as though he were wandering +in the forests of the sea bottom, lost in a monstrous world +where he himself was the monster. He was alone. The past was +dead, the future was unimaginable. What certainty had he that a +single human creature now living was on his side? And what way +of knowing that the dominion of the Party would not endure +for ever? Like an answer, the three slogans on the white +face of the Ministry of Truth came back to him:

+

+ WAR IS PEACE
+ FREEDOM IS SLAVERY
+ IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH

+

+ + He took a twenty-five cent piece out of his pocket. There, +too, in tiny clear lettering, the same slogans were inscribed, +and on the other face of the coin the head of Big Brother. Even +from the coin the eyes pursued you. On coins, on stamps, on the +covers of books, on banners, on posters, and on the wrappings +of a cigarette Packet -- everywhere. Always the eyes watching +you and the voice enveloping you. Asleep or awake, working or +eating, indoors or out of doors, in the bath or in bed -- no +escape. Nothing was your own except the few cubic centimetres +inside your skull.

+

+ The sun had shifted round, and the myriad windows of the +Ministry of Truth, with the light no longer shining on them, +looked grim as the loopholes of a fortress. His heart quailed +before the enormous pyramidal shape. It was too strong, it +could not be stormed. A thousand rocket bombs would not batter +it down. He wondered again for whom he was writing the diary. +For the future, for the past -- for an age that might be +imaginary. And in front of him there lay not death but +annihilation. The diary would be reduced to ashes and himself +to vapour. Only the Thought Police would read what he had +written, before they wiped it out of existence and out of +memory. How could you make appeal to the future when not a +trace of you, not even an anonymous word scribbled on a piece +of paper, could physically survive?

+

+ The telescreen struck fourteen. He must leave in ten +minutes. He had to be back at work by fourteen-thirty.

+

+ Curiously, the chiming of the hour seemed to have put new +heart into him. He was a lonely ghost uttering a truth that +nobody would ever hear. But so long as he uttered it, in some +obscure way the continuity was not broken. It was not by making +yourself heard but by staying sane that you carried on the +human heritage. He went back to the table, dipped his pen, and +wrote:

+

+ To the future or to the past, to a time when thought is +free, when men are different from one another and do not live +alone -- to a time when truth exists and what is done cannot be +undone:

+

+ From the age of uniformity, from the age of solitude, +from the age of Big Brother, from the age of doublethink -- +greetings!

+

+ He was already dead, he reflected. It seemed to him that +it was only now, when he had begun to be able to formulate his +thoughts, that he had taken the decisive step. The consequences +of every act are included in the act itself. He wrote:

+

+ Thoughtcrime does not entail death: thoughtcrime IS +death.

+

+ Now he had recognized himself as a dead man it became +important to stay alive as long as possible. Two fingers of his +right hand were inkstained. It was exactly the kind of detail +that might betray you. Some nosing zealot in the Ministry (a +woman, probably: someone like the little sandy-haired woman or +the dark-haired girl from the Fiction Department) might start +wondering why he had been writing during the lunch interval, +why he had used an old-fashioned pen, what he had been +writing -- and then drop a hint in the appropriate quarter. He +went to the bathroom and carefully scrubbed the ink away with +the gritty dark-brown soap which rasped your skin like +sandpaper and was therefore well adapted for this purpose.

+

+ He put the diary away in the drawer. It was quite useless +to think of hiding it, but he could at least make sure whether +or not its existence had been discovered. A hair laid across +the page-ends was too obvious. With the tip of his finger he +picked up an identifiable grain of whitish dust and deposited +it on the corner of the cover, where it was bound to be shaken +off if the book was moved.

+

III

+

+ Winston was dreaming of his mother.

+

+ He must, he thought, have been ten or eleven years old +when his mother had disappeared. She was a tall, statuesque, +rather silent woman with slow movements and magnificent fair +hair. His father he remembered more vaguely as dark and thin, +dressed always in neat dark clothes (Winston remembered +especially the very thin soles of his father's shoes) and +wearing spectacles. The two of them must evidently have been +swallowed up in one of the first great purges of the fifties.

+

+ At this moment his mother was sitting in some place deep +down beneath him, with his young sister in her arms. He did not +remember his sister at all, except as a tiny, feeble baby, +always silent, with large, watchful eyes. Both of them were +looking up at him. They were down in some subterranean place -- +the bottom of a well, for instance, or a very deep grave -- but +it was a place which, already far below him, was itself moving +downwards. They were in the saloon of a sinking ship, looking +up at him through the darkening water. There was still air in +the saloon, they could still see him and he them, but all the +while they were sinking down, down into the green waters which +in another moment must hide them from sight for ever. He was +out in the light and air while they were being sucked down to +death, and they were down there because he was up here. +He knew it and they knew it, and he could see the knowledge in +their faces. There was no reproach either in their faces or in +their hearts, only the knowledge that they must die in order +that he might remain alive, and that this was part of the +unavoidable order of things.

+

+ He could not remember what had happened, but he knew in +his dream that in some way the lives of his mother and his +sister had been sacrificed to his own. It was one of those +dreams which, while retaining the characteristic dream scenery, +are a continuation of one's intellectual life, and in which one +becomes aware of facts and ideas which still seem new and +valuable after one is awake. The thing that now suddenly struck +Winston was that his mother's death, nearly thirty years ago, +had been tragic and sorrowful in a way that was no longer +possible. Tragedy, he perceived, belonged to the ancient time, +to a time when there was still privacy, love, and friendship, +and when the members of a family stood by one another without +needing to know the reason. His mother's memory tore at his +heart because she had died loving him, when he was too young +and selfish to love her in return, and because somehow, he did +not remember how, she had sacrificed herself to a conception of +loyalty that was private and unalterable. Such things, he saw, +could not happen today. Today there were fear, hatred, and +pain, but no dignity of emotion, no deep or complex sorrows. +All this he seemed to see in the large eyes of his mother and +his sister, looking up at him through the green water, hundreds +of fathoms down and still sinking.

+

+ Suddenly he was standing on short springy turf, on a +summer evening when the slanting rays of the sun gilded the +ground. The landscape that he was looking at recurred so often +in his dreams that he was never fully certain whether or not he +had seen it in the real world. In his waking thoughts he called +it the Golden Country. It was an old, rabbit-bitten pasture, +with a foot-track wandering across it and a molehill here and +there. In the ragged hedge on the opposite side of the field +the boughs of the elm trees were swaying very faintly in the +breeze, their leaves just stirring in dense masses like women's +hair. Somewhere near at hand, though out of sight, there was a +clear, slow-moving stream where dace were swimming in the pools +under the willow trees.

+

+ The girl with dark hair was coming towards them across the +field. With what seemed a single movement she tore off her +clothes and flung them disdainfully aside. Her body was white +and smooth, but it aroused no desire in him, indeed he barely +looked at it. What overwhelmed him in that instant was +admiration for the gesture with which she had thrown her +clothes aside. With its grace and carelessness it seemed to +annihilate a whole culture, a whole system of thought, as +though Big Brother and the Party and the Thought Police could +all be swept into nothingness by a single splendid movement of +the arm. That too was a gesture belonging to the ancient time. +Winston woke up with the word 'Shakespeare' on his lips.

+

+ The telescreen was giving forth an ear-splitting whistle +which continued on the same note for thirty seconds. It was +nought seven fifteen, getting-up time for office workers. +Winston wrenched his body out of bed -- naked, for a member of +the Outer Party received only 3,000 clothing coupons annually, +and a suit of pyjamas was 600 -- and seized a dingy singlet and +a pair of shorts that were lying across a chair. The Physical +Jerks would begin in three minutes. The next moment he was +doubled up by a violent coughing fit which nearly always +attacked him soon after waking up. It emptied his lungs so +completely that he could only begin breathing again by lying on +his back and taking a series of deep gasps. His veins had +swelled with the effort of the cough, and the varicose ulcer +had started itching.

+

+ 'Thirty to forty group!' yapped a piercing female voice. ' +Thirty to forty group! Take your places, please. Thirties to +forties!'

+

+ Winston sprang to attention in front of the telescreen, +upon which the image of a youngish woman, scrawny but muscular, +dressed in tunic and gym-shoes, had already appeared.

+

+ 'Arms bending and stretching!' she rapped out. 'Take your +time by me. One, two, three, four! One, two, +three, four! Come on, comrades, put a bit of life into it! +One, two, three four! One two, three, four! . . +.'

+

+ The pain of the coughing fit had not quite driven out of +Winston's mind the impression made by his dream, and the +rhythmic movements of the exercise restored it somewhat. As he +mechanically shot his arms back and forth, wearing on his face +the look of grim enjoyment which was considered proper during +the Physical Jerks, he was struggling to think his way backward +into the dim period of his early childhood. It was +extraordinarily difficult. Beyond the late fifties everything +faded. When there were no external records that you could refer +to, even the outline of your own life lost its sharpness. You +remembered huge events which had quite probably not happened, +you remembered the detail of incidents without being able to +recapture their atmosphere, and there were long blank periods +to which you could assign nothing. Everything had been +different then. Even the names of countries, and their shapes +on the map, had been different. Airstrip One, for instance, had +not been so called in those days: it had been called England or +Britain, though London, he felt fairly certain, had always been +called London.

+

+ Winston could not definitely remember a time when his +country had not been at war, but it was evident that there had +been a fairly long interval of peace during his childhood, +because one of his early memories was of an air raid which +appeared to take everyone by surprise. Perhaps it was the time +when the atomic bomb had fallen on Colchester. He did not +remember the raid itself, but he did remember his father's hand +clutching his own as they hurried down, down, down into some +place deep in the earth, round and round a spiral staircase +which rang under his feet and which finally so wearied his legs +that he began whimpering and they had to stop and rest. His +mother, in her slow, dreamy way, was following a long way +behind them. She was carrying his baby sister -- or perhaps it +was only a bundle of blankets that she was carrying: he was not +certain whether his sister had been born then. Finally they had +emerged into a noisy, crowded place which he had realized to be +a Tube station.

+

+ There were people sitting all over the stone-flagged +floor, and other people, packed tightly together, were sitting +on metal bunks, one above the other. Winston and his mother and +father found themselves a place on the floor, and near them an +old man and an old woman were sitting side by side on a bunk. +The old man had on a decent dark suit and a black cloth cap +pushed back from very white hair: his face was scarlet and his +eyes were blue and full of tears. He reeked of gin. It seemed +to breathe out of his skin in place of sweat, and one could +have fancied that the tears welling from his eyes were pure +gin. But though slightly drunk he was also suffering under some +grief that was genuine and unbearable. In his childish way +Winston grasped that some terrible thing, something that was +beyond forgiveness and could never be remedied, had just +happened. It also seemed to him that he knew what it was. +Someone whom the old man loved -- a little granddaughter, +perhaps had been killed. Every few minutes the old man kept +repeating:

+

+ 'We didn't ought to 'ave trusted 'em. I said so, Ma, +didn't I? That's what comes of trusting 'em. I said so all +along. We didn't ought to 'ave trusted the buggers.

+

+ But which buggers they didn't ought to have trusted +Winston could not now remember.

+

+ Since about that time, war had been literally continuous, +though strictly speaking it had not always been the same war. +For several months during his childhood there had been confused +street fighting in London itself, some of which he remembered +vividly. But to trace out the history of the whole period, to +say who was fighting whom at any given moment, would have been +utterly impossible, since no written record, and no spoken +word, ever made mention of any other alignment than the +existing one. At this moment, for example, in 1984 (if it was +1984), Oceania was at war with Eurasia and in alliance with +Eastasia. In no public or private utterance was it ever +admitted that the three powers had at any time been grouped +along different lines. Actually, as Winston well knew, it was +only four years since Oceania had been at war with Eastasia and +in alliance with Eurasia. But that was merely a piece of +furtive knowledge which he happened to possess because his +memory was not satisfactorily under control. Officially the +change of partners had never happened. Oceania was at war with +Eurasia: therefore Oceania had always been at war with Eurasia. +The enemy of the moment always represented absolute evil, and +it followed that any past or future agreement with him was +impossible.

+

+ The frightening thing, he reflected for the ten thousandth +time as he forced his shoulders painfully backward (with hands +on hips, they were gyrating their bodies from the waist, an +exercise that was supposed to be good for the back muscles) -- +the frightening thing was that it might all be true. If the +Party could thrust its hand into the past and say of this or +that event, it never happened -- that, surely, was more +terrifying than mere torture and death?

+

+ The Party said that Oceania had never been in alliance +with Eurasia. He, Winston Smith, knew that Oceania had been in +alliance with Eurasia as short a time as four years ago. But +where did that knowledge exist? Only in his own consciousness, +which in any case must soon be annihilated. And if all others +accepted the lie which the Party imposed -if all records told +the same tale -- then the lie passed into history and became +truth. 'Who controls the past,' ran the Party slogan, 'controls +the future: who controls the present controls the past.' And +yet the past, though of its nature alterable, never had been +altered. Whatever was true now was true from everlasting to +everlasting. It was quite simple. All that was needed was an +unending series of victories over your own memory. 'Reality +control', they called it: in Newspeak, 'doublethink'

+

+ 'Stand easy!' barked the instructress, a little more +genially.

+

+ Winston sank his arms to his sides and slowly refilled his +lungs with air. His mind slid away into the labyrinthine world +of doublethink. To know and not to know, to be conscious of +complete truthfulness while telling carefully constructed lies, +to hold simultaneously two opinions which cancelled out, +knowing them to be contradictory and believing in both of them, +to use logic against logic, to repudiate morality while laying +claim to it, to believe that democracy was impossible and that +the Party was the guardian of democracy, to forget whatever it +was necessary to forget, then to draw it back into memory again +at the moment when it was needed, and then promptly to forget +it again: and above all, to apply the same process to the +process itself. That was the ultimate subtlety: consciously to +induce unconsciousness, and then, once again, to become +unconscious of the act of hypnosis you had just performed. Even +to understand the word 'doublethink' involved the use of +doublethink.

+

+ The instructress had called them to attention again. 'And +now let's see which of us can touch our toes!' she said +enthusiastically. 'Right over from the hips, please, comrades. +One-two! One-two! ...'

+

+ Winston loathed this exercise, which sent shooting pains +all the way from his heels to his buttocks and often ended by +bringing on another coughing fit. The half-pleasant quality +went out of his meditations. The past, he reflected, had not +merely been altered, it had been actually destroyed. For how +could you establish even the most obvious fact when there +existed no record outside your own memory? He tried to remember +in what year he had first heard mention of Big Brother. He +thought it must have been at some time in the sixties, but it +was impossible to be certain. In the Party histories, of +course, Big Brother figured as the leader and guardian of the +Revolution since its very earliest days. His exploits had been +gradually pushed backwards in time until already they extended +into the fabulous world of the forties and the thirties, when +the capitalists in their strange cylindrical hats still rode +through the streets of London in great gleaming motor-cars or +horse carriages with glass sides. There was no knowing how much +of this legend was true and how much invented. Winston could +not even remember at what date the Party itself had come into +existence. He did not believe he had ever heard the word Ingsoc +before 1960, but it was possible that in its Oldspeak +form-'English Socialism', that is to say -- it had been current +earlier. Everything melted into mist. Sometimes, indeed, you +could put your finger on a definite lie. It was not true, for +example, as was claimed in the Party history books, that the +Party had invented aeroplanes. He remembered aeroplanes since +his earliest childhood. But you could prove nothing. There was +never any evidence. Just once in his whole life he had held in +his hands unmistakable documentary proof of the falsification +of an historical fact. And on that occasion

+

+ 'Smith!' screamed the shrewish voice from the telescreen. +'6079 Smith W.! Yes, you! Bend lower, please! You can do +better than that. You're not trying. Lower, please! +That's better, comrade. Now stand at ease, the whole +squad, and watch me.'

+

+ A sudden hot sweat had broken out all over Winston's body. +His face remained completely inscrutable. Never show dismay! +Never show resentment! A single flicker of the eyes could give +you away. He stood watching while the instructress raised her +arms above her head and -- one could not say gracefully, but +with remarkable neatness and efficiency -- bent over and tucked +the first joint of her fingers under her toes.

+

+ 'There, comrades! That's how I want to see +you doing it. Watch me again. I'm thirty-nine and I've had four +children. Now look.' She bent over again. 'You see my knees +aren't bent. You can all do it if you want to,' she added as +she straightened herself up. 'Anyone under forty-five is +perfectly capable of touching his toes. We don't all have the +privilege of fighting in the front line, but at least we can +all keep fit. Remember our boys on the Malabar front! And the +sailors in the Floating Fortresses! Just think what they +have to put up with. Now try again. That's better, comrade, +that's much better,' she added encouragingly as Winston, +with a violent lunge, succeeded in touching his toes with knees +unbent, for the first time in several years.

+

IV

+

+ With the deep, unconscious sigh which not even the +nearness of the telescreen could prevent him from uttering when +his day's work started, Winston pulled the speakwrite towards +him, blew the dust from its mouthpiece, and put on his +spectacles. Then he unrolled and clipped together four small +cylinders of paper which had already flopped out of the +pneumatic tube on the right-hand side of his desk.

+

+ In the walls of the cubicle there were three orifices. To +the right of the speakwrite, a small pneumatic tube for written +messages, to the left, a larger one for newspapers; and in the +side wall, within easy reach of Winston's arm, a large oblong +slit protected by a wire grating. This last was for the +disposal of waste paper. Similar slits existed in thousands or +tens of thousands throughout the building, not only in every +room but at short intervals in every corridor. For some reason +they were nicknamed memory holes. When one knew that any +document was due for destruction, or even when one saw a scrap +of waste paper lying about, it was an automatic action to lift +the flap of the nearest memory hole and drop it in, whereupon +it would be whirled away on a current of warm air to the +enormous furnaces which were hidden somewhere in the recesses +of the building.

+

+ Winston examined the four slips of paper which he had +unrolled. Each contained a message of only one or two lines, in +the abbreviated jargon -- not actually Newspeak, but consisting +largely of Newspeak words -- which was used in the Ministry for +internal purposes. They ran:

+

+ times 17.3.84 bb speech malreported africa rectify
+ times 19.12.83 forecasts 3 yp 4th quarter 83 misprints +verify current issue
+ times 14.2.84 miniplenty malquoted chocolate rectify
+ times 3.12.83 reporting bb dayorder doubleplusungood refs +unpersons rewrite fullwise upsub antefiling

+

+ With a faint feeling of satisfaction Winston laid the +fourth message aside. It was an intricate and responsible job +and had better be dealt with last. The other three were routine +matters, though the second one would probably mean some tedious +wading through lists of figures.

+

+ Winston dialled 'back numbers' on the telescreen and +called for the appropriate issues of The Times, which +slid out of the pneumatic tube after only a few minutes' delay. +The messages he had received referred to articles or news items +which for one reason or another it was thought necessary to +alter, or, as the official phrase had it, to rectify. For +example, it appeared from The Times of the seventeenth +of March that Big Brother, in his speech of the previous day, +had predicted that the South Indian front would remain quiet +but that a Eurasian offensive would shortly be launched in +North Africa. As it happened, the Eurasian Higher Command had +launched its offensive in South India and left North Africa +alone. It was therefore necessary to rewrite a paragraph of Big +Brother's speech, in such a way as to make him predict the +thing that had actually happened. Or again, The Times of +the nineteenth of December had published the official forecasts +of the output of various classes of consumption goods in the +fourth quarter of 1983, which was also the sixth quarter of the +Ninth Three-Year Plan. Today's issue contained a statement of +the actual output, from which it appeared that the forecasts +were in every instance grossly wrong. Winston's job was to +rectify the original figures by making them agree with the +later ones. As for the third message, it referred to a very +simple error which could be set right in a couple of minutes. +As short a time ago as February, the Ministry of Plenty had +issued a promise (a 'categorical pledge' were the official +words) that there would be no reduction of the chocolate ration +during 1984. Actually, as Winston was aware, the chocolate +ration was to be reduced from thirty grammes to twenty at the +end of the present week. All that was needed was to substitute +for the original promise a warning that it would probably be +necessary to reduce the ration at some time in April.

+

+ As soon as Winston had dealt with each of the messages, he +clipped his speakwritten corrections to the appropriate copy of +The Times and pushed them into the pneumatic +tube. Then, with a movement which was as nearly as possible +unconscious, he crumpled up the original message and any notes +that he himself had made, and dropped them into the memory hole +to be devoured by the flames.

+

+ What happened in the unseen labyrinth to which the +pneumatic tubes led, he did not know in detail, but he did know +in general terms. As soon as all the corrections which happened +to be necessary in any particular number of The Times +had been assembled and collated, that number would be +reprinted, the original copy destroyed, and the corrected copy +placed on the files in its stead. This process of continuous +alteration was applied not only to newspapers, but to books, +periodicals, pamphlets, posters, leaflets, films, sound-tracks, +cartoons, photographs -- to every kind of literature or +documentation which might conceivably hold any political or +ideological significance. Day by day and almost minute by +minute the past was brought up to date. In this way every +prediction made by the Party could be shown by documentary +evidence to have been correct, nor was any item of news, or any +expression of opinion, which conflicted with the needs of the +moment, ever allowed to remain on record. All history was a +palimpsest, scraped clean and reinscribed exactly as often as +was necessary. In no case would it have been possible, once the +deed was done, to prove that any falsification had taken place. +The largest section of the Records Department, far larger than +the one on which Winston worked, consisted simply of persons +whose duty it was to track down and collect all copies of +books, newspapers, and other documents which had been +superseded and were due for destruction. A number of The +Times which might, because of changes in political +alignment, or mistaken prophecies uttered by Big Brother, have +been rewritten a dozen times still stood on the files bearing +its original date, and no other copy existed to contradict it. +Books, also, were recalled and rewritten again and again, and +were invariably reissued without any admission that any +alteration had been made. Even the written instructions which +Winston received, and which he invariably got rid of as soon as +he had dealt with them, never stated or implied that an act of +forgery was to be committed: always the reference was to slips, +errors, misprints, or misquotations which it was necessary to +put right in the interests of accuracy.

+

+ But actually, he thought as he re-adjusted the Ministry of +Plenty's figures, it was not even forgery. It was merely the +substitution of one piece of nonsense for another. Most of the +material that you were dealing with had no connexion with +anything in the real world, not even the kind of connexion that +is contained in a direct lie. Statistics were just as much a +fantasy in their original version as in their rectified +version. A great deal of the time you were expected to make +them up out of your head. For example, the Ministry of Plenty's +forecast had estimated the output of boots for the quarter at +145 million pairs. The actual output was given as sixty-two +millions. Winston, however, in rewriting the forecast, marked +the figure down to fifty-seven millions, so as to allow for the +usual claim that the quota had been overfulfilled. In any case, +sixty-two millions was no nearer the truth than fifty-seven +millions, or than 145 millions. Very likely no boots had been +produced at all. Likelier still, nobody knew how many had been +produced, much less cared. All one knew was that every quarter +astronomical numbers of boots were produced on paper, while +perhaps half the population of Oceania went barefoot. And so it +was with every class of recorded fact, great or small. +Everything faded away into a shadow-world in which, finally, +even the date of the year had become uncertain.

+

+ Winston glanced across the hall. In the corresponding +cubicle on the other side a small, precise-looking, dark- +chinned man named Tillotson was working steadily away, with a +folded newspaper on his knee and his mouth very close to the +mouthpiece of the speakwrite. He had the air of trying to keep +what he was saying a secret between himself and the telescreen. +He looked up, and his spectacles darted a hostile flash in +Winston's direction.

+

+ Winston hardly knew Tillotson, and had no idea what work +he was employed on. People in the Records Department did not +readily talk about their jobs. In the long, windowless hall, +with its double row of cubicles and its endless rustle of +papers and hum of voices murmuring into speakwrites, there were +quite a dozen people whom Winston did not even know by name, +though he daily saw them hurrying to and fro in the corridors +or gesticulating in the Two Minutes Hate. He knew that in the +cubicle next to him the little woman with sandy hair toiled day +in day out, simply at tracking down and deleting from the Press +the names of people who had been vaporized and were therefore +considered never to have existed. There was a certain fitness +in this, since her own husband had been vaporized a couple of +years earlier. And a few cubicles away a mild, ineffectual, +dreamy creature named Ampleforth, with very hairy ears and a +surprising talent for juggling with rhymes and metres, was +engaged in producing garbled versions -- definitive texts, they +were called -- of poems which had become ideologically +offensive, but which for one reason or another were to be +retained in the anthologies. And this hall, with its fifty +workers or thereabouts, was only one sub-section, a single +cell, as it were, in the huge complexity of the Records +Department. Beyond, above, below, were other swarms of workers +engaged in an unimaginable multitude of jobs. There were the +huge printing-shops with their sub-editors, their typography +experts, and their elaborately equipped studios for the faking +of photographs. There was the tele-programmes section with its +engineers, its producers, and its teams of actors specially +chosen for their skill in imitating voices. There were the +armies of reference clerks whose job was simply to draw up +lists of books and periodicals which were due for recall. There +were the vast repositories where the corrected documents were +stored, and the hidden furnaces where the original copies were +destroyed. And somewhere or other, quite anonymous, there were +the directing brains who co-ordinated the whole effort and laid +down the lines of policy which made it necessary that this +fragment of the past should be preserved, that one falsified, +and the other rubbed out of existence.

+

+ And the Records Department, after all, was itself only a +single branch of the Ministry of Truth, whose primary job was +not to reconstruct the past but to supply the citizens of +Oceania with newspapers, films, textbooks, telescreen +programmes, plays, novels -- with every conceivable kind of +information, instruction, or entertainment, from a statue to a +slogan, from a lyric poem to a biological treatise, and from a +child's spelling-book to a Newspeak dictionary. And the +Ministry had not only to supply the multifarious needs of the +party, but also to repeat the whole operation at a lower level +for the benefit of the proletariat. There was a whole chain of +separate departments dealing with proletarian literature, + +music, drama, and entertainment generally. Here were produced +rubbishy newspapers containing almost nothing except sport, +crime and astrology, sensational five-cent novelettes, films +oozing with sex, and sentimental songs which were composed +entirely by mechanical means on a special kind of kaleidoscope +known as a versificator. There was even a whole sub-section -- +Pornosec, it was called in Newspeak -- engaged in +producing the lowest kind of pornography, which was sent out in +sealed packets and which no Party member, other than those who +worked on it, was permitted to look at.

+

+ Three messages had slid out of the pneumatic tube while +Winston was working, but they were simple matters, and he had +disposed of them before the Two Minutes Hate interrupted him. +When the Hate was over he returned to his cubicle, took the +Newspeak dictionary from the shelf, pushed the speakwrite to +one side, cleaned his spectacles, and settled down to his main +job of the morning.

+

+ Winston's greatest pleasure in life was in his work. Most +of it was a tedious routine, but included in it there were also +jobs so difficult and intricate that you could lose yourself in +them as in the depths of a mathematical problem -- delicate +pieces of forgery in which you had nothing to guide you except +your knowledge of the principles of Ingsoc and your estimate of +what the Party wanted you to say. Winston was good at this kind +of thing. On occasion he had even been entrusted with the +rectification of The Times leading articles, which were +written entirely in Newspeak. He unrolled the message that he +had set aside earlier. It ran:

+

+ + times 3.12.83 reporting bb dayorder doubleplusungood refs +unpersons rewrite fullwise upsub antefiling

+

+ + In Oldspeak (or standard English) this might be rendered: +The reporting of Big Brother's Order for the Day in The Times +of December 3rd 1983 is extremely unsatisfactory and makes +references to non-existent persons. Rewrite it in full and +submit your draft to higher authority before filing.

+

+ Winston read through the offending article. Big Brother's +Order for the Day, it seemed, had been chiefly devoted to +praising the work of an organization known as FFCC, which +supplied cigarettes and other comforts to the sailors in the +Floating Fortresses. A certain Comrade Withers, a prominent +member of the Inner Party, had been singled out for special +mention and awarded a decoration, the Order of Conspicuous +Merit, Second Class.

+

+ Three months later FFCC had suddenly been dissolved with +no reasons given. One could assume that Withers and his +associates were now in disgrace, but there had been no report +of the matter in the Press or on the telescreen. That was to be +expected, since it was unusual for political offenders to be +put on trial or even publicly denounced. The great purges +involving thousands of people, with public trials of traitors +and thought-criminals who made abject confession of their +crimes and were afterwards executed, were special show-pieces +not occurring oftener than once in a couple of years. More +commonly, people who had incurred the displeasure of the Party +simply disappeared and were never heard of again. One never had +the smallest clue as to what had happened to them. In some +cases they might not even be dead. Perhaps thirty people +personally known to Winston, not counting his parents, had +disappeared at one time or another.

+

+ Winston stroked his nose gently with a paper-clip. In the +cubicle across the way Comrade Tillotson was still crouching +secretively over his speakwrite. He raised his head for a +moment: again the hostile spectacle-flash. Winston wondered +whether Comrade Tillotson was engaged on the same job as +himself. It was perfectly possible. So tricky a piece of work +would never be entrusted to a single person: on the other hand, +to turn it over to a committee would be to admit openly that an +act of fabrication was taking place. Very likely as many as a +dozen people were now working away on rival versions of what +Big Brother had actually said. And presently some master brain +in the Inner Party would select this version or that, would +re-edit it and set in motion the complex processes of +cross-referencing that would be required, and then the chosen +lie would pass into the permanent records and become truth.

+

+ Winston did not know why Withers had been disgraced. +Perhaps it was for corruption or incompetence. Perhaps Big +Brother was merely getting rid of a too-popular subordinate. +Perhaps Withers or someone close to him had been suspected of +heretical tendencies. Or perhaps -- what was likeliest of all +-- the thing had simply happened because purges and +vaporizations were a necessary part of the mechanics of +government. The only real clue lay in the words 'refs +unpersons', which indicated that Withers was already dead. You +could not invariably assume this to be the case when people +were arrested. Sometimes they were released and allowed to +remain at liberty for as much as a year or two years before +being executed. Very occasionally some person whom you had +believed dead long since would make a ghostly reappearance at +some public trial where he would implicate hundreds of others +by his testimony before vanishing, this time for ever. Withers, +however, was already an unperson. He did not exist: he +had never existed. Winston decided that it would not be enough +simply to reverse the tendency of Big Brother's speech. It was +better to make it deal with something totally unconnected with +its original subject.

+

+ He might turn the speech into the usual denunciation of +traitors and thought-criminals, but that was a little too +obvious, while to invent a victory at the front, or some +triumph of over-production in the Ninth Three-Year Plan, might +complicate the records too much. What was needed was a piece of +pure fantasy. Suddenly there sprang into his mind, ready made +as it were, the image of a certain Comrade Ogilvy, who had +recently died in battle, in heroic circumstances. There were +occasions when Big Brother devoted his Order for the Day to +commemorating some humble, rank-and-file Party member whose life +and death he held up as an example worthy to be followed. Today +he should commemorate Comrade Ogilvy. It was true that there +was no such person as Comrade Ogilvy, but a few lines of print +and a couple of faked photographs would soon bring him into +existence.

+

+ Winston thought for a moment, then pulled the speakwrite +towards him and began dictating in Big Brother's familiar +style: a style at once military and pedantic, and, because of a +trick of asking questions and then promptly answering them +('What lessons do we learn from this fact, comrades? The +lesson -- which is also one of the fundamental principles of +Ingsoc -- that,' etc., etc.), easy to imitate.

+

+ At the age of three Comrade Ogilvy had refused all toys +except a drum, a sub-machine gun, and a model helicopter. At +six -- a year early, by a special relaxation of the rules -- he +had joined the Spies, at nine he had been a troop leader. At +eleven he had denounced his uncle to the Thought Police after +overhearing a conversation which appeared to him to have +criminal tendencies. At seventeen he had been a district +organizer of the Junior Anti-Sex League. At nine teen he had +designed a hand-grenade which had been adopted by the Ministry +of Peace and which, at its first trial, had killed thirty-one +Eurasian prisoners in one burst. At twenty-three he had +perished in action. Pursued by enemy jet planes while flying +over the Indian Ocean with important despatches, he had +weighted his body with his machine gun and leapt out of the +helicopter into deep water, despatches and all -- an end, said +Big Brother, which it was impossible to contemplate without +feelings of envy. Big Brother added a few remarks on the purity +and single-mindedness of Comrade Ogilvy's life. He was a total +abstainer and a nonsmoker, had no recreations except a daily +hour in the gymnasium, and had taken a vow of celibacy, +believing marriage and the care of a family to be incompatible +with a twenty-four-hour-a-day devotion to duty. He had no +subjects of conversation except the principles of Ingsoc, and +no aim in life except the defeat of the Eurasian enemy and the +hunting-down of spies, saboteurs, thoughtcriminals, and +traitors generally.

+

+ Winston debated with himself whether to award Comrade +Ogilvy the Order of Conspicuous Merit: in the end he decided +against it because of the unnecessary cross-referencing that it +would entail.

+

+ Once again he glanced at his rival in the opposite +cubicle. Something seemed to tell him with certainty that +Tillotson was busy on the same job as himself. There was no way +of knowing whose job would finally be adopted, but he felt a +profound conviction that it would be his own. Comrade Ogilvy, +unimagined an hour ago, was now a fact. It struck him as +curious that you could create dead men but not living ones. +Comrade Ogilvy, who had never existed in the present, now +existed in the past, and when once the act of forgery was +forgotten, he would exist just as authentically, and upon the +same evidence, as Charlemagne or Julius Caesar.

+

V

+

+ In the low-ceilinged canteen, deep underground, the lunch +queue jerked slowly forward. The room was already very full and +deafeningly noisy. From the grille at the counter the steam of +stew came pouring forth, with a sour metallic smell which did +not quite overcome the fumes of Victory Gin. On the far side of +the room there was a small bar, a mere hole in the wall, where +gin could be bought at ten cents the large nip.

+

+ 'Just the man I was looking for,' said a voice at +Winston's back.

+

+ He turned round. It was his friend Syme, who worked in the +Research Department. Perhaps 'friend' was not exactly the right +word. You did not have friends nowadays, you had comrades: but +there were some comrades whose society was pleasanter than that +of others. Syme was a philologist, a specialist in Newspeak. +Indeed, he was one of the enormous team of experts now engaged +in compiling the Eleventh Edition of the Newspeak Dictionary. +He was a tiny creature, smaller than Winston, with dark hair +and large, protuberant eyes, at once mournful and derisive, +which seemed to search your face closely while he was speaking +to you.

+

+ 'I wanted to ask you whether you'd got any razor blades,' +he said.

+

+ 'Not one!' said Winston with a sort of guilty haste. 'I've +tried all over the place. They don't exist any longer.'

+

+ Everyone kept asking you for razor blades. Actually he had +two unused ones which he was hoarding up. There had been a +famine of them for months past. At any given moment there was +some necessary article which the Party shops were unable to +supply. Sometimes it was buttons, sometimes it was darning +wool, sometimes it was shoelaces; at present it was razor +blades. You could only get hold of them, if at all, by +scrounging more or less furtively on the 'free' market.

+

+ 'I've been using the same blade for six weeks,' he added +untruthfully.

+

+ The queue gave another jerk forward. As they halted he +turned and faced Syme again. Each of them took a greasy metal +tray from a pile at the end of the counter.

+

+ 'Did you go and see the prisoners hanged yesterday?' said +Syme.

+

+ 'I was working,' said Winston indifferently. 'I shall see +it on the flicks, I suppose.'

+

+ 'A very inadequate substitute,' said Syme.

+

+ His mocking eyes roved over Winston's face. 'I know you,' +the eyes seemed to say, 'I see through you. I know very well +why you didn't go to see those prisoners hanged.' In an +intellectual way, Syme was venomously orthodox. He would talk +with a disagreeable gloating satisfaction of helicopter raids +on enemy villages, and trials and confessions of +thought-criminals, the executions in the cellars of the +Ministry of Love. Talking to him was largely a matter of +getting him away from such subjects and entangling him, if +possible, in the technicalities of Newspeak, on which he was +authoritative and interesting. Winston turned his head a little +aside to avoid the scrutiny of the large dark eyes.

+

+ 'It was a good hanging,' said Syme reminiscently. 'I think +it spoils it when they tie their feet together. I like to see +them kicking. And above all, at the end, the tongue sticking +right out, and blue a quite bright blue. That's the detail that +appeals to me.'

+

+ 'Nex', please!' yelled the white-aproned prole with the +ladle.

+

+ Winston and Syme pushed their trays beneath the grille. On +to each was dumped swiftly the regulation lunch -- a metal +pannikin of pinkish-grey stew, a hunk of bread, a cube of +cheese, a mug of milkless Victory Coffee, and one saccharine +tablet.

+

+ 'There's a table over there, under that telescreen,' said +Syme. 'Let's pick up a gin on the way.'

+

+ The gin was served out to them in handleless china mugs. +They threaded their way across the crowded room and unpacked +their trays on to the metal-topped table, on one corner of +which someone had left a pool of stew, a filthy liquid mess +that had the appearance of vomit. Winston took up his mug of +gin, paused for an instant to collect his nerve, and gulped the +oily-tasting stuff down. When he had winked the tears out of +his eyes he suddenly discovered that he was hungry. He began +swallowing spoonfuls of the stew, which, in among its general +sloppiness, had cubes of spongy pinkish stuff which was +probably a preparation of meat. Neither of them spoke again +till they had emptied their pannikins. From the table at +Winston's left, a little behind his back, someone was talking +rapidly and continuously, a harsh gabble almost like the +quacking of a duck, which pierced the general uproar of the +room.

+

+ 'How is the Dictionary getting on?' said Winston, raising +his voice to overcome the noise.

+

+ 'Slowly,' said Syme. 'I'm on the adjectives. It's +fascinating.'

+

+ He had brightened up immediately at the mention of +Newspeak. He pushed his pannikin aside, took up his hunk of +bread in one delicate hand and his cheese in the other, and +leaned across the table so as to be able to speak without +shouting.

+

+ 'The Eleventh Edition is the definitive edition,' he said. +'We're getting the language into its final shape -- the shape +it's going to have when nobody speaks anything else. When we've +finished with it, people like you will have to learn it all +over again. You think, I dare say, that our chief job is +inventing new words. But not a bit of it! We're destroying +words -- scores of them, hundreds of them, every day. We're +cutting the language down to the bone. The Eleventh Edition +won't contain a single word that will become obsolete before +the year 2050.'

+

+ He bit hungrily into his bread and swallowed a couple of +mouthfuls, then continued speaking, with a sort of pedant's +passion. His thin dark face had become animated, his eyes had +lost their mocking expression and grown almost dreamy.

+

+ 'It's a beautiful thing, the destruction of words. Of +course the great wastage is in the verbs and adjectives, but +there are hundreds of nouns that can be got rid of as well. It +isn't only the synonyms; there are also the antonyms. After +all, what justification is there for a word which is simply the +opposite of some other word? A word contains its opposite in +itself. Take "good", for instance. If you have a word like +"good", what need is there for a word like "bad"? "Ungood" will +do just as well -- better, because it's an exact opposite, +which the other is not. Or again, if you want a stronger +version of "good", what sense is there in having a whole string +of vague useless words like "excellent" and "splendid" and all +the rest of them? "Plusgood" covers the meaning, or " +doubleplusgood" if you want something stronger still. Of course +we use those forms already. but in the final version of +Newspeak there'll be nothing else. In the end the whole notion +of goodness and badness will be covered by only six words -- in +reality, only one word. Don't you see the beauty of that, +Winston? It was B.B.'s idea originally, of course,' he added as +an afterthought.

+

+ A sort of vapid eagerness flitted across Winston's face at +the mention of Big Brother. Nevertheless Syme immediately +detected a certain lack of enthusiasm.

+

+ 'You haven't a real appreciation of Newspeak, Winston,' he +said almost sadly. 'Even when you write it you're still +thinking in Oldspeak. I've read some of those pieces that you +write in The Times occasionally. They're good +enough, but they're translations. In your heart you'd prefer to +stick to Oldspeak, with all its vagueness and its useless +shades of meaning. You don't grasp the beauty of the +destruction of words. Do you know that Newspeak is the only +language in the world whose vocabulary gets smaller every +year?'

+

+ Winston did know that, of course. He smiled, +sympathetically he hoped, not trusting himself to speak. Syme +bit off another fragment of the dark-coloured bread, chewed it +briefly, and went on:

+

+ 'Don't you see that the whole aim of Newspeak is to narrow +the range of thought? In the end we shall make thoughtcrime +literally impossible, because there will be no words in which +to express it. Every concept that can ever be needed, will be +expressed by exactly one word, with its meaning rigidly +defined and all its subsidiary meanings rubbed out and +forgotten. Already, in the Eleventh Edition, we're not far from +that point. But the process will still be continuing long after +you and I are dead. Every year fewer and fewer words, and the +range of consciousness always a little smaller. Even now, of +course, there's no reason or excuse for committing +thoughtcrime. It's merely a question of self-discipline, +reality-control. But in the end there won't be any need even +for that. The Revolution will be complete when the language is +perfect. Newspeak is Ingsoc and Ingsoc is Newspeak,' he added +with a sort of mystical satisfaction. 'Has it ever occurred to +you, Winston, that by the year 2050, at the very latest, not a +single human being will be alive who could understand such a +conversation as we are having now?'

+

+ 'Except-' began Winston doubtfully, and he stopped.

+

+ It had been on the tip of his tongue to say 'Except the +proles,' but he checked himself, not feeling fully certain that +this remark was not in some way unorthodox. Syme, however, had +divined what he was about to say.

+

+ 'The proles are not human beings,' he said carelessly. ' +By 2050 earlier, probably -- all real knowledge of Oldspeak +will have disappeared. The whole literature of the past will +have been destroyed. Chaucer, Shakespeare, Milton, Byron -- +they'll exist only in Newspeak versions, not merely changed +into something different, but actually changed into something +contradictory of what they used to be. Even the literature of +the Party will change. Even the slogans will change. How could +you have a slogan like "freedom is slavery" when the concept of +freedom has been abolished? The whole climate of thought will +be different. In fact there will be no thought, as we +understand it now. Orthodoxy means not thinking -- not needing +to think. Orthodoxy is unconsciousness.'

+

+ One of these days, thought Winston with sudden deep +conviction, Syme will be vaporized. He is too intelligent. He +sees too clearly and speaks too plainly. The Party does not +like such people. One day he will disappear. It is written in +his face.

+

+ Winston had finished his bread and cheese. He turned a +little sideways in his chair to drink his mug of coffee. At the +table on his left the man with the strident voice was still +talking remorselessly away. A young woman who was perhaps his +secretary, and who was sitting with her back to Winston, was +listening to him and seemed to be eagerly agreeing with +everything that he said. From time to time Winston caught some +such remark as 'I think you're so right, I do so +agree with you', uttered in a youthful and rather silly +feminine voice. But the other voice never stopped for an +instant, even when the girl was speaking. Winston knew the man +by sight, though he knew no more about him than that he held +some important post in the Fiction Department. He was a man of +about thirty, with a muscular throat and a large, mobile mouth. +His head was thrown back a little, and because of the angle at +which he was sitting, his spectacles caught the light and +presented to Winston two blank discs instead of eyes. What was +slightly horrible, was that from the stream of sound that +poured out of his mouth it was almost impossible to distinguish +a single word. Just once Winston caught a phrase-'complete and +final elimination of Goldsteinism'- jerked out very rapidly +and, as it seemed, all in one piece, like a line of type cast +solid. For the rest it was just a noise, a quack-quack-quacking. +And yet, though you could not actually hear what the man was +saying, you could not be in any doubt about its general nature. +He might be denouncing Goldstein and demanding sterner measures +against thought-criminals and saboteurs, he might be +fulminating against the atrocities of the Eurasian army, he +might be praising Big Brother or the heroes on the Malabar +front-it made no difference. Whatever it was, you could be +certain that every word of it was pure orthodoxy, pure Ingsoc. +As he watched the eyeless face with the jaw moving rapidly up +and down, Winston had a curious feeling that this was not a +real human being but some kind of dummy. It was not the man's +brain that was speaking, it was his larynx. The stuff that was +coming out of him consisted of words, but it was not speech in +the true sense: it was a noise uttered in unconsciousness, like +the quacking of a duck.

+

+ Syme had fallen silent for a moment, and with the handle +of his spoon was tracing patterns in the puddle of stew. The +voice from the other table quacked rapidly on, easily audible +in spite of the surrounding din.

+

+ 'There is a word in Newspeak,' said Syme, 'I don't know +whether you know it: duckspeak, to quack like a duck. It +is one of those interesting words that have two contradictory +meanings. Applied to an opponent, it is abuse, applied to +someone you agree with, it is praise.'

+

+ Unquestionably Syme will be vaporized, Winston thought +again. He thought it with a kind of sadness, although well +knowing that Syme despised him and slightly disliked him, and +was fully capable of denouncing him as a thought-criminal if +he saw any reason for doing so. There was something subtly +wrong with Syme. There was something that he lacked: +discretion, aloofness, a sort of saving stupidity. You could +not say that he was unorthodox. He believed in the principles +of Ingsoc, he venerated Big Brother, he rejoiced over +victories, he hated heretics, not merely with sincerity but +with a sort of restless zeal, an up-to-dateness of information, +which the ordinary Party member did not approach. Yet a faint +air of disreputability always clung to him. He said things that +would have been better unsaid, he had read too many books, he +frequented the Chestnut Tree Café, haunt of painters and +musicians. There was no law, not even an unwritten law, against +frequenting the Chestnut Tree Café, yet the place was somehow +ill-omened. The old, discredited leaders of the Party had been +used to gather there before they were finally purged. Goldstein +himself, it was said, had sometimes been seen there, years and +decades ago. Syme's fate was not difficult to foresee. And yet +it was a fact that if Syme grasped, even for three seconds, the +nature of his, Winston's, secret opinions, he would betray him +instantly to the Thought police. So would anybody else, for +that matter: but Syme more than most. Zeal was not enough. +Orthodoxy was unconsciousness.

+

+ Syme looked up. 'Here comes Parsons,' he said.

+

+ Something in the tone of his voice seemed to add, 'that +bloody fool'. Parsons, Winston's fellow-tenant at Victory +Mansions, was in fact threading his way across the room -- a +tubby, middle-sized man with fair hair and a froglike face. At +thirty-five he was already putting on rolls of fat at neck and +waistline, but his movements were brisk and boyish. His whole +appearance was that of a little boy grown large, so much so +that although he was wearing the regulation overalls, it was +almost impossible not to think of him as being dressed in the +blue shorts, grey shirt, and red neckerchief of the Spies. In +visualizing him one saw always a picture of dimpled knees and +sleeves rolled back from pudgy forearms. Parsons did, indeed, +invariably revert to shorts when a community hike or any other +physical activity gave him an excuse for doing so. He greeted +them both with a cheery 'Hullo, hullo!' and sat down at the +table, giving off an intense smell of sweat. Beads of moisture +stood out all over his pink face. His powers of sweating were +extraordinary. At the Community Centre you could always tell +when he had been playing table-tennis by the dampness of the +bat handle. Syme had produced a strip of paper on which there +was a long column of words, and was studying it with an +ink-pencil between his fingers.

+

+ 'Look at him working away in the lunch hour,' said +Parsons, nudging Winston. 'Keenness, eh? What's that you've got +there, old boy? Something a bit too brainy for me, I expect. +Smith, old boy, I'll tell you why I'm chasing you. It's that +sub you forgot to give me.'

+

+ 'Which sub is that? said Winston, automatically feeling +for money. About a quarter of one's salary had to be earmarked +for voluntary subscriptions, which were so numerous that it was +difficult to keep track of them.

+

+ 'For Hate Week. You know -- the house-by-house fund. I'm +treasurer for our block. We're making an all-out effort -- +going to put on a tremendous show. I tell you, it won't be my +fault if old Victory Mansions doesn't have the biggest outfit +of flags in the whole street. Two dollars you promised me.'

+

+ Winston found and handed over two creased and filthy +notes, which Parsons entered in a small notebook, in the neat +handwriting of the illiterate.

+

+ 'By the way, old boy,' he said. 'I hear that little beggar +of mine let fly at you with his catapult yesterday. I gave him +a good dressing-down for it. In fact I told him I'd take the +catapult away if he does it again.

+

+ 'I think he was a little upset at not going to the +execution,' said Winston.

+

+ ' Ah, well -- what I mean to say, shows the right spirit, +doesn't it? Mischievous little beggars they are, both of them, +but talk about keenness! All they think about is the Spies, and +the war, of course. D'you know what that little girl of mine +did last Saturday, when her troop was on a hike out Berkhamsted +way? She got two other girls to go with her, slipped off from +the hike, and spent the whole afternoon following a strange +man. They kept on his tail for two hours, right through the +woods, and then, when they got into Amersham, handed him over +to the patrols.'

+

+ 'What did they do that for?' said Winston, somewhat taken +aback. Parsons went on triumphantly:

+

+ 'My kid made sure he was some kind of enemy agent -- might +have been dropped by parachute, for instance. But here's the +point, old boy. What do you think put her on to him in the +first place? She spotted he was wearing a funny kind of shoes +-- said she'd never seen anyone wearing shoes like that before. +So the chances were he was a foreigner. Pretty smart for a +nipper of seven, eh?'

+

+ 'What happened to the man?' said Winston.

+

+ 'Ah, that I couldn't say, of course. But I wouldn't be +altogether surprised if-' Parsons made the motion of aiming a +rifle, and clicked his tongue for the explosion.

+

+ 'Good,' said Syme abstractedly, without looking up from +his strip of paper.

+

+ 'Of course we can't afford to take chances,' agreed +Winston dutifully.

+

+ 'What I mean to say, there is a war on,' said Parsons.

+

+ As though in confirmation of this, a trumpet call floated +from the telescreen just above their heads. However, it was not +the proclamation of a military victory this time, but merely an +announcement from the Ministry of Plenty.

+

+ 'Comrades!' cried an eager youthful voice. 'Attention, +comrades! We have glorious news for you. We have won the battle +for production! Returns now completed of the output of all +classes of consumption goods show that the standard of living +has risen by no less than 20 per cent over the past year. All +over Oceania this morning there were irrepressible spontaneous +demonstrations when workers marched out of factories and +offices and paraded through the streets with banners voicing +their gratitude to Big Brother for the new, happy life which +his wise leadership has bestowed upon us. Here are some of the +completed figures. Foodstuffs-'

+

+ The phrase 'our new, happy life' recurred several times. +It had been a favourite of late with the Ministry of Plenty. +Parsons, his attention caught by the trumpet call, sat +listening with a sort of gaping solemnity, a sort of edified +boredom. He could not follow the figures, but he was aware that +they were in some way a cause for satisfaction. He had lugged +out a huge and filthy pipe which was already half full of +charred tobacco. With the tobacco ration at 100 grammes a week +it was seldom possible to fill a pipe to the top. Winston was +smoking a Victory Cigarette which he held carefully horizontal. +The new ration did not start till tomorrow and he had only four +cigarettes left. For the moment he had shut his ears to the +remoter noises and was listening to the stuff that streamed out +of the telescreen. It appeared that there had even been +demonstrations to thank Big Brother for raising the chocolate +ration to twenty grammes a week. And only yesterday, he +reflected, it had been announced that the ration was to be +reduced to twenty grammes a week. Was it possible that +they could swallow that, after only twenty-four hours? Yes, +they swallowed it. Parsons swallowed it easily, with the +stupidity of an animal. The eyeless creature at the other table +swallowed it fanatically, passionately, with a furious desire +to track down, denounce, and vaporize anyone who should suggest +that last week the ration had been thirty grammes. Syme, too-in +some more complex way, involving doublethink, Syme swallowed +it. Was he, then, alone in the possession of a memory?

+

+ The fabulous statistics continued to pour out of the +telescreen. As compared with last year there was more food, +more clothes, more houses, more furniture, more cooking-pots, +more fuel, more ships, more helicopters, more books, more +babies -- more of everything except disease, crime, and +insanity. Year by year and minute by minute, everybody and +everything was whizzing rapidly upwards. As Syme had done +earlier Winston had taken up his spoon and was dabbling in the +pale-coloured gravy that dribbled across the table, drawing a +long streak of it out into a pattern. He meditated resentfully +on the physical texture of life. Had it always been like this? +Had food always tasted like this? He looked round the canteen. +A low-ceilinged, crowded room, its walls grimy from the contact +of innumerable bodies; battered metal tables and chairs, placed +so close together that you sat with elbows touching; bent +spoons, dented trays, coarse white mugs; all surfaces greasy, +grime in every crack; and a sourish, composite smell of bad gin +and bad coffee and metallic stew and dirty clothes. Always in +your stomach and in your skin there was a sort of protest, a +feeling that you had been cheated of something that you had a +right to. It was true that he had no memories of anything +greatly different. In any time that he could accurately +remember, there had never been quite enough to eat, one had +never had socks or underclothes that were not full of holes, +furniture had always been battered and rickety, rooms +underheated, tube trains crowded, houses falling to pieces, +bread dark-coloured, tea a rarity, coffee filthy-tasting, +cigarettes insufficient -- nothing cheap and plentiful except +synthetic gin. And though, of course, it grew worse as one's +body aged, was it not a sign that this was not the +natural order of things, if one's heart sickened at the +discomfort and dirt and scarcity, the interminable winters, the +stickiness of one's socks, the lifts that never worked, the +cold water, the gritty soap, the cigarettes that came to +pieces, the food with its strange evil tastes? Why should one +feel it to be intolerable unless one had some kind of ancestral +memory that things had once been different?

+

+ He looked round the canteen again. Nearly everyone was +ugly, and would still have been ugly even if dressed otherwise +than in the uniform blue overalls. On the far side of the room, +sitting at a table alone, a small, curiously beetle-like man +was drinking a cup of coffee, his little eyes darting +suspicious glances from side to side. How easy it was, thought +Winston, if you did not look about you, to believe that the +physical type set up by the Party as an ideal-tall muscular +youths and deep-bosomed maidens, blond-haired, vital, sunburnt, +carefree -- existed and even predominated. Actually, so far as +he could judge, the majority of people in Airstrip One were +small, dark, and ill-favoured. It was curious how that +beetle-like type proliferated in the Ministries: little dumpy +men, growing stout very early in life, with short legs, swift +scuttling movements, and fat inscrutable faces with very small +eyes. It was the type that seemed to flourish best under the +dominion of the Party.

+

+ The announcement from the Ministry of Plenty ended on +another trumpet call and gave way to tinny music. Parsons, +stirred to vague enthusiasm by the bombardment of figures, took +his pipe out of his mouth.

+

+ 'The Ministry of Plenty's certainly done a good job this +year,' he said with a knowing shake of his head. 'By the way, +Smith old boy, I suppose you haven't got any razor blades you +can let me have?'

+

+ 'Not one,' said Winston. 'I've been using the same blade +for six weeks myself.'

+

+ 'Ah, well -- just thought I'd ask you, old boy.'

+

+ 'Sorry,' said Winston.

+

+ The quacking voice from the next table, temporarily +silenced during the Ministry's announcement, had started up +again, as loud as ever. For some reason Winston suddenly found +himself thinking of Mrs Parsons, with her wispy hair and the +dust in the creases of her face. Within two years those +children would be denouncing her to the Thought Police. Mrs +Parsons would be vaporized. Syme would be vaporized. Winston +would be vaporized. O'Brien would be vaporized. Parsons, on the +other hand, would never be vaporized. The eyeless creature with +the quacking voice would never be vaporized. The little +beetle-like men who scuttle so nimbly through the labyrinthine +corridors of Ministries they, too, would never be vaporized. +And the girl with dark hair, the girl from the Fiction +Department -- she would never be vaporized either. It seemed to +him that he knew instinctively who would survive and who would +perish: though just what it was that made for survival, it was +not easy to say.

+

+ At this moment he was dragged out of his reverie with a +violent jerk. The girl at the next table had turned partly +round and was looking at him. It was the girl with dark hair. +She was looking at him in a sidelong way, but with curious +intensity. The instant she caught his eye she looked away +again.

+

+ The sweat started out on Winston's backbone. A horrible +pang of terror went through him. It was gone almost at once, +but it left a sort of nagging uneasiness behind. Why was she +watching him? Why did she keep following him about? +Unfortunately he could not remember whether she had already +been at the table when he arrived, or had come there +afterwards. But yesterday, at any rate, during the Two Minutes +Hate, she had sat immediately behind him when there was no +apparent need to do so. Quite likely her real object had been +to listen to him and make sure whether he was shouting loudly +enough.

+

+ His earlier thought returned to him: probably she was not +actually a member of the Thought Police, but then it was +precisely the amateur spy who was the greatest danger of all. +He did not know how long she had been looking at him, but +perhaps for as much as five minutes, and it was possible that +his features had not been perfectly under control. It was +terribly dangerous to let your thoughts wander when you were in +any public place or within range of a telescreen. The smallest +thing could give you away. A nervous tic, an unconscious look +of anxiety, a habit of muttering to yourself -- anything that +carried with it the suggestion of abnormality, of having +something to hide. In any case, to wear an improper expression +on your face (to look incredulous when a victory was announced, +for example) was itself a punishable offence. There was even a +word for it in Newspeak: facecrime, it was called.

+

+ The girl had turned her back on him again. Perhaps after +all she was not really following him about, perhaps it was +coincidence that she had sat so close to him two days running. +His cigarette had gone out, and he laid it carefully on the +edge of the table. He would finish smoking it after work, if he +could keep the tobacco in it. Quite likely the person at the +next table was a spy of the Thought Police, and quite likely he +would be in the cellars of the Ministry of Love within three +days, but a cigarette end must not be wasted. Syme had folded +up his strip of paper and stowed it away in his pocket. Parsons +had begun talking again.

+

+ 'Did I ever tell you, old boy,' he said, chuckling round +the stem of his pipe, 'about the time when those two nippers of +mine set fire to the old market-woman's skirt because they saw +her wrapping up sausages in a poster of B.B.? Sneaked up behind +her and set fire to it with a box of matches. Burned her quite +badly, I believe. Little beggars, eh? But keen as mustard! +That's a first-rate training they give them in the Spies +nowadays -- better than in my day, even. What d'you think's the +latest thing they've served them out with? Ear trumpets for +listening through keyholes! My little girl brought one home +the other night -- tried it out on our sitting-room door, and +reckoned she could hear twice as much as with her ear to the +hole. Of course it's only a toy, mind you. Still, gives 'em the +right idea, eh?'

+

+ At this moment the telescreen let out a piercing whistle. +It was the signal to return to work. All three men sprang to +their feet to join in the struggle round the lifts, and the +remaining tobacco fell out of Winston's cigarette.

+

VI

+

+ Winston was writing in his diary:

+

+ It was three years ago. It was on a dark evening, in a +narrow side-street near one of the big railway stations. She +was standing near a doorway in the wall, under a street lamp +that hardly gave any light. She had a young face, painted very +thick. It was really the paint that appealed to me, the +whiteness of it, like a mask, and the bright red lips. Party +women never paint their faces. There was nobody else in the +street, and no telescreens. She said two dollars. I

+

+ For the moment it was too difficult to go on. He shut his +eyes and pressed his fingers against them, trying to squeeze +out the vision that kept recurring. He had an almost +overwhelming temptation to shout a string of filthy words at +the top of his voice. Or to bang his head against the wall, to +kick over the table, and hurl the inkpot through the window -- +to do any violent or noisy or painful thing that might black +out the memory that was tormenting him.

+

+ Your worst enemy, he reflected, was your own nervous +system. At any moment the tension inside you was liable to +translate itself into some visible symptom. He thought of a man +whom he had passed in the street a few weeks back; a quite +ordinary-looking man, a Party member, aged thirty-five to +forty, tallish and thin, carrying a brief-case. They were a few +metres apart when the left side of the man's face was suddenly +contorted by a sort of spasm. It happened again just as they +were passing one another: it was only a twitch, a quiver, rapid +as the clicking of a camera shutter, but obviously habitual. He +remembered thinking at the time: That poor devil is done for. +And what was frightening was that the action was quite possibly +unconscious. The most deadly danger of all was talking in your +sleep. There was no way of guarding against that, so far as he +could see.

+

+ He drew his breath and went on writing:

+

+ I went with her through the doorway and across a +backyard into a basement kitchen. There was a bed against the +wall, and a lamp on the table, turned down very low. She

+

+ His teeth were set on edge. He would have liked to spit. +Simultaneously with the woman in the basement kitchen he +thought of Katharine, his wife. Winston was married -- had been +married, at any rate: probably he still was married, so far as +he knew his wife was not dead. He seemed to breathe again the +warm stuffy odour of the basement kitchen, an odour compounded +of bugs and dirty clothes and villainous cheap scent, but +nevertheless alluring, because no woman of the Party ever used +scent, or could be imagined as doing so. Only the proles used +scent. In his mind the smell of it was inextricably mixed up +with fornication.

+

+ When he had gone with that woman it had been his first +lapse in two years or thereabouts. Consorting with prostitutes +was forbidden, of course, but it was one of those rules that +you could occasionally nerve yourself to break. It was +dangerous, but it was not a life-and-death matter. To be caught +with a prostitute might mean five years in a forced-labour +camp: not more, if you had committed no other offence. And it +was easy enough, provided that you could avoid being caught in +the act. The poorer quarters swarmed with women who were ready +to sell themselves. Some could even be purchased for a bottle +of gin, which the proles were not supposed to drink. Tacitly +the Party was even inclined to encourage prostitution, as an +outlet for instincts which could not be altogether suppressed. +Mere debauchery did not matter very much, so long as it was +furtive and joyless and only involved the women of a submerged +and despised class. The unforgivable crime was promiscuity +between Party members. But -- though this was one of the crimes +that the accused in the great purges invariably confessed to -- +it was difficult to imagine any such thing actually happening.

+

+ The aim of the Party was not merely to prevent men and +women from forming loyalties which it might not be able to +control. Its real, undeclared purpose was to remove all +pleasure from the sexual act. Not love so much as eroticism was +the enemy, inside marriage as well as outside it. All marriages +between Party members had to be approved by a committee +appointed for the purpose, and -- though the principle was +never clearly stated -- permission was always refused if the +couple concerned gave the impression of being physically +attracted to one another. The only recognized purpose of +marriage was to beget children for the service of the Party. +Sexual intercourse was to be looked on as a slightly disgusting +minor operation, like having an enema. This again was never put +into plain words, but in an indirect way it was rubbed into +every Party member from childhood onwards. There were even +organizations such as the Junior Anti-Sex League, which +advocated complete celibacy for both sexes. All children were +to be begotten by artificial insemination (artsem, it +was called in Newspeak) and brought up in public institutions. +This, Winston was aware, was not meant altogether seriously, +but somehow it fitted in with the general ideology of the +Party. The Party was trying to kill the sex instinct, or, if it +could not be killed, then to distort it and dirty it. He did +not know why this was so, but it seemed natural that it should +be so. And as far as the women were concerned, the Party's +efforts were largely successful.

+

+ He thought again of Katharine. It must be nine, ten -- +nearly eleven years since they had parted. It was curious how +seldom he thought of her. For days at a time he was capable of +forgetting that he had ever been married. They had only been +together for about fifteen months. The Party did not permit +divorce, but it rather encouraged separation in cases where +there were no children.

+

+ Katharine was a tall, fair-haired girl, very straight, +with splendid movements. She had a bold, aquiline face, a face +that one might have called noble until one discovered that +there was as nearly as possible nothing behind it. Very early +in her married life he had decided -- though perhaps it was +only that he knew her more intimately than he knew most people +-- that she had without exception the most stupid, vulgar, +empty mind that he had ever encountered. She had not a thought +in her head that was not a slogan, and there was no imbecility, +absolutely none that she was not capable of swallowing if the +Party handed it out to her. 'The human sound-track' he +nicknamed her in his own mind. Yet he could have endured living +with her if it had not been for just one thing -- sex.

+

+ As soon as he touched her she seemed to wince and stiffen. +To embrace her was like embracing a jointed wooden image. And +what was strange was that even when she was clasping him +against her he had the feeling that she was simultaneously +pushing him away with all her strength. The rigidlty of her +muscles managed to convey that impression. She would lie there +with shut eyes, neither resisting nor co-operating but +submitting. It was extraordinarily embarrassing, and, +after a while, horrible. But even then he could have borne +living with her if it had been agreed that they should remain +celibate. But curiously enough it was Katharine who refused +this. They must, she said, produce a child if they could. So +the performance continued to happen, once a week quite +regulariy, whenever it was not impossible. She even used to +remind him of it in the morning, as something which had to be +done that evening and which must not be forgotten. She had two +names for it. One was 'making a baby', and the other was 'our +duty to the Party' (yes, she had actually used that phrase). +Quite soon he grew to have a feeling of positive dread when the +appointed day came round. But luckily no child appeared, and in +the end she agreed to give up trying, and soon afterwards they +parted.

+

+ Winston sighed inaudibly. He picked up his pen again and +wrote:

+

+ She threw herself down on the bed, and at once, without +any kind of preliminary in the most coarse, horrible way you +can imagine, pulled up her skirt. I

+

+ He saw himself standing there in the dim lamplight, with +the smell of bugs and cheap scent in his nostrils, and in his +heart a feeling of defeat and resentment which even at that +moment was mixed up with the thought of Katharine's white body, +frozen for ever by the hypnotic power of the Party. Why did it +always have to be like this? Why could he not have a woman of +his own instead of these filthy scuffles at intervals of years? +But a real love affair was an almost unthinkable event. The +women of the Party were all alike. Chastity was as deep +ingrained in them as Party loyalty. By careful early +conditioning, by games and cold water, by the rubbish that was +dinned into them at school and in the Spies and the Youth +League, by lectures, parades, songs, slogans, and martial +music, the natural feeling had been driven out of them. His +reason told him that there must be exceptions, but his heart +did not believe it. They were all impregnable, as the Party +intended that they should be. And what he wanted, more even +than to be loved, was to break down that wall of virtue, even +if it were only once in his whole life. The sexual act, +successfully performed, was rebellion. Desire was thoughtcrime. +Even to have awakened Katharine, if he could have achieved it, +would have been like a seduction, although she was his wife.

+

+ But the rest of the story had got to be written down. He +wrote:

+

+ I turned up the lamp. When I saw her in the light

+

+ After the darkness the feeble light of the paraffin lamp +had seemed very bright. For the first time he could see the +woman properly. He had taken a step towards her and then +halted, full of lust and terror. He was painfully conscious of +the risk he had taken in coming here. It was perfectly possible +that the patrols would catch him on the way out: for that +matter they might be waiting outside the door at this moment. +If he went away without even doing what he had come here to do +-- !

+

+ It had got to be written down, it had got to be confessed. +What he had suddenly seen in the lamplight was that the woman +was old. The paint was plastered so thick on her face +that it looked as though it might crack like a cardboard mask. +There were streaks of white in her hair; but the truly dreadful +detail was that her mouth had fallen a little open, revealing +nothing except a cavernous blackness. She had no teeth at all.

+

+ He wrote hurriedly, in scrabbling handwriting:

+

+ When I saw her in the light she was quite an old woman, +fifty years old at least. But I went ahead and did it just the +same.

+

+ He pressed his fingers against his eyelids again. He had +written it down at last, but it made no difference. The therapy +had not worked. The urge to shout filthy words at the top of +his voice was as strong as ever.

+

VII

+

+ If there is hope, wrote Winston, it lies in the +proles.

+

+ If there was hope, it must lie in the proles, +because only there in those swarming disregarded masses, 85 per +cent of the population of Oceania, could the force to destroy +the Party ever be generated. The Party could not be overthrown +from within. Its enemies, if it had any enemies, had no way of +coming together or even of identifying one another. Even if the +legendary Brotherhood existed, as just possibly it might, it +was inconceivable that its members could ever assemble in +larger numbers than twos and threes. Rebellion meant a look in +the eyes, an inflexion of the voice, at the most, an occasional +whispered word. But the proles, if only they could somehow +become conscious of their own strength. would have no need to +conspire. They needed only to rise up and shake themselves like +a horse shaking off flies. If they chose they could blow the +Party to pieces tomorrow morning. Surely sooner or later it +must occur to them to do it? And yet-!

+

+ He remembered how once he had been walking down a crowded +street when a tremendous shout of hundreds of voices women's +voices -- had burst from a side-street a little way ahead. It +was a great formidable cry of anger and despair, a deep, loud +'Oh-o-o-o-oh!' that went humming on like the reverberation of a +bell. His heart had leapt. It's started! he had thought. A +riot! The proles are breaking loose at last! When he had +reached the spot it was to see a mob of two or three hundred +women crowding round the stalls of a street market, with faces +as tragic as though they had been the doomed passengers on a +sinking ship. But at this moment the general despair broke down +into a multitude of individual quarrels. It appeared that one +of the stalls had been selling tin saucepans. They were +wretched, flimsy things, but cooking-pots of any kind were +always difficult to get. Now the supply had unexpectedly given +out. The successful women, bumped and jostled by the rest, were +trying to make off with their saucepans while dozens of others +clamoured round the stall, accusing the stall-keeper of +favouritism and of having more saucepans somewhere in reserve. +There was a fresh outburst of yells. Two bloated women, one of +them with her hair coming down, had got hold of the same +saucepan and were trying to tear it out of one another's hands. +For a moment they were both tugging, and then the handle came +off. Winston watched them disgustedly. And yet, just for a +moment, what almost frightening power had sounded in that cry +from only a few hundred throats! Why was it that they could +never shout like that about anything that mattered?

+

+ He wrote:

+

+ Until they become conscious they will never rebel, and +until after they have rebelled they cannot become +conscious.

+

+ That, he reflected, might almost have been a transcription +from one of the Party textbooks. The Party claimed, of course, +to have liberated the proles from bondage. Before the +Revolution they had been hideously oppressed by the +capitalists, they had been starved and flogged, women had been +forced to work in the coal mines (women still did work in the +coal mines, as a matter of fact), children had been sold into +the factories at the age of six. But simultaneously, true to +the Principles of doublethink, the Party taught that the proles +were natural inferiors who must be kept in subjection, like +animals, by the application of a few simple rules. In reality +very little was known about the proles. It was not necessary to +know much. So long as they continued to work and breed, their +other activities were without importance. Left to themselves, +like cattle turned loose upon the plains of Argentina, they had +reverted to a style of life that appeared to be natural to +them, a sort of ancestral pattern. They were born, they grew up +in the gutters, they went to work at twelve, they passed +through a brief blossoming-period of beauty and sexual desire, +they married at twenty, they were middle-aged at thirty, they +died, for the most part, at sixty. Heavy physical work, the +care of home and children, petty quarrels with neighbours, +films, football, beer, and above all, gambling, filled up the +horizon of their minds. To keep them in control was not +difficult. A few agents of the Thought Police moved always +among them, spreading false rumours and marking down and +eliminating the few individuals who were judged capable of +becoming dangerous; but no attempt was made to indoctrinate +them with the ideology of the Party. It was not desirable that +the proles should have strong political feelings. All that was +required of them was a primitive patriotism which could be +appealed to whenever it was necessary to make them accept +longer working-hours or shorter rations. And even when they +became discontented, as they sometimes did, their discontent +led nowhere, because being without general ideas, they could +only focus it on petty specific grievances. The larger evils +invariably escaped their notice. The great majority of proles +did not even have telescreens in their homes. Even the civil +police interfered with them very little. There was a vast +amount of criminality in London, a whole world-within-a-world +of thieves, bandits, prostitutes, drug-peddlers, and racketeers +of every description; but since it all happened among the +proles themselves, it was of no importance. In all questions of +morals they were allowed to follow their ancestral code. The +sexual puritanism of the Party was not imposed upon them. +Promiscuity went unpunished, divorce was permitted. For that +matter, even religious worship would have been permitted if the +proles had shown any sign of needing or wanting it. They were +beneath suspicion. As the Party slogan put it: 'Proles and +animals are free.'

+

+ Winston reached down and cautiously scratched his varicose +ulcer. It had begun itching again. The thing you invariably +came back to was the impossibility of knowing what life before +the Revolution had really been like. He took out of the drawer +a copy of a children's history textbook which he had borrowed +from Mrs Parsons, and began copying a passage into the diary:

+

+ In the old days (it ran), before the glorious +Revolution, London was not the beautiful city that we know +today. It was a dark, dirty, miserable place where hardly +anybody had enough to eat and where hundreds and thousands of +poor people had no boots on their feet and not even a roof to +sleep under. Children no older than you had to work twelve +hours a day for cruel masters who flogged them with whips if +they worked too slowly and fed them on nothing but stale +breadcrusts and water.

+

+ But in among all this terrible poverty there were just +a few great big beautiful houses that were lived in by rich men +who had as many as thirty servants to look after them. These +rich men were called capitalists. They were fat, ugly men with +wicked faces, like the one in the picture on the opposite page. +You can see that he is dressed in a long black coat which was +called a frock coat, and a queer, shiny hat shaped like a +stovepipe, which was called a top hat. This was the uniform of +the capitalists, and no one else was allowed to wear it. +The capitalists owned everything in the world, and everyone +else was their slave. They owned all the land, all the houses, +all the factories, and all the money. If anyone disobeyed them +they could throw them into prison, or they could take his job +away and starve him to death. When any ordinary person spoke to +a capitalist he had to cringe and bow to him, and take off his +cap and address him as 'Sir'. The chief of all the capitalists +was called the King. and

+

+ But he knew the rest of the catalogue. There would be +mention of the bishops in their lawn sleeves, the judges in +their ermine robes, the pillory, the stocks, the treadmill, the +cat-o'-nine tails, the Lord Mayor's Banquet, and the practice +of kissing the Pope's toe. There was also something called the +jus primae noctis, which would probably not be mentioned +in a textbook for children. It was the law by which every +capitalist had the right to sleep with any woman working in one +of his factories.

+

+ How could you tell how much of it was lies? It +might be true that the average human being was better +off now than he had been before the Revolution. The only +evidence to the contrary was the mute protest in your own +bones, the instinctive feeling that the conditions you lived in +were intolerable and that at some other time they must have +been different. It struck him that the truly characteristic +thing about modern life was not its cruelty and insecurity, but +simply its bareness, its dinginess, its listlessness. Life, if +you looked about you, bore no resemblance not only to the lies +that streamed out of the telescreens, but even to the ideals +that the Party was trying to achieve. Great areas of it, even +for a Party member, were neutral and non-political, a matter of +slogging through dreary jobs, fighting for a place on the Tube, +darning a worn-out sock, cadging a saccharine tablet, saving a +cigarette end. The ideal set up by the Party was something +huge, terrible, and glittering -- a world of steel and +concrete, of monstrous machines and terrifying weapons -- a +nation of warriors and fanatics, marching forward in perfect +unity, all thinking the same thoughts and shouting the same +slogans, perpetually working, fighting, triumphing, persecuting +-- three hundred million people all with the same face. The +reality was decaying, dingy cities where underfed people +shuffled to and fro in leaky shoes, in patched-up +nineteenth-century houses that smelt always of cabbage and bad +lavatories. He seemed to see a vision of London, vast and +ruinous, city of a million dustbins, and mixed up with it was a +picture of Mrs Parsons, a woman with lined face and wispy hair, +fiddling helplessly with a blocked waste-pipe.

+

+ He reached down and scratched his ankle again. Day and +night the telescreens bruised your ears with statistics proving +that people today had more food, more clothes, better houses, +better recreations -- that they lived longer, worked shorter +hours, were bigger, healthier, stronger, happier, more +intelligent, better educated, than the people of fifty years +ago. Not a word of it could ever be proved or disproved. The +Party claimed, for example, that today 40 per cent of adult +proles were literate: before the Revolution, it was said, the +number had only been 15 per cent. The Party claimed that the +infant mortality rate was now only 160 per thousand, whereas +before the Revolution it had been 300 -- and so it went on. It +was like a single equation with two unknowns. It might very +well be that literally every word in the history books, even +the things that one accepted without question, was pure +fantasy. For all he knew there might never have been any such +law as the jus primae noctis, or any such creature as a +capitalist, or any such garment as a top hat.

+

+ Everything faded into mist. The past was erased, the +erasure was forgotten, the lie became truth. Just once in his +life he had possessed -- after the event: that was what +counted -- concrete, unmistakable evidence of an act of +falsification. He had held it between his fingers for as long +as thirty seconds. In 1973, it must have been -- at any rate, + + +it was at about the time when he and Katharine had parted. But +the really relevant date was seven or eight years earlier.

+

+ The story really began in the middle sixties, the period +of the great purges in which the original leaders of the +Revolution were wiped out once and for all. By 1970 none of +them was left, except Big Brother himself. All the rest had by +that time been exposed as traitors and counter- +revolutionaries. Goldstein had fled and was hiding no one knew +where, and of the others, a few had simply disappeared, while +the majority had been executed after spectacular public trials +at which they made confession of their crimes. Among the last +survivors were three men named Jones, Aaronson, and Rutherford. +It must have been in 1965 that these three had been arrested. +As often happened, they had vanished for a year or more, so +that one did not know whether they were alive or dead, and then +had suddenly been brought forth to incriminate themselves in +the usual way. They had confessed to intelligence with the +enemy (at that date, too, the enemy was Eurasia), embezzlement +of public funds, the murder of various trusted Party members, +intrigues against the leadership of Big Brother which had +started long before the Revolution happened, and acts of +sabotage causing the death of hundreds of thousands of people. +After confessing to these things they had been pardoned, +reinstated in the Party, and given posts which were in fact +sinecures but which sounded important. All three had written +long, abject articles in The Times, analysing the +reasons for their defection and promising to make amends.

+

+ Some time after their release Winston had actually seen +all three of them in the Chestnut Tree Café. He remembered the +sort of terrified fascination with which he had watched them +out of the corner of his eye. They were men far older than +himself, relics of the ancient world, almost the last great +figures left over from the heroic days of the Party. The +glamour of the underground struggle and the civil war still +faintly clung to them. He had the feeling, though already at +that time facts and dates were growing blurry, that he had +known their names years earlier than he had known that of Big +Brother. But also they were outlaws, enemies, untouchables, +doomed with absolute certainty to extinction within a year or +two. No one who had once fallen into the hands of the Thought +Police ever escaped in the end. They were corpses waiting to be +sent back to the grave.

+

+ There was no one at any of the tables nearest to them. It +was not wise even to be seen in the neighbourhood of such +people. They were sitting in silence before glasses of the gin +flavoured with cloves which was the speciality of the café. Of +the three, it was Rutherford whose appearance had most +impressed Winston. Rutherford had once been a famous +caricaturist, whose brutal cartoons had helped to inflame +popular opinion before and during the Revolution. Even now, at +long intervals, his cartoons were appearing in The +Times. They were simply an imitation of his earlier manner, +and curiously lifeless and unconvincing. Always they were a +rehashing of the ancient themes -- slum tenements, starving +children, street battles, capitalists in top hats -- even on +the barricades the capitalists still seemed to cling to their +top hats an endless, hopeless effort to get back into the past. +He was a monstrous man, with a mane of greasy grey hair, his +face pouched and seamed, with thick negroid lips. At one time +he must have been immensely strong; now his great body was +sagging, sloping, bulging, falling away in every direction. He +seemed to be breaking up before one's eyes, like a mountain +crumbling.

+

+ It was the lonely hour of fifteen. Winston could not now + +remember how he had come to be in the café at such a time. The +place was almost empty. A tinny music was trickling from the +telescreens. The three men sat in their corner almost +motionless, never speaking. Uncommanded, the waiter brought +fresh glasses of gin. There was a chessboard on the table +beside them, with the pieces set out but no game started. And +then, for perhaps half a minute in all, something happened to +the telescreens. The tune that they were playing changed, and +the tone of the music changed too. There came into it -- but it +was something hard to describe. It was a peculiar, cracked, +braying, jeering note: in his mind Winston called it a yellow +note. And then a voice from the telescreen was singing:

+

+ Under the spreading chestnut tree
+ I sold you and you sold me:
+ There lie they, and here lie we
+ Under the spreading chestnut tree.

+

+ + The three men never stirred. But when Winston glanced +again at Rutherford's ruinous face, he saw that his eyes were +full of tears. And for the first time he noticed, with a kind +of inward shudder, and yet not knowing at what he +shuddered, that both Aaronson and Rutherford had broken noses.

+

+ A little later all three were re-arrested. It appeared +that they had engaged in fresh conspiracies from the very +moment of their release. At their second trial they confessed +to all their old crimes over again, with a whole string of new +ones. They were executed, and their fate was recorded in the +Party histories, a warning to posterity. About five years after +this, in 1973, Winston was unrolling a wad of documents which +had just flopped out of the pneumatic tube on to his desk when +he came on a fragment of paper which had evidently been slipped +in among the others and then forgotten. The instant he had +flattened it out he saw its significance. It was a half-page +torn out of The Times of about ten years earlier -- the +top half of the page, so that it included the date -- and it +contained a photograph of the delegates at some Party function +in New York. Prominent in the middle of the group were Jones, +Aaronson, and Rutherford. There was no mistaking them, in any +case their names were in the caption at the bottom.

+

+ The point was that at both trials all three men had +confessed that on that date they had been on Eurasian soil. +They had flown from a secret airfield in Canada to a rendezvous +somewhere in Siberia, and had conferred with members of the +Eurasian General Staff, to whom they had betrayed important +military secrets. The date had stuck in Winston's memory +because it chanced to be midsummer day; but the whole story +must be on record in countless other places as well. There was +only one possible conclusion: the confessions were lies.

+

+ Of course, this was not in itself a discovery. Even at +that time Winston had not imagined that the people who were +wiped out in the purges had actually committed the crimes that +they were accused of. But this was concrete evidence; it was a +fragment of the abolished past, like a fossil bone which turns +up in the wrong stratum and destroys a geological theory. It +was enough to blow the Party to atoms, if in some way it could +have been published to the world and its significance made +known.

+

+ He had gone straight on working. As soon as he saw what +the photograph was, and what it meant, he had covered it up +with another sheet of paper. Luckily, when he unrolled it, it +had been upside-down from the point of view of the telescreen.

+

+ He took his scribbling pad on his knee and pushed back his +chair so as to get as far away from the telescreen as possible. +To keep your face expressionless was not difficult, and even +your breathing could be controlled, with an effort: but you +could not control the beating of your heart, and the telescreen +was quite delicate enough to pick it up. He let what he judged +to be ten minutes go by, tormented all the while by the fear +that some accident -- a sudden draught blowing across his desk, +for instance -- would betray him. Then, without uncovering it +again, he dropped the photograph into the memory hole, along +with some other waste papers. Within another minute, perhaps, +it would have crumbled into ashes.

+

+ That was ten -- eleven years ago. Today, probably, he +would have kept that photograph. It was curious that the fact +of having held it in his fingers seemed to him to make a +difference even now, when the photograph itself, as well as the +event it recorded, was only memory. Was the Party's hold upon +the past less strong, he wondered, because a piece of evidence +which existed no longer had once existed?

+

+ But today, supposing that it could be somehow resurrected +from its ashes, the photograph might not even be evidence. +Already, at the time when he made his discovery, Oceania was no +longer at war with Eurasia, and it must have been to the agents +of Eastasia that the three dead men had betrayed their country. +Since then there had been other changes -- two, three, he could +not remember how many. Very likely the confessions had been +rewritten and rewritten until the original facts and dates no +longer had the smallest significance. The past not only +changed, but changed continuously. What most afflicted him with +the sense of nightmare was that he had never clearly understood +why the huge imposture was undertaken. The immediate advantages +of falsifying the past were obvious, but the ultimate motive +was mysterious. He took up his pen again and wrote:

+

+ I understand HOW: I do not understand WHY.

+

+ He wondered, as he had many times wondered before, whether +he himself was a lunatic. Perhaps a lunatic was simply a +minority of one. At one time it had been a sign of madness to +believe that the earth goes round the sun; today, to believe +that the past is inalterable. He might be alone in +holding that belief, and if alone, then a lunatic. But the +thought of being a lunatic did not greatly trouble him: the +horror was that he might also be wrong.

+

+ He picked up the children's history book and looked at the +portrait of Big Brother which formed its frontispiece. The +hypnotic eyes gazed into his own. It was as though some huge +force were pressing down upon you -- something that penetrated +inside your skull, battering against your brain, frightening +you out of your beliefs, persuading you, almost, to deny the +evidence of your senses. In the end the Party would announce +that two and two made five, and you would have to believe it. +It was inevitable that they should make that claim sooner or +later: the logic of their position demanded it. Not merely the +validity of experience, but the very existence of external +reality, was tacitly denied by their philosophy. The heresy of +heresies was common sense. And what was terrifying was not that +they would kill you for thinking otherwise, but that they might +be right. For, after all, how do we know that two and two make +four? Or that the force of gravity works? Or that the past is +unchangeable? If both the past and the external world exist +only in the mind, and if the mind itself is controllable what +then?

+

+ But no! His courage seemed suddenly to stiffen of its own +accord. The face of O'Brien, not called up by any obvious +association, had floated into his mind. He knew, with more +certainty than before, that O'Brien was on his side. He was +writing the diary for O'Brien -- to O'Brien: it was like +an interminable letter which no one would ever read, but which +was addressed to a particular person and took its colour from +that fact.

+

+ The Party told you to reject the evidence of your eyes and +ears. It was their final, most essential command. His heart +sank as he thought of the enormous power arrayed against him, +the ease with which any Party intellectual would overthrow him +in debate, the subtle arguments which he would not be able to +understand, much less answer. And yet he was in the right! They +were wrong and he was right. The obvious, the silly, and the +true had got to be defended. Truisms are true, hold on to that! +The solid world exists, its laws do not change. Stones are +hard, water is wet, objects unsupported fall towards the +earth's centre. With the feeling that he was speaking to +O'Brien, and also that he was setting forth an important axiom, +he wrote:

+

+ Freedom is the freedom to say that two plus two make +four. If that is granted, all else follows.

+

VIII

+

+ From somewhere at the bottom of a passage the smell of +roasting coffee -- real coffee, not Victory Coffee -- came +floating out into the street. Winston paused involuntarily. For +perhaps two seconds he was back in the half-forgotten world of +his childhood. Then a door banged, seeming to cut off the smell +as abruptly as though it had been a sound.

+

+ He had walked several kilometres over pavements, and his +varicose ulcer was throbbing. This was the second time in three +weeks that he had missed an evening at the Community Centre: a +rash act, since you could be certain that the number of your +attendances at the Centre was carefully checked. In principle a +Party member had no spare time, and was never alone except in +bed. It was assumed that when he was not working, eating, or +sleeping he would be taking part in some kind of communal +recreation: to do anything that suggested a taste for solitude, +even to go for a walk by yourself, was always slightly +dangerous. There was a word for it in Newspeak: ownlife, +it was called, meaning individualism and eccentricity. But this +evening as he came out of the Ministry the balminess of the +April air had tempted him. The sky was a warmer blue than he +had seen it that year, and suddenly the long, noisy evening at +the Centre, the boring, exhausting games, the lectures, the +creaking camaraderie oiled by gin, had seemed intolerable. On +impulse he had turned away from the bus-stop and wandered off +into the labyrinth of London, first south, then east, then +north again, losing himself among unknown streets and hardly +bothering in which direction he was going.

+

+ 'If there is hope,' he had written in the diary, 'it lies +in the proles.' The words kept coming back to him, statement of +a mystical truth and a palpable absurdity. He was somewhere in +the vague, brown-coloured slums to the north and east of what +had once been Saint Pancras Station. He was walking up a +cobbled street of little two-storey houses with battered +doorways which gave straight on the pavement and which were +somehow curiously suggestive of ratholes. There were puddles of +filthy water here and there among the cobbles. In and out of +the dark doorways, and down narrow alley-ways that branched off +on either side, people swarmed in astonishing numbers -- girls +in full bloom, with crudely lipsticked mouths, and youths who +chased the girls, and swollen waddling women who showed you +what the girls would be like in ten years' time, and old bent +creatures shuffling along on splayed feet, and ragged +barefooted children who played in the puddles and then +scattered at angry yells from their mothers. Perhaps a quarter +of the windows in the street were broken and boarded up. Most +of the people paid no attention to Winston; a few eyed him with +a sort of guarded curiosity. Two monstrous women with brick-red +forearms folded across thelr aprons were talking outside a +doorway. Winston caught scraps of conversation as he +approached.

+

+ ' "Yes," I says to 'er, "that's all very well," I says. +"But if you'd of been in my place you'd of done the same as +what I done. It's easy to criticize," I says, "but you ain't +got the same problems as what I got." '

+

+ 'Ah,' said the other, 'that's jest it. That's jest where +it is.'

+

+ The strident voices stopped abruptly. The women studied +him in hostile silence as he went past. But it was not +hostility, exactly; merely a kind of wariness, a momentary +stiffening, as at the passing of some unfamiliar animal. The +blue overalls of the Party could not be a common sight in a +street like this. Indeed, it was unwise to be seen in such +places, unless you had definite business there. The patrols +might stop you if you happened to run into them. 'May I see +your papers, comrade? What are you doing here? What time did +you leave work? Is this your usual way home?' -- and so on and +so forth. Not that there was any rule against walking home by +an unusual route: but it was enough to draw attention to you if +the Thought Police heard about it.

+

+ Suddenly the whole street was in commotion. There were +yells of warning from all sides. People were shooting into the +doorways like rabbits. A young woman leapt out of a doorway a +little ahead of Winston, grabbed up a tiny child playing in a +puddle, whipped her apron round it, and leapt back again, all +in one movement. At the same instant a man in a concertina-like +black suit, who had emerged from a side alley, ran towards +Winston, pointing excitedly to the sky.

+

+ 'Steamer!' he yelled. 'Look out, guv'nor! Bang over'ead! +Lay down quick!'

+

+ 'Steamer' was a nickname which, for some reason, the +proles applied to rocket bombs. Winston promptly flung himself +on his face. The proles were nearly always right when they gave +you a warning of this kind. They seemed to possess some kind of +instinct which told them several seconds in advance when a +rocket was coming, although the rockets supposedly travelled +faster than sound. Winston clasped his forearms above his head. +There was a roar that seemed to make the pavement heave; a +shower of light objects pattered on to his back. When he stood +up he found that he was covered with fragments of glass from +the nearest window.

+

+ He walked on. The bomb had demolished a group of houses +200 metres up the street. A black plume of smoke hung in the +sky, and below it a cloud of plaster dust in which a crowd was +already forming around the ruins. There was a little pile of +plaster lying on the pavement ahead of him, and in the middle +of it he could see a bright red streak. When he got up to it he +saw that it was a human hand severed at the wrist. Apart from +the bloody stump, the hand was so completely whitened as to +resemble a plaster cast.

+

+ He kicked the thing into the gutter, and then, to avoid +the crowd, turned down a side-street to the right. Within three +or four minutes he was out of the area which the bomb had +affected, and the sordid swarming life of the streets was going +on as though nothing had happened. It was nearly twenty hours, +and the drinking-shops which the proles frequented ('pubs', +they called them) were choked with customers. From their grimy +swing doors, endlessly opening and shutting, there came forth a +smell of urine, sawdust, and sour beer. In an angle formed by a +projecting house-front three men were standing very close +together, the middle one of them holding a folded-up newspaper +which the other two were studying over his shoulder. Even +before he was near enough to make out the expression on their +faces, Winston could see absorption in every line of their +bodies. It was obviously some serious piece of news that they +were reading. He was a few paces away from them when suddenly +the group broke up and two of the men were in violent +altercation. For a moment they seemed almost on the point of +blows.

+

+ 'Can't you bleeding well listen to what I say? I tell you +no number ending in seven ain't won for over fourteen months!'

+

+ 'Yes, it 'as, then!'

+

+ 'No, it 'as not! Back 'ome I got the 'ole lot of 'em for +over two years wrote down on a piece of paper. I takes 'em down +reg'lar as the clock. An' I tell you, no number ending in +seven-'

+

+ 'Yes, a seven 'as won! I could pretty near tell you +the bleeding number. Four oh seven, it ended in. It were in +February -- second week in February.'

+

+ 'February your grandmother! I got it all down in black and +white. An' I tell you, no number-'

+

+ 'Oh, pack it in!' said the third man.

+

+ They were talking about the Lottery. Winston looked back +when he had gone thirty metres. They were still arguing, with +vivid, passionate faces. The Lottery, with its weekly pay-out +of enormous prizes, was the one public event to which the +proles paid serious attention. It was probable that there were +some millions of proles for whom the Lottery was the principal +if not the only reason for remaining alive. It was their +delight, their folly, their anodyne, their intellectual +stimulant. Where the Lottery was concerned, even people who +could barely read and write seemed capable of intricate +calculations and staggering feats of memory. There was a whole +tribe of men who made a living simply by selling systems, +forecasts, and lucky amulets. Winston had nothing to do with +the running of the Lottery, which was managed by the Ministry +of Plenty, but he was aware (indeed everyone in the party was +aware) that the prizes were largely imaginary. Only small sums +were actually paid out, the winners of the big prizes being +non-existent persons. In the absence of any real +intercommunication between one part of Oceania and another, +this was not difficult to arrange.

+

+ But if there was hope, it lay in the proles. You had to +cling on to that. When you put it in words it sounded +reasonable: it was when you looked at the human beings passing +you on the pavement that it became an act of faith. The street +into which he had turned ran downhill. He had a feeling that he +had been in this neighbourhood before, and that there was a +main thoroughfare not far away. From somewhere ahead there came +a din of shouting voices. The street took a sharp turn and then +ended in a flight of steps which led down into a sunken alley +where a few stall-keepers were selling tired-looking vegetables. +At this moment Winston remembered where he was. The alley led +out into the main street, and down the next turning, not five +minutes away, was the junk-shop where he had bought the blank +book which was now his diary. And in a small stationer's shop +not far away he had bought his penholder and his bottle of ink.

+

+ He paused for a moment at the top of the steps. On the +opposite side of the alley there was a dingy little pub whose +windows appeared to be frosted over but in reality were merely +coated with dust. A very old man, bent but active, with white +moustaches that bristled forward like those of a prawn, pushed +open the swing door and went in. As Winston stood watching, it +occurred to him that the old man, who must be eighty at the +least, had already been middle-aged when the Revolution +happened. He and a few others like him were the last links that +now existed with the vanished world of capitalism. In the Party +itself there were not many people left whose ideas had been +formed before the Revolution. The older generation had mostly +been wiped out in the great purges of the fifties and sixties, +and the few who survived had long ago been terrified into +complete intellectual surrender. If there was any one still +alive who could give you a truthful account of conditions in +the early part of the century, it could only be a prole. +Suddenly the passage from the history book that he had copied +into his diary came back into Winston's mind, and a lunatic +impulse took hold of him. He would go into the pub, he would +scrape acquaintance with that old man and question him. He +would say to him: 'Tell me about your life when you were a boy. +What was it like in those days? Were things better than they +are now, or were they worse?'

+

+ Hurriedly, lest he should have time to become frightened, +he descended the steps and crossed the narrow street. It was +madness of course. As usual, there was no definite rule against +talking to proles and frequenting their pubs, but it was far +too unusual an action to pass unnoticed. If the patrols +appeared he might plead an attack of faintness, but it was not +likely that they would believe him. He pushed open the door, +and a hideous cheesy smell of sour beer hit him in the face. As +he entered the din of voices dropped to about half its volume. +Behind his back he could feel everyone eyeing his blue +overalls. A game of darts which was going on at the other end +of the room interrupted itself for perhaps as much as thirty +seconds. The old man whom he had followed was standing at the +bar, having some kind of altercation with the barman, a large, +stout, hook-nosed young man with enormous forearms. A knot of +others, standing round with glasses in their hands, were +watching the scene.

+

+ 'I arst you civil enough, didn't I?' said the old man, +straightening his shoulders pugnaciously. 'You telling me you +ain't got a pint mug in the 'ole bleeding boozer?'

+

+ 'And what in hell's name is a pint?' said the barman, +leaning forward with the tips of his fingers on the counter.

+

+ 'Ark at 'im! Calls 'isself a barman and don't know what a +pint is! Why, a pint's the 'alf of a quart, and there's four +quarts to the gallon. 'Ave to teach you the A, B, C next.'

+

+ 'Never heard of 'em,' said the barman shortly. 'Litre and +half litre -- that's all we serve. There's the glasses on the +shelf in front of you.

+

+ 'I likes a pint,' persisted the old man. 'You could 'a +drawed me off a pint easy enough. We didn't 'ave these bleeding +litres when I was a young man.'

+

+ 'When you were a young man we were all living in the +treetops,' said the barman, with a glance at the other +customers.

+

+ There was a shout of laughter, and the uneasiness caused +by Winston's entry seemed to disappear. The old man's +whitestubbled face had flushed pink. He turned away, muttering +to himself, and bumped into Winston. Winston caught him gently +by the arm.

+

+ 'May I offer you a drink?' he said.

+

+ 'You're a gent,' said the other, straightening his +shoulders again. He appeared not to have noticed Winston's blue +overalls. 'Pint!' he added aggressively to the barman. 'Pint of +wallop.'

+

+ The barman swished two half-litres of dark-brown beer into +thick glasses which he had rinsed in a bucket under the +counter. Beer was the only drink you could get in prole pubs. +The proles were supposed not to drink gin, though in practice +they could get hold of it easily enough. The game of darts was +in full swing again, and the knot of men at the bar had begun +talking about lottery tickets. Winston's presence was forgotten +for a moment. There was a deal table under the window where he +and the old man could talk without fear of being overheard. It +was horribly dangerous, but at any rate there was no telescreen +in the room, a point he had made sure of as soon as he came in.

+

+ "E could 'a drawed me off a pint,' grumbled the old man as +he settled down behind a glass. 'A 'alf litre ain't enough. It +don't satisfy. And a 'ole litre's too much. It starts my +bladder running. Let alone the price.'

+

+ 'You must have seen great changes since you were a young +man,' said Winston tentatively.

+

+ The old man's pale blue eyes moved from the darts board to +the bar, and from the bar to the door of the Gents, as though +it were in the bar-room that he expected the changes to have +occurred.

+

+ 'The beer was better,' he said finally. 'And cheaper! When +I was a young man, mild beer -- wallop we used to call it -- +was fourpence a pint. That was before the war, of course.'

+

+ 'Which war was that?' said Winston.

+

+ 'It's all wars,' said the old man vaguely. He took up his +glass, and his shoulders straightened again. "Ere's wishing you +the very best of 'ealth!'

+

+ In his lean throat the sharp-pointed Adam's apple made a +surprisingly rapid up-and-down movement, and the beer vanished. +Winston went to the bar and came back with two more +half-litres. The old man appeared to have forgotten his +prejudice against drinking a full litre.

+

+ 'You are very much older than I am,' said Winston. 'You +must have been a grown man before I was born. You can remember +what it was like in the old days, before the Revolution. People +of my age don't really know anything about those times. We can +only read about them in books, and what it says in the books +may not be true. I should like your opinion on that. The +history books say that life before the Revolution was +completely different from what it is now. There was the most +terrible oppression, injustice, poverty worse than anything we +can imagine. Here in London, the great mass of the people never +had enough to eat from birth to death. Half of them hadn't even +boots on their feet. They worked twelve hours a day, they left +school at nine, they slept ten in a room. And at the same time +there were a very few people, only a few thousands -- the +capitalists, they were called -- who were rich and powerful. +They owned everything that there was to own. They lived in +great gorgeous houses with thirty servants, they rode about in +motor-cars and four-horse carriages, they drank champagne, they +wore top hats-'

+

+ The old man brightened suddenly.

+

+ 'Top 'ats!' he said. 'Funny you should mention 'em. The +same thing come into my 'ead only yesterday, I dono why. I was +jest thinking, I ain't seen a top 'at in years. Gorn right out, +they 'ave. The last time I wore one was at my sister-in-law's +funeral. And that was -- well, I couldn't give you the date, +but it must'a been fifty years ago. Of course it was only 'ired +for the occasion, you understand.'

+

+ 'It isn't very important about the top hats,' said Winston +patiently. 'The point is, these capitalists -- they and a few +lawyers and priests and so forth who lived on them -- were the +lords of the earth. Everything existed for their benefit. You +-- the ordinary people, the workers -- were their slaves. They +could do what they liked with you. They could ship you off to +Canada like cattle. They could sleep with your daughters if +they chose. They could order you to be flogged with something +called a cat-o'-nine tails. You had to take your cap off when +you passed them. Every capitalist went about with a gang of +lackeys who-'

+

+ The old man brightened again.

+

+ 'Lackeys!' he said. 'Now there's a word I ain't 'eard +since ever so long. Lackeys! That reg'lar takes me back, that +does. I recollect oh, donkey's years ago -- I used to sometimes +go to 'Yde Park of a Sunday afternoon to 'ear the blokes making +speeches. Salvation Army, Roman Catholics, Jews, Indians -- all +sorts there was. And there was one bloke -- well, I couldn't +give you 'is name, but a real powerful speaker 'e was. 'E +didn't 'alf give it 'em! "Lackeys!" 'e says, "lackeys of the +bourgeoisie! Flunkies of the ruling class!" Parasites -- that +was another of them. And 'yenas -- 'e definitely called 'em +'yenas. Of course 'e was referring to the Labour Party, you +understand.'

+

+ Winston had the feeling that they were talking at +cross-purposes.

+

+ 'What I really wanted to know was this,' he said. 'Do you +feel that you have more freedom now than you had in those days? +Are you treated more like a human being? In the old days, the +rich people, the people at the top-'

+

+ 'The 'Ouse of Lords,' put in the old man reminiscently.

+

+ 'The House of Lords, if you like. What I am asking is, +were these people able to treat you as an inferior, simply +because they were rich and you were poor? Is it a fact, for +instance, that you had to call them "Sir" and take off your cap +when you passed them?'

+

+ The old man appeared to think deeply. He drank off about a +quarter of his beer before answering.

+

+ 'Yes,' he said. 'They liked you to touch your cap to 'em. +It showed respect, like. I didn't agree with it, myself, but I +done it often enough. Had to, as you might say.'

+

+ 'And was it usual -- I'm only quoting what I've read in +history books -- was it usual for these people and their +servants to push you off the pavement into the gutter?'

+

+ 'One of 'em pushed me once,' said the old man. 'I +recollect it as if it was yesterday. It was Boat Race night -- +terribly rowdy they used to get on Boat Race night -- and I +bumps into a young bloke on Shaftesbury Avenue. Quite a gent, +'e was -- dress shirt, top 'at, black overcoat. 'E was kind of +zig-zagging across the pavement, and I bumps into 'im +accidental-like. 'E says, "Why can't you look where you're +going?" 'e says. I say, "Ju think you've bought the bleeding +pavement?" 'E says, "I'll twist your bloody 'ead off if you get +fresh with me." I says, "You're drunk. I'll give you in charge +in 'alf a minute," I says. An' if you'll believe me, 'e puts +'is 'and on my chest and gives me a shove as pretty near sent +me under the wheels of a bus. Well, I was young in them days, +and I was going to 'ave fetched 'im one, only-'

+

+ A sense of helplessness took hold of Winston. The old +man's memory was nothing but a rubbish-heap of details. One +could question him all day without getting any real +information. The party histories might still be true, after a +fashion: they might even be completely true. He made a last +attempt.

+

+ 'Perhaps I have not made myself clear,' he said. 'What I'm +trying to say is this. You have been alive a very long time; +you lived half your life before the Revolution. In 1925, for +instance, you were already grown up. Would you say from what +you can remember, that life in 1925 was better than it is now, +or worse? If you could choose, would you prefer to live then or +now?'

+

+ The old man looked meditatively at the darts board. He +finished up his beer, more slowly than before. When he spoke it +was with a tolerant philosophical air, as though the beer had +mellowed him.

+

+ 'I know what you expect me to say,' he said. 'You expect +me to say as I'd sooner be young again. Most people'd say +they'd sooner be young, if you arst' 'em. You got your 'ealth +and strength when you're young. When you get to my time of life +you ain't never well. I suffer something wicked from my feet, +and my bladder's jest terrible. Six and seven times a night it +'as me out of bed. On the other 'and, there's great advantages +in being a old man. You ain't got the same worries. No truck +with women, and that's a great thing. I ain't 'ad a woman for +near on thirty year, if you'd credit it. Nor wanted to, what's +more.'

+

+ Winston sat back against the window-sill. It was no use +going on. He was about to buy some more beer when the old man +suddenly got up and shuffled rapidly into the stinking urinal +at the side of the room. The extra half-litre was already +working on him. Winston sat for a minute or two gazing at his +empty glass, and hardly noticed when his feet carried him out +into the street again. Within twenty years at the most, he +reflected, the huge and simple question, 'Was life better +before the Revolution than it is now?' would have ceased once +and for all to be answerable. But in effect it was unanswerable +even now, since the few scattered survivors from the ancient +world were incapable of comparing one age with another. They +remembered a million useless things, a quarrel with a workmate, +a hunt for a lost bicycle pump, the expression on a long-dead +sister's face, the swirls of dust on a windy morning seventy +years ago: but all the relevant facts were outside the range of +their vision. They were like the ant, which can see small +objects but not large ones. And when memory failed and written +records were falsified -- when that happened, the claim of the +Party to have improved the conditions of human life had got to +be accepted, because there did not exist, and never again could +exist, any standard against which it could be tested.

+

+ At this moment his train of thought stopped abruptly. He +halted and looked up. He was in a narrow street, with a few +dark little shops, interspersed among dwelling-houses. +Immediately above his head there hung three discoloured metal +balls which looked as if they had once been gilded. He seemed +to know the place. Of course! He was standing outside the +junk-shop where he had bought the diary.

+

+ A twinge of fear went through him. It had been a +sufficiently rash act to buy the book in the beginning, and he +had sworn never to come near the place again. And yet the +instant that he allowed his thoughts to wander, his feet had +brought him back here of their own accord. It was precisely +against suicidal impulses of this kind that he had hoped to +guard himself by opening the diary. At the same time he noticed +that although it was nearly twenty-one hours the shop was still +open. With the feeling that he would be less conspicuous inside +than hanging about on the pavement, he stepped through the +doorway. If questioned, he could plausibly say that he was +trying to buy razor blades.

+

+ The proprietor had just lighted a hanging oil lamp which +gave off an unclean but friendly smell. He was a man of perhaps +sixty, frail and bowed, with a long, benevolent nose, and mild +eyes distorted by thick spectacles. His hair was almost white, +but his eyebrows were bushy and still black. His spectacles, +his gentle, fussy movements, and the fact that he was wearing +an aged jacket of black velvet, gave him a vague air of +intellectuality, as though he had been some kind of literary +man, or perhaps a musician. His voice was soft, as though +faded, and his accent less debased than that of the majority of +proles.

+

+ 'I recognized you on the pavement,' he said immediately. +'You're the gentleman that bought the young lady's keepsake +album. That was a beautiful bit of paper, that was. Cream- +laid, it used to be called. There's been no paper like that +made for -- oh, I dare say fifty years.' He peered at Winston +over the top of his spectacles. 'Is there anything special I +can do for you? Or did you just want to look round?'

+

+ 'I was passing,' said Winston vaguely. 'I just looked in. +I don't want anything in particular.'

+

+ 'It's just as well,' said the other, 'because I don't +suppose I could have satisfied you.' He made an apologetic +gesture with his softpalmed hand. 'You see how it is; an empty +shop, you might say. Between you and me, the antique trade's +just about finished. No demand any longer, and no stock either. +Furniture, china, glass it's all been broken up by degrees. And +of course the metal stuff's mostly been melted down. I haven't +seen a brass candlestick in years.'

+

+ The tiny interior of the shop was in fact uncomfortably +full, but there was almost nothing in it of the slightest +value. The floorspace was very restricted, because all round +the walls were stacked innumerable dusty picture-frames. In the +window there were trays of nuts and bolts, worn-out chisels, +penknives with broken blades, tarnished watches that did not +even pretend to be in going order, and other miscellaneous +rubbish. Only on a small table in the corner was there a litter +of odds and ends -- lacquered snuffboxes, agate brooches, and +the like -- which looked as though they might include something +interesting. As Winston wandered towards the table his eye was +caught by a round, smooth thing that gleamed softly in the +lamplight, and he picked it up.

+

+ It was a heavy lump of glass, curved on one side, flat on +the other, making almost a hemisphere. There was a peculiar +softness, as of rainwater, in both the colour and the texture +of the glass. At the heart of it, magnified by the curved +surface, there was a strange, pink, convoluted object that +recalled a rose or a sea anemone.

+

+ 'What is it?' said Winston, fascinated.

+

+ 'That's coral, that is,' said the old man. 'It must have +come from the Indian Ocean. They used to kind of embed it in +the glass. That wasn't made less than a hundred years ago. +More, by the look of it.'

+

+ 'It's a beautiful thing,' said Winston.

+

+ 'It is a beautiful thing,' said the other appreciatively. +'But there's not many that'd say so nowadays.' He coughed. +'Now, if it so happened that you wanted to buy it, that'd cost +you four dollars. I can remember when a thing like that would +have fetched eight pounds, and eight pounds was -- well, I +can't work it out, but it was a lot of money. But who cares +about genuine antiques nowadays even the few that's left?'

+

+ Winston immediately paid over the four dollars and slid +the coveted thing into his pocket. What appealed to him about +it was not so much its beauty as the air it seemed to possess +of belonging to an age quite different from the present one. +The soft, rainwatery glass was not like any glass that he had +ever seen. The thing was doubly attractive because of its +apparent uselessness, though he could guess that it must once +have been intended as a paperweight. It was very heavy in his +pocket, but fortunately it did not make much of a bulge. It was +a queer thing, even a compromising thing, for a Party member to +have in his possession. Anything old, and for that matter +anything beautiful, was always vaguely suspect. The old man had +grown noticeably more cheerful after receiving the four +dollars. Winston realized that he would have accepted three or +even two.

+

+ 'There's another room upstairs that you might care to take +a look at,' he said. 'There's not much in it. Just a few +pieces. We'll do with a light if we're going upstairs.'

+

+ He lit another lamp, and, with bowed back, led the way +slowly up the steep and worn stairs and along a tiny passage, +into a room which did not give on the street but looked out on +a cobbled yard and a forest of chimney-pots. Winston noticed +that the furniture was still arranged as though the room were +meant to be lived in. There was a strip of carpet on the floor, +a picture or two on the walls, and a deep, slatternly arm-chair +drawn up to the fireplace. An old-fashioned glass clock with a +twelve-hour face was ticking away on the mantelpiece. Under the +window, and occupying nearly a quarter of the room, was an +enormous bed with the mattress still on it.

+

+ 'We lived here till my wife died,' said the old man half +apologetically. 'I'm selling the furniture off by little and +little. Now that's a beautiful mahogany bed, or at least it +would be if you could get the bugs out of it. But I dare say +you'd find it a little bit cumbersome.

+

+ He was holdlng the lamp high up, so as to illuminate the +whole room, and in the warm dim light the place looked +curiously inviting. The thought flitted through Winston's mind +that it would probably be quite easy to rent the room for a few +dollars a week, if he dared to take the risk. It was a wild, +impossible notion, to be abandoned as soon as thought of; but +the room had awakened in him a sort of nostalgia, a sort of +ancestral memory. It seemed to him that he knew exactly what it +felt like to sit in a room like this, in an arm-chair beside an +open fire with your feet in the fender and a kettle on the hob; +utterly alone, utterly secure, with nobody watching you, no +voice pursuing you, no sound except the singing of the kettle +and the friendly ticking of the clock.

+

+ 'There's no telescreen!' he could not help murmuring.

+

+ 'Ah,' said the old man, 'I never had one of those things. +Too expensive. And I never seemed to feel the need of it, +somehow. Now that's a nice gateleg table in the corner there. +Though of course you'd have to put new hinges on it if you +wanted to use the flaps.'

+

+ There was a small bookcase in the other corner, and +Winston had already gravitated towards it. It contained nothing +but rubbish. The hunting-down and destruction of books had been +done with the same thoroughness in the prole quarters as +everywhere else. It was very unlikely that there existed +anywhere in Oceania a copy of a book printed earlier than 1960. +The old man, still carrying the lamp, was standing in front of +a picture in a rosewood frame which hung on the other side of +the fireplace, opposite the bed.

+

+ 'Now, if you happen to be interested in old prints at all +-' he began delicately.

+

+ Winston came across to examine the picture. It was a steel +engraving of an oval building with rectangular windows, and a +small tower in front. There was a railing running round the +building, and at the rear end there was what appeared to be a +statue. Winston gazed at it for some moments. It seemed vaguely +familiar, though he did not remember the statue.

+

+ 'The frame's fixed to the wall,' said the old man, 'but I +could unscrew it for you, I dare say.'

+

+ 'I know that building,' said Winston finally. 'It's a ruin +now. It's in the middle of the street outside the Palace of +Justice.'

+

+ 'That's right. Outside the Law Courts. It was bombed in -- +oh, many years ago. It was a church at one time, St Clement's +Danes, its name was.' He smiled apologetically, as though +conscious of saying something slightly ridiculous, and added: +'Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St Clement's!'

+

+ 'What's that?' said Winston.

+

+ 'Oh-"Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St Clement's." +That was a rhyme we had when I was a little boy. How it goes on +I don't remember, but I do know it ended up, "Here comes a +candle to light you to bed, Here comes a chopper to chop off +your head." It was a kind of a dance. They held out their arms +for you to pass under, and when they came to "Here comes a +chopper to chop off your head" they brought their arms down and +caught you. It was just names of churches. All the London +churches were in it -- all the principal ones, that is.'

+

+ Winston wondered vaguely to what century the church +belonged. It was always difficult to determine the age of a +London building. Anything large and impressive, if it was +reasonably new in appearance, was automatically claimed as +having been built since the Revolution, while anything that was +obviously of earlier date was ascribed to some dim period +called the Middle Ages. The centuries of capitalism were held +to have produced nothing of any value. One could not learn +history from architecture any more than one could learn it from +books. Statues, inscriptions, memorial stones, the names of +streets -- anything that might throw light upon the past had +been systematically altered.

+

+ 'I never knew it had been a church,' he said.

+

+ 'There's a lot of them left, really,' said the old man, +'though they've been put to other uses. Now, how did that rhyme +go? Ah! I've got it!

+

+ "Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St Clement's,
+ You owe me three farthings, say the bells of St Martin's

+

+ -- "there, now, that's as far as I can get. + A farthing, that was a small copper coin, + looked something like a cent.'

+

+ 'Where was St Martin's?' said Winston.

+

+ 'St Martin's ? That's still standing. It's in Victory +Square, alongside the picture gallery. A building with a kind +of a triangular porch and pillars in front, and a big flight of +steps.'

+

+ Winston knew the place well. It was a museum used for +propaganda displays of various kinds -- scale models of rocket +bombs and Floating Fortresses, waxwork tableaux illustrating +enemy atrocities, and the like.

+

+ 'St Martin's-in-the-Fields it used to be called,' +supplemented the old man, 'though I don't recollect any fields +anywhere in those parts.'

+

+ Winston did not buy the picture. It would have been an +even more incongruous possession than the glass paperweight, +and impossible to carry home, unless it were taken out of its +frame. But he lingered for some minutes more, talking to the +old man, whose name, he discovered, was not Weeks-as one might +have gathered from the inscription over the shop-front -- but +Charrington. Mr Charrington, it seemed, was a widower aged +sixty-three and had inhabited this shop for thirty years. +Throughout that time he had been intending to alter the name +over the window, but had never quite got to the point of doing +it. All the while that they were talking the half-remembered +rhyme kept running through Winston's head. Oranges and lemons +say the bells of St Clement's, You owe me three farthings, say +the bells of St Martin's! It was curious, but when you said it +to yourself you had the illusion of actually hearing bells, the +bells of a lost London that still existed somewhere or other, +disguised and forgotten. From one ghostly steeple after another +he seemed to hear them pealing forth. Yet so far as he could +remember he had never in real life heard church bells ringing.

+

+ He got away from Mr Charrington and went down the stairs +alone, so as not to let the old man see him reconnoitring the +street before stepping out of the door. He had already made up +his mind that after a suitable interval -- a month, say -- he +would take the risk of visiting the shop again. It was perhaps +not more dangerous than shirking an evening at the Centre. The +serious piece of folly had been to come back here in the first +place, after buying the diary and without knowing whether the +proprietor of the shop could be trusted. However-!

+

+ Yes, he thought again, he would come back. He would buy +further scraps of beautiful rubbish. He would buy the engraving +of St Clement Danes, take it out of its frame, and carry it +home concealed under the jacket of his overalls. He would drag +the rest of that poem out of Mr Charrington's memory. Even the +lunatic project of renting the room upstairs flashed +momentarily through his mind again. For perhaps five seconds +exaltation made him careless, and he stepped out on to the +pavement without so much as a preliminary glance through the +window. He had even started humming to an improvised tune

+

+ Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St Clement's, + You owe me three farthings, say the

+

+ Suddenly his heart seemed to turn to ice and his bowels +to water. A figure in blue overalls was coming down the +pavement, not ten metres away. It was the girl from the Fiction +Department, the girl with dark hair. The light was failing, but +there was no difficulty in recognizing her. She looked him +straight in the face, then walked quickly on as though she had +not seen him.

+

+ For a few seconds Winston was too paralysed to move. Then +he turned to the right and walked heavily away, not noticing +for the moment that he was going in the wrong direction. At any +rate, one question was settled. There was no doubting any +longer that the girl was spying on him. She must have followed +him here, because it was not credible that by pure chance she +should have happened to be walking on the same evening up the +same obscure backstreet, kilometres distant from any quarter +where Party members lived. It was too great a coincidence. +Whether she was really an agent of the Thought Police, or +simply an amateur spy actuated by officiousness, hardly +mattered. It was enough that she was watching him. Probably she +had seen him go into the pub as well.

+

+ It was an effort to walk. The lump of glass in his pocket +banged against his thigh at each step, and he was half minded +to take it out and throw it away. The worst thing was the pain +in his belly. For a couple of minutes he had the feeling that +he would die if he did not reach a lavatory soon. But there +would be no public lavatories in a quarter like this. Then the +spasm passed, leaving a dull ache behind.

+

+ The street was a blind alley. Winston halted, stood for +several seconds wondering vaguely what to do, then turned round +and began to retrace his steps. As he turned it occurred to him +that the girl had only passed him three minutes ago and that by +running he could probably catch up with her. He could keep on +her track till they were in some quiet place, and then smash +her skull in with a cobblestone. The piece of glass in his +pocket would be heavy enough for the job. But he abandoned the +idea immediately, because even the thought of making any +physical effort was unbearable. He could not run, he could not +strike a blow. Besides, she was young and lusty and would +defend herself. He thought also of hurrying to the Community +Centre and staying there till the place closed, so as to +establish a partial alibi for the evening. But that too was +impossible. A deadly lassitude had taken hold of him. All he +wanted was to get home quickly and then sit down and be quiet.

+

+ It was after twenty-two hours when he got back to the +flat. The lights would be switched off at the main at +twenty-three thirty. He went into the kitchen and swallowed +nearly a teacupful of Victory Gin. Then he went to the table in +the alcove, sat down, and took the diary out of the drawer. But +he did not open it at once. From the telescreen a brassy female +voice was squalling a patriotic song. He sat staring at the +marbled cover of the book, trying without success to shut the +voice out of his consciousness.

+

+ It was at night that they came for you, always at night. +The proper thing was to kill yourself before they got you. +Undoubtedly some people did so. Many of the disappearances were +actually suicides. But it needed desperate courage to kill +yourself in a world where firearms, or any quick and certain +poison, were completely unprocurable. He thought with a kind of +astonishment of the biological uselessness of pain and fear, +the treachery of the human body which always freezes into +inertia at exactly the moment when a special effort is needed. +He might have silenced the dark-haired girl if only he had +acted quickly enough: but precisely because of the extremity of +his danger he had lost the power to act. It struck him that in +moments of crisis one is never fighting against an external +enemy, but always against one's own body. Even now, in spite of +the gin, the dull ache in his belly made consecutive thought +impossible. And it is the same, he perceived, in all seemingly +heroic or tragic situations. On the battlefield, in the torture +chamber, on a sinking ship, the issues that you are fighting +for are always forgotten, because the body swells up until it +fills the universe, and even when you are not paralysed by +fright or screaming with pain, life is a moment-to-moment +struggle against hunger or cold or sleeplessness, against a +sour stomach or an aching tooth.

+

+ He opened the diary. It was important to write something +down. The woman on the telescreen had started a new song. Her +voice seemed to stick into his brain like jagged splinters of +glass. He tried to think of O'Brien, for whom, or to whom, the +diary was written, but instead he began thinking of the things +that would happen to him after the Thought Police took him +away. It would not matter if they killed you at once. To be +killed was what you expected. But before death (nobody spoke of +such things, yet everybody knew of them) there was the routine +of confession that had to be gone through: the grovelling on +the floor and screaming for mercy, the crack of broken bones, +the smashed teeth, and bloody clots of hair.

+

+ Why did you have to endure it, since the end was always +the same? Why was it not possible to cut a few days or weeks +out of your life? Nobody ever escaped detection, and nobody +ever failed to confess. When once you had succumbed to +thoughtcrime it was certain that by a given date you would be +dead. Why then did that horror, which altered nothing, have to +lie embedded in future time?

+

+ He tried with a little more success than before to summon +up the image of O'Brien. 'We shall meet in the place where +there is no darkness,' O'Brien had said to him. He knew what it +meant, or thought he knew. The place where there is no darkness +was the imagined future, which one would never see, but which, +by foreknowledge, one could mystically share in. But with the +voice from the telescreen nagging at his ears he could not +follow the train of thought further. He put a cigarette in his +mouth. Half the tobacco promptly fell out on to his tongue, a +bitter dust which was difficult to spit out again. The face of +Big Brother swam into his mind, displacing that of O'Brien. +Just as he had done a few days earlier, he slid a coin out of +his pocket and looked at it. The face gazed up at him, heavy, +calm, protecting: but what kind of smile was hidden beneath the +dark moustache? Like a leaden knell the words came back at him:

+

+ WAR IS PEACE
+ FREEDOM IS SLAVERY
+ IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH

+

IX

+

+ It was the middle of the morning, and Winston had left the +cubicle to go to the lavatory.

+

+ A solitary figure was coming towards him from the other +end of the long, brightly-lit corridor. It was the girl with +dark hair. Four days had gone past since the evening when he +had run into her outside the junk-shop. As she came nearer he +saw that her right arm was in a sling, not noticeable at a +distance because it was of the same colour as her overalls. +Probably she had crushed her hand while swinging round one of +the big kaleidoscopes on which the plots of novels were +'roughed in'. It was a common accident in the Fiction +Department.

+

+ They were perhaps four metres apart when the girl stumbled +and fell almost flat on her face. A sharp cry of pain was wrung +out of her. She must have fallen right on the injured arm. +Winston stopped short. The girl had risen to her knees. Her +face had turned a milky yellow colour against which her mouth +stood out redder than ever. Her eyes were fixed on his, with an +appealing expression that looked more like fear than pain.

+

+ A curious emotion stirred in Winston's heart. In front of +him was an enemy who was trying to kill him: in front of him, +also, was a human creature, in pain and perhaps with a broken +bone. Already he had instinctively started forward to help her. +In the moment when he had seen her fall on the bandaged arm, it +had been as though he felt the pain in his own body.

+

+ 'You're hurt?' he said.

+

+ 'It's nothing. My arm. It'll be all right in a second.'

+

+ She spoke as though her heart were fluttering. She had +certainly turned very pale.

+

+ 'You haven't broken anything?'

+

+ 'No, I'm all right. It hurt for a moment, that's all.'

+

+ She held out her free hand to him, and he helped her up. +She had regained some of her colour, and appeared very much +better.

+

+ 'It's nothing,' she repeated shortly. 'I only gave my +wrist a bit of a bang. Thanks, comrade!'

+

+ And with that she walked on in the direction in which she +had been going, as briskly as though it had really been +nothing. The whole incident could not have taken as much as +half a minute. Not to let one's feelings appear in one's face +was a habit that had acquired the status of an instinct, and in +any case they had been standing straight in front of a +telescreen when the thing happened. Nevertheless it had been +very difficult not to betray a momentary surprise, for in the +two or three seconds while he was helping her up the girl had +slipped something into his hand. There was no question that she +had done it intentionally. It was something small and flat. As +he passed through the lavatory door he transferred it to his +pocket and felt it with the tips of his fingers. It was a scrap +of paper folded into a square.

+

+ While he stood at the urinal he managed, with a little +more fingering, to get it unfolded. Obviously there must be a +message of some kind written on it. For a moment he was tempted +to take it into one of the water-closets and read it at once. +But that would be shocking folly, as he well knew. There was no +place where you could be more certain that the telescreens were +watched continuously.

+

+ He went back to his cubicle, sat down, threw the fragment +of paper casually among the other papers on the desk, put on +his spectacles and hitched the speakwrite towards him. 'five +minutes,' he told himself, 'five minutes at the very least!' +His heart bumped in his breast with frightening loudness. +Fortunately the piece of work he was engaged on was mere +routine, the rectification of a long list of figures, not +needing close attention.

+

+ Whatever was written on the paper, it must have some kind +of political meaning. So far as he could see there were two +possibilities. One, much the more likely, was that the girl was +an agent of the Thought Police, just as he had feared. He did +not know why the Thought Police should choose to deliver their +messages in such a fashion, but perhaps they had their reasons. +The thing that was written on the paper might be a threat, a +summons, an order to commit suicide, a trap of some +description. But there was another, wilder possibility that +kept raising its head, though he tried vainly to suppress it. +This was, that the message did not come from the Thought Police +at all, but from some kind of underground organization. Perhaps +the Brotherhood existed after all! Perhaps the girl was part of +it! No doubt the idea was absurd, but it had sprung into his +mind in the very instant of feeling the scrap of paper in his +hand. It was not till a couple of minutes later that the other, +more probable explanation had occurred to him. And even now, +though his intellect told him that the message probably meant +death -- still, that was not what he believed, and the +unreasonable hope persisted, and his heart banged, and it was +with difficulty that he kept his voice from trembling as he +murmured his figures into the speakwrite.

+

+ He rolled up the completed bundle of work and slid it into +the pneumatic tube. Eight minutes had gone by. He re-adjusted +his spectacles on his nose, sighed, and drew the next batch of +work towards him, with the scrap of paper on top of it. He +flattened it out. On it was written, in a large unformed +handwriting:

+

+ I love you.

+

+ For several seconds he was too stunned even to throw the +incriminating thing into the memory hole. When he did so, +although he knew very well the danger of showing too much +interest, he could not resist reading it once again, just to +make sure that the words were really there.

+

+ For the rest of the morning it was very difficult to work. +What was even worse than having to focus his mind on a series +of niggling jobs was the need to conceal his agitation from the +telescreen. He felt as though a fire were burning in his belly. +Lunch in the hot, crowded, noise-filled canteen was torment. +He had hoped to be alone for a little while during the lunch +hour, but as bad luck would have it the imbecile Parsons +flopped down beside him, the tang of his sweat almost defeating +the tinny smell of stew, and kept up a stream of talk about the +preparations for Hate Week. He was particularly enthusiastic +about a papier-mâché model of Big Brother's head, two metres +wide, which was being made for the occasion by his daughter's +troop of Spies. The irritating thing was that in the racket of +voices Winston could hardly hear what Parsons was saying, and +was constantly having to ask for some fatuous remark to be +repeated. Just once he caught a glimpse of the girl, at a table +with two other girls at the far end of the room. She appeared +not to have seen him, and he did not look in that direction +again.

+

+ The afternoon was more bearable. Immediately after lunch +there arrived a delicate, difficult piece of work which would +take several hours and necessitated putting everything else +aside. It consisted in falsifying a series of production +reports of two years ago, in such a way as to cast discredit on +a prominent member of the Inner Party, who was now under a +cloud. This was the kind of thing that Winston was good at, and +for more than two hours he succeeded in shutting the girl out +of his mind altogether. Then the memory of her face came back, +and with it a raging, intolerable desire to be alone. Until he +could be alone it was impossible to think this new development +out. Tonight was one of his nights at the Community Centre. He +wolfed another tasteless meal in the canteen, hurried off to +the Centre, took part in the solemn foolery of a 'discussion +group', played two games of table tennis, swallowed several +glasses of gin, and sat for half an hour through a lecture +entitled 'Ingsoc in relation to chess'. His soul writhed with +boredom, but for once he had had no impulse to shirk his +evening at the Centre. At the sight of the words I love +you the desire to stay alive had welled up in him, and the +taking of minor risks suddenly seemed stupid. It was not till +twenty-three hours, when he was home and in bed -- in the +darkness, where you were safe even from the telescreen so long +as you kept silent -- that he was able to think continuously.

+

+ It was a physical problem that had to be solved: how to +get in touch with the girl and arrange a meeting. He did not +consider any longer the possibility that she might be laying +some kind of trap for him. He knew that it was not so, because +of her unmistakable agitation when she handed him the note. +Obviously she had been frightened out of her wits, as well she +might be. Nor did the idea of refusing her advances even cross +his mind. Only five nights ago he had contemplated smashing her +skull in with a cobblestone, but that was of no importance. He +thought of her naked, youthful body, as he had seen it in his +dream. He had imagined her a fool like all the rest of them, +her head stuffed with lies and hatred, her belly full of ice. A +kind of fever seized him at the thought that he might lose her, +the white youthful body might slip away from him! What he +feared more than anything else was that she would simply change +her mind if he did not get in touch with her quickly. But the +physical difficulty of meeting was enormous. It was like trying +to make a move at chess when you were already mated. Whichever +way you turned, the telescreen faced you. Actually, all the +possible ways of communicating with her had occurred to him +within five minutes of reading the note; but now, with time to +think, he went over them one by one, as though laying out a row +of instruments on a table.

+

+ Obviously the kind of encounter that had happened this +morning could not be repeated. If she had worked in the Records +Department it might have been comparatively simple, but he had +only a very dim idea whereabouts in the building the Fiction +Departrnent lay, and he had no pretext for going there. If he +had known where she lived, and at what time she left work, he +could have contrived to meet her somewhere on her way home; but +to try to follow her home was not safe, because it would mean +loitering about outside the Ministry, which was bound to be +noticed. As for sending a letter through the mails, it was out +of the question. By a routine that was not even secret, all +letters were opened in transit. Actually, few people ever wrote +letters. For the messages that it was occasionally necessary to +send, there were printed postcards with long lists of phrases, +and you struck out the ones that were inapplicable. In any case +he did not know the girl's name, let alone her address. Finally +he decided that the safest place was the canteen. If he could +get her at a table by herself, somewhere in the middle of the +room, not too near the telescreens, and with a sufficient buzz +of conversation all round -- if these conditions endured for, +say, thirty seconds, it might be possible to exchange a few +words.

+

+ For a week after this, life was like a restless dream. On +the next day she did not appear in the canteen until he was +leaving it, the whistle having already blown. Presumably she +had been changed on to a later shift. They passed each other +without a glance. On the day after that she was in the canteen +at the usual time, but with three other girls and immediately +under a telescreen. Then for three dreadful days she did not +appear at all. His whole mind and body seemed to be afflicted +with an unbearable sensitivity, a sort of transparency, which +made every movement, every sound, every contact, every word +that he had to speak or listen to, an agony. Even in sleep he +could not altogether escape from her image. He did not touch +the diary during those days. If there was any relief, it was in +his work, in which he could sometimes forget himself for ten +minutes at a stretch. He had absolutely no clue as to what had +happened to her. There was no enquiry he could make. She might +have been vaporized, she might have committed suicide, she +might have been transferred to the other end of Oceania: worst +and likeliest of all, she might simply have changed her mind +and decided to avoid him.

+

+ The next day she reappeared. Her arm was out of the sling +and she had a band of sticking-plaster round her wrist. The +relief of seeing her was so great that he could not resist +staring directly at her for several seconds. On the following +day he very nearly succeeded in speaking to her. When he came +into the canteen she was sitting at a table well out from the +wall, and was quite alone. It was early, and the place was not +very full. The queue edged forward till Winston was almost at +the counter, then was held up for two minutes because someone +in front was complaining that he had not received his tablet of +saccharine. But the girl was still alone when Winston secured +his tray and began to make for her table. He walked casually +towards her, his eyes searching for a place at some table +beyond her. She was perhaps three metres away from him. Another +two seconds would do it. Then a voice behind him called, +'Smith!' He pretended not to hear. 'Smith!' repeated the +voice, more loudly. It was no use. He turned round. A +blond-headed, silly-faced young man named Wilsher, whom he +barely knew, was inviting him with a smile to a vacant place at +his table. It was not safe to refuse. After having been +recognized, he could not go and sit at a table with an +unattended girl. It was too noticeable. He sat down with a +friendly smile. The silly blond face beamed into his. Winston +had a hallucination of himself smashing a pick-axe right into +the middle of it. The girl's table filled up a few minutes +later.

+

+ But she must have seen him coming towards her, and perhaps +she would take the hint. Next day he took care to arrive early. +Surely enough, she was at a table in about the same place, and +again alone. The person immediately ahead of him in the queue +was a small, swiftly-moving, beetle-like man with a flat face +and tiny, suspicious eyes. As Winston turned away from the +counter with his tray, he saw that the little man was making +straight for the girl's table. His hopes sank again. There was +a vacant place at a table further away, but something in the +little man's appearance suggested that he would be sufficiently +attentive to his own comfort to choose the emptiest table. With +ice at his heart Winston followed. It was no use unless he +could get the girl alone. At this moment there was a tremendous +crash. The little man was sprawling on all fours, his tray had +gone flying, two streams of soup and coffee were flowing across +the floor. He started to his feet with a malignant glance at +Winston, whom he evidently suspected of having tripped him up. +But it was all right. Five seconds later, with a thundering +heart, Winston was sitting at the girl's table.

+

+ He did not look at her. He unpacked his tray and promptly +began eating. It was all-important to speak at once, before +anyone else came, but now a terrible fear had taken possession +of him. A week had gone by since she had first approached him. +She would have changed her mind, she must have changed her +mind! It was impossible that this affair should end +successfully; such things did not happen in real life. He might +have flinched altogether from speaking if at this moment he had +not seen Ampleforth, the hairy-eared poet, wandering limply +round the room with a tray, looking for a place to sit down. In +his vague way Ampleforth was attached to Winston, and would +certainly sit down at his table if he caught sight of him. +There was perhaps a minute in which to act. Both Winston and +the girl were eating steadily. The stuff they were eating was a +thin stew, actually a soup, of haricot beans. In a low murmur +Winston began speaking. Neither of them looked up; steadily +they spooned the watery stuff into their mouths, and between +spoonfuls exchanged the few necessary words in low +expressionless voices.

+

+ 'What time do you leave work?'

+

+ 'Eighteen-thirty.'

+

+ 'Where can we meet?'

+

+ 'Victory Square, near the monument.

+

+ 'It's full of telescreens.'

+

+ 'It doesn't matter if there's a crowd.'

+

+ 'Any signal?'

+

+ 'No. Don't come up to me until you see me among a lot of +people. And don't look at me. Just keep somewhere near me.'

+

+ 'What time?'

+

+ 'Nineteen hours.'

+

+ 'All right.'

+

+ Ampleforth failed to see Winston and sat down at another +table. They did not speak again, and, so far as it was possible +for two people sitting on opposite sides of the same table, +they did not look at one another. The girl finished her lunch +quickly and made off, while Winston stayed to smoke a +cigarette.

+

+ Winston was in Victory Square before the appointed time. +He wandered round the base of the enormous fluted column, at +the top of which Big Brother's statue gazed southward towards +the skies where he had vanquished the Eurasian aeroplanes (the +Eastasian aeroplanes, it had been, a few years ago) in the +Battle of Airstrip One. In the street in front of it there was +a statue of a man on horseback which was supposed to represent +Oliver Cromwell. At five minutes past the hour the girl had +still not appeared. Again the terrible fear seized upon +Winston. She was not coming, she had changed her mind! He +walked slowly up to the north side of the square and got a sort +of pale-coloured pleasure from identifying St Martin's Church, +whose bells, when it had bells, had chimed 'You owe me three +farthings.' Then he saw the girl standing at the base of the +monument, reading or pretending to read a poster which ran +spirally up the column. It was not safe to go near her until +some more people had accumulated. There were telescreens all +round the pediment. But at this moment there was a din of +shouting and a zoom of heavy vehicles from somewhere to the +left. Suddenly everyone seemed to be running across the square. +The girl nipped nimbly round the lions at the base of the +monument and joined in the rush. Winston followed. As he ran, +he gathered from some shouted remarks that a convoy of Eurasian +prisoners was passing.

+

+ Already a dense mass of people was blocking the south side +of the square. Winston, at normal times the kind of person who +gravitates to the outer edge of any kind of scrimmage, shoved, +butted, squirmed his way forward into the heart of the crowd. +Soon he was within arm's length of the girl, but the way was +blocked by an enormous prole and an almost equally enormous +woman, presumably his wife, who seemed to form an impenetrable +wall of flesh. Winston wriggled himself sideways, and with a +violent lunge managed to drive his shoulder between them. For a +moment it felt as though his entrails were being ground to pulp +between the two muscular hips, then he had broken through, +sweating a little. He was next to the girl. They were shoulder +to shoulder, both staring fixedly in front of them.

+

+ A long line of trucks, with wooden-faced guards armed with +sub-machine guns standing upright in each corner, was passing +slowly down the street. In the trucks little yellow men in +shabby greenish uniforms were squatting, jammed close together. +Their sad, Mongolian faces gazed out over the sides of the +trucks utterly incurious. Occasionally when a truck jolted +there was a clank-clank of metal: all the prisoners were wearing +leg-irons. Truck-load after truck-load of the sad faces passed. +Winston knew they were there but he saw them only +intermittently. The girl's shoulder, and her arm right down to +the elbow, were pressed against his. Her cheek was almost near +enough for him to feel its warmth. She had immediately taken +charge of the situation, just as she had done in the canteen. +She began speaking in the same expressionless voice as before, +with lips barely moving, a mere murmur easily drowned by the +din of voices and the rumbling of the trucks.

+

+ 'Can you hear me?'

+

+ 'Yes.'

+

+ 'Can you get Sunday afternoon off?'

+

+ 'Yes.'

+

+ 'Then listen carefully. You'll have to remember this. Go +to Paddington Station-'

+

+ With a sort of military precision that astonished him, she +outlined the route that he was to follow. A half-hour railway +journey; turn left outside the station; two kilometres along +the road: a gate with the top bar missing; a path across a +field; a grass-grown lane; a track between bushes; a dead tree +with moss on it. It was as though she had a map inside her +head. 'Can you remember all that?' she murmured finally.

+

+ 'Yes.'

+

+ 'You turn left, then right, then left again. And the +gate's got no top bar.'

+

+ 'Yes. What time?'

+

+ 'About fifteen. You may have to wait. I'll get there by +another way. Are you sure you remember everything?'

+

+ 'Yes.'

+

+ 'Then get away from me as quick as you can.'

+

+ She need not have told him that. But for the moment they +could not extricate themselves from the crowd. The trucks were +still filing post, the people still insatiably gaping. At the +start there had been a few boos and hisses, but it came only +from the Party members among the crowd, and had soon stopped. +The prevailing emotion was simply curiosity. Foreigners, +whether from Eurasia or from Eastasia, were a kind of strange +animal. One literally never saw them except in the guise of +prisoners, and even as prisoners one never got more than a +momentary glimpse of them. Nor did one know what became of +them, apart from the few who were hanged as war-criminals: te +others simply vanished, presumably into forced-labour camps. +The round Mogol faces had given way to faces of a more European +type, dirty, bearded and exhausted. From over scrubby +cheekbones eyes looked into Winston's, sometimes with strange +intensity, and flashed away again. The convoy was drawing to an +end. In the last truck he could see an aged man, his face a +mass of grizzled hair, standing upright with wrists crossed in +front of him, as though he were used to having them bound +together. It was almost time for Winston and the girl to part. +But at the last moment, while the crowd still hemmed them in, +her hand felt for his and gave it a fleeting squeeze.

+

+ It could not have been ten seconds, and yet it seemed a +long time that their hands were clasped together. He had time +to learn every detail of her hand. He explored the long +fingers, the shapely nails, the work-hardened palm with its row +of callouses, the smooth flesh under the wrist. Merely from +feeling it he would have known it by sight. In the same instant +it occurred to him that he did not know what colour the girl's +eyes were. They were probably brown, but people with dark hair +sometimes had blue eyes. To turn his head and look at her would +have been inconceivable folly. With hands locked together, +invisible among the press of bodies, they stared steadily in +front of them, and instead of the eyes of the girl, the eyes of +the aged prisoner gazed mournfully at Winston out of nests of +hair.

+

X

+

+ Winston picked his way up the lane through dappled light +and shade, stepping out into pools of gold wherever the boughs +parted. Under the trees to the left of him the ground was misty +with bluebells. The air seemed to kiss one's skin. It was the +second of May. From somewhere deeper in the heart of the wood +came the droning of ring doves.

+

+ He was a bit early. There had been no difficulties about +the journey, and the girl was so evidently experienced that he +was less frightened than he would normally have been. +Presumably she could be trusted to find a safe place. In +general you could not assume that you were much safer in the +country than in London. There were no telescreens, of course, +but there was always the danger of concealed microphones by +which your voice might be picked up and recognized; besides, it +was not easy to make a journey by yourself without attracting +attention. For distances of less than 100 kilometres it was not +necessary to get your passport endorsed, but sometimes there +were patrols hanging about the railway stations, who examined +the papers of any Party member they found there and asked +awkward questions. However, no patrols had appeared, and on the +walk from the station he had made sure by cautious backward +glances that he was not being followed. The train was full of +proles, in holiday mood because of the summery weather. The +wooden-seated carriage in which he travelled was filled to +overflowing by a single enormous family. ranging from a +toothless great-grandmother to a month-old baby, going out to +spend an afternoon with 'in-laws' in the country, and, as they +freely explained to Winston, to get hold of a little +blackmarket butter.

+

+ The lane widened, and in a minute he came to the footpath +she had told him of, a mere cattle-track which plunged between +the bushes. He had no watch, but it could not be fifteen yet. +The bluebells were so thick underfoot that it was impossible +not to tread on them. He knelt down and began picking some +partly to pass the time away, but also from a vague idea that +he would like to have a bunch of flowers to offer to the girl +when they met. He had got together a big bunch and was smelling +their faint sickly scent when a sound at his back froze him, +the unmistakable crackle of a foot on twigs. He went on picking +bluebells. It was the best thing to do. It might be the girl, +or he might have been followed after all. To look round was to +show guilt. He picked another and another. A hand fell lightly +on his shoulder.

+

+ He looked up. It was the girl. She shook her head, +evidently as a warning that he must keep silent, then parted +the bushes and quickly led the way along the narrow track into +the wood. Obviously she had been that way before, for she +dodged the boggy bits as though by habit. Winston followed, +still clasping his bunch of flowers. His first feeling was +relief, but as he watched the strong slender body moving in +front of him, with the scarlet sash that was just tight enough +to bring out the curve of her hips, the sense of his own +inferiority was heavy upon him. Even now it seemed quite likely +that when she turned round and looked at him she would draw +back after all. The sweetness of the air and the greenness of +the leaves daunted him. Already on the walk from the station +the May sunshine had made him feel dirty and etiolated, a +creature of indoors, with the sooty dust of London in the pores +of his skin. It occurred to him that till now she had probably +never seen him in broad daylight in the open. They came to the +fallen tree that she had spoken of. The girl hopped over and +forced apart the bushes, in which there did not seem to be an +opening. When Winston followed her, he found that they were in +a natural clearing, a tiny grassy knoll surrounded by tall +saplings that shut it in completely. The girl stopped and +turned.

+

+ 'Here we are,' she said.

+

+ He was facing her at several paces' distance. As yet he +did not dare move nearer to her.

+

+ 'I didn't want to say anything in the lane,' she went on, +'in case there's a mike hidden there. I don't suppose there is, +but there could be. There's always the chance of one of those +swine recognizing your voice. We're all right here.'

+

+ He still had not the courage to approach her. 'We're all +right here?' he repeated stupidly.

+

+ 'Yes. Look at the trees.' They were small ashes, which at +some time had been cut down and had sprouted up again into a +forest of poles, none of them thicker than one's wrist. +'There's nothing big enough to hide a mike in. Besides, I've +been here before.'

+

+ They were only making conversation. He had managed to move +closer to her now. She stood before him very upright, with a +smile on her face that looked faintly ironical, as though she +were wondering why he was so slow to act. The bluebells had +cascaded on to the ground. They seemed to have fallen of their +own accord. He took her hand.

+

+ 'Would you believe,' he said, 'that till this moment I +didn't know what colour your eyes were?' They were brown, he +noted, a rather light shade of brown, with dark lashes. 'Now +that you've seen what I'm really like, can you still bear to +look at me?'

+

+ 'Yes, easily.'

+

+ 'I'm thirty-nine years old. I've got a wife that I can't +get rid of. I've got varicose veins. I've got five false +teeth.'

+

+ 'I couldn't care less,' said the girl.

+

+ The next moment, it was hard to say by whose act, she was +in his his arms. At the beginning he had no feeling except +sheer incredulity. The youthful body was strained against his +own, the mass of dark hair was against his face, and yes! +actually she had turned her face up and he was kissing the wide +red mouth. She had clasped her arms about his neck, she was +calling him darling, precious one, loved one. He had pulled her +down on to the ground, she was utterly unresisting, he could do +what he liked with her. But the truth was that he had no +physical sensation, except that of mere contact. All he felt +was incredulity and pride. He was glad that this was happening, +but he had no physical desire. It was too soon, her youth and +prettiness had frightened him, he was too much used to living +without women -- he did not know the reason. The girl picked +herself up and pulled a bluebell out of her hair. She sat +against him, putting her arm round his waist.

+

+ 'Never mind, dear. There's no hurry. We've got the whole +afternoon. Isn't this a splendid hide-out? I found it when I +got lost once on a community hike. If anyone was coming you +could hear them a hundred metres away.'

+

+ 'What is your name?' said Winston.

+

+ 'Julia. I know yours. It's Winston -- Winston Smith.'

+

+ 'How did you find that out?'

+

+ 'I expect I'm better at finding things out than you are, +dear. Tell me, what did you think of me before that day I gave +you the note?'

+

+ He did not feel any temptation to tell lies to her. It was +even a sort of love-offering to start off by telling the worst.

+

+ 'I hated the sight of you,' he said. 'I wanted to rape you +and then murder you afterwards. Two weeks ago I thought +seriously of smashing your head in with a cobblestone. If you +really want to know, I imagined that you had something to do +with the Thought Police.'

+

+ The girl laughed delightedly, evidently taking this as a +tribute to the excellence of her disguise.

+

+ 'Not the Thought Police! You didn't honestly think that?'

+

+ 'Well, perhaps not exactly that. But from your general +appearance -- merely because you're young and fresh and +healthy, you understand -- I thought that probably-'

+

+ 'You thought I was a good Party member. Pure in word and +deed. Banners, processions, slogans, games, community hikes all +that stuff. And you thought that if I had a quarter of a chance +I'd denounce you as a thought-criminal and get you killed off?'

+

+ 'Yes, something of that kind. A great many young girls are +like that, you know.'

+

+ 'It's this bloody thing that does it,' she said, ripping +off the scarlet sash of the Junior Anti-Sex League and flinging +it on to a bough. Then, as though touching her waist had +reminded her of something, she felt in the pocket of her +overalls and produced a small slab of chocolate. She broke it +in half and gave one of the pieces to Winston. Even before he +had taken it he knew by the smell that it was very unusual +chocolate. It was dark and shiny, and was wrapped in silver +paper. Chocolate normally was dull-brown crumbly stuff that +tasted, as nearly as one could describe it, like the smoke of a +rubbish fire. But at some time or another he had tasted +chocolate like the piece she had given him. The first whiff of +its scent had stirred up some memory which he could not pin +down, but which was powerful and troubling.

+

+ 'Where did you get this stuff?' he said.

+

+ 'Black market,' she said indifferently. 'Actually I am +that sort of girl, to look at. I'm good at games. I was a +troop-leader in the Spies. I do voluntary work three evenings a +week for the Junior Anti-Sex League. Hours and hours I've spent +pasting their bloody rot all over London. I always carry one +end of a banner in the processions. I always Iook cheerful and +I never shirk anything. Always yell with the crowd, that's what +I say. It's the only way to be safe.'

+

+ The first fragment of chocolate had melted on Winston's +tongue. The taste was delightful. But there was still that +memory moving round the edges of his consciousness, something +strongly felt but not reducible to definite shape, like an +object seen out of the corner of one's eye. He pushed it away +from him, aware only that it was the memory of some action +which he would have liked to undo but could not.

+

+ 'You are very young,' he said. 'You are ten or fifteen +years younger than I am. What could you see to attract you in a +man like me?'

+

+ 'It was something in your face. I thought I'd take a +chance. I'm good at spotting people who don't belong. As soon +as I saw you I knew you were against them.'

+

+ Them, it appeared, meant the Party, and above all +the Inner Party, about whom she talked with an open jeering +hatred which made Winston feel uneasy, although he knew that +they were safe here if they could be safe anywhere. A thing +that astonished him about her was the coarseness of her +language. Party members were supposed not to swear, and Winston +himself very seldom did swear, aloud, at any rate. Julia, +however, seemed unable to mention the Party, and especially the +Inner Party, without using the kind of words that you saw +chalked up in dripping alley-ways. He did not dislike it. It +was merely one symptom of her revolt against the Party and all +its ways, and somehow it seemed natural and healthy, like the +sneeze of a horse that smells bad hay. They had left the +clearing and were wandering again through the chequered shade, +with their arms round each other's waists whenever it was wide +enough to walk two abreast. He noticed how much softer her +waist seemed to feel now that the sash was gone. They did not +speak above a whisper. Outside the clearing, Julia said, it was +better to go quietly. Presently they had reached the edge of +the little wood. She stopped him.

+

+ 'Don't go out into the open. There might be someone +watching. We're all right if we keep behind the boughs.'

+

+ They were standing in the shade of hazel bushes. The +sunlight, filtering through innumerable leaves, was still hot +on their faces. Winston looked out into the field beyond, and +underwent a curious, slow shock of recognition. He knew it by +sight. An old, closebitten pasture, with a footpath wandering +across it and a molehill here and there. In the ragged hedge on +the opposite side the boughs of the elm trees swayed just +perceptibly in the breeze, and their leaves stirred faintly in +dense masses like women's hair. Surely somewhere nearby, but +out of sight, there must be a stream with green pools where +dace were swimming?

+

+ 'Isn't there a stream somewhere near here?' he whispered.

+

+ 'That's right, there is a stream. It's at the edge of the +next field, actually. There are fish in it, great big ones. You +can watch them lying in the pools under the willow trees, +waving their tails.'

+

+ 'It's the Golden Country -- almost,' he murmured.

+

+ 'The Golden Country?'

+

+ 'It's nothing, really. A landscape I've seen sometimes in +a dream.'

+

+ 'Look!' whispered Julia.

+

+ A thrush had alighted on a bough not five metres away, +almost at the level of their faces. Perhaps it had not seen +them. It was in the sun, they in the shade. It spread out its +wings, fitted them carefully into place again, ducked its head +for a moment, as though making a sort of obeisance to the sun, +and then began to pour forth a torrent of song. In the +afternoon hush the volume of sound was startling. Winston and +Julia clung together, fascinated. The music went on and on, +minute after minute, with astonishing variations, never once +repeating itself, almost as though the bird were deliberately +showing off its virtuosity. Sometimes it stopped for a few +seconds, spread out and resettled its wings, then swelled its +speckled breast and again burst into song. Winston watched it +with a sort of vague reverence. For whom, for what, was that +bird singing? No mate, no rival was watching it. What made it +sit at the edge of the lonely wood and pour its music into +nothingness? He wondered whether after all there was a +microphone hidden somewhere near. He and Julia had spoken only +in low whispers, and it would not pick up what they had said, +but it would pick up the thrush. Perhaps at the other end of +the instrument some small, beetle-like man was listening +intently -- listening to that. But by degrees the flood +of music drove all speculations out of his mind. It was as +though it were a kind of liquid stuff that poured all over him +and got mixed up with the sunlight that filtered through the +leaves. He stopped thinking and merely felt. The girl's waist +in the bend of his arm was soft and warm. He pulled her round +so that they were breast to breast; her body seemed to melt +into his. Wherever his hands moved it was all as yielding as +water. Their mouths clung together; it was quite different from +the hard kisses they had exchanged earlier. When they moved +their faces apart again both of them sighed deeply. The bird +took fright and fled with a clatter of wings.

+

+ Winston put his lips against her ear. 'Now,' he +whispered.

+

+ 'Not here,' she whispered back. 'Come back to the hide- +out. It's safer.'

+

+ Quickly, with an occasional crackle of twigs, they +threaded their way back to the clearing. When they were once +inside the ring of saplings she turned and faced him. They were +both breathing fast. but the smile had reappeared round the +corners of her mouth. She stood looking at him for an instant, +then felt at the zipper of her overalls. And, yes! it was +almost as in his dream. Almost as swiftly as he had imagined +it, she had torn her clothes off, and when she flung them aside +it was with that same magnificent gesture by which a whole +civilization seemed to be annihilated. Her body gleamed white +in the sun. But for a moment he did not look at her body; his +eyes were anchored by the freckled face with its faint, bold +smile. He knelt down before her and took her hands in his

+

+ 'Have you done this before?'

+

+ 'Of course. Hundreds of times -- well scores of times +anyway + 'With Party members.'

+

+ 'Yes, always with Party members.'

+

+ 'With members of the Inner Party?'

+

+ 'Not with those swine, no. But there's plenty that +would if they got half a chance. They're not so holy as +they make out.'

+

+ His heart leapt. Scores of times she had done it: he +wished it had been hundreds -- thousands. Anything that hinted +at corruption always filled him with a wild hope. Who knew, +perhaps the Party was rotten under the surface, its cult of +strenuousness and self-denial simply a sham concealing iniquity. +If he could have infected the whole lot of them with leprosy or +syphilis, how gladly he would have done so! Anything to rot, to +weaken, to undermine! He pulled her down so that they were +kneeling face to face.

+

+ 'Listen. The more men you've had, the more I love you. Do +you understand that?'

+

+ 'Yes, perfectly.'

+

+ 'I hate purity, I hate goodness! I don't want any virtue +to exist anywhere. I want everyone to be corrupt to the bones.

+

+ 'Well then, I ought to suit you, dear. I'm corrupt to the +bones.'

+

+ 'You like doing this? I don't mean simply me: I mean the +thing in itself?'

+

+ 'I adore it.'

+

+ That was above all what he wanted to hear. Not merely the +love of one person but the animal instinct, the simple +undifferentiated desire: that was the force that would tear the +Party to pieces. He pressed her down upon the grass, among the +fallen bluebells. This time there was no difficulty. Presently +the rising and falling of their breasts slowed to normal speed, +and in a sort of pleasant helplessness they fell apart. The sun +seemed to have grown hotter. They were both sleepy. He reached +out for the discarded overalls and pulled them partly over her. +Almost immediately they fell asleep and slept for about half an +hour.

+

+ Winston woke first. He sat up and watched the freckled +face, still peacefully asleep, pillowed on the palm of her +hand. Except for her mouth, you could not call her beautiful. +There was a line or two round the eyes, if you looked closely. +The short dark hair was extraordinarily thick and soft. It +occurred to him that he still did not know her surname or where +she lived.

+

+ The young, strong body, now helpless in sleep, awoke in +him a pitying, protecting feeling. But the mindless tenderness +that he had felt under the hazel tree, while the thrush was +singing, had not quite come back. He pulled the overalls aside +and studied her smooth white flank. In the old days, he +thought, a man looked at a girl's body and saw that it was +desirable, and that was the end of the story. But you could not +have pure love or pure lust nowadays. No emotion was pure, +because everything was mixed up with fear and hatred. Their +embrace had been a battle, the climax a victory. It was a blow +struck against the Party. It was a political act.

+

XI

+

+ 'We can come here once again,' said Julia. 'It's generally +safe to use any hide-out twice. But not for another month or +two, of course.'

+

+ As soon as she woke up her demeanour had changed. She +became alert and business-like, put her clothes on, knotted the +scarlet sash about her waist, and began arranging the details +of the journey home. It seemed natural to leave this to her. +She obviously had a practical cunning which Winston lacked, and +she seemed also to have an exhaustive knowledge of the +countryside round London, stored away from innumerable +community hikes. The route she gave him was quite different +from the one by which he had come, and brought him out at a +different railway station. 'Never go home the same way as you +went out,' she said, as though enunciating an important general +principle. She would leave first, and Winston was to wait half +an hour before following her.

+

+ She had named a place where they could meet after work, +four evenings hence. It was a street in one of the poorer +quarters, where there was an open market which was generally +crowded and noisy. She would be hanging about among the stalls, +pretending to be in search of shoelaces or sewing-thread. If +she judged that the coast was clear she would blow her nose +when he approached; otherwise he was to walk past her without +recognition. But with luck, in the middle of the crowd, it +would be safe to talk for a quarter of an hour and arrange +another meeting.

+

+ 'And now I must go,' she said as soon as he had mastered +his instructions. 'I'm due back at nineteen-thirty. I've got to +put in two hours for the Junior Anti-Sex League, handing out +leaflets, or something. Isn't it bloody? Give me a brush-down, +would you? Have I got any twigs in my hair? Are you sure? Then +good-bye, my love, good-bye!'

+

+ She flung herself into his arms, kissed him almost +violently, and a moment later pushed her way through the +saplings and disappeared into the wood with very little noise. +Even now he had not found out her surname or her address. +However, it made no difference, for it was inconceivable that +they could ever meet indoors or exchange any kind of written +communication.

+

+ As it happened, they never went back to the clearing in +the wood. During the month of May there was only one further +occasion on which they actually succeeded in making love. That +was in another hidlng-place known to Julia, the belfry of a +ruinous church in an almost-deserted stretch of country where +an atomic bomb had fallen thirty years earlier. It was a good +hiding-place when once you got there, but the getting there was +very dangerous. For the rest they could meet only in the +streets, in a different place every evening and never for more +than half an hour at a time. In the street it was usually +possible to talk, after a fashion. As they drifted down the +crowded pavements, not quite abreast and never looking at one +another, they carried on a curious, intermittent conversation +which flicked on and off like the beams of a lighthouse, +suddenly nipped into silence by the approach of a Party uniform +or the proximity of a telescreen, then taken up again minutes +later in the middle of a sentence, then abruptly cut short as +they parted at the agreed spot, then continued almost without +introduction on the following day. Julia appeared to be quite +used to this kind of conversation, which she called 'talking by +instalments'. She was also surprisingly adept at speaking +without moving her lips. Just once in almost a month of nightly +meetings they managed to exchange a kiss. They were passing in +silence down a side-street (Julia would never speak when they +were away from the main streets) when there was a deafening +roar, the earth heaved, and the air darkened, and Winston found +himself lying on his side, bruised and terrified. A rocket bomb +must have dropped quite near at hand. Suddenly he became aware +of Julia's face a few centimetres from his own, deathly white, +as white as chalk. Even her lips were white. She was dead! He +clasped her against him and found that he was kissing a live +warm face. But there was some powdery stuff that got in the way +of his lips. Both of their faces were thickly coated with +plaster.

+

+ There were evenings when they reached their rendezvous and +then had to walk past one another without a sign, because a +patrol had just come round the corner or a helicopter was +hovering overhead. Even if it had been less dangerous, it would +still have been difficult to find time to meet. Winston's +working week was sixty hours, Julia's was even longer, and +their free days varied according to the pressure of work and +did not often coincide. Julia, in any case, seldom had an +evening completely free. She spent an astonishing amount of +time in attending lectures and demonstrations, distributing +literature for the junior Anti-Sex League, preparing banners +for Hate Week, making collections for the savings campaign, and +such-like activities. It paid, she said, it was camouflage. If +you kept the small rules, you could break the big ones. She +even induced Winston to mortgage yet another of his evenings by +enrolling himself for the part-time munition work which was +done voluntarily by zealous Party members. So, one evening +every week, Winston spent four hours of paralysing boredom, +screwing together small bits of metal which were probably parts +of bomb fuses, in a draughty, ill-lit workshop where the +knocking of hammers mingled drearily with the music of the +telescreens.

+

+ When they met in the church tower the gaps in their +fragmentary conversation were filled up. It was a blazing +afternoon. The air in the little square chamber above the bells +was hot and stagnant, and smelt overpoweringly of pigeon dung. +They sat talking for hours on the dusty, twig-littered floor, +one or other of them getting up from time to time to cast a +glance through the arrowslits and make sure that no one was +coming.

+

+ Julia was twenty-six years old. She lived in a hostel with +thirty other girls ('Always in the stink of women! How I hate +women!' she said parenthetically), and she worked, as he had +guessed, on the novel-writing machines in the Fiction +Department. She enjoyed her work, which consisted chiefly in +running and servicing a powerful but tricky electric motor. She +was 'not clever', but was fond of using her hands and felt at +home with machinery. She could describe the whole process of +composing a novel, from the general directive issued by the +Planning Committee down to the final touching-up by the Rewrite +Squad. But she was not interested in the finished product. She +'didn't much care for reading,' she said. Books were just a +commodity that had to be produced, like jam or bootlaces.

+

+ She had no memories of anything before the early sixties +and the only person she had ever known who talked frequently of +the days before the Revolution was a grandfather who had +disappeared when she was eight. At school she had been captain +of the hockey team and had won the gymnastics trophy two years +running. She had been a troop-leader in the Spies and a branch +secretary in the Youth League before joining the Junior +Anti-Sex League. She had always borne an excellent character. +She had even (an infallible mark of good reputation) been +picked out to work in Pornosec, the sub-section of the Fiction +Department which turned out cheap pornography for distribution +among the proles. It was nicknamed Muck House by the people who +worked in it, she remarked. There she had remained for a year, +helping to produce booklets in sealed packets with titles like +Spanking Stories or One Night in a Girls' +School, to be bought furtively by proletarian youths who +were under the impression that they were buying something +illegal.

+

+ 'What are these books like?' said Winston curiously.

+

+ 'Oh, ghastly rubbish. They're boring, really. They only +have six plots, but they swap them round a bit. Of course I was +only on the kaleidoscopes. I was never in the Rewrite Squad. +I'm not literary, dear -- not even enough for that.'

+

+ He learned with astonishment that all the workers in +Pornosec, except the heads of the departments, were girls. The +theory was that men, whose sex instincts were less controllable +than those of women, were in greater danger of being corrupted +by the filth they handled.

+

+ 'They don't even like having married women there,' she +added. Girls are always supposed to be so pure. Here's one who +isn't, anyway.

+

+ She had had her first love-affair when she was sixteen, +with a Party member of sixty who later committed suicide to +avoid arrest. 'And a good job too,' said Julia, 'otherwise +they'd have had my name out of him when he confessed.' Since +then there had been various others. Life as she saw it was +quite simple. You wanted a good time; 'they', meaning the +Party, wanted to stop you having it; you broke the rules as +best you couId. She seemed to think it just as natural that +'they' should want to rob you of your pleasures as that you +should want to avoid being caught. She hated the Party, and +said so in the crudest words, but she made no general criticism +of it. Except where it touched upon her own life she had no +interest in Party doctrine. He noticed that she never used +Newspeak words except the ones that had passed into everyday +use. She had never heard of the Brotherhood, and refused to +believe in its existence. Any kind of organized revolt against +the Party, which was bound to be a failure, struck her as +stupid. The clever thing was to break the rules and stay alive +all the same. He wondered vaguely how many others like her +there might be in the younger generation people who had grown +up in the world of the Revolution, knowing nothing else, +accepting the Party as something unalterable, like the sky, not +rebelling against its authority but simply evading it, as a +rabbit dodges a dog.

+

+ They did not discuss the possibility of getting married. +It was too remote to be worth thinking about. No imaginable +committee would ever sanction such a marriage even if +Katharine, Winston's wife, could somehow have been got rid of. +It was hopeless even as a daydream.

+

+ 'What was she like, your wife?' said Julia.

+

+ 'She was -- do you know the Newspeak word +goodthinkful? Meaning naturally orthodox, incapable of +thinking a bad thought?'

+

+ 'No, I didn't know the word, but I know the kind of +person, right enough.'

+

+ He began telling her the story of his married life, but +curiously enough she appeared to know the essential parts of it +already. She described to him, almost as though she had seen or +felt it, the stiffening of Katharine's body as soon as he +touched her, the way in which she still seemed to be pushing +him from her with all her strength, even when her arms were +clasped tightly round him. With Julia he felt no difficulty in +talking about such things: Katharine, in any case, had long +ceased to be a painful memory and became merely a distasteful +one.

+

+ 'I could have stood it if it hadn't been for one thing,' +he said. He toId her about the frigid little ceremony that +Katharine had forced him to go through on the same night every +week. 'She hated it, but nothing would make her stop doing it. +She used to call it -- but you'll never guess.'

+

+ 'Our duty to the Party,' said Julia promptly.

+

+ 'How did you know that?'

+

+ 'I've been at school too, dear. Sex talks once a month for +the over-sixteens. And in the Youth Movement. They rub it into +you for years. I dare say it works in a lot of cases. But of +course you can never tell; people are such hypocrites.'

+

+ She began to enlarge upon the subject. With Julia, +everything came back to her own sexuality. As soon as this was +touched upon in any way she was capable of great acuteness. +Unlike Winston, she had grasped the inner meaning of the +Party's sexual puritanism. It was not merely that the sex +instinct created a world of its own which was outside the +Party's control and which therefore had to be destroyed if +possible. What was more important was that sexual privation +induced hysteria, which was desirable because it could be +transformed into war-fever and leader-worship. The way she put +it was:

+

+ 'When you make love you're using up energy; and afterwards +you feel happy and don't give a damn for anything. They can't +bear you to feel like that. They want you to be bursting with +energy all the time. All this marching up and down and cheering +and waving flags is simply sex gone sour. If you're happy +inside yourself, why should you get excited about Big Brother +and the Three-Year Plans and the Two Minutes Hate and all the +rest of their bloody rot?'

+

+ That was very true, he thought. There was a direct +intimate connexion between chastity and political orthodoxy. +For how could the fear, the hatred, and the lunatic credulity +which the Party needed in its members be kept at the right +pitch, except by bottling down some powerful instinct and using +it as a driving force? The sex impulse was dangerous to the +Party, and the Party had turned it to account. They had played +a similar trick with the instinct of parenthood. The family +could not actually be abolished, and, indeed, people were +encouraged to be fond of their children, in almost the +old-fashioned way. The children, on the other hand, were +systematically turned against their parents and taught to spy +on them and report their deviations. The family had become in +effect an extension of the Thought Police. It was a device by +means of which everyone could be surrounded night and day by +informers who knew him intimately.

+

+ Abruptly his mind went back to Katharine. Katharine would +unquestionably have denounced him to the Thought Police if she +had not happened to be too stupid to detect the unorthodoxy of +his opinions. But what really recalled her to him at this +moment was the stifling heat of the afternoon, which had +brought the sweat out on his forehead. He began telling Julia +of something that had happened, or rather had failed to happen, +on another sweltering summer afternoon, eleven years ago.

+

+ It was three or four months after they were married. They +had lost their way on a community hike somewhere in Kent. They +had only lagged behind the others for a couple of minutes, but +they took a wrong turning, and presently found themselves +pulled up short by the edge of an old chalk quarry. It was a +sheer drop of ten or twenty metres, with boulders at the +bottom. There was nobody of whom they could ask the way. As +soon as she realized that they were lost Katharine became very +uneasy. To be away from the noisy mob of hikers even for a +moment gave her a feeling of wrong-doing. She wanted to hurry +back by the way they had come and start searching in the other +direction. But at this moment Winston noticed some tufts of +loosestrife growing in the cracks of the cliff beneath them. +One tuft was of two colours, magenta and brick-red, apparently +growing on the same root. He had never seen anything of the +kind before, and he called to Katharine to come and look at it.

+

+ 'Look, Katharine! Look at those flowers. That clump down +near the bottom. Do you see they're two different colours?'

+

+ She had already turned to go, but she did rather fretfully +come back for a moment. She even leaned out over the cliff face +to see where he was pointing. He was standing a little behind +her, and he put his hand on her waist to steady her. At this +moment it suddenly occurred to him how completely alone they +were. There was not a human creature anywhere, not a leaf +stirring, not even a bird awake. In a place like this the +danger that there would be a hidden microphone was very small, +and even if there was a microphone it would only pick up +sounds. It was the hottest sleepiest hour of the afternoon. The +sun blazed down upon them, the sweat tickled his face. And the +thought struck him ...

+

+ 'Why didn't you give her a good shove?' said Julia. 'I +would have.'

+

+ 'Yes, dear, you would have. I would, if I'd been the same +person then as I am now. Or perhaps I would -- I'm not +certain.'

+

+ 'Are you sorry you didn't?'

+

+ 'Yes. On the whole I'm sorry I didn't.'

+

+ They were sitting side by side on the dusty floor. He +pulled her closer against him. Her head rested on his shoulder, +the pleasant smell of her hair conquering the pigeon dung. She +was very young, he thought, she still expected something from +life, she did not understand that to push an inconvenient +person over a cliff solves nothing.

+

+ 'Actually it would have made no difference,' he said.

+

+ 'Then why are you sorry you didn't do it?'

+

+ 'Only because I prefer a positive to a negative. In this +game that we're playing, we can't win. Some kinds of failure +are better than other kinds, that's all.'

+

+ He felt her shoulders give a wriggle of dissent. She +always contradicted him when he said anything of this kind. She +would not accept it as a law of nature that the individual is +always defeated. In a way she realized that she herself was +doomed, that sooner or later the Thought Police would catch her +and kill her, but with another part of her mind she believed +that it was somehow possible to construct a secret world in +which you could live as you chose. All you needed was luck and +cunning and boldness. She did not understand that there was no +such thing as happiness, that the only victory lay in the far +future, long after you were dead, that from the moment of +declaring war on the Party it was better to think of yourself +as a corpse.

+

+ 'We are the dead,' he said.

+

+ 'We're not dead yet,' said Julia prosaically.

+

+ 'Not physically. Six months, a year -- five years, +conceivably. I am afraid of death. You are young, so presumably +you're more afraid of it than I am. Obviously we shall put it +off as long as we can. But it makes very little difference. So +long as human beings stay human, death and life are the same +thing.'

+

+ 'Oh, rubbish! Which would you sooner sleep with, me or a +skeleton? Don't you enjoy being alive? Don't you like feeling: +This is me, this is my hand, this is my leg, I'm real, I'm +solid, I'm alive! Don't you like this?'

+

+ She twisted herself round and pressed her bosom against +him. He could feel her breasts, ripe yet firm, through her +overalls. Her body seemed to be pouring some of its youth and +vigour into his.

+

+ 'Yes, I like that,' he said.

+

+ 'Then stop talking about dying. And now listen, dear, +we've got to fix up about the next time we meet. We may as well +go back to the place in the wood. We've given it a good long +rest. But you must get there by a different way this time. I've +got it all planned out. You take the train -- but look, I'll +draw it out for you.'

+

+ And in her practical way she scraped together a small +square of dust, and with a twig from a pigeon's nest began +drawing a map on the floor.

+

XII

+

+ Winston looked round the shabby little room above Mr +Charrington's shop. Beside the window the enormous bed was made +up, with ragged blankets and a coverless bolster. The +old-fashioned clock with the twelve-hour face was ticking away +on the mantelpiece. In the corner, on the gateleg table, the +glass paperweight which he had bought on his last visit gleamed +softly out of the half-darkness.

+

+ In the fender was a battered tin oilstove, a saucepan, and +two cups, provided by Mr Charrington. Winston lit the burner +and set a pan of water to boil. He had brought an envelope full +of Victory Coffee and some saccharine tablets. The clock's +hands said seventeen-twenty: it was nineteen-twenty really. +She was coming at nineteen-thirty.

+

+ Folly, folly, his heart kept saying: conscious, +gratuitous, suicidal folly. Of all the crimes that a Party +member could commit, this one was the least possible to +conceal. Actually the idea had first floated into his head in +the form of a vision, of the glass paperweight mirrored by the +surface of the gateleg table. As he had foreseen, Mr +Charrington had made no difficulty about letting the room. He +was obviously glad of the few dollars that it would bring him. +Nor did he seem shocked or become offensively knowing when it +was made clear that Winston wanted the room for the purpose of +a love-affair. Instead he looked into the middle distance and +spoke in generalities, with so delicate an air as to give the +impression that he had become partly invisible. Privacy, he +said, was a very valuable thing. Everyone wanted a place where +they could be alone occasionally. And when they had such a +place, it was only common courtesy in anyone else who knew of +it to keep his knowledge to himself. He even, seeming almost to +fade out of existence as he did so, added that there were two +entries to the house, one of them through the back yard, which +gave on an alley.

+

+ Under the window somebody was singing. Winston peeped out, +secure in the protection of the muslin curtain. The June sun +was still high in the sky, and in the sun-filled court below, a +monstrous woman, solid as a Norman pillar, with brawny red +forearms and a sacking apron strapped about her middle, was +stumping to and fro between a washtub and a clothes line, +pegging out a series of square white things which Winston +recognized as babies' diapers. Whenever her mouth was not +corked with clothes pegs she was singing in a powerful +contralto:

+

+ It was only an 'opeless fancy.
+ It passed like an Ipril dye,
+ But a look an' a word an' the dreams they stirred!
+ They 'ave stolen my 'eart awye!

+

+ + The tune had been haunting London for weeks past. It was +one of countless similar songs published for the benefit of the +proles by a sub-section of the Music Department. The words of +these songs were composed without any human intervention +whatever on an instrument known as a versificator. But the +woman sang so tunefully as to turn the dreadful rubbish into an +almost pleasant sound. He could hear the woman singing and the +scrape of her shoes on the flagstones, and the cries of the +children in the street, and somewhere in the far distance a +faint roar of traffic, and yet the room seemed curiously +silent, thanks to the absence of a telescreen.

+

+ Folly, folly, folly! he thought again. It was +inconceivable that they could frequent this place for more than +a few weeks without being caught. But the temptation of having +a hiding-place that was truly their own, indoors and near at +hand, had been too much for both of them. For some time after +their visit to the church belfry it had been impossible to +arrange meetings. Working hours had been drastically increased +in anticipation of Hate Week. It was more than a month distant, +but the enormous, complex preparations that it entailed were +throwing extra work on to everybody. Finally both of them +managed to secure a free afternoon on the same day. They had +agreed to go back to the clearing in the wood. On the evening +beforehand they met briefly in the street. As usual, Winston +hardly looked at Julia as they drifted towards one another in +the crowd, but from the short glance he gave her it seemed to +him that she was paler than usual.

+

+ 'It's all off,' she murmured as soon as she judged it safe +to speak. 'Tomorrow, I mean.'

+

+ 'What?'

+

+ 'Tomorrow afternoon. I can't come.'

+

+ 'Why not?'

+

+ 'Oh, the usual reason. It's started early this time.'

+

+ For a moment he was violently angry. During the month that +he had known her the nature of his desire for her had changed. +At the beginning there had been little true sensuality in it. +Their first love-making had been simply an act of the will. But +after the second time it was different. The smell of her hair, +the taste of her mouth, the feeling of her skin seemed to have +got inside him, or into the air all round him. She had become a +physical necessity, something that he not only wanted but felt +that he had a right to. When she said that she could not come, +he had the feeling that she was cheating him. But just at this +moment the crowd pressed them together and their hands +accidentally met. She gave the tips of his fingers a quick +squeeze that seemed to invite not desire but affection. It +struck him that when one lived with a woman this particular +disappointment must be a normal, recurring event; and a deep +tenderness, such as he had not felt for her before, suddenly +took hold of him. He wished that they were a married couple of +ten years' standing. He wished that he were walking through the +streets with her just as they were doing now but openly and +without fear, talking of trivialities and buying odds and ends +for the household. He wished above all that they had some place +where they could be alone together without feeling the +obligation to make love every time they met. It was not +actually at that moment, but at some time on the following day, +that the idea of renting Mr Charrington's room had occurred to +him. When he suggested it to Julia she had agreed with +unexpected readiness. Both of them knew that it was lunacy. It +was as though they were intentionally stepping nearer to their +graves. As he sat waiting on the edge of the bed he thought +again of the cellars of the Ministry of Love. It was curious +how that predestined horror moved in and out of one's +consciousness. There it lay, fixed in future times, preceding +death as surely as 99 precedes 100. One could not avoid it, but +one could perhaps postpone it: and yet instead, every now and +again, by a conscious, wilful act, one chose to shorten the +interval before it happened.

+

+ At this moment there was a quick step on the stairs. Julia +burst into the room. She was carrying a tool-bag of coarse +brown canvas, such as he had sometimes seen her carrying to and +fro at the Ministry. He started forward to take her in his +arms, but she disengaged herself rather hurriedly, partly +because she was still holding the tool-bag.

+

+ 'Half a second,' she said. 'Just let me show you what I've +brought. Did you bring some of that filthy Victory Coffee? I +thought you would. You can chuck it away again, because we +shan't be needing it. Look here.'

+

+ She fell on her knees, threw open the bag, and tumbled out +some spanners and a screwdriver that filled the top part of it. +Underneath were a number of neat paper packets. The first +packet that she passed to Winston had a strange and yet vaguely + + +familiar feeling. It was filled with some kind of heavy, +sand-like stuff which yielded wherever you touched it.

+

+ 'It isn't sugar?' he said.

+

+ 'Real sugar. Not saccharine, sugar. And here's a loaf of +bread proper white bread, not our bloody stuff -- and a little +pot of jam. And here's a tin of milk -- but look! This is the +one I'm really proud of. I had to wrap a bit of sacking round +it, because-'

+

+ But she did not need to tell him why she had wrapped it +up. The smell was already filling the room, a rich hot smell +which seemed like an emanation from his early childhood, but +which one did occasionally meet with even now, blowing down a +passage-way before a door slammed, or diffusing itself +mysteriously in a crowded street, sniffed for an instant and +then lost again.

+

+ 'It's coffee,' he murmured, 'real coffee.'

+

+ 'It's Inner Party coffee. There's a whole kilo here, she +said.

+

+ 'How did you manage to get hold of all these things?'

+

+ 'It's all Inner Party stuff. There's nothing those swine +don't have, nothing. But of course waiters and servants and +people pinch things, and -- look, I got a little packet of tea +as well.'

+

+ Winston had squatted down beside her. He tore open a +corner of the packet.

+

+ 'It's real tea. Not blackberry leaves.'

+

+ 'There's been a lot of tea about lately. They've captured +India, or something,' she said vaguely. 'But listen, dear. I +want you to turn your back on me for three minutes. Go and sit +on the other side of the bed. Don't go too near the window. And +don't turn round till I tell you.'

+

+ Winston gazed abstractedly through the muslin curtain. +Down in the yard the red-armed woman was still marching to and +fro between the washtub and the line. She took two more pegs +out of her mouth and sang with deep feeling:

+

+ They sye that time 'eals all things,
+ They sye you can always forget;
+ But the smiles an' the tears acrorss the years
+ They twist my 'eart-strings yet!

+

+ + She knew the whole drivelling song by heart, it seemed. +Her voice floated upward with the sweet summer air, very +tuneful, charged with a sort of happy melancholy. One had the +feeling that she would have been perfectly content, if the June +evening had been endless and the supply of clothes +inexhaustible, to remain there for a thousand years, pegging +out diapers and singing rubbish. It struck him as a curious +fact that he had never heard a member of the Party singing +alone and spontaneously. It would even have seemed slightly +unorthodox, a dangerous eccentricity, like talking to oneself. +Perhaps it was only when people were somewhere near the +starvation level that they had anything to sing about.

+

+ 'You can turn round now,' said Julia.

+

+ He turned round, and for a second almost failed to +recognize her. What he had actually expected was to see her +naked. But she was not naked. The transformation that had +happened was much more surprising than that. She had painted +her face.

+

+ She must have slipped into some shop in the proletarian +quarters and bought herself a complete set of make-up +materials. Her lips were deeply reddened, her cheeks rouged, +her nose powdered; there was even a touch of something under +the eyes to make them brighter. It was not very skilfully done, +but Winston's standards in such matters were not high. He had +never before seen or imagined a woman of the Party with +cosmetics on her face. The improvement in her appearance was +startling. With just a few dabs of colour in the right places +she had become not only very much prettier, but, above all, far +more feminine. Her short hair and boyish overalls merely added +to the effect. As he took her in his arms a wave of synthetic +violets flooded his nostrils. He remembered the half-darkness +of a basement kitchen, and a woman's cavernous mouth. It was +the very same scent that she had used; but at the moment it did +not seem to matter.

+

+ 'Scent too!' he said.

+

+ 'Yes, dear, scent too. And do you know what I'm going to +do next? I'm going to get hold of a real woman's frock from +somewhere and wear it instead of these bloody trousers. I'll +wear silk stockings and high-heeled shoes! In this room I'm +going to be a woman, not a Party comrade.'

+

+ They flung their clothes off and climbed into the huge +mahogany bed. It was the first time that he had stripped +himself naked in her presence. Until now he had been too much +ashamed of his pale and meagre body, with the varicose veins +standing out on his calves and the discoloured patch over his +ankle. There were no sheets, but the blanket they lay on was +threadbare and smooth, and the size and springiness of the bed +astonished both of them. 'It's sure to be full of bugs, but who +cares?' said Julia. One never saw a double bed nowadays, except +in the homes of the proles. Winston had occasionally slept in +one in his boyhood: Julia had never been in one before, so far +as she could remember.

+

+ Presently they fell asleep for a little while. When +Winston woke up the hands of the clock had crept round to +nearly nine. He did not stir, because Julia was sleeping with +her head in the crook of his arm. Most of her make-up had +transferred itself to his own face or the bolster, but a light +stain of rouge still brought out the beauty of her cheekbone. A +yellow ray from the sinking sun fell across the foot of the bed +and lighted up the fireplace, where the water in the pan was +boiling fast. Down in the yard the woman had stopped singing, +but the faint shouts of children floated in from the street. He +wondered vaguely whether in the abolished past it had been a +normal experience to lie in bed like this, in the cool of a +summer evening, a man and a woman with no clothes on, making +love when they chose, talking of what they chose, not feeling +any compulsion to get up, simply lying there and listening to +peaceful sounds outside. Surely there could never have been a +time when that seemed ordinary? Julia woke up, rubbed her eyes, +and raised herself on her elbow to look at the oilstove.

+

+ 'Half that water's boiled away,' she said. 'I'll get up +and make some coffee in another moment. We've got an hour. What +time do they cut the lights off at your flats?'

+

+ 'Twenty-three thirty.'

+

+ 'It's twenty-three at the hostel. But you have to get in +earlier than that, because -- Hi! Get out, you filthy brute!'

+

+ She suddenly twisted herself over in the bed, seized a +shoe from the floor, and sent it hurtling into the corner with +a boyish jerk of her arm, exactly as he had seen her fling the +dictionary at Goldstein, that morning during the Two Minutes +Hate.

+

+ 'What was it?' he said in surprise.

+

+ 'A rat. I saw him stick his beastly nose out of the +wainscoting. There's a hole down there. I gave him a good +fright, anyway.'

+

+ 'Rats!' murmured Winston. 'In this room!'

+

+ 'They're all over the place,' said Julia indifferently as +she lay down again. 'We've even got them in the kitchen at the +hostel. Some parts of London are swarming with them. Did you +know they attack children? Yes, they do. In some of these +streets a woman daren't leave a baby alone for two minutes. +It's the great huge brown ones that do it. And the nasty thing +is that the brutes always-'

+

+ 'Don't go on!' said Winston, with his eyes tightly +shut.

+

+ 'Dearest! You've gone quite pale. What's the matter? Do +they make you feel sick?'

+

+ 'Of all horrors in the world -- a rat!'

+

+ She pressed herself against him and wound her limbs round +him, as though to reassure him with the warmth of her body. He +did not reopen his eyes immediately. For several moments he had +had the feeling of being back in a nightmare which had recurred +from time to time throughout his life. It was always very much +the same. He was standing in front of a wall of darkness, and +on the other side of it there was something unendurable, +something too dreadful to be faced. In the dream his deepest +feeling was always one of self-deception, because he did in +fact know what was behind the wall of darkness. With a deadly +effort, like wrenching a piece out of his own brain, he could +even have dragged the thing into the open. He always woke up +without discovering what it was: but somehow it was connected +with what Julia had been saying when he cut her short.

+

+ 'I'm sorry,' he said, 'it's nothing. I don't like rats, +that's all.'

+

+ 'Don't worry, dear, we're not going to have the filthy +brutes in here. I'll stuff the hole with a bit of sacking +before we go. And next time we come here I'll bring some +plaster and bung it up properly.'

+

+ Already the black instant of panic was half-forgotten. +Feeling slightly ashamed of himself, he sat up against the +bedhead. Julia got out of bed, pulled on her overalls, and made +the coffee. The smell that rose from the saucepan was so +powerful and exciting that they shut the window lest anybody +outside should notice it and become inquisitive. What was even +better than the taste of the coffee was the silky texture given +to it by the sugar, a thing Winston had almost forgotten after +years of saccharine. With one hand in her pocket and a piece of +bread and jam in the other, Julia wandered about the room, +glancing indifferently at the bookcase, pointing out the best +way of repairing the gateleg table, plumping herself down in +the ragged arm-chair to see if it was comfortable, and +examining the absurd twelve-hour clock with a sort of tolerant +amusement. She brought the glass paperweight over to the bed to +have a look at it in a better light. He took it out of her +hand, fascinated, as always, by the soft, rainwatery appearance +of the glass.

+

+ 'What is it, do you think?' said Julia.

+

+ 'I don't think it's anything-I mean, I don't think it was +ever put to any use. That's what I like about it. It's a little +chunk of history that they've forgotten to alter. It's a +message from a hundred years ago, if one knew how to read it.'

+

+ 'And that picture over there' -- she nodded at the +engraving on the opposite wall-'would that be a hundred years +old?'

+

+ 'More. Two hundred, I dare say. One can't tell. It's +impossible to discover the age of anything nowadays.'

+

+ She went over to look at it. 'Here's where that brute +stuck his nose out,' she said, kicking the wainscoting +immediately below the picture. 'What is this place? I've seen +it before somewhere.'

+

+ 'It's a church, or at least it used to be. St Clement's +Danes its name was.' The fragment of rhyme that Mr Charrington +had taught him came back into his head, and he added +half-nostalgically: "Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St +Clement's!"

+

+ To his astonishment she capped the line:

+

+ 'You owe me three farthings, say the bells of St Martin's,
+ When will you pay me? say the bells of Old Bailey -- '

+

+ + 'I can't remember how it goes on after that. But anyway I +remember it ends up, "Here comes a candle to light you to bed, +here comes a chopper to chop off your head!"

+

+ It was like the two halves of a countersign. But there +must be another line after 'the bells of Old Bailey'. Perhaps +it could be dug out of Mr Charrington's memory, if he were +suitably prompted.

+

+ 'Who taught you that?' he said.

+

+ 'My grandfather. He used to say it to me when I was a +little girl. He was vaporized when I was eight -- at any rate, +he disappeared. I wonder what a lemon was,' she added +inconsequently. 'I've seen oranges. They're a kind of round +yellow fruit with a thick skin.'

+

+ 'I can remember lemons,' said Winston. 'They were quite +common in the fifties. They were so sour that it set your teeth +on edge even to smell them.'

+

+ 'I bet that picture's got bugs behind it,' said Julia. +'I'll take it down and give it a good clean some day. I suppose +it's almost time we were leaving. I must start washing this +paint off. What a bore! I'll get the lipstick off your face +afterwards.'

+

+ Winston did not get up for a few minutes more. The room +was darkening. He turned over towards the light and lay gazing +into the glass paperweight. The inexhaustibly interesting thing +was not the fragment of coral but the interior of the glass +itself. There was such a depth of it, and yet it was almost as +transparent as air. It was as though the surface of the glass +had been the arch of the sky, enclosing a tiny world with its +atmosphere complete. He had the feeling that he could get +inside it, and that in fact he was inside it, along with the +mahogany bed and the gateleg table, and the clock and the steel +engraving and the paperweight itself. The paperweight was the +room he was in, and the coral was Julia's life and his own, +fixed in a sort of eternity at the heart of the crystal.

+

XIII

+

+ Syme had vanished. A morning came, and he was missing from +work: a few thoughtless people commented on his absence. On the +next day nobody mentioned him. On the third day Winston went +into the vestibule of the Records Department to look at the +notice-board. One of the notices carried a printed list of the +members of the Chess Committee, of whom Syme had been one. It +looked almost exactly as it had looked before -- nothing had +been crossed out -- but it was one name shorter. It was enough. +Syme had ceased to exist: he had never existed.

+

+ The weather was baking hot. In the labyrinthine Ministry +the windowless, air-conditioned rooms kept their normal +temperature, but outside the pavements scorched one's feet and +the stench of the Tubes at the rush hours was a horror. The +preparations for Hate Week were in full swing, and the staffs +of all the Ministries were working overtime. Processions, +meetings, military parades, lectures, waxworks, displays, film +shows, telescreen programmes all had to be organized; stands +had to be erected, effigies built, slogans coined, songs +written, rumours circulated, photographs faked. Julia's unit in +the Fiction Department had been taken off the production of +novels and was rushing out a series of atrocity pamphlets. +Winston, in addition to his regular work, spent long periods +every day in going through back files of The Times and +altering and embellishing news items which were to be quoted in +speeches. Late at night, when crowds of rowdy proles roamed the +streets, the town had a curiously febrile air. The rocket bombs +crashed oftener than ever, and sometimes in the far distance +there were enormous explosions which no one could explain and +about which there were wild rumours.

+

+ The new tune which was to be the theme-song of Hate Week +(the Hate Song, it was called) had already been composed and +was being endlessly plugged on the telescreens. It had a +savage, barking rhythm which could not exactly be called music, +but resembled the beating of a drum. Roared out by hundreds of +voices to the tramp of marching feet, it was terrifying. The +proles had taken a fancy to it, and in the midnight streets it +competed with the still-popular 'It was only a hopeless +fancy'. The Parsons children played it at all hours of the +night and day, unbearably, on a comb and a piece of toilet +paper. Winston's evenings were fuller than ever. Squads of +volunteers, organized by Parsons, were preparing the street for +Hate Week, stitching banners, painting posters, erecting +flagstaffs on the roofs, and perilously slinging wires across +the street for the reception of streamers. Parsons boasted that +Victory Mansions alone would display four hundred metres of +bunting. He was in his native element and as happy as a lark. +The heat and the manual work had even given him a pretext for +reverting to shorts and an open shirt in the evenings. He was +everywhere at once, pushing, pulling, sawing, hammering, +improvising, jollying everyone along with comradely +exhortations and giving out from every fold of his body what +seemed an inexhaustible supply of acrid-smelling sweat.

+

+ A new poster had suddenly appeared all over London. It had +no caption, and represented simply the monstrous figure of a +Eurasian soldier, three or four metres high, striding forward +with expressionless Mongolian face and enormous boots, a +submachine gun pointed from his hip. From whatever angle you +looked at the poster, the muzzle of the gun, magnified by the +foreshortening, seemed to be pointed straight at you. The thing +had been plastered on every blank space on every wall, even +outnumbering the portraits of Big Brother. The proles, normally +apathetic about the war, were being lashed into one of their +periodical frenzies of patriotism. As though to harmonize with +the general mood, the rocket bombs had been killing larger +numbers of people than usual. One fell on a crowded film +theatre in Stepney, burying several hundred victims among the +ruins. The whole population of the neighbourhood turned out for +a long, trailing funeral which went on for hours and was in +effect an indignation meeting. Another bomb fell on a piece of +waste ground which was used as a playground and several dozen +children were blown to pieces. There were further angry +demonstrations, Goldstein was burned in effigy, hundreds of +copies of the poster of the Eurasian soldier were torn down and +added to the flames, and a number of shops were looted in the +turmoil; then a rumour flew round that spies were directing the +rocket bombs by means of wireless waves, and an old couple who +were suspected of being of foreign extraction had their house +set on fire and perished of suffocation.

+

+ In the room over Mr Charrington's shop, when they could +get there, Julia and Winston lay side by side on a stripped bed +under the open window, naked for the sake of coolness. The rat +had never come back, but the bugs had multiplied hideously in +the heat. It did not seem to matter. Dirty or clean, the room +was paradise. As soon as they arrived they would sprinkle +everything with pepper bought on the black market, tear off +their clothes, and make love with sweating bodies, then fall +asleep and wake to find that the bugs had rallied and were +massing for the counter-attack.

+

+ Four, five, six -- seven times they met during the month +of June. Winston had dropped his habit of drinking gin at all +hours. He seemed to have lost the need for it. He had grown +fatter, his varicose ulcer had subsided, leaving only a brown +stain on the skin above his ankle, his fits of coughing in the +early morning had stopped. The process of life had ceased to be +intolerable, he had no longer any impulse to make faces at the +telescreen or shout curses at the top of his voice. Now that +they had a secure hiding-place, almost a home, it did not even +seem a hardship that they could only meet infrequently and for +a couple of hours at a time. What mattered was that the room +over the junk-shop should exist. To know that it was there, +inviolate, was almost the same as being in it. The room was a +world, a pocket of the past where extinct animals could walk. +Mr Charrington, thought Winston, was another extinct animal. He +usually stopped to talk with Mr Charrington for a few minutes +on his way upstairs. The old man seemed seldom or never to go +out of doors, and on the other hand to have almost no +customers. He led a ghostlike existence between the tiny, dark +shop, and an even tinier back kitchen where he prepared his +meals and which contained, among other things, an unbelievably +ancient gramophone with an enormous horn. He seemed glad of the +opportunity to talk. Wandering about among his worthless stock, +with his long nose and thick spectacles and his bowed shoulders +in the velvet jacket, he had always vaguely the air of being a +collector rather than a tradesman. With a sort of faded +enthusiasm he would finger this scrap of rubbish or that -- a +china bottle-stopper, the painted lid of a broken snuffbox, a +pinchbeck locket containing a strand of some long-dead baby's +hair -- never asking that Winston should buy it, merely that he +should admire it. To talk to him was like listening to the +tinkling of a worn-out musical-box. He had dragged out from the +corners of his memory some more fragments of forgotten rhymes. +There was one about four and twenty blackbirds, and another +about a cow with a crumpled horn, and another about the death +of poor Cock Robin. 'It just occurred to me you might be +interested,' he would say with a deprecating little laugh +whenever he produced a new fragment. But he could never recall +more than a few lines of any one rhyme.

+

+ Both of them knew-in a way, it was never out of their +minds that what was now happening could not last long. There +were times when the fact of impending death seemed as palpable +as the bed they lay on, and they would cling together with a +sort of despairing sensuality, like a damned soul grasping at +his last morsel of pleasure when the clock is within five +minutes of striking. But there were also times when they had +the illusion not only of safety but of permanence. So long as +they were actually in this room, they both felt, no harm could +come to them. Getting there was difficult and dangerous, but +the room itself was sanctuary. It was as when Winston had gazed +into the heart of the paperweight, with the feeling that it +would be possible to get inside that glassy world, and that +once inside it time could be arrested. Often they gave +themselves up to daydreams of escape. Their luck would hold +indefinitely, and they would carry on their intrigue, just like +this, for the remainder of their natural lives. Or Katharine +would die, and by subtle manoeuvrings Winston and Julia would +succeed in getting married. Or they would commit suicide +together. Or they would disappear, alter themselves out of +recognition, learn to speak with proletarian accents, get jobs +in a factory and live out their lives undetected in a +back-street. It was all nonsense, as they both knew. In reality +there was no escape. Even the one plan that was practicable, +suicide, they had no intention of carrying out. To hang on from +day to day and from week to week, spinning out a present that +had no future, seemed an unconquerable instinct, just as one's +lungs will always draw the next breath so long as there is air +available.

+

+ Sometimes, too, they talked of engaging in active +rebellion against the Party, but with no notion of how to take +the first step. Even if the fabulous Brotherhood was a reality, +there still remained the difficulty of finding one's way into +it. He told her of the strange intimacy that existed, or seemed +to exist, between himself and O'Brien, and of the impulse he +sometimes felt, simply to walk into O'Brien's presence, +announce that he was the enemy of the Party, and demand his +help. Curiously enough, this did not strike her as an +impossibly rash thing to do. She was used to judging people by +their faces, and it seemed natural to her that Winston should +believe O'Brien to be trustworthy on the strength of a single +flash of the eyes. Moreover she took it for granted that +everyone, or nearly everyone, secretly hated the Party and +would break the rules if he thought it safe to do so. But she +refused to believe that widespread, organized opposition +existed or could exist. The tales about Goldstein and his +underground army, she said, were simply a lot of rubbish which +the Party had invented for its own purposes and which you had +to pretend to believe in. Times beyond number, at Party rallies +and spontaneous demonstrations, she had shouted at the top of +her voice for the execution of people whose names she had never +heard and in whose supposed crimes she had not the faintest +belief. When public trials were happening she had taken her +place in the detachments from the Youth League who surrounded +the courts from morning to night, chanting at intervals 'Death +to the traitors!' During the Two Minutes Hate she always +excelled all others in shouting insults at Goldstein. Yet she +had only the dimmest idea of who Goldstein was and what +doctrines he was supposed to represent. She had grown up since +the Revolution and was too young to remember the ideological +battles of the fifties and sixties. Such a thing as an +independent political movement was outside her imagination: and +in any case the Party was invincible. It would always exist, +and it would always be the same. You could only rebel against +it by secret disobedience or, at most, by isolated acts of +violence such as killing somebody or blowing something up.

+

+ In some ways she was far more acute than Winston, and far +less susceptible to Party propaganda. Once when he happened in +some connexion to mention the war against Eurasia, she startled +him by saying casually that in her opinion the war was not +happening. The rocket bombs which fell daily on London were +probably fired by the Government of Oceania itself, 'just to +keep people frightened'. This was an idea that had literally +never occurred to him. She also stirred a sort of envy in him +by telling him that during the Two Minutes Hate her great +difficulty was to avoid bursting out laughing. But she only +questioned the teachings of the Party when they in some way +touched upon her own life. Often she was ready to accept the +official mythology, simply because the difference between truth +and falsehood did not seem important to her. She believed, for +instance, having learnt it at school, that the Party had +invented aeroplanes. (In his own schooldays, Winston +remembered, in the late fifties, it was only the helicopter +that the Party claimed to have invented; a dozen years later, +when Julia was at school, it was already claiming the +aeroplane; one generation more, and it would be claiming the +steam engine.) And when he told her that aeroplanes had been in +existence before he was born and long before the Revolution, +the fact struck her as totally uninteresting. After all, what +did it matter who had invented aeroplanes? It was rather more +of a shock to him when he discovered from some chance remark +that she did not remember that Oceania, four years ago, had +been at war with Eastasia and at peace with Eurasia. It was +true that she regarded the whole war as a sham: but apparently +she had not even noticed that the name of the enemy had +changed. 'I thought we'd always been at war with Eurasia,' she +said vaguely. It frightened him a little. The invention of +aeroplanes dated from long before her birth, but the switchover +in the war had happened only four years ago, well after she was +grown up. He argued with her about it for perhaps a quarter of +an hour. In the end he succeeded in forcing her memory back +until she did dimly recall that at one time Eastasia and not +Eurasia had been the enemy. But the issue still struck her as +unimportant. 'Who cares?' she said impatiently. 'It's always +one bloody war after another, and one knows the news is all +lies anyway.

+

+ Sometimes he talked to her of the Records Department and +the impudent forgeries that he committed there. Such things did +not appear to horrify her. She did not feel the abyss opening +beneath her feet at the thought of lies becoming truths. He +told her the story of Jones, Aaronson, and Rutherford and the +momentous slip of paper which he had once held between his +fingers. It did not make much impression on her. At first, +indeed, she failed to grasp the point of the story.

+

+ 'Were they friends of yours?' she said.

+

+ 'No, I never knew them. They were Inner Party members. +Besides, they were far older men than I was. They belonged to +the old days, before the Revolution. I barely knew them by +sight.'

+

+ 'Then what was there to worry about? People are being +killed off all the time, aren't they?'

+

+ He tried to make her understand. 'This was an exceptional +case. It wasn't just a question of somebody being killed. Do +you realize that the past, starting from yesterday, has been +actually abolished? If it survives anywhere, it's in a few +solid objects with no words attached to them, like that lump of +glass there. Already we know almost literally nothing about the +Revolution and the years before the Revolution. Every record +has been destroyed or falsified, every book has been rewritten, +every picture has been repainted, every statue and street and +building has been renamed, every date has been altered. And +that process is continuing day by day and minute by minute. +History has stopped. Nothing exists except an endless present +in which the Party is always right. I know, of course, +that the past is falsified, but it would never be possible for +me to prove it, even when I did the falsification myself. After +the thing is done, no evidence ever remains. The only evidence +is inside my own mind, and I don't know with any certainty that +any other human being shares my memories. Just in that one +instance, in my whole life, I did possess actual concrete +evidence after the event -- years after it.'

+

+ 'And what good was that?'

+

+ 'It was no good, because I threw it away a few minutes +later. But if the same thing happened today, I should keep it.'

+

+ 'Well, I wouldn't!' said Julia. 'I'm quite ready to take +risks, but only for something worth while, not for bits of old +newspaper. What could you have done with it even if you had +kept it?'

+

+ 'Not much, perhaps. But it was evidence. It might have +planted a few doubts here and there, supposing that I'd dared +to show it to anybody. I don't imagine that we can alter +anything in our own lifetime. But one can imagine little knots +of resistance springing up here and there -- small groups of +people banding themselves together, and gradually growing, and +even leaving a few records behind, so that the next generations +can carry on where we leave off.'

+

+ 'I'm not interested in the next generation, dear. I'm +interested in us.

+

+ 'You're only a rebel from the waist downwards,' he told +her.

+

+ She thought this brilliantly witty and flung her arms +round him in delight.

+

+ In the ramifications of party doctrine she had not the +faintest interest. Whenever he began to talk of the principles +of Ingsoc, doublethink, the mutability of the past, and the +denial of objective reality, and to use Newspeak words, she +became bored and confused and said that she never paid any +attention to that kind of thing. One knew that it was all +rubbish, so why let oneself be worried by it? She knew when to +cheer and when to boo, and that was all one needed. If he +persisted in talking of such subjects, she had a disconcerting +habit of falling asleep. She was one of those people who can go +to sleep at any hour and in any position. Talking to her, he +realized how easy it was to present an appearance of orthodoxy +while having no grasp whatever of what orthodoxy meant. In a +way, the world-view of the Party imposed itself most +successfully on people incapable of understanding it. They +could be made to accept the most flagrant violations of +reality, because they never fully grasped the enormity of what +was demanded of them, and were not sufficiently interested in +public events to notice what was happening. By lack of +understanding they remained sane. They simply swallowed +everything, and what they swallowed did them no harm, because +it left no residue behind, just as a grain of corn will pass +undigested through the body of a bird.

+

XIV

+

+ It had happened at last. The expected message had come. +All his life, it seemed to him, he had been waiting for this to +happen.

+

+ He was walking down the long corridor at the Ministry and +he was almost at the spot where Julia had slipped the note into +his hand when he became aware that someone larger than himself +was walking just behind him. The person, whoever it was, gave a +small cough, evidently as a prelude to speaking. Winston +stopped abruptly and turned. It was O'Brien.

+

+ At last they were face to face, and it seemed that his +only impulse was to run away. His heart bounded violently. He +would have been incapable of speaking. O'Brien, however, had +continued forward in the same movement, laying a friendly hand +for a moment on Winston's arm, so that the two of them were +walking side by side. He began speaking with the peculiar grave +courtesy that differentiated him from the majority of Inner +Party members.

+

+ 'I had been hoping for an opportunity of talking to you,' +he said. 'I was reading one of your Newspeak articles in The +Times the other day. You take a scholarly interest in +Newspeak, I believe?'

+

+ Winston had recovered part of his self-possession. 'Hardly +scholarly,' he said. 'I'm only an amateur. It's not my subject. +I have never had anything to do with the actual construction of +the language.'

+

+ 'But you write it very elegantly,' said O'Brien. 'That is +not only my own opinion. I was talking recently to a friend of +yours who is certainly an expert. His name has slipped my +memory for the moment.'

+

+ Again Winston's heart stirred painfully. It was +inconceivable that this was anything other than a reference to +Syme. But Syme was not only dead, he was abolished, an +unperson. Any identifiable reference to him would have +been mortally dangerous. O'Brien's remark must obviously have +been intended as a signal, a codeword. By sharing a small act +of thoughtcrime he had turned the two of them into accomplices. +They had continued to stroll slowly down the corridor, but now +O'Brien halted. With the curious, disarming friendliness that +he always managed to put in to the gesture he resettled his +spectacles on his nose. Then he went on:

+

+ 'What I had really intended to say was that in your +article I noticed you had used two words which have become +obsolete. But they have only become so very recently. Have you +seen the tenth edition of the Newspeak Dictionary?'

+

+ 'No,' said Winston. 'I didn't think it had been issued +yet. We are still using the ninth in the Records Department.'

+

+ 'The tenth edition is not due to appear for some months, I +believe. But a few advance copies have been circulated. I have +one myself. It might interest you to look at it, perhaps?'

+

+ 'Very much so,' said Winston, immediately seeing where +this tended.

+

+ 'Some of the new developments are most ingenious. The +reduction in the number of verbs -- that is the point that will +appeal to you, I think. Let me see, shall I send a messenger to +you with the dictionary? But I am afraid I invariably forget +anything of that kind. Perhaps you could pick it up at my flat +at some time that suited you? Wait. Let me give you my +address.'

+

+ They were standing in front of a telescreen. Somewhat +absentmindedly O'Brien felt two of his pockets and then +produced a small leather-covered notebook and a gold +ink-pencil. Immediately beneath the telescreen, in such a position +that anyone who was watching at the other end of the instrument +could read what he was writing, he scribbled an address, tore +out the page and handed it to Winston.

+

+ 'I am usually at home in the evenings,' he said. 'If not, +my servant will give you the dictionary.'

+

+ He was gone, leaving Winston holding the scrap of paper, +which this time there was no need to conceal. Nevertheless he +carefully memorized what was written on it, and some hours +later dropped it into the memory hole along with a mass of +other papers.

+

+ They had been talking to one another for a couple of +minutes at the most. There was only one meaning that the +episode could possibly have. It had been contrived as a way of +letting Winston know O'Brien's address. This was necessary, +because except by direct enquiry it was never possible to +discover where anyone lived. There were no directories of any +kind. 'If you ever want to see me, this is where I can be +found,' was what O'Brien had been saying to him. Perhaps there +would even be a message concealed somewhere in the dictionary. +But at any rate, one thing was certain. The conspiracy that he +had dreamed of did exist, and he had reached the outer edges of +it.

+

+ He knew that sooner or later he would obey O'Brien's +summons. Perhaps tomorrow, perhaps after a long delay -- he was +not certain. What was happening was only the working-out of a +process that had started years ago. The first step had been a +secret, involuntary thought, the second had been the opening of +the diary. He had moved from thoughts to words, and now from +words to actions. The last step was something that would happen +in the Ministry of Love. He had accepted it. The end was +contained in the beginning. But it was frightening: or, more +exactly, it was like a foretaste of death, like being a little +less alive. Even while he was speaking to O'Brien, when the +meaning of the words had sunk in, a chilly shuddering feeling +had taken possession of his body. He had the sensation of +stepping into the dampness of a grave, and it was not much +better because he had always known that the grave was there and +waiting for him.

+

XV

+

+ Winston had woken up with his eyes full of tears. Julia +rolled sleepily against him, murmuring something that might +have been 'What's the matter?'

+

+ 'I dreamt-' he began, and stopped short. It was too +complex to be put into words. There was the dream itself, and +there was a memory connected with it that had swum into his +mind in the few seconds after waking.

+

+ He lay back with his eyes shut, still sodden in the +atmosphere of the dream. It was a vast, luminous dream in which +his whole life seemed to stretch out before him like a +landscape on a summer evening after rain. It had all occurred +inside the glass paperweight, but the surface of the glass was +the dome of the sky, and inside the dome everything was flooded +with clear soft light in which one could see into interminable +distances. The dream had also been comprehended by -- indeed, +in some sense it had consisted in -- a gesture of the arm made +by his mother, and made again thirty years later by the Jewish +woman he had seen on the news film, trying to shelter the small +boy from the bullets, before the helicopter blew them both to +pieces.

+

+ 'Do you know,' he said, 'that until this moment I believed +I had murdered my mother?'

+

+ 'Why did you murder her?' said Julia, almost asleep.

+

+ 'I didn't murder her. Not physically.'

+

+ In the dream he had remembered his last glimpse of his +mother, and within a few moments of waking the cluster of small +events surrounding it had all come back. It was a memory that +he must have deliberately pushed out of his consciousness over +many years. He was not certain of the date, but he could not +have been less than ten years old, possibly twelve, when it had +happened.

+

+ His father had disappeared some time earlier, how much +earlier he could not remember. He remembered better the +rackety, uneasy circumstances of the time: the periodical +panics about air-raids and the sheltering in Tube stations, the +piles of rubble everywhere, the unintelligible proclamations +posted at street corners, the gangs of youths in shirts all the +same colour, the enormous queues outside the bakeries, the +intermittent machine-gun fire in the distance -- above all, the +fact that there was never enough to eat. He remembered long +afternoons spent with other boys in scrounging round dustbins +and rubbish heaps, picking out the ribs of cabbage leaves, +potato peelings, sometimes even scraps of stale breadcrust from +which they carefully scraped away the cinders; and also in +waiting for the passing of trucks which travelled over a +certain route and were known to carry cattle feed, and which, +when they jolted over the bad patches in the road, sometimes +spilt a few fragments of oil-cake.

+

+ When his father disappeared, his mother did not show any +surprise or any violent grief, but a sudden change came over +her. She seemed to have become completely spiritless. It was +evident even to Winston that she was waiting for something that +she knew must happen. She did everything that was needed -- +cooked, washed, mended, made the bed, swept the floor, dusted +the mantelpiece -- always very slowly and with a curious lack +of superfluous motion, like an artist's lay-figure moving of +its own accord. Her large shapely body seemed to relapse +naturally into stillness. For hours at a time she would sit +almost immobile on the bed, nursing his young sister, a tiny, +ailing, very silent child of two or three, with a face made +simian by thinness. Very occasionally she would take Winston in +her arms and press him against her for a long time without +saying anything. He was aware, in spite of his youthfulness and +selfishness, that this was somehow connected with the +never-mentioned thing that was about to happen.

+

+ He remembered the room where they lived, a dark, +closesmelling room that seemed half filled by a bed with a +white counterpane. There was a gas ring in the fender, and a +shelf where food was kept, and on the landing outside there was +a brown earthenware sink, common to several rooms. He +remembered his mother's statuesque body bending over the gas +ring to stir at something in a saucepan. Above all he +remembered his continuous hunger, and the fierce sordid battles +at mealtimes. He would ask his mother naggingly, over and over +again, why there was not more food, he would shout and storm at +her (he even remembered the tones of his voice, which was +beginning to break prematurely and sometimes boomed in a +peculiar way), or he would attempt a snivelling note of pathos +in his efforts to get more than his share. His mother was quite +ready to give him more than his share. She took it for granted +that he, 'the boy', should have the biggest portion; but +however much she gave him he invariably demanded more. At every +meal she would beseech him not to be selfish and to remember +that his little sister was sick and also needed food, but it +was no use. He would cry out with rage when she stopped +ladling, he would try to wrench the saucepan and spoon out of +her hands, he would grab bits from his sister's plate. He knew +that he was starving the other two, but he could not help it; +he even felt that he had a right to do it. The clamorous hunger +in his belly seemed to justify him. Between meals, if his +mother did not stand guard, he was constantly pilfering at the +wretched store of food on the shelf.

+

+ One day a chocolate-ration was issued. There had been no +such issue for weeks or months past. He remembered quite +clearly that precious little morsel of chocolate. It was a +two-ounce slab (they still talked about ounces in those days) +between the three of them. It was obvious that it ought to be +divided into three equal parts. Suddenly, as though he were +listening to somebody else, Winston heard himself demanding in +a loud booming voice that he should be given the whole piece. +His mother told him not to be greedy. There was a long, nagging +argument that went round and round, with shouts, whines, tears, +remonstrances, bargainings. His tiny sister, clinging to her +mother with both hands, exactly like a baby monkey, sat looking +over her shoulder at him with large, mournful eyes. In the end +his mother broke off three-quarters of the chocolate and gave +it to Winston, giving the other quarter to his sister. The +little girl took hold of it and looked at it dully, perhaps not +knowing what it was. Winston stood watching her for a moment. +Then with a sudden swift spring he had snatched the piece of +chocolate out of his sister's hand and was fleeing for the +door.

+

+ 'Winston, Winston!' his mother called after him. 'Come +back! Give your sister back her chocolate!'

+

+ He stopped, but did not come back. His mother's anxious +eyes were fixed on his face. Even now he was thinking about the +thing, he did not know what it was that was on the point of +happening. His sister, conscious of having been robbed of +something, had set up a feeble wail. His mother drew her arm +round the child and pressed its face against her breast. +Something in the gesture told him that his sister was dying. He +turned and fled down the stairs. with the chocolate growing +sticky in his hand.

+

+ He never saw his mother again. After he had devoured the +chocolate he felt somewhat ashamed of himself and hung about in +the streets for several hours, until hunger drove him home. +When he came back his mother had disappeared. This was already +becoming normal at that time. Nothing was gone from the room +except his mother and his sister. They had not taken any +clothes, not even his mother's overcoat. To this day he did not +know with any certainty that his mother was dead. It was +perfectly possible that she had merely been sent to a +forced-labour camp. As for his sister, she might have been +removed, like Winston himself, to one of the colonies for +homeless children (Reclamation Centres, they were called) which +had grown up as a result of the civil war, or she might have +been sent to the labour camp along with his mother, or simply +left somewhere or other to die.

+

+ The dream was still vivid in his mind, especially the +enveloping protecting gesture of the arm in which its whole +meaning seemed to be contained. His mind went back to another +dream of two months ago. Exactly as his mother had sat on the +dingy whitequilted bed, with the child clinging to her, so she +had sat in the sunken ship, far underneath him, and drowning +deeper every minute, but still looking up at him through the +darkening water.

+

+ He told Julia the story of his mother's disappearance. +Without opening her eyes she rolled over and settled herself +into a more comfortable position.

+

+ 'I expect you were a beastly little swine in those days,' +she said indistinctly. 'All children are swine.'

+

+ 'Yes. But the real point of the story-'

+

+ From her breathing it was evident that she was going off +to sleep again. He would have liked to continue talking about +his mother. He did not suppose, from what he could remember of +her, that she had been an unusual woman, still less an +intelligent one; and yet she had possessed a kind of nobility, +a kind of purity, simply because the standards that she obeyed +were private ones. Her feelings were her own, and could not be +altered from outside. It would not have occurred to her that an +action which is ineffectual thereby becomes meaningless. If you +loved someone, you loved him, and when you had nothing else to +give, you still gave him love. When the last of the chocolate +was gone, his mother had clasped the child in her arms. It was +no use, it changed nothing, it did not produce more chocolate, +it did not avert the child's death or her own; but it seemed +natural to her to do it. The refugee woman in the boat had also +covered the little boy with her arm, which was no more use +against the bullets than a sheet of paper. The terrible thing +that the Party had done was to persuade you that mere impulses, +mere feelings, were of no account, while at the same time +robbing you of all power over the material world. When once you +were in the grip of the Party, what you felt or did not feel, +what you did or refrained from doing, made literally no +difference. Whatever happened you vanished, and neither you nor +your actions were ever heard of again. You were lifted clean +out of the stream of history. And yet to the people of only two +generations ago this would not have seemed all-important, +because they were not attempting to alter history. They were +governed by private loyalties which they did not question. What +mattered were individual relationships, and a completely +helpless gesture, an embrace, a tear, a word spoken to a dying +man, could have value in itself. The proles, it suddenly +occurred to him, had remained in this condition. They were not +loyal to a party or a country or an idea, they were loyal to +one another. For the first time in his life he did not despise +the proles or think of them merely as an inert force which +would one day spring to life and regenerate the world. The +proles had stayed human. They had not become hardened inside. +They had held on to the primitive emotions which he himself had +to re-learn by conscious effort. And in thinking this he +remembered, without apparent relevance, how a few weeks ago he +had seen a severed hand lying on the pavement and had kicked it +into the gutter as though it had been a cabbage-stalk.

+

+ 'The proles are human beings,' he said aloud. 'We are not +human.'

+

+ 'Why not?' said Julia, who had woken up again.

+

+ He thought for a little while. 'Has it ever occurred to +you. he said, 'that the best thing for us to do would be simply +to walk out of here before it's too late, and never see each +other again?'

+

+ 'Yes, dear, it has occurred to me, several times. But I'm +not going to do it, all the same.'

+

+ 'We've been lucky,' he said 'but it can't last much +longer. You're young. You look normal and innocent. If you keep +clear of people like me, you might stay alive for another fifty +years.'

+

+ 'No. I've thought it all out. What you do, I'm going to +do. And don't be too downhearted. I'm rather good at staying +alive.'

+

+ 'We may be together for another six months -- a year -- +there's no knowing. At the end we're certain to be apart. Do +you realize how utterly alone we shall be? When once they get +hold of us there will be nothing, literally nothing, that +either of us can do for the other. If I confess, they'll shoot +you, and if I refuse to confess, they'll shoot you just the +same. Nothing that I can do or say, or stop myself from saying, +will put off your death for as much as five minutes. Neither of +us will even know whether the other is alive or dead. We shall +be utterly without power of any kind. The one thing that +matters is that we shouldn't betray one another, although even +that can't make the slightest difference.'

+

+ 'If you mean confessing,' she said, 'we shall do that, +right enough. Everybody always confesses. You can't help it. +They torture you.'

+

+ 'I don't mean confessing. Confession is not betrayal. What +you say or do doesn't matter: only feelings matter. If they +could make me stop loving you -- that would be the real +betrayal.'

+

+ She thought it over. 'They can't do that,' she said +finally. 'It's the one thing they can't do. They can make you +say anything -- anything -- but they can't make you believe it. +They can't get inside you.'

+

+ 'No,' he said a little more hopefully, 'no; that's quite +true. They can't get inside you. If you can feel that +staying human is worth while, even when it can't have any +result whatever, you've beaten them.'

+

+ He thought of the telescreen with its never-sleeping ear. +They could spy upon you night and day, but if you kept your +head you could still outwit them. With all their cleverness +they had never mastered the secret of finding out what another +human being was thinking. Perhaps that was less true when you +were actually in their hands. One did not know what happened +inside the Ministry of Love, but it was possible to guess: +tortures, drugs, delicate instruments that registered your +nervous reactions, gradual wearing-down by sleeplessness and +solitude and persistent questioning. Facts, at any rate, could +not be kept hidden. They could be tracked down by enquiry, they +could be squeezed out of you by torture. But if the object was +not to stay alive but to stay human, what difference did it +ultimately make? They could not alter your feelings: for that +matter you could not alter them yourself, even if you wanted +to. They could lay bare in the utmost detail everything that +you had done or said or thought; but the inner heart, whose +workings were mysterious even to yourself, remained +impregnable.

+

XVI

+

+ They had done it, they had done it at last!

+

+ The room they were standing in was long-shaped and softly +lit. The telescreen was dimmed to a low murmur; the richness of +the dark-blue carpet gave one the impression of treading on +velvet. At the far end of the room O'Brien was sitting at a +table under a green-shaded lamp, with a mass of papers on +either side of him. He had not bothered to look up when the +servant showed Julia and Winston in.

+

+ Winston's heart was thumping so hard that he doubted +whether he would be able to speak. They had done it, they had +done it at last, was all he could think. It had been a rash act +to come here at all, and sheer folly to arrive together; though +it was true that they had come by different routes and only met +on O'Brien's doorstep. But merely to walk into such a place +needed an effort of the nerve. It was only on very rare +occasions that one saw inside the dwelling-places of the Inner +Party, or even penetrated into the quarter of the town where +they lived. The whole atmosphere of the huge block of flats, +the richness and spaciousness of everything, the unfamiliar +smells of good food and good tobacco, the silent and incredibly +rapid lifts sliding up and down, the white-jacketed servants +hurrying to and fro -- everything was intimidating. Although he +had a good pretext for coming here, he was haunted at every +step by the fear that a black-uniformed guard would suddenly +appear from round the corner, demand his papers, and order him +to get out. O'Brien's servant, however, had admitted the two of +them without demur. He was a small, dark-haired man in a white +jacket, with a diamond-shaped, completely expressionless face +which might have been that of a Chinese. The passage down which +he led them was softly carpeted, with cream-papered walls and +white wainscoting, all exquisitely clean. That too was +intimidating. Winston could not remember ever to have seen a +passageway whose walls were not grimy from the contact of human +bodies.

+

+ O'Brien had a slip of paper between his fingers and seemed +to be studying it intently. His heavy face, bent down so that +one could see the line of the nose, looked both formidable and +intelligent. For perhaps twenty seconds he sat without +stirring. Then he pulled the speakwrite towards him and rapped +out a message in the hybrid jargon of the Ministries:

+

+ 'Items one comma five comma seven approved fullwise stop +suggestion contained item six doubleplus ridiculous verging +crimethink cancel stop unproceed constructionwise antegetting +plusfull estimates machinery overheads stop end message.'

+

+ He rose deliberately from his chair and came towards them +across the soundless carpet. A little of the official +atmosphere seemed to have fallen away from him with the +Newspeak words, but his expression was grimmer than usual, as +though he were not pleased at being disturbed. The terror that +Winston already felt was suddenly shot through by a streak of +ordinary embarrassment. It seemed to him quite possible that he +had simply made a stupid mistake. For what evidence had he in +reality that O'Brien was any kind of political conspirator? +Nothing but a flash of the eyes and a single equivocal remark: +beyond that, only his own secret imaginings, founded on a +dream. He could not even fall back on the pretence that he had +come to borrow the dictionary, because in that case Julia's +presence was impossible to explain. As O'Brien passed the +telescreen a thought seemed to strike him. He stopped, turned +aside and pressed a switch on the wall. There was a sharp snap. +The voice had stopped.

+

+ Julia uttered a tiny sound, a sort of squeak of surprise. +Even in the midst of his panic, Winston was too much taken +aback to be able to hold his tongue.

+

+ 'You can turn it off!' he said.

+

+ 'Yes,' said O'Brien, 'we can turn it off. We have that +privilege.'

+

+ He was opposite them now. His solid form towered over the +pair of them, and the expression on his face was still +indecipherable. He was waiting, somewhat sternly, for Winston +to speak, but about what? Even now it was quite conceivable +that he was simply a busy man wondering irritably why he had +been interrupted. Nobody spoke. After the stopping of the +telescreen the room seemed deadly silent. The seconds marched +past, enormous. With difficulty Winston continued to keep his +eyes fixed on O'Brien's. Then suddenly the grim face broke down +into what might have been the beginnings of a smile. With his +characteristic gesture O'Brien resettled his spectacles on his +nose.

+

+ 'Shall I say it, or will you?' he said.

+

+ 'I will say it,' said Winston promptly. 'That thing is +really turned off?'

+

+ 'Yes, everything is turned off. We are alone.'

+

+ 'We have come here because-'

+

+ He paused, realizing for the first time the vagueness of +his own motives. Since he did not in fact know what kind of +help he expected from O'Brien, it was not easy to say why he +had come here. He went on, conscious that what he was saying +must sound both feeble and pretentious:

+

+ 'We believe that there is some kind of conspiracy, some +kind of secret organization working against the Party, and that +you are involved in it. We want to join it and work for it. We +are enemies of the Party. We disbelieve in the principles of +Ingsoc. We are thought-criminals. We are also adulterers. I +tell you this because we want to put ourselves at your mercy. +If you want us to incriminate ourselves in any other way, we +are ready.'

+

+ He stopped and glanced over his shoulder, with the feeling +that the door had opened. Sure enough, the little yellow-faced +servant had come in without knocking. Winston saw that he was +carrying a tray with a decanter and glasses.

+

+ 'Martin is one of us,' said O'Brien impassively. 'Bring +the drinks over here, Martin. Put them on the round table. Have +we enough chairs? Then we may as well sit down and talk in +comfort. Bring a chair for yourself, Martin. This is business. +You can stop being a servant for the next ten minutes.'

+

+ The little man sat down, quite at his ease, and yet still +with a servant-like air, the air of a valet enjoying a +privilege. Winston regarded him out of the corner of his eye. +It struck him that the man's whole life was playing a part, and +that he felt it to be dangerous to drop his assumed personality +even for a moment. O'Brien took the decanter by the neck and +filled up the glasses with a dark-red liquid. It aroused in +Winston dim memories of something seen long ago on a wall or a +hoarding -- a vast bottle composed of electric lights which +seemed to move up and down and pour its contents into a glass. +Seen from the top the stuff looked almost black, but in the +decanter it gleamed like a ruby. It had a sour-sweet smell. He +saw Julia pick up her glass and sniff at it with frank +curiosity.

+

+ 'It is called wine,' said O'Brien with a faint smile. 'You +will have read about it in books, no doubt. Not much of it gets +to the Outer Party, I am afraid.' His face grew solemn again, +and he raised his glass: 'I think it is fitting that we should +begin by drinking a health. To our Leader: To Emmanuel +Goldstein.'

+

+ Winston took up his glass with a certain eagerness. Wine +was a thing he had read and dreamed about. Like the glass +paperweight or Mr Charrington's half-remembered rhymes, it +belonged to the vanished, romantic past, the olden time as he +liked to call it in his secret thoughts. For some reason he had +always thought of wine as having an intensely sweet taste, like +that of blackberry jam and an immediate intoxicating effect. +Actually, when he came to swallow it, the stuff was distinctly +disappointing. The truth was that after years of gin-drinking +he could barely taste it. He set down the empty glass.

+

+ 'Then there is such a person as Goldstein?' he said.

+

+ 'Yes, there is such a person, and he is alive. Where, I do +not know.'

+

+ 'And the conspiracy -- the organization? Is it real? It is +not simply an invention of the Thought Police?'

+

+ 'No, it is real. The Brotherhood, we call it. You will +never learn much more about the Brotherhood than that it exists +and that you belong to it. I will come back to that presently.' +He looked at his wrist-watch. 'It is unwise even for members of +the Inner Party to turn off the telescreen for more than half +an hour. You ought not to have come here together, and you will +have to leave separately. You, comrade' -- he bowed his head to +Julia -- 'will leave first. We have about twenty minutes at our +disposal. You will understand that I must start by asking you +certain questions. In general terms, what are you prepared to +do?'

+

+ 'Anything that we are capable of,' said Winston.

+

+ O'Brien had turned himself a little in his chair so that +he was facing Winston. He almost ignored Julia, seeming to take +it for granted that Winston could speak for her. For a moment +the lids flitted down over his eyes. He began asking his +questions in a low, expressionless voice, as though this were a +routine, a sort of catechism, most of whose answers were known +to him already.

+

+ 'You are prepared to give your lives?'

+

+ 'Yes.'

+

+ 'You are prepared to commit murder?'

+

+ 'Yes.'

+

+ 'To commit acts of sabotage which may cause the death of +hundreds of innocent people?'

+

+ 'Yes.'

+

+ 'To betray your country to foreign powers?'

+

+ 'Yes.'

+

+ 'You are prepared to cheat, to forge, to blackmail, to +corrupt the minds of children, to distribute habit-forming +drugs, to encourage prostitution, to disseminate venereal +diseases -- to do anything which is likely to cause +demoralization and weaken the power of the Party?'

+

+ 'Yes.'

+

+ 'If, for example, it would somehow serve our interests to +throw sulphuric acid in a child's face -- are you prepared to +do that?'

+

+ 'Yes.'

+

+ 'You are prepared to lose your identity and live out the +rest of your life as a waiter or a dock-worker?'

+

+ 'Yes.'

+

+ 'You are prepared to commit suicide, if and when we order +you to do so?'

+

+ 'Yes.'

+

+ 'You are prepared, the two of you, to separate and never +see one another again?'

+

+ 'No!' broke in Julia.

+

+ It appeared to Winston that a long time passed before he +answered. For a moment he seemed even to have been deprived of +the power of speech. His tongue worked soundlessly, forming the +opening syllables first of one word, then of the other, over +and over again. Until he had said it, he did not know which +word he was going to say. 'No,' he said finally.

+

+ 'You did well to tell me,' said O'Brien. 'It is necessary +for us to know everything.'

+

+ He turned himself toward Julia and added in a voice with +somewhat more expression in it:

+

+ 'Do you understand that even if he survives, it may be as +a different person? We may be obliged to give him a new +identity. His face, his movements, the shape of his hands, the +colour of his hair -- even his voice would be different. And +you yourself might have become a different person. Our surgeons +can alter people beyond recognition. Sometimes it is necessary. +Sometimes we even amputate a limb.'

+

+ Winston could not help snatching another sidelong glance +at Martin's Mongolian face. There were no scars that he could +see. Julia had turned a shade paler, so that her freckles were +showing, but she faced O'Brien boldly. She murmured something +that seemed to be assent.

+

+ 'Good. Then that is settled.'

+

+ There was a silver box of cigarettes on the table. With a +rather absent-minded air O'Brien pushed them towards the +others, took one himself, then stood up and began to pace +slowly to and fro, as though he could think better standing. +They were very good cigarettes, very thick and well-packed, +with an unfamiliar silkiness in the paper. O'Brien looked at +his wrist-watch again.

+

+ 'You had better go back to your Pantry, Martin,' he said. +'I shall switch on in a quarter of an hour. Take a good look at +these comrades' faces before you go. You will be seeing them +again. I may not.

+

+ Exactly as they had done at the front door, the little +man's dark eyes flickered over their faces. There was not a +trace of friendliness in his manner. He was memorizing their +appearance, but he felt no interest in them, or appeared to +feel none. It occurred to Winston that a synthetic face was +perhaps incapable of changing its expression. Without speaking +or giving any kind of salutation, Martin went out, closing the +door silently behind him. O'Brien was strolling up and down, +one hand in the pocket of his black overalls, the other holding +his cigarette.

+

+ 'You understand,' he said, 'that you will be fighting in +the dark. You will always be in the dark. You will receive +orders and you will obey them, without knowing why. Later I +shall send you a book from which you will learn the true nature +of the society we live in, and the strategy by which we shall +destroy it. When you have read the book, you will be full +members of the Brotherhood. But between the general aims that +we are fighting for and the immediate tasks of the moment, you +will never know anything. I tell you that the Brotherhood +exists, but I cannot tell you whether it numbers a hundred +members, or ten million. From your personal knowledge you will +never be able to say that it numbers even as many as a dozen. +You will have three or four contacts, who will be renewed from +time to time as they disappear. As this was your first contact, +it will be preserved. When you receive orders, they will come +from me. If we find it necessary to communicate with you, it +will be through Martin. When you are finally caught, you will +confess. That is unavoidable. But you will have very little to +confess, other than your own actions. You will not be able to +betray more than a handful of unimportant people. Probably you +will not even betray me. By that time I may be dead, or I shall +have become a different person, with a different face.'

+

+ He continued to move to and fro over the soft carpet. In +spite of the bulkiness of his body there was a remarkable grace +in his movements. It came out even in the gesture with which he +thrust a hand into his pocket, or manipulated a cigarette. More +even than of strength, he gave an impression of confidence and +of an understanding tinged by irony. However much in earnest he +might be, he had nothing of the single-mindedness that belongs +to a fanatic. When he spoke of murder, suicide, venereal +disease, amputated limbs, and altered faces, it was with a +faint air of persiflage. 'This is unavoidable,' his voice +seemed to say; 'this is what we have got to do, unflinchingly. +But this is not what we shall be doing when life is worth +living again.' A wave of admiration, almost of worship, flowed +out from Winston towards O'Brien. For the moment he had +forgotten the shadowy figure of Goldstein. When you looked at +O'Brien's powerful shoulders and his blunt-featured face, so +ugly and yet so civilized, it was impossible to believe that he +could be defeated. There was no stratagem that he was not equal +to, no danger that he could not foresee. Even Julia seemed to +be impressed. She had let her cigarette go out and was +listening intently. O'Brien went on:

+

+ 'You will have heard rumours of the existence of the +Brotherhood. No doubt you have formed your own picture of it. +You have imagined, probably, a huge underworld of conspirators, +meeting secretly in cellars, scribbling messages on walls, +recognizing one another by codewords or by special movements of +the hand. Nothing of the kind exists. The members of the +Brotherhood have no way of recognizing one another, and it is +impossible for any one member to be aware of the identity of +more than a few others. Goldstein himself, if he fell into the +hands of the Thought Police, could not give them a complete +list of members, or any information that would lead them to a +complete list. No such list exists. The Brotherhood cannot be +wiped out because it is not an organization in the ordinary +sense. Nothing holds it together except an idea which is +indestructible. You will never have anything to sustain you, +except the idea. You will get no comradeship and no +encouragement. When finally you are caught, you will get no +help. We never help our members. At most, when it is absolutely +necessary that someone should be silenced, we are occasionally +able to smuggle a razor blade into a prisoner's cell. You will +have to get used to living without results and without hope. +You will work for a while, you will be caught, you will +confess, and then you will die. Those are the only results that +you will ever see. There is no possibility that any perceptible +change will happen within our own lifetime. We are the dead. +Our only true life is in the future. We shall take part in it +as handfuls of dust and splinters of bone. But how far away +that future may be, there is no knowing. It might be a thousand +years. At present nothing is possible except to extend the area +of sanity little by little. We cannot act collectively. We can +only spread our knowledge outwards from individual to +individual, generation after generation. In the face of the +Thought Police there is no other way.'

+

+ He halted and looked for the third time at his +wrist-watch.

+

+ 'It is almost time for you to leave, comrade,' he said to +Julia. 'Wait. The decanter is still half full.'

+

+ He filled the glasses and raised his own glass by the +stem.

+

+ 'What shall it be this time?' he said, still with the same +faint suggestion of irony. 'To the confusion of the Thought +Police? To the death of Big Brother? To humanity? To the +future?'

+

+ 'To the past,' said Winston.

+

+ 'The past is more important,' agreed O'Brien gravely.

+

+ They emptied their glasses, and a moment later Julia stood +up to go. O'Brien took a small box from the top of a cabinet +and handed her a flat white tablet which he told her to place +on her tongue. It was important, he said, not to go out +smelling of wine: the lift attendants were very observant. As +soon as the door had shut behind her he appeared to forget her +existence. He took another pace or two up and down, then +stopped.

+

+ 'There are details to be settled,' he said. 'I assume that +you have a hiding-place of some kind?'

+

+ Winston explained about the room over Mr Charrington's +shop.

+

+ 'That will do for the moment. Later we will arrange +something else for you. It is important to change one's +hiding-place frequently. Meanwhile I shall send you a copy of +the book' -- even O'Brien, Winston noticed, seemed to +pronounce the words as though they were in italics- +'Goldstein's book, you understand, as soon as possible. It may +be some days before I can get hold of one. There are not many +in existence, as you can imagine. The Thought Police hunt them +down and destroy them almost as fast as we can produce them. It +makes very little difference. The book is indestructible. If +the last copy were gone, we could reproduce it almost word for +word. Do you carry a brief-case to work with you?' he added.

+

+ 'As a rule, yes.'

+

+ 'What is it like?'

+

+ 'Black, very shabby. With two straps.'

+

+ 'Black, two straps, very shabby -- good. One day in the +fairly near future-I cannot give a date -- one of the messages +among your morning's work will contain a misprinted word, and +you will have to ask for a repeat. On the following day you +will go to work without your brief-case. At some time during +the day, in the street, a man will touch you on the arm and say +"I think you have dropped your brief-case." The one he gives +you will contain a copy of Goldstein's book. You will return it +within fourteen days.'

+

+ They were silent for a moment.

+

+ 'There are a couple of minutes before you need go,' said +O'Brien. 'We shall meet again -- if we do meet again-'

+

+ Winston looked up at him. 'In the place where there is no +darkness?' he said hesitantly.

+

+ O'Brien nodded without appearance of surprise. 'In the +place where there is no darkness,' he said, as though he had +recognized the allusion. 'And in the meantime, is there +anything that you wish to say before you leave? Any message? +Any question?.'

+

+ Winston thought. There did not seem to be any further +question that he wanted to ask: still less did he feel any +impulse to utter high-sounding generalities. Instead of +anything directly connected with O'Brien or the Brotherhood, +there came into his mind a sort of composite picture of the +dark bedroom where his mother had spent her last days, and the +little room over Mr Charrington's shop, and the glass +paperweight, and the steel engraving in its rosewood frame. +Almost at random he said:

+

+ 'Did you ever happen to hear an old rhyme that begins +"Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St Clement's"?'

+

+ Again O'Brien nodded. With a sort of grave courtesy he +completed the stanza:

+

+ 'Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St Clement's,
+ You owe me three farthings, say the bells of St Martin's,
+ When will you pay me? say the bells of Old Bailey
+ When I grow rich, say the bells of Shoreditch.'

+

+ 'You knew the last line!' said Winston.

+

+ 'Yes, I knew the last line. And now, I am afraid, it is +time for you to go. But wait. You had better let me give you +one of these tablets.'

+

+ As Winston stood up O'Brien held out a hand. His powerful +grip crushed the bones of Winston's palm. At the door Winston +looked back, but O'Brien seemed already to be in process of +putting him out of mind. He was waiting with his hand on the +switch that controlled the telescreen. Beyond him Winston could +see the writing-table with its green- shaded lamp and the +speakwrite and the wire baskets deep- laden with papers. The +incident was closed. Within thirty seconds, it occurred to him, +O'Brien would be back at his interrupted and important work on +behalf of the Party.

+

XVII

+

+ Winston was gelatinous with fatigue. Gelatinous was the +right word. It had come into his head spontaneously. His body +seemed to have not only the weakness of a jelly, but its +translucency. He felt that if he held up his hand he would be +able to see the light through it. All the blood and lymph had +been drained out of him by an enormous debauch of work, leaving +only a frail structure of nerves, bones, and skin. All +sensations seemed to be magnified. His overalls fretted his +shoulders, the pavement tickled his feet, even the opening and +closing of a hand was an effort that made his joints creak.

+

+ He had worked more than ninety hours in five days. So had +everyone else in the Ministry. Now it was all over, and he had +literally nothing to do, no Party work of any description, +until tomorrow morning. He could spend six hours in the +hiding-place and another nine in his own bed. Slowly, in mild +afternoon sunshine, he walked up a dingy street in the +direction of Mr Charrington's shop, keeping one eye open for +the patrols, but irrationally convinced that this afternoon +there was no danger of anyone interfering with him. The heavy +brief-case that he was carrying bumped against his knee at each +step, sending a tingling sensation up and down the skin of his +leg. Inside it was the book, which he had now had in his +possession for six days and had not yet opened, nor even looked +at.

+

+ On the sixth day of Hate Week, after the processions, the +speeches, the shouting, the singing, the banners, the posters, +the films, the waxworks, the rolling of drums and squealing of +trumpets, the tramp of marching feet, the grinding of the +caterpillars of tanks, the roar of massed planes, the booming +of guns -- after six days of this, when the great orgasm was +quivering to its climax and the general hatred of Eurasia had +boiled up into such delirium that if the crowd could have got +their hands on the 2,000 Eurasian war-criminals who were to be +publicly hanged on the last day of the proceedings, they would +unquestionably have torn them to pieces -- at just this moment +it had been announced that Oceania was not after all at war +with Eurasia. Oceania was at war with Eastasia. Eurasia was an +ally.

+

+ There was, of course, no admission that any change had +taken place. Merely it became known, with extreme suddenness +and everywhere at once, that Eastasia and not Eurasia was the +enemy. Winston was taking part in a demonstration in one of the +central London squares at the moment when it happened. It was +night, and the white faces and the scarlet banners were luridly +floodlit. The square was packed with several thousand people, +including a block of about a thousand schoolchildren in the +uniform of the Spies. On a scarlet-draped platform an orator of +the Inner Party, a small lean man with disproportionately long +arms and a large bald skull over which a few lank locks +straggled, was haranguing the crowd. A little Rumpelstiltskin +figure, contorted with hatred, he gripped the neck of the +microphone with one hand while the other, enormous at the end +of a bony arm, clawed the air menacingly above his head. His +voice, made metallic by the amplifiers, boomed forth an endless +catalogue of atrocities, massacres, deportations, lootings, +rapings, torture of prisoners, bombing of civilians, lying +propaganda, unjust aggressions, broken treaties. It was almost +impossible to listen to him without being first convinced and +then maddened. At every few moments the fury of the crowd +boiled over and the voice of the speaker was drowned by a wild +beast-like roaring that rose uncontrollably from thousands of +throats. The most savage yells of all came from the +schoolchildren. The speech had been proceeding for perhaps +twenty minutes when a messenger hurried on to the platform and +a scrap of paper was slipped into the speaker's hand. He +unrolled and read it without pausing in his speech. Nothing +altered in his voice or manner, or in the content of what he +was saying, but suddenly the names were different. Without +words said, a wave of understanding rippled through the crowd. +Oceania was at war with Eastasia! The next moment there was a +tremendous commotion. The banners and posters with which the +square was decorated were all wrong! Quite half of them had the +wrong faces on them. It was sabotage! The agents of Goldstein +had been at work! There was a riotous interlude while posters +were ripped from the walls, banners torn to shreds and trampled +underfoot. The Spies performed prodigies of activity in +clambering over the rooftops and cutting the streamers that +fluttered from the chimneys. But within two or three minutes it +was all over. The orator, still gripping the neck of the +microphone, his shoulders hunched forward, his free hand +clawing at the air, had gone straight on with his speech. One +minute more, and the feral roars of rage were again bursting +from the crowd. The Hate continued exactly as before, except +that the target had been changed.

+

+ The thing that impressed Winston in looking back was that +the speaker had switched from one line to the other actually in +midsentence, not only without a pause, but without even +breaking the syntax. But at the moment he had other things to +preoccupy him. It was during the moment of disorder while the +posters were being torn down that a man whose face he did not +see had tapped him on the shoulder and said, 'Excuse me, I +think you've dropped your brief-case.' He took the brief-case +abstractedly, without speaking. He knew that it would be days +before he had an opportunity to look inside it. The instant +that the demonstration was over he went straight to the +Ministry of Truth, though the time was now nearly twenty-three +hours. The entire staff of the Ministry had done likewise. The +orders already issuing from the telescreen, recalling them to +their posts, were hardly necessary.

+

+ Oceania was at war with Eastasia: Oceania had always been +at war with Eastasia. A large part of the political literature +of five years was now completely obsolete. Reports and records +of all kinds, newspapers, books, pamphlets, films, +sound-tracks, photographs -- all had to be rectified at +lightning speed. Although no directive was ever issued, it was +known that the chiefs of the Department intended that within +one week no reference to the war with Eurasia, or the alliance +with Eastasia, should remain in existence anywhere. The work +was overwhelming, all the more so because the processes that it +involved could not be called by their true names. Everyone in +the Records Department worked eighteen hours in the +twenty-four, with two three-hour snatches of sleep. Mattresses +were brought up from the cellars and pitched all over the +corridors: meals consisted of sandwiches and Victory Coffee +wheeled round on trolleys by attendants from the canteen. Each +time that Winston broke off for one of his spells of sleep he +tried to leave his desk clear of work, and each time that he +crawled back sticky-eyed and aching, it was to find that +another shower of paper cylinders had covered the desk like a +snowdrift, halfburying the speakwrite and overflowing on to the +floor, so that the first job was always to stack them into a +neat enough pile to give him room to work. What was worst of +all was that the work was by no means purely mechanical. Often +it was enough merely to substitute one name for another, but +any detailed report of events demanded care and imagination. +Even the geographical knowledge that one needed in transferring +the war from one part of the world to another was considerable. +

+

By the third day his eyes ached unbearably and his +spectacles needed wiping every few minutes. It was like +struggling with some crushing physical task, something which +one had the right to refuse and which one was nevertheless +neurotically anxious to accomplish. In so far as he had time to +remember it, he was not troubled by the fact that every word he +murmured into the speakwrite, every stroke of his ink-pencil, +was a deliberate lie. He was as anxious as anyone else in the +Department that the forgery should be perfect. On the morning +of the sixth day the dribble of cylinders slowed down. For as +much as half an hour nothing came out of the tube; then one +more cylinder, then nothing. Everywhere at about the same time +the work was easing off. A deep and as it were secret sigh went +through the Department. A mighty deed, which could never be +mentioned, had been achieved. It was now impossible for any +human being to prove by documentary evidence that the war with +Eurasia had ever happened. At twelve hundred it was +unexpectedly announced that all workers in the Ministry were +free till tomorrow morning. Winston, still carrying the +brief-case containing the book, which had remained +between his feet while he worked and under his body while he +slept, went home, shaved himself, and almost fell asleep in his +bath, although the water was barely more than tepid.

+

+ With a sort of voluptuous creaking in his joints he +climbed the stair above Mr Charrington's shop. He was tired, +but not sleepy any longer. He opened the window, lit the dirty +little oilstove and put on a pan of water for coffee. Julia +would arrive presently: meanwhile there was the book. He +sat down in the sluttish armchair and undid the straps of the +brief-case.

+

+ A heavy black volume, amateurishly bound, with no name or +title on the cover. The print also looked slightly irregular. +The pages were worn at the edges, and fell apart, easily, as +though the book had passed through many hands. The inscription +on the title-page ran:

+

+ THE THEORY AND PRACTICE OF + OLIGARCHICAL COLLECTIVISM
+ by
+ Emmanuel Goldstein

+

+ + Winston began reading:

+

+ Chapter I + Ignorance is Strength

+

+ + Throughout recorded time, and probably since the end of +the Neolithic Age, there have been three kinds of people in the +world, the High, the Middle, and the Low. They have been +subdivided in many ways, they have borne countless different +names, and their relative numbers, as well as their attitude +towards one another, have varied from age to age: but the +essential structure of society has never altered. Even after +enormous upheavals and seemingly irrevocable changes, the same +pattern has always reasserted itself, just as a gyroscope will +always return to equilibrium, however far it is pushed one way +or the other.

+

+ The aims of these groups are entirely irreconcilable...

+

+ Winston stopped reading, chiefly in order to appreciate +the fact that he was reading, in comfort and safety. He +was alone: no telescreen, no ear at the keyhole, no nervous +impulse to glance over his shoulder or cover the page with his +hand. The sweet summer air played against his cheek. From +somewhere far away there floated the faint shouts of children: +in the room itself there was no sound except the insect voice +of the clock. He settled deeper into the arm-chair and put his +feet up on the fender. It was bliss, it was etemity. Suddenly, +as one sometimes does with a book of which one knows that one +will ultimately read and re-read every word, he opened it at a +different place and found himself at Chapter III. He went on +reading:

+

+ + Chapter III
+ War is Peace

+

+ + The splitting up of the world into three great +super-states was an event which could be and indeed was +foreseen before the middle of the twentieth century. With the +absorption of Europe by Russia and of the British Empire by the +United States, two of the three existing powers, Eurasia and +Oceania, were already effectively in being. The third, +Eastasia, only emerged as a distinct unit after another decade +of confused fighting. The frontiers between the three +super-states are in some places arbitrary, and in others they +fluctuate according to the fortunes of war, but in general they +follow geographical lines. Eurasia comprises the whole of the +northern part of the European and Asiatic land-mass, from +Portugal to the Bering Strait. Oceania comprises the Americas, +the Atlantic islands including the British Isles, Australasia, +and the southern portion of Africa. Eastasia, smaller than the +others and with a less definite western frontier, comprises +China and the countries to the south of it, the Japanese +islands and a large but fluctuating portion of Manchuria, +Mongolia, and Tibet.

+

+ In one combination or another, these three super-states +are permanently at war, and have been so for the past +twenty-five years. War, however, is no longer the desperate, +annihilating struggle that it was in the early decades of the +twentieth centary. It is a warfare of limited aims between +combatants who are unable to destroy one another, have no +material cause for fighting and are not divided by any genuine +ideological difference. This is not to say that either the +conduct of war, or the prevailing attitude towards it, has +become less bloodthirsty or more chivalrous. On the contrary, +war hysteria is continuous and universal in all countries, and +such acts as raping, looting, the slaughter of children, the +reduction of whole populations to slavery, and reprisals +against prisoners which extend even to boiling and burying +alive, are looked upon as normal, and, when they are committed +by one's own side and not by the enemy, meritorious. But in a +physical sense war involves very small numbers of people, +mostly highly-trained specialists, and causes comparatively few +casualties. The fighting, when there is any, takes place on the +vague frontiers whose whereabouts the average man can only +guess at, or round the Floating Fortresses which guard +strategic spots on the sea lanes. In the centres of +civilization war means no more than a continuous shortage of +consumption goods, and the occasional crash of a rocket bomb +which may cause a few scores of deaths. War has in fact changed +its character. More exactly, the reasons for which war is waged +have changed in their order of importance. Motives which were +already present to some small extent in the great wars of the +early twentieth centuary have now become dominant and are +consciously recognized and acted upon.

+

+ To understand the nature of the present war -- for in +spite of the regrouping which occurs every few years, it is +always the same war -- one must realize in the first place that +it is impossible for it to be decisive. None of the three +super-states could be definitively conquered even by the other +two in combination. They are too evenly matched, and their +natural defences are too formidable. Eurasia is protected by +its vast land spaces. Oceania by the width of the Atlantic and +the Pacific, Eastasia by the fecundity and industriousness of +its inhabitants. Secondly, there is no longer, in a material +sense, anything to fight about. With the establishment of +self-contained economies, in which production and consumption +are geared to one another, the scramble for markets which was a +main cause of previous wars has come to an end, while the +competition for raw materials is no longer a matter of life and +death. In any case each of the three super-states is so vast +that it can obtain almost all the materials that it needs +within its own boundaries. In so far as the war has a direct +economic purpose, it is a war for labour power. Between the +frontiers of the super-states, and not permanently in the +possession of any of them, there lies a rough quadrilateral +with its corners at Tangier, Brazzaville, Darwin, and Hong +Kong, containing within it about a fifth of the population of +the earth. It is for the possession of these thickly-populated +regions, and of the northern ice-cap, that the three powers are +constantly struggling. In practice no one power ever controls +the whole of the disputed area. Portions of it are constantly +changing hands, and it is the chance of seizing this or that +fragment by a sudden stroke of treachery that dictates the +endless changes of alignment.

+

+ All of the disputed territories contain valuable minerals, +and some of them yield important vegetable products such as +rubber which in colder climates it is necessary to synthesize +by comparatively expensive methods. But above all they contain +a bottomless reserve of cheap labour. Whichever power controls +equatorial Africa, or the countries of the Middle East, or +Southern India, or the Indonesian Archipelago, disposes also of +the bodies of scores or hundreds of millions of ill-paid and +hard-working coolies. The inhabitants of these areas, reduced +more or less openly to the status of slaves, pass continually +from conqueror to conqueror, and are expended like so much coal +or oil in the race to turn out more armaments, to capture more +territory, to control more labour power, to turn out more +armaments, to capture more territory, and so on indefinitely. +It should be noted that the fighting never really moves beyond +the edges of the disputed areas. The frontiers of Eurasia flow +back and forth between the basin of the Congo and the northern +shore of the Mediterranean; the islands of the Indian Ocean and +the Pacific are constantly being captured and recaptured by +Oceania or by Eastasia; in Mongolia the dividing line between +Eurasia and Eastasia is never stable; round the Pole all three +powers lay claim to enormous territories which in fact are +largely unihabited and unexplored: but the balance of power +always remains roughly even, and the territory which forms the +heartland of each super-state always remains inviolate. +Moreover, the labour of the exploited peoples round the Equator +is not really necessary to the world's economy. They add +nothing to the wealth of the world, since whatever they produce +is used for purposes of war, and the object of waging a war is +always to be in a better position in which to wage another war. +By their labour the slave populations allow the tempo of +continuous warfare to be speeded up. But if they did not exist, +the structure of world society, and the process by which it +maintains itself, would not be essentially different.

+

+ The primary aim of modern warfare (in accordance with the +principles of doublethink, this aim is simultaneously +recognized and not recognized by the directing brains of the +Inner Party) is to use up the products of the machine without +raising the general standard of living. Ever since the end of +the nineteenth century, the problem of what to do with the +surplus of consumption goods has been latent in industrial +society. At present, when few human beings even have enough to +eat, this problem is obviously not urgent, and it might not +have become so, even if no artificial processes of destruction +had been at work. The world of today is a bare, hungry, +dilapidated place compared with the world that existed before +1914, and still more so if compared with the imaginary future +to which the people of that period looked forward. In the early +twentieth century, the vision of a future society unbelievably +rich, leisured, orderly, and efficient -- a glittering +antiseptic world of glass and steel and snow-white concrete -- +was part of the consciousness of nearly every literate person. +Science and technology were developing at a prodigious speed, +and it seemed natural to assume that they would go on +developing. This failed to happen, partly because of the +impoverishment caused by a long series of wars and revolutions, +partly because scientific and technical progress depended on +the empirical habit of thought, which could not survive in a +strictly regimented society. As a whole the world is more +primitive today than it was fifty years ago. Certain backward +areas have advanced, and various devices, always in some way +connected with warfare and police espionage, have been +developed, but experiment and invention have largely stopped, +and the ravages of the atomic war of the nineteen-fifties have +never been fully repaired. Nevertheless the dangers inherent in +the machine are still there. From the moment when the machine +first made its appearance it was clear to all thinking people +that the need for human drudgery, and therefore to a great +extent for human inequality, had disappeared. If the machine +were used deliberately for that end, hunger, overwork, dirt, +illiteracy, and disease could be eliminated within a few +generations. And in fact, without being used for any such +purpose, but by a sort of automatic process -- by producing +wealth which it was sometimes impossible not to distribute -- +the machine did raise the living standards of the average +humand being very greatly over a period of about fifty years at +the end of the nineteenth and the beginning of the twentieth +centuries.

+

+ But it was also clear that an all-round increase in wealth +threatened the destruction -- indeed, in some sense was the +destruction -- of a hierarchical society. In a world in which +everyone worked short hours, had enough to eat, lived in a +house with a bathroom and a refrigerator, and possessed a +motor-car or even an aeroplane, the most obvious and perhaps +the most important form of inequality would already have +disappeared. If it once became general, wealth would confer no +distinction. It was possible, no doubt, to imagine a society in +which wealth, in the sense of personal possessions and +luxuries, should be evenly distributed, while power +remained in the hands of a small privileged caste. But in +practice such a society could not long remain stable. For if +leisure and security were enjoyed by all alike, the great mass +of human beings who are normally stupefied by poverty would +become literate and would learn to think for themselves; and +when once they had done this, they would sooner or later +realize that the privileged minority had no function, and they +would sweep it away. In the long run, a hierarchical society +was only possible on a basis of poverty and ignorance. To +return to the agricultural past, as some thinkers about the +beginning of the twentieth century dreamed of doing, was not a +practicable solution. It conflicted with the tendency towards +mechanization which had become quasi-instinctive throughout +almost the whole world, and moreover, any country which +remained industrially backward was helpless in a military sense +and was bound to be dominated, directly or indirectly, by its +more advanced rivals.

+

+ Nor was it a satisfactory solution to keep the masses in +poverty by restricting the output of goods. This happened to a +great extent during the final phase of capitalism, roughly +between 1920 and 1940. The economy of many countries was +allowed to stagnate, land went out of cultivation, capital +equipment was not added to, great blocks of the population were +prevented from working and kept half alive by State charity. +But this, too, entailed military weakness, and since the +privations it inflicted were obviously unnecessary, it made +opposition inevitable. The problem was how to keep the wheels +of industry turning without increasing the real wealth of the +world. Goods must be produced, but they must not be +distributed. And in practice the only way of achieving this was +by continuous warfare.

+

+ The essential act of war is destruction, not necessarily +of human lives, but of the products of human labour. War is a +way of shattering to pieces, or pouring into the stratosphere, +or sinking in the depths of the sea, materials which might +otherwise be used to make the masses too comfortable, and +hence, in the long run, too intelligent. Even when weapons of +war are not actually destroyed, their manufacture is still a +convenient way of expending labour power without producing +anything that can be consumed. A Floating Fortress, for +example, has locked up in it the labour that would build +several hundred cargo-ships. Ultimately it is scrapped as +obsolete, never having brought any material benefit to anybody, +and with further enormous labours another Floating Fortress is +built. In principle the war effort is always so planned as to +eat up any surplus that might exist after meeting the bare +needs of the population. In practice the needs of the +population are always underestimated, with the result that +there is a chronic shortage of half the necessities of life; +but this is looked on as an advantage. It is deliberate policy +to keep even the favoured groups somewhere near the brink of +hardship, because a general state of scarcity increases the +importance of small privileges and thus magnifies the +distinction between one group and another. By the standards of +the early twentieth century, even a member of the Inner Party +lives an austere, laborious kind of life. Nevertheless, the few +luxuries that he does enjoy his large, well-appointed flat, the +better texture of his clothes, the better quality of his food +and drink and tobacco, his two or three servants, his private +motor-car or helicopter -- set him in a different world from a +member of the Outer Party, and the members of the Outer Party +have a similar advantage in comparison with the submerged +masses whom we call 'the proles'. The social atmosphere is that +of a besieged city, where the possession of a lump of +horseflesh makes the difference between wealth and poverty. And +at the same time the consciousness of being at war, and +therefore in danger, makes the handing-over of all power to a +small caste seem the natural, unavoidable condition of +survival.

+

+ War, it will be seen, accomplishes the necessary +destruction, but accomplishes it in a psychologically +acceptable way. In principle it would be quite simple to waste +the surplus labour of the world by building temples and +pyramids, by digging holes and filling them up again, or even +by producing vast quantities of goods and then setting fire to +them. But this would provide only the economic and not the +emotional basis for a hierarchical society. What is concerned +here is not the morale of masses, whose attitude is unimportant +so long as they are kept steadily at work, but the morale of +the Party itself. Even the humblest Party member is expected to +be competent, industrious, and even intelligent within narrow +limits, but it is also necessary that he should be a credulous +and ignorant fanatic whose prevailing moods are fear, hatred, +adulation, and orgiastic triumph. In other words it is +necessary that he should have the mentality appropriate to a +state of war. It does not matter whether the war is actually +happening, and, since no decisive victory is possible, it does +not matter whether the war is going well or badly. All that is +needed is that a state of war should exist. The splitting of +the intelligence which the Party requires of its members, and +which is more easily achieved in an atmosphere of war, is now +almost universal, but the higher up the ranks one goes, the +more marked it becomes. It is precisely in the Inner Party that +war hysteria and hatred of the enemy are strongest. In his +capacity as an administrator, it is often necessary for a +member of the Inner Party to know that this or that item of war +news is untruthful, and he may often be aware that the entire +war is spurious and is either not happening or is being waged +for purposes quite other than the declared ones: but such +knowledge is easily neutralized by the technique of +doublethink. Meanwhile no Inner Party member wavers for +an instant in his mystical belief that the war is real, +and that it is bound to end victoriously, with Oceania the +undisputed master of the entire world.

+

+ All members of the Inner Party believe in this coming +conquest as an article of faith. It is to be achieved either by +gradually acquiring more and more territory and so building up +an overwhelming preponderance of power, or by the discovery of +some new and unanswerable weapon. The search for new weapons +continues unceasingly, and is one of the very few remaining +activities in which the inventive or speculative type of mind +can find any outlet. In Oceania at the present day, Science, in +the old sense, has almost ceased to exist. In Newspeak there is +no word for 'Science'. The empirical method of thought, on +which all the scientific achievements of the past were founded, +is opposed to the most fundamental principles of Ingsoc. And +even technological progress only happens when its products can +in some way be used for the diminution of human liberty. In all +the useful arts the world is either standing still or going +backwards. The fields are cultivated with horse-ploughs while +books are written by machinery. But in matters of vital +importance -- meaning, in effect, war and police espionage -- +the empirical approach is still encouraged, or at least +tolerated. The two aims of the Party are to conquer the whole +surface of the earth and to extinguish once and for all the +possibility of independent thought. There are therefore two +great problems which the Party is concerned to solve. One is +how to discover, against his will, what another human being is +thinking, and the other is how to kill several hundred million +people in a few seconds without giving warning beforehand. In +so far as scientific research still continues, this is its +subject matter. The scientist of today is either a mixture of +psychologist and inquisitor, studying with real ordinary +minuteness the meaning of facial expressions, gestures, and +tones of voice, and testing the truth-producing effects of +drugs, shock therapy, hypnosis, and physical torture; or he is +chemist, physicist, or biologist concerned only with such +branches of his special subject as are relevant to the taking +of life. In the vast laboratories of the Ministry of Peace, and +in the experimental stations hidden in the Brazilian forests, +or in the Australian desert, or on lost islands of the +Antarctic, the teams of experts are indefatigably at work. Some +are concerned simply with planning the logistics of future +wars; others devise larger and larger rocket bombs, more and +more powerful explosives, and more and more impenetrable +armour- plating; others search for new and deadlier gases, or +for soluble poisons capable of being produced in such +quantities as to destroy the vegetation of whole continents, or +for breeds of disease germs immunized against all possible +antibodies; others strive to produce a vehicle that shall bore +its way under the soil like a submarine under the water, or an +aeroplane as independent of its base as a sailing-ship; others +explore even remoter possibilities such as focusing the sun's +rays through lenses suspended thousands of kilometres away in +space, or producing artificial earthquakes and tidal waves by +tapping the heat at the earth's centre.

+

+ But none of these projects ever comes anywhere near +realization, and none of the three super-states ever gains a +significant lead on the others. What is more remarkable is that +all three powers already possess, in the atomic bomb, a weapon +far more powerful than any that their present researches are +likely to discover. Although the Party, according to its habit, +claims the invention for itself, atomic bombs first appeared as +early as the nineteen-forties, and were first used on a large +scale about ten years later. At that time some hundreds of +bombs were dropped on industrial centres, chiefly in European +Russia, Western Europe, and North America. The effect was to +convince the ruling groups of all countries that a few more +atomic bombs would mean the end of organized society, and hence +of their own power. Thereafter, although no formal agreement +was ever made or hinted at, no more bombs were dropped. All +three powers merely continue to produce atomic bombs and store +them up against the decisive opportunity which they all believe +will come sooner or later. And meanwhile the art of war has +remained almost stationary for thirty or forty years. +Helicopters are more used than they were formerly, bombing +planes have been largely superseded by self-propelled +projectiles, and the fragile movable battleship has given way +to the almost unsinkable Floating Fortress; but otherwise there +has been little development. The tank, the submarine, the +torpedo, the machine gun, even the rifle and the hand grenade +are still in use. And in spite of the endless slaughters +reported in the Press and on the telescreens, the desperate +battles of earlier wars, in which hundreds of thousands or even +millions of men were often killed in a few weeks, have never +been repeated.

+

+ None of the three super-states ever attempts any manoeuvre +which involves the risk of serious defeat. When any large +operation is undertaken, it is usually a surprise attack +against an ally. The strategy that all three powers are +following, or pretend to themselves that they are following, is +the same. The plan is, by a combination of fighting, +bargaining, and well-timed strokes of treachery, to acquire a +ring of bases completely encircling one or other of the rival +states, and then to sign a pact of friendship with that rival +and remain on peaceful terms for so many years as to lull +suspicion to sleep. During this time rockets loaded with atomic +bombs can be assembled at all the strategic spots; finally they +will all be fired simultaneously, with effects so devastating +as to make retaliation impossible. It will then be time to sign +a pact of friendship with the remaining world-power, in +preparation for another attack. This scheme, it is hardly +necessary to say, is a mere daydream, impossible of +realization. Moreover, no fighting ever occurs except in the +disputed areas round the Equator and the Pole: no invasion of +enemy territory is ever undertaken. This explains the fact that +in some places the frontiers between the superstates are +arbitrary. Eurasia, for example, could easily conquer the +British Isles, which are geographically part of Europe, or on +the other hand it would be possible for Oceania to push its +frontiers to the Rhine or even to the Vistula. But this would +violate the principle, followed on all sides though never +formulated, of cultural integrity. If Oceania were to conquer +the areas that used once to be known as France and Germany, it +would be necessary either to exterminate the inhabitants, a +task of great physical difficulty, or to assimilate a +population of about a hundred million people, who, so far as +technical development goes, are roughly on the Oceanic level. +The problem is the same for all three super-states. It is +absolutely necessary to their structure that there should be no +contact with foreigners, except, to a limited extent, with war +prisoners and coloured slaves. Even the official ally of the +moment is always regarded with the darkest suspicion. War +prisoners apart, the average citizen of Oceania never sets eyes +on a citizen of either Eurasia or Eastasia, and he is forbidden +the knowledge of foreign languages. If he were allowed contact +with foreigners he would discover that they are creatures +similar to himself and that most of what he has been told about +them is lies. The sealed world in which he lives would be +broken, and the fear, hatred, and self-righteousness on which +his morale depends might evaporate. It is therefore realized on +all sides that however often Persia, or Egypt, or Java, or +Ceylon may change hands, the main frontiers must never be +crossed by anything except bombs.

+

+ Under this lies a fact never mentioned aloud, but tacitly +understood and acted upon: namely, that the conditions of life +in all three super-states are very much the same. In Oceania +the prevailing philosophy is called Ingsoc, in Eurasia it is +called Neo-Bolshevism, and in Eastasia it is called by a +Chinese name usually translated as Death-Worship, but perhaps +better rendered as Obliteration of the Self. The citizen of +Oceania is not allowed to know anything of the tenets of the +other two philosophies, but he is taught to execrate them as +barbarous outrages upon morality and common sense. Actually the +three philosophies are barely distinguishable, and the social +systems which they support are not distinguishable at all. +Everywhere there is the same pyramidal structure, the same +worship of semi-divine leader, the same economy existing by and +for continuous warfare. It follows that the three super-states +not only cannot conquer one another, but would gain no +advantage by doing so. On the contrary, so long as they remain +in conflict they prop one another up, like three sheaves of +corn. And, as usual, the ruling groups of all three powers are +simultaneously aware and unaware of what they are doing. Their +lives are dedicated to world conquest, but they also know that +it is necessary that the war should continue everlastingly and +without victory. Meanwhile the fact that there is no +danger of conquest makes possible the denial of reality which +is the special feature of Ingsoc and its rival systems of +thought. Here it is necessary to repeat what has been said +earlier, that by becoming continuous war has fundamentally +changed its character.

+

+ In past ages, a war, almost by definition, was something +that sooner or later came to an end, usually in unmistakable +victory or defeat. In the past, also, war was one of the main +instruments by which human societies were kept in touch with +physical reality. All rulers in all ages have tried to impose a +false view of the world upon their followers, but they could +not afford to encourage any illusion that tended to impair +military efficiency. So long as defeat meant the loss of +independence, or some other result generally held to be +undesirable, the precautions against defeat had to be serious. +Physical facts could not be ignored. In philosophy, or +religion, or ethics, or politics, two and two might make five, +but when one was designing a gun or an aeroplane they had to +make four. Inefficient nations were always conquered sooner or +later, and the struggle for efficiency was inimical to +illusions. Moreover, to be efficient it was necessary to be +able to learn from the past, which meant having a fairly +accurate idea of what had happened in the past. Newspapers and +history books were, of course, always coloured and biased, but +falsification of the kind that is practised today would have +been impossible. War was a sure safeguard of sanity, and so far +as the ruling classes were concerned it was probably the most +important of all safeguards. While wars could be won or lost, +no ruling class could be completely irresponsible.

+

+ But when war becomes literally continuous, it also ceases +to be dangerous. When war is continuous there is no such thing +as military necessity. Technical progress can cease and the +most palpable facts can be denied or disregarded. As we have +seen, researches that could be called scientific are still +carried out for the purposes of war, but they are essentially a +kind of daydreaming, and their failure to show results is not +important. Efficiency, even military efficiency, is no longer +needed. Nothing is efficient in Oceania except the Thought +Police. Since each of the three super-states is unconquerable, +each is in effect a separate universe within which almost any +perversion of thought can be safely practised. Reality only +exerts its pressure through the needs of everyday life -- the +need to eat and drink, to get shelter and clothing, to avoid +swallowing poison or stepping out of top-storey windows, and +the like. Between life and death, and between physical pleasure +and physical pain, there is still a distinction, but that is +all. Cut off from contact with the outer world, and with the +past, the citizen of Oceania is like a man in interstellar +space, who has no way of knowing which direction is up and +which is down. The rulers of such a state are absolute, as the +Pharaohs or the Caesars could not be. They are obliged to +prevent their followers from starving to death in numbers large +enough to be inconvenient, and they are obliged to remain at +the same low level of military technique as their rivals; but +once that minimum is achieved, they can twist reality into +whatever shape they choose.

+

+ The war, therefore, if we judge it by the standards of +previous wars, is merely an imposture. It is like the battles +between certain ruminant animals whose horns are set at such an +angle that they are incapable of hurting one another. But +though it is unreal it is not meaningless. It eats up the +surplus of consumable goods, and it helps to preserve the +special mental atmosphere that a hierarchical society needs. +War, it will be seen, is now a purely internal affair. In the +past, the ruling groups of all countries, although they might +recognize their common interest and therefore limit the +destructiveness of war, did fight against one another, and the +victor always plundered the vanquished. In our own day they are +not fighting against one another at all. The war is waged by +each ruling group against its own subjects, and the object of +the war is not to make or prevent conquests of territory, but +to keep the structure of society intact. The very word 'war', +therefore, has become misleading. It would probably be accurate +to say that by becoming continuous war has ceased to exist. The +peculiar pressure that it exerted on human beings between the +Neolithic Age and the early twentieth century has disappeared +and been replaced by something quite different. The effect +would be much the same if the three super-states, instead of +fighting one another, should agree to live in perpetual peace, +each inviolate within its own boundaries. For in that case each +would still be a self-contained universe, freed for ever from +the sobering influence of external danger. A peace that was +truly permanent would be the same as a permanent war. This -- +although the vast majority of Party members understand it only +in a shallower sense -- is the inner meaning of the Party +slogan: War is Peace.

+

+ Winston stopped reading for a moment. Somewhere in remote +distance a rocket bomb thundered. The blissful feeling of being +alone with the forbidden book, in a room with no telescreen, +had not worn off. Solitude and safety were physical sensations, +mixed up somehow with the tiredness of his body, the softness +of the chair, the touch of the faint breeze from the window +that played upon his cheek. The book fascinated him, or more +exactly it reassured him. In a sense it told him nothing that +was new, but that was part of the attraction. It said what he +would have said, if it had been possible for him to set his +scattered thoughts in order. It was the product of a mind +similar to his own, but enormously more powerful, more +systematic, less fear-ridden. The best books, he perceived, are +those that tell you what you know already. He had just turned +back to Chapter I when he heard Julia's footstep on the stair +and started out of his chair to meet her. She dumped her brown +tool-bag on the floor and flung herself into his arms. It was +more than a week since they had seen one another.

+

+ 'I've got the book,' he said as they disentangled +themselves.

+

+ 'Oh, you've got it? Good,' she said without much interest, +and almost immediately knelt down beside the oilstove to make +the coffee.

+

+ They did not return to the subject until they had been in +bed for half an hour. The evening was just cool enough to make +it worth while to pull up the counterpane. From below came the +familiar sound of singing and the scrape of boots on the +flagstones. The brawny red-armed woman whom Winston had seen +there on his first visit was almost a fixture in the yard. +There seemed to be no hour of daylight when she was not +marching to and fro between the washtub and the line, +alternately gagging herself with clothes pegs and breaking +forth into lusty song. Julia had settled down on her side and +seemed to be already on the point of falling asleep. He reached +out for the book, which was lying on the floor, and sat up +against the bedhead.

+

+ 'We must read it,' he said. 'You too. All members of the +Brotherhood have to read it.'

+

+ 'You read it,' she said with her eyes shut. 'Read it +aloud. That's the best way. Then you can explain it to me as +you go.'

+

+ The clock's hands said six, meaning eighteen. They had +three or four hours ahead of them. He propped the book against +his knees and began reading:

+

+ + Chapter I
+ Ignorance is Strength

+

+ + Throughout recorded time, and probably since the end of +the Neolithic Age, there have been three kinds of people in the +world, the High, the Middle, and the Low. They have been +subdivided in many ways, they have borne countless different +names, and their relative numbers, as well as their attitude +towards one another, have varied from age to age: but the +essential structure of society has never altered. Even after +enormous upheavals and seemingly irrevocable changes, the same +pattern has always reasserted itself, just as a gyroscope will +always return to equilibnum, however far it is pushed one way +or the other

+

+ 'Julia, are you awake?' said Winston.

+

+ 'Yes, my love, I'm listening. Go on. It's marvellous.'

+

+ He continued reading:

+

+ The aims of these three groups are entirely +irreconcilable. The aim of the High is to remain where they +are. The aim of the Middle is to change places with the High. +The aim of the Low, when they have an aim -- for it is an +abiding characteristic of the Low that they are too much +crushed by drudgery to be more than intermittently conscious of +anything outside their daily lives -- is to abolish all +distinctions and create a society in which all men shall be +equal. Thus throughout history a struggle which is the same in +its main outlines recurs over and over again. For long periods +the High seem to be securely in power, but sooner or later +there always comes a moment when they lose either their belief +in themselves or their capacity to govern efficiently, or both. +They are then overthrown by the Middle, who enlist the Low on +their side by pretending to them that they are fighting for +liberty and justice. As soon as they have reached their +objective, the Middle thrust the Low back into their old +position of servitude, and themselves become the High. +Presently a new Middle group splits off from one of the other +groups, or from both of them, and the struggle begins over +again. Of the three groups, only the Low are never even +temporarily successful in achieving their aims. It would be an +exaggeration to say that throughout history there has been no +progress of a material kind. Even today, in a period of +decline, the average human being is physically better off than +he was a few centuries ago. But no advance in wealth, no +softening of manners, no reform or revolution has ever brought +human equality a millimetre nearer. From the point of view of +the Low, no historic change has ever meant much more than a +change in the name of their masters.

+

+ By the late nineteenth century the recurrence of this +pattern had become obvious to many observers. There then rose +schools of thinkers who interpreted history as a cyclical +process and claimed to show that inequality was the unalterable +law of human life. This doctrine, of course, had always had its +adherents, but in the manner in which it was now put forward +there was a significant change. In the past the need for a +hierarchical form of society had been the doctrine specifically +of the High. It had been preached by kings and aristocrats and +by the priests, lawyers, and the like who were parasitical upon +them, and it had generally been softened by promises of +compensation in an imaginary world beyond the grave. The +Middle, so long as it was struggling for power, had always made +use of such terms as freedom, justice, and fraternity. Now, +however, the concept of human brotherhood began to be assailed +by people who were not yet in positions of command, but merely +hoped to be so before long. In the past the Middle had made +revolutions under the banner of equality, and then had +established a fresh tyranny as soon as the old one was overthrown. +The new Middle groups in effect proclaimed their tyranny +beforehand. Socialism, a theory which appeared in the early +nineteenth century and was the last link in a chain of thought +stretching back to the slave rebellions of antiquity, was still +deeply infected by the Utopianism of past ages. But in each +variant of Socialism that appeared from about 1900 onwards the +aim of establishing liberty and equality was more and more +openly abandoned. The new movements which appeared in the +middle years of the century, Ingsoc in Oceania, Neo-Bolshevism +in Eurasia, Death-Worship, as it is commonly called, in +Eastasia, had the conscious aim of perpetuating unfreedom and +inequality. These new movements, of course, grew out of the old +ones and tended to keep their names and pay lip-service to +their ideology. But the purpose of all of them was to arrest +progress and freeze history at a chosen moment. The familiar +pendulum swing was to happen once more, and then stop. As +usual, the High were to be turned out by the Middle, who would +then become the High; but this time, by conscious strategy, the +High would be able to maintain their position permanently.

+

+ The new doctrines arose partly because of the accumulation +of historical knowledge, and the growth of the historical +sense, which had hardly existed before the nineteenth century. +The cyclical movement of history was now intelligible, or +appeared to be so; and if it was intelligible, then it was +alterable. But the principal, underlying cause was that, as +early as the beginning of the twentieth century, human equality +had become technically possible. It was still true that men +were not equal in their native talents and that functions had +to be specialized in ways that favoured some individuals +against others; but there was no longer any real need for class +distinctions or for large differences of wealth. In earlier +ages, class distinctions had been not only inevitable but +desirable. Inequality was the price of civilization. With the +development of machine production, however, the case was +altered. Even if it was still necessary for human beings to do +different kinds of work, it was no longer necessary for them to +live at different social or economic levels. Therefore, from +the point of view of the new groups who were on the point of +seizing power, human equality was no longer an ideal to be +striven after, but a danger to be averted. In more primitive +ages, when a just and peaceful society was in fact not +possible, it had been fairly easy to believe it. The idea of an +earthly paradise in which men should live together in a state +of brotherhood, without laws and without brute labour, had +haunted the human imagination for thousands of years. And this +vision had had a certain hold even on the groups who actually +profited by each historical change. The heirs of the French, +English, and American revolutions had partly believed in their +own phrases about the rights of man, freedom of speech, +equality before the law, and the like, and have even allowed +their conduct to be influenced by them to some extent. But by +the fourth decade of the twentieth century all the main +currents of political thought were authoritarian. The earthly +paradise had been discredited at exactly the moment when it +became realizable. Every new political theory, by whatever name +it called itself, led back to hierarchy and regimentation. And +in the general hardening of outlook that set in round about +1930, practices which had been long abandoned, in some cases +for hundreds of years -- imprisonment without trial, the use of +war prisoners as slaves, public executions, torture to extract +confessions, the use of hostages, and the deportation of whole +populations-not only became common again, but were tolerated +and even defended by people who considered themselves +enlightened and progressive.

+

+ It was only after a decade of national wars, civil wars, +revolutions, and counter-revolutions in all parts of the world +that Ingsoc and its rivals emerged as fully worked-out +political theories. But they had been foreshadowed by the +various systems, generally called totalitarian, which had +appeared earlier in the century, and the main outlines of the +world which would emerge from the prevailing chaos had long +been obvious. What kind of people would control this world had +been equally obvious. The new aristocracy was made up for the +most part of bureaucrats, scientists, technicians, trade-union +organizers, publicity experts, sociologists, teachers, +journalists, and professional politicians. These people, whose +origins lay in the salaried middle class and the upper grades +of the working class, had been shaped and brought together by +the barren world of monopoly industry and centralized +government. As compared with their opposite numbers in past +ages, they were less avaricious, less tempted by luxury, +hungrier for pure power, and, above all, more conscious of what +they were doing and more intent on crushing opposition. This +last difference was cardinal. By comparison with that existing +today, all the tyrannies of the past were half-hearted and +inefficient. The ruling groups were always infected to some +extent by liberal ideas, and were content to leave loose ends +everywhere, to regard only the overt act and to be uninterested +in what their subjects were thinking. Even the Catholic Church +of the Middle Ages was tolerant by modern standards. Part of +the reason for this was that in the past no government had the +power to keep its citizens under constant surveillance. The +invention of print, however, made it easier to manipulate +public opinion, and the film and the radio carried the process +further. With the development of television, and the technical +advance which made it possible to receive and transmit +simultaneously on the same instrument, private life came to an +end. Every citizen, or at least every citizen important enough +to be worth watching, could be kept for twentyfour hours a day +under the eyes of the police and in the sound of official +propaganda, with all other channels of communication closed. +The possibility of enforcing not only complete obedience to the +will of the State, but complete uniformity of opinion on all +subjects, now existed for the first time.

+

+ After the revolutionary period of the fifties and sixties, +society regrouped itself, as always, into High, Middle, and +Low. But the new High group, unlike all its forerunners, did +not act upon instinct but knew what was needed to safeguard its +position. It had long been realized that the only secure basis +for oligarchy is collectivism. Wealth and privilege are most +easily defended when they are possessed jointly. The so-called +'abolition of private property' which took place in the middle +years of the century meant, in effect, the concentration of +property in far fewer hands than before: but with this +difference, that the new owners were a group instead of a mass +of individuals. Individually, no member of the Party owns +anything, except petty personal belongings. Collectively, the +Party owns everything in Oceania, because it controls +everything, and disposes of the products as it thinks fit. In +the years following the Revolution it was able to step into +this commanding position almost unopposed, because the whole +process was represented as an act of collectivization. It had +always been assumed that if the capitalist class were +expropriated, Socialism must follow: and unquestionably the +capitalists had been expropriated. Factories, mines, land, +houses, transport -- everything had been taken away from them: +and since these things were no longer private property, it +followed that they must be public property. Ingsoc, which grew +out of the earlier Socialist movement and inherited its +phraseology, has in fact carried out the main item in the +Socialist programme; with the result, foreseen and intended +beforehand, that economic inequality has been made permanent.

+

+ But the problems of perpetuating a hierarchical society go +deeper than this. There are only four ways in which a ruling +group can fall from power. Either it is conquered from without, +or it governs so inefficiently that the masses are stirred to +revolt, or it allows a strong and discontented Middle group to +come into being, or it loses its own self-confidence and +willingness to govern. These causes do not operate singly, and +as a rule all four of them are present in some degree. A ruling +class which could guard against all of them would remain in +power permanently. Ultimately the determining factor is the +mental attitude of the ruling class itself.

+

+ After the middle of the present century, the first danger +had in reality disappeared. Each of the three powers which now +divide the world is in fact unconquerable, and could only +become conquerable through slow demographic changes which a +government with wide powers can easily avert. The second +danger, also, is only a theoretical one. The masses never +revolt of their own accord, and they never revolt merely +because they are oppressed. Indeed, so long as they are not +permitted to have standards of comparison, they never even +become aware that they are oppressed. The recurrent economic +crises of past times were totally unnecessary and are not now +permitted to happen, but other and equally large dislocations +can and do happen without having political results, because +there is no way in which discontent can become articulate. As +fcr the problem of overproduction, which has been latent in our +society since the development of machine technique, it is +solved by the device of continuous warfare (see Chapter III), +which is also useful in keying up public morale to the +necessary pitch. From the point of view of our present rulers, +therefore, the only genuine dangers are the splitting-off of a +new group of able, under-employed, power-hungry people, and the +growth of liberalism and scepticism in their own ranks. The +problem, that is to say, is educational. It is a problem of +continuously moulding the consciousness both of the directing +group and of the larger executive group that lies immediately +below it. The consciousness of the masses needs only to be +influenced in a negative way.

+

+ Given this background, one could infer, if one did not +know it already, the general structure of Oceanic society. At +the apex of the pyramid comes Big Brother. Big Brother is +infallible and all-powerful. Every success, every achievement, +every victory, every scientific discovery, all knowledge, all +wisdom, all happiness, all virtue, are held to issue directly +from his leadership and inspiration. Nobody has ever seen Big +Brother. He is a face on the hoardings, a voice on the +telescreen. We may be reasonably sure that he will never die, +and there is already considerable uncertainty as to when he was +born. Big Brother is the guise in which the Party chooses to +exhibit itself to the world. His function is to act as a +focusing point for love, fear, and reverence, emotions which +are more easily felt towards an individual than towards an +organization. Below Big Brother comes the Inner Party. its +numbers limited to six millions, or something less than 2 per +cent of the population of Oceania. Below the Inner Party comes +the Outer Party, which, if the Inner Party is described as the +brain of the State, may be justly likened to the hands. Below +that come the dumb masses whom we habitually refer to as 'the +proles', numbering perhaps 85 per cent of the population. In +the terms of our earlier classification, the proles are the +Low: for the slave population of the equatorial lands who pass +constantly from conqueror to conqueror, are not a permanent or +necessary part of the structure.

+

+ In principle, membership of these three groups is not +hereditary. The child of Inner Party parents is in theory not +born into the Inner Party. Admission to either branch of the +Party is by examination, taken at the age of sixteen. Nor is +there any racial discrimination, or any marked domination of +one province by another. Jews, Negroes, South Americans of pure +Indian blood are to be found in the highest ranks of the Party, +and the administrators of any area are always drawn from the +inhabitants of that area. In no part of Oceania do the +inhabitants have the feeling that they are a colonial +population ruled from a distant capital. Oceania has no +capital, and its titular head is a person whose whereabouts +nobody knows. Except that English is its chief lingua +franca and Newspeak its official language, it is not +centralized in any way. Its rulers are not held together by +blood-ties but by adherence to a common doctrine. It is true +that our society is stratified, and very rigidly stratified, on + +what at first sight appear to be hereditary lines. There is far +less to- and-fro movement between the different groups than +happened under capitalism or even in the pre-industrial age. +Between the two branches of the Party there is a certain amount +of interchange, but only so much as will ensure that weaklings +are excluded from the Inner Party and that ambitious members of +the Outer Party are made harmless by allowing them to rise. +Proletarians, in practice, are not allowed to graduate into the +Party. The most gifted among them, who might possibly become +nuclei of discontent, are simply marked down by the Thought +Police and eliminated. But this state of affairs is not +necessarily permanent, nor is it a matter of principle. The +Party is not a class in the old sense of the word. It does not +aim at transmitting power to its own children, as such; and if +there were no other way of keeping the ablest people at the +top, it would be perfectly prepared to recruit an entire new +generation from the ranks of the proletariat. In the crucial +years, the fact that the Party was not a hereditary body did a +great deal to neutralize opposition. The older kind of +Socialist, who had been trained to fight against something +called 'class privilege' assumed that what is not hereditary +cannot be permanent. He did not see that the continuity of an +oligarchy need not be physical, nor did he pause to reflect +that hereditary aristocracies have always been shortlived, +whereas adoptive organizations such as the Catholic Church have +sometimes lasted for hundreds or thousands of years. The +essence of oligarchical rule is not father-to-son inheritance, +but the persistence of a certain world-view and a certain way +of life, imposed by the dead upon the living. A ruling group is +a ruling group so long as it can nominate its successors. The +Party is not concerned with perpetuating its blood but with +perpetuating itself. Who wields power is not important, +provided that the hierarchical structure remains always the +same.

+

+ All the beliefs, habits, tastes, emotions, mental +attitudes that characterize our time are really designed to +sustain the mystique of the Party and prevent the true nature +of present-day society from being perceived. Physical +rebellion, or any preliminary move towards rebellion, is at +present not possible. From the proletarians nothing is to be +feared. Left to themselves, they will continue from generation +to generation and from century to century, working, breeding, +and dying, not only without any impulse to rebel, but without +the power of grasping that the world could be other than it is. +They could only become dangerous if the advance of industrial +technique made it necessary to educate them more highly; but, +since military and commercial rivalry are no longer important, +the level of popular education is actually declining. What +opinions the masses hold, or do not hold, is looked on as a +matter of indifference. They can be granted intellectual +liberty because they have no intellect. In a Party member, on +the other hand, not even the smallest deviation of opinion on +the most unimportant subject can be tolerated.

+

+ A Party member lives from birth to death under the eye of +the Thought Police. Even when he is alone he can never be sure +that he is alone. Wherever he may be, asleep or awake, working +or resting, in his bath or in bed, he can be inspected without +warning and without knowing that he is being inspected. Nothing +that he does is indifferent. His friendships, his relaxations, +his behaviour towards his wife and children, the expression of +his face when he is alone, the words he mutters in sleep, even +the characteristic movements of his body, are all jealously +scrutinized. Not only any actual misdemeanour, but any +eccentricity, however small, any change of habits, any nervous +mannerism that could possibly be the symptom of an inner +struggle, is certain to be detected. He has no freedom of +choice in any direction whatever. On the other hand his actions +are not regulated by law or by any clearly formulated code of +behaviour. In Oceania there is no law. Thoughts and actions +which, when detected, mean certain death are not formally +forbidden, and the endless purges, arrests, tortures, +imprisonments, and vaporizations are not inflicted as +punishment for crimes which have actually been committed, but +are merely the wiping-out of persons who might perhaps commit a +crime at some time in the future. A Party member is required to +have not only the right opinions, but the right instincts. Many +of the beliefs and attitudes demanded of him are never plainly +stated, and could not be stated without laying bare the +contradictions inherent in Ingsoc. If he is a person naturally +orthodox (in Newspeak a goodthinker), he will in all +circumstances know, without taking thought, what is the true +belief or the desirable emotion. But in any case an elaborate +mental training, undergone in childhood and grouping itself +round the Newspeak words crimestop, blackwhite, and +doublethink, makes him unwilling and unable to think too +deeply on any subject whatever.

+

+ A Party member is expected to have no private emotions and +no respites from enthusiasm. He is supposed to live in a +continuous frenzy of hatred of foreign enemies and internal +traitors, triumph over victories, and self-abasement before the +power and wisdom of the Party. The discontents produced by his +bare, unsatisfying life are deliberately turned outwards and +dissipated by such devices as the Two Minutes Hate, and the +speculations which might possibly induce a sceptical or +rebellious attitude are killed in advance by his early acquired +inner discipline. The first and simplest stage in the +discipline, which can be taught even to young children, is +called, in Newspeak, crimestop. Crimestop means the +faculty of stopping short, as though by instinct, at the +threshold of any dangerous thought. It includes the power of +not grasping analogies, of failing to perceive logical errors, +of misunderstanding the simplest arguments if they are inimical +to Ingsoc, and of being bored or repelled by any train of +thought which is capable of leading in a heretical direction. +Crimestop, in short, means protective stupidity. But +stupidity is not enough. On the contrary, orthodoxy in the full +sense demands a control over one's own mental processes as +complete as that of a contortionist over his body. Oceanic +society rests ultimately on the belief that Big Brother is +omnipotent and that the Party is infallible. But since in +reality Big Brother is not omnipotent and the party is not +infallible, there is need for an unwearying, moment-to-moment +flexibility in the treatment of facts. The keyword here is +blackwhite. Like so many Newspeak words, this word has +two mutually contradictory meanings. Applied to an opponent, it +means the habit of impudently claiming that black is white, in +contradiction of the plain facts. Applied to a Party member, it +means a loyal willingness to say that black is white when Party +discipline demands this. But it means also the ability to +believe that black is white, and more, to know +that black is white, and to forget that one has ever believed +the contrary. This demands a continuous alteration of the past, +made possible by the system of thought which really embraces +all the rest, and which is known in Newspeak as +doublethink.

+

+ The alteration of the past is necessary for two reasons, +one of which is subsidiary and, so to speak, precautionary. The +subsidiary reason is that the Party member, like the +proletarian, tolerates present-day conditions partly because he +has no standards of comparison. He must be cut off from the +past, just as he must be cut off from foreign countries, +because it is necessary for him to believe that he is better +off than his ancestors and that the average level of material +comfort is constantly rising. But by far the more important +reason for the readjustment of the past is the need to +safeguard the infallibility of the Party. It is not merely that +speeches, statistics, and records of every kind must be +constantly brought up to date in order to show that the +predictions of the Party were in all cases right. It is also +that no change in doctrine or in political alignment can ever +be admitted. For to change one's mind, or even one's policy, is +a confession of weakness. If, for example, Eurasia or Eastasia +(whichever it may be) is the enemy today, then that country +must always have been the enemy. And if the facts say otherwise +then the facts must be altered. Thus history is continuously +rewritten. This day-to-day falsification of the past, carried +out by the Ministry of Truth, is as necessary to the stability +of the regime as the work of repression and espionage carried +out by the Ministry of Love.

+

+ The mutability of the past is the central tenet of Ingsoc. +Past events, it is argued, have no objective existence, but +survive only in written records and in human memories. The past +is whatever the records and the memories agree upon. And since +the Party is in full control of all records and in equally full +control of the minds of its members, it follows that the past +is whatever the Party chooses to make it. It also follows that +though the past is alterable, it never has been altered in any +specific instance. For when it has been recreated in whatever +shape is needed at the moment, then this new version is +the past, and no different past can ever have existed. This +holds good even when, as often happens, the same event has to +be altered out of recognition several times in the course of a +year. At all times the Party is in possession of absolute +truth, and clearly the absolute can never have been different +from what it is now. It will be seen that the control of the +past depends above all on the training of memory. To make sure +that all written records agree with the orthodoxy of the moment +is merely a mechanical act. But it is also necessary to +remember that events happened in the desired manner. And +if it is necessary to rearrange one's memories or to tamper +with written records, then it is necessary to forget +that one has done so. The trick of doing this can be learned +like any other mental technique. It is learned by the +majority of Party members, and certainly by all who are +intelligent as well as orthodox. In Oldspeak it is called, +quite frankly, 'reality control'. In Newspeak it is called +doublethink, though doublethink comprises much +else as well.

+

+ Doublethink means the power of holding two +contradictory beliefs in one's mind simultaneously, and +accepting both of them. The Party intellectual knows in which +direction his memories must be altered; he therefore knows that +he is playing tricks with reality; but by the exercise of +doublethink he also satisfies himself that reality is +not violated. The process has to be conscious, or it would not +be carried out with sufficient precision, but it also has to be +unconscious, or it would bring with it a feeling of falsity and +hence of guilt. Doublethink lies at the very heart of +Ingsoc, since the essential act of the Party is to use +conscious deception while retaining the firmness of purpose +that goes with complete honesty. To tell deliberate lies while +genuinely believing in them, to forget any fact that has become +inconvenient, and then, when it becomes necessary again, to +draw it back from oblivion for just so long as it is needed, to +deny the existence of objective reality and all the while to +take account of the reality which one denies -- all this is +indispensably necessary. Even in using the word +doublethink it is necessary to exercise +doublethink. For by using the word one admits that one +is tampering with reality; by a fresh act of doublethink +one erases this knowledge; and so on indefinitely, with the lie +always one leap ahead of the truth. Ultimately it is by means +of doublethink that the Party has been able -- and may, +for all we know, continue to be able for thousands of years -- +to arrest the course of history.

+

+ All past oligarchies have fallen from power either because +they ossified or because they grew soft. Either they became +stupid and arrogant, failed to adjust themselves to changing +circumstances, and were overthrown; or they became liberal and +cowardly, made concessions when they should have used force, +and once again were overthrown. They fell, that is to say, +either through consciousness or through unconsciousness. It is +the achievement of the Party to have produced a system of +thought in which both conditions can exist simultaneously. And +upon no other intellectual basis could the dominion of the +Party be made permanent. If one is to rule, and to continue +ruling, one must be able to dislocate the sense of reality. For +the secret of rulership is to combine a belief in one's own +infallibility with the Power to learn from past mistakes.

+

+ It need hardly be said that the subtlest practitioners of +doublethink are those who invented doublethink +and know that it is a vast system of mental cheating. In our +society, those who have the best knowledge of what is happening +are also those who are furthest from seeing the world as it is. +In general, the greater the understanding, the greater the +delusion; the more intelligent, the less sane. One clear +illustration of this is the fact that war hysteria increases in +intensity as one rises in the social scale. Those whose +attitude towards the war is most nearly rational are the +subject peoples of the disputed territories. To these people +the war is simply a continuous calamity which sweeps to and fro +over their bodies like a tidal wave. Which side is winning is a +matter of complete indifference to them. They are aware that a +change of overlordship means simply that they will be doing the +same work as before for new masters who treat them in the same +manner as the old ones. The slightly more favoured workers whom +we call 'the proles' are only intermittently conscious of the +war. When it is necessary they can be prodded into frenzies of +fear and hatred, but when left to themselves they are capable +of forgetting for long periods that the war is happening. It is +in the ranks of the Party, and above all of the Inner Party, +that the true war enthusiasm is found. World-conquest is +believed in most firmly by those who know it to be impossible. +This peculiar linking-together of opposites -- knowledge with +ignorance, cynicism with fanaticism-is one of the chief +distinguishing marks of Oceanic society. The official ideology +abounds with contradictions even when there is no practical +reason for them. Thus, the Party rejects and vilifies every +principle for which the Socialist movement originally stood, +and it chooses to do this in the name of Socialism. It preaches +a contempt for the working class unexampled for centuries past, +and it dresses its members in a uniform which was at one time +peculiar to manual workers and was adopted for that reason. It +systematically undermines the solidarity of the family, and it +calls its leader by a name which is a direct appeal to the +sentiment of family loyalty. Even the names of the four +Ministries by which we are governed exhibit a sort of impudence +in their deliberate reversal of the facts. The Ministry of +Peace concerns itself with war, the Ministry of Truth with +lies, the Ministry of Love with torture and the Ministry of +Plenty with starvation. These contradictions are not +accidental, nor do they result from ordinary hypocrisy; they +are deliberate exercises in doublethink. For it is only +by reconciling contradictions that power can be retained +indefinitely. In no other way could the ancient cycle be +broken. If human equality is to be for ever averted -- if the +High, as we have called them, are to keep their places +permanently -- then the prevailing mental condition must be +controlled insanity.

+

+ But there is one question which until this moment we have +almost ignored. It is; why should human equality be +averted? Supposing that the mechanics of the process have been +rightly described, what is the motive for this huge, accurately +planned effort to freeze history at a particular moment of +time?

+

+ Here we reach the central secret. As we have seen. the +mystique of the Party, and above all of the Inner Party, +depends upon doublethink. But deeper than this lies the +original motive, the never-questioned instinct that first led +to the seizure of power and brought doublethink, the +Thought Police, continuous warfare, and all the other necessary +paraphernalia into existence afterwards. This motive really +consists ... Winston became aware of silence, as one becomes +aware of a new sound. It seemed to him that Julia had been very +still for some time past. She was lying on her side, naked from +the waist upwards, with her cheek pillowed on her hand and one +dark lock tumbling across her eyes. Her breast rose and fell +slowly and regularly.

+

+ 'Julia.

+

+ No answer.

+

+ 'Julia, are you awake?'

+

+ No answer. She was asleep. He shut the book, put it +carefully on the floor, lay down, and pulled the coverlet over +both of them.

+

+ He had still, he reflected, not learned the ultimate +secret. He understood how; he did not understand +why. Chapter I, like Chapter III, had not actually told +him anything that he did not know, it had merely systematized +the knowledge that he possessed already. But after reading it +he knew better than before that he was not mad. Being in a +minority, even a minority of one, did not make you mad. There +was truth and there was untruth, and if you clung to the truth +even against the whole world, you were not mad. A yellow beam +from the sinking sun slanted in through the window and fell +across the pillow. He shut his eyes. The sun on his face and +the girl's smooth body touching his own gave him a strong, +sleepy, confident feeling. He was safe, everything was all +right. He fell asleep murmuring 'Sanity is not statistical,' +with the feeling that this remark contained in it a profound +wisdom. When he woke it was with the sensation of having slept +for a long time, but a glance at the old-fashioned clock told +him that it was only twenty-thirty. He lay dozing for a while; +then the usual deep-lunged singing struck up from the yard +below;

+

+ 'It was only an 'opeless fancy,
+ It passed like an Ipril dye,
+ But a look an' a word an' the dreams they stirred
+ They 'ave stolen my 'eart awye!'

+

+ The driveling song seemed to have kept its popularity. You +still heard it all over the place. It had outlived the Hate +Song. Julia woke at the sound, stretched herself luxuriously, +and got out of bed.

+

+ 'I'm hungry,' she said. 'Let's make some more coffee. +Damn! The stove's gone out and the water's cold.' She picked +the stove up and shook it. 'There's no oil in it.'

+

+ 'We can get some from old Charrington, I expect.'

+

+ 'The funny thing is I made sure it was full. I'm going to +put my clothes on,' she added. 'It seems to have got colder.'

+

+ Winston also got up and dressed himself. The indefatigable +voice sang on:

+

+ 'They sye that time 'eals all things,
+ They sye you can always forget;
+ But the smiles an' the tears acrorss the years
+ They twist my 'eart-strings yet!'

+

+ + As he fastened the belt of his overalls he strolled across +to the window. The sun must have gone down behind the houses; +it was not shining into the yard any longer. The flagstones +were wet as though they had just been washed, and he had the +feeling that the sky had been washed too, so fresh and pale was +the blue between the chimney-pots. Tirelessly the woman marched +to and fro, corking and uncorking herself, singing and falling +silent, and pegging out more diapers, and more and yet more. He +wondered whether she took in washing for a living or was merely +the slave of twenty or thirty grandchildren. Julia had come +across to his side; together they gazed down with a sort of +fascination at the sturdy figure below. As he looked at the +woman in her characteristic attitude, her thick arms reaching +up for the line, her powerful mare-like buttocks protruded, it +struck him for the first time that she was beautiful. It had +never before occurred to him that the body of a woman of fifty, +blown up to monstrous dimensions by childbearing, then +hardened, roughened by work till it was coarse in the grain +like an over-ripe turnip, could be beautiful. But it was so, +and after all, he thought, why not? The solid, contourless +body, like a block of granite, and the rasping red skin, bore +the same relation to the body of a girl as the rose-hip to the +rose. Why should the fruit be held inferior to the flower?

+

+ 'She's beautiful,' he murmured.

+

+ 'She's a metre across the hips, easily,' said Julia.

+

+ 'That is her style of beauty,' said Winston.

+

+ He held Julia's supple waist easily encircled by his arm. +From the hip to the knee her flank was against his. Out of +their bodies no child would ever come. That was the one thing +they could never do. Only by word of mouth, from mind to mind, +could they pass on the secret. The woman down there had no +mind, she had only strong arms, a warm heart, and a fertile +belly. He wondered how many children she had given birth to. It +might easily be fifteen. She had had her momentary flowering, a +year, perhaps, of wild-rose beauty and then she had suddenly +swollen like a fertilized fruit and grown hard and red and +coarse, and then her life had been laundering, scrubbing, +darning, cooking, sweeping, polishing, mending, scrubbing, +laundering, first for children, then for grandchildren, over +thirty unbroken years. At the end of it she was still singing. +The mystical reverence that he felt for her was somehow mixed +up with the aspect of the pale, cloudless sky, stretching away +behind the chimney-pots into interminable distance. It was +curious to think that the sky was the same for everybody, in +Eurasia or Eastasia as well as here. And the people under the +sky were also very much the same -- everywhere, all over the +world, hundreds of thousands of millions of people just like +this, people ignorant of one another's existence, held apart by +walls of hatred and lies, and yet almost exactly the same -- +people who had never learned to think but who were storing up +in their hearts and bellies and muscles the power that would +one day overturn the world. If there was hope, it lay in the +proles! Without having read to the end of the book, he +knew that that must be Goldstein's final message. The future +belonged to the proles. And could he be sure that when their +time came the world they constructed would not be just as alien +to him, Winston Smith, as the world of the Party? Yes, because +at the least it would be a world of sanity. Where there is +equality there can be sanity. Sooner or later it would happen, +strength would change into consciousness. The proles were +immortal, you could not doubt it when you looked at that +valiant figure in the yard. In the end their awakening would +come. And until that happened, though it might be a thousand +years, they would stay alive against all the odds, like birds, +passing on from body to body the vitality which the Party did +not share and could not kill.

+

+ 'Do you remember,' he said, 'the thrush that sang to us, +that first day, at the edge of the wood?'

+

+ 'He wasn't singing to us,' said Julia. 'He was singing to +please himself. Not even that. He was just singing.'

+

+ The birds sang, the proles sang. the Party did not sing. +All round the world, in London and New York, in Africa and +Brazil, and in the mysterious, forbidden lands beyond the +frontiers, in the streets of Paris and Berlin, in the villages +of the endless Russian plain, in the bazaars of China and Japan +-- everywhere stood the same solid unconquerable figure, made +monstrous by work and childbearing, toiling from birth to death +and still singing. Out of those mighty loins a race of +conscious beings must one day come. You were the dead, theirs +was the future. But you could share in that future if you kept +alive the mind as they kept alive the body, and passed on the +secret doctrine that two plus two make four.

+

+ 'We are the dead,' he said.

+

+ 'We are the dead,' echoed Julia dutifully.

+

+ 'You are the dead,' said an iron voice behind them.

+

+ They sprang apart. Winston's entrails seemed to have +turned into ice. He could see the white all round the irises of +Julia's eyes. Her face had turned a milky yellow. The smear of +rouge that was still on each cheekbone stood out sharply, +almost as though unconnected with the skin beneath.

+

+ 'You are the dead,' repeated the iron voice.

+

+ 'It was behind the picture,' breathed Julia.

+

+ 'It was behind the picture,' said the voice. 'Remain +exactly where you are. Make no movement until you are ordered.'

+

+ It was starting, it was starting at last! They could do +nothing except stand gazing into one another's eyes. To run for +life, to get out of the house before it was too late -- no such +thought occurred to them. Unthinkable to disobey the iron voice +from the wall. There was a snap as though a catch had been +turned back, and a crash of breaking glass. The picture had +fallen to the floor uncovering the telescreen behind it.

+

+ 'Now they can see us,' said Julia.

+

+ ' Now we can see you,' said the voice. ' Stand out in the +middle of the room. Stand back to back. Clasp your hands behind +your heads. Do not touch one another.'

+

+ They were not touching, but it seemed to him that he could +feel Julia's body shaking. Or perhaps it was merely the shaking +of his own. He could just stop his teeth from chattering, but +his knees were beyond his control. There was a sound of +trampling boots below, inside the house and outside. The yard +seemed to be full of men. Something was being dragged across +the stones. The woman's singing had stopped abruptly. There was +a long, rolling clang, as though the washtub had been flung +across the yard, and then a confusion of angry shouts which +ended in a yell of pain.

+

+ 'The house is surrounded,' said Winston.

+

+ 'The house is surrounded,' said the voice.

+

+ He heard Julia snap her teeth together. 'I suppose we may +as well say good-bye,' she said.

+

+ 'You may as well say good-bye,' said the voice. And then +another quite different voice, a thin, cultivated voice which +Winston had the impression of having heard before, struck in; +'And by the way, while we are on the subject, "Here comes a +candle to light you to bed, here comes a chopper to chop off +your head"!'

+

+ Something crashed on to the bed behind Winston's back. The +head of a ladder had been thrust through the window and had +burst in the frame. Someone was climbing through the window. +There was a stampede of boots up the stairs. The room was full +of solid men in black uniforms, with iron-shod boots on their +feet and truncheons in their hands.

+

+ Winston was not trembling any longer. Even his eyes he +barely moved. One thing alone mattered; to keep still, to keep +still and not give them an excuse to hit you! A man with a +smooth prize-fighter's jowl in which the mouth was only a slit +paused opposite him balancing his truncheon meditatively +between thumb and forefinger. Winston met his eyes. The feeling +of nakedness, with one's hands behind one's head and one's face +and body all exposed, was almost unbearable. The man protruded +the tip of a white tongue, licked the place where his lips +should have been, and then passed on. There was another crash. +Someone had picked up the glass paperweight from the table and +smashed it to pieces on the hearth-stone.

+

+ The fragment of coral, a tiny crinkle of pink like a sugar +rosebud from a cake, rolled across the mat. How small, thought +Winston, how small it always was! There was a gasp and a thump +behind him, and he received a violent kick on the ankle which +nearly flung him off his balance. One of the men had smashed +his fist into Julia's solar plexus, doubling her up like a +pocket ruler. She was thrashing about on the floor, fighting +for breath. Winston dared not turn his head even by a +millimetre, but sometimes her livid, gasping face came within +the angle of his vision. Even in his terror it was as though he +could feel the pain in his own body, the deadly pain which +nevertheless was less urgent than the struggle to get back her +breath. He knew what it was like; the terrible, agonizing pain +which was there all the while but could not be suffered yet, +because before all else it was necessary to be able to breathe. +Then two of the men hoisted her up by knees and shoulders, and +carried her out of the room like a sack. Winston had a glimpse +of her face, upside down, yellow and contorted, with the eyes +shut, and still with a smear of rouge on either cheek; and that +was the last he saw of her.

+

+ He stood dead still. No one had hit him yet. Thoughts +which came of their own accord but seemed totally uninteresting +began to flit through his mind. He wondered whether they had +got Mr Charrington. He wondered what they had done to the woman +in the yard. He noticed that he badly wanted to urinate, and +felt a faint surprise, because he had done so only two or three +hours ago. He noticed that the clock on the mantelpiece said +nine, meaning twenty-one. But the light seemed too strong. +Would not the light be fading at twenty-one hours on an August +evening? He wondered whether after all he and Julia had +mistaken the time -- had slept the clock round and thought it +was twenty-thirty when really it was nought eight-thirty on the +following morning. But he did not pursue the thought further. +It was not interesting.

+

+ There ws another, lighter step in the passage. Mr +Charrington came into the room. The demeanour of the +black-uniformed men suddenly became more subdued. Something had also +changed in Mr Charrington's appearance. His eye fell on the +fragments of the glass paperweight.

+

+ 'Pick up those pieces,' he said sharply.

+

+ A man stooped to obey. The cockney accent had disappeared; +Winston suddenly realized whose voice it was that he had heard +a few moments ago on the telescreen. Mr Charrington was still +wearing his old velvet jacket, but his hair, which had been +almost white, had turned black. Also he was not wearing his +spectacles. He gave Winston a single sharp glance, as though +verifying his identity, and then paid no more attention to him. +He was still recognizable, but he was not the same person any +longer. His body had straightened, and seemed to have grown +bigger. His face had undergone only tiny changes that had +nevertheless worked a complete transformation. The black +eyebrows were less bushy, the wrinkles were gone, the whole +lines of the face seemed to have altered; even the nose seemed +shorter. It was the alert, cold face of a man of about +five-and-thirty. It occurred to Winston that for the first time +in his life he was looking, with knowledge, at a member of the +Thought Police.

+

XVIII

+

+ He did not know where he was. Presumably he was in the +Ministry of Love, but there was no way of making certain. He +was in a high-ceilinged windowless cell with walls of +glittering white porcelain. Concealed lamps flooded it with +cold light, and there was a low, steady humming sound which he +supposed had something to do with the air supply. A bench, or +shelf, just wide enough to sit on ran round the wall, broken +only by the door and, at the end opposite the door, a lavatory +pan with no wooden seat. There were four telescreens, one in +each wall.

+

+ There was a dull aching in his belly. It had been there +ever since they had bundled him into the closed van and driven +him away. But he was also hungry, with a gnawing, unwholesome +kind of hunger. It might be twenty-four hours since he had +eaten, it might be thirty-six. He still did not know, probably +never would know, whether it had been morning or evening when +they arrested him. Since he was arrested he had not been fed.

+

+ He sat as still as he could on the narrow bench, with his +hands crossed on his knee. He had already learned to sit still. +If you made unexpected movements they yelled at you from the +telescreen. But the craving for food was growing upon him. What +he longed for above all was a piece of bread. He had an idea +that there were a few breadcrumbs in the pocket of his +overalls. It was even possible -- he thought this because from +time to time something seemed to tickle his leg -- that there +might be a sizeable bit of crust there. In the end the +temptation to find out overcame his fear; he slipped a hand +into his pocket.

+

+ 'Smith!' yelled a voice from the telescreen. '6079 Smith +W.! Hands out of pockets in the cells!'

+

+ He sat still again, his hands crossed on his knee. Before +being brought here he had been taken to another place which +must have been an ordinary prison or a temporary lock-up used +by the patrols. He did not know how long he had been there; +some hours at any rate; with no clocks and no daylight it was +hard to gauge the time. It was a noisy, evil-smelling place. +They had put him into a cell similar to the one he was now in, +but filthily dirty and at all times crowded by ten or fifteen +people. The majority of them were common criminals, but there +were a few political prisoners among them. He had sat silent +against the wall, jostled by dirty bodies, too preoccupied by +fear and the pain in his belly to take much interest in his +surroundings, but still noticing the astonishing difference in +demeanour between the Party prisoners and the others. The Party +prisoners were always silent and terrified, but the ordinary +criminals seemed to care nothing for anybody. They yelled +insults at the guards, fought back fiercely when their +belongings were impounded, wrote obscene words on the floor, +ate smuggled food which they produced from mysterious +hiding-places in their clothes, and even shouted down the +telescreen when it tried to restore order. On the other hand +some of them seemed to be on good terms with the guards, called +them by nicknames, and tried to wheedle cigarettes through the +spyhole in the door. The guards, too, treated the common +criminals with a certain forbearance, even when they had to +handle them roughly. There was much talk about the +forced-labour camps to which most of the prisoners expected to +be sent. It was 'all right' in the camps, he gathered, so long +as you had good contacts and knew the ropes. There was bribery, +favouritism, and racketeering of every kind, there was +homosexuality and prostitution, there was even illicit alcohol +distilled from potatoes. The positions of trust were given only +to the common criminals, especially the gangsters and the +murderers, who formed a sort of aristocracy. All the dirty jobs +were done by the politicals.

+

+ There was a constant come-and-go of prisoners of every +description: drug-peddlers, thieves, bandits, black-marketeers, +drunks, prostitutes. Some of the drunks were so violent +that the other prisoners had to combine to suppress +them. An enormous wreck of a woman, aged about sixty, with +great tumbling breasts and thick coils of white hair which had +come down in her struggles, was carried in, kicking and +shouting, by four guards, who had hold of her one at each +corner. They wrenched off the boots with which she had been +trying to kick them, and dumped her down across Winston's lap, +almost breaking his thigh-bones. The woman hoisted herself +upright and followed them out with a yell of 'F-- bastards!' +Then, noticing that she was sitting on something uneven, she +slid off Winston's knees on to the bench.

+

+ 'Beg pardon, dearie,' she said. 'I wouldn't 'a sat on you, +only the buggers put me there. They dono 'ow to treat a lady, +do they?' She paused, patted her breast, and belched. 'Pardon,' +she said, 'I ain't meself, quite.'

+

+ She leant forward and vomited copiously on the floor.

+

+ 'Thass better,' she said, leaning back with closed eyes. +'Never keep it down, thass what I say. Get it up while it's +fresh on your stomach, like.'

+

+ She revived, turned to have another look at Winston and +seemed immediately to take a fancy to him. She put a vast arm +round his shoulder and drew him towards her, breathing beer and +vomit into his face.

+

+ 'Wass your name, dearie?' she said.

+

+ 'Smith,' said Winston.

+

+ 'Smith?' said the woman. 'Thass funny. My name's Smith +too. Why,' she added sentimentally, 'I might be your mother!'

+

+ She might, thought Winston, be his mother. She was about +the right age and physique, and it was probable that people +changed somewhat after twenty years in a forced-labour camp.

+

+ No one else had spoken to him. To a surprising extent the +ordinary criminals ignored the Party prisoners. 'The polits,' +they called them, with a sort of uninterested contempt. The +Party prisoners seemed terrified of speaking to anybody, and +above all of speaking to one another. Only once, when two Party +members, both women, were pressed close together on the bench, +he overheard amid the din of voices a few hurriedly-whispered +words; and in particular a reference to something called 'room +one-oh-one', which he did not understand.

+

+ It might be two or three hours ago that they had brought +him here. The dull pain in his belly never went away, but +sometimes it grew better and sometimes worse, and his thoughts +expanded or contracted accordingly. When it grew worse he +thought only of the pain itself, and of his desire for food. +When it grew better, panic took hold of him. There were moments +when he foresaw the things that would happen to him with such +actuality that his heart galloped and his breath stopped. He +felt the smash of truncheons on his elbows and iron-shod boots +on his shins; he saw himself grovelling on the floor, screaming +for mercy through broken teeth. He hardly thought of Julia. He +could not fix his mind on her. He loved her and would not +betray her; but that was only a fact, known as he knew the +rules of arithmetic. He felt no love for her, and he hardly +even wondered what was happening to her. He thought oftener of +O'Brien, with a flickering hope. O'Brien might know that he had +been arrested. The Brotherhood, he had said, never tried to +save its members. But there was the razor blade; they would +send the razor blade if they could. There would be perhaps five +seconds before the guard could rush into the cell. The blade +would bite into him with a sort of burning coldness, and even +the fingers that held it would be cut to the bone. Everything +came back to his sick body, which shrank trembling from the +smallest pain. He was not certain that he would use the razor +blade even if he got the chance. It was more natural to exist +from moment to moment, accepting another ten minutes' life even +with the certainty that there was torture at the end of it.

+

+ Sometimes he tried to calculate the number of porcelain +bricks in the walls of the cell. It should have been easy, but +he always lost count at some point or another. More often he +wondered where he was, and what time of day it was. At one +moment he felt certain that it was broad daylight outside, and +at the next equally certain that it was pitch darkness. In this +place, he knew instinctively, the lights would never be turned +out. It was the place with no darkness: he saw now why O'Brien +had seemed to recognize the allusion. In the Ministry of Love +there were no windows. His cell might be at the heart of the +building or against its outer wall; it might be ten floors +below ground, or thirty above it. He moved himself mentally +from place to place, and tried to determine by the feeling of +his body whether he was perched high in the air or buried deep +underground.

+

+ There was a sound of marching boots outside. The steel +door opened with a clang. A young officer, a trim +black-uniformed figure who seemed to glitter all over with polished +leather, and whose pale, straight-featured face was like a wax +mask, stepped smartly through the doorway. He motioned to the +guards outside to bring in the prisoner they were leading. The +poet Ampleforth shambled into the cell. The door clanged shut +again.

+

+ Ampleforth made one or two uncertain movements from side +to side, as though having some idea that there was another door +to go out of, and then began to wander up and down the cell. He +had not yet noticed Winston's presence. His troubled eyes were +gazing at the wall about a metre above the level of Winston's +head. He was shoeless; large, dirty toes were sticking out of +the holes in his socks. He was also several days away from a +shave. A scrubby beard covered his face to the cheekbones, +giving him an air of ruffianism that went oddly with his large +weak frame and nervous movements.

+

+ Winston roused hirnself a little from his lethargy. He +must speak to Ampleforth, and risk the yell from the +telescreen. It was even conceivable that Ampleforth was the +bearer of the razor blade.

+

+ 'Ampleforth,' he said.

+

+ There was no yell from the telescreen. Ampleforth paused, +mildly startled. His eyes focused themselves slowly on Winston.

+

+ 'Ah, Smith!' he said. 'You too!'

+

+ 'What are you in for?'

+

+ 'To tell you the truth -- ' He sat down awkwardly on the +bench opposite Winston. 'There is only one offence, is there +not?' he said.

+

+ 'And have you committed it?'

+

+ 'Apparently I have.'

+

+ He put a hand to his forehead and pressed his temples for +a moment, as though trying to remember something.

+

+ 'These things happen,' he began vaguely. 'I have been able +to recall one instance -- a possible instance. It was an +indiscretion, undoubtedly. We were producing a definitive +edition of the poems of Kipling. I allowed the word "God" to +remain at the end of a line. I could not help it!' he added +almost indignantly, raising his face to look at Winston. 'It +was impossible to change the line. The rhyme was "rod". Do you +realize that there are only twelve rhymes to "rod" in the +entire language? For days I had racked my brains. There +was no other rhyme.'

+

+ The expression on his face changed. The annoyance passed +out of it and for a moment he looked almost pleased. A sort of +intellectual warmth, the joy of the pedant who has found out +some useless fact, shone through the dirt and scrubby hair.

+

+ 'Has it ever occurred to you,' he said, 'that the whole +history of English poetry has been determined by the fact that +the English language lacks rhymes?'

+

+ No, that particular thought had never occurred to Winston. +Nor, in the circumstances, did it strike him as very important +or interesting.

+

+ 'Do you know what time of day it is?' he said.

+

+ Ampleforth looked startled again. 'I had hardly thought +about it. They arrested me -- it could be two days ago -- +perhaps three.' His eyes flitted round the walls, as though he +half expected to find a window somewhere. 'There is no +difference between night and day in this place. I do not see +how one can calculate the time.'

+

+ They talked desultorily for some minutes, then, without +apparent reason, a yell from the telescreen bade them be +silent. Winston sat quietly, his hands crossed. Ampleforth, too +large to sit in comfort on the narrow bench, fidgeted from side +to side, clasping his lank hands first round one knee, then +round the other. The telescreen barked at him to keep still. +Time passed. Twenty minutes, an hour -- it was difficult to +judge. Once more there was a sound of boots outside. Winston's +entrails contracted. Soon, very soon, perhaps in five minutes, +perhaps now, the tramp of boots would mean that his own turn +had come.

+

+ The door opened. The cold-faced young officer stepped into +the cell. With a brief movement of the hand he indicated +Ampleforth.

+

+ 'Room 101,' he said.

+

+ Ampleforth marched clumsily out between the guards, his +face vaguely perturbed, but uncomprehending.

+

+ What seemed like a long time passed. The pain in Winston's +belly had revived. His mind sagged round and round on the same +trick, like a ball falling again and again into the same series +of slots. He had only six thoughts. The pain in his belly; a +piece of bread; the blood and the screaming; O'Brien ; Julia; +the razor blade. There was another spasm in his entrails, the +heavy boots were approaching. As the door opened, the wave of +air that it created brought in a powerful smell of cold sweat. +Parsons walked into the cell. He was wearing khaki shorts and a +sports-shirt.

+

+ This time Winston was startled into self-forgetfulness.

+

+ 'You here!' he said.

+

+ Parsons gave Winston a glance in which there was neither +interest nor surprise, but only misery. He began walking +jerkily up and down, evidently unable to keep still. Each time +he straightened his pudgy knees it was apparent that they were +trembling. His eyes had a wide-open, staring look, as though he +could not prevent himself from gazing at something in the +middle distance.

+

+ 'What are you in for?' said Winston.

+

+ 'Thoughtcrime!' said Parsons, almost blubbering. The tone +of his voice implied at once a complete admission of his guilt +and a sort of incredulous horror that such a word could be +applied to himself. He paused opposite Winston and began +eagerly appealing to him: 'You don't think they'll shoot me, do +you, old chap? They don't shoot you if you haven't actually +done anything -- only thoughts, which you can't help? I know +they give you a fair hearing. Oh, I trust them for that! +They'll know my record, won't they? You know what kind of chap +I was. Not a bad chap in my way. Not brainy, of course, but +keen. I tried to do my best for the Party, didn't I? I'll get +off with five years, don't you think? Or even ten years? A chap +like me could make himself pretty useful in a labour-camp. They +wouldn't shoot me for going off the rails just once?'

+

+ 'Are you guilty?' said Winston.

+

+ 'Of course I'm guilty!' cried Parsons with a servile +glance at the telescreen. 'You don't think the Party would +arrest an innocent man, do you?' His frog-like face grew +calmer, and even took on a slightly sanctimonious expression. +'Thoughtcrime is a dreadful thing, old man,' he said +sententiously. 'It's insidious. It can get hold of you without +your even knowing it. Do you know how it got hold of me? In my +sleep! Yes, that's a fact. There I was, working away, trying to +do my bit -- never knew I had any bad stuff in my mind at all. +And then I started talking in my sleep. Do you know what they +heard me saying?'

+

+ He sank his voice, like someone who is obliged for medical +reasons to utter an obscenity.

+

+ "Down with Big Brother!" Yes, I said that! Said it over +and over again, it seems. Between you and me, old man, I'm glad +they got me before it went any further. Do you know what I'm +going to say to them when I go up before the tribunal? "Thank +you," I'm going to say, "thank you for saving me before it was +too late."

+

+ 'Who denounced you?' said Winston.

+

+ 'It was my little daughter,' said Parsons with a sort of +doleful pride. 'She listened at the keyhole. Heard what I was +saying, and nipped off to the patrols the very next day. Pretty +smart for a nipper of seven, eh? I don't bear her any grudge +for it. In fact I'm proud of her. It shows I brought her up in +the right spirit, anyway.'

+

+ He made a few more jerky movements up and down, several +times, casting a longing glance at the lavatory pan. Then he +suddenly ripped down his shorts. + 'Excuse me, old man,' he said. 'I can't help it. It's the +waiting.'

+

+ He plumped his large posterior into the lavatory pan. +Winston covered his face with his hands.

+

+ 'Smith!' yelled the voice from the telescreen. '6079 Smith +W! Uncover your face. No faces covered in the cells.'

+

+ Winston uncovered his face. Parsons used the lavatory, +loudly and abundantly. It then turned out that the plug was +defective and the cell stank abominably for hours afterwards.

+

+ Parsons was removed. More prisoners came and went, +mysteriously. One, a woman, was consigned to 'Room 101', and, +Winston noticed, seemed to shrivel and turn a different colour +when she heard the words. A time came when, if it had been +morning when he was brought here, it would be afternoon; or if +it had been afternoon, then it would be midnight. There were +six prisoners in the cell, men and women. All sat very still. +Opposite Winston there sat a man with a chinless, toothy face +exactly like that of some large, harmless rodent. His fat, +mottled cheeks were so pouched at the bottom that it was +difficult not to believe that he had little stores of food +tucked away there. His pale-grey eyes flitted timorously from +face to face and turned quickly away again when he caught +anyone's eye.

+

+ The door opened, and another prisoner was brought in whose +appearance sent a momentary chill through Winston. He was a +commonplace, mean-looking man who might have been an engineer +or technician of some kind. But what was startling was the +emaciation of his face. It was like a skull. Because of its +thinness the mouth and eyes looked disproportionately large, +and the eyes seemed filled with a murderous, unappeasable +hatred of somebody or something.

+

+ The man sat down on the bench at a little distance from +Winston. Winston did not look at him again, but the tormented, +skull-like face was as vivid in his mind as though it had been +straight in front of his eyes. Suddenly he realized what was +the matter. The man was dying of starvation. The same thought +seemed to occur almost simultaneously to everyone in the cell. +There was a very faint stirring all the way round the bench. +The eyes of the chinless man kept flitting towards the +skull-faced man, then turning guiltily away, then being dragged +back by an irresistible attraction. Presently he began to +fidget on his seat. At last he stood up, waddled clumsily +across the cell, dug down into the pocket of his overalls, and, +with an abashed air, held out a grimy piece of bread to the +skull- faced man.

+

+ There was a furious, deafening roar from the telescreen. +The chinless man jumped in his tracks. The skull-faced man had +quickly thrust his hands behind his back, as though +demonstrating to all the world that he refused the gift.

+

+ 'Bumstead!' roared the voice. '2713 Bumstead J.! Let fall +that piece of bread!'

+

+ The chinless man dropped the piece of bread on the floor.

+

+ 'Remain standing where you are,' said the voice. 'Face the +door. Make no movement.'

+

+ The chinless man obeyed. His large pouchy cheeks were +quivering uncontrollably. The door clanged open. As the young +officer entered and stepped aside, there emerged from behind +him a short stumpy guard with enormous arms and shoulders. He +took his stand opposite the chinless man, and then, at a signal +from the officer, let free a frightful blow, with all the +weight of his body behind it, full in the chinless man's mouth. +The force of it seemed almost to knock him clear of the floor. +His body was flung across the cell and fetched up against the +base of the lavatory seat. For a moment he lay as though +stunned, with dark blood oozing from his mouth and nose. A very +faint whimpering or squeaking, which seemed unconscious, came +out of him. Then he rolled over and raised himself unsteadily +on hands and knees. Amid a stream of blood and saliva, the two +halves of a dental plate fell out of his mouth.

+

+ The prisoners sat very still, their hands crossed on their +knees. The chinless man climbed back into his place. Down one +side of his face the flesh was darkening. His mouth had swollen +into a shapeless cherry-coloured mass with a black hole in the +middle of it.

+

+ + From time to time a little blood dripped on to the breast +of his overalls. His grey eyes still flitted from face to face, +more guiltily than ever, as though he were trying to discover +how much the others despised him for his humiliation.

+

+ + The door opened. With a small gesture the officer +indicated the skull-faced man.

+

+ 'Room 101,' he said.

+

+ There was a gasp and a flurry at Winston's side. The man +had actually flung himself on his knees on the floor, with his +hand clasped together.

+

+ 'Comrade! Officer!' he cried. 'You don't have to take me +to that place! Haven't I told you everything already? What else +is it you want to know? There's nothing I wouldn't confess, +nothing! Just tell me what it is and I'll confess straight off. +Write it down and I'll sign it -- anything! Not room 101!'

+

+ 'Room 101,' said the officer.

+

+ The man's face, already very pale, turned a colour Winston +would not have believed possible. It was definitely, +unmistakably, a shade of green.

+

+ 'Do anything to me!' he yelled. 'You've been starving me +for weeks. Finish it off and let me die. Shoot me. Hang me. +Sentence me to twenty-five years. Is there somebody else you +want me to give away? Just say who it is and I'll tell you +anything you want. I don't care who it is or what you do to +them. I've got a wife and three children. The biggest of them +isn't six years old. You can take the whole lot of them and cut +their throats in front of my eyes, and I'll stand by and watch +it. But not Room 101!'

+

+ 'Room 101,' said the officer.

+

+ The man looked frantically round at the other prisoners, +as though with some idea that he could put another victim in +his own place. His eyes settled on the smashed face of the +chinless man. He flung out a lean arm.

+

+ 'That's the one you ought to be taking, not me!' he +shouted. 'You didn't hear what he was saying after they bashed +his face. Give me a chance and I'll tell you every word of it. +He's the one that's against the Party, not me.' The +guards stepped forward. The man's voice rose to a shriek. 'You +didn't hear him!' he repeated. 'Something went wrong with the +telescreen. He's the one you want. Take him, not me!'

+

+ The two sturdy guards had stooped to take him by the arms. +But just at this moment he flung himself across the floor of +the cell and grabbed one of the iron legs that supported the +bench. He had set up a wordless howling, like an animal. The +guards took hold of him to wrench him loose, but he clung on +with astonishing strength. For perhaps twenty seconds they were +hauling at him. The prisoners sat quiet, their hands crossed on +their knees, looking straight in front of them. The howling +stopped; the man had no breath left for anything except hanging +on. Then there was a different kind of cry. A kick from a +guard's boot had broken the fingers of one of his hands. They +dragged him to his feet.

+

+ 'Room 101,' said the officer.

+

+ The man was led out, walking unsteadily, with head sunken, +nursing his crushed hand, all the fight had gone out of him.

+

+ A long time passed. If it had been midnight when the +skull-faced man was taken away, it was morning: if morning, it +was afternoon. Winston was alone, and had been alone for hours. +The pain of sitting on the narrow bench was such that often he +got up and walked about, unreproved by the telescreen. The +piece of bread still lay where the chinless man had dropped it. +At the beginning it needed a hard effort not to look at it, but +presently hunger gave way to thirst. His mouth was sticky and +evil-tasting. The humming sound and the unvarying white light +induced a sort of faintness, an empty feeling inside his head. +He would get up because the ache in his bones was no longer +bearable, and then would sit down again almost at once because +he was too dizzy to make sure of staying on his feet. Whenever +his physical sensations were a little under control the terror +returned. Sometimes with a fading hope he thought of O'Brien +and the razor blade. It was thinkable that the razor blade +might arrive concealed in his food, if he were ever fed. More +dimly he thought of Julia. Somewhere or other she was suffering +perhaps far worse than he. She might be screaming with pain at +this moment. He thought: 'If I could save Julia by doubling my +own pain, would I do it? Yes, I would.' But that was merely an +intellectual decision, taken because he knew that he ought to +take it. He did not feel it. In this place you could not feel +anything, except pain and foreknowledge of pain. Besides, was +it possible, when you were actually suffering it, to wish for +any reason that your own pain should increase? But that +question was not answerable yet.

+

+ The boots were approaching again. The door opened. O'Brien +came in.

+

+ Winston started to his feet. The shock of the sight had +driven all caution out of him. For the first time in many years +he forgot the presence of the telescreen.

+

+ 'They've got you too!' he cried.

+

+ 'They got me a long time ago,' said O'Brien with a mild, +almost regretful irony. He stepped aside. from behind him there +emerged a broad-chested guard with a long black truncheon in +his hand.

+

+ 'You know him, Winston,' said O'Brien. 'Don't deceive +yourself. You did know it -- you have always known it.'

+

+ Yes, he saw now, he had always known it. But there was no +time to think of that. All he had eyes for was the truncheon in +the guard's hand. It might fall anywhere; on the crown, on the +tip of the ear, on the upper arm, on the elbow-

+

+ The elbow! He had slumped to his knees, almost paralysed, +clasping the stricken elbow with his other hand. Everything had +exploded into yellow light. Inconceivable, inconceivable that +one blow could cause such pain! The light cleared and he could +see the other two looking down at him. The guard was laughing +at his contortions. One question at any rate was answered. +Never, for any reason on earth, could you wish for an increase +of pain. Of pain you could wish only one thing: that it should +stop. Nothing in the world was so bad as physical pain. In the +face of pain there are no heroes, no heroes, he thought over +and over as he writhed on the floor, clutching uselessly at his +disabled left arm.

+

XIX

+

+ He was lying on something that felt like a camp bed, +except that it was higher off the ground and that he was fixed +down in some way so that he could not move. Light that seemed +stronger than usual was falling on his face. O'Brien was +standing at his side, looking down at him intently. At the +other side of him stood a man in a white coat, holding a +hypodermic syringe.

+

+ Even after his eyes were open he took in his surroundings +only gradually. He had the impression of swimming up into this +room from some quite different world, a sort of underwater +world far beneath it. How long he had been down there he did +not know. Since the moment when they arrested him he had not +seen darkness or daylight. Besides, his memories were not +continuous. There had been times when consciousness, even the +sort of consciousness that one has in sleep, had stopped dead +and started again after a blank interval. But whether the +intervals were of days or weeks or only seconds, there was no +way of knowing.

+

+ With that first blow on the elbow the nightmare had +started. Later he was to realize that all that then happened +was merely a preliminary, a routine interrogation to which +nearly all prisoners were subjected. There was a long range of +crimes -- espionage, sabotage, and the like -- to which +everyone had to confess as a matter of course. The confession +was a formality, though the torture was real. How many times he +had been beaten, how long the beatings had continued, he could +not remember. Always there were five or six men in black +uniforms at him simultaneously. Sometimes it was fists, +sometimes it was truncheons, sometimes it was steel rods, +sometimes it was boots. There were times when he rolled about +the floor, as shameless as an animal, writhing his body this +way and that in an endless, hopeless effort to dodge the kicks, +and simply inviting more and yet more kicks, in his ribs, in +his belly, on his elbows, on his shins, in his groin, in his +testicles, on the bone at the base of his spine. There were +times when it went on and on until the cruel, wicked, +unforgivable thing seemed to him not that the guards continued +to beat him but that he could not force hirnself into losing +consciousness. There were times when his nerve so forsook him +that he began shouting for mercy even before the beating began, +when the mere sight of a fist drawn back for a blow was enough +to make him pour forth a confession of real and imaginary +crimes. There were other times when he started out with the +resolve of confessing nothing, when every word had to be forced +out of him between gasps of pain, and there were times when he +feebly tried to compromise, when he said to himself: 'I will +confess, but not yet. I must hold out till the pain becomes +unbearable. Three more kicks, two more kicks, and then I will +tell them what they want.' Sometimes he was beaten till he +could hardly stand, then flung like a sack of potatoes on to +the stone floor of a cell, left to recuperate for a few hours, +and then taken out and beaten again. There were also longer +periods of recovery. He remembered them dimly, because they +were spent chiefly in sleep or stupor. He remembered a cell +with a plank bed, a sort of shelf sticking out from the wall, +and a tin wash-basin, and meals of hot soup and bread and +sometimes coffee. He remembered a surly barber arriving to +scrape his chin and crop his hair, and businesslike, +unsympathetic men in white coats feeling his pulse, tapping his +reflexes, turning up his eyelids, running harsh fingers over +him in search for broken bones, and shooting needles into his +arm to make him sleep.

+

+ The beatings grew less frequent, and became mainly a +threat, a horror to which he could be sent back at any moment +when his answers were unsatisfactory. His questioners now were +not ruffians in black uniforms but Party intellectuals, little +rotund men with quick movements and flashing spectacles, who +worked on him in relays over periods which lasted -- he +thought, he could not be sure -- ten or twelve hours at a +stretch. These other questioners saw to it that he was in +constant slight pain, but it was not chiefly pain that they +relied on. They slapped his face, wrung his ears. pulled his +hair, made him stand on one leg, refused him leave to urinate, +shone glaring lights in his face until his eyes ran with water; +but the aim of this was simply to humiliate him and destroy his +power of arguing and reasoning. Their real weapon was the +merciless questioning that went on and on, hour after hour, +tripping him up, laying traps for him, twisting everything that +he said, convicting him at every step of lies and +self-contradiction until he began weeping as much from shame as +from nervous fatigue Sometimes he would weep half a dozen times +in a single session. Most of the time they screamed abuse at +him and threatened at every hesitation to deliver him over to +the guards again; but sometimes they would suddenly change +their tune, call him comrade, appeal to him in the name of +Ingsoc and Big Brother, and ask him sorrowfully whether even +now he had not enough loyalty to the Party left to make him +wish to undo the evil he had done. When his nerves were in rags +after hours of questioning, even this appeal could reduce him +to snivelling tears. In the end the nagging voices broke him +down more completely than the boots and fists of the guards. He +became simply a mouth that uttered, a hand that signed, +whatever was demanded of him. His sole concern was to find out +what they wanted him to confess, and then confess it quickly, +before the bullying started anew. He confessed to the +assassination of eminent Party members, the distribution of +seditious pamphlets, embezzlement of public funds, sale of +military secrets, sabotage of every kind. He confessed that he +had been a spy in the pay of the Eastasian government as far +back as 1968. He confessed that he was a religious believer, an +admirer of capitalism, and a sexual pervert. He confessed that +he had murdered his wife, although he knew, and his questioners +must have known, that his wife was still alive. He confessed +that for years he had been in personal touch with Goldstein and +had been a member of an underground organization which had +included almost every human being he had ever known. It was +easier to confess everything and implicate everybody. Besides, +in a sense it was all true. It was true that he had been the +enemy of the Party, and in the eyes of the Party there was no +distinction between the thought and the deed.

+

+ There were also memories of another kind. They stood out +in his mind disconnectedly, like pictures with blackness all +round them.

+

+ He was in a cell which might have been either dark or +light, because he could see nothing except a pair of eyes. Near +at hand some kind of instrument was ticking slowly and +regularly. The eyes grew larger and more luminous. Suddenly he +floated out of his seat, dived into the eyes, and was swallowed +up.

+

+ He was strapped into a chair surrounded by dials, under +dazzling lights. A man in a white coat was reading the dials. +There was a tramp of heavy boots outside. The door clanged +open. The waxed-faced officer marched in, followed by two +guards.

+

+ 'Room 101,' said the officer.

+

+ The man in the white coat did not turn round. He did not +look at Winston either; he was looking only at the dials.

+

+ He was rolling down a mighty corridor, a kilometre wide, +full of glorious, golden light, roaring with laughter and +shouting out confessions at the top of his voice. He was +confessing everything, even the things he had succeeded in +holding back under the torture. He was relating the entire +history of his life to an audience who knew it already. With +him were the guards, the other questioners, the men in white +coats, O'Brien, Julia, Mr Charrington, all rolling down the +corridor together and shouting with laughter. Some dreadful +thing which had lain embedded in the future had somehow been +skipped over and had not happened. Everything was all right, +there was no more pain, the last detail of his life was laid +bare, understood, forgiven.

+

+ He was starting up from the plank bed in the +half-certainty that he had heard O'Brien's voice. All through his +interrogation, although he had never seen him, he had had the +feeling that O'Brien was at his elbow, just out of sight. It +was O'Brien who was directing everything. It was he who set the +guards on to Winston and who prevented them from killing him. +It was he who decided when Winston should scream with pain, +when he should have a respite, when he should be fed, when he +should sleep, when the drugs should be pumped into his arm. It +was he who asked the questions and suggested the answers. He +was the tormentor, he was the protector, he was the inquisitor, +he was the friend. And once -- Winston could not remember +whether it was in drugged sleep, or in normal sleep, or even in +a moment of wakefulness -- a voice murmured in his ear: 'Don't +worry, Winston; you are in my keeping. For seven years I have +watched over you. Now the turning-point has come. I shall save +you, I shall make you perfect.' He was not sure whether it was +O'Brien's voice; but it was the same voice that had said to +him, 'We shall meet in the place where there is no darkness,' +in that other dream, seven years ago.

+

+ He did not remember any ending to his interrogation. There +was a period of blackness and then the cell, or room, in which +he now was had gradually materialized round him. He was almost +flat on his back, and unable to move. His body was held down at +every essential point. Even the back of his head was gripped in +some manner. O'Brien was looking down at him gravely and rather +sadly. His face, seen from below, looked coarse and worn, with +pouches under the eyes and tired lines from nose to chin. He +was older than Winston had thought him; he was perhaps +forty-eight or fifty. Under his hand there was a dial with a +lever on top and figures running round the face.

+

+ 'I told you,' said O'Brien, 'that if we met again it would +be here.'

+

+ 'Yes,' said Winston.

+

+ Without any warning except a slight movement of O'Brien's +hand, a wave of pain flooded his body. It was a frightening +pain, because he could not see what was happening, and he had +the feeling that some mortal injury was being done to him. He +did not know whether the thing was really happening, or whether +the effect was electrically produced; but his body was being +wrenched out of shape, the joints were being slowly torn apart. +Although the pain had brought the sweat out on his forehead, +the worst of all was the fear that his backbone was about to +snap. He set his teeth and breathed hard through his nose, +trying to keep silent as long as possible.

+

+ 'You are afraid,' said O'Brien, watching his face, 'that +in another moment something is going to break. Your especial +fear is that it will be your backbone. You have a vivid mental +picture of the vertebrae snapping apart and the spinal fluid +dripping out of them. That is what you are thinking, is it not, +Winston?'

+

+ Winston did not answer. O'Brien drew back the lever on the +dial. The wave of pain receded almost as quickly as it had +come.

+

+ 'That was forty,' said O'Brien. 'You can see that the +numbers on this dial run up to a hundred. Will you please +remember, throughout our conversation, that I have it in my +power to inflict pain on you at any moment and to whatever +degree I choose? If you tell me any lies, or attempt to +prevaricate in any way, or even fall below your usual level of +intelligence, you will cry out with pain, instantly. Do you +understand that?'

+

+ 'Yes,' said Winston.

+

+ O'Brien's manner became less severe. He resettled his +spectacles thoughtfully, and took a pace or two up and down. +When he spoke his voice was gentle and patient. He had the air +of a doctor, a teacher, even a priest, anxious to explain and +persuade rather than to punish.

+

+ 'I am taking trouble with you, Winston,' he said, 'because +you are worth trouble. You know perfectly well what is the +matter with you. You have known it for years, though you have +fought against the knowledge. You are mentally deranged. You +suffer from a defective memory. You are unable to remember real +events and you persuade yourself that you remember other events +which never happened. Fortunately it is curable. You have never +cured yourself of it, because you did not choose to. There was +a small effort of the will that you were not ready to make. +Even now, I am well aware, you are clinging to your disease +under the impression that it is a virtue. Now we will take an +example. At this moment, which power is Oceania at war with?'

+

+ 'When I was arrested, Oceania was at war with Eastasia.

+

+ 'With Eastasia. Good. And Oceania has always been at war +with Eastasia, has it not?'

+

+ Winston drew in his breath. He opened his mouth to speak +and then did not speak. He could not take his eyes away from +the dial.

+

+ 'The truth, please, Winston. Your truth. Tell me +what you think you remember.'

+

+ 'I remember that until only a week before I was arrested, +we were not at war with Eastasia at all. We were in alliance +with them. The war was against Eurasia. That had lasted for +four years. Before that -- '

+

+ O'Brien stopped him with a movement of the hand.

+

+ 'Another example,' he said. 'Some years ago you had a very +serious delusion indeed. You believed that three men, three +one-time Party members named Jones, Aaronson, and Rutherford men +who were executed for treachery and sabotage after making the +fullest possible confession -- were not guilty of the crimes +they were charged with. You believed that you had seen +unmistakable documentary evidence proving that their +confessions were false. There was a certain photograph about +which you had a hallucination. You believed that you had +actually held it in your hands. It was a photograph something +like this.'

+

+ An oblong slip of newspaper had appeared between O'Brien's +fingers. For perhaps five seconds it was within the angle of +Winston's vision. It was a photograph, and there was no +question of its identity. It was the photograph. It was +another copy of the photograph of Jones, Aaronson, and +Rutherford at the party function in New York, which he had +chanced upon eleven years ago and promptly destroyed. For only +an instant it was before his eyes, then it was out of sight +again. But he had seen it, unquestionably he had seen it! He +made a desperate, agonizing effort to wrench the top half of +his body free. It was impossible to move so much as a +centimetre in any direction. For the moment he had even +forgotten the dial. All he wanted was to hold the photograph in +his fingers again, or at least to see it.

+

+ 'It exists!' he cried.

+

+ 'No,' said O'Brien.

+

+ He stepped across the room. There was a memory hole in the +opposite wall. O'Brien lifted the grating. Unseen, the frail +slip of paper was whirling away on the current of warm air; it +was vanishing in a flash of flame. O'Brien turned away from the +wall.

+

+ 'Ashes,' he said. 'Not even identifiable ashes. Dust. It +does not exist. It never existed.'

+

+ 'But it did exist! It does exist! It exists in memory. I +remember it. You remember it.'

+

+ 'I do not remember it,' said O'Brien.

+

+ Winston's heart sank. That was doublethink. He had a +feeling of deadly helplessness. If he could have been certain +that O'Brien was lying, it would not have seemed to matter. But +it was perfectly possible that O'Brien had really forgotten the +photograph. And if so, then already he would have forgotten his +denial of remembering it, and forgotten the act of forgetting. +How could one be sure that it was simple trickery? Perhaps that +lunatic dislocation in the mind could really happen: that was +the thought that defeated him.

+

+ O'Brien was looking down at him speculatively. More than +ever he had the air of a teacher taking pains with a wayward +but promising child.

+

+ 'There is a Party slogan dealing with the control of the +past,' he said. 'Repeat it, if you please.'

+

+ "Who controls the past controls the future: who controls +the present controls the past," repeated Winston obediently.

+

+ "Who controls the present controls the past," said +O'Brien, nodding his head with slow approval. 'Is it your +opinion, Winston, that the past has real existence?'

+

+ Again the feeling of helplessness descended upon Winston. +His eyes flitted towards the dial. He not only did not know +whether 'yes' or 'no' was the answer that would save him from +pain; he did not even know which answer he believed to be the +true one.

+

+ O'Brien smiled faintly. 'You are no metaphysician, +Winston,' he said. 'Until this moment you had never considered +what is meant by existence. I will put it more precisely. Does +the past exist concretely, in space? Is there somewhere or +other a place, a world of solid objects, where the past is +still happening?'

+

+ 'No.'

+

+ 'Then where does the past exist, if at all?'

+

+ 'In records. It is written down.'

+

+ 'In records. And- ?'

+

+ 'In the mind. In human memories.

+

+ 'In memory. Very well, then. We, the Party, control all +records, and we control all memories. Then we control the past, +do we not?'

+

+ 'But how can you stop people remembering things?' cried +Winston again momentarily forgetting the dial. 'It is +involuntary. It is outside oneself. How can you control memory? +You have not controlled mine!'

+

+ O'Brien's manner grew stern again. He laid his hand on the +dial.

+

+ 'On the contrary,' he said, 'you have not +controlled it. That is what has brought you here. You are here +because you have failed in humility, in self-discipline. You +would not make the act of submission which is the price of +sanity. You preferred to be a lunatic, a minority of one. Only +the disciplined mind can see reality, Winston. You believe that +reality is something objective, external, existing in its own +right. You also believe that the nature of reality is +self-evident. When you delude yourself into thinking that you +see something, you assume that everyone else sees the same +thing as you. But I tell you, Winston, that reality is not +external. Reality exists in the human mind, and nowhere else. +Not in the individual mind, which can make mistakes, and in any +case soon perishes: only in the mind of the Party, which is +collective and immortal. Whatever the Party holds to be the +truth, is truth. It is impossible to see reality except +by looking through the eyes of the Party. That is the fact that +you have got to relearn, Winston. It needs an act of +self-destruction, an effort of the will. You must humble yourself +before you can become sane.'

+

+ He paused for a few moments, as though to allow what he +had been saying to sink in.

+

+ 'Do you remember,' he went on, ' writing in your diary, +"Freedom is the freedom to say that two plus two make four"?'

+

+ 'Yes,' said Winston.

+

+ O'Brien held up his left hand, its back towards Winston, +with the thumb hidden and the four fingers extended.

+

+ 'How many fingers am I holding up, Winston?

+

+ 'Four.'

+

+ 'And if the party says that it is not four but five -- +then how many?'

+

+ 'Four.'

+

+ The word ended in a gasp of pain. The needle of the dial +had shot up to fifty-five. The sweat had sprung out all over +Winston's body. The air tore into his lungs and issued again in +deep groans which even by clenching his teeth he could not +stop. O'Brien watched him, the four fingers still extended. He +drew back the lever. This time the pain was only slightly +eased.

+

+ 'How many fingers, Winston?'

+

+ 'Four.'

+

+ The needle went up to sixty.

+

+ 'How many fingers, Winston?'

+

+ 'Four! Four! What else can I say? Four!'

+

+ The needle must have risen again, but he did not look at +it. The heavy, stern face and the four fingers filled his +vision. The fingers stood up before his eyes like pillars, +enormous, blurry, and seeming to vibrate, but unmistakably +four.

+

+ 'How many fingers, Winston?'

+

+ 'Four! Stop it, stop it! How can you go on? Four! Four!'

+

+ 'How many fingers, Winston?'

+

+ 'Five! Five! Five!'

+

+ 'No, Winston, that is no use. You are lying. You still +think there are four. How many fingers, please?'

+

+ 'Four! five! Four! Anything you like. Only stop it, stop +the pain!

+

+ Abruptly he was sitting up with O'Brien's arm round his +shoulders. He had perhaps lost consciousness for a few seconds. +The bonds that had held his body down were loosened. He felt +very cold, he was shaking uncontrollably, his teeth were +chattering, the tears were rolling down his cheeks. For a +moment he clung to O'Brien like a baby, curiously comforted by +the heavy arm round his shoulders. He had the feeling that +O'Brien was his protector, that the pain was something that +came from outside, from some other source, and that it was +O'Brien who would save him from it.

+

+ 'You are a slow learner, Winston,' said O'Brien gently.

+

+ 'How can I help it?' he blubbered. 'How can I help seeing +what is in front of my eyes? Two and two are four.

+

+ Sometimes, Winston. Sometimes they are five. Sometimes +they are three. Sometimes they are all of them at once. You +must try harder. It is not easy to become sane.'

+

+ He laid Winston down on the bed. The grip of his limbs +tightened again, but the pain had ebbed away and the trembling +had stopped, leaving him merely weak and cold. O'Brien motioned +with his head to the man in the white coat, who had stood +immobile throughout the proceedings. The man in the white coat +bent down and looked closely into Winston's eyes, felt his +pulse, laid an ear against his chest, tapped here and there, +then he nodded to O'Brien.

+

+ 'Again,' said O'Brien.

+

+ The pain flowed into Winston's body. The needle must be at +seventy, seventy-five. He had shut his eyes this time. He knew +that the fingers were still there, and still four. All that +mattered was somehow to stay alive until the spasm was over. He +had ceased to notice whether he was crying out or not. The pain +lessened again. He opened his eyes. O'Brien had drawn back the +lever.

+

+ 'How many fingers, Winston?'

+

+ 'Four. I suppose there are four. I would see five if I +could. I am trying to see five.'

+

+ 'Which do you wish: to persuade me that you see five, or +really to see them?'

+

+ 'Really to see them.'

+

+ 'Again,' said O'Brien.

+

+ Perhaps the needle was eighty -- ninety. Winston could not +intermittently remember why the pain was happening. Behind his +screwed-up eyelids a forest of fingers seemed to be moving in a +sort of dance, weaving in and out, disappearing behind one +another and reappearing again. He was trying to count them, he +could not remember why. He knew only that it was impossible to +count them, and that this was somehow due to the mysterious +identity between five and four. The pain died down again. When +he opened his eyes it was to find that he was still seeing the +same thing. Innumerable fingers, like moving trees, were still +streaming past in either direction, crossing and recrossing. He +shut his eyes again.

+

+ 'How many fingers am I holding up, Winston?'

+

+ 'I don't know. I don't know. You will kill me if you do +that again. Four, five, six -- in all honesty I don't know.'

+

+ 'Better,' said O'Brien.

+

+ A needle slid into Winston's arm. Almost in the same +instant a blissful, healing warmth spread all through his body. +The pain was already half-forgotten. He opened his eyes and +looked up gratefully at O'Brien. At sight of the heavy, lined +face, so ugly and so intelligent, his heart seemed to turn +over. If he could have moved he would have stretched out a hand +and laid it on O'Brien arm. He had never loved him so deeply as +at this moment, and not merely because he had stopped the pain. +The old feeling, that it bottom it did not matter whether +O'Brien was a friend or an enemy, had come back. O'Brien was a +person who could be talked to. Perhaps one did not want to be +loved so much as to be understood. O'Brien had tortured him to +the edge of lunacy, and in a little while, it was certain, he +would send him to his death. It made no difference. In some +sense that went deeper than friendship, they were intimates: +somewhere or other, although the actual words might never be +spoken, there was a place where they could meet and talk. +O'Brien was looking down at him with an expression which +suggested that the same thought might be in his own mind. When +he spoke it was in an easy, conversational tone.

+

+ 'Do you know where you are, Winston?' he said.

+

+ 'I don't know. I can guess. In the Ministry of Love.'

+

+ 'Do you know how long you have been here?'

+

+ 'I don't know. Days, weeks, months -- I think it is +months.'

+

+ 'And why do you imagine that we bring people to this +place?'

+

+ 'To make them confess.'

+

+ 'No, that is not the reason. Try again.'

+

+ 'To punish them.'

+

+ 'No!' exclaimed O'Brien. His voice had changed +extraordinarily, and his face had suddenly become both stern +and animated. 'No! Not merely to extract your confession, not +to punish you. Shall I tell you why we have brought you here? +To cure you! To make you sane! Will you understand, Winston, +that no one whom we bring to this place ever leaves our hands +uncured? We are not interested in those stupid crimes that you +have committed. The Party is not interested in the overt act: +the thought is all we care about. We do not merely destroy our +enemies, we change them. Do you understand what I mean by +that?'

+

+ He was bending over Winston. His face looked enormous +because of its nearness, and hideously ugly because it was seen +from below. Moreover it was filled with a sort of exaltation, a +lunatic intensity. Again Winston's heart shrank. If it had been +possible he would have cowered deeper into the bed. He felt +certain that O'Brien was about to twist the dial out of sheer +wantonness. At this moment, however, O'Brien turned away. He +took a pace or two up and down. Then he continued less +vehemently:

+

+ 'The first thing for you to understand is that in this +place there are no martyrdoms. You have read of the religious +persecutions of the past. In the Middle Ages there was the +Inquisitlon. It was a failure. It set out to eradicate heresy, +and ended by perpetuating it. For every heretic it burned at +the stake, thousands of others rose up. Why was that? Because +the Inquisition killed its enemies in the open, and killed them +while they were still unrepentant: in fact, it killed them +because they were unrepentant. Men were dying because they +would not abandon their true beliefs. Naturally all the glory +belonged to the victim and all the shame to the Inquisitor who +burned him. Later, in the twentieth century, there were the +totalitarians, as they were called. There were the German Nazis +and the Russian Communists. The Russians persecuted heresy more +cruelly than the Inquisition had done. And they imagined that +they had learned from the mistakes of the past; they knew, at +any rate, that one must not make martyrs. Before they exposed +their victims to public trial, they deliberately set themselves +to destroy their dignity. They wore them down by torture and +solitude until they were despicable, cringing wretches, +confessing whatever was put into their mouths, covering +themselves with abuse, accusing and sheltering behind one +another, whimpering for mercy. And yet after only a few years +the same thing had happened over again. The dead men had become +martyrs and their degradation was forgotten. Once again, why +was it? In the first place, because the confessions that they +had made were obviously extorted and untrue. We do not make +mistakes of that kind. All the confessions that are uttered +here are true. We make them true. And above all we do not allow +the dead to rise up against us. You must stop imagining that +posterity will vindicate you, Winston. Posterity will never +hear of you. You will be lifted clean out from the stream of +history. We shall turn you into gas and pour you into the +stratosphere. Nothing will remain of you, not a name in a +register, not a memory in a living brain. You will be +annihilated in the past as well as in the future. You will +never have existed.'

+

+ Then why bother to torture me? thought Winston, with a +momentary bitterness. O'Brien checked his step as though +Winston had uttered the thought aloud. His large ugly face came +nearer, with the eyes a little narrowed.

+

+ 'You are thinking,' he said, 'that since we intend to +destroy you utterly, so that nothing that you say or do can +make the smallest difference -- in that case, why do we go to +the trouble of interrogating you first? That is what you were +thinking, was it not?'

+

+ 'Yes,' said Winston.

+

+ O'Brien smiled slightly. 'You are a flaw in the pattern, +Winston. You are a stain that must be wiped out. Did I not tell +you just now that we are different from the persecutors of the +past? We are not content with negative obedience, nor even with +the most abject submission. When finally you surrender to us, +it must be of your own free will. We do not destroy the heretic +because he resists us: so long as he resists us we never +destroy him. We convert him, we capture his inner mind, we +reshape him. We burn all evil and all illusion out of him; we +bring him over to our side, not in appearance, but genuinely, +heart and soul. We make him one of ourselves before we kill +him. It is intolerable to us that an erroneous thought should +exist anywhere in the world, however secret and powerless it +may be. Even in the instant of death we cannot permit any +deviation. In the old days the heretic walked to the stake +still a heretic, proclaiming his heresy, exulting in it. Even +the victim of the Russian purges could carry rebellion locked +up in his skull as he walked down the passage waiting for the +bullet. But we make the brain perfect before we blow it out. +The command of the old despotisms was "Thou shalt not". The +command of the totalitarians was "Thou shalt". Our command is +"Thou art". No one whom we bring to this place ever +stands out against us. Everyone is washed clean. Even those +three miserable traitors in whose innocence you once believed +-- Jones, Aaronson, and Rutherford -- in the end we broke them +down. I took part in their interrogation myself. I saw them +gradually worn down, whimpering, grovelling, weeping -- and in +the end it was not with pain or fear, only with penitence. By +the time we had finished with them they were only the shells of +men. There was nothing left in them except sorrow for what they +had done, and love of Big Brother. It was touching to see how +they loved him. They begged to be shot quickly, so that they +could die while their minds were still clean.'

+

+ His voice had grown almost dreamy. The exaltation, the +lunatic enthusiasm, was still in his face. He is not +pretending, thought Winston, he is not a hypocrite, he believes +every word he says. What most oppressed him was the +consciousness of his own intellectual inferiority. He watched +the heavy yet graceful form strolling to and fro, in and out of +the range of his vision. O'Brien was a being in all ways larger +than himself. There was no idea that he had ever had, or could +have, that O'Brien had not long ago known, examined, and +rejected. His mind contained Winston's mind. But in that +case how could it be true that O'Brien was mad? It must be he, +Winston, who was mad. O'Brien halted and looked down at him. +His voice had grown stern again.

+

+ 'Do not imagine that you will save yourself, Winston, +however completely you surrender to us. No one who has once +gone astray is ever spared. And even if we chose to let you +live out the natural term of your life, still you would never +escape from us. What happens to you here is for ever. +Understand that in advance. We shall crush you down to the +point from which there is no coming back. Things will happen to +you from which you could not recover, if you lived a thousand +years. Never again will you be capable of ordinary human +feeling. Everything will be dead inside you. Never again will +you be capable of love, or friendship, or joy of living, or +laughter, or curiosity, or courage, or integrity. You will be +hollow. We shall squeeze you empty, and then we shall fill you +with ourselves.'

+

+ He paused and signed to the man in the white coat. Winston +was aware of some heavy piece of apparatus being pushed into +place behind his head. O'Brien had sat down beside the bed, so +that his face was almost on a level with Winston's.

+

+ 'Three thousand,' he said, speaking over Winston's head to +the man in the white coat.

+

+ Two soft pads, which felt slightly moist, clamped +themselves against Winston's temples. He quailed. There was +pain coming, a new kind of pain. O'Brien laid a hand +reassuringly, almost kindly, on his.

+

+ 'This time it will not hurt,' he said. 'Keep your eyes +fixed on mine.'

+

+ At this moment there was a devastating explosion, or what +seemed like an explosion, though it was not certain whether +there was any noise. There was undoubtedly a blinding flash of +light. Winston was not hurt, only prostrated. Although he had +already been lying on his back when the thing happened, he had +a curious feeling that he had been knocked into that position. +A terrific painless blow had flattened him out. Also something +had happened inside his head. As his eyes regained their focus +he remembered who he was, and where he was, and recognized the +face that was gazing into his own; but somewhere or other there +was a large patch of emptiness, as though a piece had been +taken out of his brain.

+

+ 'It will not last,' said O'Brien. 'Look me in the eyes. +What country is Oceania at war with?'

+

+ Winston thought. He knew what was meant by Oceania and +that he himself was a citizen of Oceania. He also remembered +Eurasia and Eastasia; but who was at war with whom he did not +know. In fact he had not been aware that there was any war.

+

+ 'I don't remember.'

+

+ 'Oceania is at war with Eastasia. Do you remember that +now?'

+

+ 'Yes.'

+

+ 'Oceania has always been at war with Eastasia. Since the +beginning of your life, since the beginning of the Party, since +the beginning of history, the war has continued without a +break, always the same war. Do you remember that?'

+

+ 'Yes.'

+

+ ' Eleven years ago you created a legend about three men +who had been condemned to death for treachery. You pretended +that you had seen a piece of paper which proved them innocent. +No such piece of paper ever existed. You invented it, and later +you grew to believe in it. You remember now the very moment at +which you first invented it. Do you remember that?'

+

+ 'Yes.'

+

+ 'Just now I held up the fingers of my hand to you. You saw +five fingers. Do you remember that?'

+

+ 'Yes.'

+

+ O'Brien held up the fingers of his left hand, with the +thumb concealed.

+

+ 'There are five fingers there. Do you see five fingers?'

+

+ 'Yes.'

+

+ And he did see them, for a fleeting instant, before the +scenery of his mind changed. He saw five fingers, and there was +no deformity. Then everything was normal again, and the old +fear, the hatred, and the bewilderment came crowding back +again. But there had been a moment -- he did not know how long, +thirty seconds, perhaps -- of luminous certainty, when each new +suggestion of O'Brien's had filled up a patch of emptiness and +become absolute truth, and when two and two could have been +three as easily as five, if that were what was needed. It had +faded but before O'Brien had dropped his hand; but though he +could not recapture it, he could remember it, as one remembers +a vivid experience at some period of one's life when one was in +effect a different person.

+

+ 'You see now,' said O'Brien, 'that it is at any rate +possible.'

+

+ 'Yes,' said Winston.

+

+ O'Brien stood up with a satisfied air. Over to his left +Winston saw the man in the white coat break an ampoule and draw +back the plunger of a syringe. O'Brien turned to Winston with a +smile. In almost the old manner he resettled his spectacles on +his nose.

+

+ 'Do you remember writing in your diary,' he said, 'that it +did not matter whether I was a friend or an enemy, since I was +at least a person who understood you and could be talked to? +You were right. I enjoy talking to you. Your mind appeals to +me. It resembles my own mind except that you happen to be +insane. Before we bring the session to an end you can ask me a +few questions, if you choose.'

+

+ 'Any question I like?'

+

+ 'Anything.' He saw that Winston's eyes were upon the dial. +'It is switched off. What is your first question?'

+

+ 'What have you done with Julia?' said Winston.

+

+ O'Brien smiled again. 'She betrayed you, Winston. +Immediately-unreservedly. I have seldom seen anyone come over +to us so promptly. You would hardly recognize her if you saw +her. All her rebelliousness, her deceit, her folly, her +dirty-mindedness -- everything has been burned out of her. It +was a perfect conversion, a textbook case.'

+

+ 'You tortured her?'

+

+ O'Brien left this unanswered. 'Next question,' he said.

+

+ 'Does Big Brother exist?'

+

+ 'Of course he exists. The Party exists. Big Brother is the +embodiment of the Party.'

+

+ 'Does he exist in the same way as I exist?

+

+ 'You do not exist,' said O'Brien.

+

+ Once again the sense of helplessness assailed him. He +knew, or he could imagine, the arguments which proved his own +nonexistence; but they were nonsense, they were only a play on +words. Did not the statement, 'You do not exist', contain a +logical absurdity? But what use was it to say so? His mind +shrivelled as he thought of the unanswerable, mad arguments +with which O'Brien would demolish him.

+

+ 'I think I exist,' he said wearily. 'I am conscious of my +own identity. I was born and I shall die. I have arms and legs. +I occupy a particular point in space. No other solid object can +occupy the same point simultaneously. In that sense, does Big +Brother exist?'

+

+ 'It is of no importance. He exists.'

+

+ 'Will Big Brother ever die?'

+

+ 'Of course not. How could he die? Next question.'

+

+ 'Does the Brotherhood exist?'

+

+ 'That, Winston, you will never know. If we choose to set +you free when we have finished with you, and if you live to be +ninety years old, still you will never learn whether the answer +to that question is Yes or No. As long as you live it will be +an unsolved riddle in your mind.'

+

+ Winston lay silent. His breast rose and fell a little +faster. He still had not asked the question that had come into +his mind the first. He had got to ask it, and yet it was as +though his tongue would not utter it. There was a trace of +amusement in O'Brien's face. Even his spectacles seemed to wear +an ironical gleam. He knows, thought Winston suddenly, he knows +what I am going to ask! At the thought the words burst out of +him:

+

+ 'What is in Room 101?'

+

+ The expression on O'Brien's face did not change. He +answered drily:

+

+ 'You know what is in Room 101, Winston. Everyone knows +what is in Room 101.'

+

+ He raised a finger to the man in the white coat. Evidently +the session was at an end. A needle jerked into Winston's arm. +He sank almost instantly into deep sleep.

+

XX

+

+ 'There are three stages in your reintegration,' said +O'Brien. 'There is learning, there is understanding, and there +is acceptance. It is time for you to enter upon the second +stage.'

+

+ As always, Winston was lying flat on his back. But of late +his bonds were looser. They still held him to the bed, but he +could move his knees a little and could turn his head from side +to side and raise his arms from the elbow. The dial, also, had +grown to be less of a terror. He could evade its pangs if he +was quick-witted enough: it was chiefly when he showed +stupidity that O'Brien pulled the lever. Sometimes they got +through a whole session without use of the dial. He could not +remember how many sessions there had been. The whole process +seemed to stretch out over a long, indefinite time -- weeks, +possibly -- and the intervals between the sessions might +sometimes have been days, sometimes only an hour or two.

+

+ 'As you lie there,' said O'Brien, 'you have often wondered +you have even asked me -- why the Ministry of Love should +expend so much time and trouble on you. And when you were free +you were puzzled by what was essentially the same question. You +could grasp the mechanics of the Society you lived in, but not +its underlying motives. Do you remember writing in your diary, +"I understand how: I do not understand why"? It was when +you thought about "why" that you doubted your own sanity. You +have read the book, Goldstein's book, or parts of it, at +least. Did it tell you anything that you did not know already?'

+

+ 'You have read it?' said Winston.

+

+ 'I wrote it. That is to say, I collaborated in writing it. +No book is produced individually, as you know.'

+

+ 'Is it true, what it says?'

+

+ 'A description, yes. The programme it sets forth is +nonsense. The secret accumulation of knowledge -- a gradual +spread of enlightenment -- ultimately a proletarian rebellion +-- the overthrow of the Party. You foresaw yourself that that +was what it would say. It is all nonsense. The proletarians +will never revolt, not in a thousand years or a million. They +cannot. I do not have to tell you the reason: you know it +already. If you have ever cherished any dreams of violent +insurrection, you must abandon them. There is no way in which +the Party can be overthrown. The rule of the Party is for ever. +Make that the starting-point of your thoughts.'

+

+ He came closer to the bed. 'For ever!' he repeated. 'And +now let us get back to the question of "how" and "why". You +understand well enough how the Party maintains itself in +power. Now tell me why we cling to power. What is our motive? +Why should we want power? Go on, speak,' he added as Winston +remained silent.

+

+ Nevertheless Winston did not speak for another moment or +two. A feeling of weariness had overwhelmed him. The faint, mad +gleam of enthusiasm had come back into O'Brien's face. He knew +in advance what O'Brien would say. That the Party did not seek +power for its own ends, but only for the good of the majority. +That it sought power because men in the mass were frail +cowardly creatures who could not endure liberty or face the +truth, and must be ruled over and systematically deceived by +others who were stronger than themselves. That the choice for +mankind lay between freedom and happiness, and that, for the +great bulk of mankind, happiness was better. That the party was +the eternal guardian of the weak, a dedicated sect doing evil +that good might come, sacrificing its own happiness to that of +others. The terrible thing, thought Winston, the terrible thing +was that when O'Brien said this he would believe it. You could +see it in his face. O'Brien knew everything. A thousand times +better than Winston he knew what the world was really like, in +what degradation the mass of human beings lived and by what +lies and barbarities the Party kept them there. He had +understood it all, weighed it all, and it made no difference: +all was justified by the ultimate purpose. What can you do, +thought Winston, against the lunatic who is more intelligent +than yourself, who gives your arguments a fair hearing and then +simply persists in his lunacy?

+

+ 'You are ruling over us for our own good,' he said feebly. +'You believe that human beings are not fit to govern +themselves, and therefore-'

+

+ He started and almost cried out. A pang of pain had shot +through his body. O'Brien had pushed the lever of the dial up +to thirty-five.

+

+ 'That was stupid, Winston, stupid!' he said. 'You should +know better than to say a thing like that.'

+

+ He pulled the lever back and continued:

+

+ 'Now I will tell you the answer to my question. It is +this. The Party seeks power entirely for its own sake. We are +not interested in the good of others ; we are interested solely +in power. Not wealth or luxury or long life or happiness: only +power, pure power. What pure power means you will understand +presently. We are different from all the oligarchies of the +past, in that we know what we are doing. All the others, even +those who resembled ourselves, were- cowards and hypocrites. +The German Nazis and the Russian Communists came very close to +us in their methods, but they never had the courage to +recognize their own motives. They pretended, perhaps they even +believed, that they had seized power unwillingly and for a +limited time, and that just round the corner there lay a +paradise where human beings would be free and equal. We are not +like that. We know that no one ever seizes power with the +intention of relinquishing it. Power is not a means, it is an +end. One does not establish a dictatorship in order to +safeguard a revolution; one makes the revolution in order to +establish the dictatorship. The object of persecution is +persecution. The object of torture is torture. The object of +power is power. Now do you begin to understand me?'

+

+ Winston was struck, as he had been struck before, by the +tiredness of O'Brien's face. It was strong and fleshy and +brutal, it was full of intelligence and a sort of controlled +passion before which he felt himself helpless; but it was +tired. There were pouches under the eyes, the skin sagged from +the cheekbones. O'Brien leaned over him, deliberately bringing +the worn face nearer.

+

+ 'You are thinking,' he said, 'that my face is old and +tired. You are thinking that I talk of power, and yet I am not +even able to prevent the decay of my own body. Can you not +understand, Winston, that the individual is only a cell? The +weariness of the cell is the vigour of the organism. Do you die +when you cut your fingernails?'

+

+ He turned away from the bed and began strolling up and +down again, one hand in his pocket.

+

+ 'We are the priests of power,' he said. 'God is power. But +at present power is only a word so far as you are concerned. It +is time for you to gather some idea of what power means. The +first thing you must realize is that power is collective. The +individual only has power in so far as he ceases to be an +individual. You know the Party slogan: "Freedom is Slavery". +Has it ever occurred to you that it is reversible? Slavery is +freedom. Alone -- free -- the human being is always defeated. +It must be so, because every human being is doomed to die, +which is the greatest of all failures. But if he can make +complete, utter submission, if he can escape from his identity, +if he can merge himself in the Party so that he is the +Party, then he is all-powerful and immortal. The second thing +for you to realize is that power is power over human beings. +Over the body but, above all, over the mind. Power over matter +-- external reality, as you would call it -- is not important. +Already our control over matter is absolute.'

+

+ For a moment Winston ignored the dial. He made a violent +effort to raise himself into a sitting position, and merely +succeeded in wrenching his body painfully.

+

+ 'But how can you control matter?' he burst out. 'You don't +even control the climate or the law of gravity. And there are +disease, pain, death-'

+

+ O'Brien silenced him by a movement of his hand. 'We +control matter because we control the mind. Reality is inside +the skull. You will learn by degrees, Winston. There is nothing +that we could not do. Invisibility, levitation -- anything. I +could float off this floor like a soap bubble if I wish to. I +do not wish to, because the Party does not wish it. You must +get rid of those nineteenth-century ideas about the laws of +Nature. We make the laws of Nature.'

+

+ 'But you do not! You are not even masters of this planet. +What about Eurasia and Eastasia? You have not conquered them +yet.'

+

+ 'Unimportant. We shall conquer them when it suits us. And +if we did not, what difference would it make? We can shut them +out of existence. Oceania is the world.'

+

+ 'But the world itself is only a speck of dust. And man is +tiny helpless! How long has he been in existence? For millions +of years the earth was uninhabited.'

+

+ 'Nonsense. The earth is as old as we are, no older. How +could it be older? Nothing exists except through human +consciousness.'

+

+ 'But the rocks are full of the bones of extinct animals -- +mammoths and mastodons and enormous reptiles which lived here +long before man was ever heard of.'

+

+ 'Have you ever seen those bones, Winston? Of course not. +Nineteenth-century biologists invented them. Before man there +was nothing. After man, if he could come to an end, there would +be nothing. Outside man there is nothing.'

+

+ 'But the whole universe is outside us. Look at the stars! +Some of them are a million light-years away. They are out of +our reach for ever.'

+

+ 'What are the stars?' said O'Brien indifferently. 'They +are bits of fire a few kilometres away. We could reach them if +we wanted to. Or we could blot them out. The earth is the +centre of the universe. The sun and the stars go round it.'

+

+ Winston made another convulsive movement. This time he did +not say anything. O'Brien continued as though answering a +spoken objection:

+

+ 'For certain purposes, of course, that is not true. When +we navigate the ocean, or when we predict an eclipse, we often +find it convenient to assume that the earth goes round the sun +and that the stars are millions upon millions of kilometres +away. But what of it? Do you suppose it is beyond us to produce +a dual system of astronomy? The stars can be near or distant, +according as we need them. Do you suppose our mathematicians +are unequal to that? Have you forgotten doublethink?'

+

+ Winston shrank back upon the bed. Whatever he said, the +swift answer crushed him like a bludgeon. And yet he knew, he +knew, that he was in the right. The belief that nothing +exists outside your own mind -- surely there must be some way +of demonstrating that it was false? Had it not been exposed +long ago as a fallacy? There was even a name for it, which he +had forgotten. A faint smile twitched the corners of O'Brien's +mouth as he looked down at him.

+

+ 'I told you, Winston,' he said, 'that metaphysics is not +your strong point. The word you are trying to think of is +solipsism. But you are mistaken. This is not solipsism. +Collective solipsism, if you like. But that is a different +thing: in fact, the opposite thing. All this is a digression,' +he added in a different tone. 'The real power, the power we +have to fight for night and day, is not power over things, but +over men.' He paused, and for a moment assumed again his air of +a schoolmaster questioning a promising pupil: 'How does one man +assert his power over another, Winston?'

+

+ Winston thought. 'By making him suffer,' he said.

+

+ 'Exactly. By making him suffer. Obedience is not enough. +Unless he is suffering, how can you be sure that he is obeying +your will and not his own? Power is in inflicting pain and +humiliation. Power is in tearing human minds to pieces and +putting them together again in new shapes of your own choosing. +Do you begin to see, then, what kind of world we are creating? +It is the exact opposite of the stupid hedonistic Utopias that +the old reformers imagined. A world of fear and treachery is +torment, a world of trampling and being trampled upon, a world +which will grow not less but more merciless as it +refines itself. Progress in our world will be progress towards +more pain. The old civilizations claimed that they were founded +on love or justice. Ours is founded upon hatred. In our world +there will be no emotions except fear, rage, triumph, and +self-abasement. Everything else we shall destroy everything. Already +we are breaking down the habits of thought which have survived +from before the Revolution. We have cut the links between child +and parent, and between man and man, and between man and woman. +No one dares trust a wife or a child or a friend any longer. +But in the future there will be no wives and no friends. +Children will be taken from their mothers at birth, as one +takes eggs from a hen. The sex instinct will be eradicated. +Procreation will be an annual formality like the renewal of a +ration card. We shall abolish the orgasm. Our neurologists are +at work upon it now. There will be no loyalty, except loyalty +towards the Party. There will be no love, except the love of +Big Brother. There will be no laughter, except the laugh of +triumph over a defeated enemy. There will be no art, no +literature, no science. When we are omnipotent we shall have no +more need of science. There will be no distinction between +beauty and ugliness. There will be no curiosity, no enjoyment +of the process of life. All competing pleasures will be +destroyed. But always -- do not forget this, Winston -- always +there will be the intoxication of power, constantly increasing +and constantly growing subtler. Always, at every moment, there +will be the thrill of victory, the sensation of trampling on an +enemy who is helpless. If you want a picture of the future, +imagine a boot stamping on a human face -- for ever.'

+

+ He paused as though he expected Winston to speak. Winston +had tried to shrink back into the surface of the bed again. He +could not say anything. His heart seemed to be frozen. O'Brien +went on:

+

+ 'And remember that it is for ever. The face will always be +there to be stamped upon. The heretic, the enemy of society, +will always be there, so that he can be defeated and humiliated +over again. Everything that you have undergone since you have +been in our hands -- all that will continue, and worse. The +espionage, the betrayals, the arrests, the tortures, the +executions, the disappearances will never cease. It will be a +world of terror as much as a world of triumph. The more the +Party is powerful, the less it will be tolerant: the weaker the +opposition, the tighter the despotism. Goldstein and his +heresies will live for ever. Every day, at every moment, they +will be defeated, discredited, ridiculed, spat upon and yet +they will always survive. This drama that I have played out +with you during seven years will be played out over and over +again generation after generation, always in subtler forms. +Always we shall have the heretic here at our mercy, screaming +with pain, broken up, contemptible -- and in the end utterly +penitent, saved from himself, crawling to our feet of his own +accord. That is the world that we are preparing, Winston. A +world of victory after victory, triumph after triumph after +triumph: an endless pressing, pressing, pressing upon the nerve +of power. You are beginning, I can see, to realize what that +world will be like. But in the end you will do more than +understand it. You will accept it, welcome it, become part of +it.'

+

+ Winston had recovered himself sufficiently to speak. 'You +can't!' he said weakly.

+

+ 'What do you mean by that remark, Winston?'

+

+ 'You could not create such a world as you have just +described. It is a dream. It is impossible.'

+

+ 'Why?'

+

+ 'It is impossible to found a civilization on fear and +hatred and cruelty. It would never endure.'

+

+ 'Why not?'

+

+ 'It would have no vitality. It would disintegrate. It +would commit suicide.'

+

+ 'Nonsense. You are under the impression that hatred is +more exhausting than love. Why should it be? And if it were, +what difference would that make? Suppose that we choose to wear +ourselves out faster. Suppose that we quicken the tempo of +human life till men are senile at thirty. Still what difference +would it make? Can you not understand that the death of the +individual is not death? The party is immortal.'

+

+ As usual, the voice had battered Winston into +helplessness. Moreover he was in dread that if he persisted in +his disagreement O'Brien would twist the dial again. And yet he +could not keep silent. Feebly, without arguments, with nothing +to support him except his inarticulate horror of what O'Brien +had said, he returned to the attack.

+

+ 'I don't know -- I don't care. Somehow you will fail. +Something will defeat you. Life will defeat you.'

+

+ 'We control life, Winston, at all its levels. You are +imagining that there is something called human nature which +will be outraged by what we do and will turn against us. But we +create human nature. Men are infinitely malleable. Or perhaps +you have returned to your old idea that the proletarians or the +slaves will arise and overthrow us. Put it out of your mind. +They are helpless, like the animals. Humanity is the Party. The +others are outside -- irrelevant.'

+

+ 'I don't care. In the end they will beat you. Sooner or +later they will see you for what you are, and then they will +tear you to pieces.'

+

+ 'Do you see any evidence that that is happening? Or any +reason why it should?'

+

+ 'No. I believe it. I know that you will fail. There +is something in the universe -- I don't know, some spirit, some +principle -- that you will never overcome.'

+

+ 'Do you believe in God, Winston?'

+

+ 'No.'

+

+ 'Then what is it, this principle that will defeat us?'

+

+ 'I don't know. The spirit of Man.'

+

+ 'And do you consider yourself a man?.'

+

+ 'Yes.'

+

+ 'If you are a man, Winston, you are the last man. Your +kind is extinct; we are the inheritors. Do you understand that +you are alone? You are outside history, you are +non-existent.' His manner changed and he said more harshly: +'And you consider yourself morally superior to us, with our +lies and our cruelty?'

+

+ 'Yes, I consider myself superior.'

+

+ O'Brien did not speak. Two other voices were speaking. +After a moment Winston recognized one of them as his own. It +was a sound-track of the conversation he had had with O'Brien, +on the night when he had enrolled himself in the Brotherhood. +He heard himself promising to lie, to steal, to forge, to +murder, to encourage drug-taking and prostitution, to +disseminate venereal diseases, to throw vitriol in a child's +face. O'Brien made a small impatient gesture, as though to say +that the demonstration was hardly worth making. Then he turned +a switch and the voices stopped.

+

+ 'Get up from that bed,' he said.

+

+ The bonds had loosened themselves. Winston lowered himself +to the floor and stood up unsteadily.

+

+ 'You are the last man,' said O'Brien. 'You are the +guardian of the human spirit. You shall see yourself as you +are. Take off your clothes.'

+

+ Winston undid the bit of string that held his overalls +together. The zip fastener had long since been wrenched out of +them. He could not remember whether at any time since his +arrest he had taken off all his clothes at one time. Beneath +the overalls his body was looped with filthy yellowish rags, +just recognizable as the remnants of underclothes. As he slid +them to the ground he saw that there was a three-sided mirror +at the far end of the room. He approached it, then stopped +short. An involuntary cry had broken out of him.

+

+ 'Go on,' said O'Brien. 'Stand between the wings of the +mirror. You shall see the side view as well.'

+

+ He had stopped because he was frightened. A bowed, +grey-coloured, skeleton-like thing was coming towards him. Its +actual appearance was frightening, and not merely the fact that +he knew it to be himself. He moved closer to the glass. The +creature's face seemed to be protruded, because of its bent +carriage. A forlorn, jailbird's face with a nobby forehead +running back into a bald scalp, a crooked nose, and +battered-looking cheekbones above which his eyes were fierce +and watchful. The cheeks were seamed, the mouth had a drawn-in +look. Certainly it was his own face, but it seemed to him that +it had changed more than he had changed inside. The emotions it +registered would be different from the ones he felt. He had +gone partially bald. For the first moment he had thought that +he had gone grey as well, but it was only the scalp that was +grey. Except for his hands and a circle of his face, his body +was grey all over with ancient, ingrained dirt. Here and there +under the dirt there were the red scars of wounds, and near the +ankle the varicose ulcer was an inflamed mass with flakes of +skin peeling off it. But the truly frightening thing was the +emaciation of his body. The barrel of the ribs was as narrow as +that of a skeleton: the legs had shrunk so that the knees were +thicker than the thighs. He saw now what O'Brien had meant +about seeing the side view. The curvature of the spine was +astonishing. The thin shoulders were hunched forward so as to +make a cavity of the chest, the scraggy neck seemed to be +bending double under the weight of the skull. At a guess he +would have said that it was the body of a man of sixty, +suffering from some malignant disease.

+

+ 'You have thought sometimes,' said O'Brien, 'that my face +-- the face of a member of the Inner Party -- looks old and +worn. What do you think of your own face?'

+

+ He seized Winston's shoulder and spun him round so that he +was facing him.

+

+ 'Look at the condition you are in!' he said. 'Look at this +filthy grime all over your body. Look at the dirt between your +toes. Look at that disgusting running sore on your leg. Do you +know that you stink like a goat? Probably you have ceased to +notice it. Look at your emaciation. Do you see? I can make my +thumb and forefinger meet round your bicep. I could snap your +neck like a carrot. Do you know that you have lost twenty-five +kilograms since you have been in our hands? Even your hair is +coming out in handfuls. Look!' He plucked at Winston's head and +brought away a tuft of hair. 'Open your mouth. Nine, ten, +eleven teeth left. How many had you when you came to us? And +the few you have left are dropping out of your head. Look +here!'

+

+ He seized one of Winston's remaining front teeth between +his powerful thumb and forefinger. A twinge of pain shot +through Winston's jaw. O'Brien had wrenched the loose tooth out +by the roots. He tossed it across the cell.

+

+ 'You are rotting away,' he said; 'you are falling to +pieces. What are you? A bag of filth. Now turn around and look +into that mirror again. Do you see that thing facing you? That +is the last man. If you are human, that is humanity. Now put +your clothes on again.'

+

+ Winston began to dress himself with slow stiff movements. +Until now he had not seemed to notice how thin and weak he was. +Only one thought stirred in his mind: that he must have been in +this place longer than he had imagined. Then suddenly as he +fixed the miserable rags round himself a feeling of pity for +his ruined body overcame him. Before he knew what he was doing +he had collapsed on to a small stool that stood beside the bed +and burst into tears. He was aware of his ugliness, his +gracelessness, a bundle of bones in filthy underclothes sitting +weeping in the harsh white light: but he could not stop +himself. O'Brien laid a hand on his shoulder, almost kindly.

+

+ 'It will not last for ever,' he said. 'You can escape from +it whenever you choose. Everything depends on yourself.'

+

+ 'You did it!' sobbed Winston. 'You reduced me to this +state.'

+

+ 'No, Winston, you reduced yourself to it. This is what you +accepted when you set yourself up against the Party. It was all +contained in that first act. Nothing has happened that you did +not foresee.'

+

+ He paused, and then went on:

+

+ 'We have beaten you, Winston. We have broken you up. You +have seen what your body is like. Your mind is in the same +state. I do not think there can be much pride left in you. You +have been kicked and flogged and insulted, you have screamed +with pain, you have rolled on the floor in your own blood and +vomit. You have whimpered for mercy, you have betrayed +everybody and everything. Can you think of a single degradation +that has not happened to you?'

+

+ Winston had stopped weeping, though the tears were still +oozing out of his eyes. He looked up at O'Brien.

+

+ 'I have not betrayed Julia,' he said.

+

+ O'Brien looked down at him thoughtfully. 'No,' he said; +'no; that is perfectly true. You have not betrayed Julia.'

+

+ The peculiar reverence for O'Brien, which nothing seemed +able to destroy, flooded Winston's heart again. How +intelligent, he thought, how intelligent! Never did O'Brien +fail to understand what was said to him. Anyone else on earth +would have answered promptly that he had betrayed Julia. +For what was there that they had not screwed out of him under +the torture? He had told them everything he knew about her, her +habits, her character, her past life; he had confessed in the +most trivial detail everything that had happened at their +meetings, all that he had said to her and she to him, their +black-market meals, their adulteries, their vague plottings +against the Party -- everything. And yet, in the sense in which +he intended the word, he had not betrayed her. He had not +stopped loving her; his feelings towards her had remained the +same. O'Brien had seen what he meant without the need for +explanation.

+

+ 'Tell me,' he said, 'how soon will they shoot me?'

+

+ 'It might be a long time,' said O'Brien. 'You are a +difficult case. But don't give up hope. Everyone is cured +sooner or later. In the end we shall shoot you.'

+

XXI

+

+ He was much better. He was growing fatter and stronger +every day, if it was proper to speak of days.

+

+ The white light and the humming sound were the same as +ever, but the cell was a little more comfortable than the +others he had been in. There was a pillow and a mattress on the +plank bed, and a stool to sit on. They had given him a bath, +and they allowed him to wash himself fairly frequently in a tin +basin. They even gave him warm water to wash with. They had +given him new underclothes and a clean suit of overalls. They +had dressed his varicose ulcer with soothing ointment. They had +pulled out the remnants of his teeth and given him a new set of +dentures.

+

+ Weeks or months must have passed. It would have been +possible now to keep count of the passage of time, if he had +felt any interest in doing so, since he was being fed at what +appeared to be regular intervals. He was getting, he judged, +three meals in the twenty-four hours; sometimes he wondered +dimly whether he was getting them by night or by day. The food +was surprisingly good, with meat at every third meal. Once +there was even a packet of cigarettes. He had no matches, but +the never-speaking guard who brought his food would give him a +light. The first time he tried to smoke it made him sick, but +he persevered, and spun the packet out for a long time, smoking +half a cigarette after each meal.

+

+ They had given him a white slate with a stump of pencil +tied to the corner. At first he made no use of it. Even when he +was awake he was completely torpid. Often he would lie from one +meal to the next almost without stirring, sometimes asleep, +sometimes waking into vague reveries in which it was too much +trouble to open his eyes. He had long grown used to sleeping +with a strong light on his face. It seemed to make no +difference, except that one's dreams were more coherent. He +dreamed a great deal all through this time, and they were +always happy dreams. He was in the Golden Country, or he was +sitting among enormous glorious, sunlit ruins, with his mother, +with Julia, with O'Brien -- not doing anything, merely sitting +in the sun, talking of peaceful things. Such thoughts as he had +when he was awake were mostly about his dreams. He seemed to +have lost the power of intellectual effort, now that the +stimulus of pain had been removed. He was not bored, he had no +desire for conversation or distraction. Merely to be alone, not +to be beaten or questioned, to have enough to eat, and to be +clean all over, was completely satisfying.

+

+ By degrees he came to spend less time in sleep, but he +still felt no impulse to get off the bed. All he cared for was +to lie quiet and feel the strength gathering in his body. He +would finger himself here and there, trying to make sure that +it was not an illusion that his muscles were growing rounder +and his skin tauter. Finally it was established beyond a doubt +that he was growing fatter; his thighs were now definitely +thicker than his knees. After that, reluctantly at first, he +began exercising himself regularly. In a little while he could +walk three kilometres, measured by pacing the cell, and his +bowed shoulders were growing straighter. He attempted more +elaborate exercises, and was astonished and humiliated to find +what things he could not do. He could not move out of a walk, +he could not hold his stool out at arm's length, he could not +stand on one leg without falling over. He squatted down on his +heels, and found that with agonizing pains in thigh and calf he +could just lift himself to a standing position. He lay flat on +his belly and tried to lift his weight by his hands. It was +hopeless, he could not raise himself a centimetre. But after a +few more days -- a few more mealtimes -- even that feat was +accomplished. A time came when he could do it six times +running. He began to grow actually proud of his body, and to +cherish an intermittent belief that his face also was growing +back to normal. Only when he chanced to put his hand on his +bald scalp did he remember the seamed, ruined face that had +looked back at him out of the mirror.

+

+ His mind grew more active. He sat down on the plank bed, +his back against the wall and the slate on his knees, and set +to work deliberately at the task of re-educating himself.

+

+ He had capitulated, that was agreed. In reality, as he saw +now, he had been ready to capitulate long before he had taken +the decision. From the moment when he was inside the Ministry +of Love -- and yes, even during those minutes when he and Julia +had stood helpless while the iron voice from the telescreen +told them what to do -- he had grasped the frivolity, the +shallowness of his attempt to set himself up against the power +of the Party. He knew now that for seven years the Thought +police had watched him like a beetle under a magnifying glass. +There was no physical act, no word spoken aloud, that they had +not noticed, no train of thought that they had not been able to +infer. Even the speck of whitish dust on the cover of his diary +they had carefully replaced. They had played sound-tracks to +him, shown him photographs. Some of them were photographs of +Julia and himself. Yes, even ... He could not fight against +the Party any longer. Besides, the Party was in the right. It +must be so; how could the immortal, collective brain be +mistaken? By what external standard could you check its +judgements? Sanity was statistical. It was merely a question of +learning to think as they thought. Only!

+

+ The pencil felt thick and awkward in his fingers. He began +to write down the thoughts that came into his head. He wrote +first in large clumsy capitals:

+

+ + FREEDOM IS SLAVERY

+

+ + Then almost without a pause he wrote beneath it:

+

+ + TWO AND TWO MAKE FIVE

+

+ + But then there came a sort of check. His mind, as though +shying away from something, seemed unable to concentrate. He +knew that he knew what came next, but for the moment he could +not recall it. When he did recall it, it was only by +consciously reasoning out what it must be: it did not come of +its own accord. He wrote:

+

+ + GOD IS POWER

+

+ + He accepted everything. The past was alterable. The past +never had been altered. Oceania was at war with Eastasia. +Oceania had always been at war with Eastasia. Jones, Aaronson, +and Rutherford were guilty of the crimes they were charged +with. He had never seen the photograph that disproved their +guilt. It had never existed, he had invented it. He remembered +remembering contrary things, but those were false memories, +products of self-deception. How easy it all was! Only surrender, +and everything else followed. It was like swimming against a +current that swept you backwards however hard you struggled, +and then suddenly deciding to turn round and go with the +current instead of opposing it. Nothing had changed except your +own attitude: the predestined thing happened in any case. He +hardly knew why he had ever rebelled. Everything was easy, +except!

+

+ Anything could be true. The so-called laws of Nature were +nonsense. The law of gravity was nonsense. 'If I wished,' +O'Brien had said, 'I could float off this floor like a soap +bubble.' Winston worked it out. 'If he thinks he floats +off the floor, and if I simultaneously think I see him +do it, then the thing happens.' Suddenly, like a lump of +submerged wreckage breaking the surface of water, the thought +burst into his mind: 'It doesn't really happen. We imagine it. +It is hallucination.' He pushed the thought under instantly. +The fallacy was obvious. It presupposed that somewhere or +other, outside oneself, there was a 'real' world where 'real' +things happened. But how could there be such a world? What +knowledge have we of anything, save through our own minds? All +happenings are in the mind. Whatever happens in all minds, +truly happens.

+

+ He had no difficulty in disposing of the fallacy, and he +was in no danger of succumbing to it. He realized, +nevertheless, that it ought never to have occurred to him. The +mind should develop a blind spot whenever a dangerous thought +presented itself. The process should be automatic, instinctive. +Crimestop, they called it in Newspeak.

+

+ He set to work to exercise himself in crimestop. He +presented himself with propositions -- 'the Party says the +earth is flat', 'the party says that ice is heavier than water' +-- and trained himself in not seeing or not understanding the +arguments that contradicted them. It was not easy. It needed +great powers of reasoning and improvisation. The arithmetical +problems raised, for instance, by such a statement as 'two and +two make five' were beyond his intellectual grasp. It needed +also a sort of athleticism of mind, an ability at one moment to +make the most delicate use of logic and at the next to be +unconscious of the crudest logical errors. Stupidity was as +necessary as intelligence, and as difficult to attain.

+

+ All the while, with one part of his mind, he wondered how +soon they would shoot him. 'Everything depends on yourself,' +O'Brien had said; but he knew that there was no conscious act +by which he could bring it nearer. It might be ten minutes +hence, or ten years. They might keep him for years in solitary +confinement, they might send him to a labour-camp, they might +release him for a while, as they sometimes did. It was +perfectly possible that before he was shot the whole drama of +his arrest and interrogation would be enacted all over again. +The one certain thing was that death never came at an expected +moment. The tradition -- the unspoken tradition: somehow you +knew it, though you never heard it said-was that they shot you +from behind; always in the back of the head, without warning, +as you walked down a corridor from cell to cell.

+

+ One day -- but 'one day' was not the right expression; +just as probably it was in the middle of the night: once -- he +fell into a strange, blissful reverie. He was walking down the +corridor, waiting for the bullet. He knew that it was coming in +another moment. Everything was settled, smoothed out, +reconciled. There were no more doubts, no more arguments, no +more pain, no more fear. His body was healthy and strong. He +walked easily, with a joy of movement and with a feeling of +walking in sunlight. He was not any longer in the narrow white +corridors in the Ministry of Love, he was in the enormous +sunlit passage, a kilometre wide, down which he had seemed to +walk in the delirium induced by drugs. He was in the Golden +Country, following the foot-track across the old +rabbit-cropped pasture. He could feel the short springy turf +under his feet and the gentle sunshine on his face. At the edge +of the field were the elm trees, faintly stirring, and +somewhere beyond that was the stream where the dace lay in the +green pools under the willows.

+

+ Suddenly he started up with a shock of horror. The sweat +broke out on his backbone. He had heard himself cry aloud:

+

+ 'Julia! Julia! Julia, my love! Julia!'

+

+ For a moment he had had an overwhelming hallucination of +her presence. She had seemed to be not merely with him, but +inside him. It was as though she had got into the texture of +his skin. In that moment he had loved her far more than he had +ever done when they were together and free. Also he knew that +somewhere or other she was still alive and needed his help.

+

+ He lay back on the bed and tried to compose himself. What +had he done? How many years had he added to his servitude by +that moment of weakness?

+

+ In another moment he would hear the tramp of boots +outside. They could not let such an outburst go unpunished. +They would know now, if they had not known before, that he was +breaking the agreement he had made with them. He obeyed the +Party, but he still hated the Party. In the old days he had +hidden a heretical mind beneath an appearance of conformity. +Now he had retreated a step further: in the mind he had +surrendered, but he had hoped to keep the inner heart +inviolate. He knew that he was in the wrong, but he preferred +to be in the wrong. They would understand that- O'Brien would +understand it. It was all confessed in that single foolish cry.

+

+ He would have to start all over again. It might take +years. He ran a hand over his face, trying to familiarize +himself with the new shape. There were deep furrows in the +cheeks, the cheekbones felt sharp, the nose flattened. Besides, +since last seeing himself in the glass he had been given a +complete new set of teeth. It was not easy to preserve +inscrutability when you did not know what your face looked +like. In any case, mere control of the features was not enough. +For the first time he perceived that if you want to keep a +secret you must also hide it from yourself. You must know all +the while that it is there, but until it is needed you must +never let it emerge into your consciousness in any shape that +could be given a name. From now onwards he must not only think +right; he must feel right, dream right. And all the while he +must keep his hatred locked up inside him like a ball of matter +which was part of himself and yet unconnected with the rest of +him, a kind of cyst.

+

+ One day they would decide to shoot him. You could not tell +when it would happen, but a few seconds beforehand it should be +possible to guess. It was always from behind, walking down a +corridor. Ten seconds would be enough. In that time the world +inside him could turn over. And then suddenly, without a word +uttered, without a check in his step, without the changing of a +line in his face -- suddenly the camouflage would be down and +bang! would go the batteries of his hatred. Hatred would fill +him like an enormous roaring flame. And almost in the same +instant bang! would go the bullet, too late, or too early. They +would have blown his brain to pieces before they could reclaim +it. The heretical thought would be unpunished, unrepented, out +of their reach for ever. They would have blown a hole in their +own perfection. To die hating them, that was freedom.

+

+ He shut his eyes. It was more difficult than accepting an +intellectual discipline. It was a question of degrading +himself, mutilating himself. He had got to plunge into the +filthiest of filth. What was the most horrible, sickening thing +of all? He thought of Big Brother. The enormous face (because +of constantly seeing it on posters he always thought of it as +being a metre wide), with its heavy black moustache and the +eyes that followed you to and fro, seemed to float into his +mind of its own accord. What were his true feelings towards Big +Brother?

+

+ There was a heavy tramp of boots in the passage. The steel +door swung open with a clang. O'Brien walked into the cell. +Behind him were the waxen-faced officer and the black-uniformed +guards.

+

+ 'Get up,' said O'Brien. 'Come here.'

+

+ Winston stood opposite him. O'Brien took Winston's +shoulders between his strong hands and looked at him closely.

+

+ 'You have had thoughts of deceiving me,' he said. 'That +was stupid. Stand up straighter. Look me in the face.'

+

+ He paused, and went on in a gentler tone:

+

+ 'You are improving. Intellectually there is very little +wrong with you. It is only emotionally that you have failed to +make progress. Tell me, Winston -- and remember, no lies: you +know that I am always able to detect a lie -- tell me, what are +your true feelings towards Big Brother?'

+

+ 'I hate him.'

+

+ 'You hate him. Good. Then the time has come for you to +take the last step. You must love Big Brother. It is not enough +to obey him: you must love him.'

+

+ He released Winston with a little push towards the guards.

+

+ 'Room 101,' he said.

+

XXII

+

+ At each stage of his imprisonment he had known, or seemed +to know, whereabouts he was in the windowless building. +Possibly there were slight differences in the air pressure. The +cells where the guards had beaten him were below ground level. +The room where he had been interrogated by O'Brien was high up +near the roof. This place was many metres underground, as deep +down as it was possible to go.

+

+ It was bigger than most of the cells he had been in. But +he hardly noticed his surroundings. All he noticed was that +there were two small tables straight in front of him, each +covered with green baize. One was only a metre or two from him, +the other was further away, near the door. He was strapped +upright in a chair, so tightly that he could move nothing, not +even his head. A sort of pad gripped his head from behind, +forcing him to look straight in front of him.

+

+ For a moment he was alone, then the door opened and +O'Brien came in.

+

+ 'You asked me once,' said O'Brien, 'what was in Room 101. +I told you that you knew the answer already. Everyone knows it. +The thing that is in Room 101 is the worst thing in the world.'

+

+ The door opened again. A guard came in, carrying something +made of wire, a box or basket of some kind. He set it down on +the further table. Because of the position in which O'Brien was +standing. Winston could not see what the thing was.

+

+ 'The worst thing in the world,' said O'Brien, 'varies from +individual to individual. It may be burial alive, or death by +fire, or by drowning, or by impalement, or fifty other deaths. +There are cases where it is some quite trivial thing, not even +fatal.'

+

+ He had moved a little to one side, so that Winston had a +better view of the thing on the table. It was an oblong wire +cage with a handle on top for carrying it by. Fixed to the +front of it was something that looked like a fencing mask, with +the concave side outwards. Although it was three or four metres +away from him, he could see that the cage was divided +lengthways into two compartments, and that there was some kind +of creature in each. They were rats.

+

+ 'In your case, said O'Brien, 'the worst thing in the world +happens to be rats.'

+

+ A sort of premonitory tremor, a fear of he was not certain +what, had passed through Winston as soon as he caught his first +glimpse of the cage. But at this moment the meaning of the +mask-like attachment in front of it suddenly sank into him. His +bowels seemed to turn to water.

+

+ 'You can't do that!' he cried out in a high cracked voice. +'You couldn't, you couldn't! It's impossible.'

+

+ 'Do you remember,' said O'Brien, 'the moment of panic that +used to occur in your dreams? There was a wall of blackness in +front of you, and a roaring sound in your ears. There was +something terrible on the other side of the wall. You knew that +you knew what it was, but you dared not drag it into the open. +It was the rats that were on the other side of the wall.'

+

+ 'O'Brien!' said Winston, making an effort to control his +voice. 'You know this is not necessary. What is it that you +want me to do?'

+

+ O'Brien made no direct answer. When he spoke it was in the +schoolmasterish manner that he sometimes affected. He looked +thoughtfully into the distance, as though he were addressing an +audience somewhere behind Winston's back.

+

+ 'By itself,' he said, 'pain is not always enough. There +are occasions when a human being will stand out against pain, +even to the point of death. But for everyone there is something +unendurable -- something that cannot be contemplated. Courage +and cowardice are not involved. If you are falling from a +height it is not cowardly to clutch at a rope. If you have come +up from deep water it is not cowardly to fill your lungs with +air. It is merely an instinct which cannot be destroyed. It is +the same with the rats. For you, they are unendurable. They are +a form of pressure that you cannot withstand. even if you +wished to. You will do what is required of you.

+

+ 'But what is it, what is it? How can I do it if I don't +know what it is?'

+

+ O'Brien picked up the cage and brought it across to the +nearer table. He set it down carefully on the baize cloth. +Winston could hear the blood singing in his ears. He had the +feeling of sitting in utter loneliness. He was in the middle of +a great empty plain, a flat desert drenched with sunlight, +across which all sounds came to him out of immense distances. +Yet the cage with the rats was not two metres away from him. +They were enormous rats. They were at the age when a rat's +muzzle grows blunt and fierce and his fur brown instead of +grey.

+

+ 'The rat,' said O'Brien, still addressing his invisible +audience, 'although a rodent, is carnivorous. You are aware of +that. You will have heard of the things that happen in the poor +quarters of this town. In some streets a woman dare not leave +her baby alone in the house, even for five minutes. The rats +are certain to attack it. Within quite a small time they will +strip it to the bones. They also attack sick or dying people. +They show astonishing intelligence in knowing when a human +being is helpless.'

+

+ There was an outburst of squeals from the cage. It seemed +to reach Winston from far away. The rats were fighting; they +were trying to get at each other through the partition. He +heard also a deep groan of despair. That, too, seemed to come +from outside himself.

+

+ O'Brien picked up the cage, and, as he did so, pressed +something in it. There was a sharp click. Winston made a +frantic effort to tear himself loose from the chair. It was +hopeless; every part of him, even his head, was held immovably. +O'Brien moved the cage nearer. It was less than a metre from +Winston's face.

+

+ 'I have pressed the first lever,' said O'Brien. 'You +understand the construction of this cage. The mask will fit +over your head, leaving no exit. When I press this other lever, +the door of the cage will slide up. These starving brutes will +shoot out of it like bullets. Have you ever seen a rat leap +through the air? They will leap on to your face and bore +straight into it. Sometimes they attack the eyes first. +Sometimes they burrow through the cheeks and devour the +tongue.'

+

+ The cage was nearer; it was closing in. Winston heard a +succession of shrill cries which appeared to be occurring in +the air above his head. But he fought furiously against his +panic. To think, to think, even with a split second left -- to +think was the only hope. Suddenly the foul musty odour of the +brutes struck his nostrils. There was a violent convulsion of +nausea inside him, and he almost lost consciousness. Everything +had gone black. For an instant he was insane, a screaming +animal. Yet he came out of the blackness clutching an idea. +There was one and only one way to save himself. He must +interpose another human being, the body of another human +being, between himself and the rats.

+

+ The circle of the mask was large enough now to shut out +the vision of anything else. The wire door was a couple of +hand-spans from his face. The rats knew what was coming now. +One of them was leaping up and down, the other, an old scaly +grandfather of the sewers, stood up, with his pink hands +against the bars, and fiercely sniffed the air. Winston could +see the whiskers and the yellow teeth. Again the black panic +took hold of him. He was blind, helpless, mindless.

+

+ 'It was a common punishment in Imperial China,' said +O'Brien as didactically as ever.

+

+ The mask was closing on his face. The wire brushed his +cheek. And then -- no, it was not relief, only hope, a tiny +fragment of hope. Too late, perhaps too late. But he had +suddenly understood that in the whole world there was just +one person to whom he could transfer his punishment -- +one body that he could thrust between himself and the +rats. And he was shouting frantically, over and over.

+

+ 'Do it to Julia! Do it to Julia! Not me! Julia! I don't +care what you do to her. Tear her face off, strip her to the +bones. Not me! Julia! Not me!'

+

+ He was falling backwards, into enormous depths, away from +the rats. He was still strapped in the chair, but he had fallen +through the floor, through the walls of the building, through +the earth, through the oceans, through the atmosphere, into +outer space, into the gulfs between the stars -- always away, +away, away from the rats. He was light years distant, but +O'Brien was still standing at his side. There was still the +cold touch of wire against his cheek. But through the darkness +that enveloped him he heard another metallic click, and knew +that the cage door had clicked shut and not open.

+

XXIII

+

+ The Chestnut Tree was almost empty. A ray of sunlight +slanting through a window fell on dusty table-tops. It was the +lonely hour of fifteen. A tinny music trickled from the +telescreens.

+

+ Winston sat in his usual corner, gazing into an empty +glass. Now and again he glanced up at a vast face which eyed +him from the opposite wall. BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU, the +caption said. Unbidden, a waiter came and filled his glass up +with Victory Gin, shaking into it a few drops from another +bottle with a quill through the cork. It was saccharine +flavoured with cloves, the speciality of the café.

+

+ Winston was listening to the telescreen. At present only +music was coming out of it, but there was a possibility that at +any moment there might be a special bulletin from the Ministry +of Peace. The news from the African front was disquieting in +the extreme. On and off he had been worrying about it all day. +A Eurasian army (Oceania was at war with Eurasia: Oceania had +always been at war with Eurasia) was moving southward at +terrifying speed. The mid-day bulletin had not mentioned any +definite area, but it was probable that already the mouth of +the Congo was a battlefield. Brazzaville and Leopoldville were +in danger. One did not have to look at the map to see what it +meant. It was not merely a question of losing Central Africa: +for the first time in the whole war, the territory of Oceania +itself was menaced.

+

+ A violent emotion, not fear exactly but a sort of +undifferentiated excitement, flared up in him, then faded +again. He stopped thinking about the war. In these days he +could never fix his mind on any one subject for more than a few +moments at a time. He picked up his glass and drained it at a +gulp. As always, the gin made him shudder and even retch +slightly. The stuff was horrible. The cloves and saccharine, +themselves disgusting enough in their sickly way, could not +disguise the flat oily smell; and what was worst of all was +that the smell of gin, which dwelt with him night and day, was +inextricably mixed up in his mind with the smell of those-

+

+ He never named them, even in his thoughts, and so far as +it was possible he never visualized them. They were something +that he was half-aware of, hovering close to his face, a smell +that clung to his nostrils. As the gin rose in him he belched +through purple lips. He had grown fatter since they released +him, and had regained his old colour -- indeed, more than +regained it. His features had thickened, the skin on nose and +cheekbones was coarsely red, even the bald scalp was too deep a +pink. A waiter, again unbidden, brought the chessboard and the +current issue of The Times, with the page turned down at +the chess problem. Then, seeing that Winston's glass was empty, +he brought the gin bottle and filled it. There was no need to +give orders. They knew his habits. The chessboard was always +waiting for him, his corner table was always reserved; even +when the place was full he had it to himself, since nobody +cared to be seen sitting too close to him. He never even +bothered to count his drinks. At irregular intervals they +presented him with a dirty slip of paper which they said was +the bill, but he had the impression that they always +undercharged him. It would have made no difference if it had +been the other way about. He had always plenty of money +nowadays. He even had a job, a sinecure, more highly-paid than +his old job had been.

+

+ The music from the telescreen stopped and a voice took +over. Winston raised his head to listen. No bulletins from the +front, however. It was merely a brief announcement from the +Ministry of Plenty. In the preceding quarter, it appeared, the +Tenth Three-Year Plan's quota for bootlaces had been +overfulfilled by 98 per cent.

+

+ He examined the chess problem and set out the pieces. It +was a tricky ending, involving a couple of knights. 'White to +play and mate in two moves.' Winston looked up at the portrait +of Big Brother. White always mates, he thought with a sort of +cloudy mysticism. Always, without exception, it is so arranged. +In no chess problem since the beginning of the world has black +ever won. Did it not symbolize the eternal, unvarying triumph +of Good over Evil? The huge face gazed back at him, full of +calm power. White always mates.

+

+ The voice from the telescreen paused and added in a +different and much graver tone: 'You are warned to stand by for +an important announcement at fifteen-thirty. Fifteen-thirty! +This is news of the highest importance. Take care not to miss +it. Fifteen-thirty!' The tinking music struck up again.

+

+ Winston's heart stirred. That was the bulletin from the +front; instinct told him that it was bad news that was coming. +All day, with little spurts of excitement, the thought of a +smashing defeat in Africa had been in and out of his mind. He +seemed actually to see the Eurasian army swarming across the +never-broken frontier and pouring down into the tip of Africa +like a column of ants. Why had it not been possible to outflank +them in some way? The outline of the West African coast stood +out vividly in his mind. He picked up the white knight and +moved it across the board. There was the proper spot. +Even while he saw the black horde racing southward he saw +another force, mysteriously assembled, suddenly planted in +their rear, cutting their comunications by land and sea. He +felt that by willing it he was bringing that other force into +existence. But it was necessary to act quickly. If they could +get control of the whole of Africa, if they had airfields and +submarine bases at the Cape, it would cut Oceania in two. It +might mean anything: defeat, breakdown, the redivision of the +world, the destruction of the Party! He drew a deep breath. An +extraordinary medley of feeling-but it was not a medley, +exactly; rather it was successive layers of feeling, in which +one could not say which layer was undermost struggled inside +him.

+

+ The spasm passed. He put the white knight back in its +place, but for the moment he could not settle down to serious +study of the chess problem. His thoughts wandered again. Almost +unconsciously he traced with his finger in the dust on the +table: 2+2=

+

+ 'They can't get inside you,' she had said. But they could +get inside you. 'What happens to you here is for ever,' +O'Brien had said. That was a true word. There were things, your +own acts, from which you could never recover. Something was +killed in your breast: burnt out, cauterized out.

+

+ He had seen her; he had even spoken to her. There was no +danger in it. He knew as though instinctively that they now +took almost no interest in his doings. He could have arranged +to meet her a second time if either of them had wanted to. +Actually it was by chance that they had met. It was in the +Park, on a vile, biting day in March, when the earth was like +iron and all the grass seemed dead and there was not a bud +anywhere except a few crocuses which had pushed themselves up +to be dismembered by the wind. He was hurrying along with +frozen hands and watering eyes when he saw her not ten metres +away from him. It struck him at once that she had changed in +some ill-defined way. They almost passed one another without a +sign, then he turned and followed her, not very eagerly. He +knew that there was no danger, nobody would take any interest +in him. She did not speak. She walked obliquely away across the +grass as though trying to get rid of him, then seemed to resign +herself to having him at her side. Presently they were in among +a clump of ragged leafless shrubs, useless either for +concealment or as protection from the wind. They halted. It was +vilely cold. The wind whistled through the twigs and fretted +the occasional, dirty-looking crocuses. He put his arm round +her waist.

+

+ There was no telescreen, but there must be hidden +microphones: besides, they could be seen. It did not matter, +nothing mattered. They could have lain down on the ground and +done that if they had wanted to. His flesh froze with +horror at the thought of it. She made no response whatever to +the clasp of his arm ; she did not even try to disengage +herself. He knew now what had changed in her. Her face was +sallower, and there was a long scar, partly hidden by the hair, +across her forehead and temple; but that was not the change. It +was that her waist had grown thicker, and, in a surprising way, +had stiffened. He remembered how once, after the explosion of a +rocket bomb, he had helped to drag a corpse out of some ruins, +and had been astonished not only by the incredible weight of +the thing, but by its rigidity and awkwardness to handle, which +made it seem more like stone than flesh. Her body felt like +that. It occurred to him that the texture of her skin would be +quite different from what it had once been.

+

+ He did not attempt to kiss her, nor did they speak. As +they walked back across the grass, she looked directly at him +for the first time. It was only a momentary glance, full of +contempt and dislike. He wondered whether it was a dislike that +came purely out of the past or whether it was inspired also by +his bloated face and the water that the wind kept squeezing +from his eyes. They sat down on two iron chairs, side by side +but not too close together. He saw that she was about to speak. +She moved her clumsy shoe a few centimetres and deliberately +crushed a twig. Her feet seemed to have grown broader, he +noticed.

+

+ 'I betrayed you,' she said baldly.

+

+ 'I betrayed you,' he said.

+

+ She gave him another quick look of dislike.

+

+ 'Sometimes,' she said, 'they threaten you with something +something you can't stand up to, can't even think about. And +then you say, "Don't do it to me, do it to somebody else, do it +to So-and-so." And perhaps you might pretend, afterwards, that +it was only a trick and that you just said it to make them stop +and didn't really mean it. But that isn't true. At the time +when it happens you do mean it. You think there's no other way +of saving yourself, and you're quite ready to save yourself +that way. You want it to happen to the other person. You +don't give a damn what they suffer. All you care about is +yourself.'

+

+ 'All you care about is yourself,' he echoed.

+

+ 'And after that, you don't feel the same towards the other +person any longer.'

+

+ 'No,' he said, 'you don't feel the same.'

+

+ There did not seem to be anything more to say. The wind +plastered their thin overalls against their bodies. Almost at +once it became embarrassing to sit there in silence: besides, +it was too cold to keep still. She said something about +catching her Tube and stood up to go.

+

+ 'We must meet again,' he said.

+

+ 'Yes,' she said, 'we must meet again. '

+

+ He followed irresolutely for a little distance, half a +pace behind her. They did not speak again. She did not actually +try to shake him off, but walked at just such a speed as to +prevent his keeping abreast of her. He had made up his mind +that he would accompany her as far as the Tube station, but +suddenly this process of trailing along in the cold seemed +pointless and unbearable. He was overwhelmed by a desire not so +much to get away from Julia as to get back to the Chestnut Tree +Café, which had never seemed so attractive as at this moment. +He had a nostalgic vision of his corner table, with the +newspaper and the chessboard and the ever-flowing gin. Above +all, it would be warm in there. The next moment, not altogether +by accident, he allowed himself to become separated from her by +a small knot of people. He made a halfhearted attempt to catch +up, then slowed down, turned, and made off in the opposite +direction. When he had gone fifty metres he looked back. The +street was not crowded, but already he could not distinguish +her. Any one of a dozen hurrying figures might have been hers. +Perhaps her thickened, stiffened body was no longer +recognizable from behind.

+

+ 'At the time when it happens,' she had said, 'you do mean +it.' He had meant it. He had not merely said it, he had wished +it. He had wished that she and not he should be delivered over +to the-

+

+ Something changed in the music that trickled from the +telescreen. A cracked and jeering note, a yellow note, came +into it. And then -- perhaps it was not happening, perhaps it +was only a memory taking on the semblance of sound -- a voice +was singing:

+

+ 'Under the spreading chestnut tree
+ I sold you and you sold me '

+

+ + The tears welled up in his eyes. A passing waiter noticed +that his glass was empty and came back with the gin bottle.

+

+ He took up his glass and sniffed at it. The stuff grew not +less but more horrible with every mouthful he drank. But it had +become the element he swam in. It was his life, his death, and +his resurrection. It was gin that sank him into stupor every +night, and gin that revived him every morning. When he woke, +seldom before eleven hundred, with gummed-up eyelids and fiery +mouth and a back that seemed to be broken, it would have been +impossible even to rise from the horizontal if it had not been +for the bottle and teacup placed beside the bed overnight. +Through the midday hours he sat with glazed face, the bottle +handy, listening to the telescreen. From fifteen to +closing-time he was a fixture in the Chestnut Tree. No one +cared what he did any longer, no whistle woke him, no +telescreen admonished him. Occasionally, perhaps twice a week, +he went to a dusty, forgotten-looking office in the Ministry of +Truth and did a little work, or what was called work. He had +been appointed to a sub-committee of a sub-committee which had +sprouted from one of the innumerable committees dealing with +minor difficulties that arose in the compilation of the +Eleventh Edition of the Newspeak Dictionary. They were engaged +in producing something called an Interim Report, but what it +was that they were reporting on he had never definitely found +out. It was something to do with the question of whether commas +should be placed inside brackets, or outside. There were four +others on the committee, all of them persons similar to +himself. There were days when they assembled and then promptly +dispersed again, frankly admitting to one another that there +was not really anything to be done. But there were other days +when they settled down to their work almost eagerly, making a +tremendous show of entering up their minutes and drafting long +memoranda which were never finished -- when the argument as to +what they were supposedly arguing about grew extraordinarily +involved and abstruse, with subtle haggling over definitions, +enormous digressions, quarrels threats, even, to appeal to +higher authority. And then suddenly the life would go out of +them and they would sit round the table looking at one another +with extinct eyes, like ghosts fading at cock-crow.

+

+ The telescreen was silent for a moment. Winston raised his +head again. The bulletin! But no, they were merely changing the +music. He had the map of Africa behind his eyelids. The +movement of the armies was a diagram: a black arrow tearing +vertically southward, and a white arrow horizontally eastward, +across the tail of the first. As though for reassurance he +looked up at the imperturbable face in the portrait. Was it +conceivable that the second arrow did not even exist?

+

+ His interest flagged again. He drank another mouthful of +gin, picked up the white knight and made a tentative move. +Check. But it was evidently not the right move, because

+

+ Uncalled, a memory floated into his mind. He saw a +candle-lit room with a vast white-counterpaned bed, and +himself, a boy of nine or ten, sitting on the floor, shaking a +dice-box, and laughing excitedly. His mother was sitting +opposite him and also laughing.

+

+ It must have been about a month before she disappeared. It +was a moment of reconciliation, when the nagging hunger in his +belly was forgotten and his earlier affection for her had +temporarily revived. He remembered the day well, a pelting, +drenching day when the water streamed down the window-pane and +the light indoors was too dull to read by. The boredom of the +two children in the dark, cramped bedroom became unbearable. +Winston whined and grizzled, made futile demands for food, +fretted about the room pulling everything out of place and +kicking the wainscoting until the neighbours banged on the +wall, while the younger child wailed intermittently. In the end +his mother said, 'Now be good, and I'Il buy you a toy. A lovely +toy -- you'll love it'; and then she had gone out in the rain, +to a little general shop which was still sporadically open +nearby, and came back with a cardboard box containing an outfit +of Snakes and Ladders. He could still remember the smell of the +damp cardboard. It was a miserable outfit. The board was +cracked and the tiny wooden dice were so ill-cut that they +would hardly lie on their sides. Winston looked at the thing +sulkily and without interest. But then his mother lit a piece +of candle and they sat down on the floor to play. Soon he was +wildly excited and shouting with laughter as the tiddly-winks +climbed hopefully up the ladders and then came slithering down +the snakes again, almost to the starting- point. They played +eight games, winning four each. His tiny sister, too young to +understand what the game was about, had sat propped up against +a bolster, laughing because the others were laughing. For a +whole afternoon they had all been happy together, as in his +earlier childhood.

+

+ He pushed the picture out of his mind. It was a false +memory. He was troubled by false memories occasionally. They +did not matter so long as one knew them for what they were. +Some things had happened, others had not happened. He turned +back to the chessboard and picked up the white knight again. +Almost in the same instant it dropped on to the board with a +clatter. He had started as though a pin had run into him.

+

+ A shrill trumpet-call had pierced the air. It was the +bulletin! Victory! It always meant victory when a trumpet-call +preceded the news. A sort of electric drill ran through the +café. Even the waiters had started and pricked up their ears.

+

+ The trumpet-call had let loose an enormous volume of +noise. Already an excited voice was gabbling from the +telescreen, but even as it started it was almost drowned by a +roar of cheering from outside. The news had run round the +streets like magic. He could hear just enough of what was +issuing from the telescreen to realize that it had all +happened, as he had foreseen; a vast seaborne armada had +secretly assembled a sudden blow in the enemy's rear, the white +arrow tearing across the tail of the black. Fragments of +triumphant phrases pushed themselves through the din: 'Vast +strategic manoeuvre -- perfect co-ordination -- utter rout -- +half a million prisoners -- complete demoralization -- control +of the whole of Africa -- bring the war within measurable +distance of its end victory -- greatest victory in human +history -- victory, victory, victory!'

+

+ Under the table Winston's feet made convulsive movements. +He had not stirred from his seat, but in his mind he was +running, swiftly running, he was with the crowds outside, +cheering himself deaf. He looked up again at the portrait of +Big Brother. The colossus that bestrode the world! The rock +against which the hordes of Asia dashed themselves in vain! He +thought how ten minutes ago-yes, only ten minutes -- there had +still been equivocation in his heart as he wondered whether the +news from the front would be of victory or defeat. Ah, it was +more than a Eurasian army that had perished! Much had changed +in him since that first day in the Ministry of Love, but the +final, indispensable, healing change had never happened, until +this moment.

+

+ The voice from the telescreen was still pouring forth its +tale of prisoners and booty and slaughter, but the shouting +outside had died down a little. The waiters were turning back +to their work. One of them approached with the gin bottle. +Winston, sitting in a blissful dream, paid no attention as his +glass was filled up. He was not running or cheering any longer. +He was back in the Ministry of Love, with everything forgiven, +his soul white as snow. He was in the public dock, confessing +everything, implicating everybody. He was walking down the +white-tiled corridor, with the feeling of walking in sunlight, +and an armed guard at his back. The longhoped-for bullet was +entering his brain.

+

+ He gazed up at the enormous face. Forty years it had taken +him to learn what kind of smile was hidden beneath the dark +moustache. O cruel, needless misunderstanding! O stubborn, +self-willed exile from the loving breast! Two gin-scented tears +trickled down the sides of his nose. But it was all right, +everything was all right, the struggle was finished. He had won +the victory over himself. He loved Big Brother.

+

APPENDIX: +The Principles of Newspeak

+

+ Newspeak was the official language of Oceania and had been +devised to meet the ideological needs of Ingsoc, or English +Socialism. In the year 1984 there was not as yet anyone who +used Newspeak as his sole means of communication, either in +speech or writing. The leading articles in The Times +were written in it, but this was a tour de force which +could only be carried out by a specialist. It was expected that +Newspeak would have finally superseded Oldspeak (or Standard +English, as we should call it) by about the year 2050. +Meanwhile it gained ground steadily, all Party members tending +to use Newspeak words and grammatical constructions more and +more in their everyday speech. The version in use in 1984, and +embodied in the Ninth and Tenth Editions of the Newspeak +Dictionary, was a provisional one, and contained many +superfluous words and archaic formations which were due to be +suppressed later. It is with the final, perfected version, as +embodied in the Eleventh Edition of the Dictionary, that we are +concerned here.

+

+ The purpose of Newspeak was not only to provide a medium +of expression for the world-view and mental habits proper to +the devotees of Ingsoc, but to make all other modes of thought +impossible. It was intended that when Newspeak had been adopted +once and for all and Oldspeak forgotten, a heretical thought -- +that is, a thought diverging from the principles of Ingsoc -- +should be literally unthinkable, at least so far as thought is +dependent on words. Its vocabulary was so constructed as to +give exact and often very subtle expression to every meaning +that a Party member could properly wish to express, while +excluding all other meanings and also the possibility of +arriving at them by indirect methods. This was done partly by +the invention of new words, but chiefly by eliminating +undesirable words and by stripping such words as remained of +unorthodox meanings, and so far as possible of all secondary +meanings whatever. To give a single example. The word +free still existed in Newspeak, but it could only be +used in such statements as 'This dog is free from lice' or +'This field is free from weeds'. It could not be used in its +old sense of ' politically free' or 'intellectually free' since +political and intellectual freedom no longer existed even as +concepts, and were therefore of necessity nameless. Quite apart +from the suppression of definitely heretical words, reduction +of vocabulary was regarded as an end in itself, and no word +that could be dispensed with was allowed to survive. Newspeak +was designed not to extend but to diminish the range of +thought, and this purpose was indirectly assisted by cutting +the choice of words down to a minimum.

+

+ Newspeak was founded on the English language as we now +know it, though many Newspeak sentences, even when not +containing newly-created words, would be barely intelligible to +an English-speaker of our own day. Newspeak words were divided +into three distinct classes, known as the A vocabulary, the B +vocabulary (also called compound words), and the C vocabulary. +It will be simpler to discuss each class separately, but the +grammatical peculiarities of the language can be dealt with in +the section devoted to the A vocabulary, since the same rules +held good for all three categories.

+

+

+ The A vocabulary. + The A vocabulary consisted of the +words needed for the business of everyday life -- for such +things as eating, drinking, working, putting on one's clothes, +going up and down stairs, riding in vehicles, gardening, +cooking, and the like. It was composed almost entirely of words +that we already possess words like hit, run, dog, tree, +sugar, house, field -- but in comparison with the +present-day English vocabulary their number was extremely +small, while their meanings were far more rigidly defined. All +ambiguities and shades of meaning had been purged out of them. +So far as it could be achieved, a Newspeak word of this class +was simply a staccato sound expressing one clearly +understood concept. It would have been quite impossible to use +the A vocabulary for literary purposes or for political or +philosophical discussion. It was intended only to express +simple, purposive thoughts, usually involving concrete objects +or physical actions.

+

+ The grammar of Newspeak had two outstanding peculiarities. +The first of these was an almost complete interchangeability +between different parts of speech. Any word in the language (in +principle this applied even to very abstract words such as +if or when) could be used either as verb, noun, +adjective, or adverb. Between the verb and the noun form, when +they were of the same root, there was never any variation, this +rule of itself involving the destruction of many archaic forms. +The word thought, for example, did not exist in +Newspeak. Its place was taken by think, which did duty +for both noun and verb. No etymological principle was followed +here: in some cases it was the original noun that was chosen +for retention, in other cases the verb. Even where a noun and +verb of kindred meaning were not etymologically connected, one +or other of them was frequently suppressed. There was, for +example, no such word as cut, its meaning being +sufficiently covered by the noun-verb knife. Adjectives +were formed by adding the suffix-ful to the noun-verb, +and adverbs by adding -wise. Thus for example, +speedful meant 'rapid' and speedwise meant +'quickly'. Certain of our present-day adjectives, such as +good, strong, big, black, soft, were retained, +but their total number was very small. There was little need +for them, since almost any adjectival meaning could be arrived +at by adding-ful to a noun-verb. None of the +now-existing adverbs was retained, except for a very few +already ending in-wise: the -wise termination was +invariable. The word well, for example, was replaced by +goodwise.

+

+ In addition, any word -- this again applied in principle +to every word in the language -- could be negatived by adding +the affix un- or could be strengthened by the affix +plus-, or, for still greater emphasis, +doubleplus-. Thus, for example, uncold meant +'warm', while pluscold and doublepluscold meant, +respectively, 'very cold' and 'superlatively cold'. It was also +possible, as in present-day English, to modify the meaning of +almost any word by prepositional affixes such as ante-, +post-, up-, down-, etc. By such methods it +was found possible to bring about an enormous diminution of +vocabulary. Given, for instance, the word good, there +was no need for such a word as bad, since the required +meaning was equally well -- indeed, better -- expressed by +ungood. All that was necessary, in any case where two +words formed a natural pair of opposites, was to decide which +of them to suppress. Dark, for example, could be +replaced by unlight, or light by undark, +according to preference.

+

+ The second distinguishing mark of Newspeak grammar was its +regularity. Subject to a few exceptions which are mentioned +below all inflexions followed the same rules. Thus, in all +verbs the preterite and the past participle were the same and +ended in-ed. The preterite of steal was +stealed, the preterite of think was +thinked, and so on throughout the language, all such +forms as swam, gave, brought, spoke, +taken, etc., being abolished. All plurals were made by +adding-s or-es as the case might be. The plurals of man, ox, +life, were mans, oxes, lifes. Comparison of +adjectives was invariably made by adding-er,-est (good, +gooder, goodest), irregular forms and the more, most +formation being suppressed.

+

+ The only classes of words that were still allowed to +inflect irregularly were the pronouns, the relatives, the +demonstrative adjectives, and the auxiliary verbs. All of these +followed their ancient usage, except that whom had been +scrapped as unnecessary, and the shall, should tenses +had been dropped, all their uses being covered by will +and would. There were also certain irregularities in +word-formation arising out of the need for rapid and easy +speech. A word which was difficult to utter, or was liable to +be incorrectly heard, was held to be ipso facto a bad +word: occasionally therefore, for the sake of euphony, extra +letters were inserted into a word or an archaic formation was +retained. But this need made itself felt chiefly in connexion +with the B vocabulary. Why so great an importance was +attached to ease of pronunciation will be made clear later in +this essay.

+

+

+ The B vocabulary. + The B vocabulary consisted of +words which had been deliberately constructed for political +purposes: words, that is to say, which not only had in every +case a political implication, but were intended to impose a +desirable mental attitude upon the person using them. Without a +full understanding of the principles of Ingsoc it was difficult +to use these words correctly. In some cases they couId be +translated into Oldspeak, or even into words taken from the A +vocabulary, but this usually demanded a long paraphrase and +always involved the loss of certain overtones. The B words were +a sort of verbal shorthand, often packing whole ranges of ideas +into a few syllables, and at the same time more accurate and +forcible than ordinary language.

+

+ The B words were in all cases compound words.

+

+ They consisted of two or more words, +or portions of words, welded together in an easily +pronounceable form. The resulting amalgam was always a +noun-verb, and inflected according to the ordinary rules. To +take a single example: the word goodthink, meaning, very +roughly, 'orthodoxy', or, if one chose to regard it as a verb, +'to think in an orthodox manner'. This inflected as follows: +noun-verb, goodthink; past tense and past participle, +goodthinked; present participle, good- +thinking; adjective, goodthinkful; adverb, +goodthinkwise; verbal noun, goodthinker.

+

+ The B words were not constructed on any etymological plan. +The words of which they were made up could be any parts of +speech, and could be placed in any order and mutilated in any +way which made them easy to pronounce while indicating their +derivation. In the word crimethink (thoughtcrime), for +instance, the think came second, whereas in +thinkpol Thought Police) it came first, and in the +latter word police had lost its second syllable. Because +of the great difficuIty in securing euphony, irregular +formations were commoner in the B vocabulary than in the A +vocabulary. For example, the adjective forms of Minitrue, +Minipax, and Miniluv were, respectively, +Minitruthful, Minipeaceful, and Minilovely, +simply because- trueful,-paxful, and-loveful were +slightly awkward to pronounce. In principle, however, all B +words could inflect, and all inflected in exactly the same way.

+

+ Some of the B words had highly subtilized meanings, barely +intelligible to anyone who had not mastered the language as a +whole. Consider, for example, such a typical sentence from a +Times leading article as Oldthinkers unbellyfeel +Ingsoc. The shortest rendering that one could make of this +in Oldspeak would be: 'Those whose ideas were formed before the +Revolution cannot have a full emotional understanding of the +principles of English Socialism.' But this is not an adequate +translation. To begin with, in order to

+

+ + Compound words such as speakwrite, +were of course to be found in the A vocabulary, but these were +merely convenient abbreviations and had no special ideologcal +colour.

+

+ grasp the full meaning of the Newspeak sentence quoted +above, one would have to have a clear idea of what is meant by +Ingsoc. And in addition, only a person thoroughly +grounded in Ingsoc could appreciate the full force of the word +bellyfeel, which implied a blind, enthusiastic +acceptance difficult to imagine today; or of the word +oldthink, which was inextricably mixed up with the idea +of wickedness and decadence. But the special function of +certain Newspeak words, of which oldthink was one, was +not so much to express meanings as to destroy them. These +words, necessarily few in number, had had their meanings +extended until they contained within themselves whole batteries +of words which, as they were sufficiently covered by a single +comprehensive term, could now be scrapped and forgotten. The +greatest difficulty facing the compilers of the Newspeak +Dictionary was not to invent new words, but, having invented +them, to make sure what they meant: to make sure, that is to +say, what ranges of words they cancelled by their existence.

+

+ As we have already seen in the case of the word free, +words which had once borne a heretical meaning were sometimes +retained for the sake of convenience, but only with the +undesirable meanings purged out of them. Countless other words +such as honour, justice, morality, internationalism, +democracy, science, and religion had simply ceased +to exist. A few blanket words covered them, and, in covering +them, abolished them. All words grouping themselves round the +concepts of liberty and equality, for instance, were contained +in the single word crimethink, while all words grouping +themselves round the concepts of objectivity and rationalism +were contained in the single word oldthink. Greater +precision would have been dangerous. What was required in a +Party member was an outlook similar to that of the ancient +Hebrew who knew, without knowing much else, that all nations +other than his own worshipped 'false gods'. He did not need to +know that these gods were called Baal, Osiris, Moloch, +Ashtaroth, and the like: probably the less he knew about them +the better for his orthodoxy. He knew Jehovah and the +commandments of Jehovah: he knew, therefore, that all gods with +other names or other attributes were false gods. In somewhat +the same way, the party member knew what constituted right +conduct, and in exceedingly vague, generalized terms he knew +what kinds of departure from it were possible. His sexual life, +for example, was entirely regulated by the two Newspeak words +sexcrime (sexual immorality) and goodsex (chastity). +Sexcrime covered all sexual misdeeds whatever. It +covered fornication, adultery, homosexuality, and other +perversions, and, in addition, normal intercourse practised for +its own sake. There was no need to enumerate them separately, +since they were all equally culpable, and, in principle, all +punishable by death. In the C vocabulary, which consisted of +scientific and technical words, it might be necessary to give +specialized names to certain sexual aberrations, but the +ordinary citizen had no need of them. He knew what was meant by +goodsex -- that is to say, normal intercourse between +man and wife, for the sole purpose of begetting children, and +without physical pleasure on the part of the woman: all else +was sexcrime. In Newspeak it was seldom possible to +follow a heretical thought further than the perception that it +was heretical: beyond that point the necessary words were +nonexistent.

+

+ No word in the B vocabulary was ideologically neutral. A +great many were euphemisms. Such words, for instance, as +joycamp (forced-labour camp) or Minipax Ministry +of Peace, i. e. Ministry of War) meant almost the exact +opposite of what they appeared to mean. Some words, on the +other hand, displayed a frank and contemptuous understanding of +the real nature of Oceanic society. An example was +prolefeed, meaning the rubbishy entertainment and +spurious news which the Party handed out to the masses. Other +words, again, were ambivalent, having the connotation 'good' +when applied to the Party and 'bad' when applied to its +enemies. But in addition there were great numbers of words +which at first sight appeared to be mere abbreviations and +which derived their ideological colour not from their meaning, +but from their structure.

+

+ So far as it could be contrived, everything that had or +might have political significance of any kind was fitted into +the B vocabulary. The name of every organization, or body of +people, or doctrine, or country, or institution, or public +building, was invariably cut down into the familiar shape; that +is, a single easily pronounced word with the smallest number of +syllables that would preserve the original derivation. In the +Ministry of Truth, for example, the Records Department, in +which Winston Smith worked, was called Recdep, the +Fiction Department was called Ficdep, the Teleprogrammes +Department was called Teledep, and so on. This was not +done solely with the object of saving time. Even in the early +decades of the twentieth century, telescoped words and phrases +had been one of the characteristic features of political +language; and it had been noticed that the tendency to use +abbreviations of this kind was most marked in totalitarian +countries and totalitarian organizations. Examples were such +words as Nazi, Gestapo, Comin- tern, Inprecorr, +Agitprop. In the beginning the practice had been adopted as +it were instinctively, but in Newspeak it was used with a +conscious purpose. It was perceived that in thus abbreviating a +name one narrowed and subtly altered its meaning, by cutting +out most of the associations that would otherwise cling to it. +The words Communist International, for instance, call up +a composite picture of universal human brotherhood, red flags, +barricades, Karl Marx, and the Paris Commune. The word +Comintern, on the other hand, suggests merely a +tightly-knit organization and a well-defined body of doctrine. +It refers to something almost as easily recognized, and as +limited in purpose, as a chair or a table. Comintern is +a word that can be uttered almost without taking thought, +whereas Communist International is a phrase over which +one is obliged to linger at least momentarily. In the same way, +the associations called up by a word like Minitrue are +fewer and more controllable than those called up by Ministry +of Truth. This accounted not only for the habit of +abbreviating whenever possible, but also for the almost +exaggerated care that was taken to make every word easily +pronounceable.

+

+ In Newspeak, euphony outweighed every consideration other +than exactitude of meaning. Regularity of grammar was always +sacrificed to it when it seemed necessary. And rightly so, +since what was required, above all for political purposes, was +short clipped words of unmistakable meaning which could be +uttered rapidly and which roused the minimum of echoes in the +speaker's mind. The words of the B vocabulary even gained in +force from the fact that nearly all of them were very much +alike. Almost invariably these words -- goodthink, Minipax, +prolefeed, sexcrime, joycamp, Ingsoc, bellyfeel, +thinkpol, and countless others -- were words of two or +three syllables, with the stress distributed equally between +the first syllable and the last. The use of them encouraged a +gabbling style of speech, at once staccato and monotonous. And +this was exactly what was aimed at. The intention was to make +speech, and especially speech on any subject not ideologically +neutral, as nearly as possible independent of consciousness. +For the purposes of everyday life it was no doubt necessary, or +sometimes necessary, to reflect before speaking, but a Party +member called upon to make a political or ethical judgement +should be able to spray forth the correct opinions as +automatically as a machine gun spraying forth bullets. His +training fitted him to do this, the language gave him an almost +foolproof instrument, and the texture of the words, with their +harsh sound and a certain wilful ugliness which was in accord +with the spirit of Ingsoc, assisted the process still further.

+

+ So did the fact of having very few words to choose from. +Relative to our own, the Newspeak vocabulary was tiny, and new +ways of reducing it were constantly being devised. Newspeak, +indeed, differed from most all other languages in that its +vocabulary grew smaller instead of larger every year. Each +reduction was a gain, since the smaller the area of choice, the +smaller the temptation to take thought. Ultimately it was hoped +to make articulate speech issue from the larynx without +involving the higher brain centres at all. This aim was frankly +admitted in the Newspeak word duckspeak, meaning ' to +quack like a duck'. Like various other words in the B +vocabulary, duckspeak was ambivalent in meaning. +Provided that the opinions which were quacked out were orthodox +ones, it implied nothing but praise, and when The Times +referred to one of the orators of the Party as a +doubleplusgood duckspeaker it was paying a warm and +valued compliment.

+

+

+ The C vocabulary. + The C vocabulary was supplementary +to the others and consisted entirely of scientific and +technical terms. These resembled the scientific terms in use +today, and were constructed from the same roots, but the usual +care was taken to define them rigidly and strip them of +undesirable meanings. They followed the same grammatical rules +as the words in the other two vocabularies. Very few of the C +words had any currency either in everyday speech or in +political speech. Any scientific worker or technician could +find all the words he needed in the list devoted to his own +speciality, but he seldom had more than a smattering of the +words occurring in the other lists. Only a very few words were +common to all lists, and there was no vocabulary expressing the +function of Science as a habit of mind, or a method of thought, +irrespective of its particular branches. There was, indeed, no +word for 'Science', any meaning that it could possibly bear +being already sufficiently covered by the word Ingsoc.

+

+ From the foregoing account it will be seen that in +Newspeak the expression of unorthodox opinions, above a very +low level, was well-nigh impossible. It was of course possible +to utter heresies of a very crude kind, a species of blasphemy. +It would have been possible, for example, to say Big Brother +is ungood. But this statement, which to an orthodox ear +merely conveyed a self-evident absurdity, could not have been +sustained by reasoned argument, because the necessary words +were not available. Ideas inimical to Ingsoc could only be +entertained in a vague wordless form, and could only be named +in very broad terms which lumped together and condemned whole +groups of heresies without defining them in doing so. One +could, in fact, only use Newspeak for unorthodox purposes by +illegitimately translating some of the words back into +Oldspeak. For example, All mans are equal was a possible +Newspeak sentence, but only in the same sense in which All +men are redhaired is a possible Oldspeak sentence. +It did not contain a grammatical error, but it expressed a +palpable untruth-i.e. that all men are of equal size, weight, +or strength. The concept of political equality no longer +existed, and this secondary meaning had accordingly been purged +out of the word equal. In 1984, when Oldspeak was still +the normal means of communication, the danger theoretically +existed that in using Newspeak words one might remember their +original meanings. In practice it was not difficult for any +person well grounded in doublethink to avoid doing this, +but within a couple of generations even the possibility of such +a lapse would have vaished. A person growing up with Newspeak +as his sole language would no more know that equal had +once had the secondary meaning of 'politically equal', or that +free had once meant 'intellectually free', than for +instance, a person who had never heard of chess would be aware +of the secondary meanings attaching to queen and +rook. There would be many crimes and errors which it +would be beyond his power to commit, simply because they were +nameless and therefore unimaginable. And it was to be foreseen +that with the passage of time the distinguishing +characteristics of Newspeak would become more and more +pronounced -- its words growing fewer and fewer, their meanings +more and more rigid, and the chance of putting them to improper +uses always diminishing.

+

+ When Oldspeak had been once and for all superseded, the +last link with the past would have been severed. History had +already been rewritten, but fragments of the literature of the +past survived here and there, imperfectly censored, and so long +as one retained one's knowledge of Oldspeak it was possible to +read them. In the future such fragments, even if they chanced +to survive, would be unintelligible and untranslatable. It was +impossible to translate any passage of Oldspeak into Newspeak +unless it either referred to some technical process or some +very simple everyday action, or was already orthodox +(goodthinkful would be the NewsPeak expression) in +tendency. In practice this meant that no book written before +approximately 1960 could be translated as a whole. +Pre-revolutionary literature could only be subjected to +ideological translation -- that is, alteration in sense as well +as language. Take for example the well-known passage from the +Declaration of Independence:

+

+ We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men +are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with +certain inalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty, +and the pursuit of happiness. That to secure these rights, +Governments are instituted among men, deriving their powers +from the consent of the governed. That whenever any form of +Government becomes destructive of those ends, it is the right +of the People to alter or abolish it, and to institute new +Government...

+

+ It would have been quite impossible to render this into +Newspeak while keeping to the sense of the original. The +nearest one could come to doing so would be to swallow the +whole passage up in the single word crimethink. A full +translation could only be an ideological translation, whereby +Jefferson's words would be changed into a panegyric on absolute +government.

+

+ A good deal of the literature of the past was, indeed, +already being transformed in this way. Considerations of +prestige made it desirable to preserve the memory of certain +historical figures, while at the same time bringing their +achievements into line with the philosophy of Ingsoc. Various +writers, such as Shakespeare, Milton, Swift, Byron, Dickens, +and some others were therefore in process of translation: when +the task had been completed, their original writings, with all +else that survived of the literature of the past, would be +destroyed. These translations were a slow and difficult +business, and it was not expected that they would be finished +before the first or second decade of the twenty-first century. +There were also large quantities of merely utilitarian +literature -- indispensable technical manuals, and the like -- +that had to be treated in the same way. It was chiefly in order +to allow time for the preliminary work of translation that the +final adoption of Newspeak had been fixed for so late a date as +2050.

+ diff --git a/cryptopals-erlang/01.03/hex.erl b/cryptopals-erlang/01.03/hex.erl new file mode 100644 index 0000000..417503c --- /dev/null +++ b/cryptopals-erlang/01.03/hex.erl @@ -0,0 +1,22 @@ +-module(hex). +-export([decode/1,encode/1,fixed_xor/2,single_byte_xor/2]). + +data_in_pairs([]) -> []; +data_in_pairs([C1,C2|Tail]) -> [ [C1] ++ [C2] | data_in_pairs(Tail) ]. + +int_to_hex(N) when N < 256 -> [hex(N div 16), hex(N rem 16)]. + +hex(N) when (0 =< N) and (N < 10) -> $0 + N; +hex(N) when (10 =< N) and (N < 16) -> $a + (N-10). + +decode(Data) -> [ list_to_integer(P,16) || P <- data_in_pairs(Data) ]. +encode(L) -> string:join(lists:map(fun(X) -> int_to_hex(X) end, L), ""). + +fixed_xor(Data1,Data2) -> + lists:zipwith( + fun(P1,P2) -> P1 bxor P2 end, + Data1, + Data2). + +single_byte_xor(Byte, Data) -> + fixed_xor(lists:duplicate(length(Data),Byte),Data). diff --git a/cryptopals-erlang/01.03/hex_tests.erl b/cryptopals-erlang/01.03/hex_tests.erl new file mode 100644 index 0000000..85750f8 --- /dev/null +++ b/cryptopals-erlang/01.03/hex_tests.erl @@ -0,0 +1,16 @@ +-module(hex_tests). +-include_lib("eunit/include/eunit.hrl"). + +decode_test() -> ?assertEqual( + [1,35,69,103,137,171,205,239], + hex:decode("0123456789abcdef")). + +encode_test() -> ?assertEqual( + "0123456789abcdef", + hex:encode([1,35,69,103,137,171,205,239])). + +fixed_xor_test() -> ?assertEqual( + "746865206b696420646f6e277420706c6179", + hex:encode(hex:fixed_xor( + hex:decode("1c0111001f010100061a024b53535009181c"), + hex:decode("686974207468652062756c6c277320657965")))). diff --git a/cryptopals-erlang/01.03/main.erl b/cryptopals-erlang/01.03/main.erl new file mode 100644 index 0000000..034b0d9 --- /dev/null +++ b/cryptopals-erlang/01.03/main.erl @@ -0,0 +1,17 @@ +-module(main). +-export([run/0]). + +% TODO Scoring function to identify which string is English + +get_xored_possibilities() -> + Base = hex:decode("1b37373331363f78151b7f2b783431333d78397828372d363c78373e783a393b3736"), + XorBytes = lists:seq(0,255), + lists:map(fun(XorByte) -> hex:single_byte_xor(XorByte,Base) end, XorBytes). + +get_comparison_text() -> + {ok, Data} = file:read_file("1984.html"), + Data. + +print_all(List) -> lists:map(fun(S) -> io:format("~s~n",[S]) end, List). + +run() -> print_all(get_xored_possibilities()). diff --git a/cryptopals-erlang/01.03/run.sh b/cryptopals-erlang/01.03/run.sh new file mode 100755 index 0000000..cb010e5 --- /dev/null +++ b/cryptopals-erlang/01.03/run.sh @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +erl -make +erl -noshell -s main run -s init stop diff --git a/cryptopals-erlang/01.03/stat.erl b/cryptopals-erlang/01.03/stat.erl new file mode 100644 index 0000000..aa593de --- /dev/null +++ b/cryptopals-erlang/01.03/stat.erl @@ -0,0 +1,44 @@ +-module(stat). +-export([sum/1,mean/1,r_value/1,frequency/1,frequencies_to_scatterplot/2]). + +sum([]) -> 0; +sum([Head|Tail]) -> Head + sum(Tail). + +mean(List) -> sum(List) / length(List). + +covariance(Points, MeanX, MeanY) -> + sum(lists:map(fun({X,Y}) -> (X - MeanX) * (Y - MeanY) end, Points)). + +standard_deviation(Samples, Mean) -> + math:sqrt(sum(lists:map( + fun(Item) -> math:pow(Item - Mean, 2) end, + Samples))). + +r_value(Points) -> + Xs = lists:map(fun({X,_}) -> X end, Points), + Ys = lists:map(fun({_,Y}) -> Y end, Points), + MeanX = mean(Xs), + MeanY = mean(Ys), + Covariance = covariance(Points, MeanX, MeanY), + StandardDeviationX = standard_deviation(Xs, MeanX), + StandardDeviationY = standard_deviation(Ys, MeanY), + Covariance / StandardDeviationX / StandardDeviationY. + +frequency([],Result) -> Result; +frequency([Head|Tail],Result) -> + frequency(Tail,dict:update_counter(Head,1,Result)). + +frequency(Sample) -> frequency(Sample, dict:new()). + +fetch_values(Dict) -> lists:map( + fun({_,Value}) -> Value end, + dict:to_list(Dict)). + +frequencies_to_scatterplot(Fx,Fy) -> + FxPoints = dict:map(fun(_,Value) -> {Value,0} end, Fx), + FyPoints = dict:map(fun(_,Value) -> {0,Value} end, Fy), + KeysToPoints = dict:merge( + fun(_,{X,_},{_,Y}) -> {X,Y} end, + FxPoints, + FyPoints), + fetch_values(KeysToPoints). diff --git a/cryptopals-erlang/01.03/stat_tests.erl b/cryptopals-erlang/01.03/stat_tests.erl new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a007e63 --- /dev/null +++ b/cryptopals-erlang/01.03/stat_tests.erl @@ -0,0 +1,29 @@ +-module(stat_tests). +-include_lib("eunit/include/eunit.hrl"). + +sum_test() -> ?assertEqual(20, stat:sum([2,4,6,8])). + +mean_test() -> ?assertEqual(5.0, stat:mean([2,4,6,8])). + +r_value_positive_test() -> ?assertEqual( + 1.0, + stat:r_value([{1,2},{2,4},{4,8}])). + +% This test doesn't work because of round-off error +%r_value_negative_test() -> ?assertEqual( +% -1.0, +% stat:r_value([{1,1},{2,0},{3,-1}])). + +r_value_zero_test() -> ?assertEqual( + 0.0, + stat:r_value([{1,1},{2,2},{3,1}])). + +frequency_test() -> ?assertEqual( + dict:from_list([{a,1},{b,2}]), + stat:frequency([a,b,b])). + +frequencies_to_scatterplot_test() -> ?assertEqual( + [{1,1},{1,0},{0,1}], + stat:frequencies_to_scatterplot( + dict:from_list([{a,1},{b,1}]), + dict:from_list([{a,1},{c,1}]))). diff --git a/cryptopals-erlang/01.03/test.sh b/cryptopals-erlang/01.03/test.sh new file mode 100755 index 0000000..6c09747 --- /dev/null +++ b/cryptopals-erlang/01.03/test.sh @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +erl -make +erl -noshell -eval "eunit:test($1, [verbose])" -s init stop diff --git a/cryptopals-python/cryptopals.py b/cryptopals-python/cryptopals.py new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8752786 --- /dev/null +++ b/cryptopals-python/cryptopals.py @@ -0,0 +1,14 @@ +import codecs +import unittest + +def base64_from_hex(_hex): + return codecs.encode(codecs.decode(_hex, 'hex'), 'base64').decode('utf-8') + +class Set1Challenge1Tests(unittest.TestCase): + def test_converts_hex_to_base64(self): + expected = 'SSdtIGtpbGxpbmcgeW91ciBicmFpbiBsaWtlIGEgcG9pc29ub3VzIG11c2hyb29t\n' + actual = base64_from_hex('49276d206b696c6c696e6720796f757220627261696e206c696b65206120706f69736f6e6f7573206d757368726f6f6d') + self.assertEqual(expected, actual) + +if __name__ == '__main__': + unittest.main() diff --git a/cryptopals/.gitignore b/cryptopals/.gitignore deleted file mode 100644 index cd81191..0000000 --- a/cryptopals/.gitignore +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2 +0,0 @@ -*.beam -*.swp diff --git a/cryptopals/01.01/hex.erl b/cryptopals/01.01/hex.erl deleted file mode 100644 index d778f15..0000000 --- a/cryptopals/01.01/hex.erl +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7 +0,0 @@ --module(hex). --export([decode/1]). - -data_in_pairs([]) -> []; -data_in_pairs([C1,C2|Tail]) -> [ [C1] ++ [C2] | data_in_pairs(Tail) ]. - -decode(Data) -> << <<(list_to_integer(C,16)):8>> || C <- data_in_pairs(Data) >>. diff --git a/cryptopals/01.01/hex_tests.erl b/cryptopals/01.01/hex_tests.erl deleted file mode 100644 index 80d95da..0000000 --- a/cryptopals/01.01/hex_tests.erl +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6 +0,0 @@ --module(hex_tests). --include_lib("eunit/include/eunit.hrl"). - -decode_test() -> ?assertEqual( - <<1,35,69,103,137,171,205,239>>, - hex:decode("0123456789abcdef")). diff --git a/cryptopals/01.01/hex_to_base64.erl b/cryptopals/01.01/hex_to_base64.erl deleted file mode 100644 index 57b69af..0000000 --- a/cryptopals/01.01/hex_to_base64.erl +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4 +0,0 @@ --module(hex_to_base64). --export([hex_to_base64/1]). - -hex_to_base64(Hex) -> base64:encode_to_string(hex:decode(Hex)). diff --git a/cryptopals/01.01/hex_to_base64_tests.erl b/cryptopals/01.01/hex_to_base64_tests.erl deleted file mode 100644 index 11ac698..0000000 --- a/cryptopals/01.01/hex_to_base64_tests.erl +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6 +0,0 @@ --module(hex_to_base64_tests). --include_lib("eunit/include/eunit.hrl"). - -basit_test() -> ?assertEqual( - "SSdtIGtpbGxpbmcgeW91ciBicmFpbiBsaWtlIGEgcG9pc29ub3VzIG11c2hyb29t", - hex_to_base64:hex_to_base64("49276d206b696c6c696e6720796f757220627261696e206c696b65206120706f69736f6e6f7573206d757368726f6f6d")). diff --git a/cryptopals/01.01/test.sh b/cryptopals/01.01/test.sh deleted file mode 100755 index 6c09747..0000000 --- a/cryptopals/01.01/test.sh +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2 +0,0 @@ -erl -make -erl -noshell -eval "eunit:test($1, [verbose])" -s init stop diff --git a/cryptopals/01.02/hex.erl b/cryptopals/01.02/hex.erl deleted file mode 100644 index 9c39538..0000000 --- a/cryptopals/01.02/hex.erl +++ /dev/null @@ -1,23 +0,0 @@ --module(hex). --export([decode/1,encode/1,fixed_xor/2]). - -data_in_pairs([]) -> []; -data_in_pairs([C1,C2|Tail]) -> [ [C1] ++ [C2] | data_in_pairs(Tail) ]. - -decode(Data) -> [ list_to_integer(P,16) || P <- data_in_pairs(Data) ]. - -fixed_xor(Data1,Data2) -> - DecodedData1 = decode(Data1), - DecodedData2 = decode(Data2), - XoredData = lists:zipwith( - fun(P1,P2) -> P1 bxor P2 end, - DecodedData1, - DecodedData2), - encode(XoredData). - -encode(L) -> string:join(lists:map(fun(X) -> int_to_hex(X) end, L), ""). - -int_to_hex(N) when N < 256 -> [hex(N div 16), hex(N rem 16)]. - -hex(N) when (0 =< N) and (N < 10) -> $0 + N; -hex(N) when (10 =< N) and (N < 16) -> $a + (N-10). diff --git a/cryptopals/01.02/hex_tests.erl b/cryptopals/01.02/hex_tests.erl deleted file mode 100644 index 2e41af0..0000000 --- a/cryptopals/01.02/hex_tests.erl +++ /dev/null @@ -1,16 +0,0 @@ --module(hex_tests). --include_lib("eunit/include/eunit.hrl"). - -decode_test() -> ?assertEqual( - [1,35,69,103,137,171,205,239], - hex:decode("0123456789abcdef")). - -encode_test() -> ?assertEqual( - "0123456789abcdef", - hex:encode([1,35,69,103,137,171,205,239])). - -fixed_xor_test() -> ?assertEqual( - "746865206b696420646f6e277420706c6179", - hex:fixed_xor( - "1c0111001f010100061a024b53535009181c", - "686974207468652062756c6c277320657965")). diff --git a/cryptopals/01.02/test.sh b/cryptopals/01.02/test.sh deleted file mode 100755 index 6c09747..0000000 --- a/cryptopals/01.02/test.sh +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2 +0,0 @@ -erl -make -erl -noshell -eval "eunit:test($1, [verbose])" -s init stop diff --git a/cryptopals/01.03/1984.html b/cryptopals/01.03/1984.html deleted file mode 100644 index e489fa0..0000000 --- a/cryptopals/01.03/1984.html +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11834 +0,0 @@ - - -George Orwell's 1984 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

- - - - -

-

I

-

- It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were -striking thirteen. Winston Smith, his chin nuzzled into his -breast in an effort to escape the vile wind, slipped quickly -through the glass doors of Victory Mansions, though not quickly -enough to prevent a swirl of gritty dust from entering along -with him. -

-

- The hallway smelt of boiled cabbage and old rag mats. At -one end of it a coloured poster, too large for indoor display, -had been tacked to the wall. It depicted simply an enormous -face, more than a metre wide: the face of a man of about -forty-five, with a heavy black moustache and ruggedly handsome -features. Winston made for the stairs. It was no use trying the -lift. Even at the best of times it was seldom working, and at -present the electric current was cut off during daylight hours. -It was part of the economy drive in preparation for Hate Week. -The flat was seven flights up, and Winston, who was thirty-nine -and had a varicose ulcer above his right ankle, went slowly, -resting several times on the way. On each landing, opposite the -lift-shaft, the poster with the enormous face gazed from the -wall. It was one of those pictures which are so contrived that -the eyes follow you about when you move. BIG BROTHER IS -WATCHING YOU, the caption beneath it ran. -

-

- Inside the flat a fruity voice was reading out a list of -figures which had something to do with the production of -pig-iron. The voice came from an oblong metal plaque like a -dulled mirror which formed part of the surface of the -right-hand wall. Winston turned a switch and the voice sank -somewhat, though the words were still distinguishable. The -instrument (the telescreen, it was called) could be dimmed, but -there was no way of shutting it off completely. He moved over -to the window: a smallish, frail figure, the meagreness of his -body merely emphasized by the blue overalls which were the -uniform of the party. His hair was very fair, his face -naturally sanguine, his skin roughened by coarse soap and blunt -razor blades and the cold of the winter that had just ended. -

-

- Outside, even through the shut window-pane, the world -looked cold. Down in the street little eddies of wind were -whirling dust and torn paper into spirals, and though the sun -was shining and the sky a harsh blue, there seemed to be no -colour in anything, except the posters that were plastered -everywhere. The blackmoustachio'd face gazed down from every -commanding corner. There was one on the house-front immediately -opposite. BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU, the caption said, while -the dark eyes looked deep into Winston's own. Down at -streetlevel another poster, torn at one corner, flapped -fitfully in the wind, alternately covering and uncovering the -single word INGSOC. In the far distance a helicopter skimmed -down between the roofs, hovered for an instant like a -bluebottle, and darted away again with a curving flight. It was -the police patrol, snooping into people's windows. The patrols -did not matter, however. Only the Thought Police mattered. -

-

- Behind Winston's back the voice from the telescreen was -still babbling away about pig-iron and the overfulfilment of -the Ninth Three-Year Plan. The telescreen received and -transmitted simultaneously. Any sound that Winston made, above -the level of a very low whisper, would be picked up by it, -moreover, so long as he remained within the field of vision -which the metal plaque commanded, he could be seen as well as -heard. There was of course no way of knowing whether you were -being watched at any given moment. How often, or on what -system, the Thought Police plugged in on any individual wire -was guesswork. It was even conceivable that they watched -everybody all the time. But at any rate they could plug in your -wire whenever they wanted to. You had to live -- did live, from -habit that became instinct -- in the assumption that every -sound you made was overheard, and, except in darkness, every -movement scrutinized. -

-

- Winston kept his back turned to the telescreen. It was -safer, though, as he well knew, even a back can be revealing. A -kilometre away the Ministry of Truth, his place of work, -towered vast and white above the grimy landscape. This, he -thought with a sort of vague distaste -- this was London, chief -city of Airstrip One, itself the third most populous of the -provinces of Oceania. He tried to squeeze out some childhood -memory that should tell him whether London had always been -quite like this. Were there always these vistas of rotting -nineteenth-century houses, their sides shored up with baulks of -timber, their windows patched with cardboard and their roofs -with corrugated iron, their crazy garden walls sagging in all -directions? And the bombed sites where the plaster dust swirled -in the air and the willow-herb straggled over the heaps of -rubble; and the places where the bombs had cleared a larger -patch and there had sprung up sordid colonies of wooden -dwellings like chicken-houses? But it was no use, he could not -remember: nothing remained of his childhood except a series of -bright-lit tableaux occurring against no background and mostly -unintelligible. -

-

- The Ministry of Truth -- Minitrue, in Newspeak* -- was -startlingly different from any other object in sight. It was an -enormous pyramidal structure of glittering white concrete, -soaring up, terrace after terrace, 300 metres into the air. -From where Winston stood it was just possible to read, picked -out on its white face in elegant lettering, the three slogans -of the Party: -

-

- WAR IS PEACE
- FREEDOM IS SLAVERY
- IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH
-

-

- The Ministry of Truth contained, it was said, three -thousand rooms above ground level, and corresponding -ramifications below. Scattered about London there were just -three other buildings of similar appearance and size. So -completely did they dwarf the surrounding architecture that -from the roof of Victory Mansions you could see all four of -them simultaneously. They were the homes of the four Ministries -between which the entire apparatus of government was divided. -The Ministry of Truth, which concerned itself with news, -entertainment, education, and the fine arts. The Ministry of -Peace, which concerned itself with war. The Ministry of Love, -which maintained law and order. And the Ministry of Plenty, -which was responsible for economic affairs. Their names, in -Newspeak: Minitrue, Minipax, Miniluv, and Miniplenty. -

-

- The Ministry of Love was the really frightening one. There -were no windows in it at all. Winston had never been inside the -Ministry of Love, nor within half a kilometre of it. It was a -place impossible to enter except on official business, and then -only by penetrating through a maze of barbed-wire -entanglements, steel doors, and hidden machine-gun nests. Even -the streets leading up to its outer barriers were roamed by -gorilla-faced guards in black uniforms, armed with jointed -truncheons. -

-

- Winston turned round abruptly. He had set his features -into the expression of quiet optimism which it was advisable to -wear when facing the telescreen. He crossed the room into the -tiny kitchen. By leaving the Ministry at this time of day he -had sacrificed his lunch in the canteen, and he was aware that -there was no food in the kitchen except a hunk of dark-coloured -bread which had got to be saved for tomorrow's breakfast. He -took down from the shelf a bottle of colourless liquid with a -plain white label marked VICTORY GIN. It gave off a sickly, -oily smell, as of Chinese rice-spirit. Winston poured out nearly -a teacupful, nerved himself for a shock, and gulped it down -like a dose of medicine. -

-

- Instantly his face turned scarlet and the water ran out of -his eyes. The stuff was like nitric acid, and moreover, in -swallowing it one had the sensation of being hit on the back of -the head with a rubber club. The next moment, however, the -burning in his belly died down and the world began to look more -cheerful. He took a cigarette from a crumpled packet marked -VICTORY CIGARETTES and incautiously held it upright, whereupon -the tobacco fell out on to the floor. With the next he was more -successful. He went back to the living-room and sat down at a -small table that stood to the left of the telescreen. From the -table drawer he took out a penholder, a bottle of ink, and a -thick, quarto-sized blank book with a red back and a marbled -cover. -

-

- For some reason the telescreen in the living-room was in -an unusual position. Instead of being placed, as was normal, in -the end wall, where it could command the whole room, it was in -the longer wall, opposite the window. To one side of it there -was a shallow alcove in which Winston was now sitting, and -which, when the flats were built, had probably been intended to -hold bookshelves. By sitting in the alcove, and keeping well -back, Winston was able to remain outside the range of the -telescreen, so far as sight went. He could be heard, of course, -but so long as he stayed in his present position he could not -be seen. It was partly the unusual geography of the room that -had suggested to him the thing that he was now about to do. -

-

- But it had also been suggested by the book that he had -just taken out of the drawer. It was a peculiarly beautiful -book. Its smooth creamy paper, a little yellowed by age, was of -a kind that had not been manufactured for at least forty years -past. He could guess, however, that the book was much older -than that. He had seen it lying in the window of a frowsy -little junk-shop in a slummy quarter of the town (just what -quarter he did not now remember) and had been stricken -immediately by an overwhelming desire to possess it. Party -members were supposed not to go into ordinary shops ('dealing -on the free market', it was called), but the rule was not -strictly kept, because there were various things, such as -shoelaces and razor blades, which it was impossible to get hold -of in any other way. He had given a quick glance up and down -the street and then had slipped inside and bought the book for -two dollars fifty. At the time he was not conscious of wanting -it for any particular purpose. He had carried it guiltily home -in his briefcase. Even with nothing written in it, it was a -compromising possession. -

-

- The thing that he was about to do was to open a diary. -This was not illegal (nothing was illegal, since there were no -longer any laws), but if detected it was reasonably certain -that it would be punished by death, or at least by twenty-five -years in a forced-labour camp. Winston fitted a nib into the -penholder and sucked it to get the grease off. The pen was an -archaic instrument, seldom used even for signatures, and he had -procured one, furtively and with some difficulty, simply -because of a feeling that the beautiful creamy paper deserved -to be written on with a real nib instead of being scratched -with an ink-pencil. Actually he was not used to writing by -hand. Apart from very short notes, it was usual to dictate -everything into the speak-write which was of course impossible -for his present purpose. He dipped the pen into the ink and -then faltered for just a second. A tremor had gone through his -bowels. To mark the paper was the decisive act. In small clumsy -letters he wrote: -

-

- April 4th, 1984. -

-

- He sat back. A sense of complete helplessness had -descended upon him. To begin with, he did not know with any -certainty that this was 1984. It must be round about that date, -since he was fairly sure that his age was thirty-nine, and he -believed that he had been born in 1944 or 1945; but it was -never possible nowadays to pin down any date within a year or -two. -

-

- For whom, it suddenly occurred to him to wonder, was he -writing this diary? For the future, for the unborn. His mind -hovered for a moment round the doubtful date on the page, and -then fetched up with a bump against the Newspeak word -doublethink. For the first time the magnitude of what he -had undertaken came home to him. How could you communicate with -the future? It was of its nature impossible. Either the future -would resemble the present, in which case it would not listen -to him: or it would be different from it, and his predicament -would be meaningless. -

-

- For some time he sat gazing stupidly at the paper. The -telescreen had changed over to strident military music. It was -curious that he seemed not merely to have lost the power of -expressing himself, but even to have forgotten what it was that -he had originally intended to say. For weeks past he had been -making ready for this moment, and it had never crossed his mind -that anything would be needed except courage. The actual -writing would be easy. All he had to do was to transfer to -paper the interminable restless monologue that had been running -inside his head, literally for years. At this moment, however, -even the monologue had dried up. Moreover his varicose ulcer -had begun itching unbearably. He dared not scratch it, because -if he did so it always became inflamed. The seconds were -ticking by. He was conscious of nothing except the blankness of -the page in front of him, the itching of the skin above his -ankle, the blaring of the music, and a slight booziness caused -by the gin. -

-

- Suddenly he began writing in sheer panic, only imperfectly -aware of what he was setting down. His small but childish -handwriting straggled up and down the page, shedding first its -capital letters and finally even its full stops: -

-

- April 4th, 1984. Last night to the flicks. All war -films. One very good one of a ship full of refugees being -bombed somewhere in the Mediterranean. Audience much amused by -shots of a great huge fat man trying to swim away with a -helicopter after him, first you saw him wallowing along in the -water like a porpoise, then you saw him through the helicopters -gunsights, then he was full of holes and the sea round him -turned pink and he sank as suddenly as though the holes had let -in the water, audience shouting with laughter when he sank. -then you saw a lifeboat full of children with a helicopter -hovering over it. there was a middle-aged woman might have been -a jewess sitting up in the bow with a little boy about three -years old in her arms. little boy screaming with fright and -hiding his head between her breasts as if he was trying to -burrow right into her and the woman putting her arms round him -and comforting him although she was blue with fright herself, -all the time covering him up as much as possible as if she -thought her arms could keep the bullets off him. then the -helicopter planted a 20 kilo bomb in among them terrific flash -and the boat went all to matchwood. then there was a wonderful -shot of a child's arm going up up up right up into the air a -helicopter with a camera in its nose must have followed it up -and there was a lot of applause from the party seats but a -woman down in the prole part of the house suddenly started -kicking up a fuss and shouting they didnt oughter of showed it -not in front of kids they didnt it aint right not in front of -kids it aint until the police turned her turned her out i dont -suppose anything happened to her nobody cares what the proles -say typical prole reaction they never -

-

- Winston stopped writing, partly because he was suffering -from cramp. He did not know what had made him pour out this -stream of rubbish. But the curious thing was that while he was -doing so a totally different memory had clarified itself in his -mind, to the point where he almost felt equal to writing it -down. It was, he now realized, because of this other incident -that he had suddenly decided to come home and begin the diary -today. -

-

- It had happened that morning at the Ministry, if anything -so nebulous could be said to happen. -

-

- It was nearly eleven hundred, and in the Records -Department, where Winston worked, they were dragging the chairs -out of the cubicles and grouping them in the centre of the hall -opposite the big telescreen, in preparation for the Two Minutes -Hate. Winston was just taking his place in one of the middle -rows when two people whom he knew by sight, but had never -spoken to, came unexpectedly into the room. One of them was a -girl whom he often passed in the corridors. He did not know her -name, but he knew that she worked in the Fiction Department. -Presumably -- since he had sometimes seen her with oily hands -and carrying a spanner she had some mechanical job on one of -the novel-writing machines. She was a bold-looking girl, of -about twenty-seven, with thick hair, a freckled face, and -swift, athletic movements. A narrow scarlet sash, emblem of the -Junior Anti-Sex League, was wound several times round the waist -of her overalls, just tightly enough to bring out the -shapeliness of her hips. Winston had disliked her from the very -first moment of seeing her. He knew the reason. It was because -of the atmosphere of hockey-fields and cold baths and community -hikes and general clean-mindedness which she managed to carry -about with her. He disliked nearly all women, and especially -the young and pretty ones. It was always the women, and above -all the young ones, who were the most bigoted adherents of the -Party, the swallowers of slogans, the amateur spies and -nosers-out of unorthodoxy. But this particular girl gave him -the impression of being more dangerous than most. Once when -they passed in the corridor she gave him a quick sidelong -glance which seemed to pierce right into him and for a moment -had filled him with black terror. The idea had even crossed his -mind that she might be an agent of the Thought Police. That, it -was true, was very unlikely. Still, he continued to feel a -peculiar uneasiness, which had fear mixed up in it as well as -hostility, whenever she was anywhere near him. -

-

- The other person was a man named O'Brien, a member of the -Inner Party and holder of some post so important and remote -that Winston had only a dim idea of its nature. A momentary -hush passed over the group of people round the chairs as they -saw the black overalls of an Inner Party member approaching. -O'Brien was a large, burly man with a thick neck and a coarse, -humorous, brutal face. In spite of his formidable appearance he -had a certain charm of manner. He had a trick of resettling his -spectacles on his nose which was curiously disarming -- in some -indefinable way, curiously civilized. It was a gesture which, -if anyone had still thought in such terms, might have recalled -an eighteenth-century nobleman offering his snuffbox. Winston -had seen O'Brien perhaps a dozen times in almost as many years. -He felt deeply drawn to him, and not solely because he was -intrigued by the contrast between O'Brien's urbane manner and -his prize-fighter's physique. Much more it was because of a -secretly held belief -- or perhaps not even a belief, merely a -hope -- that O'Brien's political orthodoxy was not perfect. -Something in his face suggested it irresistibly. And again, -perhaps it was not even unorthodoxy that was written in his -face, but simply intelligence. But at any rate he had the -appearance of being a person that you could talk to if somehow -you could cheat the telescreen and get him alone. Winston had -never made the smallest effort to verify this guess: indeed, -there was no way of doing so. At this moment O'Brien glanced at -his wrist-watch, saw that it was nearly eleven hundred, and -evidently decided to stay in the Records Department until the -Two Minutes Hate was over. He took a chair in the same row as -Winston, a couple of places away. A small, sandy-haired woman -who worked in the next cubicle to Winston was between them. The -girl with dark hair was sitting immediately behind. -

-

- The next moment a hideous, grinding speech, as of some -monstrous machine running without oil, burst from the big -telescreen at the end of the room. It was a noise that set -one's teeth on edge and bristled the hair at the back of one's -neck. The Hate had started. -

-

- As usual, the face of Emmanuel Goldstein, the Enemy of the -People, had flashed on to the screen. There were hisses here -and there among the audience. The little sandy-haired woman -gave a squeak of mingled fear and disgust. Goldstein was the -renegade and backslider who once, long ago (how long ago, -nobody quite remembered), had been one of the leading figures -of the Party, almost on a level with Big Brother himself, and -then had engaged in counter-revolutionary activities, had been -condemned to death, and had mysteriously escaped and -disappeared. The programmes of the Two Minutes Hate varied from -day to day, but there was none in which Goldstein was not the -principal figure. He was the primal traitor, the earliest -defiler of the Party's purity. All subsequent crimes against -the Party, all treacheries, acts of sabotage, heresies, -deviations, sprang directly out of his teaching. Somewhere or -other he was still alive and hatching his conspiracies: perhaps -somewhere beyond the sea, under the protection of his foreign -paymasters, perhaps even -- so it was occasionally rumoured -- -in some hiding-place in Oceania itself. -

-

- Winston's diaphragm was constricted. He could never see -the face of Goldstein without a painful mixture of emotions. It -was a lean Jewish face, with a great fuzzy aureole of white -hair and a small goatee beard -- a clever face, and yet somehow -inherently despicable, with a kind of senile silliness in the -long thin nose, near the end of which a pair of spectacles was -perched. It resembled the face of a sheep, and the voice, too, -had a sheep-like quality. Goldstein was delivering his usual -venomous attack upon the doctrines of the Party -- an attack so -exaggerated and perverse that a child should have been able to -see through it, and yet just plausible enough to fill one with -an alarmed feeling that other people, less level-headed than -oneself, might be taken in by it. He was abusing Big Brother, -he was denouncing the dictatorship of the Party, he was -demanding the immediate conclusion of peace with Eurasia, he -was advocating freedom of speech, freedom of the Press, freedom -of assembly, freedom of thought, he was crying hysterically -that the revolution had been betrayed -- and all this in rapid -polysyllabic speech which was a sort of parody of the habitual -style of the orators of the Party, and even contained Newspeak -words: more Newspeak words, indeed, than any Party member would -normally use in real life. And all the while, lest one should -be in any doubt as to the reality which Goldstein's specious -claptrap covered, behind his head on the telescreen there -marched the endless columns of the Eurasian army -- row after -row of solid-looking men with expressionless Asiatic faces, who -swam up to the surface of the screen and vanished, to be -replaced by others exactly similar. The dull rhythmic tramp of -the soldiers' boots formed the background to Goldstein's -bleating voice. -

-

- Before the Hate had proceeded for thirty seconds, -uncontrollable exclamations of rage were breaking out from half -the people in the room. The self-satisfied sheep-like face on -the screen, and the terrifying power of the Eurasian army -behind it, were too much to be borne: besides, the sight or -even the thought of Goldstein produced fear and anger -automatically. He was an object of hatred more constant than -either Eurasia or Eastasia, since when Oceania was at war with -one of these Powers it was generally at peace with the other. -But what was strange was that although Goldstein was hated and -despised by everybody, although every day and a thousand times -a day, on platforms, on the telescreen, in newspapers, in -books, his theories were refuted, smashed, ridiculed, held up -to the general gaze for the pitiful rubbish that they were in -spite of all this, his influence never seemed to grow less. -Always there were fresh dupes waiting to be seduced by him. A -day never passed when spies and saboteurs acting under his -directions were not unmasked by the Thought Police. He was the -commander of a vast shadowy army, an underground network of -conspirators dedicated to the overthrow of the State. The -Brotherhood, its name was supposed to be. There were also -whispered stories of a terrible book, a compendium of all the -heresies, of which Goldstein was the author and which -circulated clandestinely here and there. It was a book without -a title. People referred to it, if at all, simply as the -book. But one knew of such things only through vague -rumours. Neither the Brotherhood nor the book was a -subject that any ordinary Party member would mention if there -was a way of avoiding it. -

-

- In its second minute the Hate rose to a frenzy. People -were leaping up and down in their places and shouting at the -tops of their voices in an effort to drown the maddening -bleating voice that came from the screen. The little -sandy-haired woman had turned bright pink, and her mouth was opening -and shutting like that of a landed fish. Even O'Brien's heavy -face was flushed. He was sitting very straight in his chair, -his powerful chest swelling and quivering as though he were -standing up to the assault of a wave. The dark-haired girl -behind Winston had begun crying out 'Swine! Swine! Swine!' and -suddenly she picked up a heavy Newspeak dictionary and flung it -at the screen. It struck Goldstein's nose and bounced off; the -voice continued inexorably. In a lucid moment Winston found -that he was shouting with the others and kicking his heel -violently against the rung of his chair. The horrible thing -about the Two Minutes Hate was not that one was obliged to act -a part, but, on the contrary, that it was impossible to avoid -joining in. Within thirty seconds any pretence was always -unnecessary. A hideous ecstasy of fear and vindictiveness, a -desire to kill, to torture, to smash faces in with a -sledge-hammer, seemed to flow through the whole group of people -like an electric current, turning one even against one's will -into a grimacing, screaming lunatic. And yet the rage that one -felt was an abstract, undirected emotion which could be -switched from one object to another like the flame of a -blowlamp. Thus, at one moment Winston's hatred was not turned -against Goldstein at all, but, on the contrary, against Big -Brother, the Party, and the Thought Police; and at such moments -his heart went out to the lonely, derided heretic on the -screen, sole guardian of truth and sanity in a world of lies. -And yet the very next instant he was at one with the people -about him, and all that was said of Goldstein seemed to him to -be true. At those moments his secret loathing of Big Brother -changed into adoration, and Big Brother seemed to tower up, an -invincible, fearless protector, standing like a rock against -the hordes of Asia, and Goldstein, in spite of his isolation, -his helplessness, and the doubt that hung about his very -existence, seemed like some sinister enchanter, capable by the -mere power of his voice of wrecking the structure of -civilization. -

-

- It was even possible, at moments, to switch one's hatred -this way or that by a voluntary act. Suddenly, by the sort of -violent effort with which one wrenches one's head away from the -pillow in a nightmare, Winston succeeded in transferring his -hatred from the face on the screen to the dark-haired girl -behind him. Vivid, beautiful hallucinations flashed through his -mind. He would flog her to death with a rubber truncheon. He -would tie her naked to a stake and shoot her full of arrows -like Saint Sebastian. He would ravish her and cut her throat at -the moment of climax. Better than before, moreover, he realized -why it was that he hated her. He hated her because she was -young and pretty and sexless, because he wanted to go to bed -with her and would never do so, because round her sweet supple -waist, which seemed to ask you to encircle it with your arm, -there was only the odious scarlet sash, aggressive symbol of -chastity. -

-

- The Hate rose to its climax. The voice of Goldstein had -become an actual sheep's bleat, and for an instant the face -changed into that of a sheep. Then the sheep-face melted into -the figure of a Eurasian soldier who seemed to be advancing, -huge and terrible, his sub-machine gun roaring, and seeming to -spring out of the surface of the screen, so that some of the -people in the front row actually flinched backwards in their -seats. But in the same moment, drawing a deep sigh of relief -from everybody, the hostile figure melted into the face of Big -Brother, black-haired, black-moustachio'd, full of power and -mysterious calm, and so vast that it almost filled up the -screen. Nobody heard what Big Brother was saying. It was merely -a few words of encouragement, the sort of words that are -uttered in the din of battle, not distinguishable individually -but restoring confidence by the fact of being spoken. Then the -face of Big Brother faded away again, and instead the three -slogans of the Party stood out in bold capitals: -

-

- WAR IS PEACE
- FREEDOM IS SLAVERY
- IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH
-

-

- But the face of Big Brother seemed to persist for several -seconds on the screen, as though the impact that it had made on -everyone's eyeballs was too vivid to wear off immediately. The -little sandy-haired woman had flung herself forward over the -back of the chair in front of her. With a tremulous murmur that -sounded like 'My Saviour!' she extended her arms towards the -screen. Then she buried her face in her hands. It was apparent -that she was uttering a prayer. -

-

- At this moment the entire group of people broke into a -deep, slow, rhythmical chant of 'B-B! ... B-B!' -- over and -over again, very slowly, with a long pause between the first -'B' and the second-a heavy, murmurous sound, somehow curiously -savage, in the background of which one seemed to hear the stamp -of naked feet and the throbbing of tom-toms. For perhaps as -much as thirty seconds they kept it up. It was a refrain that -was often heard in moments of overwhelming emotion. Partly it -was a sort of hymn to the wisdom and majesty of Big Brother, -but still more it was an act of self-hypnosis, a deliberate -drowning of consciousness by means of rhythmic noise. Winston's -entrails seemed to grow cold. In the Two Minutes Hate he could -not help sharing in the general delirium, but this sub-human -chanting of 'B-B! ... B-B!' always filled him with horror. -Of course he chanted with the rest: it was impossible to do -otherwise. To dissemble your feelings, to control your face, to -do what everyone else was doing, was an instinctive reaction. -But there was a space of a couple of seconds during which the -expression of his eyes might conceivably have betrayed him. And -it was exactly at this moment that the significant thing -happened -- if, indeed, it did happen. -

-

- Momentarily he caught O'Brien's eye. O'Brien had stood up. -He had taken off his spectacles and was in the act of -resettling them on his nose with his characteristic gesture. -But there was a fraction of a second when their eyes met, and -for as long as it took to happen Winston knew -- yes, he -knew! -- that O'Brien was thinking the same thing as -himself. An unmistakable message had passed. It was as though -their two minds had opened and the thoughts were flowing from -one into the other through their eyes. 'I am with you,' O'Brien -seemed to be saying to him. 'I know precisely what you are -feeling. I know all about your contempt, your hatred, your -disgust. But don't worry, I am on your side!' And then the -flash of intelligence was gone, and O'Brien's face was as -inscrutable as everybody else's. -

-

- That was all, and he was already uncertain whether it had -happened. Such incidents never had any sequel. All that they -did was to keep alive in him the belief, or hope, that others -besides himself were the enemies of the Party. Perhaps the -rumours of vast underground conspiracies were true after all -- -perhaps the Brotherhood really existed! It was impossible, in -spite of the endless arrests and confessions and executions, to -be sure that the Brotherhood was not simply a myth. Some days -he believed in it, some days not. There was no evidence, only -fleeting glimpses that might mean anything or nothing: snatches -of overheard conversation, faint scribbles on lavatory walls -- -once, even, when two strangers met, a small movement of the -hand which had looked as though it might be a signal of -recognition. It was all guesswork: very likely he had imagined -everything. He had gone back to his cubicle without looking at -O'Brien again. The idea of following up their momentary contact -hardly crossed his mind. It would have been inconceivably -dangerous even if he had known how to set about doing it. For a -second, two seconds, they had exchanged an equivocal glance, -and that was the end of the story. But even that was a -memorable event, in the locked loneliness in which one had to -live. -

-

- Winston roused himself and sat up straighter. He let out a -belch. The gin was rising from his stomach. -

-

- His eyes re-focused on the page. He discovered that while -he sat helplessly musing he had also been writing, as though by -automatic action. And it was no longer the same cramped, -awkward handwriting as before. His pen had slid voluptuously -over the smooth paper, printing in large neat capitals -

-

- DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER
- DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER
- DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER
- DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER
- DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER
-

-

over and over again, filling half a page. -

-

- He could not help feeling a twinge of panic. It was -absurd, since the writing of those particular words was not -more dangerous than the initial act of opening the diary, but -for a moment he was tempted to tear out the spoiled pages and -abandon the enterprise altogether. -

-

- He did not do so, however, because he knew that it was -useless. Whether he wrote DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER, or whether he -refrained from writing it, made no difference. Whether he went -on with the diary, or whether he did not go on with it, made no -difference. The Thought Police would get him just the same. He -had committed -- would still have committed, even if he had -never set pen to paper -- the essential crime that contained -all others in itself. Thoughtcrime, they called it. -Thoughtcrime was not a thing that could be concealed for ever. -You might dodge successfully for a while, even for years, but -sooner or later they were bound to get you. -

-

- It was always at night -- the arrests invariably happened -at night. The sudden jerk out of sleep, the rough hand shaking -your shoulder, the lights glaring in your eyes, the ring of -hard faces round the bed. In the vast majority of cases there -was no trial, no report of the arrest. People simply -disappeared, always during the night. Your name was removed -from the registers, every record of everything you had ever -done was wiped out, your one-time existence was denied and then -forgotten. You were abolished, annihilated: vaporized -was the usual word. -

-

- For a moment he was seized by a kind of hysteria. He began -writing in a hurried untidy scrawl: -

-

- theyll shoot me i don't care theyll shoot me in the -back of the neck i dont care down with big brother they always -shoot you in the back of the neck i dont care down with big -brother -

-

- He sat back in his chair, slightly ashamed of himself, and -laid down the pen. The next moment he started violently. There -was a knocking at the door. -

-

- Already! He sat as still as a mouse, in the futile hope -that whoever it was might go away after a single attempt. But -no, the knocking was repeated. The worst thing of all would be -to delay. His heart was thumping like a drum, but his face, -from long habit, was probably expressionless. He got up and -moved heavily towards the door. -

-

II

-

- As he put his hand to the door-knob Winston saw that he -had left the diary open on the table. DOWN WITH BIG BROTHER was -written all over it, in letters almost big enough to be legible -across the room. It was an inconceivably stupid thing to have -done. But, he realized, even in his panic he had not wanted to -smudge the creamy paper by shutting the book while the ink was -wet.

-

- He drew in his breath and opened the door. Instantly a -warm wave of relief flowed through him. A colourless, -crushed-looking woman, with wispy hair and a lined face, was -standing outside.

-

- 'Oh, comrade,' she began in a dreary, whining sort of -voice, 'I thought I heard you come in. Do you think you could -come across and have a look at our kitchen sink? It's got -blocked up and-'

-

- It was Mrs Parsons, the wife of a neighbour on the same -floor. ('Mrs' was a word somewhat discountenanced by the Party --- you were supposed to call everyone 'comrade' -- but with -some women one used it instinctively.) She was a woman of about -thirty, but looking much older. One had the impression that -there was dust in the creases of her face. Winston followed her -down the passage. These amateur repair jobs were an almost -daily irritation. Victory Mansions were old flats, built in -1930 or thereabouts, and were falling to pieces. The plaster -flaked constantly from ceilings and walls, the pipes burst in -every hard frost, the roof leaked whenever there was snow, the -heating system was usually running at half steam when it was -not closed down altogether from motives of economy. Repairs, -except what you could do for yourself, had to be sanctioned by -remote committees which were liable to hold up even the mending -of a window-pane for two years.

-

- 'Of course it's only because Tom isn't home,' said Mrs -Parsons vaguely.

-

- The Parsons' flat was bigger than Winston's, and dingy in -a different way. Everything had a battered, trampled-on look, -as though the place had just been visited by some large violent -animal. Games impedimenta -- hockey-sticks, boxing-gloves. a -burst football, a pair of sweaty shorts turned inside out -- -lay all over the floor, and on the table there was a litter of -dirty dishes and dog-eared exercise-books. On the walls were -scarlet banners of the Youth League and the Spies, and a -full-sized poster of Big Brother. There was the usual -boiled-cabbage smell, common to the whole building, but it was -shot through by a sharper reek of sweat, which-one knew this at -the first sniff, though it was hard to say how was the sweat of -some person not present at the moment. In another room someone -with a comb and a piece of toilet paper was trying to keep tune -with the military music which was still issuing from the -telescreen.

-

- 'It's the children,' said Mrs Parsons, casting a -half-apprehensive glance at the door. 'They haven't been out today. -And of course-'

-

- She had a habit of breaking off her sentences in the -middle. The kitchen sink was full nearly to the brim with -filthy greenish water which smelt worse than ever of cabbage. -Winston knelt down and examined the angle-joint of the pipe. He -hated using his hands, and he hated bending down, which was -always liable to start him coughing. Mrs Parsons looked on -helplessly.

-

- 'Of course if Tom was home he'd put it right in a moment,' -she said. 'He loves anything like that. He's ever so good with -his hands, Tom is.'

-

- Parsons was Winston's fellow-employee at the Ministry of -Truth. He was a fattish but active man of paralysing stupidity, -a mass of imbecile enthusiasms -- one of those completely -unquestioning, devoted drudges on whom, more even than on the -Thought Police, the stability of the Party depended. At -thirty-five he had just been unwillingly evicted from the Youth -League, and before graduating into the Youth League he had -managed to stay on in the Spies for a year beyond the statutory -age. At the Ministry he was employed in some subordinate post -for which intelligence was not required, but on the other hand -he was a leading figure on the Sports Committee and all the -other committees engaged in organizing community hikes, -spontaneous demonstrations, savings campaigns, and voluntary -activities generally. He would inform you with quiet pride, -between whiffs of his pipe, that he had put in an appearance at -the Community Centre every evening for the past four years. An -overpowering smell of sweat, a sort of unconscious testimony to -the strenuousness of his life, followed him about wherever he -went, and even remained behind him after he had gone.

-

- 'Have you got a spanner?' said Winston, fiddling with the -nut on the angle-joint.

-

- 'A spanner,' said Mrs Parsons, immediately becoming -invertebrate. 'I don't know, I'm sure. Perhaps the children -'

-

- There was a trampling of boots and another blast on the -comb as the children charged into the living-room. Mrs Parsons -brought the spanner. Winston let out the water and disgustedly -removed the clot of human hair that had blocked up the pipe. He -cleaned his fingers as best he could in the cold water from the -tap and went back into the other room.

-

- 'Up with your hands!' yelled a savage voice.

-

- A handsome, tough-looking boy of nine had popped up from -behind the table and was menacing him with a toy automatic -pistol, while his small sister, about two years younger, made -the same gesture with a fragment of wood. Both of them were -dressed in the blue shorts, grey shirts, and red neckerchiefs -which were the uniform of the Spies. Winston raised his hands -above his head, but with an uneasy feeling, so vicious was the -boy's demeanour, that it was not altogether a game.

-

- 'You're a traitor!' yelled the boy. 'You're a thought-criminal! -You're a Eurasian spy! I'll shoot you, I'll vaporize -you, I'll send you to the salt mines!'

-

- Suddenly they were both leaping round him, shouting -'Traitor!' and 'Thought-criminal!' the little girl imitating -her brother in every movement. It was somehow slightly -frightening, like the gambolling of tiger cubs which will soon -grow up into man-eaters. There was a sort of calculating -ferocity in the boy's eye, a quite evident desire to hit or -kick Winston and a consciousness of being very nearly big -enough to do so. It was a good job it was not a real pistol he -was holding, Winston thought.

-

- Mrs Parsons' eyes flitted nervously from Winston to the -children, and back again. In the better light of the -living-room he noticed with interest that there actually -was dust in the creases of her face.

-

- 'They do get so noisy,' she said. 'They're disappointed -because they couldn't go to see the hanging, that's what it is. -I'm too busy to take them. and Tom won't be back from work in -time.'

-

- 'Why can't we go and see the hanging?' roared the boy in -his huge voice.

-

- 'Want to see the hanging! Want to see the hanging!' -chanted the little girl, still capering round.

-

- Some Eurasian prisoners, guilty of war crimes, were to be -hanged in the Park that evening, Winston remembered. This -happened about once a month, and was a popular spectacle. -Children always clamoured to be taken to see it. He took his -leave of Mrs Parsons and made for the door. But he had not gone -six steps down the passage when something hit the back of his -neck an agonizingly painful blow. It was as though a red-hot -wire had been jabbed into him. He spun round just in time to -see Mrs Parsons dragging her son back into the doorway while -the boy pocketed a catapult.

-

- 'Goldstein!' bellowed the boy as the door closed on him. -But what most struck Winston was the look of helpless fright on -the woman's greyish face.

-

- Back in the flat he stepped quickly past the telescreen -and sat down at the table again, still rubbing his neck. The -music from the telescreen had stopped. Instead, a clipped -military voice was reading out, with a sort of brutal relish, a -description of the armaments of the new Floating Fortress which -had just been anchored between lceland and the Faroe lslands.

-

- With those children, he thought, that wretched woman must -lead a life of terror. Another year, two years, and they would -be watching her night and day for symptoms of unorthodoxy. -Nearly all children nowadays were horrible. What was worst of -all was that by means of such organizations as the Spies they -were systematically turned into ungovernable little savages, -and yet this produced in them no tendency whatever to rebel -against the discipline of the Party. On the contrary, they -adored the Party and everything connected with it. The songs, -the processions, the banners, the hiking, the drilling with -dummy rifles, the yelling of slogans, the worship of Big -Brother -- it was all a sort of glorious game to them. All -their ferocity was turned outwards, against the enemies of the -State, against foreigners, traitors, saboteurs, -thought-criminals. It was almost normal for people over thirty -to be frightened of their own children. And with good reason, -for hardly a week passed in which The Times did not -carry a paragraph describing how some eavesdropping little -sneak -- 'child hero' was the phrase generally used -- had -overheard some compromising remark and denounced its parents to -the Thought Police.

-

- The sting of the catapult bullet had worn off. He picked -up his pen half-heartedly, wondering whether he could find -something more to write in the diary. Suddenly he began -thinking of O'Brien again.

-

- Years ago -- how long was it? Seven years it must be -- he -had dreamed that he was walking through a pitch-dark room. And -someone sitting to one side of him had said as he passed: 'We -shall meet in the place where there is no darkness.' It was -said very quietly, almost casually -- a statement, not a -command. He had walked on without pausing. What was curious was -that at the time, in the dream, the words had not made much -impression on him. It was only later and by degrees that they -had seemed to take on significance. He could not now remember -whether it was before or after having the dream that he had -seen O'Brien for the first time, nor could he remember when he -had first identified the voice as O'Brien's. But at any rate -the identification existed. It was O'Brien who had spoken to -him out of the dark.

-

- Winston had never been able to feel sure -- even after -this morning's flash of the eyes it was still impossible to be -sure whether O'Brien was a friend or an enemy. Nor did it even -seem to matter greatly. There was a link of understanding -between them, more important than affection or partisanship. -'We shall meet in the place where there is no darkness,' he had -said. Winston did not know what it meant, only that in some way -or another it would come true.

-

- The voice from the telescreen paused. A trumpet call, -clear and beautiful, floated into the stagnant air. The voice -continued raspingly:

-

- 'Attention! Your attention, please! A newsflash has this -moment arrived from the Malabar front. Our forces in South -India have won a glorious victory. I am authorized to say that -the action we are now reporting may well bring the war within -measurable distance of its end. Here is the newsflash -'

-

- Bad news coming, thought Winston. And sure enough, -following on a gory description of the annihilation of a -Eurasian army, with stupendous figures of killed and prisoners, -came the announcement that, as from next week, the chocolate -ration would be reduced from thirty grammes to twenty.

-

- Winston belched again. The gin was wearing off, leaving a -deflated feeling. The telescreen -- perhaps to celebrate the -victory, perhaps to drown the memory of the lost chocolate -- -crashed into 'Oceania, 'tis for thee'. You were supposed to -stand to attention. However, in his present position he was -invisible.

-

- 'Oceania, 'tis for thee' gave way to lighter music. -Winston walked over to the window, keeping his back to the -telescreen. The day was still cold and clear. Somewhere far -away a rocket bomb exploded with a dull, reverberating roar. -About twenty or thirty of them a week were falling on London at -present.

-

- Down in the street the wind flapped the torn poster to and -fro, and the word INGSOC fitfully appeared and vanished. -Ingsoc. The sacred principles of Ingsoc. Newspeak, doublethink, -the mutability of the past. He felt as though he were wandering -in the forests of the sea bottom, lost in a monstrous world -where he himself was the monster. He was alone. The past was -dead, the future was unimaginable. What certainty had he that a -single human creature now living was on his side? And what way -of knowing that the dominion of the Party would not endure -for ever? Like an answer, the three slogans on the white -face of the Ministry of Truth came back to him:

-

- WAR IS PEACE
- FREEDOM IS SLAVERY
- IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH

-

- - He took a twenty-five cent piece out of his pocket. There, -too, in tiny clear lettering, the same slogans were inscribed, -and on the other face of the coin the head of Big Brother. Even -from the coin the eyes pursued you. On coins, on stamps, on the -covers of books, on banners, on posters, and on the wrappings -of a cigarette Packet -- everywhere. Always the eyes watching -you and the voice enveloping you. Asleep or awake, working or -eating, indoors or out of doors, in the bath or in bed -- no -escape. Nothing was your own except the few cubic centimetres -inside your skull.

-

- The sun had shifted round, and the myriad windows of the -Ministry of Truth, with the light no longer shining on them, -looked grim as the loopholes of a fortress. His heart quailed -before the enormous pyramidal shape. It was too strong, it -could not be stormed. A thousand rocket bombs would not batter -it down. He wondered again for whom he was writing the diary. -For the future, for the past -- for an age that might be -imaginary. And in front of him there lay not death but -annihilation. The diary would be reduced to ashes and himself -to vapour. Only the Thought Police would read what he had -written, before they wiped it out of existence and out of -memory. How could you make appeal to the future when not a -trace of you, not even an anonymous word scribbled on a piece -of paper, could physically survive?

-

- The telescreen struck fourteen. He must leave in ten -minutes. He had to be back at work by fourteen-thirty.

-

- Curiously, the chiming of the hour seemed to have put new -heart into him. He was a lonely ghost uttering a truth that -nobody would ever hear. But so long as he uttered it, in some -obscure way the continuity was not broken. It was not by making -yourself heard but by staying sane that you carried on the -human heritage. He went back to the table, dipped his pen, and -wrote:

-

- To the future or to the past, to a time when thought is -free, when men are different from one another and do not live -alone -- to a time when truth exists and what is done cannot be -undone:

-

- From the age of uniformity, from the age of solitude, -from the age of Big Brother, from the age of doublethink -- -greetings!

-

- He was already dead, he reflected. It seemed to him that -it was only now, when he had begun to be able to formulate his -thoughts, that he had taken the decisive step. The consequences -of every act are included in the act itself. He wrote:

-

- Thoughtcrime does not entail death: thoughtcrime IS -death.

-

- Now he had recognized himself as a dead man it became -important to stay alive as long as possible. Two fingers of his -right hand were inkstained. It was exactly the kind of detail -that might betray you. Some nosing zealot in the Ministry (a -woman, probably: someone like the little sandy-haired woman or -the dark-haired girl from the Fiction Department) might start -wondering why he had been writing during the lunch interval, -why he had used an old-fashioned pen, what he had been -writing -- and then drop a hint in the appropriate quarter. He -went to the bathroom and carefully scrubbed the ink away with -the gritty dark-brown soap which rasped your skin like -sandpaper and was therefore well adapted for this purpose.

-

- He put the diary away in the drawer. It was quite useless -to think of hiding it, but he could at least make sure whether -or not its existence had been discovered. A hair laid across -the page-ends was too obvious. With the tip of his finger he -picked up an identifiable grain of whitish dust and deposited -it on the corner of the cover, where it was bound to be shaken -off if the book was moved.

-

III

-

- Winston was dreaming of his mother.

-

- He must, he thought, have been ten or eleven years old -when his mother had disappeared. She was a tall, statuesque, -rather silent woman with slow movements and magnificent fair -hair. His father he remembered more vaguely as dark and thin, -dressed always in neat dark clothes (Winston remembered -especially the very thin soles of his father's shoes) and -wearing spectacles. The two of them must evidently have been -swallowed up in one of the first great purges of the fifties.

-

- At this moment his mother was sitting in some place deep -down beneath him, with his young sister in her arms. He did not -remember his sister at all, except as a tiny, feeble baby, -always silent, with large, watchful eyes. Both of them were -looking up at him. They were down in some subterranean place -- -the bottom of a well, for instance, or a very deep grave -- but -it was a place which, already far below him, was itself moving -downwards. They were in the saloon of a sinking ship, looking -up at him through the darkening water. There was still air in -the saloon, they could still see him and he them, but all the -while they were sinking down, down into the green waters which -in another moment must hide them from sight for ever. He was -out in the light and air while they were being sucked down to -death, and they were down there because he was up here. -He knew it and they knew it, and he could see the knowledge in -their faces. There was no reproach either in their faces or in -their hearts, only the knowledge that they must die in order -that he might remain alive, and that this was part of the -unavoidable order of things.

-

- He could not remember what had happened, but he knew in -his dream that in some way the lives of his mother and his -sister had been sacrificed to his own. It was one of those -dreams which, while retaining the characteristic dream scenery, -are a continuation of one's intellectual life, and in which one -becomes aware of facts and ideas which still seem new and -valuable after one is awake. The thing that now suddenly struck -Winston was that his mother's death, nearly thirty years ago, -had been tragic and sorrowful in a way that was no longer -possible. Tragedy, he perceived, belonged to the ancient time, -to a time when there was still privacy, love, and friendship, -and when the members of a family stood by one another without -needing to know the reason. His mother's memory tore at his -heart because she had died loving him, when he was too young -and selfish to love her in return, and because somehow, he did -not remember how, she had sacrificed herself to a conception of -loyalty that was private and unalterable. Such things, he saw, -could not happen today. Today there were fear, hatred, and -pain, but no dignity of emotion, no deep or complex sorrows. -All this he seemed to see in the large eyes of his mother and -his sister, looking up at him through the green water, hundreds -of fathoms down and still sinking.

-

- Suddenly he was standing on short springy turf, on a -summer evening when the slanting rays of the sun gilded the -ground. The landscape that he was looking at recurred so often -in his dreams that he was never fully certain whether or not he -had seen it in the real world. In his waking thoughts he called -it the Golden Country. It was an old, rabbit-bitten pasture, -with a foot-track wandering across it and a molehill here and -there. In the ragged hedge on the opposite side of the field -the boughs of the elm trees were swaying very faintly in the -breeze, their leaves just stirring in dense masses like women's -hair. Somewhere near at hand, though out of sight, there was a -clear, slow-moving stream where dace were swimming in the pools -under the willow trees.

-

- The girl with dark hair was coming towards them across the -field. With what seemed a single movement she tore off her -clothes and flung them disdainfully aside. Her body was white -and smooth, but it aroused no desire in him, indeed he barely -looked at it. What overwhelmed him in that instant was -admiration for the gesture with which she had thrown her -clothes aside. With its grace and carelessness it seemed to -annihilate a whole culture, a whole system of thought, as -though Big Brother and the Party and the Thought Police could -all be swept into nothingness by a single splendid movement of -the arm. That too was a gesture belonging to the ancient time. -Winston woke up with the word 'Shakespeare' on his lips.

-

- The telescreen was giving forth an ear-splitting whistle -which continued on the same note for thirty seconds. It was -nought seven fifteen, getting-up time for office workers. -Winston wrenched his body out of bed -- naked, for a member of -the Outer Party received only 3,000 clothing coupons annually, -and a suit of pyjamas was 600 -- and seized a dingy singlet and -a pair of shorts that were lying across a chair. The Physical -Jerks would begin in three minutes. The next moment he was -doubled up by a violent coughing fit which nearly always -attacked him soon after waking up. It emptied his lungs so -completely that he could only begin breathing again by lying on -his back and taking a series of deep gasps. His veins had -swelled with the effort of the cough, and the varicose ulcer -had started itching.

-

- 'Thirty to forty group!' yapped a piercing female voice. ' -Thirty to forty group! Take your places, please. Thirties to -forties!'

-

- Winston sprang to attention in front of the telescreen, -upon which the image of a youngish woman, scrawny but muscular, -dressed in tunic and gym-shoes, had already appeared.

-

- 'Arms bending and stretching!' she rapped out. 'Take your -time by me. One, two, three, four! One, two, -three, four! Come on, comrades, put a bit of life into it! -One, two, three four! One two, three, four! . . -.'

-

- The pain of the coughing fit had not quite driven out of -Winston's mind the impression made by his dream, and the -rhythmic movements of the exercise restored it somewhat. As he -mechanically shot his arms back and forth, wearing on his face -the look of grim enjoyment which was considered proper during -the Physical Jerks, he was struggling to think his way backward -into the dim period of his early childhood. It was -extraordinarily difficult. Beyond the late fifties everything -faded. When there were no external records that you could refer -to, even the outline of your own life lost its sharpness. You -remembered huge events which had quite probably not happened, -you remembered the detail of incidents without being able to -recapture their atmosphere, and there were long blank periods -to which you could assign nothing. Everything had been -different then. Even the names of countries, and their shapes -on the map, had been different. Airstrip One, for instance, had -not been so called in those days: it had been called England or -Britain, though London, he felt fairly certain, had always been -called London.

-

- Winston could not definitely remember a time when his -country had not been at war, but it was evident that there had -been a fairly long interval of peace during his childhood, -because one of his early memories was of an air raid which -appeared to take everyone by surprise. Perhaps it was the time -when the atomic bomb had fallen on Colchester. He did not -remember the raid itself, but he did remember his father's hand -clutching his own as they hurried down, down, down into some -place deep in the earth, round and round a spiral staircase -which rang under his feet and which finally so wearied his legs -that he began whimpering and they had to stop and rest. His -mother, in her slow, dreamy way, was following a long way -behind them. She was carrying his baby sister -- or perhaps it -was only a bundle of blankets that she was carrying: he was not -certain whether his sister had been born then. Finally they had -emerged into a noisy, crowded place which he had realized to be -a Tube station.

-

- There were people sitting all over the stone-flagged -floor, and other people, packed tightly together, were sitting -on metal bunks, one above the other. Winston and his mother and -father found themselves a place on the floor, and near them an -old man and an old woman were sitting side by side on a bunk. -The old man had on a decent dark suit and a black cloth cap -pushed back from very white hair: his face was scarlet and his -eyes were blue and full of tears. He reeked of gin. It seemed -to breathe out of his skin in place of sweat, and one could -have fancied that the tears welling from his eyes were pure -gin. But though slightly drunk he was also suffering under some -grief that was genuine and unbearable. In his childish way -Winston grasped that some terrible thing, something that was -beyond forgiveness and could never be remedied, had just -happened. It also seemed to him that he knew what it was. -Someone whom the old man loved -- a little granddaughter, -perhaps had been killed. Every few minutes the old man kept -repeating:

-

- 'We didn't ought to 'ave trusted 'em. I said so, Ma, -didn't I? That's what comes of trusting 'em. I said so all -along. We didn't ought to 'ave trusted the buggers.

-

- But which buggers they didn't ought to have trusted -Winston could not now remember.

-

- Since about that time, war had been literally continuous, -though strictly speaking it had not always been the same war. -For several months during his childhood there had been confused -street fighting in London itself, some of which he remembered -vividly. But to trace out the history of the whole period, to -say who was fighting whom at any given moment, would have been -utterly impossible, since no written record, and no spoken -word, ever made mention of any other alignment than the -existing one. At this moment, for example, in 1984 (if it was -1984), Oceania was at war with Eurasia and in alliance with -Eastasia. In no public or private utterance was it ever -admitted that the three powers had at any time been grouped -along different lines. Actually, as Winston well knew, it was -only four years since Oceania had been at war with Eastasia and -in alliance with Eurasia. But that was merely a piece of -furtive knowledge which he happened to possess because his -memory was not satisfactorily under control. Officially the -change of partners had never happened. Oceania was at war with -Eurasia: therefore Oceania had always been at war with Eurasia. -The enemy of the moment always represented absolute evil, and -it followed that any past or future agreement with him was -impossible.

-

- The frightening thing, he reflected for the ten thousandth -time as he forced his shoulders painfully backward (with hands -on hips, they were gyrating their bodies from the waist, an -exercise that was supposed to be good for the back muscles) -- -the frightening thing was that it might all be true. If the -Party could thrust its hand into the past and say of this or -that event, it never happened -- that, surely, was more -terrifying than mere torture and death?

-

- The Party said that Oceania had never been in alliance -with Eurasia. He, Winston Smith, knew that Oceania had been in -alliance with Eurasia as short a time as four years ago. But -where did that knowledge exist? Only in his own consciousness, -which in any case must soon be annihilated. And if all others -accepted the lie which the Party imposed -if all records told -the same tale -- then the lie passed into history and became -truth. 'Who controls the past,' ran the Party slogan, 'controls -the future: who controls the present controls the past.' And -yet the past, though of its nature alterable, never had been -altered. Whatever was true now was true from everlasting to -everlasting. It was quite simple. All that was needed was an -unending series of victories over your own memory. 'Reality -control', they called it: in Newspeak, 'doublethink'

-

- 'Stand easy!' barked the instructress, a little more -genially.

-

- Winston sank his arms to his sides and slowly refilled his -lungs with air. His mind slid away into the labyrinthine world -of doublethink. To know and not to know, to be conscious of -complete truthfulness while telling carefully constructed lies, -to hold simultaneously two opinions which cancelled out, -knowing them to be contradictory and believing in both of them, -to use logic against logic, to repudiate morality while laying -claim to it, to believe that democracy was impossible and that -the Party was the guardian of democracy, to forget whatever it -was necessary to forget, then to draw it back into memory again -at the moment when it was needed, and then promptly to forget -it again: and above all, to apply the same process to the -process itself. That was the ultimate subtlety: consciously to -induce unconsciousness, and then, once again, to become -unconscious of the act of hypnosis you had just performed. Even -to understand the word 'doublethink' involved the use of -doublethink.

-

- The instructress had called them to attention again. 'And -now let's see which of us can touch our toes!' she said -enthusiastically. 'Right over from the hips, please, comrades. -One-two! One-two! ...'

-

- Winston loathed this exercise, which sent shooting pains -all the way from his heels to his buttocks and often ended by -bringing on another coughing fit. The half-pleasant quality -went out of his meditations. The past, he reflected, had not -merely been altered, it had been actually destroyed. For how -could you establish even the most obvious fact when there -existed no record outside your own memory? He tried to remember -in what year he had first heard mention of Big Brother. He -thought it must have been at some time in the sixties, but it -was impossible to be certain. In the Party histories, of -course, Big Brother figured as the leader and guardian of the -Revolution since its very earliest days. His exploits had been -gradually pushed backwards in time until already they extended -into the fabulous world of the forties and the thirties, when -the capitalists in their strange cylindrical hats still rode -through the streets of London in great gleaming motor-cars or -horse carriages with glass sides. There was no knowing how much -of this legend was true and how much invented. Winston could -not even remember at what date the Party itself had come into -existence. He did not believe he had ever heard the word Ingsoc -before 1960, but it was possible that in its Oldspeak -form-'English Socialism', that is to say -- it had been current -earlier. Everything melted into mist. Sometimes, indeed, you -could put your finger on a definite lie. It was not true, for -example, as was claimed in the Party history books, that the -Party had invented aeroplanes. He remembered aeroplanes since -his earliest childhood. But you could prove nothing. There was -never any evidence. Just once in his whole life he had held in -his hands unmistakable documentary proof of the falsification -of an historical fact. And on that occasion

-

- 'Smith!' screamed the shrewish voice from the telescreen. -'6079 Smith W.! Yes, you! Bend lower, please! You can do -better than that. You're not trying. Lower, please! -That's better, comrade. Now stand at ease, the whole -squad, and watch me.'

-

- A sudden hot sweat had broken out all over Winston's body. -His face remained completely inscrutable. Never show dismay! -Never show resentment! A single flicker of the eyes could give -you away. He stood watching while the instructress raised her -arms above her head and -- one could not say gracefully, but -with remarkable neatness and efficiency -- bent over and tucked -the first joint of her fingers under her toes.

-

- 'There, comrades! That's how I want to see -you doing it. Watch me again. I'm thirty-nine and I've had four -children. Now look.' She bent over again. 'You see my knees -aren't bent. You can all do it if you want to,' she added as -she straightened herself up. 'Anyone under forty-five is -perfectly capable of touching his toes. We don't all have the -privilege of fighting in the front line, but at least we can -all keep fit. Remember our boys on the Malabar front! And the -sailors in the Floating Fortresses! Just think what they -have to put up with. Now try again. That's better, comrade, -that's much better,' she added encouragingly as Winston, -with a violent lunge, succeeded in touching his toes with knees -unbent, for the first time in several years.

-

IV

-

- With the deep, unconscious sigh which not even the -nearness of the telescreen could prevent him from uttering when -his day's work started, Winston pulled the speakwrite towards -him, blew the dust from its mouthpiece, and put on his -spectacles. Then he unrolled and clipped together four small -cylinders of paper which had already flopped out of the -pneumatic tube on the right-hand side of his desk.

-

- In the walls of the cubicle there were three orifices. To -the right of the speakwrite, a small pneumatic tube for written -messages, to the left, a larger one for newspapers; and in the -side wall, within easy reach of Winston's arm, a large oblong -slit protected by a wire grating. This last was for the -disposal of waste paper. Similar slits existed in thousands or -tens of thousands throughout the building, not only in every -room but at short intervals in every corridor. For some reason -they were nicknamed memory holes. When one knew that any -document was due for destruction, or even when one saw a scrap -of waste paper lying about, it was an automatic action to lift -the flap of the nearest memory hole and drop it in, whereupon -it would be whirled away on a current of warm air to the -enormous furnaces which were hidden somewhere in the recesses -of the building.

-

- Winston examined the four slips of paper which he had -unrolled. Each contained a message of only one or two lines, in -the abbreviated jargon -- not actually Newspeak, but consisting -largely of Newspeak words -- which was used in the Ministry for -internal purposes. They ran:

-

- times 17.3.84 bb speech malreported africa rectify
- times 19.12.83 forecasts 3 yp 4th quarter 83 misprints -verify current issue
- times 14.2.84 miniplenty malquoted chocolate rectify
- times 3.12.83 reporting bb dayorder doubleplusungood refs -unpersons rewrite fullwise upsub antefiling

-

- With a faint feeling of satisfaction Winston laid the -fourth message aside. It was an intricate and responsible job -and had better be dealt with last. The other three were routine -matters, though the second one would probably mean some tedious -wading through lists of figures.

-

- Winston dialled 'back numbers' on the telescreen and -called for the appropriate issues of The Times, which -slid out of the pneumatic tube after only a few minutes' delay. -The messages he had received referred to articles or news items -which for one reason or another it was thought necessary to -alter, or, as the official phrase had it, to rectify. For -example, it appeared from The Times of the seventeenth -of March that Big Brother, in his speech of the previous day, -had predicted that the South Indian front would remain quiet -but that a Eurasian offensive would shortly be launched in -North Africa. As it happened, the Eurasian Higher Command had -launched its offensive in South India and left North Africa -alone. It was therefore necessary to rewrite a paragraph of Big -Brother's speech, in such a way as to make him predict the -thing that had actually happened. Or again, The Times of -the nineteenth of December had published the official forecasts -of the output of various classes of consumption goods in the -fourth quarter of 1983, which was also the sixth quarter of the -Ninth Three-Year Plan. Today's issue contained a statement of -the actual output, from which it appeared that the forecasts -were in every instance grossly wrong. Winston's job was to -rectify the original figures by making them agree with the -later ones. As for the third message, it referred to a very -simple error which could be set right in a couple of minutes. -As short a time ago as February, the Ministry of Plenty had -issued a promise (a 'categorical pledge' were the official -words) that there would be no reduction of the chocolate ration -during 1984. Actually, as Winston was aware, the chocolate -ration was to be reduced from thirty grammes to twenty at the -end of the present week. All that was needed was to substitute -for the original promise a warning that it would probably be -necessary to reduce the ration at some time in April.

-

- As soon as Winston had dealt with each of the messages, he -clipped his speakwritten corrections to the appropriate copy of -The Times and pushed them into the pneumatic -tube. Then, with a movement which was as nearly as possible -unconscious, he crumpled up the original message and any notes -that he himself had made, and dropped them into the memory hole -to be devoured by the flames.

-

- What happened in the unseen labyrinth to which the -pneumatic tubes led, he did not know in detail, but he did know -in general terms. As soon as all the corrections which happened -to be necessary in any particular number of The Times -had been assembled and collated, that number would be -reprinted, the original copy destroyed, and the corrected copy -placed on the files in its stead. This process of continuous -alteration was applied not only to newspapers, but to books, -periodicals, pamphlets, posters, leaflets, films, sound-tracks, -cartoons, photographs -- to every kind of literature or -documentation which might conceivably hold any political or -ideological significance. Day by day and almost minute by -minute the past was brought up to date. In this way every -prediction made by the Party could be shown by documentary -evidence to have been correct, nor was any item of news, or any -expression of opinion, which conflicted with the needs of the -moment, ever allowed to remain on record. All history was a -palimpsest, scraped clean and reinscribed exactly as often as -was necessary. In no case would it have been possible, once the -deed was done, to prove that any falsification had taken place. -The largest section of the Records Department, far larger than -the one on which Winston worked, consisted simply of persons -whose duty it was to track down and collect all copies of -books, newspapers, and other documents which had been -superseded and were due for destruction. A number of The -Times which might, because of changes in political -alignment, or mistaken prophecies uttered by Big Brother, have -been rewritten a dozen times still stood on the files bearing -its original date, and no other copy existed to contradict it. -Books, also, were recalled and rewritten again and again, and -were invariably reissued without any admission that any -alteration had been made. Even the written instructions which -Winston received, and which he invariably got rid of as soon as -he had dealt with them, never stated or implied that an act of -forgery was to be committed: always the reference was to slips, -errors, misprints, or misquotations which it was necessary to -put right in the interests of accuracy.

-

- But actually, he thought as he re-adjusted the Ministry of -Plenty's figures, it was not even forgery. It was merely the -substitution of one piece of nonsense for another. Most of the -material that you were dealing with had no connexion with -anything in the real world, not even the kind of connexion that -is contained in a direct lie. Statistics were just as much a -fantasy in their original version as in their rectified -version. A great deal of the time you were expected to make -them up out of your head. For example, the Ministry of Plenty's -forecast had estimated the output of boots for the quarter at -145 million pairs. The actual output was given as sixty-two -millions. Winston, however, in rewriting the forecast, marked -the figure down to fifty-seven millions, so as to allow for the -usual claim that the quota had been overfulfilled. In any case, -sixty-two millions was no nearer the truth than fifty-seven -millions, or than 145 millions. Very likely no boots had been -produced at all. Likelier still, nobody knew how many had been -produced, much less cared. All one knew was that every quarter -astronomical numbers of boots were produced on paper, while -perhaps half the population of Oceania went barefoot. And so it -was with every class of recorded fact, great or small. -Everything faded away into a shadow-world in which, finally, -even the date of the year had become uncertain.

-

- Winston glanced across the hall. In the corresponding -cubicle on the other side a small, precise-looking, dark- -chinned man named Tillotson was working steadily away, with a -folded newspaper on his knee and his mouth very close to the -mouthpiece of the speakwrite. He had the air of trying to keep -what he was saying a secret between himself and the telescreen. -He looked up, and his spectacles darted a hostile flash in -Winston's direction.

-

- Winston hardly knew Tillotson, and had no idea what work -he was employed on. People in the Records Department did not -readily talk about their jobs. In the long, windowless hall, -with its double row of cubicles and its endless rustle of -papers and hum of voices murmuring into speakwrites, there were -quite a dozen people whom Winston did not even know by name, -though he daily saw them hurrying to and fro in the corridors -or gesticulating in the Two Minutes Hate. He knew that in the -cubicle next to him the little woman with sandy hair toiled day -in day out, simply at tracking down and deleting from the Press -the names of people who had been vaporized and were therefore -considered never to have existed. There was a certain fitness -in this, since her own husband had been vaporized a couple of -years earlier. And a few cubicles away a mild, ineffectual, -dreamy creature named Ampleforth, with very hairy ears and a -surprising talent for juggling with rhymes and metres, was -engaged in producing garbled versions -- definitive texts, they -were called -- of poems which had become ideologically -offensive, but which for one reason or another were to be -retained in the anthologies. And this hall, with its fifty -workers or thereabouts, was only one sub-section, a single -cell, as it were, in the huge complexity of the Records -Department. Beyond, above, below, were other swarms of workers -engaged in an unimaginable multitude of jobs. There were the -huge printing-shops with their sub-editors, their typography -experts, and their elaborately equipped studios for the faking -of photographs. There was the tele-programmes section with its -engineers, its producers, and its teams of actors specially -chosen for their skill in imitating voices. There were the -armies of reference clerks whose job was simply to draw up -lists of books and periodicals which were due for recall. There -were the vast repositories where the corrected documents were -stored, and the hidden furnaces where the original copies were -destroyed. And somewhere or other, quite anonymous, there were -the directing brains who co-ordinated the whole effort and laid -down the lines of policy which made it necessary that this -fragment of the past should be preserved, that one falsified, -and the other rubbed out of existence.

-

- And the Records Department, after all, was itself only a -single branch of the Ministry of Truth, whose primary job was -not to reconstruct the past but to supply the citizens of -Oceania with newspapers, films, textbooks, telescreen -programmes, plays, novels -- with every conceivable kind of -information, instruction, or entertainment, from a statue to a -slogan, from a lyric poem to a biological treatise, and from a -child's spelling-book to a Newspeak dictionary. And the -Ministry had not only to supply the multifarious needs of the -party, but also to repeat the whole operation at a lower level -for the benefit of the proletariat. There was a whole chain of -separate departments dealing with proletarian literature, - -music, drama, and entertainment generally. Here were produced -rubbishy newspapers containing almost nothing except sport, -crime and astrology, sensational five-cent novelettes, films -oozing with sex, and sentimental songs which were composed -entirely by mechanical means on a special kind of kaleidoscope -known as a versificator. There was even a whole sub-section -- -Pornosec, it was called in Newspeak -- engaged in -producing the lowest kind of pornography, which was sent out in -sealed packets and which no Party member, other than those who -worked on it, was permitted to look at.

-

- Three messages had slid out of the pneumatic tube while -Winston was working, but they were simple matters, and he had -disposed of them before the Two Minutes Hate interrupted him. -When the Hate was over he returned to his cubicle, took the -Newspeak dictionary from the shelf, pushed the speakwrite to -one side, cleaned his spectacles, and settled down to his main -job of the morning.

-

- Winston's greatest pleasure in life was in his work. Most -of it was a tedious routine, but included in it there were also -jobs so difficult and intricate that you could lose yourself in -them as in the depths of a mathematical problem -- delicate -pieces of forgery in which you had nothing to guide you except -your knowledge of the principles of Ingsoc and your estimate of -what the Party wanted you to say. Winston was good at this kind -of thing. On occasion he had even been entrusted with the -rectification of The Times leading articles, which were -written entirely in Newspeak. He unrolled the message that he -had set aside earlier. It ran:

-

- - times 3.12.83 reporting bb dayorder doubleplusungood refs -unpersons rewrite fullwise upsub antefiling

-

- - In Oldspeak (or standard English) this might be rendered: -The reporting of Big Brother's Order for the Day in The Times -of December 3rd 1983 is extremely unsatisfactory and makes -references to non-existent persons. Rewrite it in full and -submit your draft to higher authority before filing.

-

- Winston read through the offending article. Big Brother's -Order for the Day, it seemed, had been chiefly devoted to -praising the work of an organization known as FFCC, which -supplied cigarettes and other comforts to the sailors in the -Floating Fortresses. A certain Comrade Withers, a prominent -member of the Inner Party, had been singled out for special -mention and awarded a decoration, the Order of Conspicuous -Merit, Second Class.

-

- Three months later FFCC had suddenly been dissolved with -no reasons given. One could assume that Withers and his -associates were now in disgrace, but there had been no report -of the matter in the Press or on the telescreen. That was to be -expected, since it was unusual for political offenders to be -put on trial or even publicly denounced. The great purges -involving thousands of people, with public trials of traitors -and thought-criminals who made abject confession of their -crimes and were afterwards executed, were special show-pieces -not occurring oftener than once in a couple of years. More -commonly, people who had incurred the displeasure of the Party -simply disappeared and were never heard of again. One never had -the smallest clue as to what had happened to them. In some -cases they might not even be dead. Perhaps thirty people -personally known to Winston, not counting his parents, had -disappeared at one time or another.

-

- Winston stroked his nose gently with a paper-clip. In the -cubicle across the way Comrade Tillotson was still crouching -secretively over his speakwrite. He raised his head for a -moment: again the hostile spectacle-flash. Winston wondered -whether Comrade Tillotson was engaged on the same job as -himself. It was perfectly possible. So tricky a piece of work -would never be entrusted to a single person: on the other hand, -to turn it over to a committee would be to admit openly that an -act of fabrication was taking place. Very likely as many as a -dozen people were now working away on rival versions of what -Big Brother had actually said. And presently some master brain -in the Inner Party would select this version or that, would -re-edit it and set in motion the complex processes of -cross-referencing that would be required, and then the chosen -lie would pass into the permanent records and become truth.

-

- Winston did not know why Withers had been disgraced. -Perhaps it was for corruption or incompetence. Perhaps Big -Brother was merely getting rid of a too-popular subordinate. -Perhaps Withers or someone close to him had been suspected of -heretical tendencies. Or perhaps -- what was likeliest of all --- the thing had simply happened because purges and -vaporizations were a necessary part of the mechanics of -government. The only real clue lay in the words 'refs -unpersons', which indicated that Withers was already dead. You -could not invariably assume this to be the case when people -were arrested. Sometimes they were released and allowed to -remain at liberty for as much as a year or two years before -being executed. Very occasionally some person whom you had -believed dead long since would make a ghostly reappearance at -some public trial where he would implicate hundreds of others -by his testimony before vanishing, this time for ever. Withers, -however, was already an unperson. He did not exist: he -had never existed. Winston decided that it would not be enough -simply to reverse the tendency of Big Brother's speech. It was -better to make it deal with something totally unconnected with -its original subject.

-

- He might turn the speech into the usual denunciation of -traitors and thought-criminals, but that was a little too -obvious, while to invent a victory at the front, or some -triumph of over-production in the Ninth Three-Year Plan, might -complicate the records too much. What was needed was a piece of -pure fantasy. Suddenly there sprang into his mind, ready made -as it were, the image of a certain Comrade Ogilvy, who had -recently died in battle, in heroic circumstances. There were -occasions when Big Brother devoted his Order for the Day to -commemorating some humble, rank-and-file Party member whose life -and death he held up as an example worthy to be followed. Today -he should commemorate Comrade Ogilvy. It was true that there -was no such person as Comrade Ogilvy, but a few lines of print -and a couple of faked photographs would soon bring him into -existence.

-

- Winston thought for a moment, then pulled the speakwrite -towards him and began dictating in Big Brother's familiar -style: a style at once military and pedantic, and, because of a -trick of asking questions and then promptly answering them -('What lessons do we learn from this fact, comrades? The -lesson -- which is also one of the fundamental principles of -Ingsoc -- that,' etc., etc.), easy to imitate.

-

- At the age of three Comrade Ogilvy had refused all toys -except a drum, a sub-machine gun, and a model helicopter. At -six -- a year early, by a special relaxation of the rules -- he -had joined the Spies, at nine he had been a troop leader. At -eleven he had denounced his uncle to the Thought Police after -overhearing a conversation which appeared to him to have -criminal tendencies. At seventeen he had been a district -organizer of the Junior Anti-Sex League. At nine teen he had -designed a hand-grenade which had been adopted by the Ministry -of Peace and which, at its first trial, had killed thirty-one -Eurasian prisoners in one burst. At twenty-three he had -perished in action. Pursued by enemy jet planes while flying -over the Indian Ocean with important despatches, he had -weighted his body with his machine gun and leapt out of the -helicopter into deep water, despatches and all -- an end, said -Big Brother, which it was impossible to contemplate without -feelings of envy. Big Brother added a few remarks on the purity -and single-mindedness of Comrade Ogilvy's life. He was a total -abstainer and a nonsmoker, had no recreations except a daily -hour in the gymnasium, and had taken a vow of celibacy, -believing marriage and the care of a family to be incompatible -with a twenty-four-hour-a-day devotion to duty. He had no -subjects of conversation except the principles of Ingsoc, and -no aim in life except the defeat of the Eurasian enemy and the -hunting-down of spies, saboteurs, thoughtcriminals, and -traitors generally.

-

- Winston debated with himself whether to award Comrade -Ogilvy the Order of Conspicuous Merit: in the end he decided -against it because of the unnecessary cross-referencing that it -would entail.

-

- Once again he glanced at his rival in the opposite -cubicle. Something seemed to tell him with certainty that -Tillotson was busy on the same job as himself. There was no way -of knowing whose job would finally be adopted, but he felt a -profound conviction that it would be his own. Comrade Ogilvy, -unimagined an hour ago, was now a fact. It struck him as -curious that you could create dead men but not living ones. -Comrade Ogilvy, who had never existed in the present, now -existed in the past, and when once the act of forgery was -forgotten, he would exist just as authentically, and upon the -same evidence, as Charlemagne or Julius Caesar.

-

V

-

- In the low-ceilinged canteen, deep underground, the lunch -queue jerked slowly forward. The room was already very full and -deafeningly noisy. From the grille at the counter the steam of -stew came pouring forth, with a sour metallic smell which did -not quite overcome the fumes of Victory Gin. On the far side of -the room there was a small bar, a mere hole in the wall, where -gin could be bought at ten cents the large nip.

-

- 'Just the man I was looking for,' said a voice at -Winston's back.

-

- He turned round. It was his friend Syme, who worked in the -Research Department. Perhaps 'friend' was not exactly the right -word. You did not have friends nowadays, you had comrades: but -there were some comrades whose society was pleasanter than that -of others. Syme was a philologist, a specialist in Newspeak. -Indeed, he was one of the enormous team of experts now engaged -in compiling the Eleventh Edition of the Newspeak Dictionary. -He was a tiny creature, smaller than Winston, with dark hair -and large, protuberant eyes, at once mournful and derisive, -which seemed to search your face closely while he was speaking -to you.

-

- 'I wanted to ask you whether you'd got any razor blades,' -he said.

-

- 'Not one!' said Winston with a sort of guilty haste. 'I've -tried all over the place. They don't exist any longer.'

-

- Everyone kept asking you for razor blades. Actually he had -two unused ones which he was hoarding up. There had been a -famine of them for months past. At any given moment there was -some necessary article which the Party shops were unable to -supply. Sometimes it was buttons, sometimes it was darning -wool, sometimes it was shoelaces; at present it was razor -blades. You could only get hold of them, if at all, by -scrounging more or less furtively on the 'free' market.

-

- 'I've been using the same blade for six weeks,' he added -untruthfully.

-

- The queue gave another jerk forward. As they halted he -turned and faced Syme again. Each of them took a greasy metal -tray from a pile at the end of the counter.

-

- 'Did you go and see the prisoners hanged yesterday?' said -Syme.

-

- 'I was working,' said Winston indifferently. 'I shall see -it on the flicks, I suppose.'

-

- 'A very inadequate substitute,' said Syme.

-

- His mocking eyes roved over Winston's face. 'I know you,' -the eyes seemed to say, 'I see through you. I know very well -why you didn't go to see those prisoners hanged.' In an -intellectual way, Syme was venomously orthodox. He would talk -with a disagreeable gloating satisfaction of helicopter raids -on enemy villages, and trials and confessions of -thought-criminals, the executions in the cellars of the -Ministry of Love. Talking to him was largely a matter of -getting him away from such subjects and entangling him, if -possible, in the technicalities of Newspeak, on which he was -authoritative and interesting. Winston turned his head a little -aside to avoid the scrutiny of the large dark eyes.

-

- 'It was a good hanging,' said Syme reminiscently. 'I think -it spoils it when they tie their feet together. I like to see -them kicking. And above all, at the end, the tongue sticking -right out, and blue a quite bright blue. That's the detail that -appeals to me.'

-

- 'Nex', please!' yelled the white-aproned prole with the -ladle.

-

- Winston and Syme pushed their trays beneath the grille. On -to each was dumped swiftly the regulation lunch -- a metal -pannikin of pinkish-grey stew, a hunk of bread, a cube of -cheese, a mug of milkless Victory Coffee, and one saccharine -tablet.

-

- 'There's a table over there, under that telescreen,' said -Syme. 'Let's pick up a gin on the way.'

-

- The gin was served out to them in handleless china mugs. -They threaded their way across the crowded room and unpacked -their trays on to the metal-topped table, on one corner of -which someone had left a pool of stew, a filthy liquid mess -that had the appearance of vomit. Winston took up his mug of -gin, paused for an instant to collect his nerve, and gulped the -oily-tasting stuff down. When he had winked the tears out of -his eyes he suddenly discovered that he was hungry. He began -swallowing spoonfuls of the stew, which, in among its general -sloppiness, had cubes of spongy pinkish stuff which was -probably a preparation of meat. Neither of them spoke again -till they had emptied their pannikins. From the table at -Winston's left, a little behind his back, someone was talking -rapidly and continuously, a harsh gabble almost like the -quacking of a duck, which pierced the general uproar of the -room.

-

- 'How is the Dictionary getting on?' said Winston, raising -his voice to overcome the noise.

-

- 'Slowly,' said Syme. 'I'm on the adjectives. It's -fascinating.'

-

- He had brightened up immediately at the mention of -Newspeak. He pushed his pannikin aside, took up his hunk of -bread in one delicate hand and his cheese in the other, and -leaned across the table so as to be able to speak without -shouting.

-

- 'The Eleventh Edition is the definitive edition,' he said. -'We're getting the language into its final shape -- the shape -it's going to have when nobody speaks anything else. When we've -finished with it, people like you will have to learn it all -over again. You think, I dare say, that our chief job is -inventing new words. But not a bit of it! We're destroying -words -- scores of them, hundreds of them, every day. We're -cutting the language down to the bone. The Eleventh Edition -won't contain a single word that will become obsolete before -the year 2050.'

-

- He bit hungrily into his bread and swallowed a couple of -mouthfuls, then continued speaking, with a sort of pedant's -passion. His thin dark face had become animated, his eyes had -lost their mocking expression and grown almost dreamy.

-

- 'It's a beautiful thing, the destruction of words. Of -course the great wastage is in the verbs and adjectives, but -there are hundreds of nouns that can be got rid of as well. It -isn't only the synonyms; there are also the antonyms. After -all, what justification is there for a word which is simply the -opposite of some other word? A word contains its opposite in -itself. Take "good", for instance. If you have a word like -"good", what need is there for a word like "bad"? "Ungood" will -do just as well -- better, because it's an exact opposite, -which the other is not. Or again, if you want a stronger -version of "good", what sense is there in having a whole string -of vague useless words like "excellent" and "splendid" and all -the rest of them? "Plusgood" covers the meaning, or " -doubleplusgood" if you want something stronger still. Of course -we use those forms already. but in the final version of -Newspeak there'll be nothing else. In the end the whole notion -of goodness and badness will be covered by only six words -- in -reality, only one word. Don't you see the beauty of that, -Winston? It was B.B.'s idea originally, of course,' he added as -an afterthought.

-

- A sort of vapid eagerness flitted across Winston's face at -the mention of Big Brother. Nevertheless Syme immediately -detected a certain lack of enthusiasm.

-

- 'You haven't a real appreciation of Newspeak, Winston,' he -said almost sadly. 'Even when you write it you're still -thinking in Oldspeak. I've read some of those pieces that you -write in The Times occasionally. They're good -enough, but they're translations. In your heart you'd prefer to -stick to Oldspeak, with all its vagueness and its useless -shades of meaning. You don't grasp the beauty of the -destruction of words. Do you know that Newspeak is the only -language in the world whose vocabulary gets smaller every -year?'

-

- Winston did know that, of course. He smiled, -sympathetically he hoped, not trusting himself to speak. Syme -bit off another fragment of the dark-coloured bread, chewed it -briefly, and went on:

-

- 'Don't you see that the whole aim of Newspeak is to narrow -the range of thought? In the end we shall make thoughtcrime -literally impossible, because there will be no words in which -to express it. Every concept that can ever be needed, will be -expressed by exactly one word, with its meaning rigidly -defined and all its subsidiary meanings rubbed out and -forgotten. Already, in the Eleventh Edition, we're not far from -that point. But the process will still be continuing long after -you and I are dead. Every year fewer and fewer words, and the -range of consciousness always a little smaller. Even now, of -course, there's no reason or excuse for committing -thoughtcrime. It's merely a question of self-discipline, -reality-control. But in the end there won't be any need even -for that. The Revolution will be complete when the language is -perfect. Newspeak is Ingsoc and Ingsoc is Newspeak,' he added -with a sort of mystical satisfaction. 'Has it ever occurred to -you, Winston, that by the year 2050, at the very latest, not a -single human being will be alive who could understand such a -conversation as we are having now?'

-

- 'Except-' began Winston doubtfully, and he stopped.

-

- It had been on the tip of his tongue to say 'Except the -proles,' but he checked himself, not feeling fully certain that -this remark was not in some way unorthodox. Syme, however, had -divined what he was about to say.

-

- 'The proles are not human beings,' he said carelessly. ' -By 2050 earlier, probably -- all real knowledge of Oldspeak -will have disappeared. The whole literature of the past will -have been destroyed. Chaucer, Shakespeare, Milton, Byron -- -they'll exist only in Newspeak versions, not merely changed -into something different, but actually changed into something -contradictory of what they used to be. Even the literature of -the Party will change. Even the slogans will change. How could -you have a slogan like "freedom is slavery" when the concept of -freedom has been abolished? The whole climate of thought will -be different. In fact there will be no thought, as we -understand it now. Orthodoxy means not thinking -- not needing -to think. Orthodoxy is unconsciousness.'

-

- One of these days, thought Winston with sudden deep -conviction, Syme will be vaporized. He is too intelligent. He -sees too clearly and speaks too plainly. The Party does not -like such people. One day he will disappear. It is written in -his face.

-

- Winston had finished his bread and cheese. He turned a -little sideways in his chair to drink his mug of coffee. At the -table on his left the man with the strident voice was still -talking remorselessly away. A young woman who was perhaps his -secretary, and who was sitting with her back to Winston, was -listening to him and seemed to be eagerly agreeing with -everything that he said. From time to time Winston caught some -such remark as 'I think you're so right, I do so -agree with you', uttered in a youthful and rather silly -feminine voice. But the other voice never stopped for an -instant, even when the girl was speaking. Winston knew the man -by sight, though he knew no more about him than that he held -some important post in the Fiction Department. He was a man of -about thirty, with a muscular throat and a large, mobile mouth. -His head was thrown back a little, and because of the angle at -which he was sitting, his spectacles caught the light and -presented to Winston two blank discs instead of eyes. What was -slightly horrible, was that from the stream of sound that -poured out of his mouth it was almost impossible to distinguish -a single word. Just once Winston caught a phrase-'complete and -final elimination of Goldsteinism'- jerked out very rapidly -and, as it seemed, all in one piece, like a line of type cast -solid. For the rest it was just a noise, a quack-quack-quacking. -And yet, though you could not actually hear what the man was -saying, you could not be in any doubt about its general nature. -He might be denouncing Goldstein and demanding sterner measures -against thought-criminals and saboteurs, he might be -fulminating against the atrocities of the Eurasian army, he -might be praising Big Brother or the heroes on the Malabar -front-it made no difference. Whatever it was, you could be -certain that every word of it was pure orthodoxy, pure Ingsoc. -As he watched the eyeless face with the jaw moving rapidly up -and down, Winston had a curious feeling that this was not a -real human being but some kind of dummy. It was not the man's -brain that was speaking, it was his larynx. The stuff that was -coming out of him consisted of words, but it was not speech in -the true sense: it was a noise uttered in unconsciousness, like -the quacking of a duck.

-

- Syme had fallen silent for a moment, and with the handle -of his spoon was tracing patterns in the puddle of stew. The -voice from the other table quacked rapidly on, easily audible -in spite of the surrounding din.

-

- 'There is a word in Newspeak,' said Syme, 'I don't know -whether you know it: duckspeak, to quack like a duck. It -is one of those interesting words that have two contradictory -meanings. Applied to an opponent, it is abuse, applied to -someone you agree with, it is praise.'

-

- Unquestionably Syme will be vaporized, Winston thought -again. He thought it with a kind of sadness, although well -knowing that Syme despised him and slightly disliked him, and -was fully capable of denouncing him as a thought-criminal if -he saw any reason for doing so. There was something subtly -wrong with Syme. There was something that he lacked: -discretion, aloofness, a sort of saving stupidity. You could -not say that he was unorthodox. He believed in the principles -of Ingsoc, he venerated Big Brother, he rejoiced over -victories, he hated heretics, not merely with sincerity but -with a sort of restless zeal, an up-to-dateness of information, -which the ordinary Party member did not approach. Yet a faint -air of disreputability always clung to him. He said things that -would have been better unsaid, he had read too many books, he -frequented the Chestnut Tree Café, haunt of painters and -musicians. There was no law, not even an unwritten law, against -frequenting the Chestnut Tree Café, yet the place was somehow -ill-omened. The old, discredited leaders of the Party had been -used to gather there before they were finally purged. Goldstein -himself, it was said, had sometimes been seen there, years and -decades ago. Syme's fate was not difficult to foresee. And yet -it was a fact that if Syme grasped, even for three seconds, the -nature of his, Winston's, secret opinions, he would betray him -instantly to the Thought police. So would anybody else, for -that matter: but Syme more than most. Zeal was not enough. -Orthodoxy was unconsciousness.

-

- Syme looked up. 'Here comes Parsons,' he said.

-

- Something in the tone of his voice seemed to add, 'that -bloody fool'. Parsons, Winston's fellow-tenant at Victory -Mansions, was in fact threading his way across the room -- a -tubby, middle-sized man with fair hair and a froglike face. At -thirty-five he was already putting on rolls of fat at neck and -waistline, but his movements were brisk and boyish. His whole -appearance was that of a little boy grown large, so much so -that although he was wearing the regulation overalls, it was -almost impossible not to think of him as being dressed in the -blue shorts, grey shirt, and red neckerchief of the Spies. In -visualizing him one saw always a picture of dimpled knees and -sleeves rolled back from pudgy forearms. Parsons did, indeed, -invariably revert to shorts when a community hike or any other -physical activity gave him an excuse for doing so. He greeted -them both with a cheery 'Hullo, hullo!' and sat down at the -table, giving off an intense smell of sweat. Beads of moisture -stood out all over his pink face. His powers of sweating were -extraordinary. At the Community Centre you could always tell -when he had been playing table-tennis by the dampness of the -bat handle. Syme had produced a strip of paper on which there -was a long column of words, and was studying it with an -ink-pencil between his fingers.

-

- 'Look at him working away in the lunch hour,' said -Parsons, nudging Winston. 'Keenness, eh? What's that you've got -there, old boy? Something a bit too brainy for me, I expect. -Smith, old boy, I'll tell you why I'm chasing you. It's that -sub you forgot to give me.'

-

- 'Which sub is that? said Winston, automatically feeling -for money. About a quarter of one's salary had to be earmarked -for voluntary subscriptions, which were so numerous that it was -difficult to keep track of them.

-

- 'For Hate Week. You know -- the house-by-house fund. I'm -treasurer for our block. We're making an all-out effort -- -going to put on a tremendous show. I tell you, it won't be my -fault if old Victory Mansions doesn't have the biggest outfit -of flags in the whole street. Two dollars you promised me.'

-

- Winston found and handed over two creased and filthy -notes, which Parsons entered in a small notebook, in the neat -handwriting of the illiterate.

-

- 'By the way, old boy,' he said. 'I hear that little beggar -of mine let fly at you with his catapult yesterday. I gave him -a good dressing-down for it. In fact I told him I'd take the -catapult away if he does it again.

-

- 'I think he was a little upset at not going to the -execution,' said Winston.

-

- ' Ah, well -- what I mean to say, shows the right spirit, -doesn't it? Mischievous little beggars they are, both of them, -but talk about keenness! All they think about is the Spies, and -the war, of course. D'you know what that little girl of mine -did last Saturday, when her troop was on a hike out Berkhamsted -way? She got two other girls to go with her, slipped off from -the hike, and spent the whole afternoon following a strange -man. They kept on his tail for two hours, right through the -woods, and then, when they got into Amersham, handed him over -to the patrols.'

-

- 'What did they do that for?' said Winston, somewhat taken -aback. Parsons went on triumphantly:

-

- 'My kid made sure he was some kind of enemy agent -- might -have been dropped by parachute, for instance. But here's the -point, old boy. What do you think put her on to him in the -first place? She spotted he was wearing a funny kind of shoes --- said she'd never seen anyone wearing shoes like that before. -So the chances were he was a foreigner. Pretty smart for a -nipper of seven, eh?'

-

- 'What happened to the man?' said Winston.

-

- 'Ah, that I couldn't say, of course. But I wouldn't be -altogether surprised if-' Parsons made the motion of aiming a -rifle, and clicked his tongue for the explosion.

-

- 'Good,' said Syme abstractedly, without looking up from -his strip of paper.

-

- 'Of course we can't afford to take chances,' agreed -Winston dutifully.

-

- 'What I mean to say, there is a war on,' said Parsons.

-

- As though in confirmation of this, a trumpet call floated -from the telescreen just above their heads. However, it was not -the proclamation of a military victory this time, but merely an -announcement from the Ministry of Plenty.

-

- 'Comrades!' cried an eager youthful voice. 'Attention, -comrades! We have glorious news for you. We have won the battle -for production! Returns now completed of the output of all -classes of consumption goods show that the standard of living -has risen by no less than 20 per cent over the past year. All -over Oceania this morning there were irrepressible spontaneous -demonstrations when workers marched out of factories and -offices and paraded through the streets with banners voicing -their gratitude to Big Brother for the new, happy life which -his wise leadership has bestowed upon us. Here are some of the -completed figures. Foodstuffs-'

-

- The phrase 'our new, happy life' recurred several times. -It had been a favourite of late with the Ministry of Plenty. -Parsons, his attention caught by the trumpet call, sat -listening with a sort of gaping solemnity, a sort of edified -boredom. He could not follow the figures, but he was aware that -they were in some way a cause for satisfaction. He had lugged -out a huge and filthy pipe which was already half full of -charred tobacco. With the tobacco ration at 100 grammes a week -it was seldom possible to fill a pipe to the top. Winston was -smoking a Victory Cigarette which he held carefully horizontal. -The new ration did not start till tomorrow and he had only four -cigarettes left. For the moment he had shut his ears to the -remoter noises and was listening to the stuff that streamed out -of the telescreen. It appeared that there had even been -demonstrations to thank Big Brother for raising the chocolate -ration to twenty grammes a week. And only yesterday, he -reflected, it had been announced that the ration was to be -reduced to twenty grammes a week. Was it possible that -they could swallow that, after only twenty-four hours? Yes, -they swallowed it. Parsons swallowed it easily, with the -stupidity of an animal. The eyeless creature at the other table -swallowed it fanatically, passionately, with a furious desire -to track down, denounce, and vaporize anyone who should suggest -that last week the ration had been thirty grammes. Syme, too-in -some more complex way, involving doublethink, Syme swallowed -it. Was he, then, alone in the possession of a memory?

-

- The fabulous statistics continued to pour out of the -telescreen. As compared with last year there was more food, -more clothes, more houses, more furniture, more cooking-pots, -more fuel, more ships, more helicopters, more books, more -babies -- more of everything except disease, crime, and -insanity. Year by year and minute by minute, everybody and -everything was whizzing rapidly upwards. As Syme had done -earlier Winston had taken up his spoon and was dabbling in the -pale-coloured gravy that dribbled across the table, drawing a -long streak of it out into a pattern. He meditated resentfully -on the physical texture of life. Had it always been like this? -Had food always tasted like this? He looked round the canteen. -A low-ceilinged, crowded room, its walls grimy from the contact -of innumerable bodies; battered metal tables and chairs, placed -so close together that you sat with elbows touching; bent -spoons, dented trays, coarse white mugs; all surfaces greasy, -grime in every crack; and a sourish, composite smell of bad gin -and bad coffee and metallic stew and dirty clothes. Always in -your stomach and in your skin there was a sort of protest, a -feeling that you had been cheated of something that you had a -right to. It was true that he had no memories of anything -greatly different. In any time that he could accurately -remember, there had never been quite enough to eat, one had -never had socks or underclothes that were not full of holes, -furniture had always been battered and rickety, rooms -underheated, tube trains crowded, houses falling to pieces, -bread dark-coloured, tea a rarity, coffee filthy-tasting, -cigarettes insufficient -- nothing cheap and plentiful except -synthetic gin. And though, of course, it grew worse as one's -body aged, was it not a sign that this was not the -natural order of things, if one's heart sickened at the -discomfort and dirt and scarcity, the interminable winters, the -stickiness of one's socks, the lifts that never worked, the -cold water, the gritty soap, the cigarettes that came to -pieces, the food with its strange evil tastes? Why should one -feel it to be intolerable unless one had some kind of ancestral -memory that things had once been different?

-

- He looked round the canteen again. Nearly everyone was -ugly, and would still have been ugly even if dressed otherwise -than in the uniform blue overalls. On the far side of the room, -sitting at a table alone, a small, curiously beetle-like man -was drinking a cup of coffee, his little eyes darting -suspicious glances from side to side. How easy it was, thought -Winston, if you did not look about you, to believe that the -physical type set up by the Party as an ideal-tall muscular -youths and deep-bosomed maidens, blond-haired, vital, sunburnt, -carefree -- existed and even predominated. Actually, so far as -he could judge, the majority of people in Airstrip One were -small, dark, and ill-favoured. It was curious how that -beetle-like type proliferated in the Ministries: little dumpy -men, growing stout very early in life, with short legs, swift -scuttling movements, and fat inscrutable faces with very small -eyes. It was the type that seemed to flourish best under the -dominion of the Party.

-

- The announcement from the Ministry of Plenty ended on -another trumpet call and gave way to tinny music. Parsons, -stirred to vague enthusiasm by the bombardment of figures, took -his pipe out of his mouth.

-

- 'The Ministry of Plenty's certainly done a good job this -year,' he said with a knowing shake of his head. 'By the way, -Smith old boy, I suppose you haven't got any razor blades you -can let me have?'

-

- 'Not one,' said Winston. 'I've been using the same blade -for six weeks myself.'

-

- 'Ah, well -- just thought I'd ask you, old boy.'

-

- 'Sorry,' said Winston.

-

- The quacking voice from the next table, temporarily -silenced during the Ministry's announcement, had started up -again, as loud as ever. For some reason Winston suddenly found -himself thinking of Mrs Parsons, with her wispy hair and the -dust in the creases of her face. Within two years those -children would be denouncing her to the Thought Police. Mrs -Parsons would be vaporized. Syme would be vaporized. Winston -would be vaporized. O'Brien would be vaporized. Parsons, on the -other hand, would never be vaporized. The eyeless creature with -the quacking voice would never be vaporized. The little -beetle-like men who scuttle so nimbly through the labyrinthine -corridors of Ministries they, too, would never be vaporized. -And the girl with dark hair, the girl from the Fiction -Department -- she would never be vaporized either. It seemed to -him that he knew instinctively who would survive and who would -perish: though just what it was that made for survival, it was -not easy to say.

-

- At this moment he was dragged out of his reverie with a -violent jerk. The girl at the next table had turned partly -round and was looking at him. It was the girl with dark hair. -She was looking at him in a sidelong way, but with curious -intensity. The instant she caught his eye she looked away -again.

-

- The sweat started out on Winston's backbone. A horrible -pang of terror went through him. It was gone almost at once, -but it left a sort of nagging uneasiness behind. Why was she -watching him? Why did she keep following him about? -Unfortunately he could not remember whether she had already -been at the table when he arrived, or had come there -afterwards. But yesterday, at any rate, during the Two Minutes -Hate, she had sat immediately behind him when there was no -apparent need to do so. Quite likely her real object had been -to listen to him and make sure whether he was shouting loudly -enough.

-

- His earlier thought returned to him: probably she was not -actually a member of the Thought Police, but then it was -precisely the amateur spy who was the greatest danger of all. -He did not know how long she had been looking at him, but -perhaps for as much as five minutes, and it was possible that -his features had not been perfectly under control. It was -terribly dangerous to let your thoughts wander when you were in -any public place or within range of a telescreen. The smallest -thing could give you away. A nervous tic, an unconscious look -of anxiety, a habit of muttering to yourself -- anything that -carried with it the suggestion of abnormality, of having -something to hide. In any case, to wear an improper expression -on your face (to look incredulous when a victory was announced, -for example) was itself a punishable offence. There was even a -word for it in Newspeak: facecrime, it was called.

-

- The girl had turned her back on him again. Perhaps after -all she was not really following him about, perhaps it was -coincidence that she had sat so close to him two days running. -His cigarette had gone out, and he laid it carefully on the -edge of the table. He would finish smoking it after work, if he -could keep the tobacco in it. Quite likely the person at the -next table was a spy of the Thought Police, and quite likely he -would be in the cellars of the Ministry of Love within three -days, but a cigarette end must not be wasted. Syme had folded -up his strip of paper and stowed it away in his pocket. Parsons -had begun talking again.

-

- 'Did I ever tell you, old boy,' he said, chuckling round -the stem of his pipe, 'about the time when those two nippers of -mine set fire to the old market-woman's skirt because they saw -her wrapping up sausages in a poster of B.B.? Sneaked up behind -her and set fire to it with a box of matches. Burned her quite -badly, I believe. Little beggars, eh? But keen as mustard! -That's a first-rate training they give them in the Spies -nowadays -- better than in my day, even. What d'you think's the -latest thing they've served them out with? Ear trumpets for -listening through keyholes! My little girl brought one home -the other night -- tried it out on our sitting-room door, and -reckoned she could hear twice as much as with her ear to the -hole. Of course it's only a toy, mind you. Still, gives 'em the -right idea, eh?'

-

- At this moment the telescreen let out a piercing whistle. -It was the signal to return to work. All three men sprang to -their feet to join in the struggle round the lifts, and the -remaining tobacco fell out of Winston's cigarette.

-

VI

-

- Winston was writing in his diary:

-

- It was three years ago. It was on a dark evening, in a -narrow side-street near one of the big railway stations. She -was standing near a doorway in the wall, under a street lamp -that hardly gave any light. She had a young face, painted very -thick. It was really the paint that appealed to me, the -whiteness of it, like a mask, and the bright red lips. Party -women never paint their faces. There was nobody else in the -street, and no telescreens. She said two dollars. I

-

- For the moment it was too difficult to go on. He shut his -eyes and pressed his fingers against them, trying to squeeze -out the vision that kept recurring. He had an almost -overwhelming temptation to shout a string of filthy words at -the top of his voice. Or to bang his head against the wall, to -kick over the table, and hurl the inkpot through the window -- -to do any violent or noisy or painful thing that might black -out the memory that was tormenting him.

-

- Your worst enemy, he reflected, was your own nervous -system. At any moment the tension inside you was liable to -translate itself into some visible symptom. He thought of a man -whom he had passed in the street a few weeks back; a quite -ordinary-looking man, a Party member, aged thirty-five to -forty, tallish and thin, carrying a brief-case. They were a few -metres apart when the left side of the man's face was suddenly -contorted by a sort of spasm. It happened again just as they -were passing one another: it was only a twitch, a quiver, rapid -as the clicking of a camera shutter, but obviously habitual. He -remembered thinking at the time: That poor devil is done for. -And what was frightening was that the action was quite possibly -unconscious. The most deadly danger of all was talking in your -sleep. There was no way of guarding against that, so far as he -could see.

-

- He drew his breath and went on writing:

-

- I went with her through the doorway and across a -backyard into a basement kitchen. There was a bed against the -wall, and a lamp on the table, turned down very low. She

-

- His teeth were set on edge. He would have liked to spit. -Simultaneously with the woman in the basement kitchen he -thought of Katharine, his wife. Winston was married -- had been -married, at any rate: probably he still was married, so far as -he knew his wife was not dead. He seemed to breathe again the -warm stuffy odour of the basement kitchen, an odour compounded -of bugs and dirty clothes and villainous cheap scent, but -nevertheless alluring, because no woman of the Party ever used -scent, or could be imagined as doing so. Only the proles used -scent. In his mind the smell of it was inextricably mixed up -with fornication.

-

- When he had gone with that woman it had been his first -lapse in two years or thereabouts. Consorting with prostitutes -was forbidden, of course, but it was one of those rules that -you could occasionally nerve yourself to break. It was -dangerous, but it was not a life-and-death matter. To be caught -with a prostitute might mean five years in a forced-labour -camp: not more, if you had committed no other offence. And it -was easy enough, provided that you could avoid being caught in -the act. The poorer quarters swarmed with women who were ready -to sell themselves. Some could even be purchased for a bottle -of gin, which the proles were not supposed to drink. Tacitly -the Party was even inclined to encourage prostitution, as an -outlet for instincts which could not be altogether suppressed. -Mere debauchery did not matter very much, so long as it was -furtive and joyless and only involved the women of a submerged -and despised class. The unforgivable crime was promiscuity -between Party members. But -- though this was one of the crimes -that the accused in the great purges invariably confessed to -- -it was difficult to imagine any such thing actually happening.

-

- The aim of the Party was not merely to prevent men and -women from forming loyalties which it might not be able to -control. Its real, undeclared purpose was to remove all -pleasure from the sexual act. Not love so much as eroticism was -the enemy, inside marriage as well as outside it. All marriages -between Party members had to be approved by a committee -appointed for the purpose, and -- though the principle was -never clearly stated -- permission was always refused if the -couple concerned gave the impression of being physically -attracted to one another. The only recognized purpose of -marriage was to beget children for the service of the Party. -Sexual intercourse was to be looked on as a slightly disgusting -minor operation, like having an enema. This again was never put -into plain words, but in an indirect way it was rubbed into -every Party member from childhood onwards. There were even -organizations such as the Junior Anti-Sex League, which -advocated complete celibacy for both sexes. All children were -to be begotten by artificial insemination (artsem, it -was called in Newspeak) and brought up in public institutions. -This, Winston was aware, was not meant altogether seriously, -but somehow it fitted in with the general ideology of the -Party. The Party was trying to kill the sex instinct, or, if it -could not be killed, then to distort it and dirty it. He did -not know why this was so, but it seemed natural that it should -be so. And as far as the women were concerned, the Party's -efforts were largely successful.

-

- He thought again of Katharine. It must be nine, ten -- -nearly eleven years since they had parted. It was curious how -seldom he thought of her. For days at a time he was capable of -forgetting that he had ever been married. They had only been -together for about fifteen months. The Party did not permit -divorce, but it rather encouraged separation in cases where -there were no children.

-

- Katharine was a tall, fair-haired girl, very straight, -with splendid movements. She had a bold, aquiline face, a face -that one might have called noble until one discovered that -there was as nearly as possible nothing behind it. Very early -in her married life he had decided -- though perhaps it was -only that he knew her more intimately than he knew most people --- that she had without exception the most stupid, vulgar, -empty mind that he had ever encountered. She had not a thought -in her head that was not a slogan, and there was no imbecility, -absolutely none that she was not capable of swallowing if the -Party handed it out to her. 'The human sound-track' he -nicknamed her in his own mind. Yet he could have endured living -with her if it had not been for just one thing -- sex.

-

- As soon as he touched her she seemed to wince and stiffen. -To embrace her was like embracing a jointed wooden image. And -what was strange was that even when she was clasping him -against her he had the feeling that she was simultaneously -pushing him away with all her strength. The rigidlty of her -muscles managed to convey that impression. She would lie there -with shut eyes, neither resisting nor co-operating but -submitting. It was extraordinarily embarrassing, and, -after a while, horrible. But even then he could have borne -living with her if it had been agreed that they should remain -celibate. But curiously enough it was Katharine who refused -this. They must, she said, produce a child if they could. So -the performance continued to happen, once a week quite -regulariy, whenever it was not impossible. She even used to -remind him of it in the morning, as something which had to be -done that evening and which must not be forgotten. She had two -names for it. One was 'making a baby', and the other was 'our -duty to the Party' (yes, she had actually used that phrase). -Quite soon he grew to have a feeling of positive dread when the -appointed day came round. But luckily no child appeared, and in -the end she agreed to give up trying, and soon afterwards they -parted.

-

- Winston sighed inaudibly. He picked up his pen again and -wrote:

-

- She threw herself down on the bed, and at once, without -any kind of preliminary in the most coarse, horrible way you -can imagine, pulled up her skirt. I

-

- He saw himself standing there in the dim lamplight, with -the smell of bugs and cheap scent in his nostrils, and in his -heart a feeling of defeat and resentment which even at that -moment was mixed up with the thought of Katharine's white body, -frozen for ever by the hypnotic power of the Party. Why did it -always have to be like this? Why could he not have a woman of -his own instead of these filthy scuffles at intervals of years? -But a real love affair was an almost unthinkable event. The -women of the Party were all alike. Chastity was as deep -ingrained in them as Party loyalty. By careful early -conditioning, by games and cold water, by the rubbish that was -dinned into them at school and in the Spies and the Youth -League, by lectures, parades, songs, slogans, and martial -music, the natural feeling had been driven out of them. His -reason told him that there must be exceptions, but his heart -did not believe it. They were all impregnable, as the Party -intended that they should be. And what he wanted, more even -than to be loved, was to break down that wall of virtue, even -if it were only once in his whole life. The sexual act, -successfully performed, was rebellion. Desire was thoughtcrime. -Even to have awakened Katharine, if he could have achieved it, -would have been like a seduction, although she was his wife.

-

- But the rest of the story had got to be written down. He -wrote:

-

- I turned up the lamp. When I saw her in the light

-

- After the darkness the feeble light of the paraffin lamp -had seemed very bright. For the first time he could see the -woman properly. He had taken a step towards her and then -halted, full of lust and terror. He was painfully conscious of -the risk he had taken in coming here. It was perfectly possible -that the patrols would catch him on the way out: for that -matter they might be waiting outside the door at this moment. -If he went away without even doing what he had come here to do --- !

-

- It had got to be written down, it had got to be confessed. -What he had suddenly seen in the lamplight was that the woman -was old. The paint was plastered so thick on her face -that it looked as though it might crack like a cardboard mask. -There were streaks of white in her hair; but the truly dreadful -detail was that her mouth had fallen a little open, revealing -nothing except a cavernous blackness. She had no teeth at all.

-

- He wrote hurriedly, in scrabbling handwriting:

-

- When I saw her in the light she was quite an old woman, -fifty years old at least. But I went ahead and did it just the -same.

-

- He pressed his fingers against his eyelids again. He had -written it down at last, but it made no difference. The therapy -had not worked. The urge to shout filthy words at the top of -his voice was as strong as ever.

-

VII

-

- If there is hope, wrote Winston, it lies in the -proles.

-

- If there was hope, it must lie in the proles, -because only there in those swarming disregarded masses, 85 per -cent of the population of Oceania, could the force to destroy -the Party ever be generated. The Party could not be overthrown -from within. Its enemies, if it had any enemies, had no way of -coming together or even of identifying one another. Even if the -legendary Brotherhood existed, as just possibly it might, it -was inconceivable that its members could ever assemble in -larger numbers than twos and threes. Rebellion meant a look in -the eyes, an inflexion of the voice, at the most, an occasional -whispered word. But the proles, if only they could somehow -become conscious of their own strength. would have no need to -conspire. They needed only to rise up and shake themselves like -a horse shaking off flies. If they chose they could blow the -Party to pieces tomorrow morning. Surely sooner or later it -must occur to them to do it? And yet-!

-

- He remembered how once he had been walking down a crowded -street when a tremendous shout of hundreds of voices women's -voices -- had burst from a side-street a little way ahead. It -was a great formidable cry of anger and despair, a deep, loud -'Oh-o-o-o-oh!' that went humming on like the reverberation of a -bell. His heart had leapt. It's started! he had thought. A -riot! The proles are breaking loose at last! When he had -reached the spot it was to see a mob of two or three hundred -women crowding round the stalls of a street market, with faces -as tragic as though they had been the doomed passengers on a -sinking ship. But at this moment the general despair broke down -into a multitude of individual quarrels. It appeared that one -of the stalls had been selling tin saucepans. They were -wretched, flimsy things, but cooking-pots of any kind were -always difficult to get. Now the supply had unexpectedly given -out. The successful women, bumped and jostled by the rest, were -trying to make off with their saucepans while dozens of others -clamoured round the stall, accusing the stall-keeper of -favouritism and of having more saucepans somewhere in reserve. -There was a fresh outburst of yells. Two bloated women, one of -them with her hair coming down, had got hold of the same -saucepan and were trying to tear it out of one another's hands. -For a moment they were both tugging, and then the handle came -off. Winston watched them disgustedly. And yet, just for a -moment, what almost frightening power had sounded in that cry -from only a few hundred throats! Why was it that they could -never shout like that about anything that mattered?

-

- He wrote:

-

- Until they become conscious they will never rebel, and -until after they have rebelled they cannot become -conscious.

-

- That, he reflected, might almost have been a transcription -from one of the Party textbooks. The Party claimed, of course, -to have liberated the proles from bondage. Before the -Revolution they had been hideously oppressed by the -capitalists, they had been starved and flogged, women had been -forced to work in the coal mines (women still did work in the -coal mines, as a matter of fact), children had been sold into -the factories at the age of six. But simultaneously, true to -the Principles of doublethink, the Party taught that the proles -were natural inferiors who must be kept in subjection, like -animals, by the application of a few simple rules. In reality -very little was known about the proles. It was not necessary to -know much. So long as they continued to work and breed, their -other activities were without importance. Left to themselves, -like cattle turned loose upon the plains of Argentina, they had -reverted to a style of life that appeared to be natural to -them, a sort of ancestral pattern. They were born, they grew up -in the gutters, they went to work at twelve, they passed -through a brief blossoming-period of beauty and sexual desire, -they married at twenty, they were middle-aged at thirty, they -died, for the most part, at sixty. Heavy physical work, the -care of home and children, petty quarrels with neighbours, -films, football, beer, and above all, gambling, filled up the -horizon of their minds. To keep them in control was not -difficult. A few agents of the Thought Police moved always -among them, spreading false rumours and marking down and -eliminating the few individuals who were judged capable of -becoming dangerous; but no attempt was made to indoctrinate -them with the ideology of the Party. It was not desirable that -the proles should have strong political feelings. All that was -required of them was a primitive patriotism which could be -appealed to whenever it was necessary to make them accept -longer working-hours or shorter rations. And even when they -became discontented, as they sometimes did, their discontent -led nowhere, because being without general ideas, they could -only focus it on petty specific grievances. The larger evils -invariably escaped their notice. The great majority of proles -did not even have telescreens in their homes. Even the civil -police interfered with them very little. There was a vast -amount of criminality in London, a whole world-within-a-world -of thieves, bandits, prostitutes, drug-peddlers, and racketeers -of every description; but since it all happened among the -proles themselves, it was of no importance. In all questions of -morals they were allowed to follow their ancestral code. The -sexual puritanism of the Party was not imposed upon them. -Promiscuity went unpunished, divorce was permitted. For that -matter, even religious worship would have been permitted if the -proles had shown any sign of needing or wanting it. They were -beneath suspicion. As the Party slogan put it: 'Proles and -animals are free.'

-

- Winston reached down and cautiously scratched his varicose -ulcer. It had begun itching again. The thing you invariably -came back to was the impossibility of knowing what life before -the Revolution had really been like. He took out of the drawer -a copy of a children's history textbook which he had borrowed -from Mrs Parsons, and began copying a passage into the diary:

-

- In the old days (it ran), before the glorious -Revolution, London was not the beautiful city that we know -today. It was a dark, dirty, miserable place where hardly -anybody had enough to eat and where hundreds and thousands of -poor people had no boots on their feet and not even a roof to -sleep under. Children no older than you had to work twelve -hours a day for cruel masters who flogged them with whips if -they worked too slowly and fed them on nothing but stale -breadcrusts and water.

-

- But in among all this terrible poverty there were just -a few great big beautiful houses that were lived in by rich men -who had as many as thirty servants to look after them. These -rich men were called capitalists. They were fat, ugly men with -wicked faces, like the one in the picture on the opposite page. -You can see that he is dressed in a long black coat which was -called a frock coat, and a queer, shiny hat shaped like a -stovepipe, which was called a top hat. This was the uniform of -the capitalists, and no one else was allowed to wear it. -The capitalists owned everything in the world, and everyone -else was their slave. They owned all the land, all the houses, -all the factories, and all the money. If anyone disobeyed them -they could throw them into prison, or they could take his job -away and starve him to death. When any ordinary person spoke to -a capitalist he had to cringe and bow to him, and take off his -cap and address him as 'Sir'. The chief of all the capitalists -was called the King. and

-

- But he knew the rest of the catalogue. There would be -mention of the bishops in their lawn sleeves, the judges in -their ermine robes, the pillory, the stocks, the treadmill, the -cat-o'-nine tails, the Lord Mayor's Banquet, and the practice -of kissing the Pope's toe. There was also something called the -jus primae noctis, which would probably not be mentioned -in a textbook for children. It was the law by which every -capitalist had the right to sleep with any woman working in one -of his factories.

-

- How could you tell how much of it was lies? It -might be true that the average human being was better -off now than he had been before the Revolution. The only -evidence to the contrary was the mute protest in your own -bones, the instinctive feeling that the conditions you lived in -were intolerable and that at some other time they must have -been different. It struck him that the truly characteristic -thing about modern life was not its cruelty and insecurity, but -simply its bareness, its dinginess, its listlessness. Life, if -you looked about you, bore no resemblance not only to the lies -that streamed out of the telescreens, but even to the ideals -that the Party was trying to achieve. Great areas of it, even -for a Party member, were neutral and non-political, a matter of -slogging through dreary jobs, fighting for a place on the Tube, -darning a worn-out sock, cadging a saccharine tablet, saving a -cigarette end. The ideal set up by the Party was something -huge, terrible, and glittering -- a world of steel and -concrete, of monstrous machines and terrifying weapons -- a -nation of warriors and fanatics, marching forward in perfect -unity, all thinking the same thoughts and shouting the same -slogans, perpetually working, fighting, triumphing, persecuting --- three hundred million people all with the same face. The -reality was decaying, dingy cities where underfed people -shuffled to and fro in leaky shoes, in patched-up -nineteenth-century houses that smelt always of cabbage and bad -lavatories. He seemed to see a vision of London, vast and -ruinous, city of a million dustbins, and mixed up with it was a -picture of Mrs Parsons, a woman with lined face and wispy hair, -fiddling helplessly with a blocked waste-pipe.

-

- He reached down and scratched his ankle again. Day and -night the telescreens bruised your ears with statistics proving -that people today had more food, more clothes, better houses, -better recreations -- that they lived longer, worked shorter -hours, were bigger, healthier, stronger, happier, more -intelligent, better educated, than the people of fifty years -ago. Not a word of it could ever be proved or disproved. The -Party claimed, for example, that today 40 per cent of adult -proles were literate: before the Revolution, it was said, the -number had only been 15 per cent. The Party claimed that the -infant mortality rate was now only 160 per thousand, whereas -before the Revolution it had been 300 -- and so it went on. It -was like a single equation with two unknowns. It might very -well be that literally every word in the history books, even -the things that one accepted without question, was pure -fantasy. For all he knew there might never have been any such -law as the jus primae noctis, or any such creature as a -capitalist, or any such garment as a top hat.

-

- Everything faded into mist. The past was erased, the -erasure was forgotten, the lie became truth. Just once in his -life he had possessed -- after the event: that was what -counted -- concrete, unmistakable evidence of an act of -falsification. He had held it between his fingers for as long -as thirty seconds. In 1973, it must have been -- at any rate, - - -it was at about the time when he and Katharine had parted. But -the really relevant date was seven or eight years earlier.

-

- The story really began in the middle sixties, the period -of the great purges in which the original leaders of the -Revolution were wiped out once and for all. By 1970 none of -them was left, except Big Brother himself. All the rest had by -that time been exposed as traitors and counter- -revolutionaries. Goldstein had fled and was hiding no one knew -where, and of the others, a few had simply disappeared, while -the majority had been executed after spectacular public trials -at which they made confession of their crimes. Among the last -survivors were three men named Jones, Aaronson, and Rutherford. -It must have been in 1965 that these three had been arrested. -As often happened, they had vanished for a year or more, so -that one did not know whether they were alive or dead, and then -had suddenly been brought forth to incriminate themselves in -the usual way. They had confessed to intelligence with the -enemy (at that date, too, the enemy was Eurasia), embezzlement -of public funds, the murder of various trusted Party members, -intrigues against the leadership of Big Brother which had -started long before the Revolution happened, and acts of -sabotage causing the death of hundreds of thousands of people. -After confessing to these things they had been pardoned, -reinstated in the Party, and given posts which were in fact -sinecures but which sounded important. All three had written -long, abject articles in The Times, analysing the -reasons for their defection and promising to make amends.

-

- Some time after their release Winston had actually seen -all three of them in the Chestnut Tree Café. He remembered the -sort of terrified fascination with which he had watched them -out of the corner of his eye. They were men far older than -himself, relics of the ancient world, almost the last great -figures left over from the heroic days of the Party. The -glamour of the underground struggle and the civil war still -faintly clung to them. He had the feeling, though already at -that time facts and dates were growing blurry, that he had -known their names years earlier than he had known that of Big -Brother. But also they were outlaws, enemies, untouchables, -doomed with absolute certainty to extinction within a year or -two. No one who had once fallen into the hands of the Thought -Police ever escaped in the end. They were corpses waiting to be -sent back to the grave.

-

- There was no one at any of the tables nearest to them. It -was not wise even to be seen in the neighbourhood of such -people. They were sitting in silence before glasses of the gin -flavoured with cloves which was the speciality of the café. Of -the three, it was Rutherford whose appearance had most -impressed Winston. Rutherford had once been a famous -caricaturist, whose brutal cartoons had helped to inflame -popular opinion before and during the Revolution. Even now, at -long intervals, his cartoons were appearing in The -Times. They were simply an imitation of his earlier manner, -and curiously lifeless and unconvincing. Always they were a -rehashing of the ancient themes -- slum tenements, starving -children, street battles, capitalists in top hats -- even on -the barricades the capitalists still seemed to cling to their -top hats an endless, hopeless effort to get back into the past. -He was a monstrous man, with a mane of greasy grey hair, his -face pouched and seamed, with thick negroid lips. At one time -he must have been immensely strong; now his great body was -sagging, sloping, bulging, falling away in every direction. He -seemed to be breaking up before one's eyes, like a mountain -crumbling.

-

- It was the lonely hour of fifteen. Winston could not now - -remember how he had come to be in the café at such a time. The -place was almost empty. A tinny music was trickling from the -telescreens. The three men sat in their corner almost -motionless, never speaking. Uncommanded, the waiter brought -fresh glasses of gin. There was a chessboard on the table -beside them, with the pieces set out but no game started. And -then, for perhaps half a minute in all, something happened to -the telescreens. The tune that they were playing changed, and -the tone of the music changed too. There came into it -- but it -was something hard to describe. It was a peculiar, cracked, -braying, jeering note: in his mind Winston called it a yellow -note. And then a voice from the telescreen was singing:

-

- Under the spreading chestnut tree
- I sold you and you sold me:
- There lie they, and here lie we
- Under the spreading chestnut tree.

-

- - The three men never stirred. But when Winston glanced -again at Rutherford's ruinous face, he saw that his eyes were -full of tears. And for the first time he noticed, with a kind -of inward shudder, and yet not knowing at what he -shuddered, that both Aaronson and Rutherford had broken noses.

-

- A little later all three were re-arrested. It appeared -that they had engaged in fresh conspiracies from the very -moment of their release. At their second trial they confessed -to all their old crimes over again, with a whole string of new -ones. They were executed, and their fate was recorded in the -Party histories, a warning to posterity. About five years after -this, in 1973, Winston was unrolling a wad of documents which -had just flopped out of the pneumatic tube on to his desk when -he came on a fragment of paper which had evidently been slipped -in among the others and then forgotten. The instant he had -flattened it out he saw its significance. It was a half-page -torn out of The Times of about ten years earlier -- the -top half of the page, so that it included the date -- and it -contained a photograph of the delegates at some Party function -in New York. Prominent in the middle of the group were Jones, -Aaronson, and Rutherford. There was no mistaking them, in any -case their names were in the caption at the bottom.

-

- The point was that at both trials all three men had -confessed that on that date they had been on Eurasian soil. -They had flown from a secret airfield in Canada to a rendezvous -somewhere in Siberia, and had conferred with members of the -Eurasian General Staff, to whom they had betrayed important -military secrets. The date had stuck in Winston's memory -because it chanced to be midsummer day; but the whole story -must be on record in countless other places as well. There was -only one possible conclusion: the confessions were lies.

-

- Of course, this was not in itself a discovery. Even at -that time Winston had not imagined that the people who were -wiped out in the purges had actually committed the crimes that -they were accused of. But this was concrete evidence; it was a -fragment of the abolished past, like a fossil bone which turns -up in the wrong stratum and destroys a geological theory. It -was enough to blow the Party to atoms, if in some way it could -have been published to the world and its significance made -known.

-

- He had gone straight on working. As soon as he saw what -the photograph was, and what it meant, he had covered it up -with another sheet of paper. Luckily, when he unrolled it, it -had been upside-down from the point of view of the telescreen.

-

- He took his scribbling pad on his knee and pushed back his -chair so as to get as far away from the telescreen as possible. -To keep your face expressionless was not difficult, and even -your breathing could be controlled, with an effort: but you -could not control the beating of your heart, and the telescreen -was quite delicate enough to pick it up. He let what he judged -to be ten minutes go by, tormented all the while by the fear -that some accident -- a sudden draught blowing across his desk, -for instance -- would betray him. Then, without uncovering it -again, he dropped the photograph into the memory hole, along -with some other waste papers. Within another minute, perhaps, -it would have crumbled into ashes.

-

- That was ten -- eleven years ago. Today, probably, he -would have kept that photograph. It was curious that the fact -of having held it in his fingers seemed to him to make a -difference even now, when the photograph itself, as well as the -event it recorded, was only memory. Was the Party's hold upon -the past less strong, he wondered, because a piece of evidence -which existed no longer had once existed?

-

- But today, supposing that it could be somehow resurrected -from its ashes, the photograph might not even be evidence. -Already, at the time when he made his discovery, Oceania was no -longer at war with Eurasia, and it must have been to the agents -of Eastasia that the three dead men had betrayed their country. -Since then there had been other changes -- two, three, he could -not remember how many. Very likely the confessions had been -rewritten and rewritten until the original facts and dates no -longer had the smallest significance. The past not only -changed, but changed continuously. What most afflicted him with -the sense of nightmare was that he had never clearly understood -why the huge imposture was undertaken. The immediate advantages -of falsifying the past were obvious, but the ultimate motive -was mysterious. He took up his pen again and wrote:

-

- I understand HOW: I do not understand WHY.

-

- He wondered, as he had many times wondered before, whether -he himself was a lunatic. Perhaps a lunatic was simply a -minority of one. At one time it had been a sign of madness to -believe that the earth goes round the sun; today, to believe -that the past is inalterable. He might be alone in -holding that belief, and if alone, then a lunatic. But the -thought of being a lunatic did not greatly trouble him: the -horror was that he might also be wrong.

-

- He picked up the children's history book and looked at the -portrait of Big Brother which formed its frontispiece. The -hypnotic eyes gazed into his own. It was as though some huge -force were pressing down upon you -- something that penetrated -inside your skull, battering against your brain, frightening -you out of your beliefs, persuading you, almost, to deny the -evidence of your senses. In the end the Party would announce -that two and two made five, and you would have to believe it. -It was inevitable that they should make that claim sooner or -later: the logic of their position demanded it. Not merely the -validity of experience, but the very existence of external -reality, was tacitly denied by their philosophy. The heresy of -heresies was common sense. And what was terrifying was not that -they would kill you for thinking otherwise, but that they might -be right. For, after all, how do we know that two and two make -four? Or that the force of gravity works? Or that the past is -unchangeable? If both the past and the external world exist -only in the mind, and if the mind itself is controllable what -then?

-

- But no! His courage seemed suddenly to stiffen of its own -accord. The face of O'Brien, not called up by any obvious -association, had floated into his mind. He knew, with more -certainty than before, that O'Brien was on his side. He was -writing the diary for O'Brien -- to O'Brien: it was like -an interminable letter which no one would ever read, but which -was addressed to a particular person and took its colour from -that fact.

-

- The Party told you to reject the evidence of your eyes and -ears. It was their final, most essential command. His heart -sank as he thought of the enormous power arrayed against him, -the ease with which any Party intellectual would overthrow him -in debate, the subtle arguments which he would not be able to -understand, much less answer. And yet he was in the right! They -were wrong and he was right. The obvious, the silly, and the -true had got to be defended. Truisms are true, hold on to that! -The solid world exists, its laws do not change. Stones are -hard, water is wet, objects unsupported fall towards the -earth's centre. With the feeling that he was speaking to -O'Brien, and also that he was setting forth an important axiom, -he wrote:

-

- Freedom is the freedom to say that two plus two make -four. If that is granted, all else follows.

-

VIII

-

- From somewhere at the bottom of a passage the smell of -roasting coffee -- real coffee, not Victory Coffee -- came -floating out into the street. Winston paused involuntarily. For -perhaps two seconds he was back in the half-forgotten world of -his childhood. Then a door banged, seeming to cut off the smell -as abruptly as though it had been a sound.

-

- He had walked several kilometres over pavements, and his -varicose ulcer was throbbing. This was the second time in three -weeks that he had missed an evening at the Community Centre: a -rash act, since you could be certain that the number of your -attendances at the Centre was carefully checked. In principle a -Party member had no spare time, and was never alone except in -bed. It was assumed that when he was not working, eating, or -sleeping he would be taking part in some kind of communal -recreation: to do anything that suggested a taste for solitude, -even to go for a walk by yourself, was always slightly -dangerous. There was a word for it in Newspeak: ownlife, -it was called, meaning individualism and eccentricity. But this -evening as he came out of the Ministry the balminess of the -April air had tempted him. The sky was a warmer blue than he -had seen it that year, and suddenly the long, noisy evening at -the Centre, the boring, exhausting games, the lectures, the -creaking camaraderie oiled by gin, had seemed intolerable. On -impulse he had turned away from the bus-stop and wandered off -into the labyrinth of London, first south, then east, then -north again, losing himself among unknown streets and hardly -bothering in which direction he was going.

-

- 'If there is hope,' he had written in the diary, 'it lies -in the proles.' The words kept coming back to him, statement of -a mystical truth and a palpable absurdity. He was somewhere in -the vague, brown-coloured slums to the north and east of what -had once been Saint Pancras Station. He was walking up a -cobbled street of little two-storey houses with battered -doorways which gave straight on the pavement and which were -somehow curiously suggestive of ratholes. There were puddles of -filthy water here and there among the cobbles. In and out of -the dark doorways, and down narrow alley-ways that branched off -on either side, people swarmed in astonishing numbers -- girls -in full bloom, with crudely lipsticked mouths, and youths who -chased the girls, and swollen waddling women who showed you -what the girls would be like in ten years' time, and old bent -creatures shuffling along on splayed feet, and ragged -barefooted children who played in the puddles and then -scattered at angry yells from their mothers. Perhaps a quarter -of the windows in the street were broken and boarded up. Most -of the people paid no attention to Winston; a few eyed him with -a sort of guarded curiosity. Two monstrous women with brick-red -forearms folded across thelr aprons were talking outside a -doorway. Winston caught scraps of conversation as he -approached.

-

- ' "Yes," I says to 'er, "that's all very well," I says. -"But if you'd of been in my place you'd of done the same as -what I done. It's easy to criticize," I says, "but you ain't -got the same problems as what I got." '

-

- 'Ah,' said the other, 'that's jest it. That's jest where -it is.'

-

- The strident voices stopped abruptly. The women studied -him in hostile silence as he went past. But it was not -hostility, exactly; merely a kind of wariness, a momentary -stiffening, as at the passing of some unfamiliar animal. The -blue overalls of the Party could not be a common sight in a -street like this. Indeed, it was unwise to be seen in such -places, unless you had definite business there. The patrols -might stop you if you happened to run into them. 'May I see -your papers, comrade? What are you doing here? What time did -you leave work? Is this your usual way home?' -- and so on and -so forth. Not that there was any rule against walking home by -an unusual route: but it was enough to draw attention to you if -the Thought Police heard about it.

-

- Suddenly the whole street was in commotion. There were -yells of warning from all sides. People were shooting into the -doorways like rabbits. A young woman leapt out of a doorway a -little ahead of Winston, grabbed up a tiny child playing in a -puddle, whipped her apron round it, and leapt back again, all -in one movement. At the same instant a man in a concertina-like -black suit, who had emerged from a side alley, ran towards -Winston, pointing excitedly to the sky.

-

- 'Steamer!' he yelled. 'Look out, guv'nor! Bang over'ead! -Lay down quick!'

-

- 'Steamer' was a nickname which, for some reason, the -proles applied to rocket bombs. Winston promptly flung himself -on his face. The proles were nearly always right when they gave -you a warning of this kind. They seemed to possess some kind of -instinct which told them several seconds in advance when a -rocket was coming, although the rockets supposedly travelled -faster than sound. Winston clasped his forearms above his head. -There was a roar that seemed to make the pavement heave; a -shower of light objects pattered on to his back. When he stood -up he found that he was covered with fragments of glass from -the nearest window.

-

- He walked on. The bomb had demolished a group of houses -200 metres up the street. A black plume of smoke hung in the -sky, and below it a cloud of plaster dust in which a crowd was -already forming around the ruins. There was a little pile of -plaster lying on the pavement ahead of him, and in the middle -of it he could see a bright red streak. When he got up to it he -saw that it was a human hand severed at the wrist. Apart from -the bloody stump, the hand was so completely whitened as to -resemble a plaster cast.

-

- He kicked the thing into the gutter, and then, to avoid -the crowd, turned down a side-street to the right. Within three -or four minutes he was out of the area which the bomb had -affected, and the sordid swarming life of the streets was going -on as though nothing had happened. It was nearly twenty hours, -and the drinking-shops which the proles frequented ('pubs', -they called them) were choked with customers. From their grimy -swing doors, endlessly opening and shutting, there came forth a -smell of urine, sawdust, and sour beer. In an angle formed by a -projecting house-front three men were standing very close -together, the middle one of them holding a folded-up newspaper -which the other two were studying over his shoulder. Even -before he was near enough to make out the expression on their -faces, Winston could see absorption in every line of their -bodies. It was obviously some serious piece of news that they -were reading. He was a few paces away from them when suddenly -the group broke up and two of the men were in violent -altercation. For a moment they seemed almost on the point of -blows.

-

- 'Can't you bleeding well listen to what I say? I tell you -no number ending in seven ain't won for over fourteen months!'

-

- 'Yes, it 'as, then!'

-

- 'No, it 'as not! Back 'ome I got the 'ole lot of 'em for -over two years wrote down on a piece of paper. I takes 'em down -reg'lar as the clock. An' I tell you, no number ending in -seven-'

-

- 'Yes, a seven 'as won! I could pretty near tell you -the bleeding number. Four oh seven, it ended in. It were in -February -- second week in February.'

-

- 'February your grandmother! I got it all down in black and -white. An' I tell you, no number-'

-

- 'Oh, pack it in!' said the third man.

-

- They were talking about the Lottery. Winston looked back -when he had gone thirty metres. They were still arguing, with -vivid, passionate faces. The Lottery, with its weekly pay-out -of enormous prizes, was the one public event to which the -proles paid serious attention. It was probable that there were -some millions of proles for whom the Lottery was the principal -if not the only reason for remaining alive. It was their -delight, their folly, their anodyne, their intellectual -stimulant. Where the Lottery was concerned, even people who -could barely read and write seemed capable of intricate -calculations and staggering feats of memory. There was a whole -tribe of men who made a living simply by selling systems, -forecasts, and lucky amulets. Winston had nothing to do with -the running of the Lottery, which was managed by the Ministry -of Plenty, but he was aware (indeed everyone in the party was -aware) that the prizes were largely imaginary. Only small sums -were actually paid out, the winners of the big prizes being -non-existent persons. In the absence of any real -intercommunication between one part of Oceania and another, -this was not difficult to arrange.

-

- But if there was hope, it lay in the proles. You had to -cling on to that. When you put it in words it sounded -reasonable: it was when you looked at the human beings passing -you on the pavement that it became an act of faith. The street -into which he had turned ran downhill. He had a feeling that he -had been in this neighbourhood before, and that there was a -main thoroughfare not far away. From somewhere ahead there came -a din of shouting voices. The street took a sharp turn and then -ended in a flight of steps which led down into a sunken alley -where a few stall-keepers were selling tired-looking vegetables. -At this moment Winston remembered where he was. The alley led -out into the main street, and down the next turning, not five -minutes away, was the junk-shop where he had bought the blank -book which was now his diary. And in a small stationer's shop -not far away he had bought his penholder and his bottle of ink.

-

- He paused for a moment at the top of the steps. On the -opposite side of the alley there was a dingy little pub whose -windows appeared to be frosted over but in reality were merely -coated with dust. A very old man, bent but active, with white -moustaches that bristled forward like those of a prawn, pushed -open the swing door and went in. As Winston stood watching, it -occurred to him that the old man, who must be eighty at the -least, had already been middle-aged when the Revolution -happened. He and a few others like him were the last links that -now existed with the vanished world of capitalism. In the Party -itself there were not many people left whose ideas had been -formed before the Revolution. The older generation had mostly -been wiped out in the great purges of the fifties and sixties, -and the few who survived had long ago been terrified into -complete intellectual surrender. If there was any one still -alive who could give you a truthful account of conditions in -the early part of the century, it could only be a prole. -Suddenly the passage from the history book that he had copied -into his diary came back into Winston's mind, and a lunatic -impulse took hold of him. He would go into the pub, he would -scrape acquaintance with that old man and question him. He -would say to him: 'Tell me about your life when you were a boy. -What was it like in those days? Were things better than they -are now, or were they worse?'

-

- Hurriedly, lest he should have time to become frightened, -he descended the steps and crossed the narrow street. It was -madness of course. As usual, there was no definite rule against -talking to proles and frequenting their pubs, but it was far -too unusual an action to pass unnoticed. If the patrols -appeared he might plead an attack of faintness, but it was not -likely that they would believe him. He pushed open the door, -and a hideous cheesy smell of sour beer hit him in the face. As -he entered the din of voices dropped to about half its volume. -Behind his back he could feel everyone eyeing his blue -overalls. A game of darts which was going on at the other end -of the room interrupted itself for perhaps as much as thirty -seconds. The old man whom he had followed was standing at the -bar, having some kind of altercation with the barman, a large, -stout, hook-nosed young man with enormous forearms. A knot of -others, standing round with glasses in their hands, were -watching the scene.

-

- 'I arst you civil enough, didn't I?' said the old man, -straightening his shoulders pugnaciously. 'You telling me you -ain't got a pint mug in the 'ole bleeding boozer?'

-

- 'And what in hell's name is a pint?' said the barman, -leaning forward with the tips of his fingers on the counter.

-

- 'Ark at 'im! Calls 'isself a barman and don't know what a -pint is! Why, a pint's the 'alf of a quart, and there's four -quarts to the gallon. 'Ave to teach you the A, B, C next.'

-

- 'Never heard of 'em,' said the barman shortly. 'Litre and -half litre -- that's all we serve. There's the glasses on the -shelf in front of you.

-

- 'I likes a pint,' persisted the old man. 'You could 'a -drawed me off a pint easy enough. We didn't 'ave these bleeding -litres when I was a young man.'

-

- 'When you were a young man we were all living in the -treetops,' said the barman, with a glance at the other -customers.

-

- There was a shout of laughter, and the uneasiness caused -by Winston's entry seemed to disappear. The old man's -whitestubbled face had flushed pink. He turned away, muttering -to himself, and bumped into Winston. Winston caught him gently -by the arm.

-

- 'May I offer you a drink?' he said.

-

- 'You're a gent,' said the other, straightening his -shoulders again. He appeared not to have noticed Winston's blue -overalls. 'Pint!' he added aggressively to the barman. 'Pint of -wallop.'

-

- The barman swished two half-litres of dark-brown beer into -thick glasses which he had rinsed in a bucket under the -counter. Beer was the only drink you could get in prole pubs. -The proles were supposed not to drink gin, though in practice -they could get hold of it easily enough. The game of darts was -in full swing again, and the knot of men at the bar had begun -talking about lottery tickets. Winston's presence was forgotten -for a moment. There was a deal table under the window where he -and the old man could talk without fear of being overheard. It -was horribly dangerous, but at any rate there was no telescreen -in the room, a point he had made sure of as soon as he came in.

-

- "E could 'a drawed me off a pint,' grumbled the old man as -he settled down behind a glass. 'A 'alf litre ain't enough. It -don't satisfy. And a 'ole litre's too much. It starts my -bladder running. Let alone the price.'

-

- 'You must have seen great changes since you were a young -man,' said Winston tentatively.

-

- The old man's pale blue eyes moved from the darts board to -the bar, and from the bar to the door of the Gents, as though -it were in the bar-room that he expected the changes to have -occurred.

-

- 'The beer was better,' he said finally. 'And cheaper! When -I was a young man, mild beer -- wallop we used to call it -- -was fourpence a pint. That was before the war, of course.'

-

- 'Which war was that?' said Winston.

-

- 'It's all wars,' said the old man vaguely. He took up his -glass, and his shoulders straightened again. "Ere's wishing you -the very best of 'ealth!'

-

- In his lean throat the sharp-pointed Adam's apple made a -surprisingly rapid up-and-down movement, and the beer vanished. -Winston went to the bar and came back with two more -half-litres. The old man appeared to have forgotten his -prejudice against drinking a full litre.

-

- 'You are very much older than I am,' said Winston. 'You -must have been a grown man before I was born. You can remember -what it was like in the old days, before the Revolution. People -of my age don't really know anything about those times. We can -only read about them in books, and what it says in the books -may not be true. I should like your opinion on that. The -history books say that life before the Revolution was -completely different from what it is now. There was the most -terrible oppression, injustice, poverty worse than anything we -can imagine. Here in London, the great mass of the people never -had enough to eat from birth to death. Half of them hadn't even -boots on their feet. They worked twelve hours a day, they left -school at nine, they slept ten in a room. And at the same time -there were a very few people, only a few thousands -- the -capitalists, they were called -- who were rich and powerful. -They owned everything that there was to own. They lived in -great gorgeous houses with thirty servants, they rode about in -motor-cars and four-horse carriages, they drank champagne, they -wore top hats-'

-

- The old man brightened suddenly.

-

- 'Top 'ats!' he said. 'Funny you should mention 'em. The -same thing come into my 'ead only yesterday, I dono why. I was -jest thinking, I ain't seen a top 'at in years. Gorn right out, -they 'ave. The last time I wore one was at my sister-in-law's -funeral. And that was -- well, I couldn't give you the date, -but it must'a been fifty years ago. Of course it was only 'ired -for the occasion, you understand.'

-

- 'It isn't very important about the top hats,' said Winston -patiently. 'The point is, these capitalists -- they and a few -lawyers and priests and so forth who lived on them -- were the -lords of the earth. Everything existed for their benefit. You --- the ordinary people, the workers -- were their slaves. They -could do what they liked with you. They could ship you off to -Canada like cattle. They could sleep with your daughters if -they chose. They could order you to be flogged with something -called a cat-o'-nine tails. You had to take your cap off when -you passed them. Every capitalist went about with a gang of -lackeys who-'

-

- The old man brightened again.

-

- 'Lackeys!' he said. 'Now there's a word I ain't 'eard -since ever so long. Lackeys! That reg'lar takes me back, that -does. I recollect oh, donkey's years ago -- I used to sometimes -go to 'Yde Park of a Sunday afternoon to 'ear the blokes making -speeches. Salvation Army, Roman Catholics, Jews, Indians -- all -sorts there was. And there was one bloke -- well, I couldn't -give you 'is name, but a real powerful speaker 'e was. 'E -didn't 'alf give it 'em! "Lackeys!" 'e says, "lackeys of the -bourgeoisie! Flunkies of the ruling class!" Parasites -- that -was another of them. And 'yenas -- 'e definitely called 'em -'yenas. Of course 'e was referring to the Labour Party, you -understand.'

-

- Winston had the feeling that they were talking at -cross-purposes.

-

- 'What I really wanted to know was this,' he said. 'Do you -feel that you have more freedom now than you had in those days? -Are you treated more like a human being? In the old days, the -rich people, the people at the top-'

-

- 'The 'Ouse of Lords,' put in the old man reminiscently.

-

- 'The House of Lords, if you like. What I am asking is, -were these people able to treat you as an inferior, simply -because they were rich and you were poor? Is it a fact, for -instance, that you had to call them "Sir" and take off your cap -when you passed them?'

-

- The old man appeared to think deeply. He drank off about a -quarter of his beer before answering.

-

- 'Yes,' he said. 'They liked you to touch your cap to 'em. -It showed respect, like. I didn't agree with it, myself, but I -done it often enough. Had to, as you might say.'

-

- 'And was it usual -- I'm only quoting what I've read in -history books -- was it usual for these people and their -servants to push you off the pavement into the gutter?'

-

- 'One of 'em pushed me once,' said the old man. 'I -recollect it as if it was yesterday. It was Boat Race night -- -terribly rowdy they used to get on Boat Race night -- and I -bumps into a young bloke on Shaftesbury Avenue. Quite a gent, -'e was -- dress shirt, top 'at, black overcoat. 'E was kind of -zig-zagging across the pavement, and I bumps into 'im -accidental-like. 'E says, "Why can't you look where you're -going?" 'e says. I say, "Ju think you've bought the bleeding -pavement?" 'E says, "I'll twist your bloody 'ead off if you get -fresh with me." I says, "You're drunk. I'll give you in charge -in 'alf a minute," I says. An' if you'll believe me, 'e puts -'is 'and on my chest and gives me a shove as pretty near sent -me under the wheels of a bus. Well, I was young in them days, -and I was going to 'ave fetched 'im one, only-'

-

- A sense of helplessness took hold of Winston. The old -man's memory was nothing but a rubbish-heap of details. One -could question him all day without getting any real -information. The party histories might still be true, after a -fashion: they might even be completely true. He made a last -attempt.

-

- 'Perhaps I have not made myself clear,' he said. 'What I'm -trying to say is this. You have been alive a very long time; -you lived half your life before the Revolution. In 1925, for -instance, you were already grown up. Would you say from what -you can remember, that life in 1925 was better than it is now, -or worse? If you could choose, would you prefer to live then or -now?'

-

- The old man looked meditatively at the darts board. He -finished up his beer, more slowly than before. When he spoke it -was with a tolerant philosophical air, as though the beer had -mellowed him.

-

- 'I know what you expect me to say,' he said. 'You expect -me to say as I'd sooner be young again. Most people'd say -they'd sooner be young, if you arst' 'em. You got your 'ealth -and strength when you're young. When you get to my time of life -you ain't never well. I suffer something wicked from my feet, -and my bladder's jest terrible. Six and seven times a night it -'as me out of bed. On the other 'and, there's great advantages -in being a old man. You ain't got the same worries. No truck -with women, and that's a great thing. I ain't 'ad a woman for -near on thirty year, if you'd credit it. Nor wanted to, what's -more.'

-

- Winston sat back against the window-sill. It was no use -going on. He was about to buy some more beer when the old man -suddenly got up and shuffled rapidly into the stinking urinal -at the side of the room. The extra half-litre was already -working on him. Winston sat for a minute or two gazing at his -empty glass, and hardly noticed when his feet carried him out -into the street again. Within twenty years at the most, he -reflected, the huge and simple question, 'Was life better -before the Revolution than it is now?' would have ceased once -and for all to be answerable. But in effect it was unanswerable -even now, since the few scattered survivors from the ancient -world were incapable of comparing one age with another. They -remembered a million useless things, a quarrel with a workmate, -a hunt for a lost bicycle pump, the expression on a long-dead -sister's face, the swirls of dust on a windy morning seventy -years ago: but all the relevant facts were outside the range of -their vision. They were like the ant, which can see small -objects but not large ones. And when memory failed and written -records were falsified -- when that happened, the claim of the -Party to have improved the conditions of human life had got to -be accepted, because there did not exist, and never again could -exist, any standard against which it could be tested.

-

- At this moment his train of thought stopped abruptly. He -halted and looked up. He was in a narrow street, with a few -dark little shops, interspersed among dwelling-houses. -Immediately above his head there hung three discoloured metal -balls which looked as if they had once been gilded. He seemed -to know the place. Of course! He was standing outside the -junk-shop where he had bought the diary.

-

- A twinge of fear went through him. It had been a -sufficiently rash act to buy the book in the beginning, and he -had sworn never to come near the place again. And yet the -instant that he allowed his thoughts to wander, his feet had -brought him back here of their own accord. It was precisely -against suicidal impulses of this kind that he had hoped to -guard himself by opening the diary. At the same time he noticed -that although it was nearly twenty-one hours the shop was still -open. With the feeling that he would be less conspicuous inside -than hanging about on the pavement, he stepped through the -doorway. If questioned, he could plausibly say that he was -trying to buy razor blades.

-

- The proprietor had just lighted a hanging oil lamp which -gave off an unclean but friendly smell. He was a man of perhaps -sixty, frail and bowed, with a long, benevolent nose, and mild -eyes distorted by thick spectacles. His hair was almost white, -but his eyebrows were bushy and still black. His spectacles, -his gentle, fussy movements, and the fact that he was wearing -an aged jacket of black velvet, gave him a vague air of -intellectuality, as though he had been some kind of literary -man, or perhaps a musician. His voice was soft, as though -faded, and his accent less debased than that of the majority of -proles.

-

- 'I recognized you on the pavement,' he said immediately. -'You're the gentleman that bought the young lady's keepsake -album. That was a beautiful bit of paper, that was. Cream- -laid, it used to be called. There's been no paper like that -made for -- oh, I dare say fifty years.' He peered at Winston -over the top of his spectacles. 'Is there anything special I -can do for you? Or did you just want to look round?'

-

- 'I was passing,' said Winston vaguely. 'I just looked in. -I don't want anything in particular.'

-

- 'It's just as well,' said the other, 'because I don't -suppose I could have satisfied you.' He made an apologetic -gesture with his softpalmed hand. 'You see how it is; an empty -shop, you might say. Between you and me, the antique trade's -just about finished. No demand any longer, and no stock either. -Furniture, china, glass it's all been broken up by degrees. And -of course the metal stuff's mostly been melted down. I haven't -seen a brass candlestick in years.'

-

- The tiny interior of the shop was in fact uncomfortably -full, but there was almost nothing in it of the slightest -value. The floorspace was very restricted, because all round -the walls were stacked innumerable dusty picture-frames. In the -window there were trays of nuts and bolts, worn-out chisels, -penknives with broken blades, tarnished watches that did not -even pretend to be in going order, and other miscellaneous -rubbish. Only on a small table in the corner was there a litter -of odds and ends -- lacquered snuffboxes, agate brooches, and -the like -- which looked as though they might include something -interesting. As Winston wandered towards the table his eye was -caught by a round, smooth thing that gleamed softly in the -lamplight, and he picked it up.

-

- It was a heavy lump of glass, curved on one side, flat on -the other, making almost a hemisphere. There was a peculiar -softness, as of rainwater, in both the colour and the texture -of the glass. At the heart of it, magnified by the curved -surface, there was a strange, pink, convoluted object that -recalled a rose or a sea anemone.

-

- 'What is it?' said Winston, fascinated.

-

- 'That's coral, that is,' said the old man. 'It must have -come from the Indian Ocean. They used to kind of embed it in -the glass. That wasn't made less than a hundred years ago. -More, by the look of it.'

-

- 'It's a beautiful thing,' said Winston.

-

- 'It is a beautiful thing,' said the other appreciatively. -'But there's not many that'd say so nowadays.' He coughed. -'Now, if it so happened that you wanted to buy it, that'd cost -you four dollars. I can remember when a thing like that would -have fetched eight pounds, and eight pounds was -- well, I -can't work it out, but it was a lot of money. But who cares -about genuine antiques nowadays even the few that's left?'

-

- Winston immediately paid over the four dollars and slid -the coveted thing into his pocket. What appealed to him about -it was not so much its beauty as the air it seemed to possess -of belonging to an age quite different from the present one. -The soft, rainwatery glass was not like any glass that he had -ever seen. The thing was doubly attractive because of its -apparent uselessness, though he could guess that it must once -have been intended as a paperweight. It was very heavy in his -pocket, but fortunately it did not make much of a bulge. It was -a queer thing, even a compromising thing, for a Party member to -have in his possession. Anything old, and for that matter -anything beautiful, was always vaguely suspect. The old man had -grown noticeably more cheerful after receiving the four -dollars. Winston realized that he would have accepted three or -even two.

-

- 'There's another room upstairs that you might care to take -a look at,' he said. 'There's not much in it. Just a few -pieces. We'll do with a light if we're going upstairs.'

-

- He lit another lamp, and, with bowed back, led the way -slowly up the steep and worn stairs and along a tiny passage, -into a room which did not give on the street but looked out on -a cobbled yard and a forest of chimney-pots. Winston noticed -that the furniture was still arranged as though the room were -meant to be lived in. There was a strip of carpet on the floor, -a picture or two on the walls, and a deep, slatternly arm-chair -drawn up to the fireplace. An old-fashioned glass clock with a -twelve-hour face was ticking away on the mantelpiece. Under the -window, and occupying nearly a quarter of the room, was an -enormous bed with the mattress still on it.

-

- 'We lived here till my wife died,' said the old man half -apologetically. 'I'm selling the furniture off by little and -little. Now that's a beautiful mahogany bed, or at least it -would be if you could get the bugs out of it. But I dare say -you'd find it a little bit cumbersome.

-

- He was holdlng the lamp high up, so as to illuminate the -whole room, and in the warm dim light the place looked -curiously inviting. The thought flitted through Winston's mind -that it would probably be quite easy to rent the room for a few -dollars a week, if he dared to take the risk. It was a wild, -impossible notion, to be abandoned as soon as thought of; but -the room had awakened in him a sort of nostalgia, a sort of -ancestral memory. It seemed to him that he knew exactly what it -felt like to sit in a room like this, in an arm-chair beside an -open fire with your feet in the fender and a kettle on the hob; -utterly alone, utterly secure, with nobody watching you, no -voice pursuing you, no sound except the singing of the kettle -and the friendly ticking of the clock.

-

- 'There's no telescreen!' he could not help murmuring.

-

- 'Ah,' said the old man, 'I never had one of those things. -Too expensive. And I never seemed to feel the need of it, -somehow. Now that's a nice gateleg table in the corner there. -Though of course you'd have to put new hinges on it if you -wanted to use the flaps.'

-

- There was a small bookcase in the other corner, and -Winston had already gravitated towards it. It contained nothing -but rubbish. The hunting-down and destruction of books had been -done with the same thoroughness in the prole quarters as -everywhere else. It was very unlikely that there existed -anywhere in Oceania a copy of a book printed earlier than 1960. -The old man, still carrying the lamp, was standing in front of -a picture in a rosewood frame which hung on the other side of -the fireplace, opposite the bed.

-

- 'Now, if you happen to be interested in old prints at all --' he began delicately.

-

- Winston came across to examine the picture. It was a steel -engraving of an oval building with rectangular windows, and a -small tower in front. There was a railing running round the -building, and at the rear end there was what appeared to be a -statue. Winston gazed at it for some moments. It seemed vaguely -familiar, though he did not remember the statue.

-

- 'The frame's fixed to the wall,' said the old man, 'but I -could unscrew it for you, I dare say.'

-

- 'I know that building,' said Winston finally. 'It's a ruin -now. It's in the middle of the street outside the Palace of -Justice.'

-

- 'That's right. Outside the Law Courts. It was bombed in -- -oh, many years ago. It was a church at one time, St Clement's -Danes, its name was.' He smiled apologetically, as though -conscious of saying something slightly ridiculous, and added: -'Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St Clement's!'

-

- 'What's that?' said Winston.

-

- 'Oh-"Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St Clement's." -That was a rhyme we had when I was a little boy. How it goes on -I don't remember, but I do know it ended up, "Here comes a -candle to light you to bed, Here comes a chopper to chop off -your head." It was a kind of a dance. They held out their arms -for you to pass under, and when they came to "Here comes a -chopper to chop off your head" they brought their arms down and -caught you. It was just names of churches. All the London -churches were in it -- all the principal ones, that is.'

-

- Winston wondered vaguely to what century the church -belonged. It was always difficult to determine the age of a -London building. Anything large and impressive, if it was -reasonably new in appearance, was automatically claimed as -having been built since the Revolution, while anything that was -obviously of earlier date was ascribed to some dim period -called the Middle Ages. The centuries of capitalism were held -to have produced nothing of any value. One could not learn -history from architecture any more than one could learn it from -books. Statues, inscriptions, memorial stones, the names of -streets -- anything that might throw light upon the past had -been systematically altered.

-

- 'I never knew it had been a church,' he said.

-

- 'There's a lot of them left, really,' said the old man, -'though they've been put to other uses. Now, how did that rhyme -go? Ah! I've got it!

-

- "Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St Clement's,
- You owe me three farthings, say the bells of St Martin's

-

- -- "there, now, that's as far as I can get. - A farthing, that was a small copper coin, - looked something like a cent.'

-

- 'Where was St Martin's?' said Winston.

-

- 'St Martin's ? That's still standing. It's in Victory -Square, alongside the picture gallery. A building with a kind -of a triangular porch and pillars in front, and a big flight of -steps.'

-

- Winston knew the place well. It was a museum used for -propaganda displays of various kinds -- scale models of rocket -bombs and Floating Fortresses, waxwork tableaux illustrating -enemy atrocities, and the like.

-

- 'St Martin's-in-the-Fields it used to be called,' -supplemented the old man, 'though I don't recollect any fields -anywhere in those parts.'

-

- Winston did not buy the picture. It would have been an -even more incongruous possession than the glass paperweight, -and impossible to carry home, unless it were taken out of its -frame. But he lingered for some minutes more, talking to the -old man, whose name, he discovered, was not Weeks-as one might -have gathered from the inscription over the shop-front -- but -Charrington. Mr Charrington, it seemed, was a widower aged -sixty-three and had inhabited this shop for thirty years. -Throughout that time he had been intending to alter the name -over the window, but had never quite got to the point of doing -it. All the while that they were talking the half-remembered -rhyme kept running through Winston's head. Oranges and lemons -say the bells of St Clement's, You owe me three farthings, say -the bells of St Martin's! It was curious, but when you said it -to yourself you had the illusion of actually hearing bells, the -bells of a lost London that still existed somewhere or other, -disguised and forgotten. From one ghostly steeple after another -he seemed to hear them pealing forth. Yet so far as he could -remember he had never in real life heard church bells ringing.

-

- He got away from Mr Charrington and went down the stairs -alone, so as not to let the old man see him reconnoitring the -street before stepping out of the door. He had already made up -his mind that after a suitable interval -- a month, say -- he -would take the risk of visiting the shop again. It was perhaps -not more dangerous than shirking an evening at the Centre. The -serious piece of folly had been to come back here in the first -place, after buying the diary and without knowing whether the -proprietor of the shop could be trusted. However-!

-

- Yes, he thought again, he would come back. He would buy -further scraps of beautiful rubbish. He would buy the engraving -of St Clement Danes, take it out of its frame, and carry it -home concealed under the jacket of his overalls. He would drag -the rest of that poem out of Mr Charrington's memory. Even the -lunatic project of renting the room upstairs flashed -momentarily through his mind again. For perhaps five seconds -exaltation made him careless, and he stepped out on to the -pavement without so much as a preliminary glance through the -window. He had even started humming to an improvised tune

-

- Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St Clement's, - You owe me three farthings, say the

-

- Suddenly his heart seemed to turn to ice and his bowels -to water. A figure in blue overalls was coming down the -pavement, not ten metres away. It was the girl from the Fiction -Department, the girl with dark hair. The light was failing, but -there was no difficulty in recognizing her. She looked him -straight in the face, then walked quickly on as though she had -not seen him.

-

- For a few seconds Winston was too paralysed to move. Then -he turned to the right and walked heavily away, not noticing -for the moment that he was going in the wrong direction. At any -rate, one question was settled. There was no doubting any -longer that the girl was spying on him. She must have followed -him here, because it was not credible that by pure chance she -should have happened to be walking on the same evening up the -same obscure backstreet, kilometres distant from any quarter -where Party members lived. It was too great a coincidence. -Whether she was really an agent of the Thought Police, or -simply an amateur spy actuated by officiousness, hardly -mattered. It was enough that she was watching him. Probably she -had seen him go into the pub as well.

-

- It was an effort to walk. The lump of glass in his pocket -banged against his thigh at each step, and he was half minded -to take it out and throw it away. The worst thing was the pain -in his belly. For a couple of minutes he had the feeling that -he would die if he did not reach a lavatory soon. But there -would be no public lavatories in a quarter like this. Then the -spasm passed, leaving a dull ache behind.

-

- The street was a blind alley. Winston halted, stood for -several seconds wondering vaguely what to do, then turned round -and began to retrace his steps. As he turned it occurred to him -that the girl had only passed him three minutes ago and that by -running he could probably catch up with her. He could keep on -her track till they were in some quiet place, and then smash -her skull in with a cobblestone. The piece of glass in his -pocket would be heavy enough for the job. But he abandoned the -idea immediately, because even the thought of making any -physical effort was unbearable. He could not run, he could not -strike a blow. Besides, she was young and lusty and would -defend herself. He thought also of hurrying to the Community -Centre and staying there till the place closed, so as to -establish a partial alibi for the evening. But that too was -impossible. A deadly lassitude had taken hold of him. All he -wanted was to get home quickly and then sit down and be quiet.

-

- It was after twenty-two hours when he got back to the -flat. The lights would be switched off at the main at -twenty-three thirty. He went into the kitchen and swallowed -nearly a teacupful of Victory Gin. Then he went to the table in -the alcove, sat down, and took the diary out of the drawer. But -he did not open it at once. From the telescreen a brassy female -voice was squalling a patriotic song. He sat staring at the -marbled cover of the book, trying without success to shut the -voice out of his consciousness.

-

- It was at night that they came for you, always at night. -The proper thing was to kill yourself before they got you. -Undoubtedly some people did so. Many of the disappearances were -actually suicides. But it needed desperate courage to kill -yourself in a world where firearms, or any quick and certain -poison, were completely unprocurable. He thought with a kind of -astonishment of the biological uselessness of pain and fear, -the treachery of the human body which always freezes into -inertia at exactly the moment when a special effort is needed. -He might have silenced the dark-haired girl if only he had -acted quickly enough: but precisely because of the extremity of -his danger he had lost the power to act. It struck him that in -moments of crisis one is never fighting against an external -enemy, but always against one's own body. Even now, in spite of -the gin, the dull ache in his belly made consecutive thought -impossible. And it is the same, he perceived, in all seemingly -heroic or tragic situations. On the battlefield, in the torture -chamber, on a sinking ship, the issues that you are fighting -for are always forgotten, because the body swells up until it -fills the universe, and even when you are not paralysed by -fright or screaming with pain, life is a moment-to-moment -struggle against hunger or cold or sleeplessness, against a -sour stomach or an aching tooth.

-

- He opened the diary. It was important to write something -down. The woman on the telescreen had started a new song. Her -voice seemed to stick into his brain like jagged splinters of -glass. He tried to think of O'Brien, for whom, or to whom, the -diary was written, but instead he began thinking of the things -that would happen to him after the Thought Police took him -away. It would not matter if they killed you at once. To be -killed was what you expected. But before death (nobody spoke of -such things, yet everybody knew of them) there was the routine -of confession that had to be gone through: the grovelling on -the floor and screaming for mercy, the crack of broken bones, -the smashed teeth, and bloody clots of hair.

-

- Why did you have to endure it, since the end was always -the same? Why was it not possible to cut a few days or weeks -out of your life? Nobody ever escaped detection, and nobody -ever failed to confess. When once you had succumbed to -thoughtcrime it was certain that by a given date you would be -dead. Why then did that horror, which altered nothing, have to -lie embedded in future time?

-

- He tried with a little more success than before to summon -up the image of O'Brien. 'We shall meet in the place where -there is no darkness,' O'Brien had said to him. He knew what it -meant, or thought he knew. The place where there is no darkness -was the imagined future, which one would never see, but which, -by foreknowledge, one could mystically share in. But with the -voice from the telescreen nagging at his ears he could not -follow the train of thought further. He put a cigarette in his -mouth. Half the tobacco promptly fell out on to his tongue, a -bitter dust which was difficult to spit out again. The face of -Big Brother swam into his mind, displacing that of O'Brien. -Just as he had done a few days earlier, he slid a coin out of -his pocket and looked at it. The face gazed up at him, heavy, -calm, protecting: but what kind of smile was hidden beneath the -dark moustache? Like a leaden knell the words came back at him:

-

- WAR IS PEACE
- FREEDOM IS SLAVERY
- IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH

-

IX

-

- It was the middle of the morning, and Winston had left the -cubicle to go to the lavatory.

-

- A solitary figure was coming towards him from the other -end of the long, brightly-lit corridor. It was the girl with -dark hair. Four days had gone past since the evening when he -had run into her outside the junk-shop. As she came nearer he -saw that her right arm was in a sling, not noticeable at a -distance because it was of the same colour as her overalls. -Probably she had crushed her hand while swinging round one of -the big kaleidoscopes on which the plots of novels were -'roughed in'. It was a common accident in the Fiction -Department.

-

- They were perhaps four metres apart when the girl stumbled -and fell almost flat on her face. A sharp cry of pain was wrung -out of her. She must have fallen right on the injured arm. -Winston stopped short. The girl had risen to her knees. Her -face had turned a milky yellow colour against which her mouth -stood out redder than ever. Her eyes were fixed on his, with an -appealing expression that looked more like fear than pain.

-

- A curious emotion stirred in Winston's heart. In front of -him was an enemy who was trying to kill him: in front of him, -also, was a human creature, in pain and perhaps with a broken -bone. Already he had instinctively started forward to help her. -In the moment when he had seen her fall on the bandaged arm, it -had been as though he felt the pain in his own body.

-

- 'You're hurt?' he said.

-

- 'It's nothing. My arm. It'll be all right in a second.'

-

- She spoke as though her heart were fluttering. She had -certainly turned very pale.

-

- 'You haven't broken anything?'

-

- 'No, I'm all right. It hurt for a moment, that's all.'

-

- She held out her free hand to him, and he helped her up. -She had regained some of her colour, and appeared very much -better.

-

- 'It's nothing,' she repeated shortly. 'I only gave my -wrist a bit of a bang. Thanks, comrade!'

-

- And with that she walked on in the direction in which she -had been going, as briskly as though it had really been -nothing. The whole incident could not have taken as much as -half a minute. Not to let one's feelings appear in one's face -was a habit that had acquired the status of an instinct, and in -any case they had been standing straight in front of a -telescreen when the thing happened. Nevertheless it had been -very difficult not to betray a momentary surprise, for in the -two or three seconds while he was helping her up the girl had -slipped something into his hand. There was no question that she -had done it intentionally. It was something small and flat. As -he passed through the lavatory door he transferred it to his -pocket and felt it with the tips of his fingers. It was a scrap -of paper folded into a square.

-

- While he stood at the urinal he managed, with a little -more fingering, to get it unfolded. Obviously there must be a -message of some kind written on it. For a moment he was tempted -to take it into one of the water-closets and read it at once. -But that would be shocking folly, as he well knew. There was no -place where you could be more certain that the telescreens were -watched continuously.

-

- He went back to his cubicle, sat down, threw the fragment -of paper casually among the other papers on the desk, put on -his spectacles and hitched the speakwrite towards him. 'five -minutes,' he told himself, 'five minutes at the very least!' -His heart bumped in his breast with frightening loudness. -Fortunately the piece of work he was engaged on was mere -routine, the rectification of a long list of figures, not -needing close attention.

-

- Whatever was written on the paper, it must have some kind -of political meaning. So far as he could see there were two -possibilities. One, much the more likely, was that the girl was -an agent of the Thought Police, just as he had feared. He did -not know why the Thought Police should choose to deliver their -messages in such a fashion, but perhaps they had their reasons. -The thing that was written on the paper might be a threat, a -summons, an order to commit suicide, a trap of some -description. But there was another, wilder possibility that -kept raising its head, though he tried vainly to suppress it. -This was, that the message did not come from the Thought Police -at all, but from some kind of underground organization. Perhaps -the Brotherhood existed after all! Perhaps the girl was part of -it! No doubt the idea was absurd, but it had sprung into his -mind in the very instant of feeling the scrap of paper in his -hand. It was not till a couple of minutes later that the other, -more probable explanation had occurred to him. And even now, -though his intellect told him that the message probably meant -death -- still, that was not what he believed, and the -unreasonable hope persisted, and his heart banged, and it was -with difficulty that he kept his voice from trembling as he -murmured his figures into the speakwrite.

-

- He rolled up the completed bundle of work and slid it into -the pneumatic tube. Eight minutes had gone by. He re-adjusted -his spectacles on his nose, sighed, and drew the next batch of -work towards him, with the scrap of paper on top of it. He -flattened it out. On it was written, in a large unformed -handwriting:

-

- I love you.

-

- For several seconds he was too stunned even to throw the -incriminating thing into the memory hole. When he did so, -although he knew very well the danger of showing too much -interest, he could not resist reading it once again, just to -make sure that the words were really there.

-

- For the rest of the morning it was very difficult to work. -What was even worse than having to focus his mind on a series -of niggling jobs was the need to conceal his agitation from the -telescreen. He felt as though a fire were burning in his belly. -Lunch in the hot, crowded, noise-filled canteen was torment. -He had hoped to be alone for a little while during the lunch -hour, but as bad luck would have it the imbecile Parsons -flopped down beside him, the tang of his sweat almost defeating -the tinny smell of stew, and kept up a stream of talk about the -preparations for Hate Week. He was particularly enthusiastic -about a papier-mâché model of Big Brother's head, two metres -wide, which was being made for the occasion by his daughter's -troop of Spies. The irritating thing was that in the racket of -voices Winston could hardly hear what Parsons was saying, and -was constantly having to ask for some fatuous remark to be -repeated. Just once he caught a glimpse of the girl, at a table -with two other girls at the far end of the room. She appeared -not to have seen him, and he did not look in that direction -again.

-

- The afternoon was more bearable. Immediately after lunch -there arrived a delicate, difficult piece of work which would -take several hours and necessitated putting everything else -aside. It consisted in falsifying a series of production -reports of two years ago, in such a way as to cast discredit on -a prominent member of the Inner Party, who was now under a -cloud. This was the kind of thing that Winston was good at, and -for more than two hours he succeeded in shutting the girl out -of his mind altogether. Then the memory of her face came back, -and with it a raging, intolerable desire to be alone. Until he -could be alone it was impossible to think this new development -out. Tonight was one of his nights at the Community Centre. He -wolfed another tasteless meal in the canteen, hurried off to -the Centre, took part in the solemn foolery of a 'discussion -group', played two games of table tennis, swallowed several -glasses of gin, and sat for half an hour through a lecture -entitled 'Ingsoc in relation to chess'. His soul writhed with -boredom, but for once he had had no impulse to shirk his -evening at the Centre. At the sight of the words I love -you the desire to stay alive had welled up in him, and the -taking of minor risks suddenly seemed stupid. It was not till -twenty-three hours, when he was home and in bed -- in the -darkness, where you were safe even from the telescreen so long -as you kept silent -- that he was able to think continuously.

-

- It was a physical problem that had to be solved: how to -get in touch with the girl and arrange a meeting. He did not -consider any longer the possibility that she might be laying -some kind of trap for him. He knew that it was not so, because -of her unmistakable agitation when she handed him the note. -Obviously she had been frightened out of her wits, as well she -might be. Nor did the idea of refusing her advances even cross -his mind. Only five nights ago he had contemplated smashing her -skull in with a cobblestone, but that was of no importance. He -thought of her naked, youthful body, as he had seen it in his -dream. He had imagined her a fool like all the rest of them, -her head stuffed with lies and hatred, her belly full of ice. A -kind of fever seized him at the thought that he might lose her, -the white youthful body might slip away from him! What he -feared more than anything else was that she would simply change -her mind if he did not get in touch with her quickly. But the -physical difficulty of meeting was enormous. It was like trying -to make a move at chess when you were already mated. Whichever -way you turned, the telescreen faced you. Actually, all the -possible ways of communicating with her had occurred to him -within five minutes of reading the note; but now, with time to -think, he went over them one by one, as though laying out a row -of instruments on a table.

-

- Obviously the kind of encounter that had happened this -morning could not be repeated. If she had worked in the Records -Department it might have been comparatively simple, but he had -only a very dim idea whereabouts in the building the Fiction -Departrnent lay, and he had no pretext for going there. If he -had known where she lived, and at what time she left work, he -could have contrived to meet her somewhere on her way home; but -to try to follow her home was not safe, because it would mean -loitering about outside the Ministry, which was bound to be -noticed. As for sending a letter through the mails, it was out -of the question. By a routine that was not even secret, all -letters were opened in transit. Actually, few people ever wrote -letters. For the messages that it was occasionally necessary to -send, there were printed postcards with long lists of phrases, -and you struck out the ones that were inapplicable. In any case -he did not know the girl's name, let alone her address. Finally -he decided that the safest place was the canteen. If he could -get her at a table by herself, somewhere in the middle of the -room, not too near the telescreens, and with a sufficient buzz -of conversation all round -- if these conditions endured for, -say, thirty seconds, it might be possible to exchange a few -words.

-

- For a week after this, life was like a restless dream. On -the next day she did not appear in the canteen until he was -leaving it, the whistle having already blown. Presumably she -had been changed on to a later shift. They passed each other -without a glance. On the day after that she was in the canteen -at the usual time, but with three other girls and immediately -under a telescreen. Then for three dreadful days she did not -appear at all. His whole mind and body seemed to be afflicted -with an unbearable sensitivity, a sort of transparency, which -made every movement, every sound, every contact, every word -that he had to speak or listen to, an agony. Even in sleep he -could not altogether escape from her image. He did not touch -the diary during those days. If there was any relief, it was in -his work, in which he could sometimes forget himself for ten -minutes at a stretch. He had absolutely no clue as to what had -happened to her. There was no enquiry he could make. She might -have been vaporized, she might have committed suicide, she -might have been transferred to the other end of Oceania: worst -and likeliest of all, she might simply have changed her mind -and decided to avoid him.

-

- The next day she reappeared. Her arm was out of the sling -and she had a band of sticking-plaster round her wrist. The -relief of seeing her was so great that he could not resist -staring directly at her for several seconds. On the following -day he very nearly succeeded in speaking to her. When he came -into the canteen she was sitting at a table well out from the -wall, and was quite alone. It was early, and the place was not -very full. The queue edged forward till Winston was almost at -the counter, then was held up for two minutes because someone -in front was complaining that he had not received his tablet of -saccharine. But the girl was still alone when Winston secured -his tray and began to make for her table. He walked casually -towards her, his eyes searching for a place at some table -beyond her. She was perhaps three metres away from him. Another -two seconds would do it. Then a voice behind him called, -'Smith!' He pretended not to hear. 'Smith!' repeated the -voice, more loudly. It was no use. He turned round. A -blond-headed, silly-faced young man named Wilsher, whom he -barely knew, was inviting him with a smile to a vacant place at -his table. It was not safe to refuse. After having been -recognized, he could not go and sit at a table with an -unattended girl. It was too noticeable. He sat down with a -friendly smile. The silly blond face beamed into his. Winston -had a hallucination of himself smashing a pick-axe right into -the middle of it. The girl's table filled up a few minutes -later.

-

- But she must have seen him coming towards her, and perhaps -she would take the hint. Next day he took care to arrive early. -Surely enough, she was at a table in about the same place, and -again alone. The person immediately ahead of him in the queue -was a small, swiftly-moving, beetle-like man with a flat face -and tiny, suspicious eyes. As Winston turned away from the -counter with his tray, he saw that the little man was making -straight for the girl's table. His hopes sank again. There was -a vacant place at a table further away, but something in the -little man's appearance suggested that he would be sufficiently -attentive to his own comfort to choose the emptiest table. With -ice at his heart Winston followed. It was no use unless he -could get the girl alone. At this moment there was a tremendous -crash. The little man was sprawling on all fours, his tray had -gone flying, two streams of soup and coffee were flowing across -the floor. He started to his feet with a malignant glance at -Winston, whom he evidently suspected of having tripped him up. -But it was all right. Five seconds later, with a thundering -heart, Winston was sitting at the girl's table.

-

- He did not look at her. He unpacked his tray and promptly -began eating. It was all-important to speak at once, before -anyone else came, but now a terrible fear had taken possession -of him. A week had gone by since she had first approached him. -She would have changed her mind, she must have changed her -mind! It was impossible that this affair should end -successfully; such things did not happen in real life. He might -have flinched altogether from speaking if at this moment he had -not seen Ampleforth, the hairy-eared poet, wandering limply -round the room with a tray, looking for a place to sit down. In -his vague way Ampleforth was attached to Winston, and would -certainly sit down at his table if he caught sight of him. -There was perhaps a minute in which to act. Both Winston and -the girl were eating steadily. The stuff they were eating was a -thin stew, actually a soup, of haricot beans. In a low murmur -Winston began speaking. Neither of them looked up; steadily -they spooned the watery stuff into their mouths, and between -spoonfuls exchanged the few necessary words in low -expressionless voices.

-

- 'What time do you leave work?'

-

- 'Eighteen-thirty.'

-

- 'Where can we meet?'

-

- 'Victory Square, near the monument.

-

- 'It's full of telescreens.'

-

- 'It doesn't matter if there's a crowd.'

-

- 'Any signal?'

-

- 'No. Don't come up to me until you see me among a lot of -people. And don't look at me. Just keep somewhere near me.'

-

- 'What time?'

-

- 'Nineteen hours.'

-

- 'All right.'

-

- Ampleforth failed to see Winston and sat down at another -table. They did not speak again, and, so far as it was possible -for two people sitting on opposite sides of the same table, -they did not look at one another. The girl finished her lunch -quickly and made off, while Winston stayed to smoke a -cigarette.

-

- Winston was in Victory Square before the appointed time. -He wandered round the base of the enormous fluted column, at -the top of which Big Brother's statue gazed southward towards -the skies where he had vanquished the Eurasian aeroplanes (the -Eastasian aeroplanes, it had been, a few years ago) in the -Battle of Airstrip One. In the street in front of it there was -a statue of a man on horseback which was supposed to represent -Oliver Cromwell. At five minutes past the hour the girl had -still not appeared. Again the terrible fear seized upon -Winston. She was not coming, she had changed her mind! He -walked slowly up to the north side of the square and got a sort -of pale-coloured pleasure from identifying St Martin's Church, -whose bells, when it had bells, had chimed 'You owe me three -farthings.' Then he saw the girl standing at the base of the -monument, reading or pretending to read a poster which ran -spirally up the column. It was not safe to go near her until -some more people had accumulated. There were telescreens all -round the pediment. But at this moment there was a din of -shouting and a zoom of heavy vehicles from somewhere to the -left. Suddenly everyone seemed to be running across the square. -The girl nipped nimbly round the lions at the base of the -monument and joined in the rush. Winston followed. As he ran, -he gathered from some shouted remarks that a convoy of Eurasian -prisoners was passing.

-

- Already a dense mass of people was blocking the south side -of the square. Winston, at normal times the kind of person who -gravitates to the outer edge of any kind of scrimmage, shoved, -butted, squirmed his way forward into the heart of the crowd. -Soon he was within arm's length of the girl, but the way was -blocked by an enormous prole and an almost equally enormous -woman, presumably his wife, who seemed to form an impenetrable -wall of flesh. Winston wriggled himself sideways, and with a -violent lunge managed to drive his shoulder between them. For a -moment it felt as though his entrails were being ground to pulp -between the two muscular hips, then he had broken through, -sweating a little. He was next to the girl. They were shoulder -to shoulder, both staring fixedly in front of them.

-

- A long line of trucks, with wooden-faced guards armed with -sub-machine guns standing upright in each corner, was passing -slowly down the street. In the trucks little yellow men in -shabby greenish uniforms were squatting, jammed close together. -Their sad, Mongolian faces gazed out over the sides of the -trucks utterly incurious. Occasionally when a truck jolted -there was a clank-clank of metal: all the prisoners were wearing -leg-irons. Truck-load after truck-load of the sad faces passed. -Winston knew they were there but he saw them only -intermittently. The girl's shoulder, and her arm right down to -the elbow, were pressed against his. Her cheek was almost near -enough for him to feel its warmth. She had immediately taken -charge of the situation, just as she had done in the canteen. -She began speaking in the same expressionless voice as before, -with lips barely moving, a mere murmur easily drowned by the -din of voices and the rumbling of the trucks.

-

- 'Can you hear me?'

-

- 'Yes.'

-

- 'Can you get Sunday afternoon off?'

-

- 'Yes.'

-

- 'Then listen carefully. You'll have to remember this. Go -to Paddington Station-'

-

- With a sort of military precision that astonished him, she -outlined the route that he was to follow. A half-hour railway -journey; turn left outside the station; two kilometres along -the road: a gate with the top bar missing; a path across a -field; a grass-grown lane; a track between bushes; a dead tree -with moss on it. It was as though she had a map inside her -head. 'Can you remember all that?' she murmured finally.

-

- 'Yes.'

-

- 'You turn left, then right, then left again. And the -gate's got no top bar.'

-

- 'Yes. What time?'

-

- 'About fifteen. You may have to wait. I'll get there by -another way. Are you sure you remember everything?'

-

- 'Yes.'

-

- 'Then get away from me as quick as you can.'

-

- She need not have told him that. But for the moment they -could not extricate themselves from the crowd. The trucks were -still filing post, the people still insatiably gaping. At the -start there had been a few boos and hisses, but it came only -from the Party members among the crowd, and had soon stopped. -The prevailing emotion was simply curiosity. Foreigners, -whether from Eurasia or from Eastasia, were a kind of strange -animal. One literally never saw them except in the guise of -prisoners, and even as prisoners one never got more than a -momentary glimpse of them. Nor did one know what became of -them, apart from the few who were hanged as war-criminals: te -others simply vanished, presumably into forced-labour camps. -The round Mogol faces had given way to faces of a more European -type, dirty, bearded and exhausted. From over scrubby -cheekbones eyes looked into Winston's, sometimes with strange -intensity, and flashed away again. The convoy was drawing to an -end. In the last truck he could see an aged man, his face a -mass of grizzled hair, standing upright with wrists crossed in -front of him, as though he were used to having them bound -together. It was almost time for Winston and the girl to part. -But at the last moment, while the crowd still hemmed them in, -her hand felt for his and gave it a fleeting squeeze.

-

- It could not have been ten seconds, and yet it seemed a -long time that their hands were clasped together. He had time -to learn every detail of her hand. He explored the long -fingers, the shapely nails, the work-hardened palm with its row -of callouses, the smooth flesh under the wrist. Merely from -feeling it he would have known it by sight. In the same instant -it occurred to him that he did not know what colour the girl's -eyes were. They were probably brown, but people with dark hair -sometimes had blue eyes. To turn his head and look at her would -have been inconceivable folly. With hands locked together, -invisible among the press of bodies, they stared steadily in -front of them, and instead of the eyes of the girl, the eyes of -the aged prisoner gazed mournfully at Winston out of nests of -hair.

-

X

-

- Winston picked his way up the lane through dappled light -and shade, stepping out into pools of gold wherever the boughs -parted. Under the trees to the left of him the ground was misty -with bluebells. The air seemed to kiss one's skin. It was the -second of May. From somewhere deeper in the heart of the wood -came the droning of ring doves.

-

- He was a bit early. There had been no difficulties about -the journey, and the girl was so evidently experienced that he -was less frightened than he would normally have been. -Presumably she could be trusted to find a safe place. In -general you could not assume that you were much safer in the -country than in London. There were no telescreens, of course, -but there was always the danger of concealed microphones by -which your voice might be picked up and recognized; besides, it -was not easy to make a journey by yourself without attracting -attention. For distances of less than 100 kilometres it was not -necessary to get your passport endorsed, but sometimes there -were patrols hanging about the railway stations, who examined -the papers of any Party member they found there and asked -awkward questions. However, no patrols had appeared, and on the -walk from the station he had made sure by cautious backward -glances that he was not being followed. The train was full of -proles, in holiday mood because of the summery weather. The -wooden-seated carriage in which he travelled was filled to -overflowing by a single enormous family. ranging from a -toothless great-grandmother to a month-old baby, going out to -spend an afternoon with 'in-laws' in the country, and, as they -freely explained to Winston, to get hold of a little -blackmarket butter.

-

- The lane widened, and in a minute he came to the footpath -she had told him of, a mere cattle-track which plunged between -the bushes. He had no watch, but it could not be fifteen yet. -The bluebells were so thick underfoot that it was impossible -not to tread on them. He knelt down and began picking some -partly to pass the time away, but also from a vague idea that -he would like to have a bunch of flowers to offer to the girl -when they met. He had got together a big bunch and was smelling -their faint sickly scent when a sound at his back froze him, -the unmistakable crackle of a foot on twigs. He went on picking -bluebells. It was the best thing to do. It might be the girl, -or he might have been followed after all. To look round was to -show guilt. He picked another and another. A hand fell lightly -on his shoulder.

-

- He looked up. It was the girl. She shook her head, -evidently as a warning that he must keep silent, then parted -the bushes and quickly led the way along the narrow track into -the wood. Obviously she had been that way before, for she -dodged the boggy bits as though by habit. Winston followed, -still clasping his bunch of flowers. His first feeling was -relief, but as he watched the strong slender body moving in -front of him, with the scarlet sash that was just tight enough -to bring out the curve of her hips, the sense of his own -inferiority was heavy upon him. Even now it seemed quite likely -that when she turned round and looked at him she would draw -back after all. The sweetness of the air and the greenness of -the leaves daunted him. Already on the walk from the station -the May sunshine had made him feel dirty and etiolated, a -creature of indoors, with the sooty dust of London in the pores -of his skin. It occurred to him that till now she had probably -never seen him in broad daylight in the open. They came to the -fallen tree that she had spoken of. The girl hopped over and -forced apart the bushes, in which there did not seem to be an -opening. When Winston followed her, he found that they were in -a natural clearing, a tiny grassy knoll surrounded by tall -saplings that shut it in completely. The girl stopped and -turned.

-

- 'Here we are,' she said.

-

- He was facing her at several paces' distance. As yet he -did not dare move nearer to her.

-

- 'I didn't want to say anything in the lane,' she went on, -'in case there's a mike hidden there. I don't suppose there is, -but there could be. There's always the chance of one of those -swine recognizing your voice. We're all right here.'

-

- He still had not the courage to approach her. 'We're all -right here?' he repeated stupidly.

-

- 'Yes. Look at the trees.' They were small ashes, which at -some time had been cut down and had sprouted up again into a -forest of poles, none of them thicker than one's wrist. -'There's nothing big enough to hide a mike in. Besides, I've -been here before.'

-

- They were only making conversation. He had managed to move -closer to her now. She stood before him very upright, with a -smile on her face that looked faintly ironical, as though she -were wondering why he was so slow to act. The bluebells had -cascaded on to the ground. They seemed to have fallen of their -own accord. He took her hand.

-

- 'Would you believe,' he said, 'that till this moment I -didn't know what colour your eyes were?' They were brown, he -noted, a rather light shade of brown, with dark lashes. 'Now -that you've seen what I'm really like, can you still bear to -look at me?'

-

- 'Yes, easily.'

-

- 'I'm thirty-nine years old. I've got a wife that I can't -get rid of. I've got varicose veins. I've got five false -teeth.'

-

- 'I couldn't care less,' said the girl.

-

- The next moment, it was hard to say by whose act, she was -in his his arms. At the beginning he had no feeling except -sheer incredulity. The youthful body was strained against his -own, the mass of dark hair was against his face, and yes! -actually she had turned her face up and he was kissing the wide -red mouth. She had clasped her arms about his neck, she was -calling him darling, precious one, loved one. He had pulled her -down on to the ground, she was utterly unresisting, he could do -what he liked with her. But the truth was that he had no -physical sensation, except that of mere contact. All he felt -was incredulity and pride. He was glad that this was happening, -but he had no physical desire. It was too soon, her youth and -prettiness had frightened him, he was too much used to living -without women -- he did not know the reason. The girl picked -herself up and pulled a bluebell out of her hair. She sat -against him, putting her arm round his waist.

-

- 'Never mind, dear. There's no hurry. We've got the whole -afternoon. Isn't this a splendid hide-out? I found it when I -got lost once on a community hike. If anyone was coming you -could hear them a hundred metres away.'

-

- 'What is your name?' said Winston.

-

- 'Julia. I know yours. It's Winston -- Winston Smith.'

-

- 'How did you find that out?'

-

- 'I expect I'm better at finding things out than you are, -dear. Tell me, what did you think of me before that day I gave -you the note?'

-

- He did not feel any temptation to tell lies to her. It was -even a sort of love-offering to start off by telling the worst.

-

- 'I hated the sight of you,' he said. 'I wanted to rape you -and then murder you afterwards. Two weeks ago I thought -seriously of smashing your head in with a cobblestone. If you -really want to know, I imagined that you had something to do -with the Thought Police.'

-

- The girl laughed delightedly, evidently taking this as a -tribute to the excellence of her disguise.

-

- 'Not the Thought Police! You didn't honestly think that?'

-

- 'Well, perhaps not exactly that. But from your general -appearance -- merely because you're young and fresh and -healthy, you understand -- I thought that probably-'

-

- 'You thought I was a good Party member. Pure in word and -deed. Banners, processions, slogans, games, community hikes all -that stuff. And you thought that if I had a quarter of a chance -I'd denounce you as a thought-criminal and get you killed off?'

-

- 'Yes, something of that kind. A great many young girls are -like that, you know.'

-

- 'It's this bloody thing that does it,' she said, ripping -off the scarlet sash of the Junior Anti-Sex League and flinging -it on to a bough. Then, as though touching her waist had -reminded her of something, she felt in the pocket of her -overalls and produced a small slab of chocolate. She broke it -in half and gave one of the pieces to Winston. Even before he -had taken it he knew by the smell that it was very unusual -chocolate. It was dark and shiny, and was wrapped in silver -paper. Chocolate normally was dull-brown crumbly stuff that -tasted, as nearly as one could describe it, like the smoke of a -rubbish fire. But at some time or another he had tasted -chocolate like the piece she had given him. The first whiff of -its scent had stirred up some memory which he could not pin -down, but which was powerful and troubling.

-

- 'Where did you get this stuff?' he said.

-

- 'Black market,' she said indifferently. 'Actually I am -that sort of girl, to look at. I'm good at games. I was a -troop-leader in the Spies. I do voluntary work three evenings a -week for the Junior Anti-Sex League. Hours and hours I've spent -pasting their bloody rot all over London. I always carry one -end of a banner in the processions. I always Iook cheerful and -I never shirk anything. Always yell with the crowd, that's what -I say. It's the only way to be safe.'

-

- The first fragment of chocolate had melted on Winston's -tongue. The taste was delightful. But there was still that -memory moving round the edges of his consciousness, something -strongly felt but not reducible to definite shape, like an -object seen out of the corner of one's eye. He pushed it away -from him, aware only that it was the memory of some action -which he would have liked to undo but could not.

-

- 'You are very young,' he said. 'You are ten or fifteen -years younger than I am. What could you see to attract you in a -man like me?'

-

- 'It was something in your face. I thought I'd take a -chance. I'm good at spotting people who don't belong. As soon -as I saw you I knew you were against them.'

-

- Them, it appeared, meant the Party, and above all -the Inner Party, about whom she talked with an open jeering -hatred which made Winston feel uneasy, although he knew that -they were safe here if they could be safe anywhere. A thing -that astonished him about her was the coarseness of her -language. Party members were supposed not to swear, and Winston -himself very seldom did swear, aloud, at any rate. Julia, -however, seemed unable to mention the Party, and especially the -Inner Party, without using the kind of words that you saw -chalked up in dripping alley-ways. He did not dislike it. It -was merely one symptom of her revolt against the Party and all -its ways, and somehow it seemed natural and healthy, like the -sneeze of a horse that smells bad hay. They had left the -clearing and were wandering again through the chequered shade, -with their arms round each other's waists whenever it was wide -enough to walk two abreast. He noticed how much softer her -waist seemed to feel now that the sash was gone. They did not -speak above a whisper. Outside the clearing, Julia said, it was -better to go quietly. Presently they had reached the edge of -the little wood. She stopped him.

-

- 'Don't go out into the open. There might be someone -watching. We're all right if we keep behind the boughs.'

-

- They were standing in the shade of hazel bushes. The -sunlight, filtering through innumerable leaves, was still hot -on their faces. Winston looked out into the field beyond, and -underwent a curious, slow shock of recognition. He knew it by -sight. An old, closebitten pasture, with a footpath wandering -across it and a molehill here and there. In the ragged hedge on -the opposite side the boughs of the elm trees swayed just -perceptibly in the breeze, and their leaves stirred faintly in -dense masses like women's hair. Surely somewhere nearby, but -out of sight, there must be a stream with green pools where -dace were swimming?

-

- 'Isn't there a stream somewhere near here?' he whispered.

-

- 'That's right, there is a stream. It's at the edge of the -next field, actually. There are fish in it, great big ones. You -can watch them lying in the pools under the willow trees, -waving their tails.'

-

- 'It's the Golden Country -- almost,' he murmured.

-

- 'The Golden Country?'

-

- 'It's nothing, really. A landscape I've seen sometimes in -a dream.'

-

- 'Look!' whispered Julia.

-

- A thrush had alighted on a bough not five metres away, -almost at the level of their faces. Perhaps it had not seen -them. It was in the sun, they in the shade. It spread out its -wings, fitted them carefully into place again, ducked its head -for a moment, as though making a sort of obeisance to the sun, -and then began to pour forth a torrent of song. In the -afternoon hush the volume of sound was startling. Winston and -Julia clung together, fascinated. The music went on and on, -minute after minute, with astonishing variations, never once -repeating itself, almost as though the bird were deliberately -showing off its virtuosity. Sometimes it stopped for a few -seconds, spread out and resettled its wings, then swelled its -speckled breast and again burst into song. Winston watched it -with a sort of vague reverence. For whom, for what, was that -bird singing? No mate, no rival was watching it. What made it -sit at the edge of the lonely wood and pour its music into -nothingness? He wondered whether after all there was a -microphone hidden somewhere near. He and Julia had spoken only -in low whispers, and it would not pick up what they had said, -but it would pick up the thrush. Perhaps at the other end of -the instrument some small, beetle-like man was listening -intently -- listening to that. But by degrees the flood -of music drove all speculations out of his mind. It was as -though it were a kind of liquid stuff that poured all over him -and got mixed up with the sunlight that filtered through the -leaves. He stopped thinking and merely felt. The girl's waist -in the bend of his arm was soft and warm. He pulled her round -so that they were breast to breast; her body seemed to melt -into his. Wherever his hands moved it was all as yielding as -water. Their mouths clung together; it was quite different from -the hard kisses they had exchanged earlier. When they moved -their faces apart again both of them sighed deeply. The bird -took fright and fled with a clatter of wings.

-

- Winston put his lips against her ear. 'Now,' he -whispered.

-

- 'Not here,' she whispered back. 'Come back to the hide- -out. It's safer.'

-

- Quickly, with an occasional crackle of twigs, they -threaded their way back to the clearing. When they were once -inside the ring of saplings she turned and faced him. They were -both breathing fast. but the smile had reappeared round the -corners of her mouth. She stood looking at him for an instant, -then felt at the zipper of her overalls. And, yes! it was -almost as in his dream. Almost as swiftly as he had imagined -it, she had torn her clothes off, and when she flung them aside -it was with that same magnificent gesture by which a whole -civilization seemed to be annihilated. Her body gleamed white -in the sun. But for a moment he did not look at her body; his -eyes were anchored by the freckled face with its faint, bold -smile. He knelt down before her and took her hands in his

-

- 'Have you done this before?'

-

- 'Of course. Hundreds of times -- well scores of times -anyway - 'With Party members.'

-

- 'Yes, always with Party members.'

-

- 'With members of the Inner Party?'

-

- 'Not with those swine, no. But there's plenty that -would if they got half a chance. They're not so holy as -they make out.'

-

- His heart leapt. Scores of times she had done it: he -wished it had been hundreds -- thousands. Anything that hinted -at corruption always filled him with a wild hope. Who knew, -perhaps the Party was rotten under the surface, its cult of -strenuousness and self-denial simply a sham concealing iniquity. -If he could have infected the whole lot of them with leprosy or -syphilis, how gladly he would have done so! Anything to rot, to -weaken, to undermine! He pulled her down so that they were -kneeling face to face.

-

- 'Listen. The more men you've had, the more I love you. Do -you understand that?'

-

- 'Yes, perfectly.'

-

- 'I hate purity, I hate goodness! I don't want any virtue -to exist anywhere. I want everyone to be corrupt to the bones.

-

- 'Well then, I ought to suit you, dear. I'm corrupt to the -bones.'

-

- 'You like doing this? I don't mean simply me: I mean the -thing in itself?'

-

- 'I adore it.'

-

- That was above all what he wanted to hear. Not merely the -love of one person but the animal instinct, the simple -undifferentiated desire: that was the force that would tear the -Party to pieces. He pressed her down upon the grass, among the -fallen bluebells. This time there was no difficulty. Presently -the rising and falling of their breasts slowed to normal speed, -and in a sort of pleasant helplessness they fell apart. The sun -seemed to have grown hotter. They were both sleepy. He reached -out for the discarded overalls and pulled them partly over her. -Almost immediately they fell asleep and slept for about half an -hour.

-

- Winston woke first. He sat up and watched the freckled -face, still peacefully asleep, pillowed on the palm of her -hand. Except for her mouth, you could not call her beautiful. -There was a line or two round the eyes, if you looked closely. -The short dark hair was extraordinarily thick and soft. It -occurred to him that he still did not know her surname or where -she lived.

-

- The young, strong body, now helpless in sleep, awoke in -him a pitying, protecting feeling. But the mindless tenderness -that he had felt under the hazel tree, while the thrush was -singing, had not quite come back. He pulled the overalls aside -and studied her smooth white flank. In the old days, he -thought, a man looked at a girl's body and saw that it was -desirable, and that was the end of the story. But you could not -have pure love or pure lust nowadays. No emotion was pure, -because everything was mixed up with fear and hatred. Their -embrace had been a battle, the climax a victory. It was a blow -struck against the Party. It was a political act.

-

XI

-

- 'We can come here once again,' said Julia. 'It's generally -safe to use any hide-out twice. But not for another month or -two, of course.'

-

- As soon as she woke up her demeanour had changed. She -became alert and business-like, put her clothes on, knotted the -scarlet sash about her waist, and began arranging the details -of the journey home. It seemed natural to leave this to her. -She obviously had a practical cunning which Winston lacked, and -she seemed also to have an exhaustive knowledge of the -countryside round London, stored away from innumerable -community hikes. The route she gave him was quite different -from the one by which he had come, and brought him out at a -different railway station. 'Never go home the same way as you -went out,' she said, as though enunciating an important general -principle. She would leave first, and Winston was to wait half -an hour before following her.

-

- She had named a place where they could meet after work, -four evenings hence. It was a street in one of the poorer -quarters, where there was an open market which was generally -crowded and noisy. She would be hanging about among the stalls, -pretending to be in search of shoelaces or sewing-thread. If -she judged that the coast was clear she would blow her nose -when he approached; otherwise he was to walk past her without -recognition. But with luck, in the middle of the crowd, it -would be safe to talk for a quarter of an hour and arrange -another meeting.

-

- 'And now I must go,' she said as soon as he had mastered -his instructions. 'I'm due back at nineteen-thirty. I've got to -put in two hours for the Junior Anti-Sex League, handing out -leaflets, or something. Isn't it bloody? Give me a brush-down, -would you? Have I got any twigs in my hair? Are you sure? Then -good-bye, my love, good-bye!'

-

- She flung herself into his arms, kissed him almost -violently, and a moment later pushed her way through the -saplings and disappeared into the wood with very little noise. -Even now he had not found out her surname or her address. -However, it made no difference, for it was inconceivable that -they could ever meet indoors or exchange any kind of written -communication.

-

- As it happened, they never went back to the clearing in -the wood. During the month of May there was only one further -occasion on which they actually succeeded in making love. That -was in another hidlng-place known to Julia, the belfry of a -ruinous church in an almost-deserted stretch of country where -an atomic bomb had fallen thirty years earlier. It was a good -hiding-place when once you got there, but the getting there was -very dangerous. For the rest they could meet only in the -streets, in a different place every evening and never for more -than half an hour at a time. In the street it was usually -possible to talk, after a fashion. As they drifted down the -crowded pavements, not quite abreast and never looking at one -another, they carried on a curious, intermittent conversation -which flicked on and off like the beams of a lighthouse, -suddenly nipped into silence by the approach of a Party uniform -or the proximity of a telescreen, then taken up again minutes -later in the middle of a sentence, then abruptly cut short as -they parted at the agreed spot, then continued almost without -introduction on the following day. Julia appeared to be quite -used to this kind of conversation, which she called 'talking by -instalments'. She was also surprisingly adept at speaking -without moving her lips. Just once in almost a month of nightly -meetings they managed to exchange a kiss. They were passing in -silence down a side-street (Julia would never speak when they -were away from the main streets) when there was a deafening -roar, the earth heaved, and the air darkened, and Winston found -himself lying on his side, bruised and terrified. A rocket bomb -must have dropped quite near at hand. Suddenly he became aware -of Julia's face a few centimetres from his own, deathly white, -as white as chalk. Even her lips were white. She was dead! He -clasped her against him and found that he was kissing a live -warm face. But there was some powdery stuff that got in the way -of his lips. Both of their faces were thickly coated with -plaster.

-

- There were evenings when they reached their rendezvous and -then had to walk past one another without a sign, because a -patrol had just come round the corner or a helicopter was -hovering overhead. Even if it had been less dangerous, it would -still have been difficult to find time to meet. Winston's -working week was sixty hours, Julia's was even longer, and -their free days varied according to the pressure of work and -did not often coincide. Julia, in any case, seldom had an -evening completely free. She spent an astonishing amount of -time in attending lectures and demonstrations, distributing -literature for the junior Anti-Sex League, preparing banners -for Hate Week, making collections for the savings campaign, and -such-like activities. It paid, she said, it was camouflage. If -you kept the small rules, you could break the big ones. She -even induced Winston to mortgage yet another of his evenings by -enrolling himself for the part-time munition work which was -done voluntarily by zealous Party members. So, one evening -every week, Winston spent four hours of paralysing boredom, -screwing together small bits of metal which were probably parts -of bomb fuses, in a draughty, ill-lit workshop where the -knocking of hammers mingled drearily with the music of the -telescreens.

-

- When they met in the church tower the gaps in their -fragmentary conversation were filled up. It was a blazing -afternoon. The air in the little square chamber above the bells -was hot and stagnant, and smelt overpoweringly of pigeon dung. -They sat talking for hours on the dusty, twig-littered floor, -one or other of them getting up from time to time to cast a -glance through the arrowslits and make sure that no one was -coming.

-

- Julia was twenty-six years old. She lived in a hostel with -thirty other girls ('Always in the stink of women! How I hate -women!' she said parenthetically), and she worked, as he had -guessed, on the novel-writing machines in the Fiction -Department. She enjoyed her work, which consisted chiefly in -running and servicing a powerful but tricky electric motor. She -was 'not clever', but was fond of using her hands and felt at -home with machinery. She could describe the whole process of -composing a novel, from the general directive issued by the -Planning Committee down to the final touching-up by the Rewrite -Squad. But she was not interested in the finished product. She -'didn't much care for reading,' she said. Books were just a -commodity that had to be produced, like jam or bootlaces.

-

- She had no memories of anything before the early sixties -and the only person she had ever known who talked frequently of -the days before the Revolution was a grandfather who had -disappeared when she was eight. At school she had been captain -of the hockey team and had won the gymnastics trophy two years -running. She had been a troop-leader in the Spies and a branch -secretary in the Youth League before joining the Junior -Anti-Sex League. She had always borne an excellent character. -She had even (an infallible mark of good reputation) been -picked out to work in Pornosec, the sub-section of the Fiction -Department which turned out cheap pornography for distribution -among the proles. It was nicknamed Muck House by the people who -worked in it, she remarked. There she had remained for a year, -helping to produce booklets in sealed packets with titles like -Spanking Stories or One Night in a Girls' -School, to be bought furtively by proletarian youths who -were under the impression that they were buying something -illegal.

-

- 'What are these books like?' said Winston curiously.

-

- 'Oh, ghastly rubbish. They're boring, really. They only -have six plots, but they swap them round a bit. Of course I was -only on the kaleidoscopes. I was never in the Rewrite Squad. -I'm not literary, dear -- not even enough for that.'

-

- He learned with astonishment that all the workers in -Pornosec, except the heads of the departments, were girls. The -theory was that men, whose sex instincts were less controllable -than those of women, were in greater danger of being corrupted -by the filth they handled.

-

- 'They don't even like having married women there,' she -added. Girls are always supposed to be so pure. Here's one who -isn't, anyway.

-

- She had had her first love-affair when she was sixteen, -with a Party member of sixty who later committed suicide to -avoid arrest. 'And a good job too,' said Julia, 'otherwise -they'd have had my name out of him when he confessed.' Since -then there had been various others. Life as she saw it was -quite simple. You wanted a good time; 'they', meaning the -Party, wanted to stop you having it; you broke the rules as -best you couId. She seemed to think it just as natural that -'they' should want to rob you of your pleasures as that you -should want to avoid being caught. She hated the Party, and -said so in the crudest words, but she made no general criticism -of it. Except where it touched upon her own life she had no -interest in Party doctrine. He noticed that she never used -Newspeak words except the ones that had passed into everyday -use. She had never heard of the Brotherhood, and refused to -believe in its existence. Any kind of organized revolt against -the Party, which was bound to be a failure, struck her as -stupid. The clever thing was to break the rules and stay alive -all the same. He wondered vaguely how many others like her -there might be in the younger generation people who had grown -up in the world of the Revolution, knowing nothing else, -accepting the Party as something unalterable, like the sky, not -rebelling against its authority but simply evading it, as a -rabbit dodges a dog.

-

- They did not discuss the possibility of getting married. -It was too remote to be worth thinking about. No imaginable -committee would ever sanction such a marriage even if -Katharine, Winston's wife, could somehow have been got rid of. -It was hopeless even as a daydream.

-

- 'What was she like, your wife?' said Julia.

-

- 'She was -- do you know the Newspeak word -goodthinkful? Meaning naturally orthodox, incapable of -thinking a bad thought?'

-

- 'No, I didn't know the word, but I know the kind of -person, right enough.'

-

- He began telling her the story of his married life, but -curiously enough she appeared to know the essential parts of it -already. She described to him, almost as though she had seen or -felt it, the stiffening of Katharine's body as soon as he -touched her, the way in which she still seemed to be pushing -him from her with all her strength, even when her arms were -clasped tightly round him. With Julia he felt no difficulty in -talking about such things: Katharine, in any case, had long -ceased to be a painful memory and became merely a distasteful -one.

-

- 'I could have stood it if it hadn't been for one thing,' -he said. He toId her about the frigid little ceremony that -Katharine had forced him to go through on the same night every -week. 'She hated it, but nothing would make her stop doing it. -She used to call it -- but you'll never guess.'

-

- 'Our duty to the Party,' said Julia promptly.

-

- 'How did you know that?'

-

- 'I've been at school too, dear. Sex talks once a month for -the over-sixteens. And in the Youth Movement. They rub it into -you for years. I dare say it works in a lot of cases. But of -course you can never tell; people are such hypocrites.'

-

- She began to enlarge upon the subject. With Julia, -everything came back to her own sexuality. As soon as this was -touched upon in any way she was capable of great acuteness. -Unlike Winston, she had grasped the inner meaning of the -Party's sexual puritanism. It was not merely that the sex -instinct created a world of its own which was outside the -Party's control and which therefore had to be destroyed if -possible. What was more important was that sexual privation -induced hysteria, which was desirable because it could be -transformed into war-fever and leader-worship. The way she put -it was:

-

- 'When you make love you're using up energy; and afterwards -you feel happy and don't give a damn for anything. They can't -bear you to feel like that. They want you to be bursting with -energy all the time. All this marching up and down and cheering -and waving flags is simply sex gone sour. If you're happy -inside yourself, why should you get excited about Big Brother -and the Three-Year Plans and the Two Minutes Hate and all the -rest of their bloody rot?'

-

- That was very true, he thought. There was a direct -intimate connexion between chastity and political orthodoxy. -For how could the fear, the hatred, and the lunatic credulity -which the Party needed in its members be kept at the right -pitch, except by bottling down some powerful instinct and using -it as a driving force? The sex impulse was dangerous to the -Party, and the Party had turned it to account. They had played -a similar trick with the instinct of parenthood. The family -could not actually be abolished, and, indeed, people were -encouraged to be fond of their children, in almost the -old-fashioned way. The children, on the other hand, were -systematically turned against their parents and taught to spy -on them and report their deviations. The family had become in -effect an extension of the Thought Police. It was a device by -means of which everyone could be surrounded night and day by -informers who knew him intimately.

-

- Abruptly his mind went back to Katharine. Katharine would -unquestionably have denounced him to the Thought Police if she -had not happened to be too stupid to detect the unorthodoxy of -his opinions. But what really recalled her to him at this -moment was the stifling heat of the afternoon, which had -brought the sweat out on his forehead. He began telling Julia -of something that had happened, or rather had failed to happen, -on another sweltering summer afternoon, eleven years ago.

-

- It was three or four months after they were married. They -had lost their way on a community hike somewhere in Kent. They -had only lagged behind the others for a couple of minutes, but -they took a wrong turning, and presently found themselves -pulled up short by the edge of an old chalk quarry. It was a -sheer drop of ten or twenty metres, with boulders at the -bottom. There was nobody of whom they could ask the way. As -soon as she realized that they were lost Katharine became very -uneasy. To be away from the noisy mob of hikers even for a -moment gave her a feeling of wrong-doing. She wanted to hurry -back by the way they had come and start searching in the other -direction. But at this moment Winston noticed some tufts of -loosestrife growing in the cracks of the cliff beneath them. -One tuft was of two colours, magenta and brick-red, apparently -growing on the same root. He had never seen anything of the -kind before, and he called to Katharine to come and look at it.

-

- 'Look, Katharine! Look at those flowers. That clump down -near the bottom. Do you see they're two different colours?'

-

- She had already turned to go, but she did rather fretfully -come back for a moment. She even leaned out over the cliff face -to see where he was pointing. He was standing a little behind -her, and he put his hand on her waist to steady her. At this -moment it suddenly occurred to him how completely alone they -were. There was not a human creature anywhere, not a leaf -stirring, not even a bird awake. In a place like this the -danger that there would be a hidden microphone was very small, -and even if there was a microphone it would only pick up -sounds. It was the hottest sleepiest hour of the afternoon. The -sun blazed down upon them, the sweat tickled his face. And the -thought struck him ...

-

- 'Why didn't you give her a good shove?' said Julia. 'I -would have.'

-

- 'Yes, dear, you would have. I would, if I'd been the same -person then as I am now. Or perhaps I would -- I'm not -certain.'

-

- 'Are you sorry you didn't?'

-

- 'Yes. On the whole I'm sorry I didn't.'

-

- They were sitting side by side on the dusty floor. He -pulled her closer against him. Her head rested on his shoulder, -the pleasant smell of her hair conquering the pigeon dung. She -was very young, he thought, she still expected something from -life, she did not understand that to push an inconvenient -person over a cliff solves nothing.

-

- 'Actually it would have made no difference,' he said.

-

- 'Then why are you sorry you didn't do it?'

-

- 'Only because I prefer a positive to a negative. In this -game that we're playing, we can't win. Some kinds of failure -are better than other kinds, that's all.'

-

- He felt her shoulders give a wriggle of dissent. She -always contradicted him when he said anything of this kind. She -would not accept it as a law of nature that the individual is -always defeated. In a way she realized that she herself was -doomed, that sooner or later the Thought Police would catch her -and kill her, but with another part of her mind she believed -that it was somehow possible to construct a secret world in -which you could live as you chose. All you needed was luck and -cunning and boldness. She did not understand that there was no -such thing as happiness, that the only victory lay in the far -future, long after you were dead, that from the moment of -declaring war on the Party it was better to think of yourself -as a corpse.

-

- 'We are the dead,' he said.

-

- 'We're not dead yet,' said Julia prosaically.

-

- 'Not physically. Six months, a year -- five years, -conceivably. I am afraid of death. You are young, so presumably -you're more afraid of it than I am. Obviously we shall put it -off as long as we can. But it makes very little difference. So -long as human beings stay human, death and life are the same -thing.'

-

- 'Oh, rubbish! Which would you sooner sleep with, me or a -skeleton? Don't you enjoy being alive? Don't you like feeling: -This is me, this is my hand, this is my leg, I'm real, I'm -solid, I'm alive! Don't you like this?'

-

- She twisted herself round and pressed her bosom against -him. He could feel her breasts, ripe yet firm, through her -overalls. Her body seemed to be pouring some of its youth and -vigour into his.

-

- 'Yes, I like that,' he said.

-

- 'Then stop talking about dying. And now listen, dear, -we've got to fix up about the next time we meet. We may as well -go back to the place in the wood. We've given it a good long -rest. But you must get there by a different way this time. I've -got it all planned out. You take the train -- but look, I'll -draw it out for you.'

-

- And in her practical way she scraped together a small -square of dust, and with a twig from a pigeon's nest began -drawing a map on the floor.

-

XII

-

- Winston looked round the shabby little room above Mr -Charrington's shop. Beside the window the enormous bed was made -up, with ragged blankets and a coverless bolster. The -old-fashioned clock with the twelve-hour face was ticking away -on the mantelpiece. In the corner, on the gateleg table, the -glass paperweight which he had bought on his last visit gleamed -softly out of the half-darkness.

-

- In the fender was a battered tin oilstove, a saucepan, and -two cups, provided by Mr Charrington. Winston lit the burner -and set a pan of water to boil. He had brought an envelope full -of Victory Coffee and some saccharine tablets. The clock's -hands said seventeen-twenty: it was nineteen-twenty really. -She was coming at nineteen-thirty.

-

- Folly, folly, his heart kept saying: conscious, -gratuitous, suicidal folly. Of all the crimes that a Party -member could commit, this one was the least possible to -conceal. Actually the idea had first floated into his head in -the form of a vision, of the glass paperweight mirrored by the -surface of the gateleg table. As he had foreseen, Mr -Charrington had made no difficulty about letting the room. He -was obviously glad of the few dollars that it would bring him. -Nor did he seem shocked or become offensively knowing when it -was made clear that Winston wanted the room for the purpose of -a love-affair. Instead he looked into the middle distance and -spoke in generalities, with so delicate an air as to give the -impression that he had become partly invisible. Privacy, he -said, was a very valuable thing. Everyone wanted a place where -they could be alone occasionally. And when they had such a -place, it was only common courtesy in anyone else who knew of -it to keep his knowledge to himself. He even, seeming almost to -fade out of existence as he did so, added that there were two -entries to the house, one of them through the back yard, which -gave on an alley.

-

- Under the window somebody was singing. Winston peeped out, -secure in the protection of the muslin curtain. The June sun -was still high in the sky, and in the sun-filled court below, a -monstrous woman, solid as a Norman pillar, with brawny red -forearms and a sacking apron strapped about her middle, was -stumping to and fro between a washtub and a clothes line, -pegging out a series of square white things which Winston -recognized as babies' diapers. Whenever her mouth was not -corked with clothes pegs she was singing in a powerful -contralto:

-

- It was only an 'opeless fancy.
- It passed like an Ipril dye,
- But a look an' a word an' the dreams they stirred!
- They 'ave stolen my 'eart awye!

-

- - The tune had been haunting London for weeks past. It was -one of countless similar songs published for the benefit of the -proles by a sub-section of the Music Department. The words of -these songs were composed without any human intervention -whatever on an instrument known as a versificator. But the -woman sang so tunefully as to turn the dreadful rubbish into an -almost pleasant sound. He could hear the woman singing and the -scrape of her shoes on the flagstones, and the cries of the -children in the street, and somewhere in the far distance a -faint roar of traffic, and yet the room seemed curiously -silent, thanks to the absence of a telescreen.

-

- Folly, folly, folly! he thought again. It was -inconceivable that they could frequent this place for more than -a few weeks without being caught. But the temptation of having -a hiding-place that was truly their own, indoors and near at -hand, had been too much for both of them. For some time after -their visit to the church belfry it had been impossible to -arrange meetings. Working hours had been drastically increased -in anticipation of Hate Week. It was more than a month distant, -but the enormous, complex preparations that it entailed were -throwing extra work on to everybody. Finally both of them -managed to secure a free afternoon on the same day. They had -agreed to go back to the clearing in the wood. On the evening -beforehand they met briefly in the street. As usual, Winston -hardly looked at Julia as they drifted towards one another in -the crowd, but from the short glance he gave her it seemed to -him that she was paler than usual.

-

- 'It's all off,' she murmured as soon as she judged it safe -to speak. 'Tomorrow, I mean.'

-

- 'What?'

-

- 'Tomorrow afternoon. I can't come.'

-

- 'Why not?'

-

- 'Oh, the usual reason. It's started early this time.'

-

- For a moment he was violently angry. During the month that -he had known her the nature of his desire for her had changed. -At the beginning there had been little true sensuality in it. -Their first love-making had been simply an act of the will. But -after the second time it was different. The smell of her hair, -the taste of her mouth, the feeling of her skin seemed to have -got inside him, or into the air all round him. She had become a -physical necessity, something that he not only wanted but felt -that he had a right to. When she said that she could not come, -he had the feeling that she was cheating him. But just at this -moment the crowd pressed them together and their hands -accidentally met. She gave the tips of his fingers a quick -squeeze that seemed to invite not desire but affection. It -struck him that when one lived with a woman this particular -disappointment must be a normal, recurring event; and a deep -tenderness, such as he had not felt for her before, suddenly -took hold of him. He wished that they were a married couple of -ten years' standing. He wished that he were walking through the -streets with her just as they were doing now but openly and -without fear, talking of trivialities and buying odds and ends -for the household. He wished above all that they had some place -where they could be alone together without feeling the -obligation to make love every time they met. It was not -actually at that moment, but at some time on the following day, -that the idea of renting Mr Charrington's room had occurred to -him. When he suggested it to Julia she had agreed with -unexpected readiness. Both of them knew that it was lunacy. It -was as though they were intentionally stepping nearer to their -graves. As he sat waiting on the edge of the bed he thought -again of the cellars of the Ministry of Love. It was curious -how that predestined horror moved in and out of one's -consciousness. There it lay, fixed in future times, preceding -death as surely as 99 precedes 100. One could not avoid it, but -one could perhaps postpone it: and yet instead, every now and -again, by a conscious, wilful act, one chose to shorten the -interval before it happened.

-

- At this moment there was a quick step on the stairs. Julia -burst into the room. She was carrying a tool-bag of coarse -brown canvas, such as he had sometimes seen her carrying to and -fro at the Ministry. He started forward to take her in his -arms, but she disengaged herself rather hurriedly, partly -because she was still holding the tool-bag.

-

- 'Half a second,' she said. 'Just let me show you what I've -brought. Did you bring some of that filthy Victory Coffee? I -thought you would. You can chuck it away again, because we -shan't be needing it. Look here.'

-

- She fell on her knees, threw open the bag, and tumbled out -some spanners and a screwdriver that filled the top part of it. -Underneath were a number of neat paper packets. The first -packet that she passed to Winston had a strange and yet vaguely - - -familiar feeling. It was filled with some kind of heavy, -sand-like stuff which yielded wherever you touched it.

-

- 'It isn't sugar?' he said.

-

- 'Real sugar. Not saccharine, sugar. And here's a loaf of -bread proper white bread, not our bloody stuff -- and a little -pot of jam. And here's a tin of milk -- but look! This is the -one I'm really proud of. I had to wrap a bit of sacking round -it, because-'

-

- But she did not need to tell him why she had wrapped it -up. The smell was already filling the room, a rich hot smell -which seemed like an emanation from his early childhood, but -which one did occasionally meet with even now, blowing down a -passage-way before a door slammed, or diffusing itself -mysteriously in a crowded street, sniffed for an instant and -then lost again.

-

- 'It's coffee,' he murmured, 'real coffee.'

-

- 'It's Inner Party coffee. There's a whole kilo here, she -said.

-

- 'How did you manage to get hold of all these things?'

-

- 'It's all Inner Party stuff. There's nothing those swine -don't have, nothing. But of course waiters and servants and -people pinch things, and -- look, I got a little packet of tea -as well.'

-

- Winston had squatted down beside her. He tore open a -corner of the packet.

-

- 'It's real tea. Not blackberry leaves.'

-

- 'There's been a lot of tea about lately. They've captured -India, or something,' she said vaguely. 'But listen, dear. I -want you to turn your back on me for three minutes. Go and sit -on the other side of the bed. Don't go too near the window. And -don't turn round till I tell you.'

-

- Winston gazed abstractedly through the muslin curtain. -Down in the yard the red-armed woman was still marching to and -fro between the washtub and the line. She took two more pegs -out of her mouth and sang with deep feeling:

-

- They sye that time 'eals all things,
- They sye you can always forget;
- But the smiles an' the tears acrorss the years
- They twist my 'eart-strings yet!

-

- - She knew the whole drivelling song by heart, it seemed. -Her voice floated upward with the sweet summer air, very -tuneful, charged with a sort of happy melancholy. One had the -feeling that she would have been perfectly content, if the June -evening had been endless and the supply of clothes -inexhaustible, to remain there for a thousand years, pegging -out diapers and singing rubbish. It struck him as a curious -fact that he had never heard a member of the Party singing -alone and spontaneously. It would even have seemed slightly -unorthodox, a dangerous eccentricity, like talking to oneself. -Perhaps it was only when people were somewhere near the -starvation level that they had anything to sing about.

-

- 'You can turn round now,' said Julia.

-

- He turned round, and for a second almost failed to -recognize her. What he had actually expected was to see her -naked. But she was not naked. The transformation that had -happened was much more surprising than that. She had painted -her face.

-

- She must have slipped into some shop in the proletarian -quarters and bought herself a complete set of make-up -materials. Her lips were deeply reddened, her cheeks rouged, -her nose powdered; there was even a touch of something under -the eyes to make them brighter. It was not very skilfully done, -but Winston's standards in such matters were not high. He had -never before seen or imagined a woman of the Party with -cosmetics on her face. The improvement in her appearance was -startling. With just a few dabs of colour in the right places -she had become not only very much prettier, but, above all, far -more feminine. Her short hair and boyish overalls merely added -to the effect. As he took her in his arms a wave of synthetic -violets flooded his nostrils. He remembered the half-darkness -of a basement kitchen, and a woman's cavernous mouth. It was -the very same scent that she had used; but at the moment it did -not seem to matter.

-

- 'Scent too!' he said.

-

- 'Yes, dear, scent too. And do you know what I'm going to -do next? I'm going to get hold of a real woman's frock from -somewhere and wear it instead of these bloody trousers. I'll -wear silk stockings and high-heeled shoes! In this room I'm -going to be a woman, not a Party comrade.'

-

- They flung their clothes off and climbed into the huge -mahogany bed. It was the first time that he had stripped -himself naked in her presence. Until now he had been too much -ashamed of his pale and meagre body, with the varicose veins -standing out on his calves and the discoloured patch over his -ankle. There were no sheets, but the blanket they lay on was -threadbare and smooth, and the size and springiness of the bed -astonished both of them. 'It's sure to be full of bugs, but who -cares?' said Julia. One never saw a double bed nowadays, except -in the homes of the proles. Winston had occasionally slept in -one in his boyhood: Julia had never been in one before, so far -as she could remember.

-

- Presently they fell asleep for a little while. When -Winston woke up the hands of the clock had crept round to -nearly nine. He did not stir, because Julia was sleeping with -her head in the crook of his arm. Most of her make-up had -transferred itself to his own face or the bolster, but a light -stain of rouge still brought out the beauty of her cheekbone. A -yellow ray from the sinking sun fell across the foot of the bed -and lighted up the fireplace, where the water in the pan was -boiling fast. Down in the yard the woman had stopped singing, -but the faint shouts of children floated in from the street. He -wondered vaguely whether in the abolished past it had been a -normal experience to lie in bed like this, in the cool of a -summer evening, a man and a woman with no clothes on, making -love when they chose, talking of what they chose, not feeling -any compulsion to get up, simply lying there and listening to -peaceful sounds outside. Surely there could never have been a -time when that seemed ordinary? Julia woke up, rubbed her eyes, -and raised herself on her elbow to look at the oilstove.

-

- 'Half that water's boiled away,' she said. 'I'll get up -and make some coffee in another moment. We've got an hour. What -time do they cut the lights off at your flats?'

-

- 'Twenty-three thirty.'

-

- 'It's twenty-three at the hostel. But you have to get in -earlier than that, because -- Hi! Get out, you filthy brute!'

-

- She suddenly twisted herself over in the bed, seized a -shoe from the floor, and sent it hurtling into the corner with -a boyish jerk of her arm, exactly as he had seen her fling the -dictionary at Goldstein, that morning during the Two Minutes -Hate.

-

- 'What was it?' he said in surprise.

-

- 'A rat. I saw him stick his beastly nose out of the -wainscoting. There's a hole down there. I gave him a good -fright, anyway.'

-

- 'Rats!' murmured Winston. 'In this room!'

-

- 'They're all over the place,' said Julia indifferently as -she lay down again. 'We've even got them in the kitchen at the -hostel. Some parts of London are swarming with them. Did you -know they attack children? Yes, they do. In some of these -streets a woman daren't leave a baby alone for two minutes. -It's the great huge brown ones that do it. And the nasty thing -is that the brutes always-'

-

- 'Don't go on!' said Winston, with his eyes tightly -shut.

-

- 'Dearest! You've gone quite pale. What's the matter? Do -they make you feel sick?'

-

- 'Of all horrors in the world -- a rat!'

-

- She pressed herself against him and wound her limbs round -him, as though to reassure him with the warmth of her body. He -did not reopen his eyes immediately. For several moments he had -had the feeling of being back in a nightmare which had recurred -from time to time throughout his life. It was always very much -the same. He was standing in front of a wall of darkness, and -on the other side of it there was something unendurable, -something too dreadful to be faced. In the dream his deepest -feeling was always one of self-deception, because he did in -fact know what was behind the wall of darkness. With a deadly -effort, like wrenching a piece out of his own brain, he could -even have dragged the thing into the open. He always woke up -without discovering what it was: but somehow it was connected -with what Julia had been saying when he cut her short.

-

- 'I'm sorry,' he said, 'it's nothing. I don't like rats, -that's all.'

-

- 'Don't worry, dear, we're not going to have the filthy -brutes in here. I'll stuff the hole with a bit of sacking -before we go. And next time we come here I'll bring some -plaster and bung it up properly.'

-

- Already the black instant of panic was half-forgotten. -Feeling slightly ashamed of himself, he sat up against the -bedhead. Julia got out of bed, pulled on her overalls, and made -the coffee. The smell that rose from the saucepan was so -powerful and exciting that they shut the window lest anybody -outside should notice it and become inquisitive. What was even -better than the taste of the coffee was the silky texture given -to it by the sugar, a thing Winston had almost forgotten after -years of saccharine. With one hand in her pocket and a piece of -bread and jam in the other, Julia wandered about the room, -glancing indifferently at the bookcase, pointing out the best -way of repairing the gateleg table, plumping herself down in -the ragged arm-chair to see if it was comfortable, and -examining the absurd twelve-hour clock with a sort of tolerant -amusement. She brought the glass paperweight over to the bed to -have a look at it in a better light. He took it out of her -hand, fascinated, as always, by the soft, rainwatery appearance -of the glass.

-

- 'What is it, do you think?' said Julia.

-

- 'I don't think it's anything-I mean, I don't think it was -ever put to any use. That's what I like about it. It's a little -chunk of history that they've forgotten to alter. It's a -message from a hundred years ago, if one knew how to read it.'

-

- 'And that picture over there' -- she nodded at the -engraving on the opposite wall-'would that be a hundred years -old?'

-

- 'More. Two hundred, I dare say. One can't tell. It's -impossible to discover the age of anything nowadays.'

-

- She went over to look at it. 'Here's where that brute -stuck his nose out,' she said, kicking the wainscoting -immediately below the picture. 'What is this place? I've seen -it before somewhere.'

-

- 'It's a church, or at least it used to be. St Clement's -Danes its name was.' The fragment of rhyme that Mr Charrington -had taught him came back into his head, and he added -half-nostalgically: "Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St -Clement's!"

-

- To his astonishment she capped the line:

-

- 'You owe me three farthings, say the bells of St Martin's,
- When will you pay me? say the bells of Old Bailey -- '

-

- - 'I can't remember how it goes on after that. But anyway I -remember it ends up, "Here comes a candle to light you to bed, -here comes a chopper to chop off your head!"

-

- It was like the two halves of a countersign. But there -must be another line after 'the bells of Old Bailey'. Perhaps -it could be dug out of Mr Charrington's memory, if he were -suitably prompted.

-

- 'Who taught you that?' he said.

-

- 'My grandfather. He used to say it to me when I was a -little girl. He was vaporized when I was eight -- at any rate, -he disappeared. I wonder what a lemon was,' she added -inconsequently. 'I've seen oranges. They're a kind of round -yellow fruit with a thick skin.'

-

- 'I can remember lemons,' said Winston. 'They were quite -common in the fifties. They were so sour that it set your teeth -on edge even to smell them.'

-

- 'I bet that picture's got bugs behind it,' said Julia. -'I'll take it down and give it a good clean some day. I suppose -it's almost time we were leaving. I must start washing this -paint off. What a bore! I'll get the lipstick off your face -afterwards.'

-

- Winston did not get up for a few minutes more. The room -was darkening. He turned over towards the light and lay gazing -into the glass paperweight. The inexhaustibly interesting thing -was not the fragment of coral but the interior of the glass -itself. There was such a depth of it, and yet it was almost as -transparent as air. It was as though the surface of the glass -had been the arch of the sky, enclosing a tiny world with its -atmosphere complete. He had the feeling that he could get -inside it, and that in fact he was inside it, along with the -mahogany bed and the gateleg table, and the clock and the steel -engraving and the paperweight itself. The paperweight was the -room he was in, and the coral was Julia's life and his own, -fixed in a sort of eternity at the heart of the crystal.

-

XIII

-

- Syme had vanished. A morning came, and he was missing from -work: a few thoughtless people commented on his absence. On the -next day nobody mentioned him. On the third day Winston went -into the vestibule of the Records Department to look at the -notice-board. One of the notices carried a printed list of the -members of the Chess Committee, of whom Syme had been one. It -looked almost exactly as it had looked before -- nothing had -been crossed out -- but it was one name shorter. It was enough. -Syme had ceased to exist: he had never existed.

-

- The weather was baking hot. In the labyrinthine Ministry -the windowless, air-conditioned rooms kept their normal -temperature, but outside the pavements scorched one's feet and -the stench of the Tubes at the rush hours was a horror. The -preparations for Hate Week were in full swing, and the staffs -of all the Ministries were working overtime. Processions, -meetings, military parades, lectures, waxworks, displays, film -shows, telescreen programmes all had to be organized; stands -had to be erected, effigies built, slogans coined, songs -written, rumours circulated, photographs faked. Julia's unit in -the Fiction Department had been taken off the production of -novels and was rushing out a series of atrocity pamphlets. -Winston, in addition to his regular work, spent long periods -every day in going through back files of The Times and -altering and embellishing news items which were to be quoted in -speeches. Late at night, when crowds of rowdy proles roamed the -streets, the town had a curiously febrile air. The rocket bombs -crashed oftener than ever, and sometimes in the far distance -there were enormous explosions which no one could explain and -about which there were wild rumours.

-

- The new tune which was to be the theme-song of Hate Week -(the Hate Song, it was called) had already been composed and -was being endlessly plugged on the telescreens. It had a -savage, barking rhythm which could not exactly be called music, -but resembled the beating of a drum. Roared out by hundreds of -voices to the tramp of marching feet, it was terrifying. The -proles had taken a fancy to it, and in the midnight streets it -competed with the still-popular 'It was only a hopeless -fancy'. The Parsons children played it at all hours of the -night and day, unbearably, on a comb and a piece of toilet -paper. Winston's evenings were fuller than ever. Squads of -volunteers, organized by Parsons, were preparing the street for -Hate Week, stitching banners, painting posters, erecting -flagstaffs on the roofs, and perilously slinging wires across -the street for the reception of streamers. Parsons boasted that -Victory Mansions alone would display four hundred metres of -bunting. He was in his native element and as happy as a lark. -The heat and the manual work had even given him a pretext for -reverting to shorts and an open shirt in the evenings. He was -everywhere at once, pushing, pulling, sawing, hammering, -improvising, jollying everyone along with comradely -exhortations and giving out from every fold of his body what -seemed an inexhaustible supply of acrid-smelling sweat.

-

- A new poster had suddenly appeared all over London. It had -no caption, and represented simply the monstrous figure of a -Eurasian soldier, three or four metres high, striding forward -with expressionless Mongolian face and enormous boots, a -submachine gun pointed from his hip. From whatever angle you -looked at the poster, the muzzle of the gun, magnified by the -foreshortening, seemed to be pointed straight at you. The thing -had been plastered on every blank space on every wall, even -outnumbering the portraits of Big Brother. The proles, normally -apathetic about the war, were being lashed into one of their -periodical frenzies of patriotism. As though to harmonize with -the general mood, the rocket bombs had been killing larger -numbers of people than usual. One fell on a crowded film -theatre in Stepney, burying several hundred victims among the -ruins. The whole population of the neighbourhood turned out for -a long, trailing funeral which went on for hours and was in -effect an indignation meeting. Another bomb fell on a piece of -waste ground which was used as a playground and several dozen -children were blown to pieces. There were further angry -demonstrations, Goldstein was burned in effigy, hundreds of -copies of the poster of the Eurasian soldier were torn down and -added to the flames, and a number of shops were looted in the -turmoil; then a rumour flew round that spies were directing the -rocket bombs by means of wireless waves, and an old couple who -were suspected of being of foreign extraction had their house -set on fire and perished of suffocation.

-

- In the room over Mr Charrington's shop, when they could -get there, Julia and Winston lay side by side on a stripped bed -under the open window, naked for the sake of coolness. The rat -had never come back, but the bugs had multiplied hideously in -the heat. It did not seem to matter. Dirty or clean, the room -was paradise. As soon as they arrived they would sprinkle -everything with pepper bought on the black market, tear off -their clothes, and make love with sweating bodies, then fall -asleep and wake to find that the bugs had rallied and were -massing for the counter-attack.

-

- Four, five, six -- seven times they met during the month -of June. Winston had dropped his habit of drinking gin at all -hours. He seemed to have lost the need for it. He had grown -fatter, his varicose ulcer had subsided, leaving only a brown -stain on the skin above his ankle, his fits of coughing in the -early morning had stopped. The process of life had ceased to be -intolerable, he had no longer any impulse to make faces at the -telescreen or shout curses at the top of his voice. Now that -they had a secure hiding-place, almost a home, it did not even -seem a hardship that they could only meet infrequently and for -a couple of hours at a time. What mattered was that the room -over the junk-shop should exist. To know that it was there, -inviolate, was almost the same as being in it. The room was a -world, a pocket of the past where extinct animals could walk. -Mr Charrington, thought Winston, was another extinct animal. He -usually stopped to talk with Mr Charrington for a few minutes -on his way upstairs. The old man seemed seldom or never to go -out of doors, and on the other hand to have almost no -customers. He led a ghostlike existence between the tiny, dark -shop, and an even tinier back kitchen where he prepared his -meals and which contained, among other things, an unbelievably -ancient gramophone with an enormous horn. He seemed glad of the -opportunity to talk. Wandering about among his worthless stock, -with his long nose and thick spectacles and his bowed shoulders -in the velvet jacket, he had always vaguely the air of being a -collector rather than a tradesman. With a sort of faded -enthusiasm he would finger this scrap of rubbish or that -- a -china bottle-stopper, the painted lid of a broken snuffbox, a -pinchbeck locket containing a strand of some long-dead baby's -hair -- never asking that Winston should buy it, merely that he -should admire it. To talk to him was like listening to the -tinkling of a worn-out musical-box. He had dragged out from the -corners of his memory some more fragments of forgotten rhymes. -There was one about four and twenty blackbirds, and another -about a cow with a crumpled horn, and another about the death -of poor Cock Robin. 'It just occurred to me you might be -interested,' he would say with a deprecating little laugh -whenever he produced a new fragment. But he could never recall -more than a few lines of any one rhyme.

-

- Both of them knew-in a way, it was never out of their -minds that what was now happening could not last long. There -were times when the fact of impending death seemed as palpable -as the bed they lay on, and they would cling together with a -sort of despairing sensuality, like a damned soul grasping at -his last morsel of pleasure when the clock is within five -minutes of striking. But there were also times when they had -the illusion not only of safety but of permanence. So long as -they were actually in this room, they both felt, no harm could -come to them. Getting there was difficult and dangerous, but -the room itself was sanctuary. It was as when Winston had gazed -into the heart of the paperweight, with the feeling that it -would be possible to get inside that glassy world, and that -once inside it time could be arrested. Often they gave -themselves up to daydreams of escape. Their luck would hold -indefinitely, and they would carry on their intrigue, just like -this, for the remainder of their natural lives. Or Katharine -would die, and by subtle manoeuvrings Winston and Julia would -succeed in getting married. Or they would commit suicide -together. Or they would disappear, alter themselves out of -recognition, learn to speak with proletarian accents, get jobs -in a factory and live out their lives undetected in a -back-street. It was all nonsense, as they both knew. In reality -there was no escape. Even the one plan that was practicable, -suicide, they had no intention of carrying out. To hang on from -day to day and from week to week, spinning out a present that -had no future, seemed an unconquerable instinct, just as one's -lungs will always draw the next breath so long as there is air -available.

-

- Sometimes, too, they talked of engaging in active -rebellion against the Party, but with no notion of how to take -the first step. Even if the fabulous Brotherhood was a reality, -there still remained the difficulty of finding one's way into -it. He told her of the strange intimacy that existed, or seemed -to exist, between himself and O'Brien, and of the impulse he -sometimes felt, simply to walk into O'Brien's presence, -announce that he was the enemy of the Party, and demand his -help. Curiously enough, this did not strike her as an -impossibly rash thing to do. She was used to judging people by -their faces, and it seemed natural to her that Winston should -believe O'Brien to be trustworthy on the strength of a single -flash of the eyes. Moreover she took it for granted that -everyone, or nearly everyone, secretly hated the Party and -would break the rules if he thought it safe to do so. But she -refused to believe that widespread, organized opposition -existed or could exist. The tales about Goldstein and his -underground army, she said, were simply a lot of rubbish which -the Party had invented for its own purposes and which you had -to pretend to believe in. Times beyond number, at Party rallies -and spontaneous demonstrations, she had shouted at the top of -her voice for the execution of people whose names she had never -heard and in whose supposed crimes she had not the faintest -belief. When public trials were happening she had taken her -place in the detachments from the Youth League who surrounded -the courts from morning to night, chanting at intervals 'Death -to the traitors!' During the Two Minutes Hate she always -excelled all others in shouting insults at Goldstein. Yet she -had only the dimmest idea of who Goldstein was and what -doctrines he was supposed to represent. She had grown up since -the Revolution and was too young to remember the ideological -battles of the fifties and sixties. Such a thing as an -independent political movement was outside her imagination: and -in any case the Party was invincible. It would always exist, -and it would always be the same. You could only rebel against -it by secret disobedience or, at most, by isolated acts of -violence such as killing somebody or blowing something up.

-

- In some ways she was far more acute than Winston, and far -less susceptible to Party propaganda. Once when he happened in -some connexion to mention the war against Eurasia, she startled -him by saying casually that in her opinion the war was not -happening. The rocket bombs which fell daily on London were -probably fired by the Government of Oceania itself, 'just to -keep people frightened'. This was an idea that had literally -never occurred to him. She also stirred a sort of envy in him -by telling him that during the Two Minutes Hate her great -difficulty was to avoid bursting out laughing. But she only -questioned the teachings of the Party when they in some way -touched upon her own life. Often she was ready to accept the -official mythology, simply because the difference between truth -and falsehood did not seem important to her. She believed, for -instance, having learnt it at school, that the Party had -invented aeroplanes. (In his own schooldays, Winston -remembered, in the late fifties, it was only the helicopter -that the Party claimed to have invented; a dozen years later, -when Julia was at school, it was already claiming the -aeroplane; one generation more, and it would be claiming the -steam engine.) And when he told her that aeroplanes had been in -existence before he was born and long before the Revolution, -the fact struck her as totally uninteresting. After all, what -did it matter who had invented aeroplanes? It was rather more -of a shock to him when he discovered from some chance remark -that she did not remember that Oceania, four years ago, had -been at war with Eastasia and at peace with Eurasia. It was -true that she regarded the whole war as a sham: but apparently -she had not even noticed that the name of the enemy had -changed. 'I thought we'd always been at war with Eurasia,' she -said vaguely. It frightened him a little. The invention of -aeroplanes dated from long before her birth, but the switchover -in the war had happened only four years ago, well after she was -grown up. He argued with her about it for perhaps a quarter of -an hour. In the end he succeeded in forcing her memory back -until she did dimly recall that at one time Eastasia and not -Eurasia had been the enemy. But the issue still struck her as -unimportant. 'Who cares?' she said impatiently. 'It's always -one bloody war after another, and one knows the news is all -lies anyway.

-

- Sometimes he talked to her of the Records Department and -the impudent forgeries that he committed there. Such things did -not appear to horrify her. She did not feel the abyss opening -beneath her feet at the thought of lies becoming truths. He -told her the story of Jones, Aaronson, and Rutherford and the -momentous slip of paper which he had once held between his -fingers. It did not make much impression on her. At first, -indeed, she failed to grasp the point of the story.

-

- 'Were they friends of yours?' she said.

-

- 'No, I never knew them. They were Inner Party members. -Besides, they were far older men than I was. They belonged to -the old days, before the Revolution. I barely knew them by -sight.'

-

- 'Then what was there to worry about? People are being -killed off all the time, aren't they?'

-

- He tried to make her understand. 'This was an exceptional -case. It wasn't just a question of somebody being killed. Do -you realize that the past, starting from yesterday, has been -actually abolished? If it survives anywhere, it's in a few -solid objects with no words attached to them, like that lump of -glass there. Already we know almost literally nothing about the -Revolution and the years before the Revolution. Every record -has been destroyed or falsified, every book has been rewritten, -every picture has been repainted, every statue and street and -building has been renamed, every date has been altered. And -that process is continuing day by day and minute by minute. -History has stopped. Nothing exists except an endless present -in which the Party is always right. I know, of course, -that the past is falsified, but it would never be possible for -me to prove it, even when I did the falsification myself. After -the thing is done, no evidence ever remains. The only evidence -is inside my own mind, and I don't know with any certainty that -any other human being shares my memories. Just in that one -instance, in my whole life, I did possess actual concrete -evidence after the event -- years after it.'

-

- 'And what good was that?'

-

- 'It was no good, because I threw it away a few minutes -later. But if the same thing happened today, I should keep it.'

-

- 'Well, I wouldn't!' said Julia. 'I'm quite ready to take -risks, but only for something worth while, not for bits of old -newspaper. What could you have done with it even if you had -kept it?'

-

- 'Not much, perhaps. But it was evidence. It might have -planted a few doubts here and there, supposing that I'd dared -to show it to anybody. I don't imagine that we can alter -anything in our own lifetime. But one can imagine little knots -of resistance springing up here and there -- small groups of -people banding themselves together, and gradually growing, and -even leaving a few records behind, so that the next generations -can carry on where we leave off.'

-

- 'I'm not interested in the next generation, dear. I'm -interested in us.

-

- 'You're only a rebel from the waist downwards,' he told -her.

-

- She thought this brilliantly witty and flung her arms -round him in delight.

-

- In the ramifications of party doctrine she had not the -faintest interest. Whenever he began to talk of the principles -of Ingsoc, doublethink, the mutability of the past, and the -denial of objective reality, and to use Newspeak words, she -became bored and confused and said that she never paid any -attention to that kind of thing. One knew that it was all -rubbish, so why let oneself be worried by it? She knew when to -cheer and when to boo, and that was all one needed. If he -persisted in talking of such subjects, she had a disconcerting -habit of falling asleep. She was one of those people who can go -to sleep at any hour and in any position. Talking to her, he -realized how easy it was to present an appearance of orthodoxy -while having no grasp whatever of what orthodoxy meant. In a -way, the world-view of the Party imposed itself most -successfully on people incapable of understanding it. They -could be made to accept the most flagrant violations of -reality, because they never fully grasped the enormity of what -was demanded of them, and were not sufficiently interested in -public events to notice what was happening. By lack of -understanding they remained sane. They simply swallowed -everything, and what they swallowed did them no harm, because -it left no residue behind, just as a grain of corn will pass -undigested through the body of a bird.

-

XIV

-

- It had happened at last. The expected message had come. -All his life, it seemed to him, he had been waiting for this to -happen.

-

- He was walking down the long corridor at the Ministry and -he was almost at the spot where Julia had slipped the note into -his hand when he became aware that someone larger than himself -was walking just behind him. The person, whoever it was, gave a -small cough, evidently as a prelude to speaking. Winston -stopped abruptly and turned. It was O'Brien.

-

- At last they were face to face, and it seemed that his -only impulse was to run away. His heart bounded violently. He -would have been incapable of speaking. O'Brien, however, had -continued forward in the same movement, laying a friendly hand -for a moment on Winston's arm, so that the two of them were -walking side by side. He began speaking with the peculiar grave -courtesy that differentiated him from the majority of Inner -Party members.

-

- 'I had been hoping for an opportunity of talking to you,' -he said. 'I was reading one of your Newspeak articles in The -Times the other day. You take a scholarly interest in -Newspeak, I believe?'

-

- Winston had recovered part of his self-possession. 'Hardly -scholarly,' he said. 'I'm only an amateur. It's not my subject. -I have never had anything to do with the actual construction of -the language.'

-

- 'But you write it very elegantly,' said O'Brien. 'That is -not only my own opinion. I was talking recently to a friend of -yours who is certainly an expert. His name has slipped my -memory for the moment.'

-

- Again Winston's heart stirred painfully. It was -inconceivable that this was anything other than a reference to -Syme. But Syme was not only dead, he was abolished, an -unperson. Any identifiable reference to him would have -been mortally dangerous. O'Brien's remark must obviously have -been intended as a signal, a codeword. By sharing a small act -of thoughtcrime he had turned the two of them into accomplices. -They had continued to stroll slowly down the corridor, but now -O'Brien halted. With the curious, disarming friendliness that -he always managed to put in to the gesture he resettled his -spectacles on his nose. Then he went on:

-

- 'What I had really intended to say was that in your -article I noticed you had used two words which have become -obsolete. But they have only become so very recently. Have you -seen the tenth edition of the Newspeak Dictionary?'

-

- 'No,' said Winston. 'I didn't think it had been issued -yet. We are still using the ninth in the Records Department.'

-

- 'The tenth edition is not due to appear for some months, I -believe. But a few advance copies have been circulated. I have -one myself. It might interest you to look at it, perhaps?'

-

- 'Very much so,' said Winston, immediately seeing where -this tended.

-

- 'Some of the new developments are most ingenious. The -reduction in the number of verbs -- that is the point that will -appeal to you, I think. Let me see, shall I send a messenger to -you with the dictionary? But I am afraid I invariably forget -anything of that kind. Perhaps you could pick it up at my flat -at some time that suited you? Wait. Let me give you my -address.'

-

- They were standing in front of a telescreen. Somewhat -absentmindedly O'Brien felt two of his pockets and then -produced a small leather-covered notebook and a gold -ink-pencil. Immediately beneath the telescreen, in such a position -that anyone who was watching at the other end of the instrument -could read what he was writing, he scribbled an address, tore -out the page and handed it to Winston.

-

- 'I am usually at home in the evenings,' he said. 'If not, -my servant will give you the dictionary.'

-

- He was gone, leaving Winston holding the scrap of paper, -which this time there was no need to conceal. Nevertheless he -carefully memorized what was written on it, and some hours -later dropped it into the memory hole along with a mass of -other papers.

-

- They had been talking to one another for a couple of -minutes at the most. There was only one meaning that the -episode could possibly have. It had been contrived as a way of -letting Winston know O'Brien's address. This was necessary, -because except by direct enquiry it was never possible to -discover where anyone lived. There were no directories of any -kind. 'If you ever want to see me, this is where I can be -found,' was what O'Brien had been saying to him. Perhaps there -would even be a message concealed somewhere in the dictionary. -But at any rate, one thing was certain. The conspiracy that he -had dreamed of did exist, and he had reached the outer edges of -it.

-

- He knew that sooner or later he would obey O'Brien's -summons. Perhaps tomorrow, perhaps after a long delay -- he was -not certain. What was happening was only the working-out of a -process that had started years ago. The first step had been a -secret, involuntary thought, the second had been the opening of -the diary. He had moved from thoughts to words, and now from -words to actions. The last step was something that would happen -in the Ministry of Love. He had accepted it. The end was -contained in the beginning. But it was frightening: or, more -exactly, it was like a foretaste of death, like being a little -less alive. Even while he was speaking to O'Brien, when the -meaning of the words had sunk in, a chilly shuddering feeling -had taken possession of his body. He had the sensation of -stepping into the dampness of a grave, and it was not much -better because he had always known that the grave was there and -waiting for him.

-

XV

-

- Winston had woken up with his eyes full of tears. Julia -rolled sleepily against him, murmuring something that might -have been 'What's the matter?'

-

- 'I dreamt-' he began, and stopped short. It was too -complex to be put into words. There was the dream itself, and -there was a memory connected with it that had swum into his -mind in the few seconds after waking.

-

- He lay back with his eyes shut, still sodden in the -atmosphere of the dream. It was a vast, luminous dream in which -his whole life seemed to stretch out before him like a -landscape on a summer evening after rain. It had all occurred -inside the glass paperweight, but the surface of the glass was -the dome of the sky, and inside the dome everything was flooded -with clear soft light in which one could see into interminable -distances. The dream had also been comprehended by -- indeed, -in some sense it had consisted in -- a gesture of the arm made -by his mother, and made again thirty years later by the Jewish -woman he had seen on the news film, trying to shelter the small -boy from the bullets, before the helicopter blew them both to -pieces.

-

- 'Do you know,' he said, 'that until this moment I believed -I had murdered my mother?'

-

- 'Why did you murder her?' said Julia, almost asleep.

-

- 'I didn't murder her. Not physically.'

-

- In the dream he had remembered his last glimpse of his -mother, and within a few moments of waking the cluster of small -events surrounding it had all come back. It was a memory that -he must have deliberately pushed out of his consciousness over -many years. He was not certain of the date, but he could not -have been less than ten years old, possibly twelve, when it had -happened.

-

- His father had disappeared some time earlier, how much -earlier he could not remember. He remembered better the -rackety, uneasy circumstances of the time: the periodical -panics about air-raids and the sheltering in Tube stations, the -piles of rubble everywhere, the unintelligible proclamations -posted at street corners, the gangs of youths in shirts all the -same colour, the enormous queues outside the bakeries, the -intermittent machine-gun fire in the distance -- above all, the -fact that there was never enough to eat. He remembered long -afternoons spent with other boys in scrounging round dustbins -and rubbish heaps, picking out the ribs of cabbage leaves, -potato peelings, sometimes even scraps of stale breadcrust from -which they carefully scraped away the cinders; and also in -waiting for the passing of trucks which travelled over a -certain route and were known to carry cattle feed, and which, -when they jolted over the bad patches in the road, sometimes -spilt a few fragments of oil-cake.

-

- When his father disappeared, his mother did not show any -surprise or any violent grief, but a sudden change came over -her. She seemed to have become completely spiritless. It was -evident even to Winston that she was waiting for something that -she knew must happen. She did everything that was needed -- -cooked, washed, mended, made the bed, swept the floor, dusted -the mantelpiece -- always very slowly and with a curious lack -of superfluous motion, like an artist's lay-figure moving of -its own accord. Her large shapely body seemed to relapse -naturally into stillness. For hours at a time she would sit -almost immobile on the bed, nursing his young sister, a tiny, -ailing, very silent child of two or three, with a face made -simian by thinness. Very occasionally she would take Winston in -her arms and press him against her for a long time without -saying anything. He was aware, in spite of his youthfulness and -selfishness, that this was somehow connected with the -never-mentioned thing that was about to happen.

-

- He remembered the room where they lived, a dark, -closesmelling room that seemed half filled by a bed with a -white counterpane. There was a gas ring in the fender, and a -shelf where food was kept, and on the landing outside there was -a brown earthenware sink, common to several rooms. He -remembered his mother's statuesque body bending over the gas -ring to stir at something in a saucepan. Above all he -remembered his continuous hunger, and the fierce sordid battles -at mealtimes. He would ask his mother naggingly, over and over -again, why there was not more food, he would shout and storm at -her (he even remembered the tones of his voice, which was -beginning to break prematurely and sometimes boomed in a -peculiar way), or he would attempt a snivelling note of pathos -in his efforts to get more than his share. His mother was quite -ready to give him more than his share. She took it for granted -that he, 'the boy', should have the biggest portion; but -however much she gave him he invariably demanded more. At every -meal she would beseech him not to be selfish and to remember -that his little sister was sick and also needed food, but it -was no use. He would cry out with rage when she stopped -ladling, he would try to wrench the saucepan and spoon out of -her hands, he would grab bits from his sister's plate. He knew -that he was starving the other two, but he could not help it; -he even felt that he had a right to do it. The clamorous hunger -in his belly seemed to justify him. Between meals, if his -mother did not stand guard, he was constantly pilfering at the -wretched store of food on the shelf.

-

- One day a chocolate-ration was issued. There had been no -such issue for weeks or months past. He remembered quite -clearly that precious little morsel of chocolate. It was a -two-ounce slab (they still talked about ounces in those days) -between the three of them. It was obvious that it ought to be -divided into three equal parts. Suddenly, as though he were -listening to somebody else, Winston heard himself demanding in -a loud booming voice that he should be given the whole piece. -His mother told him not to be greedy. There was a long, nagging -argument that went round and round, with shouts, whines, tears, -remonstrances, bargainings. His tiny sister, clinging to her -mother with both hands, exactly like a baby monkey, sat looking -over her shoulder at him with large, mournful eyes. In the end -his mother broke off three-quarters of the chocolate and gave -it to Winston, giving the other quarter to his sister. The -little girl took hold of it and looked at it dully, perhaps not -knowing what it was. Winston stood watching her for a moment. -Then with a sudden swift spring he had snatched the piece of -chocolate out of his sister's hand and was fleeing for the -door.

-

- 'Winston, Winston!' his mother called after him. 'Come -back! Give your sister back her chocolate!'

-

- He stopped, but did not come back. His mother's anxious -eyes were fixed on his face. Even now he was thinking about the -thing, he did not know what it was that was on the point of -happening. His sister, conscious of having been robbed of -something, had set up a feeble wail. His mother drew her arm -round the child and pressed its face against her breast. -Something in the gesture told him that his sister was dying. He -turned and fled down the stairs. with the chocolate growing -sticky in his hand.

-

- He never saw his mother again. After he had devoured the -chocolate he felt somewhat ashamed of himself and hung about in -the streets for several hours, until hunger drove him home. -When he came back his mother had disappeared. This was already -becoming normal at that time. Nothing was gone from the room -except his mother and his sister. They had not taken any -clothes, not even his mother's overcoat. To this day he did not -know with any certainty that his mother was dead. It was -perfectly possible that she had merely been sent to a -forced-labour camp. As for his sister, she might have been -removed, like Winston himself, to one of the colonies for -homeless children (Reclamation Centres, they were called) which -had grown up as a result of the civil war, or she might have -been sent to the labour camp along with his mother, or simply -left somewhere or other to die.

-

- The dream was still vivid in his mind, especially the -enveloping protecting gesture of the arm in which its whole -meaning seemed to be contained. His mind went back to another -dream of two months ago. Exactly as his mother had sat on the -dingy whitequilted bed, with the child clinging to her, so she -had sat in the sunken ship, far underneath him, and drowning -deeper every minute, but still looking up at him through the -darkening water.

-

- He told Julia the story of his mother's disappearance. -Without opening her eyes she rolled over and settled herself -into a more comfortable position.

-

- 'I expect you were a beastly little swine in those days,' -she said indistinctly. 'All children are swine.'

-

- 'Yes. But the real point of the story-'

-

- From her breathing it was evident that she was going off -to sleep again. He would have liked to continue talking about -his mother. He did not suppose, from what he could remember of -her, that she had been an unusual woman, still less an -intelligent one; and yet she had possessed a kind of nobility, -a kind of purity, simply because the standards that she obeyed -were private ones. Her feelings were her own, and could not be -altered from outside. It would not have occurred to her that an -action which is ineffectual thereby becomes meaningless. If you -loved someone, you loved him, and when you had nothing else to -give, you still gave him love. When the last of the chocolate -was gone, his mother had clasped the child in her arms. It was -no use, it changed nothing, it did not produce more chocolate, -it did not avert the child's death or her own; but it seemed -natural to her to do it. The refugee woman in the boat had also -covered the little boy with her arm, which was no more use -against the bullets than a sheet of paper. The terrible thing -that the Party had done was to persuade you that mere impulses, -mere feelings, were of no account, while at the same time -robbing you of all power over the material world. When once you -were in the grip of the Party, what you felt or did not feel, -what you did or refrained from doing, made literally no -difference. Whatever happened you vanished, and neither you nor -your actions were ever heard of again. You were lifted clean -out of the stream of history. And yet to the people of only two -generations ago this would not have seemed all-important, -because they were not attempting to alter history. They were -governed by private loyalties which they did not question. What -mattered were individual relationships, and a completely -helpless gesture, an embrace, a tear, a word spoken to a dying -man, could have value in itself. The proles, it suddenly -occurred to him, had remained in this condition. They were not -loyal to a party or a country or an idea, they were loyal to -one another. For the first time in his life he did not despise -the proles or think of them merely as an inert force which -would one day spring to life and regenerate the world. The -proles had stayed human. They had not become hardened inside. -They had held on to the primitive emotions which he himself had -to re-learn by conscious effort. And in thinking this he -remembered, without apparent relevance, how a few weeks ago he -had seen a severed hand lying on the pavement and had kicked it -into the gutter as though it had been a cabbage-stalk.

-

- 'The proles are human beings,' he said aloud. 'We are not -human.'

-

- 'Why not?' said Julia, who had woken up again.

-

- He thought for a little while. 'Has it ever occurred to -you. he said, 'that the best thing for us to do would be simply -to walk out of here before it's too late, and never see each -other again?'

-

- 'Yes, dear, it has occurred to me, several times. But I'm -not going to do it, all the same.'

-

- 'We've been lucky,' he said 'but it can't last much -longer. You're young. You look normal and innocent. If you keep -clear of people like me, you might stay alive for another fifty -years.'

-

- 'No. I've thought it all out. What you do, I'm going to -do. And don't be too downhearted. I'm rather good at staying -alive.'

-

- 'We may be together for another six months -- a year -- -there's no knowing. At the end we're certain to be apart. Do -you realize how utterly alone we shall be? When once they get -hold of us there will be nothing, literally nothing, that -either of us can do for the other. If I confess, they'll shoot -you, and if I refuse to confess, they'll shoot you just the -same. Nothing that I can do or say, or stop myself from saying, -will put off your death for as much as five minutes. Neither of -us will even know whether the other is alive or dead. We shall -be utterly without power of any kind. The one thing that -matters is that we shouldn't betray one another, although even -that can't make the slightest difference.'

-

- 'If you mean confessing,' she said, 'we shall do that, -right enough. Everybody always confesses. You can't help it. -They torture you.'

-

- 'I don't mean confessing. Confession is not betrayal. What -you say or do doesn't matter: only feelings matter. If they -could make me stop loving you -- that would be the real -betrayal.'

-

- She thought it over. 'They can't do that,' she said -finally. 'It's the one thing they can't do. They can make you -say anything -- anything -- but they can't make you believe it. -They can't get inside you.'

-

- 'No,' he said a little more hopefully, 'no; that's quite -true. They can't get inside you. If you can feel that -staying human is worth while, even when it can't have any -result whatever, you've beaten them.'

-

- He thought of the telescreen with its never-sleeping ear. -They could spy upon you night and day, but if you kept your -head you could still outwit them. With all their cleverness -they had never mastered the secret of finding out what another -human being was thinking. Perhaps that was less true when you -were actually in their hands. One did not know what happened -inside the Ministry of Love, but it was possible to guess: -tortures, drugs, delicate instruments that registered your -nervous reactions, gradual wearing-down by sleeplessness and -solitude and persistent questioning. Facts, at any rate, could -not be kept hidden. They could be tracked down by enquiry, they -could be squeezed out of you by torture. But if the object was -not to stay alive but to stay human, what difference did it -ultimately make? They could not alter your feelings: for that -matter you could not alter them yourself, even if you wanted -to. They could lay bare in the utmost detail everything that -you had done or said or thought; but the inner heart, whose -workings were mysterious even to yourself, remained -impregnable.

-

XVI

-

- They had done it, they had done it at last!

-

- The room they were standing in was long-shaped and softly -lit. The telescreen was dimmed to a low murmur; the richness of -the dark-blue carpet gave one the impression of treading on -velvet. At the far end of the room O'Brien was sitting at a -table under a green-shaded lamp, with a mass of papers on -either side of him. He had not bothered to look up when the -servant showed Julia and Winston in.

-

- Winston's heart was thumping so hard that he doubted -whether he would be able to speak. They had done it, they had -done it at last, was all he could think. It had been a rash act -to come here at all, and sheer folly to arrive together; though -it was true that they had come by different routes and only met -on O'Brien's doorstep. But merely to walk into such a place -needed an effort of the nerve. It was only on very rare -occasions that one saw inside the dwelling-places of the Inner -Party, or even penetrated into the quarter of the town where -they lived. The whole atmosphere of the huge block of flats, -the richness and spaciousness of everything, the unfamiliar -smells of good food and good tobacco, the silent and incredibly -rapid lifts sliding up and down, the white-jacketed servants -hurrying to and fro -- everything was intimidating. Although he -had a good pretext for coming here, he was haunted at every -step by the fear that a black-uniformed guard would suddenly -appear from round the corner, demand his papers, and order him -to get out. O'Brien's servant, however, had admitted the two of -them without demur. He was a small, dark-haired man in a white -jacket, with a diamond-shaped, completely expressionless face -which might have been that of a Chinese. The passage down which -he led them was softly carpeted, with cream-papered walls and -white wainscoting, all exquisitely clean. That too was -intimidating. Winston could not remember ever to have seen a -passageway whose walls were not grimy from the contact of human -bodies.

-

- O'Brien had a slip of paper between his fingers and seemed -to be studying it intently. His heavy face, bent down so that -one could see the line of the nose, looked both formidable and -intelligent. For perhaps twenty seconds he sat without -stirring. Then he pulled the speakwrite towards him and rapped -out a message in the hybrid jargon of the Ministries:

-

- 'Items one comma five comma seven approved fullwise stop -suggestion contained item six doubleplus ridiculous verging -crimethink cancel stop unproceed constructionwise antegetting -plusfull estimates machinery overheads stop end message.'

-

- He rose deliberately from his chair and came towards them -across the soundless carpet. A little of the official -atmosphere seemed to have fallen away from him with the -Newspeak words, but his expression was grimmer than usual, as -though he were not pleased at being disturbed. The terror that -Winston already felt was suddenly shot through by a streak of -ordinary embarrassment. It seemed to him quite possible that he -had simply made a stupid mistake. For what evidence had he in -reality that O'Brien was any kind of political conspirator? -Nothing but a flash of the eyes and a single equivocal remark: -beyond that, only his own secret imaginings, founded on a -dream. He could not even fall back on the pretence that he had -come to borrow the dictionary, because in that case Julia's -presence was impossible to explain. As O'Brien passed the -telescreen a thought seemed to strike him. He stopped, turned -aside and pressed a switch on the wall. There was a sharp snap. -The voice had stopped.

-

- Julia uttered a tiny sound, a sort of squeak of surprise. -Even in the midst of his panic, Winston was too much taken -aback to be able to hold his tongue.

-

- 'You can turn it off!' he said.

-

- 'Yes,' said O'Brien, 'we can turn it off. We have that -privilege.'

-

- He was opposite them now. His solid form towered over the -pair of them, and the expression on his face was still -indecipherable. He was waiting, somewhat sternly, for Winston -to speak, but about what? Even now it was quite conceivable -that he was simply a busy man wondering irritably why he had -been interrupted. Nobody spoke. After the stopping of the -telescreen the room seemed deadly silent. The seconds marched -past, enormous. With difficulty Winston continued to keep his -eyes fixed on O'Brien's. Then suddenly the grim face broke down -into what might have been the beginnings of a smile. With his -characteristic gesture O'Brien resettled his spectacles on his -nose.

-

- 'Shall I say it, or will you?' he said.

-

- 'I will say it,' said Winston promptly. 'That thing is -really turned off?'

-

- 'Yes, everything is turned off. We are alone.'

-

- 'We have come here because-'

-

- He paused, realizing for the first time the vagueness of -his own motives. Since he did not in fact know what kind of -help he expected from O'Brien, it was not easy to say why he -had come here. He went on, conscious that what he was saying -must sound both feeble and pretentious:

-

- 'We believe that there is some kind of conspiracy, some -kind of secret organization working against the Party, and that -you are involved in it. We want to join it and work for it. We -are enemies of the Party. We disbelieve in the principles of -Ingsoc. We are thought-criminals. We are also adulterers. I -tell you this because we want to put ourselves at your mercy. -If you want us to incriminate ourselves in any other way, we -are ready.'

-

- He stopped and glanced over his shoulder, with the feeling -that the door had opened. Sure enough, the little yellow-faced -servant had come in without knocking. Winston saw that he was -carrying a tray with a decanter and glasses.

-

- 'Martin is one of us,' said O'Brien impassively. 'Bring -the drinks over here, Martin. Put them on the round table. Have -we enough chairs? Then we may as well sit down and talk in -comfort. Bring a chair for yourself, Martin. This is business. -You can stop being a servant for the next ten minutes.'

-

- The little man sat down, quite at his ease, and yet still -with a servant-like air, the air of a valet enjoying a -privilege. Winston regarded him out of the corner of his eye. -It struck him that the man's whole life was playing a part, and -that he felt it to be dangerous to drop his assumed personality -even for a moment. O'Brien took the decanter by the neck and -filled up the glasses with a dark-red liquid. It aroused in -Winston dim memories of something seen long ago on a wall or a -hoarding -- a vast bottle composed of electric lights which -seemed to move up and down and pour its contents into a glass. -Seen from the top the stuff looked almost black, but in the -decanter it gleamed like a ruby. It had a sour-sweet smell. He -saw Julia pick up her glass and sniff at it with frank -curiosity.

-

- 'It is called wine,' said O'Brien with a faint smile. 'You -will have read about it in books, no doubt. Not much of it gets -to the Outer Party, I am afraid.' His face grew solemn again, -and he raised his glass: 'I think it is fitting that we should -begin by drinking a health. To our Leader: To Emmanuel -Goldstein.'

-

- Winston took up his glass with a certain eagerness. Wine -was a thing he had read and dreamed about. Like the glass -paperweight or Mr Charrington's half-remembered rhymes, it -belonged to the vanished, romantic past, the olden time as he -liked to call it in his secret thoughts. For some reason he had -always thought of wine as having an intensely sweet taste, like -that of blackberry jam and an immediate intoxicating effect. -Actually, when he came to swallow it, the stuff was distinctly -disappointing. The truth was that after years of gin-drinking -he could barely taste it. He set down the empty glass.

-

- 'Then there is such a person as Goldstein?' he said.

-

- 'Yes, there is such a person, and he is alive. Where, I do -not know.'

-

- 'And the conspiracy -- the organization? Is it real? It is -not simply an invention of the Thought Police?'

-

- 'No, it is real. The Brotherhood, we call it. You will -never learn much more about the Brotherhood than that it exists -and that you belong to it. I will come back to that presently.' -He looked at his wrist-watch. 'It is unwise even for members of -the Inner Party to turn off the telescreen for more than half -an hour. You ought not to have come here together, and you will -have to leave separately. You, comrade' -- he bowed his head to -Julia -- 'will leave first. We have about twenty minutes at our -disposal. You will understand that I must start by asking you -certain questions. In general terms, what are you prepared to -do?'

-

- 'Anything that we are capable of,' said Winston.

-

- O'Brien had turned himself a little in his chair so that -he was facing Winston. He almost ignored Julia, seeming to take -it for granted that Winston could speak for her. For a moment -the lids flitted down over his eyes. He began asking his -questions in a low, expressionless voice, as though this were a -routine, a sort of catechism, most of whose answers were known -to him already.

-

- 'You are prepared to give your lives?'

-

- 'Yes.'

-

- 'You are prepared to commit murder?'

-

- 'Yes.'

-

- 'To commit acts of sabotage which may cause the death of -hundreds of innocent people?'

-

- 'Yes.'

-

- 'To betray your country to foreign powers?'

-

- 'Yes.'

-

- 'You are prepared to cheat, to forge, to blackmail, to -corrupt the minds of children, to distribute habit-forming -drugs, to encourage prostitution, to disseminate venereal -diseases -- to do anything which is likely to cause -demoralization and weaken the power of the Party?'

-

- 'Yes.'

-

- 'If, for example, it would somehow serve our interests to -throw sulphuric acid in a child's face -- are you prepared to -do that?'

-

- 'Yes.'

-

- 'You are prepared to lose your identity and live out the -rest of your life as a waiter or a dock-worker?'

-

- 'Yes.'

-

- 'You are prepared to commit suicide, if and when we order -you to do so?'

-

- 'Yes.'

-

- 'You are prepared, the two of you, to separate and never -see one another again?'

-

- 'No!' broke in Julia.

-

- It appeared to Winston that a long time passed before he -answered. For a moment he seemed even to have been deprived of -the power of speech. His tongue worked soundlessly, forming the -opening syllables first of one word, then of the other, over -and over again. Until he had said it, he did not know which -word he was going to say. 'No,' he said finally.

-

- 'You did well to tell me,' said O'Brien. 'It is necessary -for us to know everything.'

-

- He turned himself toward Julia and added in a voice with -somewhat more expression in it:

-

- 'Do you understand that even if he survives, it may be as -a different person? We may be obliged to give him a new -identity. His face, his movements, the shape of his hands, the -colour of his hair -- even his voice would be different. And -you yourself might have become a different person. Our surgeons -can alter people beyond recognition. Sometimes it is necessary. -Sometimes we even amputate a limb.'

-

- Winston could not help snatching another sidelong glance -at Martin's Mongolian face. There were no scars that he could -see. Julia had turned a shade paler, so that her freckles were -showing, but she faced O'Brien boldly. She murmured something -that seemed to be assent.

-

- 'Good. Then that is settled.'

-

- There was a silver box of cigarettes on the table. With a -rather absent-minded air O'Brien pushed them towards the -others, took one himself, then stood up and began to pace -slowly to and fro, as though he could think better standing. -They were very good cigarettes, very thick and well-packed, -with an unfamiliar silkiness in the paper. O'Brien looked at -his wrist-watch again.

-

- 'You had better go back to your Pantry, Martin,' he said. -'I shall switch on in a quarter of an hour. Take a good look at -these comrades' faces before you go. You will be seeing them -again. I may not.

-

- Exactly as they had done at the front door, the little -man's dark eyes flickered over their faces. There was not a -trace of friendliness in his manner. He was memorizing their -appearance, but he felt no interest in them, or appeared to -feel none. It occurred to Winston that a synthetic face was -perhaps incapable of changing its expression. Without speaking -or giving any kind of salutation, Martin went out, closing the -door silently behind him. O'Brien was strolling up and down, -one hand in the pocket of his black overalls, the other holding -his cigarette.

-

- 'You understand,' he said, 'that you will be fighting in -the dark. You will always be in the dark. You will receive -orders and you will obey them, without knowing why. Later I -shall send you a book from which you will learn the true nature -of the society we live in, and the strategy by which we shall -destroy it. When you have read the book, you will be full -members of the Brotherhood. But between the general aims that -we are fighting for and the immediate tasks of the moment, you -will never know anything. I tell you that the Brotherhood -exists, but I cannot tell you whether it numbers a hundred -members, or ten million. From your personal knowledge you will -never be able to say that it numbers even as many as a dozen. -You will have three or four contacts, who will be renewed from -time to time as they disappear. As this was your first contact, -it will be preserved. When you receive orders, they will come -from me. If we find it necessary to communicate with you, it -will be through Martin. When you are finally caught, you will -confess. That is unavoidable. But you will have very little to -confess, other than your own actions. You will not be able to -betray more than a handful of unimportant people. Probably you -will not even betray me. By that time I may be dead, or I shall -have become a different person, with a different face.'

-

- He continued to move to and fro over the soft carpet. In -spite of the bulkiness of his body there was a remarkable grace -in his movements. It came out even in the gesture with which he -thrust a hand into his pocket, or manipulated a cigarette. More -even than of strength, he gave an impression of confidence and -of an understanding tinged by irony. However much in earnest he -might be, he had nothing of the single-mindedness that belongs -to a fanatic. When he spoke of murder, suicide, venereal -disease, amputated limbs, and altered faces, it was with a -faint air of persiflage. 'This is unavoidable,' his voice -seemed to say; 'this is what we have got to do, unflinchingly. -But this is not what we shall be doing when life is worth -living again.' A wave of admiration, almost of worship, flowed -out from Winston towards O'Brien. For the moment he had -forgotten the shadowy figure of Goldstein. When you looked at -O'Brien's powerful shoulders and his blunt-featured face, so -ugly and yet so civilized, it was impossible to believe that he -could be defeated. There was no stratagem that he was not equal -to, no danger that he could not foresee. Even Julia seemed to -be impressed. She had let her cigarette go out and was -listening intently. O'Brien went on:

-

- 'You will have heard rumours of the existence of the -Brotherhood. No doubt you have formed your own picture of it. -You have imagined, probably, a huge underworld of conspirators, -meeting secretly in cellars, scribbling messages on walls, -recognizing one another by codewords or by special movements of -the hand. Nothing of the kind exists. The members of the -Brotherhood have no way of recognizing one another, and it is -impossible for any one member to be aware of the identity of -more than a few others. Goldstein himself, if he fell into the -hands of the Thought Police, could not give them a complete -list of members, or any information that would lead them to a -complete list. No such list exists. The Brotherhood cannot be -wiped out because it is not an organization in the ordinary -sense. Nothing holds it together except an idea which is -indestructible. You will never have anything to sustain you, -except the idea. You will get no comradeship and no -encouragement. When finally you are caught, you will get no -help. We never help our members. At most, when it is absolutely -necessary that someone should be silenced, we are occasionally -able to smuggle a razor blade into a prisoner's cell. You will -have to get used to living without results and without hope. -You will work for a while, you will be caught, you will -confess, and then you will die. Those are the only results that -you will ever see. There is no possibility that any perceptible -change will happen within our own lifetime. We are the dead. -Our only true life is in the future. We shall take part in it -as handfuls of dust and splinters of bone. But how far away -that future may be, there is no knowing. It might be a thousand -years. At present nothing is possible except to extend the area -of sanity little by little. We cannot act collectively. We can -only spread our knowledge outwards from individual to -individual, generation after generation. In the face of the -Thought Police there is no other way.'

-

- He halted and looked for the third time at his -wrist-watch.

-

- 'It is almost time for you to leave, comrade,' he said to -Julia. 'Wait. The decanter is still half full.'

-

- He filled the glasses and raised his own glass by the -stem.

-

- 'What shall it be this time?' he said, still with the same -faint suggestion of irony. 'To the confusion of the Thought -Police? To the death of Big Brother? To humanity? To the -future?'

-

- 'To the past,' said Winston.

-

- 'The past is more important,' agreed O'Brien gravely.

-

- They emptied their glasses, and a moment later Julia stood -up to go. O'Brien took a small box from the top of a cabinet -and handed her a flat white tablet which he told her to place -on her tongue. It was important, he said, not to go out -smelling of wine: the lift attendants were very observant. As -soon as the door had shut behind her he appeared to forget her -existence. He took another pace or two up and down, then -stopped.

-

- 'There are details to be settled,' he said. 'I assume that -you have a hiding-place of some kind?'

-

- Winston explained about the room over Mr Charrington's -shop.

-

- 'That will do for the moment. Later we will arrange -something else for you. It is important to change one's -hiding-place frequently. Meanwhile I shall send you a copy of -the book' -- even O'Brien, Winston noticed, seemed to -pronounce the words as though they were in italics- -'Goldstein's book, you understand, as soon as possible. It may -be some days before I can get hold of one. There are not many -in existence, as you can imagine. The Thought Police hunt them -down and destroy them almost as fast as we can produce them. It -makes very little difference. The book is indestructible. If -the last copy were gone, we could reproduce it almost word for -word. Do you carry a brief-case to work with you?' he added.

-

- 'As a rule, yes.'

-

- 'What is it like?'

-

- 'Black, very shabby. With two straps.'

-

- 'Black, two straps, very shabby -- good. One day in the -fairly near future-I cannot give a date -- one of the messages -among your morning's work will contain a misprinted word, and -you will have to ask for a repeat. On the following day you -will go to work without your brief-case. At some time during -the day, in the street, a man will touch you on the arm and say -"I think you have dropped your brief-case." The one he gives -you will contain a copy of Goldstein's book. You will return it -within fourteen days.'

-

- They were silent for a moment.

-

- 'There are a couple of minutes before you need go,' said -O'Brien. 'We shall meet again -- if we do meet again-'

-

- Winston looked up at him. 'In the place where there is no -darkness?' he said hesitantly.

-

- O'Brien nodded without appearance of surprise. 'In the -place where there is no darkness,' he said, as though he had -recognized the allusion. 'And in the meantime, is there -anything that you wish to say before you leave? Any message? -Any question?.'

-

- Winston thought. There did not seem to be any further -question that he wanted to ask: still less did he feel any -impulse to utter high-sounding generalities. Instead of -anything directly connected with O'Brien or the Brotherhood, -there came into his mind a sort of composite picture of the -dark bedroom where his mother had spent her last days, and the -little room over Mr Charrington's shop, and the glass -paperweight, and the steel engraving in its rosewood frame. -Almost at random he said:

-

- 'Did you ever happen to hear an old rhyme that begins -"Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St Clement's"?'

-

- Again O'Brien nodded. With a sort of grave courtesy he -completed the stanza:

-

- 'Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St Clement's,
- You owe me three farthings, say the bells of St Martin's,
- When will you pay me? say the bells of Old Bailey
- When I grow rich, say the bells of Shoreditch.'

-

- 'You knew the last line!' said Winston.

-

- 'Yes, I knew the last line. And now, I am afraid, it is -time for you to go. But wait. You had better let me give you -one of these tablets.'

-

- As Winston stood up O'Brien held out a hand. His powerful -grip crushed the bones of Winston's palm. At the door Winston -looked back, but O'Brien seemed already to be in process of -putting him out of mind. He was waiting with his hand on the -switch that controlled the telescreen. Beyond him Winston could -see the writing-table with its green- shaded lamp and the -speakwrite and the wire baskets deep- laden with papers. The -incident was closed. Within thirty seconds, it occurred to him, -O'Brien would be back at his interrupted and important work on -behalf of the Party.

-

XVII

-

- Winston was gelatinous with fatigue. Gelatinous was the -right word. It had come into his head spontaneously. His body -seemed to have not only the weakness of a jelly, but its -translucency. He felt that if he held up his hand he would be -able to see the light through it. All the blood and lymph had -been drained out of him by an enormous debauch of work, leaving -only a frail structure of nerves, bones, and skin. All -sensations seemed to be magnified. His overalls fretted his -shoulders, the pavement tickled his feet, even the opening and -closing of a hand was an effort that made his joints creak.

-

- He had worked more than ninety hours in five days. So had -everyone else in the Ministry. Now it was all over, and he had -literally nothing to do, no Party work of any description, -until tomorrow morning. He could spend six hours in the -hiding-place and another nine in his own bed. Slowly, in mild -afternoon sunshine, he walked up a dingy street in the -direction of Mr Charrington's shop, keeping one eye open for -the patrols, but irrationally convinced that this afternoon -there was no danger of anyone interfering with him. The heavy -brief-case that he was carrying bumped against his knee at each -step, sending a tingling sensation up and down the skin of his -leg. Inside it was the book, which he had now had in his -possession for six days and had not yet opened, nor even looked -at.

-

- On the sixth day of Hate Week, after the processions, the -speeches, the shouting, the singing, the banners, the posters, -the films, the waxworks, the rolling of drums and squealing of -trumpets, the tramp of marching feet, the grinding of the -caterpillars of tanks, the roar of massed planes, the booming -of guns -- after six days of this, when the great orgasm was -quivering to its climax and the general hatred of Eurasia had -boiled up into such delirium that if the crowd could have got -their hands on the 2,000 Eurasian war-criminals who were to be -publicly hanged on the last day of the proceedings, they would -unquestionably have torn them to pieces -- at just this moment -it had been announced that Oceania was not after all at war -with Eurasia. Oceania was at war with Eastasia. Eurasia was an -ally.

-

- There was, of course, no admission that any change had -taken place. Merely it became known, with extreme suddenness -and everywhere at once, that Eastasia and not Eurasia was the -enemy. Winston was taking part in a demonstration in one of the -central London squares at the moment when it happened. It was -night, and the white faces and the scarlet banners were luridly -floodlit. The square was packed with several thousand people, -including a block of about a thousand schoolchildren in the -uniform of the Spies. On a scarlet-draped platform an orator of -the Inner Party, a small lean man with disproportionately long -arms and a large bald skull over which a few lank locks -straggled, was haranguing the crowd. A little Rumpelstiltskin -figure, contorted with hatred, he gripped the neck of the -microphone with one hand while the other, enormous at the end -of a bony arm, clawed the air menacingly above his head. His -voice, made metallic by the amplifiers, boomed forth an endless -catalogue of atrocities, massacres, deportations, lootings, -rapings, torture of prisoners, bombing of civilians, lying -propaganda, unjust aggressions, broken treaties. It was almost -impossible to listen to him without being first convinced and -then maddened. At every few moments the fury of the crowd -boiled over and the voice of the speaker was drowned by a wild -beast-like roaring that rose uncontrollably from thousands of -throats. The most savage yells of all came from the -schoolchildren. The speech had been proceeding for perhaps -twenty minutes when a messenger hurried on to the platform and -a scrap of paper was slipped into the speaker's hand. He -unrolled and read it without pausing in his speech. Nothing -altered in his voice or manner, or in the content of what he -was saying, but suddenly the names were different. Without -words said, a wave of understanding rippled through the crowd. -Oceania was at war with Eastasia! The next moment there was a -tremendous commotion. The banners and posters with which the -square was decorated were all wrong! Quite half of them had the -wrong faces on them. It was sabotage! The agents of Goldstein -had been at work! There was a riotous interlude while posters -were ripped from the walls, banners torn to shreds and trampled -underfoot. The Spies performed prodigies of activity in -clambering over the rooftops and cutting the streamers that -fluttered from the chimneys. But within two or three minutes it -was all over. The orator, still gripping the neck of the -microphone, his shoulders hunched forward, his free hand -clawing at the air, had gone straight on with his speech. One -minute more, and the feral roars of rage were again bursting -from the crowd. The Hate continued exactly as before, except -that the target had been changed.

-

- The thing that impressed Winston in looking back was that -the speaker had switched from one line to the other actually in -midsentence, not only without a pause, but without even -breaking the syntax. But at the moment he had other things to -preoccupy him. It was during the moment of disorder while the -posters were being torn down that a man whose face he did not -see had tapped him on the shoulder and said, 'Excuse me, I -think you've dropped your brief-case.' He took the brief-case -abstractedly, without speaking. He knew that it would be days -before he had an opportunity to look inside it. The instant -that the demonstration was over he went straight to the -Ministry of Truth, though the time was now nearly twenty-three -hours. The entire staff of the Ministry had done likewise. The -orders already issuing from the telescreen, recalling them to -their posts, were hardly necessary.

-

- Oceania was at war with Eastasia: Oceania had always been -at war with Eastasia. A large part of the political literature -of five years was now completely obsolete. Reports and records -of all kinds, newspapers, books, pamphlets, films, -sound-tracks, photographs -- all had to be rectified at -lightning speed. Although no directive was ever issued, it was -known that the chiefs of the Department intended that within -one week no reference to the war with Eurasia, or the alliance -with Eastasia, should remain in existence anywhere. The work -was overwhelming, all the more so because the processes that it -involved could not be called by their true names. Everyone in -the Records Department worked eighteen hours in the -twenty-four, with two three-hour snatches of sleep. Mattresses -were brought up from the cellars and pitched all over the -corridors: meals consisted of sandwiches and Victory Coffee -wheeled round on trolleys by attendants from the canteen. Each -time that Winston broke off for one of his spells of sleep he -tried to leave his desk clear of work, and each time that he -crawled back sticky-eyed and aching, it was to find that -another shower of paper cylinders had covered the desk like a -snowdrift, halfburying the speakwrite and overflowing on to the -floor, so that the first job was always to stack them into a -neat enough pile to give him room to work. What was worst of -all was that the work was by no means purely mechanical. Often -it was enough merely to substitute one name for another, but -any detailed report of events demanded care and imagination. -Even the geographical knowledge that one needed in transferring -the war from one part of the world to another was considerable. -

-

By the third day his eyes ached unbearably and his -spectacles needed wiping every few minutes. It was like -struggling with some crushing physical task, something which -one had the right to refuse and which one was nevertheless -neurotically anxious to accomplish. In so far as he had time to -remember it, he was not troubled by the fact that every word he -murmured into the speakwrite, every stroke of his ink-pencil, -was a deliberate lie. He was as anxious as anyone else in the -Department that the forgery should be perfect. On the morning -of the sixth day the dribble of cylinders slowed down. For as -much as half an hour nothing came out of the tube; then one -more cylinder, then nothing. Everywhere at about the same time -the work was easing off. A deep and as it were secret sigh went -through the Department. A mighty deed, which could never be -mentioned, had been achieved. It was now impossible for any -human being to prove by documentary evidence that the war with -Eurasia had ever happened. At twelve hundred it was -unexpectedly announced that all workers in the Ministry were -free till tomorrow morning. Winston, still carrying the -brief-case containing the book, which had remained -between his feet while he worked and under his body while he -slept, went home, shaved himself, and almost fell asleep in his -bath, although the water was barely more than tepid.

-

- With a sort of voluptuous creaking in his joints he -climbed the stair above Mr Charrington's shop. He was tired, -but not sleepy any longer. He opened the window, lit the dirty -little oilstove and put on a pan of water for coffee. Julia -would arrive presently: meanwhile there was the book. He -sat down in the sluttish armchair and undid the straps of the -brief-case.

-

- A heavy black volume, amateurishly bound, with no name or -title on the cover. The print also looked slightly irregular. -The pages were worn at the edges, and fell apart, easily, as -though the book had passed through many hands. The inscription -on the title-page ran:

-

- THE THEORY AND PRACTICE OF - OLIGARCHICAL COLLECTIVISM
- by
- Emmanuel Goldstein

-

- - Winston began reading:

-

- Chapter I - Ignorance is Strength

-

- - Throughout recorded time, and probably since the end of -the Neolithic Age, there have been three kinds of people in the -world, the High, the Middle, and the Low. They have been -subdivided in many ways, they have borne countless different -names, and their relative numbers, as well as their attitude -towards one another, have varied from age to age: but the -essential structure of society has never altered. Even after -enormous upheavals and seemingly irrevocable changes, the same -pattern has always reasserted itself, just as a gyroscope will -always return to equilibrium, however far it is pushed one way -or the other.

-

- The aims of these groups are entirely irreconcilable...

-

- Winston stopped reading, chiefly in order to appreciate -the fact that he was reading, in comfort and safety. He -was alone: no telescreen, no ear at the keyhole, no nervous -impulse to glance over his shoulder or cover the page with his -hand. The sweet summer air played against his cheek. From -somewhere far away there floated the faint shouts of children: -in the room itself there was no sound except the insect voice -of the clock. He settled deeper into the arm-chair and put his -feet up on the fender. It was bliss, it was etemity. Suddenly, -as one sometimes does with a book of which one knows that one -will ultimately read and re-read every word, he opened it at a -different place and found himself at Chapter III. He went on -reading:

-

- - Chapter III
- War is Peace

-

- - The splitting up of the world into three great -super-states was an event which could be and indeed was -foreseen before the middle of the twentieth century. With the -absorption of Europe by Russia and of the British Empire by the -United States, two of the three existing powers, Eurasia and -Oceania, were already effectively in being. The third, -Eastasia, only emerged as a distinct unit after another decade -of confused fighting. The frontiers between the three -super-states are in some places arbitrary, and in others they -fluctuate according to the fortunes of war, but in general they -follow geographical lines. Eurasia comprises the whole of the -northern part of the European and Asiatic land-mass, from -Portugal to the Bering Strait. Oceania comprises the Americas, -the Atlantic islands including the British Isles, Australasia, -and the southern portion of Africa. Eastasia, smaller than the -others and with a less definite western frontier, comprises -China and the countries to the south of it, the Japanese -islands and a large but fluctuating portion of Manchuria, -Mongolia, and Tibet.

-

- In one combination or another, these three super-states -are permanently at war, and have been so for the past -twenty-five years. War, however, is no longer the desperate, -annihilating struggle that it was in the early decades of the -twentieth centary. It is a warfare of limited aims between -combatants who are unable to destroy one another, have no -material cause for fighting and are not divided by any genuine -ideological difference. This is not to say that either the -conduct of war, or the prevailing attitude towards it, has -become less bloodthirsty or more chivalrous. On the contrary, -war hysteria is continuous and universal in all countries, and -such acts as raping, looting, the slaughter of children, the -reduction of whole populations to slavery, and reprisals -against prisoners which extend even to boiling and burying -alive, are looked upon as normal, and, when they are committed -by one's own side and not by the enemy, meritorious. But in a -physical sense war involves very small numbers of people, -mostly highly-trained specialists, and causes comparatively few -casualties. The fighting, when there is any, takes place on the -vague frontiers whose whereabouts the average man can only -guess at, or round the Floating Fortresses which guard -strategic spots on the sea lanes. In the centres of -civilization war means no more than a continuous shortage of -consumption goods, and the occasional crash of a rocket bomb -which may cause a few scores of deaths. War has in fact changed -its character. More exactly, the reasons for which war is waged -have changed in their order of importance. Motives which were -already present to some small extent in the great wars of the -early twentieth centuary have now become dominant and are -consciously recognized and acted upon.

-

- To understand the nature of the present war -- for in -spite of the regrouping which occurs every few years, it is -always the same war -- one must realize in the first place that -it is impossible for it to be decisive. None of the three -super-states could be definitively conquered even by the other -two in combination. They are too evenly matched, and their -natural defences are too formidable. Eurasia is protected by -its vast land spaces. Oceania by the width of the Atlantic and -the Pacific, Eastasia by the fecundity and industriousness of -its inhabitants. Secondly, there is no longer, in a material -sense, anything to fight about. With the establishment of -self-contained economies, in which production and consumption -are geared to one another, the scramble for markets which was a -main cause of previous wars has come to an end, while the -competition for raw materials is no longer a matter of life and -death. In any case each of the three super-states is so vast -that it can obtain almost all the materials that it needs -within its own boundaries. In so far as the war has a direct -economic purpose, it is a war for labour power. Between the -frontiers of the super-states, and not permanently in the -possession of any of them, there lies a rough quadrilateral -with its corners at Tangier, Brazzaville, Darwin, and Hong -Kong, containing within it about a fifth of the population of -the earth. It is for the possession of these thickly-populated -regions, and of the northern ice-cap, that the three powers are -constantly struggling. In practice no one power ever controls -the whole of the disputed area. Portions of it are constantly -changing hands, and it is the chance of seizing this or that -fragment by a sudden stroke of treachery that dictates the -endless changes of alignment.

-

- All of the disputed territories contain valuable minerals, -and some of them yield important vegetable products such as -rubber which in colder climates it is necessary to synthesize -by comparatively expensive methods. But above all they contain -a bottomless reserve of cheap labour. Whichever power controls -equatorial Africa, or the countries of the Middle East, or -Southern India, or the Indonesian Archipelago, disposes also of -the bodies of scores or hundreds of millions of ill-paid and -hard-working coolies. The inhabitants of these areas, reduced -more or less openly to the status of slaves, pass continually -from conqueror to conqueror, and are expended like so much coal -or oil in the race to turn out more armaments, to capture more -territory, to control more labour power, to turn out more -armaments, to capture more territory, and so on indefinitely. -It should be noted that the fighting never really moves beyond -the edges of the disputed areas. The frontiers of Eurasia flow -back and forth between the basin of the Congo and the northern -shore of the Mediterranean; the islands of the Indian Ocean and -the Pacific are constantly being captured and recaptured by -Oceania or by Eastasia; in Mongolia the dividing line between -Eurasia and Eastasia is never stable; round the Pole all three -powers lay claim to enormous territories which in fact are -largely unihabited and unexplored: but the balance of power -always remains roughly even, and the territory which forms the -heartland of each super-state always remains inviolate. -Moreover, the labour of the exploited peoples round the Equator -is not really necessary to the world's economy. They add -nothing to the wealth of the world, since whatever they produce -is used for purposes of war, and the object of waging a war is -always to be in a better position in which to wage another war. -By their labour the slave populations allow the tempo of -continuous warfare to be speeded up. But if they did not exist, -the structure of world society, and the process by which it -maintains itself, would not be essentially different.

-

- The primary aim of modern warfare (in accordance with the -principles of doublethink, this aim is simultaneously -recognized and not recognized by the directing brains of the -Inner Party) is to use up the products of the machine without -raising the general standard of living. Ever since the end of -the nineteenth century, the problem of what to do with the -surplus of consumption goods has been latent in industrial -society. At present, when few human beings even have enough to -eat, this problem is obviously not urgent, and it might not -have become so, even if no artificial processes of destruction -had been at work. The world of today is a bare, hungry, -dilapidated place compared with the world that existed before -1914, and still more so if compared with the imaginary future -to which the people of that period looked forward. In the early -twentieth century, the vision of a future society unbelievably -rich, leisured, orderly, and efficient -- a glittering -antiseptic world of glass and steel and snow-white concrete -- -was part of the consciousness of nearly every literate person. -Science and technology were developing at a prodigious speed, -and it seemed natural to assume that they would go on -developing. This failed to happen, partly because of the -impoverishment caused by a long series of wars and revolutions, -partly because scientific and technical progress depended on -the empirical habit of thought, which could not survive in a -strictly regimented society. As a whole the world is more -primitive today than it was fifty years ago. Certain backward -areas have advanced, and various devices, always in some way -connected with warfare and police espionage, have been -developed, but experiment and invention have largely stopped, -and the ravages of the atomic war of the nineteen-fifties have -never been fully repaired. Nevertheless the dangers inherent in -the machine are still there. From the moment when the machine -first made its appearance it was clear to all thinking people -that the need for human drudgery, and therefore to a great -extent for human inequality, had disappeared. If the machine -were used deliberately for that end, hunger, overwork, dirt, -illiteracy, and disease could be eliminated within a few -generations. And in fact, without being used for any such -purpose, but by a sort of automatic process -- by producing -wealth which it was sometimes impossible not to distribute -- -the machine did raise the living standards of the average -humand being very greatly over a period of about fifty years at -the end of the nineteenth and the beginning of the twentieth -centuries.

-

- But it was also clear that an all-round increase in wealth -threatened the destruction -- indeed, in some sense was the -destruction -- of a hierarchical society. In a world in which -everyone worked short hours, had enough to eat, lived in a -house with a bathroom and a refrigerator, and possessed a -motor-car or even an aeroplane, the most obvious and perhaps -the most important form of inequality would already have -disappeared. If it once became general, wealth would confer no -distinction. It was possible, no doubt, to imagine a society in -which wealth, in the sense of personal possessions and -luxuries, should be evenly distributed, while power -remained in the hands of a small privileged caste. But in -practice such a society could not long remain stable. For if -leisure and security were enjoyed by all alike, the great mass -of human beings who are normally stupefied by poverty would -become literate and would learn to think for themselves; and -when once they had done this, they would sooner or later -realize that the privileged minority had no function, and they -would sweep it away. In the long run, a hierarchical society -was only possible on a basis of poverty and ignorance. To -return to the agricultural past, as some thinkers about the -beginning of the twentieth century dreamed of doing, was not a -practicable solution. It conflicted with the tendency towards -mechanization which had become quasi-instinctive throughout -almost the whole world, and moreover, any country which -remained industrially backward was helpless in a military sense -and was bound to be dominated, directly or indirectly, by its -more advanced rivals.

-

- Nor was it a satisfactory solution to keep the masses in -poverty by restricting the output of goods. This happened to a -great extent during the final phase of capitalism, roughly -between 1920 and 1940. The economy of many countries was -allowed to stagnate, land went out of cultivation, capital -equipment was not added to, great blocks of the population were -prevented from working and kept half alive by State charity. -But this, too, entailed military weakness, and since the -privations it inflicted were obviously unnecessary, it made -opposition inevitable. The problem was how to keep the wheels -of industry turning without increasing the real wealth of the -world. Goods must be produced, but they must not be -distributed. And in practice the only way of achieving this was -by continuous warfare.

-

- The essential act of war is destruction, not necessarily -of human lives, but of the products of human labour. War is a -way of shattering to pieces, or pouring into the stratosphere, -or sinking in the depths of the sea, materials which might -otherwise be used to make the masses too comfortable, and -hence, in the long run, too intelligent. Even when weapons of -war are not actually destroyed, their manufacture is still a -convenient way of expending labour power without producing -anything that can be consumed. A Floating Fortress, for -example, has locked up in it the labour that would build -several hundred cargo-ships. Ultimately it is scrapped as -obsolete, never having brought any material benefit to anybody, -and with further enormous labours another Floating Fortress is -built. In principle the war effort is always so planned as to -eat up any surplus that might exist after meeting the bare -needs of the population. In practice the needs of the -population are always underestimated, with the result that -there is a chronic shortage of half the necessities of life; -but this is looked on as an advantage. It is deliberate policy -to keep even the favoured groups somewhere near the brink of -hardship, because a general state of scarcity increases the -importance of small privileges and thus magnifies the -distinction between one group and another. By the standards of -the early twentieth century, even a member of the Inner Party -lives an austere, laborious kind of life. Nevertheless, the few -luxuries that he does enjoy his large, well-appointed flat, the -better texture of his clothes, the better quality of his food -and drink and tobacco, his two or three servants, his private -motor-car or helicopter -- set him in a different world from a -member of the Outer Party, and the members of the Outer Party -have a similar advantage in comparison with the submerged -masses whom we call 'the proles'. The social atmosphere is that -of a besieged city, where the possession of a lump of -horseflesh makes the difference between wealth and poverty. And -at the same time the consciousness of being at war, and -therefore in danger, makes the handing-over of all power to a -small caste seem the natural, unavoidable condition of -survival.

-

- War, it will be seen, accomplishes the necessary -destruction, but accomplishes it in a psychologically -acceptable way. In principle it would be quite simple to waste -the surplus labour of the world by building temples and -pyramids, by digging holes and filling them up again, or even -by producing vast quantities of goods and then setting fire to -them. But this would provide only the economic and not the -emotional basis for a hierarchical society. What is concerned -here is not the morale of masses, whose attitude is unimportant -so long as they are kept steadily at work, but the morale of -the Party itself. Even the humblest Party member is expected to -be competent, industrious, and even intelligent within narrow -limits, but it is also necessary that he should be a credulous -and ignorant fanatic whose prevailing moods are fear, hatred, -adulation, and orgiastic triumph. In other words it is -necessary that he should have the mentality appropriate to a -state of war. It does not matter whether the war is actually -happening, and, since no decisive victory is possible, it does -not matter whether the war is going well or badly. All that is -needed is that a state of war should exist. The splitting of -the intelligence which the Party requires of its members, and -which is more easily achieved in an atmosphere of war, is now -almost universal, but the higher up the ranks one goes, the -more marked it becomes. It is precisely in the Inner Party that -war hysteria and hatred of the enemy are strongest. In his -capacity as an administrator, it is often necessary for a -member of the Inner Party to know that this or that item of war -news is untruthful, and he may often be aware that the entire -war is spurious and is either not happening or is being waged -for purposes quite other than the declared ones: but such -knowledge is easily neutralized by the technique of -doublethink. Meanwhile no Inner Party member wavers for -an instant in his mystical belief that the war is real, -and that it is bound to end victoriously, with Oceania the -undisputed master of the entire world.

-

- All members of the Inner Party believe in this coming -conquest as an article of faith. It is to be achieved either by -gradually acquiring more and more territory and so building up -an overwhelming preponderance of power, or by the discovery of -some new and unanswerable weapon. The search for new weapons -continues unceasingly, and is one of the very few remaining -activities in which the inventive or speculative type of mind -can find any outlet. In Oceania at the present day, Science, in -the old sense, has almost ceased to exist. In Newspeak there is -no word for 'Science'. The empirical method of thought, on -which all the scientific achievements of the past were founded, -is opposed to the most fundamental principles of Ingsoc. And -even technological progress only happens when its products can -in some way be used for the diminution of human liberty. In all -the useful arts the world is either standing still or going -backwards. The fields are cultivated with horse-ploughs while -books are written by machinery. But in matters of vital -importance -- meaning, in effect, war and police espionage -- -the empirical approach is still encouraged, or at least -tolerated. The two aims of the Party are to conquer the whole -surface of the earth and to extinguish once and for all the -possibility of independent thought. There are therefore two -great problems which the Party is concerned to solve. One is -how to discover, against his will, what another human being is -thinking, and the other is how to kill several hundred million -people in a few seconds without giving warning beforehand. In -so far as scientific research still continues, this is its -subject matter. The scientist of today is either a mixture of -psychologist and inquisitor, studying with real ordinary -minuteness the meaning of facial expressions, gestures, and -tones of voice, and testing the truth-producing effects of -drugs, shock therapy, hypnosis, and physical torture; or he is -chemist, physicist, or biologist concerned only with such -branches of his special subject as are relevant to the taking -of life. In the vast laboratories of the Ministry of Peace, and -in the experimental stations hidden in the Brazilian forests, -or in the Australian desert, or on lost islands of the -Antarctic, the teams of experts are indefatigably at work. Some -are concerned simply with planning the logistics of future -wars; others devise larger and larger rocket bombs, more and -more powerful explosives, and more and more impenetrable -armour- plating; others search for new and deadlier gases, or -for soluble poisons capable of being produced in such -quantities as to destroy the vegetation of whole continents, or -for breeds of disease germs immunized against all possible -antibodies; others strive to produce a vehicle that shall bore -its way under the soil like a submarine under the water, or an -aeroplane as independent of its base as a sailing-ship; others -explore even remoter possibilities such as focusing the sun's -rays through lenses suspended thousands of kilometres away in -space, or producing artificial earthquakes and tidal waves by -tapping the heat at the earth's centre.

-

- But none of these projects ever comes anywhere near -realization, and none of the three super-states ever gains a -significant lead on the others. What is more remarkable is that -all three powers already possess, in the atomic bomb, a weapon -far more powerful than any that their present researches are -likely to discover. Although the Party, according to its habit, -claims the invention for itself, atomic bombs first appeared as -early as the nineteen-forties, and were first used on a large -scale about ten years later. At that time some hundreds of -bombs were dropped on industrial centres, chiefly in European -Russia, Western Europe, and North America. The effect was to -convince the ruling groups of all countries that a few more -atomic bombs would mean the end of organized society, and hence -of their own power. Thereafter, although no formal agreement -was ever made or hinted at, no more bombs were dropped. All -three powers merely continue to produce atomic bombs and store -them up against the decisive opportunity which they all believe -will come sooner or later. And meanwhile the art of war has -remained almost stationary for thirty or forty years. -Helicopters are more used than they were formerly, bombing -planes have been largely superseded by self-propelled -projectiles, and the fragile movable battleship has given way -to the almost unsinkable Floating Fortress; but otherwise there -has been little development. The tank, the submarine, the -torpedo, the machine gun, even the rifle and the hand grenade -are still in use. And in spite of the endless slaughters -reported in the Press and on the telescreens, the desperate -battles of earlier wars, in which hundreds of thousands or even -millions of men were often killed in a few weeks, have never -been repeated.

-

- None of the three super-states ever attempts any manoeuvre -which involves the risk of serious defeat. When any large -operation is undertaken, it is usually a surprise attack -against an ally. The strategy that all three powers are -following, or pretend to themselves that they are following, is -the same. The plan is, by a combination of fighting, -bargaining, and well-timed strokes of treachery, to acquire a -ring of bases completely encircling one or other of the rival -states, and then to sign a pact of friendship with that rival -and remain on peaceful terms for so many years as to lull -suspicion to sleep. During this time rockets loaded with atomic -bombs can be assembled at all the strategic spots; finally they -will all be fired simultaneously, with effects so devastating -as to make retaliation impossible. It will then be time to sign -a pact of friendship with the remaining world-power, in -preparation for another attack. This scheme, it is hardly -necessary to say, is a mere daydream, impossible of -realization. Moreover, no fighting ever occurs except in the -disputed areas round the Equator and the Pole: no invasion of -enemy territory is ever undertaken. This explains the fact that -in some places the frontiers between the superstates are -arbitrary. Eurasia, for example, could easily conquer the -British Isles, which are geographically part of Europe, or on -the other hand it would be possible for Oceania to push its -frontiers to the Rhine or even to the Vistula. But this would -violate the principle, followed on all sides though never -formulated, of cultural integrity. If Oceania were to conquer -the areas that used once to be known as France and Germany, it -would be necessary either to exterminate the inhabitants, a -task of great physical difficulty, or to assimilate a -population of about a hundred million people, who, so far as -technical development goes, are roughly on the Oceanic level. -The problem is the same for all three super-states. It is -absolutely necessary to their structure that there should be no -contact with foreigners, except, to a limited extent, with war -prisoners and coloured slaves. Even the official ally of the -moment is always regarded with the darkest suspicion. War -prisoners apart, the average citizen of Oceania never sets eyes -on a citizen of either Eurasia or Eastasia, and he is forbidden -the knowledge of foreign languages. If he were allowed contact -with foreigners he would discover that they are creatures -similar to himself and that most of what he has been told about -them is lies. The sealed world in which he lives would be -broken, and the fear, hatred, and self-righteousness on which -his morale depends might evaporate. It is therefore realized on -all sides that however often Persia, or Egypt, or Java, or -Ceylon may change hands, the main frontiers must never be -crossed by anything except bombs.

-

- Under this lies a fact never mentioned aloud, but tacitly -understood and acted upon: namely, that the conditions of life -in all three super-states are very much the same. In Oceania -the prevailing philosophy is called Ingsoc, in Eurasia it is -called Neo-Bolshevism, and in Eastasia it is called by a -Chinese name usually translated as Death-Worship, but perhaps -better rendered as Obliteration of the Self. The citizen of -Oceania is not allowed to know anything of the tenets of the -other two philosophies, but he is taught to execrate them as -barbarous outrages upon morality and common sense. Actually the -three philosophies are barely distinguishable, and the social -systems which they support are not distinguishable at all. -Everywhere there is the same pyramidal structure, the same -worship of semi-divine leader, the same economy existing by and -for continuous warfare. It follows that the three super-states -not only cannot conquer one another, but would gain no -advantage by doing so. On the contrary, so long as they remain -in conflict they prop one another up, like three sheaves of -corn. And, as usual, the ruling groups of all three powers are -simultaneously aware and unaware of what they are doing. Their -lives are dedicated to world conquest, but they also know that -it is necessary that the war should continue everlastingly and -without victory. Meanwhile the fact that there is no -danger of conquest makes possible the denial of reality which -is the special feature of Ingsoc and its rival systems of -thought. Here it is necessary to repeat what has been said -earlier, that by becoming continuous war has fundamentally -changed its character.

-

- In past ages, a war, almost by definition, was something -that sooner or later came to an end, usually in unmistakable -victory or defeat. In the past, also, war was one of the main -instruments by which human societies were kept in touch with -physical reality. All rulers in all ages have tried to impose a -false view of the world upon their followers, but they could -not afford to encourage any illusion that tended to impair -military efficiency. So long as defeat meant the loss of -independence, or some other result generally held to be -undesirable, the precautions against defeat had to be serious. -Physical facts could not be ignored. In philosophy, or -religion, or ethics, or politics, two and two might make five, -but when one was designing a gun or an aeroplane they had to -make four. Inefficient nations were always conquered sooner or -later, and the struggle for efficiency was inimical to -illusions. Moreover, to be efficient it was necessary to be -able to learn from the past, which meant having a fairly -accurate idea of what had happened in the past. Newspapers and -history books were, of course, always coloured and biased, but -falsification of the kind that is practised today would have -been impossible. War was a sure safeguard of sanity, and so far -as the ruling classes were concerned it was probably the most -important of all safeguards. While wars could be won or lost, -no ruling class could be completely irresponsible.

-

- But when war becomes literally continuous, it also ceases -to be dangerous. When war is continuous there is no such thing -as military necessity. Technical progress can cease and the -most palpable facts can be denied or disregarded. As we have -seen, researches that could be called scientific are still -carried out for the purposes of war, but they are essentially a -kind of daydreaming, and their failure to show results is not -important. Efficiency, even military efficiency, is no longer -needed. Nothing is efficient in Oceania except the Thought -Police. Since each of the three super-states is unconquerable, -each is in effect a separate universe within which almost any -perversion of thought can be safely practised. Reality only -exerts its pressure through the needs of everyday life -- the -need to eat and drink, to get shelter and clothing, to avoid -swallowing poison or stepping out of top-storey windows, and -the like. Between life and death, and between physical pleasure -and physical pain, there is still a distinction, but that is -all. Cut off from contact with the outer world, and with the -past, the citizen of Oceania is like a man in interstellar -space, who has no way of knowing which direction is up and -which is down. The rulers of such a state are absolute, as the -Pharaohs or the Caesars could not be. They are obliged to -prevent their followers from starving to death in numbers large -enough to be inconvenient, and they are obliged to remain at -the same low level of military technique as their rivals; but -once that minimum is achieved, they can twist reality into -whatever shape they choose.

-

- The war, therefore, if we judge it by the standards of -previous wars, is merely an imposture. It is like the battles -between certain ruminant animals whose horns are set at such an -angle that they are incapable of hurting one another. But -though it is unreal it is not meaningless. It eats up the -surplus of consumable goods, and it helps to preserve the -special mental atmosphere that a hierarchical society needs. -War, it will be seen, is now a purely internal affair. In the -past, the ruling groups of all countries, although they might -recognize their common interest and therefore limit the -destructiveness of war, did fight against one another, and the -victor always plundered the vanquished. In our own day they are -not fighting against one another at all. The war is waged by -each ruling group against its own subjects, and the object of -the war is not to make or prevent conquests of territory, but -to keep the structure of society intact. The very word 'war', -therefore, has become misleading. It would probably be accurate -to say that by becoming continuous war has ceased to exist. The -peculiar pressure that it exerted on human beings between the -Neolithic Age and the early twentieth century has disappeared -and been replaced by something quite different. The effect -would be much the same if the three super-states, instead of -fighting one another, should agree to live in perpetual peace, -each inviolate within its own boundaries. For in that case each -would still be a self-contained universe, freed for ever from -the sobering influence of external danger. A peace that was -truly permanent would be the same as a permanent war. This -- -although the vast majority of Party members understand it only -in a shallower sense -- is the inner meaning of the Party -slogan: War is Peace.

-

- Winston stopped reading for a moment. Somewhere in remote -distance a rocket bomb thundered. The blissful feeling of being -alone with the forbidden book, in a room with no telescreen, -had not worn off. Solitude and safety were physical sensations, -mixed up somehow with the tiredness of his body, the softness -of the chair, the touch of the faint breeze from the window -that played upon his cheek. The book fascinated him, or more -exactly it reassured him. In a sense it told him nothing that -was new, but that was part of the attraction. It said what he -would have said, if it had been possible for him to set his -scattered thoughts in order. It was the product of a mind -similar to his own, but enormously more powerful, more -systematic, less fear-ridden. The best books, he perceived, are -those that tell you what you know already. He had just turned -back to Chapter I when he heard Julia's footstep on the stair -and started out of his chair to meet her. She dumped her brown -tool-bag on the floor and flung herself into his arms. It was -more than a week since they had seen one another.

-

- 'I've got the book,' he said as they disentangled -themselves.

-

- 'Oh, you've got it? Good,' she said without much interest, -and almost immediately knelt down beside the oilstove to make -the coffee.

-

- They did not return to the subject until they had been in -bed for half an hour. The evening was just cool enough to make -it worth while to pull up the counterpane. From below came the -familiar sound of singing and the scrape of boots on the -flagstones. The brawny red-armed woman whom Winston had seen -there on his first visit was almost a fixture in the yard. -There seemed to be no hour of daylight when she was not -marching to and fro between the washtub and the line, -alternately gagging herself with clothes pegs and breaking -forth into lusty song. Julia had settled down on her side and -seemed to be already on the point of falling asleep. He reached -out for the book, which was lying on the floor, and sat up -against the bedhead.

-

- 'We must read it,' he said. 'You too. All members of the -Brotherhood have to read it.'

-

- 'You read it,' she said with her eyes shut. 'Read it -aloud. That's the best way. Then you can explain it to me as -you go.'

-

- The clock's hands said six, meaning eighteen. They had -three or four hours ahead of them. He propped the book against -his knees and began reading:

-

- - Chapter I
- Ignorance is Strength

-

- - Throughout recorded time, and probably since the end of -the Neolithic Age, there have been three kinds of people in the -world, the High, the Middle, and the Low. They have been -subdivided in many ways, they have borne countless different -names, and their relative numbers, as well as their attitude -towards one another, have varied from age to age: but the -essential structure of society has never altered. Even after -enormous upheavals and seemingly irrevocable changes, the same -pattern has always reasserted itself, just as a gyroscope will -always return to equilibnum, however far it is pushed one way -or the other

-

- 'Julia, are you awake?' said Winston.

-

- 'Yes, my love, I'm listening. Go on. It's marvellous.'

-

- He continued reading:

-

- The aims of these three groups are entirely -irreconcilable. The aim of the High is to remain where they -are. The aim of the Middle is to change places with the High. -The aim of the Low, when they have an aim -- for it is an -abiding characteristic of the Low that they are too much -crushed by drudgery to be more than intermittently conscious of -anything outside their daily lives -- is to abolish all -distinctions and create a society in which all men shall be -equal. Thus throughout history a struggle which is the same in -its main outlines recurs over and over again. For long periods -the High seem to be securely in power, but sooner or later -there always comes a moment when they lose either their belief -in themselves or their capacity to govern efficiently, or both. -They are then overthrown by the Middle, who enlist the Low on -their side by pretending to them that they are fighting for -liberty and justice. As soon as they have reached their -objective, the Middle thrust the Low back into their old -position of servitude, and themselves become the High. -Presently a new Middle group splits off from one of the other -groups, or from both of them, and the struggle begins over -again. Of the three groups, only the Low are never even -temporarily successful in achieving their aims. It would be an -exaggeration to say that throughout history there has been no -progress of a material kind. Even today, in a period of -decline, the average human being is physically better off than -he was a few centuries ago. But no advance in wealth, no -softening of manners, no reform or revolution has ever brought -human equality a millimetre nearer. From the point of view of -the Low, no historic change has ever meant much more than a -change in the name of their masters.

-

- By the late nineteenth century the recurrence of this -pattern had become obvious to many observers. There then rose -schools of thinkers who interpreted history as a cyclical -process and claimed to show that inequality was the unalterable -law of human life. This doctrine, of course, had always had its -adherents, but in the manner in which it was now put forward -there was a significant change. In the past the need for a -hierarchical form of society had been the doctrine specifically -of the High. It had been preached by kings and aristocrats and -by the priests, lawyers, and the like who were parasitical upon -them, and it had generally been softened by promises of -compensation in an imaginary world beyond the grave. The -Middle, so long as it was struggling for power, had always made -use of such terms as freedom, justice, and fraternity. Now, -however, the concept of human brotherhood began to be assailed -by people who were not yet in positions of command, but merely -hoped to be so before long. In the past the Middle had made -revolutions under the banner of equality, and then had -established a fresh tyranny as soon as the old one was overthrown. -The new Middle groups in effect proclaimed their tyranny -beforehand. Socialism, a theory which appeared in the early -nineteenth century and was the last link in a chain of thought -stretching back to the slave rebellions of antiquity, was still -deeply infected by the Utopianism of past ages. But in each -variant of Socialism that appeared from about 1900 onwards the -aim of establishing liberty and equality was more and more -openly abandoned. The new movements which appeared in the -middle years of the century, Ingsoc in Oceania, Neo-Bolshevism -in Eurasia, Death-Worship, as it is commonly called, in -Eastasia, had the conscious aim of perpetuating unfreedom and -inequality. These new movements, of course, grew out of the old -ones and tended to keep their names and pay lip-service to -their ideology. But the purpose of all of them was to arrest -progress and freeze history at a chosen moment. The familiar -pendulum swing was to happen once more, and then stop. As -usual, the High were to be turned out by the Middle, who would -then become the High; but this time, by conscious strategy, the -High would be able to maintain their position permanently.

-

- The new doctrines arose partly because of the accumulation -of historical knowledge, and the growth of the historical -sense, which had hardly existed before the nineteenth century. -The cyclical movement of history was now intelligible, or -appeared to be so; and if it was intelligible, then it was -alterable. But the principal, underlying cause was that, as -early as the beginning of the twentieth century, human equality -had become technically possible. It was still true that men -were not equal in their native talents and that functions had -to be specialized in ways that favoured some individuals -against others; but there was no longer any real need for class -distinctions or for large differences of wealth. In earlier -ages, class distinctions had been not only inevitable but -desirable. Inequality was the price of civilization. With the -development of machine production, however, the case was -altered. Even if it was still necessary for human beings to do -different kinds of work, it was no longer necessary for them to -live at different social or economic levels. Therefore, from -the point of view of the new groups who were on the point of -seizing power, human equality was no longer an ideal to be -striven after, but a danger to be averted. In more primitive -ages, when a just and peaceful society was in fact not -possible, it had been fairly easy to believe it. The idea of an -earthly paradise in which men should live together in a state -of brotherhood, without laws and without brute labour, had -haunted the human imagination for thousands of years. And this -vision had had a certain hold even on the groups who actually -profited by each historical change. The heirs of the French, -English, and American revolutions had partly believed in their -own phrases about the rights of man, freedom of speech, -equality before the law, and the like, and have even allowed -their conduct to be influenced by them to some extent. But by -the fourth decade of the twentieth century all the main -currents of political thought were authoritarian. The earthly -paradise had been discredited at exactly the moment when it -became realizable. Every new political theory, by whatever name -it called itself, led back to hierarchy and regimentation. And -in the general hardening of outlook that set in round about -1930, practices which had been long abandoned, in some cases -for hundreds of years -- imprisonment without trial, the use of -war prisoners as slaves, public executions, torture to extract -confessions, the use of hostages, and the deportation of whole -populations-not only became common again, but were tolerated -and even defended by people who considered themselves -enlightened and progressive.

-

- It was only after a decade of national wars, civil wars, -revolutions, and counter-revolutions in all parts of the world -that Ingsoc and its rivals emerged as fully worked-out -political theories. But they had been foreshadowed by the -various systems, generally called totalitarian, which had -appeared earlier in the century, and the main outlines of the -world which would emerge from the prevailing chaos had long -been obvious. What kind of people would control this world had -been equally obvious. The new aristocracy was made up for the -most part of bureaucrats, scientists, technicians, trade-union -organizers, publicity experts, sociologists, teachers, -journalists, and professional politicians. These people, whose -origins lay in the salaried middle class and the upper grades -of the working class, had been shaped and brought together by -the barren world of monopoly industry and centralized -government. As compared with their opposite numbers in past -ages, they were less avaricious, less tempted by luxury, -hungrier for pure power, and, above all, more conscious of what -they were doing and more intent on crushing opposition. This -last difference was cardinal. By comparison with that existing -today, all the tyrannies of the past were half-hearted and -inefficient. The ruling groups were always infected to some -extent by liberal ideas, and were content to leave loose ends -everywhere, to regard only the overt act and to be uninterested -in what their subjects were thinking. Even the Catholic Church -of the Middle Ages was tolerant by modern standards. Part of -the reason for this was that in the past no government had the -power to keep its citizens under constant surveillance. The -invention of print, however, made it easier to manipulate -public opinion, and the film and the radio carried the process -further. With the development of television, and the technical -advance which made it possible to receive and transmit -simultaneously on the same instrument, private life came to an -end. Every citizen, or at least every citizen important enough -to be worth watching, could be kept for twentyfour hours a day -under the eyes of the police and in the sound of official -propaganda, with all other channels of communication closed. -The possibility of enforcing not only complete obedience to the -will of the State, but complete uniformity of opinion on all -subjects, now existed for the first time.

-

- After the revolutionary period of the fifties and sixties, -society regrouped itself, as always, into High, Middle, and -Low. But the new High group, unlike all its forerunners, did -not act upon instinct but knew what was needed to safeguard its -position. It had long been realized that the only secure basis -for oligarchy is collectivism. Wealth and privilege are most -easily defended when they are possessed jointly. The so-called -'abolition of private property' which took place in the middle -years of the century meant, in effect, the concentration of -property in far fewer hands than before: but with this -difference, that the new owners were a group instead of a mass -of individuals. Individually, no member of the Party owns -anything, except petty personal belongings. Collectively, the -Party owns everything in Oceania, because it controls -everything, and disposes of the products as it thinks fit. In -the years following the Revolution it was able to step into -this commanding position almost unopposed, because the whole -process was represented as an act of collectivization. It had -always been assumed that if the capitalist class were -expropriated, Socialism must follow: and unquestionably the -capitalists had been expropriated. Factories, mines, land, -houses, transport -- everything had been taken away from them: -and since these things were no longer private property, it -followed that they must be public property. Ingsoc, which grew -out of the earlier Socialist movement and inherited its -phraseology, has in fact carried out the main item in the -Socialist programme; with the result, foreseen and intended -beforehand, that economic inequality has been made permanent.

-

- But the problems of perpetuating a hierarchical society go -deeper than this. There are only four ways in which a ruling -group can fall from power. Either it is conquered from without, -or it governs so inefficiently that the masses are stirred to -revolt, or it allows a strong and discontented Middle group to -come into being, or it loses its own self-confidence and -willingness to govern. These causes do not operate singly, and -as a rule all four of them are present in some degree. A ruling -class which could guard against all of them would remain in -power permanently. Ultimately the determining factor is the -mental attitude of the ruling class itself.

-

- After the middle of the present century, the first danger -had in reality disappeared. Each of the three powers which now -divide the world is in fact unconquerable, and could only -become conquerable through slow demographic changes which a -government with wide powers can easily avert. The second -danger, also, is only a theoretical one. The masses never -revolt of their own accord, and they never revolt merely -because they are oppressed. Indeed, so long as they are not -permitted to have standards of comparison, they never even -become aware that they are oppressed. The recurrent economic -crises of past times were totally unnecessary and are not now -permitted to happen, but other and equally large dislocations -can and do happen without having political results, because -there is no way in which discontent can become articulate. As -fcr the problem of overproduction, which has been latent in our -society since the development of machine technique, it is -solved by the device of continuous warfare (see Chapter III), -which is also useful in keying up public morale to the -necessary pitch. From the point of view of our present rulers, -therefore, the only genuine dangers are the splitting-off of a -new group of able, under-employed, power-hungry people, and the -growth of liberalism and scepticism in their own ranks. The -problem, that is to say, is educational. It is a problem of -continuously moulding the consciousness both of the directing -group and of the larger executive group that lies immediately -below it. The consciousness of the masses needs only to be -influenced in a negative way.

-

- Given this background, one could infer, if one did not -know it already, the general structure of Oceanic society. At -the apex of the pyramid comes Big Brother. Big Brother is -infallible and all-powerful. Every success, every achievement, -every victory, every scientific discovery, all knowledge, all -wisdom, all happiness, all virtue, are held to issue directly -from his leadership and inspiration. Nobody has ever seen Big -Brother. He is a face on the hoardings, a voice on the -telescreen. We may be reasonably sure that he will never die, -and there is already considerable uncertainty as to when he was -born. Big Brother is the guise in which the Party chooses to -exhibit itself to the world. His function is to act as a -focusing point for love, fear, and reverence, emotions which -are more easily felt towards an individual than towards an -organization. Below Big Brother comes the Inner Party. its -numbers limited to six millions, or something less than 2 per -cent of the population of Oceania. Below the Inner Party comes -the Outer Party, which, if the Inner Party is described as the -brain of the State, may be justly likened to the hands. Below -that come the dumb masses whom we habitually refer to as 'the -proles', numbering perhaps 85 per cent of the population. In -the terms of our earlier classification, the proles are the -Low: for the slave population of the equatorial lands who pass -constantly from conqueror to conqueror, are not a permanent or -necessary part of the structure.

-

- In principle, membership of these three groups is not -hereditary. The child of Inner Party parents is in theory not -born into the Inner Party. Admission to either branch of the -Party is by examination, taken at the age of sixteen. Nor is -there any racial discrimination, or any marked domination of -one province by another. Jews, Negroes, South Americans of pure -Indian blood are to be found in the highest ranks of the Party, -and the administrators of any area are always drawn from the -inhabitants of that area. In no part of Oceania do the -inhabitants have the feeling that they are a colonial -population ruled from a distant capital. Oceania has no -capital, and its titular head is a person whose whereabouts -nobody knows. Except that English is its chief lingua -franca and Newspeak its official language, it is not -centralized in any way. Its rulers are not held together by -blood-ties but by adherence to a common doctrine. It is true -that our society is stratified, and very rigidly stratified, on - -what at first sight appear to be hereditary lines. There is far -less to- and-fro movement between the different groups than -happened under capitalism or even in the pre-industrial age. -Between the two branches of the Party there is a certain amount -of interchange, but only so much as will ensure that weaklings -are excluded from the Inner Party and that ambitious members of -the Outer Party are made harmless by allowing them to rise. -Proletarians, in practice, are not allowed to graduate into the -Party. The most gifted among them, who might possibly become -nuclei of discontent, are simply marked down by the Thought -Police and eliminated. But this state of affairs is not -necessarily permanent, nor is it a matter of principle. The -Party is not a class in the old sense of the word. It does not -aim at transmitting power to its own children, as such; and if -there were no other way of keeping the ablest people at the -top, it would be perfectly prepared to recruit an entire new -generation from the ranks of the proletariat. In the crucial -years, the fact that the Party was not a hereditary body did a -great deal to neutralize opposition. The older kind of -Socialist, who had been trained to fight against something -called 'class privilege' assumed that what is not hereditary -cannot be permanent. He did not see that the continuity of an -oligarchy need not be physical, nor did he pause to reflect -that hereditary aristocracies have always been shortlived, -whereas adoptive organizations such as the Catholic Church have -sometimes lasted for hundreds or thousands of years. The -essence of oligarchical rule is not father-to-son inheritance, -but the persistence of a certain world-view and a certain way -of life, imposed by the dead upon the living. A ruling group is -a ruling group so long as it can nominate its successors. The -Party is not concerned with perpetuating its blood but with -perpetuating itself. Who wields power is not important, -provided that the hierarchical structure remains always the -same.

-

- All the beliefs, habits, tastes, emotions, mental -attitudes that characterize our time are really designed to -sustain the mystique of the Party and prevent the true nature -of present-day society from being perceived. Physical -rebellion, or any preliminary move towards rebellion, is at -present not possible. From the proletarians nothing is to be -feared. Left to themselves, they will continue from generation -to generation and from century to century, working, breeding, -and dying, not only without any impulse to rebel, but without -the power of grasping that the world could be other than it is. -They could only become dangerous if the advance of industrial -technique made it necessary to educate them more highly; but, -since military and commercial rivalry are no longer important, -the level of popular education is actually declining. What -opinions the masses hold, or do not hold, is looked on as a -matter of indifference. They can be granted intellectual -liberty because they have no intellect. In a Party member, on -the other hand, not even the smallest deviation of opinion on -the most unimportant subject can be tolerated.

-

- A Party member lives from birth to death under the eye of -the Thought Police. Even when he is alone he can never be sure -that he is alone. Wherever he may be, asleep or awake, working -or resting, in his bath or in bed, he can be inspected without -warning and without knowing that he is being inspected. Nothing -that he does is indifferent. His friendships, his relaxations, -his behaviour towards his wife and children, the expression of -his face when he is alone, the words he mutters in sleep, even -the characteristic movements of his body, are all jealously -scrutinized. Not only any actual misdemeanour, but any -eccentricity, however small, any change of habits, any nervous -mannerism that could possibly be the symptom of an inner -struggle, is certain to be detected. He has no freedom of -choice in any direction whatever. On the other hand his actions -are not regulated by law or by any clearly formulated code of -behaviour. In Oceania there is no law. Thoughts and actions -which, when detected, mean certain death are not formally -forbidden, and the endless purges, arrests, tortures, -imprisonments, and vaporizations are not inflicted as -punishment for crimes which have actually been committed, but -are merely the wiping-out of persons who might perhaps commit a -crime at some time in the future. A Party member is required to -have not only the right opinions, but the right instincts. Many -of the beliefs and attitudes demanded of him are never plainly -stated, and could not be stated without laying bare the -contradictions inherent in Ingsoc. If he is a person naturally -orthodox (in Newspeak a goodthinker), he will in all -circumstances know, without taking thought, what is the true -belief or the desirable emotion. But in any case an elaborate -mental training, undergone in childhood and grouping itself -round the Newspeak words crimestop, blackwhite, and -doublethink, makes him unwilling and unable to think too -deeply on any subject whatever.

-

- A Party member is expected to have no private emotions and -no respites from enthusiasm. He is supposed to live in a -continuous frenzy of hatred of foreign enemies and internal -traitors, triumph over victories, and self-abasement before the -power and wisdom of the Party. The discontents produced by his -bare, unsatisfying life are deliberately turned outwards and -dissipated by such devices as the Two Minutes Hate, and the -speculations which might possibly induce a sceptical or -rebellious attitude are killed in advance by his early acquired -inner discipline. The first and simplest stage in the -discipline, which can be taught even to young children, is -called, in Newspeak, crimestop. Crimestop means the -faculty of stopping short, as though by instinct, at the -threshold of any dangerous thought. It includes the power of -not grasping analogies, of failing to perceive logical errors, -of misunderstanding the simplest arguments if they are inimical -to Ingsoc, and of being bored or repelled by any train of -thought which is capable of leading in a heretical direction. -Crimestop, in short, means protective stupidity. But -stupidity is not enough. On the contrary, orthodoxy in the full -sense demands a control over one's own mental processes as -complete as that of a contortionist over his body. Oceanic -society rests ultimately on the belief that Big Brother is -omnipotent and that the Party is infallible. But since in -reality Big Brother is not omnipotent and the party is not -infallible, there is need for an unwearying, moment-to-moment -flexibility in the treatment of facts. The keyword here is -blackwhite. Like so many Newspeak words, this word has -two mutually contradictory meanings. Applied to an opponent, it -means the habit of impudently claiming that black is white, in -contradiction of the plain facts. Applied to a Party member, it -means a loyal willingness to say that black is white when Party -discipline demands this. But it means also the ability to -believe that black is white, and more, to know -that black is white, and to forget that one has ever believed -the contrary. This demands a continuous alteration of the past, -made possible by the system of thought which really embraces -all the rest, and which is known in Newspeak as -doublethink.

-

- The alteration of the past is necessary for two reasons, -one of which is subsidiary and, so to speak, precautionary. The -subsidiary reason is that the Party member, like the -proletarian, tolerates present-day conditions partly because he -has no standards of comparison. He must be cut off from the -past, just as he must be cut off from foreign countries, -because it is necessary for him to believe that he is better -off than his ancestors and that the average level of material -comfort is constantly rising. But by far the more important -reason for the readjustment of the past is the need to -safeguard the infallibility of the Party. It is not merely that -speeches, statistics, and records of every kind must be -constantly brought up to date in order to show that the -predictions of the Party were in all cases right. It is also -that no change in doctrine or in political alignment can ever -be admitted. For to change one's mind, or even one's policy, is -a confession of weakness. If, for example, Eurasia or Eastasia -(whichever it may be) is the enemy today, then that country -must always have been the enemy. And if the facts say otherwise -then the facts must be altered. Thus history is continuously -rewritten. This day-to-day falsification of the past, carried -out by the Ministry of Truth, is as necessary to the stability -of the regime as the work of repression and espionage carried -out by the Ministry of Love.

-

- The mutability of the past is the central tenet of Ingsoc. -Past events, it is argued, have no objective existence, but -survive only in written records and in human memories. The past -is whatever the records and the memories agree upon. And since -the Party is in full control of all records and in equally full -control of the minds of its members, it follows that the past -is whatever the Party chooses to make it. It also follows that -though the past is alterable, it never has been altered in any -specific instance. For when it has been recreated in whatever -shape is needed at the moment, then this new version is -the past, and no different past can ever have existed. This -holds good even when, as often happens, the same event has to -be altered out of recognition several times in the course of a -year. At all times the Party is in possession of absolute -truth, and clearly the absolute can never have been different -from what it is now. It will be seen that the control of the -past depends above all on the training of memory. To make sure -that all written records agree with the orthodoxy of the moment -is merely a mechanical act. But it is also necessary to -remember that events happened in the desired manner. And -if it is necessary to rearrange one's memories or to tamper -with written records, then it is necessary to forget -that one has done so. The trick of doing this can be learned -like any other mental technique. It is learned by the -majority of Party members, and certainly by all who are -intelligent as well as orthodox. In Oldspeak it is called, -quite frankly, 'reality control'. In Newspeak it is called -doublethink, though doublethink comprises much -else as well.

-

- Doublethink means the power of holding two -contradictory beliefs in one's mind simultaneously, and -accepting both of them. The Party intellectual knows in which -direction his memories must be altered; he therefore knows that -he is playing tricks with reality; but by the exercise of -doublethink he also satisfies himself that reality is -not violated. The process has to be conscious, or it would not -be carried out with sufficient precision, but it also has to be -unconscious, or it would bring with it a feeling of falsity and -hence of guilt. Doublethink lies at the very heart of -Ingsoc, since the essential act of the Party is to use -conscious deception while retaining the firmness of purpose -that goes with complete honesty. To tell deliberate lies while -genuinely believing in them, to forget any fact that has become -inconvenient, and then, when it becomes necessary again, to -draw it back from oblivion for just so long as it is needed, to -deny the existence of objective reality and all the while to -take account of the reality which one denies -- all this is -indispensably necessary. Even in using the word -doublethink it is necessary to exercise -doublethink. For by using the word one admits that one -is tampering with reality; by a fresh act of doublethink -one erases this knowledge; and so on indefinitely, with the lie -always one leap ahead of the truth. Ultimately it is by means -of doublethink that the Party has been able -- and may, -for all we know, continue to be able for thousands of years -- -to arrest the course of history.

-

- All past oligarchies have fallen from power either because -they ossified or because they grew soft. Either they became -stupid and arrogant, failed to adjust themselves to changing -circumstances, and were overthrown; or they became liberal and -cowardly, made concessions when they should have used force, -and once again were overthrown. They fell, that is to say, -either through consciousness or through unconsciousness. It is -the achievement of the Party to have produced a system of -thought in which both conditions can exist simultaneously. And -upon no other intellectual basis could the dominion of the -Party be made permanent. If one is to rule, and to continue -ruling, one must be able to dislocate the sense of reality. For -the secret of rulership is to combine a belief in one's own -infallibility with the Power to learn from past mistakes.

-

- It need hardly be said that the subtlest practitioners of -doublethink are those who invented doublethink -and know that it is a vast system of mental cheating. In our -society, those who have the best knowledge of what is happening -are also those who are furthest from seeing the world as it is. -In general, the greater the understanding, the greater the -delusion; the more intelligent, the less sane. One clear -illustration of this is the fact that war hysteria increases in -intensity as one rises in the social scale. Those whose -attitude towards the war is most nearly rational are the -subject peoples of the disputed territories. To these people -the war is simply a continuous calamity which sweeps to and fro -over their bodies like a tidal wave. Which side is winning is a -matter of complete indifference to them. They are aware that a -change of overlordship means simply that they will be doing the -same work as before for new masters who treat them in the same -manner as the old ones. The slightly more favoured workers whom -we call 'the proles' are only intermittently conscious of the -war. When it is necessary they can be prodded into frenzies of -fear and hatred, but when left to themselves they are capable -of forgetting for long periods that the war is happening. It is -in the ranks of the Party, and above all of the Inner Party, -that the true war enthusiasm is found. World-conquest is -believed in most firmly by those who know it to be impossible. -This peculiar linking-together of opposites -- knowledge with -ignorance, cynicism with fanaticism-is one of the chief -distinguishing marks of Oceanic society. The official ideology -abounds with contradictions even when there is no practical -reason for them. Thus, the Party rejects and vilifies every -principle for which the Socialist movement originally stood, -and it chooses to do this in the name of Socialism. It preaches -a contempt for the working class unexampled for centuries past, -and it dresses its members in a uniform which was at one time -peculiar to manual workers and was adopted for that reason. It -systematically undermines the solidarity of the family, and it -calls its leader by a name which is a direct appeal to the -sentiment of family loyalty. Even the names of the four -Ministries by which we are governed exhibit a sort of impudence -in their deliberate reversal of the facts. The Ministry of -Peace concerns itself with war, the Ministry of Truth with -lies, the Ministry of Love with torture and the Ministry of -Plenty with starvation. These contradictions are not -accidental, nor do they result from ordinary hypocrisy; they -are deliberate exercises in doublethink. For it is only -by reconciling contradictions that power can be retained -indefinitely. In no other way could the ancient cycle be -broken. If human equality is to be for ever averted -- if the -High, as we have called them, are to keep their places -permanently -- then the prevailing mental condition must be -controlled insanity.

-

- But there is one question which until this moment we have -almost ignored. It is; why should human equality be -averted? Supposing that the mechanics of the process have been -rightly described, what is the motive for this huge, accurately -planned effort to freeze history at a particular moment of -time?

-

- Here we reach the central secret. As we have seen. the -mystique of the Party, and above all of the Inner Party, -depends upon doublethink. But deeper than this lies the -original motive, the never-questioned instinct that first led -to the seizure of power and brought doublethink, the -Thought Police, continuous warfare, and all the other necessary -paraphernalia into existence afterwards. This motive really -consists ... Winston became aware of silence, as one becomes -aware of a new sound. It seemed to him that Julia had been very -still for some time past. She was lying on her side, naked from -the waist upwards, with her cheek pillowed on her hand and one -dark lock tumbling across her eyes. Her breast rose and fell -slowly and regularly.

-

- 'Julia.

-

- No answer.

-

- 'Julia, are you awake?'

-

- No answer. She was asleep. He shut the book, put it -carefully on the floor, lay down, and pulled the coverlet over -both of them.

-

- He had still, he reflected, not learned the ultimate -secret. He understood how; he did not understand -why. Chapter I, like Chapter III, had not actually told -him anything that he did not know, it had merely systematized -the knowledge that he possessed already. But after reading it -he knew better than before that he was not mad. Being in a -minority, even a minority of one, did not make you mad. There -was truth and there was untruth, and if you clung to the truth -even against the whole world, you were not mad. A yellow beam -from the sinking sun slanted in through the window and fell -across the pillow. He shut his eyes. The sun on his face and -the girl's smooth body touching his own gave him a strong, -sleepy, confident feeling. He was safe, everything was all -right. He fell asleep murmuring 'Sanity is not statistical,' -with the feeling that this remark contained in it a profound -wisdom. When he woke it was with the sensation of having slept -for a long time, but a glance at the old-fashioned clock told -him that it was only twenty-thirty. He lay dozing for a while; -then the usual deep-lunged singing struck up from the yard -below;

-

- 'It was only an 'opeless fancy,
- It passed like an Ipril dye,
- But a look an' a word an' the dreams they stirred
- They 'ave stolen my 'eart awye!'

-

- The driveling song seemed to have kept its popularity. You -still heard it all over the place. It had outlived the Hate -Song. Julia woke at the sound, stretched herself luxuriously, -and got out of bed.

-

- 'I'm hungry,' she said. 'Let's make some more coffee. -Damn! The stove's gone out and the water's cold.' She picked -the stove up and shook it. 'There's no oil in it.'

-

- 'We can get some from old Charrington, I expect.'

-

- 'The funny thing is I made sure it was full. I'm going to -put my clothes on,' she added. 'It seems to have got colder.'

-

- Winston also got up and dressed himself. The indefatigable -voice sang on:

-

- 'They sye that time 'eals all things,
- They sye you can always forget;
- But the smiles an' the tears acrorss the years
- They twist my 'eart-strings yet!'

-

- - As he fastened the belt of his overalls he strolled across -to the window. The sun must have gone down behind the houses; -it was not shining into the yard any longer. The flagstones -were wet as though they had just been washed, and he had the -feeling that the sky had been washed too, so fresh and pale was -the blue between the chimney-pots. Tirelessly the woman marched -to and fro, corking and uncorking herself, singing and falling -silent, and pegging out more diapers, and more and yet more. He -wondered whether she took in washing for a living or was merely -the slave of twenty or thirty grandchildren. Julia had come -across to his side; together they gazed down with a sort of -fascination at the sturdy figure below. As he looked at the -woman in her characteristic attitude, her thick arms reaching -up for the line, her powerful mare-like buttocks protruded, it -struck him for the first time that she was beautiful. It had -never before occurred to him that the body of a woman of fifty, -blown up to monstrous dimensions by childbearing, then -hardened, roughened by work till it was coarse in the grain -like an over-ripe turnip, could be beautiful. But it was so, -and after all, he thought, why not? The solid, contourless -body, like a block of granite, and the rasping red skin, bore -the same relation to the body of a girl as the rose-hip to the -rose. Why should the fruit be held inferior to the flower?

-

- 'She's beautiful,' he murmured.

-

- 'She's a metre across the hips, easily,' said Julia.

-

- 'That is her style of beauty,' said Winston.

-

- He held Julia's supple waist easily encircled by his arm. -From the hip to the knee her flank was against his. Out of -their bodies no child would ever come. That was the one thing -they could never do. Only by word of mouth, from mind to mind, -could they pass on the secret. The woman down there had no -mind, she had only strong arms, a warm heart, and a fertile -belly. He wondered how many children she had given birth to. It -might easily be fifteen. She had had her momentary flowering, a -year, perhaps, of wild-rose beauty and then she had suddenly -swollen like a fertilized fruit and grown hard and red and -coarse, and then her life had been laundering, scrubbing, -darning, cooking, sweeping, polishing, mending, scrubbing, -laundering, first for children, then for grandchildren, over -thirty unbroken years. At the end of it she was still singing. -The mystical reverence that he felt for her was somehow mixed -up with the aspect of the pale, cloudless sky, stretching away -behind the chimney-pots into interminable distance. It was -curious to think that the sky was the same for everybody, in -Eurasia or Eastasia as well as here. And the people under the -sky were also very much the same -- everywhere, all over the -world, hundreds of thousands of millions of people just like -this, people ignorant of one another's existence, held apart by -walls of hatred and lies, and yet almost exactly the same -- -people who had never learned to think but who were storing up -in their hearts and bellies and muscles the power that would -one day overturn the world. If there was hope, it lay in the -proles! Without having read to the end of the book, he -knew that that must be Goldstein's final message. The future -belonged to the proles. And could he be sure that when their -time came the world they constructed would not be just as alien -to him, Winston Smith, as the world of the Party? Yes, because -at the least it would be a world of sanity. Where there is -equality there can be sanity. Sooner or later it would happen, -strength would change into consciousness. The proles were -immortal, you could not doubt it when you looked at that -valiant figure in the yard. In the end their awakening would -come. And until that happened, though it might be a thousand -years, they would stay alive against all the odds, like birds, -passing on from body to body the vitality which the Party did -not share and could not kill.

-

- 'Do you remember,' he said, 'the thrush that sang to us, -that first day, at the edge of the wood?'

-

- 'He wasn't singing to us,' said Julia. 'He was singing to -please himself. Not even that. He was just singing.'

-

- The birds sang, the proles sang. the Party did not sing. -All round the world, in London and New York, in Africa and -Brazil, and in the mysterious, forbidden lands beyond the -frontiers, in the streets of Paris and Berlin, in the villages -of the endless Russian plain, in the bazaars of China and Japan --- everywhere stood the same solid unconquerable figure, made -monstrous by work and childbearing, toiling from birth to death -and still singing. Out of those mighty loins a race of -conscious beings must one day come. You were the dead, theirs -was the future. But you could share in that future if you kept -alive the mind as they kept alive the body, and passed on the -secret doctrine that two plus two make four.

-

- 'We are the dead,' he said.

-

- 'We are the dead,' echoed Julia dutifully.

-

- 'You are the dead,' said an iron voice behind them.

-

- They sprang apart. Winston's entrails seemed to have -turned into ice. He could see the white all round the irises of -Julia's eyes. Her face had turned a milky yellow. The smear of -rouge that was still on each cheekbone stood out sharply, -almost as though unconnected with the skin beneath.

-

- 'You are the dead,' repeated the iron voice.

-

- 'It was behind the picture,' breathed Julia.

-

- 'It was behind the picture,' said the voice. 'Remain -exactly where you are. Make no movement until you are ordered.'

-

- It was starting, it was starting at last! They could do -nothing except stand gazing into one another's eyes. To run for -life, to get out of the house before it was too late -- no such -thought occurred to them. Unthinkable to disobey the iron voice -from the wall. There was a snap as though a catch had been -turned back, and a crash of breaking glass. The picture had -fallen to the floor uncovering the telescreen behind it.

-

- 'Now they can see us,' said Julia.

-

- ' Now we can see you,' said the voice. ' Stand out in the -middle of the room. Stand back to back. Clasp your hands behind -your heads. Do not touch one another.'

-

- They were not touching, but it seemed to him that he could -feel Julia's body shaking. Or perhaps it was merely the shaking -of his own. He could just stop his teeth from chattering, but -his knees were beyond his control. There was a sound of -trampling boots below, inside the house and outside. The yard -seemed to be full of men. Something was being dragged across -the stones. The woman's singing had stopped abruptly. There was -a long, rolling clang, as though the washtub had been flung -across the yard, and then a confusion of angry shouts which -ended in a yell of pain.

-

- 'The house is surrounded,' said Winston.

-

- 'The house is surrounded,' said the voice.

-

- He heard Julia snap her teeth together. 'I suppose we may -as well say good-bye,' she said.

-

- 'You may as well say good-bye,' said the voice. And then -another quite different voice, a thin, cultivated voice which -Winston had the impression of having heard before, struck in; -'And by the way, while we are on the subject, "Here comes a -candle to light you to bed, here comes a chopper to chop off -your head"!'

-

- Something crashed on to the bed behind Winston's back. The -head of a ladder had been thrust through the window and had -burst in the frame. Someone was climbing through the window. -There was a stampede of boots up the stairs. The room was full -of solid men in black uniforms, with iron-shod boots on their -feet and truncheons in their hands.

-

- Winston was not trembling any longer. Even his eyes he -barely moved. One thing alone mattered; to keep still, to keep -still and not give them an excuse to hit you! A man with a -smooth prize-fighter's jowl in which the mouth was only a slit -paused opposite him balancing his truncheon meditatively -between thumb and forefinger. Winston met his eyes. The feeling -of nakedness, with one's hands behind one's head and one's face -and body all exposed, was almost unbearable. The man protruded -the tip of a white tongue, licked the place where his lips -should have been, and then passed on. There was another crash. -Someone had picked up the glass paperweight from the table and -smashed it to pieces on the hearth-stone.

-

- The fragment of coral, a tiny crinkle of pink like a sugar -rosebud from a cake, rolled across the mat. How small, thought -Winston, how small it always was! There was a gasp and a thump -behind him, and he received a violent kick on the ankle which -nearly flung him off his balance. One of the men had smashed -his fist into Julia's solar plexus, doubling her up like a -pocket ruler. She was thrashing about on the floor, fighting -for breath. Winston dared not turn his head even by a -millimetre, but sometimes her livid, gasping face came within -the angle of his vision. Even in his terror it was as though he -could feel the pain in his own body, the deadly pain which -nevertheless was less urgent than the struggle to get back her -breath. He knew what it was like; the terrible, agonizing pain -which was there all the while but could not be suffered yet, -because before all else it was necessary to be able to breathe. -Then two of the men hoisted her up by knees and shoulders, and -carried her out of the room like a sack. Winston had a glimpse -of her face, upside down, yellow and contorted, with the eyes -shut, and still with a smear of rouge on either cheek; and that -was the last he saw of her.

-

- He stood dead still. No one had hit him yet. Thoughts -which came of their own accord but seemed totally uninteresting -began to flit through his mind. He wondered whether they had -got Mr Charrington. He wondered what they had done to the woman -in the yard. He noticed that he badly wanted to urinate, and -felt a faint surprise, because he had done so only two or three -hours ago. He noticed that the clock on the mantelpiece said -nine, meaning twenty-one. But the light seemed too strong. -Would not the light be fading at twenty-one hours on an August -evening? He wondered whether after all he and Julia had -mistaken the time -- had slept the clock round and thought it -was twenty-thirty when really it was nought eight-thirty on the -following morning. But he did not pursue the thought further. -It was not interesting.

-

- There ws another, lighter step in the passage. Mr -Charrington came into the room. The demeanour of the -black-uniformed men suddenly became more subdued. Something had also -changed in Mr Charrington's appearance. His eye fell on the -fragments of the glass paperweight.

-

- 'Pick up those pieces,' he said sharply.

-

- A man stooped to obey. The cockney accent had disappeared; -Winston suddenly realized whose voice it was that he had heard -a few moments ago on the telescreen. Mr Charrington was still -wearing his old velvet jacket, but his hair, which had been -almost white, had turned black. Also he was not wearing his -spectacles. He gave Winston a single sharp glance, as though -verifying his identity, and then paid no more attention to him. -He was still recognizable, but he was not the same person any -longer. His body had straightened, and seemed to have grown -bigger. His face had undergone only tiny changes that had -nevertheless worked a complete transformation. The black -eyebrows were less bushy, the wrinkles were gone, the whole -lines of the face seemed to have altered; even the nose seemed -shorter. It was the alert, cold face of a man of about -five-and-thirty. It occurred to Winston that for the first time -in his life he was looking, with knowledge, at a member of the -Thought Police.

-

XVIII

-

- He did not know where he was. Presumably he was in the -Ministry of Love, but there was no way of making certain. He -was in a high-ceilinged windowless cell with walls of -glittering white porcelain. Concealed lamps flooded it with -cold light, and there was a low, steady humming sound which he -supposed had something to do with the air supply. A bench, or -shelf, just wide enough to sit on ran round the wall, broken -only by the door and, at the end opposite the door, a lavatory -pan with no wooden seat. There were four telescreens, one in -each wall.

-

- There was a dull aching in his belly. It had been there -ever since they had bundled him into the closed van and driven -him away. But he was also hungry, with a gnawing, unwholesome -kind of hunger. It might be twenty-four hours since he had -eaten, it might be thirty-six. He still did not know, probably -never would know, whether it had been morning or evening when -they arrested him. Since he was arrested he had not been fed.

-

- He sat as still as he could on the narrow bench, with his -hands crossed on his knee. He had already learned to sit still. -If you made unexpected movements they yelled at you from the -telescreen. But the craving for food was growing upon him. What -he longed for above all was a piece of bread. He had an idea -that there were a few breadcrumbs in the pocket of his -overalls. It was even possible -- he thought this because from -time to time something seemed to tickle his leg -- that there -might be a sizeable bit of crust there. In the end the -temptation to find out overcame his fear; he slipped a hand -into his pocket.

-

- 'Smith!' yelled a voice from the telescreen. '6079 Smith -W.! Hands out of pockets in the cells!'

-

- He sat still again, his hands crossed on his knee. Before -being brought here he had been taken to another place which -must have been an ordinary prison or a temporary lock-up used -by the patrols. He did not know how long he had been there; -some hours at any rate; with no clocks and no daylight it was -hard to gauge the time. It was a noisy, evil-smelling place. -They had put him into a cell similar to the one he was now in, -but filthily dirty and at all times crowded by ten or fifteen -people. The majority of them were common criminals, but there -were a few political prisoners among them. He had sat silent -against the wall, jostled by dirty bodies, too preoccupied by -fear and the pain in his belly to take much interest in his -surroundings, but still noticing the astonishing difference in -demeanour between the Party prisoners and the others. The Party -prisoners were always silent and terrified, but the ordinary -criminals seemed to care nothing for anybody. They yelled -insults at the guards, fought back fiercely when their -belongings were impounded, wrote obscene words on the floor, -ate smuggled food which they produced from mysterious -hiding-places in their clothes, and even shouted down the -telescreen when it tried to restore order. On the other hand -some of them seemed to be on good terms with the guards, called -them by nicknames, and tried to wheedle cigarettes through the -spyhole in the door. The guards, too, treated the common -criminals with a certain forbearance, even when they had to -handle them roughly. There was much talk about the -forced-labour camps to which most of the prisoners expected to -be sent. It was 'all right' in the camps, he gathered, so long -as you had good contacts and knew the ropes. There was bribery, -favouritism, and racketeering of every kind, there was -homosexuality and prostitution, there was even illicit alcohol -distilled from potatoes. The positions of trust were given only -to the common criminals, especially the gangsters and the -murderers, who formed a sort of aristocracy. All the dirty jobs -were done by the politicals.

-

- There was a constant come-and-go of prisoners of every -description: drug-peddlers, thieves, bandits, black-marketeers, -drunks, prostitutes. Some of the drunks were so violent -that the other prisoners had to combine to suppress -them. An enormous wreck of a woman, aged about sixty, with -great tumbling breasts and thick coils of white hair which had -come down in her struggles, was carried in, kicking and -shouting, by four guards, who had hold of her one at each -corner. They wrenched off the boots with which she had been -trying to kick them, and dumped her down across Winston's lap, -almost breaking his thigh-bones. The woman hoisted herself -upright and followed them out with a yell of 'F-- bastards!' -Then, noticing that she was sitting on something uneven, she -slid off Winston's knees on to the bench.

-

- 'Beg pardon, dearie,' she said. 'I wouldn't 'a sat on you, -only the buggers put me there. They dono 'ow to treat a lady, -do they?' She paused, patted her breast, and belched. 'Pardon,' -she said, 'I ain't meself, quite.'

-

- She leant forward and vomited copiously on the floor.

-

- 'Thass better,' she said, leaning back with closed eyes. -'Never keep it down, thass what I say. Get it up while it's -fresh on your stomach, like.'

-

- She revived, turned to have another look at Winston and -seemed immediately to take a fancy to him. She put a vast arm -round his shoulder and drew him towards her, breathing beer and -vomit into his face.

-

- 'Wass your name, dearie?' she said.

-

- 'Smith,' said Winston.

-

- 'Smith?' said the woman. 'Thass funny. My name's Smith -too. Why,' she added sentimentally, 'I might be your mother!'

-

- She might, thought Winston, be his mother. She was about -the right age and physique, and it was probable that people -changed somewhat after twenty years in a forced-labour camp.

-

- No one else had spoken to him. To a surprising extent the -ordinary criminals ignored the Party prisoners. 'The polits,' -they called them, with a sort of uninterested contempt. The -Party prisoners seemed terrified of speaking to anybody, and -above all of speaking to one another. Only once, when two Party -members, both women, were pressed close together on the bench, -he overheard amid the din of voices a few hurriedly-whispered -words; and in particular a reference to something called 'room -one-oh-one', which he did not understand.

-

- It might be two or three hours ago that they had brought -him here. The dull pain in his belly never went away, but -sometimes it grew better and sometimes worse, and his thoughts -expanded or contracted accordingly. When it grew worse he -thought only of the pain itself, and of his desire for food. -When it grew better, panic took hold of him. There were moments -when he foresaw the things that would happen to him with such -actuality that his heart galloped and his breath stopped. He -felt the smash of truncheons on his elbows and iron-shod boots -on his shins; he saw himself grovelling on the floor, screaming -for mercy through broken teeth. He hardly thought of Julia. He -could not fix his mind on her. He loved her and would not -betray her; but that was only a fact, known as he knew the -rules of arithmetic. He felt no love for her, and he hardly -even wondered what was happening to her. He thought oftener of -O'Brien, with a flickering hope. O'Brien might know that he had -been arrested. The Brotherhood, he had said, never tried to -save its members. But there was the razor blade; they would -send the razor blade if they could. There would be perhaps five -seconds before the guard could rush into the cell. The blade -would bite into him with a sort of burning coldness, and even -the fingers that held it would be cut to the bone. Everything -came back to his sick body, which shrank trembling from the -smallest pain. He was not certain that he would use the razor -blade even if he got the chance. It was more natural to exist -from moment to moment, accepting another ten minutes' life even -with the certainty that there was torture at the end of it.

-

- Sometimes he tried to calculate the number of porcelain -bricks in the walls of the cell. It should have been easy, but -he always lost count at some point or another. More often he -wondered where he was, and what time of day it was. At one -moment he felt certain that it was broad daylight outside, and -at the next equally certain that it was pitch darkness. In this -place, he knew instinctively, the lights would never be turned -out. It was the place with no darkness: he saw now why O'Brien -had seemed to recognize the allusion. In the Ministry of Love -there were no windows. His cell might be at the heart of the -building or against its outer wall; it might be ten floors -below ground, or thirty above it. He moved himself mentally -from place to place, and tried to determine by the feeling of -his body whether he was perched high in the air or buried deep -underground.

-

- There was a sound of marching boots outside. The steel -door opened with a clang. A young officer, a trim -black-uniformed figure who seemed to glitter all over with polished -leather, and whose pale, straight-featured face was like a wax -mask, stepped smartly through the doorway. He motioned to the -guards outside to bring in the prisoner they were leading. The -poet Ampleforth shambled into the cell. The door clanged shut -again.

-

- Ampleforth made one or two uncertain movements from side -to side, as though having some idea that there was another door -to go out of, and then began to wander up and down the cell. He -had not yet noticed Winston's presence. His troubled eyes were -gazing at the wall about a metre above the level of Winston's -head. He was shoeless; large, dirty toes were sticking out of -the holes in his socks. He was also several days away from a -shave. A scrubby beard covered his face to the cheekbones, -giving him an air of ruffianism that went oddly with his large -weak frame and nervous movements.

-

- Winston roused hirnself a little from his lethargy. He -must speak to Ampleforth, and risk the yell from the -telescreen. It was even conceivable that Ampleforth was the -bearer of the razor blade.

-

- 'Ampleforth,' he said.

-

- There was no yell from the telescreen. Ampleforth paused, -mildly startled. His eyes focused themselves slowly on Winston.

-

- 'Ah, Smith!' he said. 'You too!'

-

- 'What are you in for?'

-

- 'To tell you the truth -- ' He sat down awkwardly on the -bench opposite Winston. 'There is only one offence, is there -not?' he said.

-

- 'And have you committed it?'

-

- 'Apparently I have.'

-

- He put a hand to his forehead and pressed his temples for -a moment, as though trying to remember something.

-

- 'These things happen,' he began vaguely. 'I have been able -to recall one instance -- a possible instance. It was an -indiscretion, undoubtedly. We were producing a definitive -edition of the poems of Kipling. I allowed the word "God" to -remain at the end of a line. I could not help it!' he added -almost indignantly, raising his face to look at Winston. 'It -was impossible to change the line. The rhyme was "rod". Do you -realize that there are only twelve rhymes to "rod" in the -entire language? For days I had racked my brains. There -was no other rhyme.'

-

- The expression on his face changed. The annoyance passed -out of it and for a moment he looked almost pleased. A sort of -intellectual warmth, the joy of the pedant who has found out -some useless fact, shone through the dirt and scrubby hair.

-

- 'Has it ever occurred to you,' he said, 'that the whole -history of English poetry has been determined by the fact that -the English language lacks rhymes?'

-

- No, that particular thought had never occurred to Winston. -Nor, in the circumstances, did it strike him as very important -or interesting.

-

- 'Do you know what time of day it is?' he said.

-

- Ampleforth looked startled again. 'I had hardly thought -about it. They arrested me -- it could be two days ago -- -perhaps three.' His eyes flitted round the walls, as though he -half expected to find a window somewhere. 'There is no -difference between night and day in this place. I do not see -how one can calculate the time.'

-

- They talked desultorily for some minutes, then, without -apparent reason, a yell from the telescreen bade them be -silent. Winston sat quietly, his hands crossed. Ampleforth, too -large to sit in comfort on the narrow bench, fidgeted from side -to side, clasping his lank hands first round one knee, then -round the other. The telescreen barked at him to keep still. -Time passed. Twenty minutes, an hour -- it was difficult to -judge. Once more there was a sound of boots outside. Winston's -entrails contracted. Soon, very soon, perhaps in five minutes, -perhaps now, the tramp of boots would mean that his own turn -had come.

-

- The door opened. The cold-faced young officer stepped into -the cell. With a brief movement of the hand he indicated -Ampleforth.

-

- 'Room 101,' he said.

-

- Ampleforth marched clumsily out between the guards, his -face vaguely perturbed, but uncomprehending.

-

- What seemed like a long time passed. The pain in Winston's -belly had revived. His mind sagged round and round on the same -trick, like a ball falling again and again into the same series -of slots. He had only six thoughts. The pain in his belly; a -piece of bread; the blood and the screaming; O'Brien ; Julia; -the razor blade. There was another spasm in his entrails, the -heavy boots were approaching. As the door opened, the wave of -air that it created brought in a powerful smell of cold sweat. -Parsons walked into the cell. He was wearing khaki shorts and a -sports-shirt.

-

- This time Winston was startled into self-forgetfulness.

-

- 'You here!' he said.

-

- Parsons gave Winston a glance in which there was neither -interest nor surprise, but only misery. He began walking -jerkily up and down, evidently unable to keep still. Each time -he straightened his pudgy knees it was apparent that they were -trembling. His eyes had a wide-open, staring look, as though he -could not prevent himself from gazing at something in the -middle distance.

-

- 'What are you in for?' said Winston.

-

- 'Thoughtcrime!' said Parsons, almost blubbering. The tone -of his voice implied at once a complete admission of his guilt -and a sort of incredulous horror that such a word could be -applied to himself. He paused opposite Winston and began -eagerly appealing to him: 'You don't think they'll shoot me, do -you, old chap? They don't shoot you if you haven't actually -done anything -- only thoughts, which you can't help? I know -they give you a fair hearing. Oh, I trust them for that! -They'll know my record, won't they? You know what kind of chap -I was. Not a bad chap in my way. Not brainy, of course, but -keen. I tried to do my best for the Party, didn't I? I'll get -off with five years, don't you think? Or even ten years? A chap -like me could make himself pretty useful in a labour-camp. They -wouldn't shoot me for going off the rails just once?'

-

- 'Are you guilty?' said Winston.

-

- 'Of course I'm guilty!' cried Parsons with a servile -glance at the telescreen. 'You don't think the Party would -arrest an innocent man, do you?' His frog-like face grew -calmer, and even took on a slightly sanctimonious expression. -'Thoughtcrime is a dreadful thing, old man,' he said -sententiously. 'It's insidious. It can get hold of you without -your even knowing it. Do you know how it got hold of me? In my -sleep! Yes, that's a fact. There I was, working away, trying to -do my bit -- never knew I had any bad stuff in my mind at all. -And then I started talking in my sleep. Do you know what they -heard me saying?'

-

- He sank his voice, like someone who is obliged for medical -reasons to utter an obscenity.

-

- "Down with Big Brother!" Yes, I said that! Said it over -and over again, it seems. Between you and me, old man, I'm glad -they got me before it went any further. Do you know what I'm -going to say to them when I go up before the tribunal? "Thank -you," I'm going to say, "thank you for saving me before it was -too late."

-

- 'Who denounced you?' said Winston.

-

- 'It was my little daughter,' said Parsons with a sort of -doleful pride. 'She listened at the keyhole. Heard what I was -saying, and nipped off to the patrols the very next day. Pretty -smart for a nipper of seven, eh? I don't bear her any grudge -for it. In fact I'm proud of her. It shows I brought her up in -the right spirit, anyway.'

-

- He made a few more jerky movements up and down, several -times, casting a longing glance at the lavatory pan. Then he -suddenly ripped down his shorts. - 'Excuse me, old man,' he said. 'I can't help it. It's the -waiting.'

-

- He plumped his large posterior into the lavatory pan. -Winston covered his face with his hands.

-

- 'Smith!' yelled the voice from the telescreen. '6079 Smith -W! Uncover your face. No faces covered in the cells.'

-

- Winston uncovered his face. Parsons used the lavatory, -loudly and abundantly. It then turned out that the plug was -defective and the cell stank abominably for hours afterwards.

-

- Parsons was removed. More prisoners came and went, -mysteriously. One, a woman, was consigned to 'Room 101', and, -Winston noticed, seemed to shrivel and turn a different colour -when she heard the words. A time came when, if it had been -morning when he was brought here, it would be afternoon; or if -it had been afternoon, then it would be midnight. There were -six prisoners in the cell, men and women. All sat very still. -Opposite Winston there sat a man with a chinless, toothy face -exactly like that of some large, harmless rodent. His fat, -mottled cheeks were so pouched at the bottom that it was -difficult not to believe that he had little stores of food -tucked away there. His pale-grey eyes flitted timorously from -face to face and turned quickly away again when he caught -anyone's eye.

-

- The door opened, and another prisoner was brought in whose -appearance sent a momentary chill through Winston. He was a -commonplace, mean-looking man who might have been an engineer -or technician of some kind. But what was startling was the -emaciation of his face. It was like a skull. Because of its -thinness the mouth and eyes looked disproportionately large, -and the eyes seemed filled with a murderous, unappeasable -hatred of somebody or something.

-

- The man sat down on the bench at a little distance from -Winston. Winston did not look at him again, but the tormented, -skull-like face was as vivid in his mind as though it had been -straight in front of his eyes. Suddenly he realized what was -the matter. The man was dying of starvation. The same thought -seemed to occur almost simultaneously to everyone in the cell. -There was a very faint stirring all the way round the bench. -The eyes of the chinless man kept flitting towards the -skull-faced man, then turning guiltily away, then being dragged -back by an irresistible attraction. Presently he began to -fidget on his seat. At last he stood up, waddled clumsily -across the cell, dug down into the pocket of his overalls, and, -with an abashed air, held out a grimy piece of bread to the -skull- faced man.

-

- There was a furious, deafening roar from the telescreen. -The chinless man jumped in his tracks. The skull-faced man had -quickly thrust his hands behind his back, as though -demonstrating to all the world that he refused the gift.

-

- 'Bumstead!' roared the voice. '2713 Bumstead J.! Let fall -that piece of bread!'

-

- The chinless man dropped the piece of bread on the floor.

-

- 'Remain standing where you are,' said the voice. 'Face the -door. Make no movement.'

-

- The chinless man obeyed. His large pouchy cheeks were -quivering uncontrollably. The door clanged open. As the young -officer entered and stepped aside, there emerged from behind -him a short stumpy guard with enormous arms and shoulders. He -took his stand opposite the chinless man, and then, at a signal -from the officer, let free a frightful blow, with all the -weight of his body behind it, full in the chinless man's mouth. -The force of it seemed almost to knock him clear of the floor. -His body was flung across the cell and fetched up against the -base of the lavatory seat. For a moment he lay as though -stunned, with dark blood oozing from his mouth and nose. A very -faint whimpering or squeaking, which seemed unconscious, came -out of him. Then he rolled over and raised himself unsteadily -on hands and knees. Amid a stream of blood and saliva, the two -halves of a dental plate fell out of his mouth.

-

- The prisoners sat very still, their hands crossed on their -knees. The chinless man climbed back into his place. Down one -side of his face the flesh was darkening. His mouth had swollen -into a shapeless cherry-coloured mass with a black hole in the -middle of it.

-

- - From time to time a little blood dripped on to the breast -of his overalls. His grey eyes still flitted from face to face, -more guiltily than ever, as though he were trying to discover -how much the others despised him for his humiliation.

-

- - The door opened. With a small gesture the officer -indicated the skull-faced man.

-

- 'Room 101,' he said.

-

- There was a gasp and a flurry at Winston's side. The man -had actually flung himself on his knees on the floor, with his -hand clasped together.

-

- 'Comrade! Officer!' he cried. 'You don't have to take me -to that place! Haven't I told you everything already? What else -is it you want to know? There's nothing I wouldn't confess, -nothing! Just tell me what it is and I'll confess straight off. -Write it down and I'll sign it -- anything! Not room 101!'

-

- 'Room 101,' said the officer.

-

- The man's face, already very pale, turned a colour Winston -would not have believed possible. It was definitely, -unmistakably, a shade of green.

-

- 'Do anything to me!' he yelled. 'You've been starving me -for weeks. Finish it off and let me die. Shoot me. Hang me. -Sentence me to twenty-five years. Is there somebody else you -want me to give away? Just say who it is and I'll tell you -anything you want. I don't care who it is or what you do to -them. I've got a wife and three children. The biggest of them -isn't six years old. You can take the whole lot of them and cut -their throats in front of my eyes, and I'll stand by and watch -it. But not Room 101!'

-

- 'Room 101,' said the officer.

-

- The man looked frantically round at the other prisoners, -as though with some idea that he could put another victim in -his own place. His eyes settled on the smashed face of the -chinless man. He flung out a lean arm.

-

- 'That's the one you ought to be taking, not me!' he -shouted. 'You didn't hear what he was saying after they bashed -his face. Give me a chance and I'll tell you every word of it. -He's the one that's against the Party, not me.' The -guards stepped forward. The man's voice rose to a shriek. 'You -didn't hear him!' he repeated. 'Something went wrong with the -telescreen. He's the one you want. Take him, not me!'

-

- The two sturdy guards had stooped to take him by the arms. -But just at this moment he flung himself across the floor of -the cell and grabbed one of the iron legs that supported the -bench. He had set up a wordless howling, like an animal. The -guards took hold of him to wrench him loose, but he clung on -with astonishing strength. For perhaps twenty seconds they were -hauling at him. The prisoners sat quiet, their hands crossed on -their knees, looking straight in front of them. The howling -stopped; the man had no breath left for anything except hanging -on. Then there was a different kind of cry. A kick from a -guard's boot had broken the fingers of one of his hands. They -dragged him to his feet.

-

- 'Room 101,' said the officer.

-

- The man was led out, walking unsteadily, with head sunken, -nursing his crushed hand, all the fight had gone out of him.

-

- A long time passed. If it had been midnight when the -skull-faced man was taken away, it was morning: if morning, it -was afternoon. Winston was alone, and had been alone for hours. -The pain of sitting on the narrow bench was such that often he -got up and walked about, unreproved by the telescreen. The -piece of bread still lay where the chinless man had dropped it. -At the beginning it needed a hard effort not to look at it, but -presently hunger gave way to thirst. His mouth was sticky and -evil-tasting. The humming sound and the unvarying white light -induced a sort of faintness, an empty feeling inside his head. -He would get up because the ache in his bones was no longer -bearable, and then would sit down again almost at once because -he was too dizzy to make sure of staying on his feet. Whenever -his physical sensations were a little under control the terror -returned. Sometimes with a fading hope he thought of O'Brien -and the razor blade. It was thinkable that the razor blade -might arrive concealed in his food, if he were ever fed. More -dimly he thought of Julia. Somewhere or other she was suffering -perhaps far worse than he. She might be screaming with pain at -this moment. He thought: 'If I could save Julia by doubling my -own pain, would I do it? Yes, I would.' But that was merely an -intellectual decision, taken because he knew that he ought to -take it. He did not feel it. In this place you could not feel -anything, except pain and foreknowledge of pain. Besides, was -it possible, when you were actually suffering it, to wish for -any reason that your own pain should increase? But that -question was not answerable yet.

-

- The boots were approaching again. The door opened. O'Brien -came in.

-

- Winston started to his feet. The shock of the sight had -driven all caution out of him. For the first time in many years -he forgot the presence of the telescreen.

-

- 'They've got you too!' he cried.

-

- 'They got me a long time ago,' said O'Brien with a mild, -almost regretful irony. He stepped aside. from behind him there -emerged a broad-chested guard with a long black truncheon in -his hand.

-

- 'You know him, Winston,' said O'Brien. 'Don't deceive -yourself. You did know it -- you have always known it.'

-

- Yes, he saw now, he had always known it. But there was no -time to think of that. All he had eyes for was the truncheon in -the guard's hand. It might fall anywhere; on the crown, on the -tip of the ear, on the upper arm, on the elbow-

-

- The elbow! He had slumped to his knees, almost paralysed, -clasping the stricken elbow with his other hand. Everything had -exploded into yellow light. Inconceivable, inconceivable that -one blow could cause such pain! The light cleared and he could -see the other two looking down at him. The guard was laughing -at his contortions. One question at any rate was answered. -Never, for any reason on earth, could you wish for an increase -of pain. Of pain you could wish only one thing: that it should -stop. Nothing in the world was so bad as physical pain. In the -face of pain there are no heroes, no heroes, he thought over -and over as he writhed on the floor, clutching uselessly at his -disabled left arm.

-

XIX

-

- He was lying on something that felt like a camp bed, -except that it was higher off the ground and that he was fixed -down in some way so that he could not move. Light that seemed -stronger than usual was falling on his face. O'Brien was -standing at his side, looking down at him intently. At the -other side of him stood a man in a white coat, holding a -hypodermic syringe.

-

- Even after his eyes were open he took in his surroundings -only gradually. He had the impression of swimming up into this -room from some quite different world, a sort of underwater -world far beneath it. How long he had been down there he did -not know. Since the moment when they arrested him he had not -seen darkness or daylight. Besides, his memories were not -continuous. There had been times when consciousness, even the -sort of consciousness that one has in sleep, had stopped dead -and started again after a blank interval. But whether the -intervals were of days or weeks or only seconds, there was no -way of knowing.

-

- With that first blow on the elbow the nightmare had -started. Later he was to realize that all that then happened -was merely a preliminary, a routine interrogation to which -nearly all prisoners were subjected. There was a long range of -crimes -- espionage, sabotage, and the like -- to which -everyone had to confess as a matter of course. The confession -was a formality, though the torture was real. How many times he -had been beaten, how long the beatings had continued, he could -not remember. Always there were five or six men in black -uniforms at him simultaneously. Sometimes it was fists, -sometimes it was truncheons, sometimes it was steel rods, -sometimes it was boots. There were times when he rolled about -the floor, as shameless as an animal, writhing his body this -way and that in an endless, hopeless effort to dodge the kicks, -and simply inviting more and yet more kicks, in his ribs, in -his belly, on his elbows, on his shins, in his groin, in his -testicles, on the bone at the base of his spine. There were -times when it went on and on until the cruel, wicked, -unforgivable thing seemed to him not that the guards continued -to beat him but that he could not force hirnself into losing -consciousness. There were times when his nerve so forsook him -that he began shouting for mercy even before the beating began, -when the mere sight of a fist drawn back for a blow was enough -to make him pour forth a confession of real and imaginary -crimes. There were other times when he started out with the -resolve of confessing nothing, when every word had to be forced -out of him between gasps of pain, and there were times when he -feebly tried to compromise, when he said to himself: 'I will -confess, but not yet. I must hold out till the pain becomes -unbearable. Three more kicks, two more kicks, and then I will -tell them what they want.' Sometimes he was beaten till he -could hardly stand, then flung like a sack of potatoes on to -the stone floor of a cell, left to recuperate for a few hours, -and then taken out and beaten again. There were also longer -periods of recovery. He remembered them dimly, because they -were spent chiefly in sleep or stupor. He remembered a cell -with a plank bed, a sort of shelf sticking out from the wall, -and a tin wash-basin, and meals of hot soup and bread and -sometimes coffee. He remembered a surly barber arriving to -scrape his chin and crop his hair, and businesslike, -unsympathetic men in white coats feeling his pulse, tapping his -reflexes, turning up his eyelids, running harsh fingers over -him in search for broken bones, and shooting needles into his -arm to make him sleep.

-

- The beatings grew less frequent, and became mainly a -threat, a horror to which he could be sent back at any moment -when his answers were unsatisfactory. His questioners now were -not ruffians in black uniforms but Party intellectuals, little -rotund men with quick movements and flashing spectacles, who -worked on him in relays over periods which lasted -- he -thought, he could not be sure -- ten or twelve hours at a -stretch. These other questioners saw to it that he was in -constant slight pain, but it was not chiefly pain that they -relied on. They slapped his face, wrung his ears. pulled his -hair, made him stand on one leg, refused him leave to urinate, -shone glaring lights in his face until his eyes ran with water; -but the aim of this was simply to humiliate him and destroy his -power of arguing and reasoning. Their real weapon was the -merciless questioning that went on and on, hour after hour, -tripping him up, laying traps for him, twisting everything that -he said, convicting him at every step of lies and -self-contradiction until he began weeping as much from shame as -from nervous fatigue Sometimes he would weep half a dozen times -in a single session. Most of the time they screamed abuse at -him and threatened at every hesitation to deliver him over to -the guards again; but sometimes they would suddenly change -their tune, call him comrade, appeal to him in the name of -Ingsoc and Big Brother, and ask him sorrowfully whether even -now he had not enough loyalty to the Party left to make him -wish to undo the evil he had done. When his nerves were in rags -after hours of questioning, even this appeal could reduce him -to snivelling tears. In the end the nagging voices broke him -down more completely than the boots and fists of the guards. He -became simply a mouth that uttered, a hand that signed, -whatever was demanded of him. His sole concern was to find out -what they wanted him to confess, and then confess it quickly, -before the bullying started anew. He confessed to the -assassination of eminent Party members, the distribution of -seditious pamphlets, embezzlement of public funds, sale of -military secrets, sabotage of every kind. He confessed that he -had been a spy in the pay of the Eastasian government as far -back as 1968. He confessed that he was a religious believer, an -admirer of capitalism, and a sexual pervert. He confessed that -he had murdered his wife, although he knew, and his questioners -must have known, that his wife was still alive. He confessed -that for years he had been in personal touch with Goldstein and -had been a member of an underground organization which had -included almost every human being he had ever known. It was -easier to confess everything and implicate everybody. Besides, -in a sense it was all true. It was true that he had been the -enemy of the Party, and in the eyes of the Party there was no -distinction between the thought and the deed.

-

- There were also memories of another kind. They stood out -in his mind disconnectedly, like pictures with blackness all -round them.

-

- He was in a cell which might have been either dark or -light, because he could see nothing except a pair of eyes. Near -at hand some kind of instrument was ticking slowly and -regularly. The eyes grew larger and more luminous. Suddenly he -floated out of his seat, dived into the eyes, and was swallowed -up.

-

- He was strapped into a chair surrounded by dials, under -dazzling lights. A man in a white coat was reading the dials. -There was a tramp of heavy boots outside. The door clanged -open. The waxed-faced officer marched in, followed by two -guards.

-

- 'Room 101,' said the officer.

-

- The man in the white coat did not turn round. He did not -look at Winston either; he was looking only at the dials.

-

- He was rolling down a mighty corridor, a kilometre wide, -full of glorious, golden light, roaring with laughter and -shouting out confessions at the top of his voice. He was -confessing everything, even the things he had succeeded in -holding back under the torture. He was relating the entire -history of his life to an audience who knew it already. With -him were the guards, the other questioners, the men in white -coats, O'Brien, Julia, Mr Charrington, all rolling down the -corridor together and shouting with laughter. Some dreadful -thing which had lain embedded in the future had somehow been -skipped over and had not happened. Everything was all right, -there was no more pain, the last detail of his life was laid -bare, understood, forgiven.

-

- He was starting up from the plank bed in the -half-certainty that he had heard O'Brien's voice. All through his -interrogation, although he had never seen him, he had had the -feeling that O'Brien was at his elbow, just out of sight. It -was O'Brien who was directing everything. It was he who set the -guards on to Winston and who prevented them from killing him. -It was he who decided when Winston should scream with pain, -when he should have a respite, when he should be fed, when he -should sleep, when the drugs should be pumped into his arm. It -was he who asked the questions and suggested the answers. He -was the tormentor, he was the protector, he was the inquisitor, -he was the friend. And once -- Winston could not remember -whether it was in drugged sleep, or in normal sleep, or even in -a moment of wakefulness -- a voice murmured in his ear: 'Don't -worry, Winston; you are in my keeping. For seven years I have -watched over you. Now the turning-point has come. I shall save -you, I shall make you perfect.' He was not sure whether it was -O'Brien's voice; but it was the same voice that had said to -him, 'We shall meet in the place where there is no darkness,' -in that other dream, seven years ago.

-

- He did not remember any ending to his interrogation. There -was a period of blackness and then the cell, or room, in which -he now was had gradually materialized round him. He was almost -flat on his back, and unable to move. His body was held down at -every essential point. Even the back of his head was gripped in -some manner. O'Brien was looking down at him gravely and rather -sadly. His face, seen from below, looked coarse and worn, with -pouches under the eyes and tired lines from nose to chin. He -was older than Winston had thought him; he was perhaps -forty-eight or fifty. Under his hand there was a dial with a -lever on top and figures running round the face.

-

- 'I told you,' said O'Brien, 'that if we met again it would -be here.'

-

- 'Yes,' said Winston.

-

- Without any warning except a slight movement of O'Brien's -hand, a wave of pain flooded his body. It was a frightening -pain, because he could not see what was happening, and he had -the feeling that some mortal injury was being done to him. He -did not know whether the thing was really happening, or whether -the effect was electrically produced; but his body was being -wrenched out of shape, the joints were being slowly torn apart. -Although the pain had brought the sweat out on his forehead, -the worst of all was the fear that his backbone was about to -snap. He set his teeth and breathed hard through his nose, -trying to keep silent as long as possible.

-

- 'You are afraid,' said O'Brien, watching his face, 'that -in another moment something is going to break. Your especial -fear is that it will be your backbone. You have a vivid mental -picture of the vertebrae snapping apart and the spinal fluid -dripping out of them. That is what you are thinking, is it not, -Winston?'

-

- Winston did not answer. O'Brien drew back the lever on the -dial. The wave of pain receded almost as quickly as it had -come.

-

- 'That was forty,' said O'Brien. 'You can see that the -numbers on this dial run up to a hundred. Will you please -remember, throughout our conversation, that I have it in my -power to inflict pain on you at any moment and to whatever -degree I choose? If you tell me any lies, or attempt to -prevaricate in any way, or even fall below your usual level of -intelligence, you will cry out with pain, instantly. Do you -understand that?'

-

- 'Yes,' said Winston.

-

- O'Brien's manner became less severe. He resettled his -spectacles thoughtfully, and took a pace or two up and down. -When he spoke his voice was gentle and patient. He had the air -of a doctor, a teacher, even a priest, anxious to explain and -persuade rather than to punish.

-

- 'I am taking trouble with you, Winston,' he said, 'because -you are worth trouble. You know perfectly well what is the -matter with you. You have known it for years, though you have -fought against the knowledge. You are mentally deranged. You -suffer from a defective memory. You are unable to remember real -events and you persuade yourself that you remember other events -which never happened. Fortunately it is curable. You have never -cured yourself of it, because you did not choose to. There was -a small effort of the will that you were not ready to make. -Even now, I am well aware, you are clinging to your disease -under the impression that it is a virtue. Now we will take an -example. At this moment, which power is Oceania at war with?'

-

- 'When I was arrested, Oceania was at war with Eastasia.

-

- 'With Eastasia. Good. And Oceania has always been at war -with Eastasia, has it not?'

-

- Winston drew in his breath. He opened his mouth to speak -and then did not speak. He could not take his eyes away from -the dial.

-

- 'The truth, please, Winston. Your truth. Tell me -what you think you remember.'

-

- 'I remember that until only a week before I was arrested, -we were not at war with Eastasia at all. We were in alliance -with them. The war was against Eurasia. That had lasted for -four years. Before that -- '

-

- O'Brien stopped him with a movement of the hand.

-

- 'Another example,' he said. 'Some years ago you had a very -serious delusion indeed. You believed that three men, three -one-time Party members named Jones, Aaronson, and Rutherford men -who were executed for treachery and sabotage after making the -fullest possible confession -- were not guilty of the crimes -they were charged with. You believed that you had seen -unmistakable documentary evidence proving that their -confessions were false. There was a certain photograph about -which you had a hallucination. You believed that you had -actually held it in your hands. It was a photograph something -like this.'

-

- An oblong slip of newspaper had appeared between O'Brien's -fingers. For perhaps five seconds it was within the angle of -Winston's vision. It was a photograph, and there was no -question of its identity. It was the photograph. It was -another copy of the photograph of Jones, Aaronson, and -Rutherford at the party function in New York, which he had -chanced upon eleven years ago and promptly destroyed. For only -an instant it was before his eyes, then it was out of sight -again. But he had seen it, unquestionably he had seen it! He -made a desperate, agonizing effort to wrench the top half of -his body free. It was impossible to move so much as a -centimetre in any direction. For the moment he had even -forgotten the dial. All he wanted was to hold the photograph in -his fingers again, or at least to see it.

-

- 'It exists!' he cried.

-

- 'No,' said O'Brien.

-

- He stepped across the room. There was a memory hole in the -opposite wall. O'Brien lifted the grating. Unseen, the frail -slip of paper was whirling away on the current of warm air; it -was vanishing in a flash of flame. O'Brien turned away from the -wall.

-

- 'Ashes,' he said. 'Not even identifiable ashes. Dust. It -does not exist. It never existed.'

-

- 'But it did exist! It does exist! It exists in memory. I -remember it. You remember it.'

-

- 'I do not remember it,' said O'Brien.

-

- Winston's heart sank. That was doublethink. He had a -feeling of deadly helplessness. If he could have been certain -that O'Brien was lying, it would not have seemed to matter. But -it was perfectly possible that O'Brien had really forgotten the -photograph. And if so, then already he would have forgotten his -denial of remembering it, and forgotten the act of forgetting. -How could one be sure that it was simple trickery? Perhaps that -lunatic dislocation in the mind could really happen: that was -the thought that defeated him.

-

- O'Brien was looking down at him speculatively. More than -ever he had the air of a teacher taking pains with a wayward -but promising child.

-

- 'There is a Party slogan dealing with the control of the -past,' he said. 'Repeat it, if you please.'

-

- "Who controls the past controls the future: who controls -the present controls the past," repeated Winston obediently.

-

- "Who controls the present controls the past," said -O'Brien, nodding his head with slow approval. 'Is it your -opinion, Winston, that the past has real existence?'

-

- Again the feeling of helplessness descended upon Winston. -His eyes flitted towards the dial. He not only did not know -whether 'yes' or 'no' was the answer that would save him from -pain; he did not even know which answer he believed to be the -true one.

-

- O'Brien smiled faintly. 'You are no metaphysician, -Winston,' he said. 'Until this moment you had never considered -what is meant by existence. I will put it more precisely. Does -the past exist concretely, in space? Is there somewhere or -other a place, a world of solid objects, where the past is -still happening?'

-

- 'No.'

-

- 'Then where does the past exist, if at all?'

-

- 'In records. It is written down.'

-

- 'In records. And- ?'

-

- 'In the mind. In human memories.

-

- 'In memory. Very well, then. We, the Party, control all -records, and we control all memories. Then we control the past, -do we not?'

-

- 'But how can you stop people remembering things?' cried -Winston again momentarily forgetting the dial. 'It is -involuntary. It is outside oneself. How can you control memory? -You have not controlled mine!'

-

- O'Brien's manner grew stern again. He laid his hand on the -dial.

-

- 'On the contrary,' he said, 'you have not -controlled it. That is what has brought you here. You are here -because you have failed in humility, in self-discipline. You -would not make the act of submission which is the price of -sanity. You preferred to be a lunatic, a minority of one. Only -the disciplined mind can see reality, Winston. You believe that -reality is something objective, external, existing in its own -right. You also believe that the nature of reality is -self-evident. When you delude yourself into thinking that you -see something, you assume that everyone else sees the same -thing as you. But I tell you, Winston, that reality is not -external. Reality exists in the human mind, and nowhere else. -Not in the individual mind, which can make mistakes, and in any -case soon perishes: only in the mind of the Party, which is -collective and immortal. Whatever the Party holds to be the -truth, is truth. It is impossible to see reality except -by looking through the eyes of the Party. That is the fact that -you have got to relearn, Winston. It needs an act of -self-destruction, an effort of the will. You must humble yourself -before you can become sane.'

-

- He paused for a few moments, as though to allow what he -had been saying to sink in.

-

- 'Do you remember,' he went on, ' writing in your diary, -"Freedom is the freedom to say that two plus two make four"?'

-

- 'Yes,' said Winston.

-

- O'Brien held up his left hand, its back towards Winston, -with the thumb hidden and the four fingers extended.

-

- 'How many fingers am I holding up, Winston?

-

- 'Four.'

-

- 'And if the party says that it is not four but five -- -then how many?'

-

- 'Four.'

-

- The word ended in a gasp of pain. The needle of the dial -had shot up to fifty-five. The sweat had sprung out all over -Winston's body. The air tore into his lungs and issued again in -deep groans which even by clenching his teeth he could not -stop. O'Brien watched him, the four fingers still extended. He -drew back the lever. This time the pain was only slightly -eased.

-

- 'How many fingers, Winston?'

-

- 'Four.'

-

- The needle went up to sixty.

-

- 'How many fingers, Winston?'

-

- 'Four! Four! What else can I say? Four!'

-

- The needle must have risen again, but he did not look at -it. The heavy, stern face and the four fingers filled his -vision. The fingers stood up before his eyes like pillars, -enormous, blurry, and seeming to vibrate, but unmistakably -four.

-

- 'How many fingers, Winston?'

-

- 'Four! Stop it, stop it! How can you go on? Four! Four!'

-

- 'How many fingers, Winston?'

-

- 'Five! Five! Five!'

-

- 'No, Winston, that is no use. You are lying. You still -think there are four. How many fingers, please?'

-

- 'Four! five! Four! Anything you like. Only stop it, stop -the pain!

-

- Abruptly he was sitting up with O'Brien's arm round his -shoulders. He had perhaps lost consciousness for a few seconds. -The bonds that had held his body down were loosened. He felt -very cold, he was shaking uncontrollably, his teeth were -chattering, the tears were rolling down his cheeks. For a -moment he clung to O'Brien like a baby, curiously comforted by -the heavy arm round his shoulders. He had the feeling that -O'Brien was his protector, that the pain was something that -came from outside, from some other source, and that it was -O'Brien who would save him from it.

-

- 'You are a slow learner, Winston,' said O'Brien gently.

-

- 'How can I help it?' he blubbered. 'How can I help seeing -what is in front of my eyes? Two and two are four.

-

- Sometimes, Winston. Sometimes they are five. Sometimes -they are three. Sometimes they are all of them at once. You -must try harder. It is not easy to become sane.'

-

- He laid Winston down on the bed. The grip of his limbs -tightened again, but the pain had ebbed away and the trembling -had stopped, leaving him merely weak and cold. O'Brien motioned -with his head to the man in the white coat, who had stood -immobile throughout the proceedings. The man in the white coat -bent down and looked closely into Winston's eyes, felt his -pulse, laid an ear against his chest, tapped here and there, -then he nodded to O'Brien.

-

- 'Again,' said O'Brien.

-

- The pain flowed into Winston's body. The needle must be at -seventy, seventy-five. He had shut his eyes this time. He knew -that the fingers were still there, and still four. All that -mattered was somehow to stay alive until the spasm was over. He -had ceased to notice whether he was crying out or not. The pain -lessened again. He opened his eyes. O'Brien had drawn back the -lever.

-

- 'How many fingers, Winston?'

-

- 'Four. I suppose there are four. I would see five if I -could. I am trying to see five.'

-

- 'Which do you wish: to persuade me that you see five, or -really to see them?'

-

- 'Really to see them.'

-

- 'Again,' said O'Brien.

-

- Perhaps the needle was eighty -- ninety. Winston could not -intermittently remember why the pain was happening. Behind his -screwed-up eyelids a forest of fingers seemed to be moving in a -sort of dance, weaving in and out, disappearing behind one -another and reappearing again. He was trying to count them, he -could not remember why. He knew only that it was impossible to -count them, and that this was somehow due to the mysterious -identity between five and four. The pain died down again. When -he opened his eyes it was to find that he was still seeing the -same thing. Innumerable fingers, like moving trees, were still -streaming past in either direction, crossing and recrossing. He -shut his eyes again.

-

- 'How many fingers am I holding up, Winston?'

-

- 'I don't know. I don't know. You will kill me if you do -that again. Four, five, six -- in all honesty I don't know.'

-

- 'Better,' said O'Brien.

-

- A needle slid into Winston's arm. Almost in the same -instant a blissful, healing warmth spread all through his body. -The pain was already half-forgotten. He opened his eyes and -looked up gratefully at O'Brien. At sight of the heavy, lined -face, so ugly and so intelligent, his heart seemed to turn -over. If he could have moved he would have stretched out a hand -and laid it on O'Brien arm. He had never loved him so deeply as -at this moment, and not merely because he had stopped the pain. -The old feeling, that it bottom it did not matter whether -O'Brien was a friend or an enemy, had come back. O'Brien was a -person who could be talked to. Perhaps one did not want to be -loved so much as to be understood. O'Brien had tortured him to -the edge of lunacy, and in a little while, it was certain, he -would send him to his death. It made no difference. In some -sense that went deeper than friendship, they were intimates: -somewhere or other, although the actual words might never be -spoken, there was a place where they could meet and talk. -O'Brien was looking down at him with an expression which -suggested that the same thought might be in his own mind. When -he spoke it was in an easy, conversational tone.

-

- 'Do you know where you are, Winston?' he said.

-

- 'I don't know. I can guess. In the Ministry of Love.'

-

- 'Do you know how long you have been here?'

-

- 'I don't know. Days, weeks, months -- I think it is -months.'

-

- 'And why do you imagine that we bring people to this -place?'

-

- 'To make them confess.'

-

- 'No, that is not the reason. Try again.'

-

- 'To punish them.'

-

- 'No!' exclaimed O'Brien. His voice had changed -extraordinarily, and his face had suddenly become both stern -and animated. 'No! Not merely to extract your confession, not -to punish you. Shall I tell you why we have brought you here? -To cure you! To make you sane! Will you understand, Winston, -that no one whom we bring to this place ever leaves our hands -uncured? We are not interested in those stupid crimes that you -have committed. The Party is not interested in the overt act: -the thought is all we care about. We do not merely destroy our -enemies, we change them. Do you understand what I mean by -that?'

-

- He was bending over Winston. His face looked enormous -because of its nearness, and hideously ugly because it was seen -from below. Moreover it was filled with a sort of exaltation, a -lunatic intensity. Again Winston's heart shrank. If it had been -possible he would have cowered deeper into the bed. He felt -certain that O'Brien was about to twist the dial out of sheer -wantonness. At this moment, however, O'Brien turned away. He -took a pace or two up and down. Then he continued less -vehemently:

-

- 'The first thing for you to understand is that in this -place there are no martyrdoms. You have read of the religious -persecutions of the past. In the Middle Ages there was the -Inquisitlon. It was a failure. It set out to eradicate heresy, -and ended by perpetuating it. For every heretic it burned at -the stake, thousands of others rose up. Why was that? Because -the Inquisition killed its enemies in the open, and killed them -while they were still unrepentant: in fact, it killed them -because they were unrepentant. Men were dying because they -would not abandon their true beliefs. Naturally all the glory -belonged to the victim and all the shame to the Inquisitor who -burned him. Later, in the twentieth century, there were the -totalitarians, as they were called. There were the German Nazis -and the Russian Communists. The Russians persecuted heresy more -cruelly than the Inquisition had done. And they imagined that -they had learned from the mistakes of the past; they knew, at -any rate, that one must not make martyrs. Before they exposed -their victims to public trial, they deliberately set themselves -to destroy their dignity. They wore them down by torture and -solitude until they were despicable, cringing wretches, -confessing whatever was put into their mouths, covering -themselves with abuse, accusing and sheltering behind one -another, whimpering for mercy. And yet after only a few years -the same thing had happened over again. The dead men had become -martyrs and their degradation was forgotten. Once again, why -was it? In the first place, because the confessions that they -had made were obviously extorted and untrue. We do not make -mistakes of that kind. All the confessions that are uttered -here are true. We make them true. And above all we do not allow -the dead to rise up against us. You must stop imagining that -posterity will vindicate you, Winston. Posterity will never -hear of you. You will be lifted clean out from the stream of -history. We shall turn you into gas and pour you into the -stratosphere. Nothing will remain of you, not a name in a -register, not a memory in a living brain. You will be -annihilated in the past as well as in the future. You will -never have existed.'

-

- Then why bother to torture me? thought Winston, with a -momentary bitterness. O'Brien checked his step as though -Winston had uttered the thought aloud. His large ugly face came -nearer, with the eyes a little narrowed.

-

- 'You are thinking,' he said, 'that since we intend to -destroy you utterly, so that nothing that you say or do can -make the smallest difference -- in that case, why do we go to -the trouble of interrogating you first? That is what you were -thinking, was it not?'

-

- 'Yes,' said Winston.

-

- O'Brien smiled slightly. 'You are a flaw in the pattern, -Winston. You are a stain that must be wiped out. Did I not tell -you just now that we are different from the persecutors of the -past? We are not content with negative obedience, nor even with -the most abject submission. When finally you surrender to us, -it must be of your own free will. We do not destroy the heretic -because he resists us: so long as he resists us we never -destroy him. We convert him, we capture his inner mind, we -reshape him. We burn all evil and all illusion out of him; we -bring him over to our side, not in appearance, but genuinely, -heart and soul. We make him one of ourselves before we kill -him. It is intolerable to us that an erroneous thought should -exist anywhere in the world, however secret and powerless it -may be. Even in the instant of death we cannot permit any -deviation. In the old days the heretic walked to the stake -still a heretic, proclaiming his heresy, exulting in it. Even -the victim of the Russian purges could carry rebellion locked -up in his skull as he walked down the passage waiting for the -bullet. But we make the brain perfect before we blow it out. -The command of the old despotisms was "Thou shalt not". The -command of the totalitarians was "Thou shalt". Our command is -"Thou art". No one whom we bring to this place ever -stands out against us. Everyone is washed clean. Even those -three miserable traitors in whose innocence you once believed --- Jones, Aaronson, and Rutherford -- in the end we broke them -down. I took part in their interrogation myself. I saw them -gradually worn down, whimpering, grovelling, weeping -- and in -the end it was not with pain or fear, only with penitence. By -the time we had finished with them they were only the shells of -men. There was nothing left in them except sorrow for what they -had done, and love of Big Brother. It was touching to see how -they loved him. They begged to be shot quickly, so that they -could die while their minds were still clean.'

-

- His voice had grown almost dreamy. The exaltation, the -lunatic enthusiasm, was still in his face. He is not -pretending, thought Winston, he is not a hypocrite, he believes -every word he says. What most oppressed him was the -consciousness of his own intellectual inferiority. He watched -the heavy yet graceful form strolling to and fro, in and out of -the range of his vision. O'Brien was a being in all ways larger -than himself. There was no idea that he had ever had, or could -have, that O'Brien had not long ago known, examined, and -rejected. His mind contained Winston's mind. But in that -case how could it be true that O'Brien was mad? It must be he, -Winston, who was mad. O'Brien halted and looked down at him. -His voice had grown stern again.

-

- 'Do not imagine that you will save yourself, Winston, -however completely you surrender to us. No one who has once -gone astray is ever spared. And even if we chose to let you -live out the natural term of your life, still you would never -escape from us. What happens to you here is for ever. -Understand that in advance. We shall crush you down to the -point from which there is no coming back. Things will happen to -you from which you could not recover, if you lived a thousand -years. Never again will you be capable of ordinary human -feeling. Everything will be dead inside you. Never again will -you be capable of love, or friendship, or joy of living, or -laughter, or curiosity, or courage, or integrity. You will be -hollow. We shall squeeze you empty, and then we shall fill you -with ourselves.'

-

- He paused and signed to the man in the white coat. Winston -was aware of some heavy piece of apparatus being pushed into -place behind his head. O'Brien had sat down beside the bed, so -that his face was almost on a level with Winston's.

-

- 'Three thousand,' he said, speaking over Winston's head to -the man in the white coat.

-

- Two soft pads, which felt slightly moist, clamped -themselves against Winston's temples. He quailed. There was -pain coming, a new kind of pain. O'Brien laid a hand -reassuringly, almost kindly, on his.

-

- 'This time it will not hurt,' he said. 'Keep your eyes -fixed on mine.'

-

- At this moment there was a devastating explosion, or what -seemed like an explosion, though it was not certain whether -there was any noise. There was undoubtedly a blinding flash of -light. Winston was not hurt, only prostrated. Although he had -already been lying on his back when the thing happened, he had -a curious feeling that he had been knocked into that position. -A terrific painless blow had flattened him out. Also something -had happened inside his head. As his eyes regained their focus -he remembered who he was, and where he was, and recognized the -face that was gazing into his own; but somewhere or other there -was a large patch of emptiness, as though a piece had been -taken out of his brain.

-

- 'It will not last,' said O'Brien. 'Look me in the eyes. -What country is Oceania at war with?'

-

- Winston thought. He knew what was meant by Oceania and -that he himself was a citizen of Oceania. He also remembered -Eurasia and Eastasia; but who was at war with whom he did not -know. In fact he had not been aware that there was any war.

-

- 'I don't remember.'

-

- 'Oceania is at war with Eastasia. Do you remember that -now?'

-

- 'Yes.'

-

- 'Oceania has always been at war with Eastasia. Since the -beginning of your life, since the beginning of the Party, since -the beginning of history, the war has continued without a -break, always the same war. Do you remember that?'

-

- 'Yes.'

-

- ' Eleven years ago you created a legend about three men -who had been condemned to death for treachery. You pretended -that you had seen a piece of paper which proved them innocent. -No such piece of paper ever existed. You invented it, and later -you grew to believe in it. You remember now the very moment at -which you first invented it. Do you remember that?'

-

- 'Yes.'

-

- 'Just now I held up the fingers of my hand to you. You saw -five fingers. Do you remember that?'

-

- 'Yes.'

-

- O'Brien held up the fingers of his left hand, with the -thumb concealed.

-

- 'There are five fingers there. Do you see five fingers?'

-

- 'Yes.'

-

- And he did see them, for a fleeting instant, before the -scenery of his mind changed. He saw five fingers, and there was -no deformity. Then everything was normal again, and the old -fear, the hatred, and the bewilderment came crowding back -again. But there had been a moment -- he did not know how long, -thirty seconds, perhaps -- of luminous certainty, when each new -suggestion of O'Brien's had filled up a patch of emptiness and -become absolute truth, and when two and two could have been -three as easily as five, if that were what was needed. It had -faded but before O'Brien had dropped his hand; but though he -could not recapture it, he could remember it, as one remembers -a vivid experience at some period of one's life when one was in -effect a different person.

-

- 'You see now,' said O'Brien, 'that it is at any rate -possible.'

-

- 'Yes,' said Winston.

-

- O'Brien stood up with a satisfied air. Over to his left -Winston saw the man in the white coat break an ampoule and draw -back the plunger of a syringe. O'Brien turned to Winston with a -smile. In almost the old manner he resettled his spectacles on -his nose.

-

- 'Do you remember writing in your diary,' he said, 'that it -did not matter whether I was a friend or an enemy, since I was -at least a person who understood you and could be talked to? -You were right. I enjoy talking to you. Your mind appeals to -me. It resembles my own mind except that you happen to be -insane. Before we bring the session to an end you can ask me a -few questions, if you choose.'

-

- 'Any question I like?'

-

- 'Anything.' He saw that Winston's eyes were upon the dial. -'It is switched off. What is your first question?'

-

- 'What have you done with Julia?' said Winston.

-

- O'Brien smiled again. 'She betrayed you, Winston. -Immediately-unreservedly. I have seldom seen anyone come over -to us so promptly. You would hardly recognize her if you saw -her. All her rebelliousness, her deceit, her folly, her -dirty-mindedness -- everything has been burned out of her. It -was a perfect conversion, a textbook case.'

-

- 'You tortured her?'

-

- O'Brien left this unanswered. 'Next question,' he said.

-

- 'Does Big Brother exist?'

-

- 'Of course he exists. The Party exists. Big Brother is the -embodiment of the Party.'

-

- 'Does he exist in the same way as I exist?

-

- 'You do not exist,' said O'Brien.

-

- Once again the sense of helplessness assailed him. He -knew, or he could imagine, the arguments which proved his own -nonexistence; but they were nonsense, they were only a play on -words. Did not the statement, 'You do not exist', contain a -logical absurdity? But what use was it to say so? His mind -shrivelled as he thought of the unanswerable, mad arguments -with which O'Brien would demolish him.

-

- 'I think I exist,' he said wearily. 'I am conscious of my -own identity. I was born and I shall die. I have arms and legs. -I occupy a particular point in space. No other solid object can -occupy the same point simultaneously. In that sense, does Big -Brother exist?'

-

- 'It is of no importance. He exists.'

-

- 'Will Big Brother ever die?'

-

- 'Of course not. How could he die? Next question.'

-

- 'Does the Brotherhood exist?'

-

- 'That, Winston, you will never know. If we choose to set -you free when we have finished with you, and if you live to be -ninety years old, still you will never learn whether the answer -to that question is Yes or No. As long as you live it will be -an unsolved riddle in your mind.'

-

- Winston lay silent. His breast rose and fell a little -faster. He still had not asked the question that had come into -his mind the first. He had got to ask it, and yet it was as -though his tongue would not utter it. There was a trace of -amusement in O'Brien's face. Even his spectacles seemed to wear -an ironical gleam. He knows, thought Winston suddenly, he knows -what I am going to ask! At the thought the words burst out of -him:

-

- 'What is in Room 101?'

-

- The expression on O'Brien's face did not change. He -answered drily:

-

- 'You know what is in Room 101, Winston. Everyone knows -what is in Room 101.'

-

- He raised a finger to the man in the white coat. Evidently -the session was at an end. A needle jerked into Winston's arm. -He sank almost instantly into deep sleep.

-

XX

-

- 'There are three stages in your reintegration,' said -O'Brien. 'There is learning, there is understanding, and there -is acceptance. It is time for you to enter upon the second -stage.'

-

- As always, Winston was lying flat on his back. But of late -his bonds were looser. They still held him to the bed, but he -could move his knees a little and could turn his head from side -to side and raise his arms from the elbow. The dial, also, had -grown to be less of a terror. He could evade its pangs if he -was quick-witted enough: it was chiefly when he showed -stupidity that O'Brien pulled the lever. Sometimes they got -through a whole session without use of the dial. He could not -remember how many sessions there had been. The whole process -seemed to stretch out over a long, indefinite time -- weeks, -possibly -- and the intervals between the sessions might -sometimes have been days, sometimes only an hour or two.

-

- 'As you lie there,' said O'Brien, 'you have often wondered -you have even asked me -- why the Ministry of Love should -expend so much time and trouble on you. And when you were free -you were puzzled by what was essentially the same question. You -could grasp the mechanics of the Society you lived in, but not -its underlying motives. Do you remember writing in your diary, -"I understand how: I do not understand why"? It was when -you thought about "why" that you doubted your own sanity. You -have read the book, Goldstein's book, or parts of it, at -least. Did it tell you anything that you did not know already?'

-

- 'You have read it?' said Winston.

-

- 'I wrote it. That is to say, I collaborated in writing it. -No book is produced individually, as you know.'

-

- 'Is it true, what it says?'

-

- 'A description, yes. The programme it sets forth is -nonsense. The secret accumulation of knowledge -- a gradual -spread of enlightenment -- ultimately a proletarian rebellion --- the overthrow of the Party. You foresaw yourself that that -was what it would say. It is all nonsense. The proletarians -will never revolt, not in a thousand years or a million. They -cannot. I do not have to tell you the reason: you know it -already. If you have ever cherished any dreams of violent -insurrection, you must abandon them. There is no way in which -the Party can be overthrown. The rule of the Party is for ever. -Make that the starting-point of your thoughts.'

-

- He came closer to the bed. 'For ever!' he repeated. 'And -now let us get back to the question of "how" and "why". You -understand well enough how the Party maintains itself in -power. Now tell me why we cling to power. What is our motive? -Why should we want power? Go on, speak,' he added as Winston -remained silent.

-

- Nevertheless Winston did not speak for another moment or -two. A feeling of weariness had overwhelmed him. The faint, mad -gleam of enthusiasm had come back into O'Brien's face. He knew -in advance what O'Brien would say. That the Party did not seek -power for its own ends, but only for the good of the majority. -That it sought power because men in the mass were frail -cowardly creatures who could not endure liberty or face the -truth, and must be ruled over and systematically deceived by -others who were stronger than themselves. That the choice for -mankind lay between freedom and happiness, and that, for the -great bulk of mankind, happiness was better. That the party was -the eternal guardian of the weak, a dedicated sect doing evil -that good might come, sacrificing its own happiness to that of -others. The terrible thing, thought Winston, the terrible thing -was that when O'Brien said this he would believe it. You could -see it in his face. O'Brien knew everything. A thousand times -better than Winston he knew what the world was really like, in -what degradation the mass of human beings lived and by what -lies and barbarities the Party kept them there. He had -understood it all, weighed it all, and it made no difference: -all was justified by the ultimate purpose. What can you do, -thought Winston, against the lunatic who is more intelligent -than yourself, who gives your arguments a fair hearing and then -simply persists in his lunacy?

-

- 'You are ruling over us for our own good,' he said feebly. -'You believe that human beings are not fit to govern -themselves, and therefore-'

-

- He started and almost cried out. A pang of pain had shot -through his body. O'Brien had pushed the lever of the dial up -to thirty-five.

-

- 'That was stupid, Winston, stupid!' he said. 'You should -know better than to say a thing like that.'

-

- He pulled the lever back and continued:

-

- 'Now I will tell you the answer to my question. It is -this. The Party seeks power entirely for its own sake. We are -not interested in the good of others ; we are interested solely -in power. Not wealth or luxury or long life or happiness: only -power, pure power. What pure power means you will understand -presently. We are different from all the oligarchies of the -past, in that we know what we are doing. All the others, even -those who resembled ourselves, were- cowards and hypocrites. -The German Nazis and the Russian Communists came very close to -us in their methods, but they never had the courage to -recognize their own motives. They pretended, perhaps they even -believed, that they had seized power unwillingly and for a -limited time, and that just round the corner there lay a -paradise where human beings would be free and equal. We are not -like that. We know that no one ever seizes power with the -intention of relinquishing it. Power is not a means, it is an -end. One does not establish a dictatorship in order to -safeguard a revolution; one makes the revolution in order to -establish the dictatorship. The object of persecution is -persecution. The object of torture is torture. The object of -power is power. Now do you begin to understand me?'

-

- Winston was struck, as he had been struck before, by the -tiredness of O'Brien's face. It was strong and fleshy and -brutal, it was full of intelligence and a sort of controlled -passion before which he felt himself helpless; but it was -tired. There were pouches under the eyes, the skin sagged from -the cheekbones. O'Brien leaned over him, deliberately bringing -the worn face nearer.

-

- 'You are thinking,' he said, 'that my face is old and -tired. You are thinking that I talk of power, and yet I am not -even able to prevent the decay of my own body. Can you not -understand, Winston, that the individual is only a cell? The -weariness of the cell is the vigour of the organism. Do you die -when you cut your fingernails?'

-

- He turned away from the bed and began strolling up and -down again, one hand in his pocket.

-

- 'We are the priests of power,' he said. 'God is power. But -at present power is only a word so far as you are concerned. It -is time for you to gather some idea of what power means. The -first thing you must realize is that power is collective. The -individual only has power in so far as he ceases to be an -individual. You know the Party slogan: "Freedom is Slavery". -Has it ever occurred to you that it is reversible? Slavery is -freedom. Alone -- free -- the human being is always defeated. -It must be so, because every human being is doomed to die, -which is the greatest of all failures. But if he can make -complete, utter submission, if he can escape from his identity, -if he can merge himself in the Party so that he is the -Party, then he is all-powerful and immortal. The second thing -for you to realize is that power is power over human beings. -Over the body but, above all, over the mind. Power over matter --- external reality, as you would call it -- is not important. -Already our control over matter is absolute.'

-

- For a moment Winston ignored the dial. He made a violent -effort to raise himself into a sitting position, and merely -succeeded in wrenching his body painfully.

-

- 'But how can you control matter?' he burst out. 'You don't -even control the climate or the law of gravity. And there are -disease, pain, death-'

-

- O'Brien silenced him by a movement of his hand. 'We -control matter because we control the mind. Reality is inside -the skull. You will learn by degrees, Winston. There is nothing -that we could not do. Invisibility, levitation -- anything. I -could float off this floor like a soap bubble if I wish to. I -do not wish to, because the Party does not wish it. You must -get rid of those nineteenth-century ideas about the laws of -Nature. We make the laws of Nature.'

-

- 'But you do not! You are not even masters of this planet. -What about Eurasia and Eastasia? You have not conquered them -yet.'

-

- 'Unimportant. We shall conquer them when it suits us. And -if we did not, what difference would it make? We can shut them -out of existence. Oceania is the world.'

-

- 'But the world itself is only a speck of dust. And man is -tiny helpless! How long has he been in existence? For millions -of years the earth was uninhabited.'

-

- 'Nonsense. The earth is as old as we are, no older. How -could it be older? Nothing exists except through human -consciousness.'

-

- 'But the rocks are full of the bones of extinct animals -- -mammoths and mastodons and enormous reptiles which lived here -long before man was ever heard of.'

-

- 'Have you ever seen those bones, Winston? Of course not. -Nineteenth-century biologists invented them. Before man there -was nothing. After man, if he could come to an end, there would -be nothing. Outside man there is nothing.'

-

- 'But the whole universe is outside us. Look at the stars! -Some of them are a million light-years away. They are out of -our reach for ever.'

-

- 'What are the stars?' said O'Brien indifferently. 'They -are bits of fire a few kilometres away. We could reach them if -we wanted to. Or we could blot them out. The earth is the -centre of the universe. The sun and the stars go round it.'

-

- Winston made another convulsive movement. This time he did -not say anything. O'Brien continued as though answering a -spoken objection:

-

- 'For certain purposes, of course, that is not true. When -we navigate the ocean, or when we predict an eclipse, we often -find it convenient to assume that the earth goes round the sun -and that the stars are millions upon millions of kilometres -away. But what of it? Do you suppose it is beyond us to produce -a dual system of astronomy? The stars can be near or distant, -according as we need them. Do you suppose our mathematicians -are unequal to that? Have you forgotten doublethink?'

-

- Winston shrank back upon the bed. Whatever he said, the -swift answer crushed him like a bludgeon. And yet he knew, he -knew, that he was in the right. The belief that nothing -exists outside your own mind -- surely there must be some way -of demonstrating that it was false? Had it not been exposed -long ago as a fallacy? There was even a name for it, which he -had forgotten. A faint smile twitched the corners of O'Brien's -mouth as he looked down at him.

-

- 'I told you, Winston,' he said, 'that metaphysics is not -your strong point. The word you are trying to think of is -solipsism. But you are mistaken. This is not solipsism. -Collective solipsism, if you like. But that is a different -thing: in fact, the opposite thing. All this is a digression,' -he added in a different tone. 'The real power, the power we -have to fight for night and day, is not power over things, but -over men.' He paused, and for a moment assumed again his air of -a schoolmaster questioning a promising pupil: 'How does one man -assert his power over another, Winston?'

-

- Winston thought. 'By making him suffer,' he said.

-

- 'Exactly. By making him suffer. Obedience is not enough. -Unless he is suffering, how can you be sure that he is obeying -your will and not his own? Power is in inflicting pain and -humiliation. Power is in tearing human minds to pieces and -putting them together again in new shapes of your own choosing. -Do you begin to see, then, what kind of world we are creating? -It is the exact opposite of the stupid hedonistic Utopias that -the old reformers imagined. A world of fear and treachery is -torment, a world of trampling and being trampled upon, a world -which will grow not less but more merciless as it -refines itself. Progress in our world will be progress towards -more pain. The old civilizations claimed that they were founded -on love or justice. Ours is founded upon hatred. In our world -there will be no emotions except fear, rage, triumph, and -self-abasement. Everything else we shall destroy everything. Already -we are breaking down the habits of thought which have survived -from before the Revolution. We have cut the links between child -and parent, and between man and man, and between man and woman. -No one dares trust a wife or a child or a friend any longer. -But in the future there will be no wives and no friends. -Children will be taken from their mothers at birth, as one -takes eggs from a hen. The sex instinct will be eradicated. -Procreation will be an annual formality like the renewal of a -ration card. We shall abolish the orgasm. Our neurologists are -at work upon it now. There will be no loyalty, except loyalty -towards the Party. There will be no love, except the love of -Big Brother. There will be no laughter, except the laugh of -triumph over a defeated enemy. There will be no art, no -literature, no science. When we are omnipotent we shall have no -more need of science. There will be no distinction between -beauty and ugliness. There will be no curiosity, no enjoyment -of the process of life. All competing pleasures will be -destroyed. But always -- do not forget this, Winston -- always -there will be the intoxication of power, constantly increasing -and constantly growing subtler. Always, at every moment, there -will be the thrill of victory, the sensation of trampling on an -enemy who is helpless. If you want a picture of the future, -imagine a boot stamping on a human face -- for ever.'

-

- He paused as though he expected Winston to speak. Winston -had tried to shrink back into the surface of the bed again. He -could not say anything. His heart seemed to be frozen. O'Brien -went on:

-

- 'And remember that it is for ever. The face will always be -there to be stamped upon. The heretic, the enemy of society, -will always be there, so that he can be defeated and humiliated -over again. Everything that you have undergone since you have -been in our hands -- all that will continue, and worse. The -espionage, the betrayals, the arrests, the tortures, the -executions, the disappearances will never cease. It will be a -world of terror as much as a world of triumph. The more the -Party is powerful, the less it will be tolerant: the weaker the -opposition, the tighter the despotism. Goldstein and his -heresies will live for ever. Every day, at every moment, they -will be defeated, discredited, ridiculed, spat upon and yet -they will always survive. This drama that I have played out -with you during seven years will be played out over and over -again generation after generation, always in subtler forms. -Always we shall have the heretic here at our mercy, screaming -with pain, broken up, contemptible -- and in the end utterly -penitent, saved from himself, crawling to our feet of his own -accord. That is the world that we are preparing, Winston. A -world of victory after victory, triumph after triumph after -triumph: an endless pressing, pressing, pressing upon the nerve -of power. You are beginning, I can see, to realize what that -world will be like. But in the end you will do more than -understand it. You will accept it, welcome it, become part of -it.'

-

- Winston had recovered himself sufficiently to speak. 'You -can't!' he said weakly.

-

- 'What do you mean by that remark, Winston?'

-

- 'You could not create such a world as you have just -described. It is a dream. It is impossible.'

-

- 'Why?'

-

- 'It is impossible to found a civilization on fear and -hatred and cruelty. It would never endure.'

-

- 'Why not?'

-

- 'It would have no vitality. It would disintegrate. It -would commit suicide.'

-

- 'Nonsense. You are under the impression that hatred is -more exhausting than love. Why should it be? And if it were, -what difference would that make? Suppose that we choose to wear -ourselves out faster. Suppose that we quicken the tempo of -human life till men are senile at thirty. Still what difference -would it make? Can you not understand that the death of the -individual is not death? The party is immortal.'

-

- As usual, the voice had battered Winston into -helplessness. Moreover he was in dread that if he persisted in -his disagreement O'Brien would twist the dial again. And yet he -could not keep silent. Feebly, without arguments, with nothing -to support him except his inarticulate horror of what O'Brien -had said, he returned to the attack.

-

- 'I don't know -- I don't care. Somehow you will fail. -Something will defeat you. Life will defeat you.'

-

- 'We control life, Winston, at all its levels. You are -imagining that there is something called human nature which -will be outraged by what we do and will turn against us. But we -create human nature. Men are infinitely malleable. Or perhaps -you have returned to your old idea that the proletarians or the -slaves will arise and overthrow us. Put it out of your mind. -They are helpless, like the animals. Humanity is the Party. The -others are outside -- irrelevant.'

-

- 'I don't care. In the end they will beat you. Sooner or -later they will see you for what you are, and then they will -tear you to pieces.'

-

- 'Do you see any evidence that that is happening? Or any -reason why it should?'

-

- 'No. I believe it. I know that you will fail. There -is something in the universe -- I don't know, some spirit, some -principle -- that you will never overcome.'

-

- 'Do you believe in God, Winston?'

-

- 'No.'

-

- 'Then what is it, this principle that will defeat us?'

-

- 'I don't know. The spirit of Man.'

-

- 'And do you consider yourself a man?.'

-

- 'Yes.'

-

- 'If you are a man, Winston, you are the last man. Your -kind is extinct; we are the inheritors. Do you understand that -you are alone? You are outside history, you are -non-existent.' His manner changed and he said more harshly: -'And you consider yourself morally superior to us, with our -lies and our cruelty?'

-

- 'Yes, I consider myself superior.'

-

- O'Brien did not speak. Two other voices were speaking. -After a moment Winston recognized one of them as his own. It -was a sound-track of the conversation he had had with O'Brien, -on the night when he had enrolled himself in the Brotherhood. -He heard himself promising to lie, to steal, to forge, to -murder, to encourage drug-taking and prostitution, to -disseminate venereal diseases, to throw vitriol in a child's -face. O'Brien made a small impatient gesture, as though to say -that the demonstration was hardly worth making. Then he turned -a switch and the voices stopped.

-

- 'Get up from that bed,' he said.

-

- The bonds had loosened themselves. Winston lowered himself -to the floor and stood up unsteadily.

-

- 'You are the last man,' said O'Brien. 'You are the -guardian of the human spirit. You shall see yourself as you -are. Take off your clothes.'

-

- Winston undid the bit of string that held his overalls -together. The zip fastener had long since been wrenched out of -them. He could not remember whether at any time since his -arrest he had taken off all his clothes at one time. Beneath -the overalls his body was looped with filthy yellowish rags, -just recognizable as the remnants of underclothes. As he slid -them to the ground he saw that there was a three-sided mirror -at the far end of the room. He approached it, then stopped -short. An involuntary cry had broken out of him.

-

- 'Go on,' said O'Brien. 'Stand between the wings of the -mirror. You shall see the side view as well.'

-

- He had stopped because he was frightened. A bowed, -grey-coloured, skeleton-like thing was coming towards him. Its -actual appearance was frightening, and not merely the fact that -he knew it to be himself. He moved closer to the glass. The -creature's face seemed to be protruded, because of its bent -carriage. A forlorn, jailbird's face with a nobby forehead -running back into a bald scalp, a crooked nose, and -battered-looking cheekbones above which his eyes were fierce -and watchful. The cheeks were seamed, the mouth had a drawn-in -look. Certainly it was his own face, but it seemed to him that -it had changed more than he had changed inside. The emotions it -registered would be different from the ones he felt. He had -gone partially bald. For the first moment he had thought that -he had gone grey as well, but it was only the scalp that was -grey. Except for his hands and a circle of his face, his body -was grey all over with ancient, ingrained dirt. Here and there -under the dirt there were the red scars of wounds, and near the -ankle the varicose ulcer was an inflamed mass with flakes of -skin peeling off it. But the truly frightening thing was the -emaciation of his body. The barrel of the ribs was as narrow as -that of a skeleton: the legs had shrunk so that the knees were -thicker than the thighs. He saw now what O'Brien had meant -about seeing the side view. The curvature of the spine was -astonishing. The thin shoulders were hunched forward so as to -make a cavity of the chest, the scraggy neck seemed to be -bending double under the weight of the skull. At a guess he -would have said that it was the body of a man of sixty, -suffering from some malignant disease.

-

- 'You have thought sometimes,' said O'Brien, 'that my face --- the face of a member of the Inner Party -- looks old and -worn. What do you think of your own face?'

-

- He seized Winston's shoulder and spun him round so that he -was facing him.

-

- 'Look at the condition you are in!' he said. 'Look at this -filthy grime all over your body. Look at the dirt between your -toes. Look at that disgusting running sore on your leg. Do you -know that you stink like a goat? Probably you have ceased to -notice it. Look at your emaciation. Do you see? I can make my -thumb and forefinger meet round your bicep. I could snap your -neck like a carrot. Do you know that you have lost twenty-five -kilograms since you have been in our hands? Even your hair is -coming out in handfuls. Look!' He plucked at Winston's head and -brought away a tuft of hair. 'Open your mouth. Nine, ten, -eleven teeth left. How many had you when you came to us? And -the few you have left are dropping out of your head. Look -here!'

-

- He seized one of Winston's remaining front teeth between -his powerful thumb and forefinger. A twinge of pain shot -through Winston's jaw. O'Brien had wrenched the loose tooth out -by the roots. He tossed it across the cell.

-

- 'You are rotting away,' he said; 'you are falling to -pieces. What are you? A bag of filth. Now turn around and look -into that mirror again. Do you see that thing facing you? That -is the last man. If you are human, that is humanity. Now put -your clothes on again.'

-

- Winston began to dress himself with slow stiff movements. -Until now he had not seemed to notice how thin and weak he was. -Only one thought stirred in his mind: that he must have been in -this place longer than he had imagined. Then suddenly as he -fixed the miserable rags round himself a feeling of pity for -his ruined body overcame him. Before he knew what he was doing -he had collapsed on to a small stool that stood beside the bed -and burst into tears. He was aware of his ugliness, his -gracelessness, a bundle of bones in filthy underclothes sitting -weeping in the harsh white light: but he could not stop -himself. O'Brien laid a hand on his shoulder, almost kindly.

-

- 'It will not last for ever,' he said. 'You can escape from -it whenever you choose. Everything depends on yourself.'

-

- 'You did it!' sobbed Winston. 'You reduced me to this -state.'

-

- 'No, Winston, you reduced yourself to it. This is what you -accepted when you set yourself up against the Party. It was all -contained in that first act. Nothing has happened that you did -not foresee.'

-

- He paused, and then went on:

-

- 'We have beaten you, Winston. We have broken you up. You -have seen what your body is like. Your mind is in the same -state. I do not think there can be much pride left in you. You -have been kicked and flogged and insulted, you have screamed -with pain, you have rolled on the floor in your own blood and -vomit. You have whimpered for mercy, you have betrayed -everybody and everything. Can you think of a single degradation -that has not happened to you?'

-

- Winston had stopped weeping, though the tears were still -oozing out of his eyes. He looked up at O'Brien.

-

- 'I have not betrayed Julia,' he said.

-

- O'Brien looked down at him thoughtfully. 'No,' he said; -'no; that is perfectly true. You have not betrayed Julia.'

-

- The peculiar reverence for O'Brien, which nothing seemed -able to destroy, flooded Winston's heart again. How -intelligent, he thought, how intelligent! Never did O'Brien -fail to understand what was said to him. Anyone else on earth -would have answered promptly that he had betrayed Julia. -For what was there that they had not screwed out of him under -the torture? He had told them everything he knew about her, her -habits, her character, her past life; he had confessed in the -most trivial detail everything that had happened at their -meetings, all that he had said to her and she to him, their -black-market meals, their adulteries, their vague plottings -against the Party -- everything. And yet, in the sense in which -he intended the word, he had not betrayed her. He had not -stopped loving her; his feelings towards her had remained the -same. O'Brien had seen what he meant without the need for -explanation.

-

- 'Tell me,' he said, 'how soon will they shoot me?'

-

- 'It might be a long time,' said O'Brien. 'You are a -difficult case. But don't give up hope. Everyone is cured -sooner or later. In the end we shall shoot you.'

-

XXI

-

- He was much better. He was growing fatter and stronger -every day, if it was proper to speak of days.

-

- The white light and the humming sound were the same as -ever, but the cell was a little more comfortable than the -others he had been in. There was a pillow and a mattress on the -plank bed, and a stool to sit on. They had given him a bath, -and they allowed him to wash himself fairly frequently in a tin -basin. They even gave him warm water to wash with. They had -given him new underclothes and a clean suit of overalls. They -had dressed his varicose ulcer with soothing ointment. They had -pulled out the remnants of his teeth and given him a new set of -dentures.

-

- Weeks or months must have passed. It would have been -possible now to keep count of the passage of time, if he had -felt any interest in doing so, since he was being fed at what -appeared to be regular intervals. He was getting, he judged, -three meals in the twenty-four hours; sometimes he wondered -dimly whether he was getting them by night or by day. The food -was surprisingly good, with meat at every third meal. Once -there was even a packet of cigarettes. He had no matches, but -the never-speaking guard who brought his food would give him a -light. The first time he tried to smoke it made him sick, but -he persevered, and spun the packet out for a long time, smoking -half a cigarette after each meal.

-

- They had given him a white slate with a stump of pencil -tied to the corner. At first he made no use of it. Even when he -was awake he was completely torpid. Often he would lie from one -meal to the next almost without stirring, sometimes asleep, -sometimes waking into vague reveries in which it was too much -trouble to open his eyes. He had long grown used to sleeping -with a strong light on his face. It seemed to make no -difference, except that one's dreams were more coherent. He -dreamed a great deal all through this time, and they were -always happy dreams. He was in the Golden Country, or he was -sitting among enormous glorious, sunlit ruins, with his mother, -with Julia, with O'Brien -- not doing anything, merely sitting -in the sun, talking of peaceful things. Such thoughts as he had -when he was awake were mostly about his dreams. He seemed to -have lost the power of intellectual effort, now that the -stimulus of pain had been removed. He was not bored, he had no -desire for conversation or distraction. Merely to be alone, not -to be beaten or questioned, to have enough to eat, and to be -clean all over, was completely satisfying.

-

- By degrees he came to spend less time in sleep, but he -still felt no impulse to get off the bed. All he cared for was -to lie quiet and feel the strength gathering in his body. He -would finger himself here and there, trying to make sure that -it was not an illusion that his muscles were growing rounder -and his skin tauter. Finally it was established beyond a doubt -that he was growing fatter; his thighs were now definitely -thicker than his knees. After that, reluctantly at first, he -began exercising himself regularly. In a little while he could -walk three kilometres, measured by pacing the cell, and his -bowed shoulders were growing straighter. He attempted more -elaborate exercises, and was astonished and humiliated to find -what things he could not do. He could not move out of a walk, -he could not hold his stool out at arm's length, he could not -stand on one leg without falling over. He squatted down on his -heels, and found that with agonizing pains in thigh and calf he -could just lift himself to a standing position. He lay flat on -his belly and tried to lift his weight by his hands. It was -hopeless, he could not raise himself a centimetre. But after a -few more days -- a few more mealtimes -- even that feat was -accomplished. A time came when he could do it six times -running. He began to grow actually proud of his body, and to -cherish an intermittent belief that his face also was growing -back to normal. Only when he chanced to put his hand on his -bald scalp did he remember the seamed, ruined face that had -looked back at him out of the mirror.

-

- His mind grew more active. He sat down on the plank bed, -his back against the wall and the slate on his knees, and set -to work deliberately at the task of re-educating himself.

-

- He had capitulated, that was agreed. In reality, as he saw -now, he had been ready to capitulate long before he had taken -the decision. From the moment when he was inside the Ministry -of Love -- and yes, even during those minutes when he and Julia -had stood helpless while the iron voice from the telescreen -told them what to do -- he had grasped the frivolity, the -shallowness of his attempt to set himself up against the power -of the Party. He knew now that for seven years the Thought -police had watched him like a beetle under a magnifying glass. -There was no physical act, no word spoken aloud, that they had -not noticed, no train of thought that they had not been able to -infer. Even the speck of whitish dust on the cover of his diary -they had carefully replaced. They had played sound-tracks to -him, shown him photographs. Some of them were photographs of -Julia and himself. Yes, even ... He could not fight against -the Party any longer. Besides, the Party was in the right. It -must be so; how could the immortal, collective brain be -mistaken? By what external standard could you check its -judgements? Sanity was statistical. It was merely a question of -learning to think as they thought. Only!

-

- The pencil felt thick and awkward in his fingers. He began -to write down the thoughts that came into his head. He wrote -first in large clumsy capitals:

-

- - FREEDOM IS SLAVERY

-

- - Then almost without a pause he wrote beneath it:

-

- - TWO AND TWO MAKE FIVE

-

- - But then there came a sort of check. His mind, as though -shying away from something, seemed unable to concentrate. He -knew that he knew what came next, but for the moment he could -not recall it. When he did recall it, it was only by -consciously reasoning out what it must be: it did not come of -its own accord. He wrote:

-

- - GOD IS POWER

-

- - He accepted everything. The past was alterable. The past -never had been altered. Oceania was at war with Eastasia. -Oceania had always been at war with Eastasia. Jones, Aaronson, -and Rutherford were guilty of the crimes they were charged -with. He had never seen the photograph that disproved their -guilt. It had never existed, he had invented it. He remembered -remembering contrary things, but those were false memories, -products of self-deception. How easy it all was! Only surrender, -and everything else followed. It was like swimming against a -current that swept you backwards however hard you struggled, -and then suddenly deciding to turn round and go with the -current instead of opposing it. Nothing had changed except your -own attitude: the predestined thing happened in any case. He -hardly knew why he had ever rebelled. Everything was easy, -except!

-

- Anything could be true. The so-called laws of Nature were -nonsense. The law of gravity was nonsense. 'If I wished,' -O'Brien had said, 'I could float off this floor like a soap -bubble.' Winston worked it out. 'If he thinks he floats -off the floor, and if I simultaneously think I see him -do it, then the thing happens.' Suddenly, like a lump of -submerged wreckage breaking the surface of water, the thought -burst into his mind: 'It doesn't really happen. We imagine it. -It is hallucination.' He pushed the thought under instantly. -The fallacy was obvious. It presupposed that somewhere or -other, outside oneself, there was a 'real' world where 'real' -things happened. But how could there be such a world? What -knowledge have we of anything, save through our own minds? All -happenings are in the mind. Whatever happens in all minds, -truly happens.

-

- He had no difficulty in disposing of the fallacy, and he -was in no danger of succumbing to it. He realized, -nevertheless, that it ought never to have occurred to him. The -mind should develop a blind spot whenever a dangerous thought -presented itself. The process should be automatic, instinctive. -Crimestop, they called it in Newspeak.

-

- He set to work to exercise himself in crimestop. He -presented himself with propositions -- 'the Party says the -earth is flat', 'the party says that ice is heavier than water' --- and trained himself in not seeing or not understanding the -arguments that contradicted them. It was not easy. It needed -great powers of reasoning and improvisation. The arithmetical -problems raised, for instance, by such a statement as 'two and -two make five' were beyond his intellectual grasp. It needed -also a sort of athleticism of mind, an ability at one moment to -make the most delicate use of logic and at the next to be -unconscious of the crudest logical errors. Stupidity was as -necessary as intelligence, and as difficult to attain.

-

- All the while, with one part of his mind, he wondered how -soon they would shoot him. 'Everything depends on yourself,' -O'Brien had said; but he knew that there was no conscious act -by which he could bring it nearer. It might be ten minutes -hence, or ten years. They might keep him for years in solitary -confinement, they might send him to a labour-camp, they might -release him for a while, as they sometimes did. It was -perfectly possible that before he was shot the whole drama of -his arrest and interrogation would be enacted all over again. -The one certain thing was that death never came at an expected -moment. The tradition -- the unspoken tradition: somehow you -knew it, though you never heard it said-was that they shot you -from behind; always in the back of the head, without warning, -as you walked down a corridor from cell to cell.

-

- One day -- but 'one day' was not the right expression; -just as probably it was in the middle of the night: once -- he -fell into a strange, blissful reverie. He was walking down the -corridor, waiting for the bullet. He knew that it was coming in -another moment. Everything was settled, smoothed out, -reconciled. There were no more doubts, no more arguments, no -more pain, no more fear. His body was healthy and strong. He -walked easily, with a joy of movement and with a feeling of -walking in sunlight. He was not any longer in the narrow white -corridors in the Ministry of Love, he was in the enormous -sunlit passage, a kilometre wide, down which he had seemed to -walk in the delirium induced by drugs. He was in the Golden -Country, following the foot-track across the old -rabbit-cropped pasture. He could feel the short springy turf -under his feet and the gentle sunshine on his face. At the edge -of the field were the elm trees, faintly stirring, and -somewhere beyond that was the stream where the dace lay in the -green pools under the willows.

-

- Suddenly he started up with a shock of horror. The sweat -broke out on his backbone. He had heard himself cry aloud:

-

- 'Julia! Julia! Julia, my love! Julia!'

-

- For a moment he had had an overwhelming hallucination of -her presence. She had seemed to be not merely with him, but -inside him. It was as though she had got into the texture of -his skin. In that moment he had loved her far more than he had -ever done when they were together and free. Also he knew that -somewhere or other she was still alive and needed his help.

-

- He lay back on the bed and tried to compose himself. What -had he done? How many years had he added to his servitude by -that moment of weakness?

-

- In another moment he would hear the tramp of boots -outside. They could not let such an outburst go unpunished. -They would know now, if they had not known before, that he was -breaking the agreement he had made with them. He obeyed the -Party, but he still hated the Party. In the old days he had -hidden a heretical mind beneath an appearance of conformity. -Now he had retreated a step further: in the mind he had -surrendered, but he had hoped to keep the inner heart -inviolate. He knew that he was in the wrong, but he preferred -to be in the wrong. They would understand that- O'Brien would -understand it. It was all confessed in that single foolish cry.

-

- He would have to start all over again. It might take -years. He ran a hand over his face, trying to familiarize -himself with the new shape. There were deep furrows in the -cheeks, the cheekbones felt sharp, the nose flattened. Besides, -since last seeing himself in the glass he had been given a -complete new set of teeth. It was not easy to preserve -inscrutability when you did not know what your face looked -like. In any case, mere control of the features was not enough. -For the first time he perceived that if you want to keep a -secret you must also hide it from yourself. You must know all -the while that it is there, but until it is needed you must -never let it emerge into your consciousness in any shape that -could be given a name. From now onwards he must not only think -right; he must feel right, dream right. And all the while he -must keep his hatred locked up inside him like a ball of matter -which was part of himself and yet unconnected with the rest of -him, a kind of cyst.

-

- One day they would decide to shoot him. You could not tell -when it would happen, but a few seconds beforehand it should be -possible to guess. It was always from behind, walking down a -corridor. Ten seconds would be enough. In that time the world -inside him could turn over. And then suddenly, without a word -uttered, without a check in his step, without the changing of a -line in his face -- suddenly the camouflage would be down and -bang! would go the batteries of his hatred. Hatred would fill -him like an enormous roaring flame. And almost in the same -instant bang! would go the bullet, too late, or too early. They -would have blown his brain to pieces before they could reclaim -it. The heretical thought would be unpunished, unrepented, out -of their reach for ever. They would have blown a hole in their -own perfection. To die hating them, that was freedom.

-

- He shut his eyes. It was more difficult than accepting an -intellectual discipline. It was a question of degrading -himself, mutilating himself. He had got to plunge into the -filthiest of filth. What was the most horrible, sickening thing -of all? He thought of Big Brother. The enormous face (because -of constantly seeing it on posters he always thought of it as -being a metre wide), with its heavy black moustache and the -eyes that followed you to and fro, seemed to float into his -mind of its own accord. What were his true feelings towards Big -Brother?

-

- There was a heavy tramp of boots in the passage. The steel -door swung open with a clang. O'Brien walked into the cell. -Behind him were the waxen-faced officer and the black-uniformed -guards.

-

- 'Get up,' said O'Brien. 'Come here.'

-

- Winston stood opposite him. O'Brien took Winston's -shoulders between his strong hands and looked at him closely.

-

- 'You have had thoughts of deceiving me,' he said. 'That -was stupid. Stand up straighter. Look me in the face.'

-

- He paused, and went on in a gentler tone:

-

- 'You are improving. Intellectually there is very little -wrong with you. It is only emotionally that you have failed to -make progress. Tell me, Winston -- and remember, no lies: you -know that I am always able to detect a lie -- tell me, what are -your true feelings towards Big Brother?'

-

- 'I hate him.'

-

- 'You hate him. Good. Then the time has come for you to -take the last step. You must love Big Brother. It is not enough -to obey him: you must love him.'

-

- He released Winston with a little push towards the guards.

-

- 'Room 101,' he said.

-

XXII

-

- At each stage of his imprisonment he had known, or seemed -to know, whereabouts he was in the windowless building. -Possibly there were slight differences in the air pressure. The -cells where the guards had beaten him were below ground level. -The room where he had been interrogated by O'Brien was high up -near the roof. This place was many metres underground, as deep -down as it was possible to go.

-

- It was bigger than most of the cells he had been in. But -he hardly noticed his surroundings. All he noticed was that -there were two small tables straight in front of him, each -covered with green baize. One was only a metre or two from him, -the other was further away, near the door. He was strapped -upright in a chair, so tightly that he could move nothing, not -even his head. A sort of pad gripped his head from behind, -forcing him to look straight in front of him.

-

- For a moment he was alone, then the door opened and -O'Brien came in.

-

- 'You asked me once,' said O'Brien, 'what was in Room 101. -I told you that you knew the answer already. Everyone knows it. -The thing that is in Room 101 is the worst thing in the world.'

-

- The door opened again. A guard came in, carrying something -made of wire, a box or basket of some kind. He set it down on -the further table. Because of the position in which O'Brien was -standing. Winston could not see what the thing was.

-

- 'The worst thing in the world,' said O'Brien, 'varies from -individual to individual. It may be burial alive, or death by -fire, or by drowning, or by impalement, or fifty other deaths. -There are cases where it is some quite trivial thing, not even -fatal.'

-

- He had moved a little to one side, so that Winston had a -better view of the thing on the table. It was an oblong wire -cage with a handle on top for carrying it by. Fixed to the -front of it was something that looked like a fencing mask, with -the concave side outwards. Although it was three or four metres -away from him, he could see that the cage was divided -lengthways into two compartments, and that there was some kind -of creature in each. They were rats.

-

- 'In your case, said O'Brien, 'the worst thing in the world -happens to be rats.'

-

- A sort of premonitory tremor, a fear of he was not certain -what, had passed through Winston as soon as he caught his first -glimpse of the cage. But at this moment the meaning of the -mask-like attachment in front of it suddenly sank into him. His -bowels seemed to turn to water.

-

- 'You can't do that!' he cried out in a high cracked voice. -'You couldn't, you couldn't! It's impossible.'

-

- 'Do you remember,' said O'Brien, 'the moment of panic that -used to occur in your dreams? There was a wall of blackness in -front of you, and a roaring sound in your ears. There was -something terrible on the other side of the wall. You knew that -you knew what it was, but you dared not drag it into the open. -It was the rats that were on the other side of the wall.'

-

- 'O'Brien!' said Winston, making an effort to control his -voice. 'You know this is not necessary. What is it that you -want me to do?'

-

- O'Brien made no direct answer. When he spoke it was in the -schoolmasterish manner that he sometimes affected. He looked -thoughtfully into the distance, as though he were addressing an -audience somewhere behind Winston's back.

-

- 'By itself,' he said, 'pain is not always enough. There -are occasions when a human being will stand out against pain, -even to the point of death. But for everyone there is something -unendurable -- something that cannot be contemplated. Courage -and cowardice are not involved. If you are falling from a -height it is not cowardly to clutch at a rope. If you have come -up from deep water it is not cowardly to fill your lungs with -air. It is merely an instinct which cannot be destroyed. It is -the same with the rats. For you, they are unendurable. They are -a form of pressure that you cannot withstand. even if you -wished to. You will do what is required of you.

-

- 'But what is it, what is it? How can I do it if I don't -know what it is?'

-

- O'Brien picked up the cage and brought it across to the -nearer table. He set it down carefully on the baize cloth. -Winston could hear the blood singing in his ears. He had the -feeling of sitting in utter loneliness. He was in the middle of -a great empty plain, a flat desert drenched with sunlight, -across which all sounds came to him out of immense distances. -Yet the cage with the rats was not two metres away from him. -They were enormous rats. They were at the age when a rat's -muzzle grows blunt and fierce and his fur brown instead of -grey.

-

- 'The rat,' said O'Brien, still addressing his invisible -audience, 'although a rodent, is carnivorous. You are aware of -that. You will have heard of the things that happen in the poor -quarters of this town. In some streets a woman dare not leave -her baby alone in the house, even for five minutes. The rats -are certain to attack it. Within quite a small time they will -strip it to the bones. They also attack sick or dying people. -They show astonishing intelligence in knowing when a human -being is helpless.'

-

- There was an outburst of squeals from the cage. It seemed -to reach Winston from far away. The rats were fighting; they -were trying to get at each other through the partition. He -heard also a deep groan of despair. That, too, seemed to come -from outside himself.

-

- O'Brien picked up the cage, and, as he did so, pressed -something in it. There was a sharp click. Winston made a -frantic effort to tear himself loose from the chair. It was -hopeless; every part of him, even his head, was held immovably. -O'Brien moved the cage nearer. It was less than a metre from -Winston's face.

-

- 'I have pressed the first lever,' said O'Brien. 'You -understand the construction of this cage. The mask will fit -over your head, leaving no exit. When I press this other lever, -the door of the cage will slide up. These starving brutes will -shoot out of it like bullets. Have you ever seen a rat leap -through the air? They will leap on to your face and bore -straight into it. Sometimes they attack the eyes first. -Sometimes they burrow through the cheeks and devour the -tongue.'

-

- The cage was nearer; it was closing in. Winston heard a -succession of shrill cries which appeared to be occurring in -the air above his head. But he fought furiously against his -panic. To think, to think, even with a split second left -- to -think was the only hope. Suddenly the foul musty odour of the -brutes struck his nostrils. There was a violent convulsion of -nausea inside him, and he almost lost consciousness. Everything -had gone black. For an instant he was insane, a screaming -animal. Yet he came out of the blackness clutching an idea. -There was one and only one way to save himself. He must -interpose another human being, the body of another human -being, between himself and the rats.

-

- The circle of the mask was large enough now to shut out -the vision of anything else. The wire door was a couple of -hand-spans from his face. The rats knew what was coming now. -One of them was leaping up and down, the other, an old scaly -grandfather of the sewers, stood up, with his pink hands -against the bars, and fiercely sniffed the air. Winston could -see the whiskers and the yellow teeth. Again the black panic -took hold of him. He was blind, helpless, mindless.

-

- 'It was a common punishment in Imperial China,' said -O'Brien as didactically as ever.

-

- The mask was closing on his face. The wire brushed his -cheek. And then -- no, it was not relief, only hope, a tiny -fragment of hope. Too late, perhaps too late. But he had -suddenly understood that in the whole world there was just -one person to whom he could transfer his punishment -- -one body that he could thrust between himself and the -rats. And he was shouting frantically, over and over.

-

- 'Do it to Julia! Do it to Julia! Not me! Julia! I don't -care what you do to her. Tear her face off, strip her to the -bones. Not me! Julia! Not me!'

-

- He was falling backwards, into enormous depths, away from -the rats. He was still strapped in the chair, but he had fallen -through the floor, through the walls of the building, through -the earth, through the oceans, through the atmosphere, into -outer space, into the gulfs between the stars -- always away, -away, away from the rats. He was light years distant, but -O'Brien was still standing at his side. There was still the -cold touch of wire against his cheek. But through the darkness -that enveloped him he heard another metallic click, and knew -that the cage door had clicked shut and not open.

-

XXIII

-

- The Chestnut Tree was almost empty. A ray of sunlight -slanting through a window fell on dusty table-tops. It was the -lonely hour of fifteen. A tinny music trickled from the -telescreens.

-

- Winston sat in his usual corner, gazing into an empty -glass. Now and again he glanced up at a vast face which eyed -him from the opposite wall. BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU, the -caption said. Unbidden, a waiter came and filled his glass up -with Victory Gin, shaking into it a few drops from another -bottle with a quill through the cork. It was saccharine -flavoured with cloves, the speciality of the café.

-

- Winston was listening to the telescreen. At present only -music was coming out of it, but there was a possibility that at -any moment there might be a special bulletin from the Ministry -of Peace. The news from the African front was disquieting in -the extreme. On and off he had been worrying about it all day. -A Eurasian army (Oceania was at war with Eurasia: Oceania had -always been at war with Eurasia) was moving southward at -terrifying speed. The mid-day bulletin had not mentioned any -definite area, but it was probable that already the mouth of -the Congo was a battlefield. Brazzaville and Leopoldville were -in danger. One did not have to look at the map to see what it -meant. It was not merely a question of losing Central Africa: -for the first time in the whole war, the territory of Oceania -itself was menaced.

-

- A violent emotion, not fear exactly but a sort of -undifferentiated excitement, flared up in him, then faded -again. He stopped thinking about the war. In these days he -could never fix his mind on any one subject for more than a few -moments at a time. He picked up his glass and drained it at a -gulp. As always, the gin made him shudder and even retch -slightly. The stuff was horrible. The cloves and saccharine, -themselves disgusting enough in their sickly way, could not -disguise the flat oily smell; and what was worst of all was -that the smell of gin, which dwelt with him night and day, was -inextricably mixed up in his mind with the smell of those-

-

- He never named them, even in his thoughts, and so far as -it was possible he never visualized them. They were something -that he was half-aware of, hovering close to his face, a smell -that clung to his nostrils. As the gin rose in him he belched -through purple lips. He had grown fatter since they released -him, and had regained his old colour -- indeed, more than -regained it. His features had thickened, the skin on nose and -cheekbones was coarsely red, even the bald scalp was too deep a -pink. A waiter, again unbidden, brought the chessboard and the -current issue of The Times, with the page turned down at -the chess problem. Then, seeing that Winston's glass was empty, -he brought the gin bottle and filled it. There was no need to -give orders. They knew his habits. The chessboard was always -waiting for him, his corner table was always reserved; even -when the place was full he had it to himself, since nobody -cared to be seen sitting too close to him. He never even -bothered to count his drinks. At irregular intervals they -presented him with a dirty slip of paper which they said was -the bill, but he had the impression that they always -undercharged him. It would have made no difference if it had -been the other way about. He had always plenty of money -nowadays. He even had a job, a sinecure, more highly-paid than -his old job had been.

-

- The music from the telescreen stopped and a voice took -over. Winston raised his head to listen. No bulletins from the -front, however. It was merely a brief announcement from the -Ministry of Plenty. In the preceding quarter, it appeared, the -Tenth Three-Year Plan's quota for bootlaces had been -overfulfilled by 98 per cent.

-

- He examined the chess problem and set out the pieces. It -was a tricky ending, involving a couple of knights. 'White to -play and mate in two moves.' Winston looked up at the portrait -of Big Brother. White always mates, he thought with a sort of -cloudy mysticism. Always, without exception, it is so arranged. -In no chess problem since the beginning of the world has black -ever won. Did it not symbolize the eternal, unvarying triumph -of Good over Evil? The huge face gazed back at him, full of -calm power. White always mates.

-

- The voice from the telescreen paused and added in a -different and much graver tone: 'You are warned to stand by for -an important announcement at fifteen-thirty. Fifteen-thirty! -This is news of the highest importance. Take care not to miss -it. Fifteen-thirty!' The tinking music struck up again.

-

- Winston's heart stirred. That was the bulletin from the -front; instinct told him that it was bad news that was coming. -All day, with little spurts of excitement, the thought of a -smashing defeat in Africa had been in and out of his mind. He -seemed actually to see the Eurasian army swarming across the -never-broken frontier and pouring down into the tip of Africa -like a column of ants. Why had it not been possible to outflank -them in some way? The outline of the West African coast stood -out vividly in his mind. He picked up the white knight and -moved it across the board. There was the proper spot. -Even while he saw the black horde racing southward he saw -another force, mysteriously assembled, suddenly planted in -their rear, cutting their comunications by land and sea. He -felt that by willing it he was bringing that other force into -existence. But it was necessary to act quickly. If they could -get control of the whole of Africa, if they had airfields and -submarine bases at the Cape, it would cut Oceania in two. It -might mean anything: defeat, breakdown, the redivision of the -world, the destruction of the Party! He drew a deep breath. An -extraordinary medley of feeling-but it was not a medley, -exactly; rather it was successive layers of feeling, in which -one could not say which layer was undermost struggled inside -him.

-

- The spasm passed. He put the white knight back in its -place, but for the moment he could not settle down to serious -study of the chess problem. His thoughts wandered again. Almost -unconsciously he traced with his finger in the dust on the -table: 2+2=

-

- 'They can't get inside you,' she had said. But they could -get inside you. 'What happens to you here is for ever,' -O'Brien had said. That was a true word. There were things, your -own acts, from which you could never recover. Something was -killed in your breast: burnt out, cauterized out.

-

- He had seen her; he had even spoken to her. There was no -danger in it. He knew as though instinctively that they now -took almost no interest in his doings. He could have arranged -to meet her a second time if either of them had wanted to. -Actually it was by chance that they had met. It was in the -Park, on a vile, biting day in March, when the earth was like -iron and all the grass seemed dead and there was not a bud -anywhere except a few crocuses which had pushed themselves up -to be dismembered by the wind. He was hurrying along with -frozen hands and watering eyes when he saw her not ten metres -away from him. It struck him at once that she had changed in -some ill-defined way. They almost passed one another without a -sign, then he turned and followed her, not very eagerly. He -knew that there was no danger, nobody would take any interest -in him. She did not speak. She walked obliquely away across the -grass as though trying to get rid of him, then seemed to resign -herself to having him at her side. Presently they were in among -a clump of ragged leafless shrubs, useless either for -concealment or as protection from the wind. They halted. It was -vilely cold. The wind whistled through the twigs and fretted -the occasional, dirty-looking crocuses. He put his arm round -her waist.

-

- There was no telescreen, but there must be hidden -microphones: besides, they could be seen. It did not matter, -nothing mattered. They could have lain down on the ground and -done that if they had wanted to. His flesh froze with -horror at the thought of it. She made no response whatever to -the clasp of his arm ; she did not even try to disengage -herself. He knew now what had changed in her. Her face was -sallower, and there was a long scar, partly hidden by the hair, -across her forehead and temple; but that was not the change. It -was that her waist had grown thicker, and, in a surprising way, -had stiffened. He remembered how once, after the explosion of a -rocket bomb, he had helped to drag a corpse out of some ruins, -and had been astonished not only by the incredible weight of -the thing, but by its rigidity and awkwardness to handle, which -made it seem more like stone than flesh. Her body felt like -that. It occurred to him that the texture of her skin would be -quite different from what it had once been.

-

- He did not attempt to kiss her, nor did they speak. As -they walked back across the grass, she looked directly at him -for the first time. It was only a momentary glance, full of -contempt and dislike. He wondered whether it was a dislike that -came purely out of the past or whether it was inspired also by -his bloated face and the water that the wind kept squeezing -from his eyes. They sat down on two iron chairs, side by side -but not too close together. He saw that she was about to speak. -She moved her clumsy shoe a few centimetres and deliberately -crushed a twig. Her feet seemed to have grown broader, he -noticed.

-

- 'I betrayed you,' she said baldly.

-

- 'I betrayed you,' he said.

-

- She gave him another quick look of dislike.

-

- 'Sometimes,' she said, 'they threaten you with something -something you can't stand up to, can't even think about. And -then you say, "Don't do it to me, do it to somebody else, do it -to So-and-so." And perhaps you might pretend, afterwards, that -it was only a trick and that you just said it to make them stop -and didn't really mean it. But that isn't true. At the time -when it happens you do mean it. You think there's no other way -of saving yourself, and you're quite ready to save yourself -that way. You want it to happen to the other person. You -don't give a damn what they suffer. All you care about is -yourself.'

-

- 'All you care about is yourself,' he echoed.

-

- 'And after that, you don't feel the same towards the other -person any longer.'

-

- 'No,' he said, 'you don't feel the same.'

-

- There did not seem to be anything more to say. The wind -plastered their thin overalls against their bodies. Almost at -once it became embarrassing to sit there in silence: besides, -it was too cold to keep still. She said something about -catching her Tube and stood up to go.

-

- 'We must meet again,' he said.

-

- 'Yes,' she said, 'we must meet again. '

-

- He followed irresolutely for a little distance, half a -pace behind her. They did not speak again. She did not actually -try to shake him off, but walked at just such a speed as to -prevent his keeping abreast of her. He had made up his mind -that he would accompany her as far as the Tube station, but -suddenly this process of trailing along in the cold seemed -pointless and unbearable. He was overwhelmed by a desire not so -much to get away from Julia as to get back to the Chestnut Tree -Café, which had never seemed so attractive as at this moment. -He had a nostalgic vision of his corner table, with the -newspaper and the chessboard and the ever-flowing gin. Above -all, it would be warm in there. The next moment, not altogether -by accident, he allowed himself to become separated from her by -a small knot of people. He made a halfhearted attempt to catch -up, then slowed down, turned, and made off in the opposite -direction. When he had gone fifty metres he looked back. The -street was not crowded, but already he could not distinguish -her. Any one of a dozen hurrying figures might have been hers. -Perhaps her thickened, stiffened body was no longer -recognizable from behind.

-

- 'At the time when it happens,' she had said, 'you do mean -it.' He had meant it. He had not merely said it, he had wished -it. He had wished that she and not he should be delivered over -to the-

-

- Something changed in the music that trickled from the -telescreen. A cracked and jeering note, a yellow note, came -into it. And then -- perhaps it was not happening, perhaps it -was only a memory taking on the semblance of sound -- a voice -was singing:

-

- 'Under the spreading chestnut tree
- I sold you and you sold me '

-

- - The tears welled up in his eyes. A passing waiter noticed -that his glass was empty and came back with the gin bottle.

-

- He took up his glass and sniffed at it. The stuff grew not -less but more horrible with every mouthful he drank. But it had -become the element he swam in. It was his life, his death, and -his resurrection. It was gin that sank him into stupor every -night, and gin that revived him every morning. When he woke, -seldom before eleven hundred, with gummed-up eyelids and fiery -mouth and a back that seemed to be broken, it would have been -impossible even to rise from the horizontal if it had not been -for the bottle and teacup placed beside the bed overnight. -Through the midday hours he sat with glazed face, the bottle -handy, listening to the telescreen. From fifteen to -closing-time he was a fixture in the Chestnut Tree. No one -cared what he did any longer, no whistle woke him, no -telescreen admonished him. Occasionally, perhaps twice a week, -he went to a dusty, forgotten-looking office in the Ministry of -Truth and did a little work, or what was called work. He had -been appointed to a sub-committee of a sub-committee which had -sprouted from one of the innumerable committees dealing with -minor difficulties that arose in the compilation of the -Eleventh Edition of the Newspeak Dictionary. They were engaged -in producing something called an Interim Report, but what it -was that they were reporting on he had never definitely found -out. It was something to do with the question of whether commas -should be placed inside brackets, or outside. There were four -others on the committee, all of them persons similar to -himself. There were days when they assembled and then promptly -dispersed again, frankly admitting to one another that there -was not really anything to be done. But there were other days -when they settled down to their work almost eagerly, making a -tremendous show of entering up their minutes and drafting long -memoranda which were never finished -- when the argument as to -what they were supposedly arguing about grew extraordinarily -involved and abstruse, with subtle haggling over definitions, -enormous digressions, quarrels threats, even, to appeal to -higher authority. And then suddenly the life would go out of -them and they would sit round the table looking at one another -with extinct eyes, like ghosts fading at cock-crow.

-

- The telescreen was silent for a moment. Winston raised his -head again. The bulletin! But no, they were merely changing the -music. He had the map of Africa behind his eyelids. The -movement of the armies was a diagram: a black arrow tearing -vertically southward, and a white arrow horizontally eastward, -across the tail of the first. As though for reassurance he -looked up at the imperturbable face in the portrait. Was it -conceivable that the second arrow did not even exist?

-

- His interest flagged again. He drank another mouthful of -gin, picked up the white knight and made a tentative move. -Check. But it was evidently not the right move, because

-

- Uncalled, a memory floated into his mind. He saw a -candle-lit room with a vast white-counterpaned bed, and -himself, a boy of nine or ten, sitting on the floor, shaking a -dice-box, and laughing excitedly. His mother was sitting -opposite him and also laughing.

-

- It must have been about a month before she disappeared. It -was a moment of reconciliation, when the nagging hunger in his -belly was forgotten and his earlier affection for her had -temporarily revived. He remembered the day well, a pelting, -drenching day when the water streamed down the window-pane and -the light indoors was too dull to read by. The boredom of the -two children in the dark, cramped bedroom became unbearable. -Winston whined and grizzled, made futile demands for food, -fretted about the room pulling everything out of place and -kicking the wainscoting until the neighbours banged on the -wall, while the younger child wailed intermittently. In the end -his mother said, 'Now be good, and I'Il buy you a toy. A lovely -toy -- you'll love it'; and then she had gone out in the rain, -to a little general shop which was still sporadically open -nearby, and came back with a cardboard box containing an outfit -of Snakes and Ladders. He could still remember the smell of the -damp cardboard. It was a miserable outfit. The board was -cracked and the tiny wooden dice were so ill-cut that they -would hardly lie on their sides. Winston looked at the thing -sulkily and without interest. But then his mother lit a piece -of candle and they sat down on the floor to play. Soon he was -wildly excited and shouting with laughter as the tiddly-winks -climbed hopefully up the ladders and then came slithering down -the snakes again, almost to the starting- point. They played -eight games, winning four each. His tiny sister, too young to -understand what the game was about, had sat propped up against -a bolster, laughing because the others were laughing. For a -whole afternoon they had all been happy together, as in his -earlier childhood.

-

- He pushed the picture out of his mind. It was a false -memory. He was troubled by false memories occasionally. They -did not matter so long as one knew them for what they were. -Some things had happened, others had not happened. He turned -back to the chessboard and picked up the white knight again. -Almost in the same instant it dropped on to the board with a -clatter. He had started as though a pin had run into him.

-

- A shrill trumpet-call had pierced the air. It was the -bulletin! Victory! It always meant victory when a trumpet-call -preceded the news. A sort of electric drill ran through the -café. Even the waiters had started and pricked up their ears.

-

- The trumpet-call had let loose an enormous volume of -noise. Already an excited voice was gabbling from the -telescreen, but even as it started it was almost drowned by a -roar of cheering from outside. The news had run round the -streets like magic. He could hear just enough of what was -issuing from the telescreen to realize that it had all -happened, as he had foreseen; a vast seaborne armada had -secretly assembled a sudden blow in the enemy's rear, the white -arrow tearing across the tail of the black. Fragments of -triumphant phrases pushed themselves through the din: 'Vast -strategic manoeuvre -- perfect co-ordination -- utter rout -- -half a million prisoners -- complete demoralization -- control -of the whole of Africa -- bring the war within measurable -distance of its end victory -- greatest victory in human -history -- victory, victory, victory!'

-

- Under the table Winston's feet made convulsive movements. -He had not stirred from his seat, but in his mind he was -running, swiftly running, he was with the crowds outside, -cheering himself deaf. He looked up again at the portrait of -Big Brother. The colossus that bestrode the world! The rock -against which the hordes of Asia dashed themselves in vain! He -thought how ten minutes ago-yes, only ten minutes -- there had -still been equivocation in his heart as he wondered whether the -news from the front would be of victory or defeat. Ah, it was -more than a Eurasian army that had perished! Much had changed -in him since that first day in the Ministry of Love, but the -final, indispensable, healing change had never happened, until -this moment.

-

- The voice from the telescreen was still pouring forth its -tale of prisoners and booty and slaughter, but the shouting -outside had died down a little. The waiters were turning back -to their work. One of them approached with the gin bottle. -Winston, sitting in a blissful dream, paid no attention as his -glass was filled up. He was not running or cheering any longer. -He was back in the Ministry of Love, with everything forgiven, -his soul white as snow. He was in the public dock, confessing -everything, implicating everybody. He was walking down the -white-tiled corridor, with the feeling of walking in sunlight, -and an armed guard at his back. The longhoped-for bullet was -entering his brain.

-

- He gazed up at the enormous face. Forty years it had taken -him to learn what kind of smile was hidden beneath the dark -moustache. O cruel, needless misunderstanding! O stubborn, -self-willed exile from the loving breast! Two gin-scented tears -trickled down the sides of his nose. But it was all right, -everything was all right, the struggle was finished. He had won -the victory over himself. He loved Big Brother.

-

APPENDIX: -The Principles of Newspeak

-

- Newspeak was the official language of Oceania and had been -devised to meet the ideological needs of Ingsoc, or English -Socialism. In the year 1984 there was not as yet anyone who -used Newspeak as his sole means of communication, either in -speech or writing. The leading articles in The Times -were written in it, but this was a tour de force which -could only be carried out by a specialist. It was expected that -Newspeak would have finally superseded Oldspeak (or Standard -English, as we should call it) by about the year 2050. -Meanwhile it gained ground steadily, all Party members tending -to use Newspeak words and grammatical constructions more and -more in their everyday speech. The version in use in 1984, and -embodied in the Ninth and Tenth Editions of the Newspeak -Dictionary, was a provisional one, and contained many -superfluous words and archaic formations which were due to be -suppressed later. It is with the final, perfected version, as -embodied in the Eleventh Edition of the Dictionary, that we are -concerned here.

-

- The purpose of Newspeak was not only to provide a medium -of expression for the world-view and mental habits proper to -the devotees of Ingsoc, but to make all other modes of thought -impossible. It was intended that when Newspeak had been adopted -once and for all and Oldspeak forgotten, a heretical thought -- -that is, a thought diverging from the principles of Ingsoc -- -should be literally unthinkable, at least so far as thought is -dependent on words. Its vocabulary was so constructed as to -give exact and often very subtle expression to every meaning -that a Party member could properly wish to express, while -excluding all other meanings and also the possibility of -arriving at them by indirect methods. This was done partly by -the invention of new words, but chiefly by eliminating -undesirable words and by stripping such words as remained of -unorthodox meanings, and so far as possible of all secondary -meanings whatever. To give a single example. The word -free still existed in Newspeak, but it could only be -used in such statements as 'This dog is free from lice' or -'This field is free from weeds'. It could not be used in its -old sense of ' politically free' or 'intellectually free' since -political and intellectual freedom no longer existed even as -concepts, and were therefore of necessity nameless. Quite apart -from the suppression of definitely heretical words, reduction -of vocabulary was regarded as an end in itself, and no word -that could be dispensed with was allowed to survive. Newspeak -was designed not to extend but to diminish the range of -thought, and this purpose was indirectly assisted by cutting -the choice of words down to a minimum.

-

- Newspeak was founded on the English language as we now -know it, though many Newspeak sentences, even when not -containing newly-created words, would be barely intelligible to -an English-speaker of our own day. Newspeak words were divided -into three distinct classes, known as the A vocabulary, the B -vocabulary (also called compound words), and the C vocabulary. -It will be simpler to discuss each class separately, but the -grammatical peculiarities of the language can be dealt with in -the section devoted to the A vocabulary, since the same rules -held good for all three categories.

-

-

- The A vocabulary. - The A vocabulary consisted of the -words needed for the business of everyday life -- for such -things as eating, drinking, working, putting on one's clothes, -going up and down stairs, riding in vehicles, gardening, -cooking, and the like. It was composed almost entirely of words -that we already possess words like hit, run, dog, tree, -sugar, house, field -- but in comparison with the -present-day English vocabulary their number was extremely -small, while their meanings were far more rigidly defined. All -ambiguities and shades of meaning had been purged out of them. -So far as it could be achieved, a Newspeak word of this class -was simply a staccato sound expressing one clearly -understood concept. It would have been quite impossible to use -the A vocabulary for literary purposes or for political or -philosophical discussion. It was intended only to express -simple, purposive thoughts, usually involving concrete objects -or physical actions.

-

- The grammar of Newspeak had two outstanding peculiarities. -The first of these was an almost complete interchangeability -between different parts of speech. Any word in the language (in -principle this applied even to very abstract words such as -if or when) could be used either as verb, noun, -adjective, or adverb. Between the verb and the noun form, when -they were of the same root, there was never any variation, this -rule of itself involving the destruction of many archaic forms. -The word thought, for example, did not exist in -Newspeak. Its place was taken by think, which did duty -for both noun and verb. No etymological principle was followed -here: in some cases it was the original noun that was chosen -for retention, in other cases the verb. Even where a noun and -verb of kindred meaning were not etymologically connected, one -or other of them was frequently suppressed. There was, for -example, no such word as cut, its meaning being -sufficiently covered by the noun-verb knife. Adjectives -were formed by adding the suffix-ful to the noun-verb, -and adverbs by adding -wise. Thus for example, -speedful meant 'rapid' and speedwise meant -'quickly'. Certain of our present-day adjectives, such as -good, strong, big, black, soft, were retained, -but their total number was very small. There was little need -for them, since almost any adjectival meaning could be arrived -at by adding-ful to a noun-verb. None of the -now-existing adverbs was retained, except for a very few -already ending in-wise: the -wise termination was -invariable. The word well, for example, was replaced by -goodwise.

-

- In addition, any word -- this again applied in principle -to every word in the language -- could be negatived by adding -the affix un- or could be strengthened by the affix -plus-, or, for still greater emphasis, -doubleplus-. Thus, for example, uncold meant -'warm', while pluscold and doublepluscold meant, -respectively, 'very cold' and 'superlatively cold'. It was also -possible, as in present-day English, to modify the meaning of -almost any word by prepositional affixes such as ante-, -post-, up-, down-, etc. By such methods it -was found possible to bring about an enormous diminution of -vocabulary. Given, for instance, the word good, there -was no need for such a word as bad, since the required -meaning was equally well -- indeed, better -- expressed by -ungood. All that was necessary, in any case where two -words formed a natural pair of opposites, was to decide which -of them to suppress. Dark, for example, could be -replaced by unlight, or light by undark, -according to preference.

-

- The second distinguishing mark of Newspeak grammar was its -regularity. Subject to a few exceptions which are mentioned -below all inflexions followed the same rules. Thus, in all -verbs the preterite and the past participle were the same and -ended in-ed. The preterite of steal was -stealed, the preterite of think was -thinked, and so on throughout the language, all such -forms as swam, gave, brought, spoke, -taken, etc., being abolished. All plurals were made by -adding-s or-es as the case might be. The plurals of man, ox, -life, were mans, oxes, lifes. Comparison of -adjectives was invariably made by adding-er,-est (good, -gooder, goodest), irregular forms and the more, most -formation being suppressed.

-

- The only classes of words that were still allowed to -inflect irregularly were the pronouns, the relatives, the -demonstrative adjectives, and the auxiliary verbs. All of these -followed their ancient usage, except that whom had been -scrapped as unnecessary, and the shall, should tenses -had been dropped, all their uses being covered by will -and would. There were also certain irregularities in -word-formation arising out of the need for rapid and easy -speech. A word which was difficult to utter, or was liable to -be incorrectly heard, was held to be ipso facto a bad -word: occasionally therefore, for the sake of euphony, extra -letters were inserted into a word or an archaic formation was -retained. But this need made itself felt chiefly in connexion -with the B vocabulary. Why so great an importance was -attached to ease of pronunciation will be made clear later in -this essay.

-

-

- The B vocabulary. - The B vocabulary consisted of -words which had been deliberately constructed for political -purposes: words, that is to say, which not only had in every -case a political implication, but were intended to impose a -desirable mental attitude upon the person using them. Without a -full understanding of the principles of Ingsoc it was difficult -to use these words correctly. In some cases they couId be -translated into Oldspeak, or even into words taken from the A -vocabulary, but this usually demanded a long paraphrase and -always involved the loss of certain overtones. The B words were -a sort of verbal shorthand, often packing whole ranges of ideas -into a few syllables, and at the same time more accurate and -forcible than ordinary language.

-

- The B words were in all cases compound words.

-

- They consisted of two or more words, -or portions of words, welded together in an easily -pronounceable form. The resulting amalgam was always a -noun-verb, and inflected according to the ordinary rules. To -take a single example: the word goodthink, meaning, very -roughly, 'orthodoxy', or, if one chose to regard it as a verb, -'to think in an orthodox manner'. This inflected as follows: -noun-verb, goodthink; past tense and past participle, -goodthinked; present participle, good- -thinking; adjective, goodthinkful; adverb, -goodthinkwise; verbal noun, goodthinker.

-

- The B words were not constructed on any etymological plan. -The words of which they were made up could be any parts of -speech, and could be placed in any order and mutilated in any -way which made them easy to pronounce while indicating their -derivation. In the word crimethink (thoughtcrime), for -instance, the think came second, whereas in -thinkpol Thought Police) it came first, and in the -latter word police had lost its second syllable. Because -of the great difficuIty in securing euphony, irregular -formations were commoner in the B vocabulary than in the A -vocabulary. For example, the adjective forms of Minitrue, -Minipax, and Miniluv were, respectively, -Minitruthful, Minipeaceful, and Minilovely, -simply because- trueful,-paxful, and-loveful were -slightly awkward to pronounce. In principle, however, all B -words could inflect, and all inflected in exactly the same way.

-

- Some of the B words had highly subtilized meanings, barely -intelligible to anyone who had not mastered the language as a -whole. Consider, for example, such a typical sentence from a -Times leading article as Oldthinkers unbellyfeel -Ingsoc. The shortest rendering that one could make of this -in Oldspeak would be: 'Those whose ideas were formed before the -Revolution cannot have a full emotional understanding of the -principles of English Socialism.' But this is not an adequate -translation. To begin with, in order to

-

- - Compound words such as speakwrite, -were of course to be found in the A vocabulary, but these were -merely convenient abbreviations and had no special ideologcal -colour.

-

- grasp the full meaning of the Newspeak sentence quoted -above, one would have to have a clear idea of what is meant by -Ingsoc. And in addition, only a person thoroughly -grounded in Ingsoc could appreciate the full force of the word -bellyfeel, which implied a blind, enthusiastic -acceptance difficult to imagine today; or of the word -oldthink, which was inextricably mixed up with the idea -of wickedness and decadence. But the special function of -certain Newspeak words, of which oldthink was one, was -not so much to express meanings as to destroy them. These -words, necessarily few in number, had had their meanings -extended until they contained within themselves whole batteries -of words which, as they were sufficiently covered by a single -comprehensive term, could now be scrapped and forgotten. The -greatest difficulty facing the compilers of the Newspeak -Dictionary was not to invent new words, but, having invented -them, to make sure what they meant: to make sure, that is to -say, what ranges of words they cancelled by their existence.

-

- As we have already seen in the case of the word free, -words which had once borne a heretical meaning were sometimes -retained for the sake of convenience, but only with the -undesirable meanings purged out of them. Countless other words -such as honour, justice, morality, internationalism, -democracy, science, and religion had simply ceased -to exist. A few blanket words covered them, and, in covering -them, abolished them. All words grouping themselves round the -concepts of liberty and equality, for instance, were contained -in the single word crimethink, while all words grouping -themselves round the concepts of objectivity and rationalism -were contained in the single word oldthink. Greater -precision would have been dangerous. What was required in a -Party member was an outlook similar to that of the ancient -Hebrew who knew, without knowing much else, that all nations -other than his own worshipped 'false gods'. He did not need to -know that these gods were called Baal, Osiris, Moloch, -Ashtaroth, and the like: probably the less he knew about them -the better for his orthodoxy. He knew Jehovah and the -commandments of Jehovah: he knew, therefore, that all gods with -other names or other attributes were false gods. In somewhat -the same way, the party member knew what constituted right -conduct, and in exceedingly vague, generalized terms he knew -what kinds of departure from it were possible. His sexual life, -for example, was entirely regulated by the two Newspeak words -sexcrime (sexual immorality) and goodsex (chastity). -Sexcrime covered all sexual misdeeds whatever. It -covered fornication, adultery, homosexuality, and other -perversions, and, in addition, normal intercourse practised for -its own sake. There was no need to enumerate them separately, -since they were all equally culpable, and, in principle, all -punishable by death. In the C vocabulary, which consisted of -scientific and technical words, it might be necessary to give -specialized names to certain sexual aberrations, but the -ordinary citizen had no need of them. He knew what was meant by -goodsex -- that is to say, normal intercourse between -man and wife, for the sole purpose of begetting children, and -without physical pleasure on the part of the woman: all else -was sexcrime. In Newspeak it was seldom possible to -follow a heretical thought further than the perception that it -was heretical: beyond that point the necessary words were -nonexistent.

-

- No word in the B vocabulary was ideologically neutral. A -great many were euphemisms. Such words, for instance, as -joycamp (forced-labour camp) or Minipax Ministry -of Peace, i. e. Ministry of War) meant almost the exact -opposite of what they appeared to mean. Some words, on the -other hand, displayed a frank and contemptuous understanding of -the real nature of Oceanic society. An example was -prolefeed, meaning the rubbishy entertainment and -spurious news which the Party handed out to the masses. Other -words, again, were ambivalent, having the connotation 'good' -when applied to the Party and 'bad' when applied to its -enemies. But in addition there were great numbers of words -which at first sight appeared to be mere abbreviations and -which derived their ideological colour not from their meaning, -but from their structure.

-

- So far as it could be contrived, everything that had or -might have political significance of any kind was fitted into -the B vocabulary. The name of every organization, or body of -people, or doctrine, or country, or institution, or public -building, was invariably cut down into the familiar shape; that -is, a single easily pronounced word with the smallest number of -syllables that would preserve the original derivation. In the -Ministry of Truth, for example, the Records Department, in -which Winston Smith worked, was called Recdep, the -Fiction Department was called Ficdep, the Teleprogrammes -Department was called Teledep, and so on. This was not -done solely with the object of saving time. Even in the early -decades of the twentieth century, telescoped words and phrases -had been one of the characteristic features of political -language; and it had been noticed that the tendency to use -abbreviations of this kind was most marked in totalitarian -countries and totalitarian organizations. Examples were such -words as Nazi, Gestapo, Comin- tern, Inprecorr, -Agitprop. In the beginning the practice had been adopted as -it were instinctively, but in Newspeak it was used with a -conscious purpose. It was perceived that in thus abbreviating a -name one narrowed and subtly altered its meaning, by cutting -out most of the associations that would otherwise cling to it. -The words Communist International, for instance, call up -a composite picture of universal human brotherhood, red flags, -barricades, Karl Marx, and the Paris Commune. The word -Comintern, on the other hand, suggests merely a -tightly-knit organization and a well-defined body of doctrine. -It refers to something almost as easily recognized, and as -limited in purpose, as a chair or a table. Comintern is -a word that can be uttered almost without taking thought, -whereas Communist International is a phrase over which -one is obliged to linger at least momentarily. In the same way, -the associations called up by a word like Minitrue are -fewer and more controllable than those called up by Ministry -of Truth. This accounted not only for the habit of -abbreviating whenever possible, but also for the almost -exaggerated care that was taken to make every word easily -pronounceable.

-

- In Newspeak, euphony outweighed every consideration other -than exactitude of meaning. Regularity of grammar was always -sacrificed to it when it seemed necessary. And rightly so, -since what was required, above all for political purposes, was -short clipped words of unmistakable meaning which could be -uttered rapidly and which roused the minimum of echoes in the -speaker's mind. The words of the B vocabulary even gained in -force from the fact that nearly all of them were very much -alike. Almost invariably these words -- goodthink, Minipax, -prolefeed, sexcrime, joycamp, Ingsoc, bellyfeel, -thinkpol, and countless others -- were words of two or -three syllables, with the stress distributed equally between -the first syllable and the last. The use of them encouraged a -gabbling style of speech, at once staccato and monotonous. And -this was exactly what was aimed at. The intention was to make -speech, and especially speech on any subject not ideologically -neutral, as nearly as possible independent of consciousness. -For the purposes of everyday life it was no doubt necessary, or -sometimes necessary, to reflect before speaking, but a Party -member called upon to make a political or ethical judgement -should be able to spray forth the correct opinions as -automatically as a machine gun spraying forth bullets. His -training fitted him to do this, the language gave him an almost -foolproof instrument, and the texture of the words, with their -harsh sound and a certain wilful ugliness which was in accord -with the spirit of Ingsoc, assisted the process still further.

-

- So did the fact of having very few words to choose from. -Relative to our own, the Newspeak vocabulary was tiny, and new -ways of reducing it were constantly being devised. Newspeak, -indeed, differed from most all other languages in that its -vocabulary grew smaller instead of larger every year. Each -reduction was a gain, since the smaller the area of choice, the -smaller the temptation to take thought. Ultimately it was hoped -to make articulate speech issue from the larynx without -involving the higher brain centres at all. This aim was frankly -admitted in the Newspeak word duckspeak, meaning ' to -quack like a duck'. Like various other words in the B -vocabulary, duckspeak was ambivalent in meaning. -Provided that the opinions which were quacked out were orthodox -ones, it implied nothing but praise, and when The Times -referred to one of the orators of the Party as a -doubleplusgood duckspeaker it was paying a warm and -valued compliment.

-

-

- The C vocabulary. - The C vocabulary was supplementary -to the others and consisted entirely of scientific and -technical terms. These resembled the scientific terms in use -today, and were constructed from the same roots, but the usual -care was taken to define them rigidly and strip them of -undesirable meanings. They followed the same grammatical rules -as the words in the other two vocabularies. Very few of the C -words had any currency either in everyday speech or in -political speech. Any scientific worker or technician could -find all the words he needed in the list devoted to his own -speciality, but he seldom had more than a smattering of the -words occurring in the other lists. Only a very few words were -common to all lists, and there was no vocabulary expressing the -function of Science as a habit of mind, or a method of thought, -irrespective of its particular branches. There was, indeed, no -word for 'Science', any meaning that it could possibly bear -being already sufficiently covered by the word Ingsoc.

-

- From the foregoing account it will be seen that in -Newspeak the expression of unorthodox opinions, above a very -low level, was well-nigh impossible. It was of course possible -to utter heresies of a very crude kind, a species of blasphemy. -It would have been possible, for example, to say Big Brother -is ungood. But this statement, which to an orthodox ear -merely conveyed a self-evident absurdity, could not have been -sustained by reasoned argument, because the necessary words -were not available. Ideas inimical to Ingsoc could only be -entertained in a vague wordless form, and could only be named -in very broad terms which lumped together and condemned whole -groups of heresies without defining them in doing so. One -could, in fact, only use Newspeak for unorthodox purposes by -illegitimately translating some of the words back into -Oldspeak. For example, All mans are equal was a possible -Newspeak sentence, but only in the same sense in which All -men are redhaired is a possible Oldspeak sentence. -It did not contain a grammatical error, but it expressed a -palpable untruth-i.e. that all men are of equal size, weight, -or strength. The concept of political equality no longer -existed, and this secondary meaning had accordingly been purged -out of the word equal. In 1984, when Oldspeak was still -the normal means of communication, the danger theoretically -existed that in using Newspeak words one might remember their -original meanings. In practice it was not difficult for any -person well grounded in doublethink to avoid doing this, -but within a couple of generations even the possibility of such -a lapse would have vaished. A person growing up with Newspeak -as his sole language would no more know that equal had -once had the secondary meaning of 'politically equal', or that -free had once meant 'intellectually free', than for -instance, a person who had never heard of chess would be aware -of the secondary meanings attaching to queen and -rook. There would be many crimes and errors which it -would be beyond his power to commit, simply because they were -nameless and therefore unimaginable. And it was to be foreseen -that with the passage of time the distinguishing -characteristics of Newspeak would become more and more -pronounced -- its words growing fewer and fewer, their meanings -more and more rigid, and the chance of putting them to improper -uses always diminishing.

-

- When Oldspeak had been once and for all superseded, the -last link with the past would have been severed. History had -already been rewritten, but fragments of the literature of the -past survived here and there, imperfectly censored, and so long -as one retained one's knowledge of Oldspeak it was possible to -read them. In the future such fragments, even if they chanced -to survive, would be unintelligible and untranslatable. It was -impossible to translate any passage of Oldspeak into Newspeak -unless it either referred to some technical process or some -very simple everyday action, or was already orthodox -(goodthinkful would be the NewsPeak expression) in -tendency. In practice this meant that no book written before -approximately 1960 could be translated as a whole. -Pre-revolutionary literature could only be subjected to -ideological translation -- that is, alteration in sense as well -as language. Take for example the well-known passage from the -Declaration of Independence:

-

- We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men -are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with -certain inalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty, -and the pursuit of happiness. That to secure these rights, -Governments are instituted among men, deriving their powers -from the consent of the governed. That whenever any form of -Government becomes destructive of those ends, it is the right -of the People to alter or abolish it, and to institute new -Government...

-

- It would have been quite impossible to render this into -Newspeak while keeping to the sense of the original. The -nearest one could come to doing so would be to swallow the -whole passage up in the single word crimethink. A full -translation could only be an ideological translation, whereby -Jefferson's words would be changed into a panegyric on absolute -government.

-

- A good deal of the literature of the past was, indeed, -already being transformed in this way. Considerations of -prestige made it desirable to preserve the memory of certain -historical figures, while at the same time bringing their -achievements into line with the philosophy of Ingsoc. Various -writers, such as Shakespeare, Milton, Swift, Byron, Dickens, -and some others were therefore in process of translation: when -the task had been completed, their original writings, with all -else that survived of the literature of the past, would be -destroyed. These translations were a slow and difficult -business, and it was not expected that they would be finished -before the first or second decade of the twenty-first century. -There were also large quantities of merely utilitarian -literature -- indispensable technical manuals, and the like -- -that had to be treated in the same way. It was chiefly in order -to allow time for the preliminary work of translation that the -final adoption of Newspeak had been fixed for so late a date as -2050.

- diff --git a/cryptopals/01.03/hex.erl b/cryptopals/01.03/hex.erl deleted file mode 100644 index 417503c..0000000 --- a/cryptopals/01.03/hex.erl +++ /dev/null @@ -1,22 +0,0 @@ --module(hex). --export([decode/1,encode/1,fixed_xor/2,single_byte_xor/2]). - -data_in_pairs([]) -> []; -data_in_pairs([C1,C2|Tail]) -> [ [C1] ++ [C2] | data_in_pairs(Tail) ]. - -int_to_hex(N) when N < 256 -> [hex(N div 16), hex(N rem 16)]. - -hex(N) when (0 =< N) and (N < 10) -> $0 + N; -hex(N) when (10 =< N) and (N < 16) -> $a + (N-10). - -decode(Data) -> [ list_to_integer(P,16) || P <- data_in_pairs(Data) ]. -encode(L) -> string:join(lists:map(fun(X) -> int_to_hex(X) end, L), ""). - -fixed_xor(Data1,Data2) -> - lists:zipwith( - fun(P1,P2) -> P1 bxor P2 end, - Data1, - Data2). - -single_byte_xor(Byte, Data) -> - fixed_xor(lists:duplicate(length(Data),Byte),Data). diff --git a/cryptopals/01.03/hex_tests.erl b/cryptopals/01.03/hex_tests.erl deleted file mode 100644 index 85750f8..0000000 --- a/cryptopals/01.03/hex_tests.erl +++ /dev/null @@ -1,16 +0,0 @@ --module(hex_tests). --include_lib("eunit/include/eunit.hrl"). - -decode_test() -> ?assertEqual( - [1,35,69,103,137,171,205,239], - hex:decode("0123456789abcdef")). - -encode_test() -> ?assertEqual( - "0123456789abcdef", - hex:encode([1,35,69,103,137,171,205,239])). - -fixed_xor_test() -> ?assertEqual( - "746865206b696420646f6e277420706c6179", - hex:encode(hex:fixed_xor( - hex:decode("1c0111001f010100061a024b53535009181c"), - hex:decode("686974207468652062756c6c277320657965")))). diff --git a/cryptopals/01.03/main.erl b/cryptopals/01.03/main.erl deleted file mode 100644 index 034b0d9..0000000 --- a/cryptopals/01.03/main.erl +++ /dev/null @@ -1,17 +0,0 @@ --module(main). --export([run/0]). - -% TODO Scoring function to identify which string is English - -get_xored_possibilities() -> - Base = hex:decode("1b37373331363f78151b7f2b783431333d78397828372d363c78373e783a393b3736"), - XorBytes = lists:seq(0,255), - lists:map(fun(XorByte) -> hex:single_byte_xor(XorByte,Base) end, XorBytes). - -get_comparison_text() -> - {ok, Data} = file:read_file("1984.html"), - Data. - -print_all(List) -> lists:map(fun(S) -> io:format("~s~n",[S]) end, List). - -run() -> print_all(get_xored_possibilities()). diff --git a/cryptopals/01.03/run.sh b/cryptopals/01.03/run.sh deleted file mode 100755 index cb010e5..0000000 --- a/cryptopals/01.03/run.sh +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2 +0,0 @@ -erl -make -erl -noshell -s main run -s init stop diff --git a/cryptopals/01.03/stat.erl b/cryptopals/01.03/stat.erl deleted file mode 100644 index aa593de..0000000 --- a/cryptopals/01.03/stat.erl +++ /dev/null @@ -1,44 +0,0 @@ --module(stat). --export([sum/1,mean/1,r_value/1,frequency/1,frequencies_to_scatterplot/2]). - -sum([]) -> 0; -sum([Head|Tail]) -> Head + sum(Tail). - -mean(List) -> sum(List) / length(List). - -covariance(Points, MeanX, MeanY) -> - sum(lists:map(fun({X,Y}) -> (X - MeanX) * (Y - MeanY) end, Points)). - -standard_deviation(Samples, Mean) -> - math:sqrt(sum(lists:map( - fun(Item) -> math:pow(Item - Mean, 2) end, - Samples))). - -r_value(Points) -> - Xs = lists:map(fun({X,_}) -> X end, Points), - Ys = lists:map(fun({_,Y}) -> Y end, Points), - MeanX = mean(Xs), - MeanY = mean(Ys), - Covariance = covariance(Points, MeanX, MeanY), - StandardDeviationX = standard_deviation(Xs, MeanX), - StandardDeviationY = standard_deviation(Ys, MeanY), - Covariance / StandardDeviationX / StandardDeviationY. - -frequency([],Result) -> Result; -frequency([Head|Tail],Result) -> - frequency(Tail,dict:update_counter(Head,1,Result)). - -frequency(Sample) -> frequency(Sample, dict:new()). - -fetch_values(Dict) -> lists:map( - fun({_,Value}) -> Value end, - dict:to_list(Dict)). - -frequencies_to_scatterplot(Fx,Fy) -> - FxPoints = dict:map(fun(_,Value) -> {Value,0} end, Fx), - FyPoints = dict:map(fun(_,Value) -> {0,Value} end, Fy), - KeysToPoints = dict:merge( - fun(_,{X,_},{_,Y}) -> {X,Y} end, - FxPoints, - FyPoints), - fetch_values(KeysToPoints). diff --git a/cryptopals/01.03/stat_tests.erl b/cryptopals/01.03/stat_tests.erl deleted file mode 100644 index a007e63..0000000 --- a/cryptopals/01.03/stat_tests.erl +++ /dev/null @@ -1,29 +0,0 @@ --module(stat_tests). --include_lib("eunit/include/eunit.hrl"). - -sum_test() -> ?assertEqual(20, stat:sum([2,4,6,8])). - -mean_test() -> ?assertEqual(5.0, stat:mean([2,4,6,8])). - -r_value_positive_test() -> ?assertEqual( - 1.0, - stat:r_value([{1,2},{2,4},{4,8}])). - -% This test doesn't work because of round-off error -%r_value_negative_test() -> ?assertEqual( -% -1.0, -% stat:r_value([{1,1},{2,0},{3,-1}])). - -r_value_zero_test() -> ?assertEqual( - 0.0, - stat:r_value([{1,1},{2,2},{3,1}])). - -frequency_test() -> ?assertEqual( - dict:from_list([{a,1},{b,2}]), - stat:frequency([a,b,b])). - -frequencies_to_scatterplot_test() -> ?assertEqual( - [{1,1},{1,0},{0,1}], - stat:frequencies_to_scatterplot( - dict:from_list([{a,1},{b,1}]), - dict:from_list([{a,1},{c,1}]))). diff --git a/cryptopals/01.03/test.sh b/cryptopals/01.03/test.sh deleted file mode 100755 index 6c09747..0000000 --- a/cryptopals/01.03/test.sh +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2 +0,0 @@ -erl -make -erl -noshell -eval "eunit:test($1, [verbose])" -s init stop