he snipped seven stitches

The first five black boxes, each a different size, and their contents had been examined for fingerprints. He had dusted three of the deliveries himself, without success. Because the black boxes came without a word of explanation, the authorities would not consider them to be death threats. As long as the sender’s intention remained open to debate, this failed to be a matter for the police. Deliveries 4 and 5 had been trusted to an old friend in the print lab of the Scientific Investigation Division of the Los Angeles Police Department, who processed them off the record. They were placed in a glass tank and subjected to a cloud of cyanoacrylate fumes, which readily condensed as a resin on the oils that formed latent prints. In fluorescent light, no friction-ridge patterns of white resin had been visible. Likewise, in a darkened lab, with a cone-shaded halogen lamp focused at oblique angles, the boxes and their contents continued to appear clean. Black magnetic powder, applied with a Magna-Brush, had revealed nothing. Even bathed in a methanol solution of rhodamine 6G, scanned in a dark lab with the eerie beam from a water-cooled argon ion laser generator, the objects had revealed no telltale luminous whorls. The nameless stalker was too careful to leave such evidence. Nevertheless, Ethan handled this sixth delivery with the care he’d exhibited while examining the five previous items. Surely no prints existed to be spoiled, but he might want to check later. [7] With the cuticle scissors, he snipped seven stitches, leaving the final three to serve as hinges. The sender must have treated the apple with lemon juice or with another common culinary preservative to ensure a proper presentation. The meat was mostly white, with only minor browning near the peel. The core remained. The seed pocket had been scooped clean of pits, however, to provide a setting for the inserted item.

Yet these gifts provoked his deep concern

Courses in criminal psychology, combined with years of street experience, made Ethan hard to impress in matters regarding the human capacity for evil. Yet these gifts provoked his deep concern. In recent years, influenced by the operatically flamboyant villains in films, every common gangbanger and every would-be serial killer, starring in his own mind movie, could not simply do his dirty work and move along. Most seemed to be obsessed with developing a dramatic persona, colorful crime-scene signatures, and ingenious taunts either to torment their victims beforehand or, after a murder, to scoff at the claimed competence of law-enforcement agencies. Their sources of inspiration, however, were all hackneyed. They succeeded only in making fearsome acts of cruelty seem as tiresome as the antics of an unfunny clown. The sender of the black boxes succeeded where others failed. For one thing, his wordless threats were inventive. When his intentions were at last known and the threats could be better understood in light of whatever actions he took, they might also prove to be clever. Even fiendishly so. In addition, he conferred on himself no silly or clumsy name to delight the tabloid press when eventually they became aware of his game. He signed no name at all, which indicated self-assurance and no desperate desire for celebrity. For another thing, his target was the biggest movie star in the world, perhaps the most guarded man in the nation after the President of the United States. Yet instead of stalking in secret, he revealed his [6] intentions in wordless riddles full of menace, ensuring that his quarry would be made even more difficult to reach than usual. Having turned the apple over and over in his mind, examining the details of its packaging and presentation, Ethan fetched a pair of cuticle scissors from the bathroom. At last he returned to the desk. He pulled the chair from the knee space. He sat, pushed aside the empty gift box, and placed the repaired apple at the center of the blotter.

She said you need to eat well

In addition, he offered a traditional Vietnamese clay cooking pot full of his mother’s com tay cam, a chicken-and-rice dish of which Ethan was fond. “Mom’s been reading candle drippings again,” Benny said. “She lit a candle in your name, read it, says you need to be fortified.” “For what? The most strenuous thing I do these days is get up in the morning.” “She didn’t say for what. But not just for Christmas shopping. She had that temple-dragon look when she talked about it.” “The one that makes pit bulls bare their bellies?” “That one. She said you need to eat well, say prayers without fail each morning and night, and avoid drinking strong spirits.” “One problem. Drinking strong spirits is how I pray.” “I’ll just tell Mom you poured your whiskey down the drain, and when I left, you were on your knees thanking God for making chickens so she could cook com tay cam.” “Never knew your mom to take no for an answer,” Ethan said. Benny smiled. “She won’t take yes for an answer, either. She doesn’t expect an answer at all. Only dutiful obedience.” Now, an hour later, Ethan stood at a window, gazing at the thin rain, like threads of seed pearls, accessorizing the hills of Bel Air. Watching weather clarified his thinking. [5] Sometimes only nature felt real, while all human monuments and actions seemed to be the settings and the plots of dreams. From his uniform days through his plainclothes career, friends on the force had said that he did too much thinking. Some of them were dead. The apple had come in the sixth black box received in ten days. The contents of the previous five had been disturbing.

one of the two guards on the early shift

During the night, the unwanted visitor had approached the gate on foot. Perhaps suspecting that this barrier had been retrofitted with modern security equipment and that the weight of a climber would trigger an alarm in a monitoring station, he’d slung the package over the high scrolled crest of the gate, onto the driveway. The box containing the apple had been cushioned by bubble wrap and then sealed in a white plastic bag to protect it further from foul weather. A red gift bow, stapled to the bag, ensured that the contents would not be mistaken for garbage. Dave Ladman, one of two guards on the graveyard shift, retrieved the delivery at 3:56 A.M. Handling the bag with care, he had carried it to the security office in the groundskeeper’s building at the back of the estate. Dave and his shift partner, Tom Mack, x-rayed the package with a fluoroscope. They were looking for wires and other metal components of an explosive device or a spring-loaded killing machine. These days, some bombs could be constructed with no metal parts. Consequently, following fluoroscopy, Dave and Tom employed a trace-scent analyzer capable of recognizing thirty-two explosive [4] compounds from as few as three signature molecules per cubic centimeter of air. When the package proved clean, the guards unwrapped it, Upon discovering the black gift box, they had left a message on Ethan’s voice mail and had set the delivery aside for his attention. At 8:35 this morning, one of the two guards on the early shift, Benny Nguyen, had brought the box to Ethan’s apartment in the main house. Benny also arrived with a videocassette containing pertinent segments of tape from perimeter cameras that captured the delivery.

In bad times as in good

The languid storm gave him excuse enough to leave the apple waiting and to step to the nearest window. Frames, jambs, rails, muntins—every feature of every window in the great house had been crafted in bronze. Exposure to the elements promoted a handsome mottled-green patina on exterior surfaces. Inside, diligent maintenance kept the bronze a dark ruby-brown. The glass in each pane was beveled at every edge. Even in the humblest of service rooms—the scullery, the ground-floor laundry—beveling had been specified. Although the residence had been built for a film mogul during the last years of the Great Depression, no evidence of a construction budget could be seen anywhere from the entrance foyer to the farthest corner of the last back hall. When steel sagged, when clothes grew moth-eaten on haberdashery racks, when cars rusted on showroom floors for want of customers, the film industry nevertheless flourished. In bad times as in good, the only two absolute necessities were food and illusions. [3] From the tall study windows, the view appeared to be a painting of the kind employed in motion-picture matte shots: an exquisitely rendered dimensional scene that, through the deceiving eye of the camera, could serve convincingly as a landscape on an alien planet or as a place on this world perfected as reality never allowed. Greener than Eden’s fields, acres of lawn rolled away from the house, without one weed or blade of blight. The majestic crowns of immense California live oaks and the drooping boughs of melancholy deodar cedars, each a classic specimen, were silvered and diamonded by the December drizzle. Through skeins of rain as fine as angel hair, Ethan could see, in the distance, the final curve of the driveway. The gray-green quartzite cobblestones, polished to a sterling standard by the rain, led to the ornamental bronze gate in the estate wall.

and asked them to pray for him

He had watched his church burn, which was no fault of his, but he had also watched Donte die, and with no small measure of satisfaction. There was a sin in there somewhere. He was a Baptist, a breed noted for its creative ways of finding new versions of sin, and he needed forgiveness. He shared this with his congregation. He bared his soul, admitted he was wrong, and asked them to pray for him. He seemed genuinely humbled and distressed. Arrangements for Nicole's funeral were incomplete. Brother Ronnie explained that he had talked with Reeva by phone--she was not taking visitors--and the church Web site would post the details when the family made decisions. Nicole was still in Missouri, and the authorities there had not said when they would release her. The tent was being watched closely. Across the street, on property that did not belong to the church, two dozen or so reporters loitered about, most with cameras. If not for the presence of several quite edgy police officers, the reporters would have been under the tent, recording every word, making a nuisance of themselves. Slone had never been more divided than on that Sunday morning, but even at that dark hour there was some circling of the wagons. The number of reporters and cameras had steadily increased since Thursday, and everyone in town felt an element of the siege. The man on the street had stopped talking to reporters. City officials had nothing but "No comment." Not a single word could be pried out of the courthouse. And in certain places, the police increased their presence and sharpened their attitude. Any reporter trying to get near the Drumm home was likely to be handled roughly. The funeral home where Donte was resting was strictly off-limits. Reeva's house was being guarded by cousins and friends, but the police were nearby, just waiting for some clown with a camera to intrude. Robbie Flak could take care of himself, and was doing a fine job of it, but his home and office were patrolled every hour.

a large white tent had been erected

It's man's nature to strike back, but the second blow leads to the third, and the fourth. He thanked his flock for laying down their arms and getting off the streets. Remarkably, it had been a quiet night in Slone. Canty reminded his people that Donte Drumm's name was now famous; it was a symbol that would bring about change. "Let us not smear it with more blood, more violence." After a thirty-minute warm-up, the worshippers fanned out through the church to pursue the usual Sunday morning activities. A mile away, members of the First Baptist Church began arriving for a unique worship experience. The rubble of their sanctuary was still lined with yellow police tape, still a crime scene under active investigation. In a parking lot, a large white tent had been erected. Beneath it were rows of folding chairs and tables covered with food. The dress was casual, the mood generally upbeat. After a quick breakfast they sang hymns, old-time gospel tunes with a beat and lyrics they knew by heart. The chairman of the deacons spoke about the fire and, more important, about the new church they would build. They had insurance, they had faith, they would borrow, if necessary, but a beautiful new sanctuary would rise from the ashes, all to the glory of the Lord. Reeva was not in attendance. She had not come out of the house. Frankly, she was hardly missed. Her friends felt her pain, now that her daughter had been found, but with Reeva the pain had been relentless for nine years. Her friends could not help but remember the vigils by the Red River, the marathon prayer sessions, the endless tirades in the press, the enthusiastic embrace of victimhood, all in an effort to extract revenge on that "monster" Donte Drumm. Now that they had executed the wrong monster, and with Reeva happily watching him die, few of her fellow church members wanted to face her. Fortunately, she did not want to face them. Brother Ronnie was a troubled soul.

the story was all the rage

On television, the Sunday morning talk shows all found room for the story, though the presidential campaign was still the main topic. On cable, Donte Drumm had been the lead story since Robbie's press conference twenty-four hours earlier, and it showed no signs of slipping to number two. At least one of the subplots had been deemed important enough to have its own title: "The Hunt for Travis Boyette" could be seen every thirty minutes. On the Internet, the story was all the rage, showing five times more hits than anything else. Anti-death-penalty bloggers railed with uncontrolled fury. As tragic as it was, the story was a huge gift for those on the left. On the right, things were predictably quiet. Those who supported the death penalty were not likely to change, not overnight anyway, but there seemed to be a general feeling that it was a good time to say nothing. The hard-right cable shows and AM radio commentators simply ignored the story. In Slone, Sunday was still a day of worship. At the Bethel African Methodist Church, a crowd much larger than normal gathered for the 8:00 a.m. call to worship, to be followed by Sunday school, a men's prayer breakfast, choir practice, Bible lessons, coffee and doughnuts, and eventually the worship hour, which would go on far longer than sixty minutes. Some were there in hopes of seeing one of the Drumms, preferably Roberta, and maybe offering a quiet word of condolence. But the Drumm family needed rest and stayed at home. Some were there because they needed to talk, to hear the gossip, to lend support or to receive it. Whatever the motive, the sanctuary was overflowing when the Reverend Johnny Canty stepped to the pulpit and warmly welcomed the crowd. It didn't take long to get to the issue of Donte Drumm. It would've been easy to stir up his people, to throw gas on the fire, to hit all the open targets, but Reverend Canty was not inclined to do so. He talked about Roberta and her grace under pressure, her agony in watching her son die, her strength, her love for her children. He talked about the urge for revenge, and how Jesus turned the other cheek. He prayed for patience and tolerance and the wisdom of good men to deal with what had happened. He talked about Martin Luther King and his courage in bringing about change by eschewing violence.

The story was page one in both papers

Led by the New York Times and the Washington Post, the big dailies railed and ranted, and all reached the same conclusion--it's time to stop the killing. The story was page one in both papers, and in dozens of others from Boston to San Francisco. Lengthy articles gave the history of the case, and the characters were well advertised, with Robbie Flak getting as much attention as Donte. Screeching editorials called for a moratorium on executions. There were countless guest columns by legal experts, defense lawyers, death-penalty abolitionists, professors, activists, ministers, even a couple of men on death row, and the same conclusion was reached: now that we have unassailable evidence of a wrongful execution, the only fair and sensible course is to stop them forever, or, if that can't be done, at least stop them until the death penalty system can be studied and overhauled. In Texas, the Houston Chronicle, a paper that had gradually grown weary of the death penalty but had stopped short of calling for its abolition, covered its front page with an unrestrained summary of the case. It was a condensed version of Robbie's press conference, with large photographs of Donte, Nicole, and Robbie on page one, and a dozen more on page five. The stories, all six of them, hit hard at the mistakes and peeled skin off Drew Kerber, Paul Koffee, and Judge Vivian Grale. The identities of the villains were clear; blame was inescapable. One reporter was on the trail of the Texas Court of Criminal Appeals, and it was obvious that there would be no place for the court to hide. Chief Justice Milton Prudlowe was unavailable for comment, as were the other eight justices. The clerk of the court, Mr. Emerson Pugh, refused comment. However, Cicely Avis, the Defender Group lawyer who tried to enter Pugh's office at 5:07 Thursday afternoon, had plenty to say. The details were emerging, with more stories sure to come. Another Chronicle reporter was stalking the governor and his staff, all evidently in full retreat. Reactions varied around the state. Newspapers known to be generally moderate in their politics--those in Austin and San Antonio--called for outright abolition of the death penalty. The Dallas paper was on record calling for a moratorium. Newspapers that were firmly on the right went light on the editorials but could not resist full-blown coverage of the events in Slone.

The booze helped a lot

The Flak firm gathered at Robbie's house for an impromptu party. Everyone was there, along with spouses. DeDe hired a caterer who specialized in barbecue, and the rich smell of ribs on the grill wafted over the patio. Fred Pryor manned the bar and the drinks flowed. Everyone lounged in the pool house and tried to relax. The Longhorns were playing football and the television drew some interest. Robbie tried to prohibit any discussion of the Drumm case, but the conversation drifted there anyway. They couldn't help themselves. They were exhausted, drained, and defeated, but managed to unwind. The booze helped a lot. The Longview game was making the rounds, and they tipped a glass in honor of the sit-in. Fred Pryor, while bartending, monitored the police chatter on his radio. The streets of Slone were remarkably calm, which they attributed to Roberta Drumm's emotional plea. They had also heard that Roberta, Marvin, Cedric, and Andrea had gone to Washington Park and pleaded with the people to go home, to stop the violence. Though Robbie had ordered all cell phones turned off, the call came through anyway. Carlos received it and relayed the news to a hushed audience. The authorities in Joplin had expedited their examination and had some interesting news. On Nicole's underwear, they had found a significant semen sample. DNA testing matched it to Travis Boyette. His DNA sample was in the Missouri data bank due to a previous conviction there. There was reason to celebrate, and reason to weep. With emotions torn both ways, they decided to have another drink. Chapter 36 Sunday. What had been probable on Thursday, even likelier on Friday, and virtually certain on Saturday became the numbing truth during the night, so that on Sunday morning the country awoke to the sensational reality that an innocent man had been executed.

They moved to the rear of the home

Coincidentally, Brother Ronnie dropped by just as the meal was wrapping up. He'd been up all night watching his church burn, and he needed sleep. But Reeva and her family also needed him. They quizzed him about the fire. He appeared sufficiently burdened. They moved to the rear of the home, to Reeva's room, where they sat and huddled around a coffee table. They held hands, and Brother Ronnie led them in prayer. With an effort at drama, and with the camera two feet from his head, he pleaded for strength and courage for the family to endure what was ahead on this difficult day. He thanked the Lord for justice. He prayed for their church and its members. He did not mention Donte Drumm or his family. After a dozen trips to voice mail, a real person finally answered. "Flak Law Firm," she said quickly. "Robbie Flak, please," Keith said as he perked up. Boyette turned and looked at him. "Mr. Flak is in a meeting." "I'm sure he is. Listen, this is very important. My name is Keith Schroeder. I'm a Lutheran minister from Topeka, Kansas. I spoke with Mr. Flak yesterday. I'm driving to Slone as we speak, and I have with me, here in my car, a man by the name of Travis Boyette. Mr. Boyette raped and killed Nicole Yarber, and he knows where her body is buried. I'm driving him to Slone so he can tell his story. It is imperative that I speak with Robbie Flak. Now." "Uh, sure. Can I put you on hold?" "I can't stop you from putting me on hold." "Just a moment." "Please hurry." She put him on hold. She left her desk near the front door and hurried through the train station, rounding up the team. Robbie was in his office with Fred Pryor. "Robbie, you need to hear this," she said, and her face and voice left no room for discussion. They met in the conference room, where they gathered around a speakerphone. Robbie pushed a button and said, "This is Robbie Flak." "Mr. Flak, this is Keith Schroeder. We spoke yesterday afternoon." "Yes, it's Reverend Schroeder, right?" "Yes, but now it's just Keith." "You're on our speakerphone. Is that okay? My whole firm is here, plus some others. I'm counting ten people. Is that okay?" "Sure, whatever." "And the recorder is on, is that okay?" "Yes, fine, anything else? Look, we've been driving all night, and we should be in Slone around noon.

both in their late teens

It was a big day for Reeva too, and to show the world she was suffering, she invited Fordyce--Hitting Hard! back into her home for breakfast. In her most stylish pantsuit, she cooked bacon and eggs and sat around the table with Wallis and their two children, Chad and Marie, both in their late teens. None of the four needed a heavy breakfast. They should've skipped the meal completely. But the cameras were rolling, and as the family ate, they prattled on about the fire that destroyed their beloved church, a fire that was still smoldering. They were stunned, angry. They were certain it was arson, but managed to restrain themselves and not make allegations against anyone--on camera. Off camera, they just knew the fire had been started by black thugs. Reeva had been a member of the church for over forty years. She had married both husbands there. Chad, Marie, and Nicole had been baptized there. Wallis was a deacon. It was a tragedy. Gradually, they got around to more important matters. They all agreed that it was a sad day, a sad occasion. Sad, but so necessary. For almost nine years they had waited for this day, for justice to finally arrive for their family, and yes, for all of Slone as well. Sean Fordyce was still tied up with a complicated execution in Florida, but he had made his plans well-known. He would arrive, by private jet, at the Huntsville airport later in the afternoon for a quick interview with Reeva before she witnessed the execution. Of course, he would be there when it was over. Without the host, the breakfast footage went on and on. Off camera, an assistant producer prompted the family with such gems as, "Do you think lethal injection is too humane?" Reeva certainly did. Wallis just grunted. Chad chewed his bacon. Marie, a chatterbox like her mother, said, between bites, that Drumm should suffer intense physical pain as he was dying, just like Nicole. "Do you think executions should be made public?" Mixed reactions around the table. "The condemned man is allowed a last statement. If you could speak to him, what would you say?" Reeva, chewing, burst into tears and covered her eyes. "Why, oh, why?" she wailed. "Why did you take my baby?" "Sean will love this," the assistant producer whispered to the cameraman. Both were suppressing smiles. Reeva pulled herself together, and the family plowed through breakfast. At one point, she barked at her husband, who'd said almost nothing, "Wallis! What are you thinking?" Wallis shrugged as if he hadn't been thinking at all.

no more petitions to file

Donte was amused at the thought that someone on death row would miss him. He did not respond and Mouse moved on. Donte sat on the edge of his bunk for a long time and stared at a cardboard box they'd delivered yesterday. In it, he'd neatly packed his possessions--a dozen paperbacks, none of which he'd read in years, two writing tablets, envelopes, a dictionary, a Bible, a 2007 calendar, a zippered bag in which he kept his money, $18.40, two tins of sardines and a package of stale saltines from the canteen, and a radio that picked up only a Christian station from Livingston and a country one from Huntsville. He took a writing tablet and a pencil and began to calculate. It took some time, but he finally arrived at a total he believed to be fairly accurate. Seven years, seven months, and three days, in cell number 22F--2,771 days. Before that, he'd spent about four months at the old death row at Ellis. He'd been arrested on December 22, 1998, and he'd been locked up since. Almost nine years behind bars. It was an eternity, but not an impressive number. Four doors down, Oliver Tyree, age sixty-four, was in his thirty-first year on death row with no execution date on the calendar. There were several twenty-year veterans. It was changing, though. The newer arrivals faced a different set of rules. There were tougher deadlines for their appeals. For those convicted after 1990, the average wait before execution was ten years. Shortest in the nation. During his early years in 22F, Donte waited and waited for news from the courts. They moved at a snail's pace, it seemed. Then it was all over, no more petitions to file, no more judges and justices for Robbie to attack. Looking back now, the appeals seemed to have flown by. He stretched out on his bed and tried to sleep. You count the days and watch the years go by. You tell yourself, and you believe it, that you'd rather just die. You'd rather stare death boldly in the face and say you're ready because whatever is waiting on the other side has to be better than growing old in a six-by-ten cage with no one to talk to. You consider yourself half-dead at best. Please take the other half. You've watched dozens leave and not return, and you accept the fact that one day they'll come for you. You're nothing but a rat in their lab, a disposable body to be used as proof that their experiment is working. An eye for an eye, each killing must be avenged. You kill enough and you're convinced that killing is good. You count the days, and then there are none left. You ask yourself on your last morning if you are really ready. You search for courage, but the bravery is fading. When it's over, no one really wants to die.

as if that fact were somehow relevant

"Got a boy in Dallas," the trooper said, as if that fact were somehow relevant. He walked back to his car, got inside, slammed the door, and began his paperwork. His blue lights sparkled through the fading darkness. When the adrenaline settled down and Keith got bored with the waiting, he decided to make use of the time. He called Matthew Burns, who appeared to be holding his cell phone. Keith explained where he was and what was happening to him at the moment and had trouble convincing Matthew that it was nothing but a routine speeding ticket. They managed to work through Matthew's overreaction and agreed to start calling Robbie Flak's office immediately. The trooper eventually returned. Keith signed his ticket, retrieved his documents, apologized again, and after twenty-eight minutes they were back on the road. Boyette's presence was never acknowledged. Chapter 18 At one point in his blurred past, Donte knew the precise number of days he'd spent in cell number 22F, death row, at the Polunsky Unit. Most inmates kept such a tally. But he'd lost count, for the same reason he'd lost interest in reading, writing, exercising, eating, brushing his teeth, shaving, showering, trying to communicate with other inmates, and obeying the guards. He could sleep and dream and use the toilet when necessary; beyond that, he was unable or unwilling to try much else. "This is the big day, Donte," the guard said when he slid the breakfast tray into the cell. Pancakes and applesauce again. "How you doin'?" "Okay," Donte mumbled. They spoke through a narrow slit in the metal door. The guard was Mouse, a tiny black guy, one of the nicer ones. Mouse moved on, leaving Donte to stare at the food. He did not touch it. An hour later, Mouse was back. "Come on, Donte, you gotta eat." "Not hungry." "How 'bout your last meal? You thought about that? You gotta place your order in a few hours." "What's good?" Donte asked. "I'm not sure anything's good as a last meal, but they tell me most of the guys eat like a horse. Steak, potatoes, catfish, shrimp, pizza, anything you want." "How 'bout cold noodles and boiled leather, same as any other day?" "Whatever you want, Donte." Mouse leaned a few inches closer, lowered his voice, and said, "Donte, I'll be thinking about you, you hear?" "Thanks, Mouse." "I'll miss you, Donte. You're a good guy."

turned off the ignition

The truth was that Travis looked exactly like the sort of character who would be jumping parole, right out of central casting. Keith stopped the car, turned off the ignition, straightened his clerical collar and made sure it was as visible as possible, and said, "Don't say a word, Travis. Let me do the talking." As they waited for a very deliberate and purposeful state trooper, Keith managed to amuse himself by admitting that he was sitting beside the road, engaged in not one but two criminal activities, and that for some inconceivable reason he'd chosen as his partner in crime a serial rapist and murderer. He glanced at Travis and said, "Can you cover up that tattoo?" It was on the left side of his neck, a swirling creation that only a deviant might understand and wear with pride. "What if he likes tattoos?" Travis said, without making a move for his shirt collar. The trooper approached carefully, with a long flashlight, and when things appeared safe, he said gruffly, "Good morning." "Morning," Keith said, glancing up. He handed over his license, registration, and insurance card. "You a priest?" It was more of an accusation. Keith doubted there were many Catholics in southern Oklahoma. "I'm a Lutheran minister," he said with a warm smile. The perfect picture of peace and civility. "Lutheran?" the trooper grunted, as if that might be worse than a Catholic. "Yes, sir." He shined his light on the license. "Well, Reverend Schroeder, you were doing eighty-five miles an hour." "Yes, sir. Sorry about that." "Limit out here is seventy-five. What's the hurry?" "No real hurry. Just wasn't paying attention." "Where you headed?" Keith wanted to fire back, "Why, sir, is that any of your business?" But he quickly said, "Dallas."

I may have taught them some things

"Very well," interrupted Adelaida, "then if you can read faces so well, you must have been in love. Come now; I've guessed--let's have the secret!" "I have not been in love," said the prince, as quietly and seriously as before. "I have been happy in another way." "How, how?" "Well, I'll tell you," said the prince, apparently in a deep reverie. "Here you all are," began the prince, "settling yourselves down to listen to me with so much curiosity, that if I do not satisfy you you will probably be angry with me. No, no! I'm only joking!" he added, hastily, with a smile. "Well, then--they were all children there, and I was always among children and only with children. They were the children of the village in which I lived, and they went to the school there--all of them. I did not teach them, oh no; there was a master for that, one Jules Thibaut. I may have taught them some things, but I was among them just as an outsider, and I passed all four years of my life there among them. I wished for nothing better; I used to tell them everything and hid nothing from them. Their fathers and relations were very angry with me, because the children could do nothing without me at last, and used to throng after me at all times. The schoolmaster was my greatest enemy in the end! I had many enemies, and all because of the children. Even Schneider reproached me. What were they afraid of? One can tell a child everything, anything. I have often been struck by the fact that parents know their children so little. They should not conceal so much from them. How well even little children understand that their parents conceal things from them, because they consider them too young to understand! Children are capable of giving advice in the most important matters. How can one deceive these dear little birds, when they look at one so sweetly and confidingly? I call them birds because there is nothing in the world better than birds! "However, most of the people were angry with me about one and the same thing; but Thibaut simply was jealous of me. At first he had wagged his head and wondered how it was that the children understood what I told them so well, and could not learn from him; and he laughed like anything when I replied that neither he nor I could teach them very much, but that THEY might teach us a good deal.

with a peculiar stress on the words

The cross and the head--there's your picture; the priest and the executioner, with his two assistants, and a few heads and eyes below. Those might come in as subordinate accessories--a sort of mist. There's a picture for you." The prince paused, and looked around. "Certainly that isn't much like quietism," murmured Alexandra, half to herself. "Now tell us about your love affairs," said Adelaida, after a moment's pause. The prince gazed at her in amazement. "You know," Adelaida continued, "you owe us a description of the Basle picture; but first I wish to hear how you fell in love. Don't deny the fact, for you did, of course. Besides, you stop philosophizing when you are telling about anything." "Why are you ashamed of your stories the moment after you have told them?" asked Aglaya, suddenly. "How silly you are!" said Mrs. Epanchin, looking indignantly towards the last speaker. "Yes, that wasn't a clever remark," said Alexandra. "Don't listen to her, prince," said Mrs. Epanchin; "she says that sort of thing out of mischief. Don't think anything of their nonsense, it means nothing. They love to chaff, but they like you. I can see it in their faces--I know their faces." "I know their faces, too," said the prince, with a peculiar stress on the words. "How so?" asked Adelaida, with curiosity. "What do YOU know about our faces?" exclaimed the other two, in chorus. But the prince was silent and serious. All awaited his reply. "I'll tell you afterwards," he said quietly. "Ah, you want to arouse our curiosity!" said Aglaya. "And how terribly solemn you are about it!"

the brain is especially active

At the foot of the ladder he had been pale enough; but when he set foot on the scaffold at the top, his face suddenly became the colour of paper, positively like white notepaper. His legs must have become suddenly feeble and helpless, and he felt a choking in his throat--you know the sudden feeling one has in moments of terrible fear, when one does not lose one's wits, but is absolutely powerless to move? If some dreadful thing were suddenly to happen; if a house were just about to fall on one;--don't you know how one would long to sit down and shut one's eyes and wait, and wait? Well, when this terrible feeling came over him, the priest quickly pressed the cross to his lips, without a word--a little silver cross it was- and he kept on pressing it to the man's lips every second. And whenever the cross touched his lips, the eyes would open for a moment, and the legs moved once, and he kissed the cross greedily, hurriedly--just as though he were anxious to catch hold of something in case of its being useful to him afterwards, though he could hardly have had any connected religious thoughts at the time. And so up to the very block. "How strange that criminals seldom swoon at such a moment! On the contrary, the brain is especially active, and works incessantly-- probably hard, hard, hard--like an engine at full pressure. I imagine that various thoughts must beat loud and fast through his head--all unfinished ones, and strange, funny thoughts, very likely!--like this, for instance: 'That man is looking at me, and he has a wart on his forehead! and the executioner has burst one of his buttons, and the lowest one is all rusty!' And meanwhile he notices and remembers everything. There is one point that cannot be forgotten, round which everything else dances and turns about; and because of this point he cannot faint, and this lasts until the very final quarter of a second, when the wretched neck is on the block and the victim listens and waits and KNOWS-- that's the point, he KNOWS that he is just NOW about to die, and listens for the rasp of the iron over his head. If I lay there, I should certainly listen for that grating sound, and hear it, too! There would probably be but the tenth part of an instant left to hear it in, but one would certainly hear it. And imagine, some people declare that when the head flies off it is CONSCIOUS of having flown off! Just imagine what a thing to realize! Fancy if consciousness were to last for even five seconds! "Draw the scaffold so that only the top step of the ladder comes in clearly. The criminal must be just stepping on to it, his face as white as note-paper. The priest is holding the cross to his blue lips, and the criminal kisses it, and knows and sees and understands everything.

All this has to be endured

You must imagine all that went before, of course, all--all. He had lived in the prison for some time and had not expected that the execution would take place for at least a week yet--he had counted on all the formalities and so on taking time; but it so happened that his papers had been got ready quickly. At five o'clock in the morning he was asleep--it was October, and at five in the morning it was cold and dark. The governor of the prison comes in on tip-toe and touches the sleeping man's shoulder gently. He starts up. 'What is it?' he says. 'The execution is fixed for ten o'clock.' He was only just awake, and would not believe at first, but began to argue that his papers would not be out for a week, and so on. When he was wide awake and realized the truth, he became very silent and argued no more--so they say; but after a bit he said: 'It comes very hard on one so suddenly' and then he was silent again and said nothing. "The three or four hours went by, of course, in necessary preparations--the priest, breakfast, (coffee, meat, and some wine they gave him; doesn't it seem ridiculous?) And yet I believe these people give them a good breakfast out of pure kindness of heart, and believe that they are doing a good action. Then he is dressed, and then begins the procession through the town to the scaffold. I think he, too, must feel that he has an age to live still while they cart him along. Probably he thought, on the way, 'Oh, I have a long, long time yet. Three streets of life yet! When we've passed this street there'll be that other one; and then that one where the baker's shop is on the right; and when shall we get there? It's ages, ages!' Around him are crowds shouting, yelling--ten thousand faces, twenty thousand eyes. All this has to be endured, and especially the thought: 'Here are ten thousand men, and not one of them is going to be executed, and yet I am to die.' Well, all that is preparatory. "At the scaffold there is a ladder, and just there he burst into tears--and this was a strong man, and a terribly wicked one, they say! There was a priest with him the whole time, talking; even in the cart as they drove along, he talked and talked. Probably the other heard nothing; he would begin to listen now and then, and at the third word or so he had forgotten all about it. "At last he began to mount the steps; his legs were tied, so that he had to take very small steps. The priest, who seemed to be a wise man, had stopped talking now, and only held the cross for the wretched fellow to kiss.

I do so want to hear about it

" No,--the thing is, I was telling all about the execution a little while ago, and--" "Whom did you tell about it?" "The man-servant, while I was waiting to see the general." "Our man-servant?" exclaimed several voices at once. "Yes, the one who waits in the entrance hall, a greyish, red- faced man--" "The prince is clearly a democrat," remarked Aglaya. "Well, if you could tell Aleksey about it, surely you can tell us too." "I do so want to hear about it," repeated Adelaida. "Just now, I confess," began the prince, with more animation, "when you asked me for a subject for a picture, I confess I had serious thoughts of giving you one. I thought of asking you to draw the face of a criminal, one minute before the fall of the guillotine, while the wretched man is still standing on the scaffold, preparatory to placing his neck on the block." "What, his face? only his face?" asked Adelaida. "That would be a strange subject indeed. And what sort of a picture would that make?" "Oh, why not?" the prince insisted, with some warmth. "When I was in Basle I saw a picture very much in that style--I should like to tell you about it; I will some time or other; it struck me very forcibly." "Oh, you shall tell us about the Basle picture another time; now we must have all about the execution," said Adelaida. "Tell us about that face as; it appeared to your imagination-how should it be drawn?--just the face alone, do you mean?" "It was just a minute before the execution," began the prince, readily, carried away by the recollection and evidently forgetting everything else in a moment; "just at the instant when he stepped off the ladder on to the scaffold. He happened to look in my direction: I saw his eyes and understood all, at once--but how am I to describe it? I do so wish you or somebody else could draw it, you, if possible. I thought at the time what a picture it would make.

the labor of an indomitable pigmy

Against rather than into that impenetrable enmeshment of rain, the glow dispersed itself ineffectually. Io sat, not frightened so much as wondering. Her body ached in sympathy with the panting, racking toil of the man at the oars, the labor of an indomitable pigmy, striving to thwart a giant's will. Suddenly he shouted. The boat spun. Something low and a shade blacker than the dull murk about them, with a white, whispering ripple at its edge, loomed. The boat's prow drove into soft mud as Banneker, all but knocking her overboard in his dash, plunged to the land and with one powerful lift, brought boat and cargo to safety. For a moment he leaned, gasping, against a stump. When he spoke, it was to reproach himself bitterly. "We must have come through the town. There's a dam below it. I'd forgotten it. My God! If we hadn't had the luck to strike shore." "Is it a high dam?" she asked. "In this flood we'd be pounded to death the moment we were over. Listen! You can hear it." The rain had diminished a little. Above its insistence sounded a deeper, more formidable beat and thrill. "We must be quite close to it," she said. "A few rods, probably. Let me have the light. I want to explore before we start out." Much sooner than she had expected, he was back. He groped for and took her hand. His own was steady, but his voice shook as he said: "Io." "It's the first time you've called me that. Well, Ban?" "Can you stand it to--to have me tell you something?" "Yes." "We're not on the shore." "Where, then? An island?" "There aren't any islands here. It must be a bit of the mainland cut off by the flood." "I'm not afraid, if that's what you mean. We can stand it until dawn."

she found that she was hungry

Coffee, when her man brought it, seemed too artificial for the time and place. She shook her head. She was not hungry. "You must," insisted Ban. He pointed downstream where the murk lay heavy. "We shall run into more rain. You will need the warmth and support of food." So, because there were only they two on the face of the known earth, woman and man, the woman obeyed the man. To her surprise, she found that she was hungry, ardently hungry. Both ate heartily. It was a silent meal; little spoken except about the chances and developments of the journey, until she got to her feet. Then she said: "I shall never, as long as I live, wherever I go, whatever I do, know anything like this again. I shall not want to. I want it to stand alone." "It will stand alone," he answered. They met the rain within half an hour, a wall-like mass of it. It blotted out everything around them. The roar of it cut off sound, as the mass of it cut off sight. Fortunately the boat was now going evenly as in an oiled groove. By feeling, Io knew that her guide was moving from his seat, and guessed that he was bailing. The spare poncho, put in by Miss Van Arsdale, protected her. She was jubilant with the thresh of the rain in her face, the sweet, smooth motion of the boat beneath her, the wild abandon of the night, which, entering into her blood, had transmuted it into soft fire. How long she crouched, exultant and exalted, under the beat of the storm, she could not guess. She half emerged from her possession with a strange feeling that the little craft was being irresistibly drawn forward and downward in what was now a suction rather than a current. At the same time she felt the spring and thrust of Banneker's muscles, straining at the oars. She dipped a hand into the water. It ridged high around her wrists with a startling pressure. What was happening? Through the uproar she could dimly hear Ban's voice. He seemed to be swearing insanely. Dropping to her hands and knees, for the craft was now swerving and rocking, she crept to him. "The dam! The dam! The dam!" he shouted. "I'd forgotten about it. Go back. Turn on the flash. Look for shore."

Once he cried out and lunged at

Here the going was more tricky. There were shoals and whirls at the bends, and plunging flotsam to be avoided. Banneker handled the boat with masterly address, easing her through the swift passages, keeping her, with a touch here and a dip there, to the deepest flow, swerving adroitly to dodge the trees and brush which might have punctured the thin metal. Once he cried out and lunged at some object with an unshipped oar. It rolled and sank, but not before Io had caught the contour of a pasty face. She was startled rather than horrified at this apparition of death. It seemed an accessory proper to the pattern of the bewitched night. Through a little, silvered surf of cross-waves, they were shot, after an hour of this uneasy going, into the broad, clean sweep of the Little Bowleg River. After the troubled progress of the lesser current it seemed very quiet and secure; almost placid. But the banks slipped by in an endless chain. Presently they came abreast of three horsemen riding the river trail, who urged their horses into a gallop, keeping up with them for a mile or more. As they fell away, Io waved a handkerchief at them, to which they made response by firing a salvo from their revolvers into the air. "We're making better than ten miles an hour," Banneker called over his shoulder to his passenger. They shot between the split halves of a little, scraggly, ramshackle town, danced in white water where the ford had been, and darted onward. Now Banneker began to hold against the current, scanning the shores until, with a quick wrench, he brought the stern around and ran it up on a muddy bit of strand. "Grub!" he announced gayly. Languor had taken possession of Io, the languor of one who yields to unknown and fateful forces. Passive and at peace, she wanted nothing but to be wafted by the current to whatever far bourne might await her. That there should be such things as railway trains and man-made schedules in this world of winds and mystery and the voice of great waters, was hard to believe; hardly worth believing in any case. Better not to think of it: better to muse on her companion, building fire as the first man had built for the first woman, to feed and comfort her in an environment of imminent fears.

and I came on it around a dip in the hills

"In my garden," said he, "she'd have shining wings and eyes that could look to the future as well as to the past, and immortal Hope for a lover. It would be worth all the toil and the privation." "Nobody ever made up a Paradise," said the girl fretfully, "but what the Puritan in him set the road with sharp stones and bordered it with thorns and stings.... Look, Ban! Here's the moon come back to us.... And see what's laughing at us and our dreams." On the crest of a sand-billow sprawled a huge organ-cactus, brandishing its arms in gnomish derision of their presence. "How can one help but believe in foul spirits with that thing to prove their existence?" she said. "And, look! There's the good spirit in front of that shining cloud." She pointed to a yucca in full, creamy flower; a creature of unearthly purity in the glow of the moon, a dream-maiden beckoning at the gates of darkness to a world of hidden and ineffable beauty. "When I saw my first yucca in blossom," said Banneker, "it was just before sunrise after I had been riding all night, and I came on it around a dip in the hills, standing alone against a sky of pearl and silver. It made me think of a ghost, the ghost of a girl who had died too young to know womanhood, died while she was asleep and dreaming pale, soft dreams, never to be fulfilled." "That's the injustice of death," she answered. "To take one before one knows and has felt and been all that there is to know and feel and be." "Yet"--he turned a slow smile to her--"you were just now calling Experience bad names; a horrid hag, wasn't it?" "At least, she's life," retorted the girl. "Yes. She's life." "Ban, I want to go on. The whole universe is in motion. Why must we stand still?" They reembarked. The grip of the hurrying depths took them past crinkly water, lustrously bronze in the moonlight where the bank had given way, and presently delivered them, around the shoulder of a low, brush-crowned bluff, into the keeping of a swollen creek.

he continued with dreams in his voice

"So, I don't believe in fate; not the ready-made kind. Things aren't that easy. If I did--" "If you did?" she prompted as he paused. "I'd get back into the boat with you and throw away the oars." "I dare you!" she cried recklessly. "We'd go whirling and spinning along," he continued with dreams in his voice, "until dawn came, and then we'd go ashore and camp." "Where?" "How should I know? In the Enchanted Canyon where it enters the Mountains of Fulfillment.... They're not on this map." "They're not on any map. More's the pity. And then?" "Then we'd rest. And after that we'd climb to the Plateau Beyond the Clouds where the Fadeless Gardens are, and there..." "And there?" "There we'd hear the Undying Voices singing." "Should we sing, too?" "Of course. 'For they who attain these heights, through pain of upward toil and the rigors of abstention, are as the demigods, secure above evil and the fear thereof.'" "I don't know what that is, but I hate the 'upward toil' part of it, and the 'abstention' even more. We ought to be able to become demigods without all that, just because we wish it. In a fairy-tale, anyway. I don't think you're a really competent fairy-tale-monger, Ban." "You haven't let me go on to the 'live happy ever after' part," he complained. "Ah, that's the serpent, the lying, poisoning little serpent, always concealed in the gardens of dreams. They don't, Ban; people don't live happy ever after. I could believe in fairy-tales up to that point. Just there ugly old Experience holds up her bony finger--she's a horrid hag, Ban, but we'd all be dead or mad without her--and points to the wriggling little snake."

she simply knew that she felt it

The small dairies to the west, beyond Port-Bredy, in which she had served as supernumerary milkmaid during the spring and summer required no further aid. Room would probably have been made for her at Talbothays, if only out of sheer compassion; but comfortable as her life had been there she could not go back. The anti-climax would be too intolerable; and her return might bring reproach upon her idolized husband. She could not have borne their pity, and their whispered remarks to one another upon her strange situation; though she would almost have faced a knowledge of her circumstances by every individual there, so long as her story had remained isolated in the mind of each. It was the interchange of ideas about her that made her sensitiveness wince. Tess could not account for this distinction; she simply knew that she felt it. She was now on her way to an upland farm in the centre of the county, to which she had been recommended by a wandering letter which had reached her from Marian. Marian had somehow heard that Tess was separated from her husband - probably through Izz Huett - and the good-natured and now tippling girl, deeming Tess in trouble, had hastened to notify to her former friend that she herself had gone to this upland spot after leaving the dairy, and would like to see her there, where there was room for other hands, if it was really true that she worked again as of old. With the shortening of the days all hope of obtaining her husband's forgiveness began to leave her: and there was something of the habitude of the wild animal in the unreflecting instinct with which she rambled on - disconnecting herself by littles from her eventful past at every step, obliterating her identity, giving no thought to accidents or contingencies which might make a quick discovery of her whereabouts by others of importance to her own happiness, if not to theirs. Among the difficulties of her lonely position not the least was the attention she excited by her appearance, a certain bearing of distinction, which she had caught from Clare, being superadded to her natural attractiveness. Whilst the clothes lasted which had been prepared for her marriage, these casual glances of interest caused her no inconvenience, but as soon as she was compelled to don the wrapper of a fieldwoman, rude words were addressed to her more than once; but nothing occurred to cause her bodily fear till a particular November afternoon.

now that she had relieved their necessities

Her reluctance to communicate with her husband's parents might, she thought, lessen with the lapse of time; but with her own the reverse obtained. On her leaving their house after the short visit subsequent to her marriage they were under the impression that she was ultimately going to join her husband; and from that time to the present she had done nothing to disturb their belief that she was awaiting his return in comfort, hoping against hope that his journey to Brazil would result in a short stay only, after which he would come to fetch her, or that he would write for her to join him; in any case that they would soon present a united front to their families and the world. This hope she still fostered. To let her parents know that she was a deserted wife, dependent, now that she had relieved their necessities, on her own hands for a living, after the éclat of a marriage which was to nullify the collapse of the first attempt, would be too much indeed. The set of brilliants returned to her mind. Where Clare had deposited them she did not know, and it mattered little, if it were true that she could only use and not sell them. Even were they absolutely hers it would be passing mean to enrich herself by a legal title to them which was not essentially hers at all. Meanwhile her husband's days had been by no means free from trial. At this moment he was lying ill of fever in the clay lands near Curitiba in Brazil, having been drenched with thunder-storms and persecuted by other hardships, in common with all the English farmers and farm-labourers who, just at this time, were deluded into going thither by the promises of the Brazilian Government, and by the baseless assumption that those frames which, ploughing and sowing on English Liplands, had resisted all the weathers to whose moods they had been born, could resist equally well all the weathers by which they were surprised on Brazilian plains. To return. Thus it happened that when the last of Tess's sovereigns had been spent she was unprovided with others to take their place, while on account of the season she found it increasingly difficult to get employment. Not being aware of the rarity of intelligence, energy, health, and willingness in any sphere of life, she refrained from seeking an indoor occupation; fearing towns, large houses, people of means and social sophistication, and of manners other than rural. From that direction of gentility Black Care had come. Society might be better than she supposed from her slight experience of it. But she had no proof of this, and her instinct in the circumstances was to avoid its purlieus.

and one by one they left her hands

She could not bear to let them go. Angel had put them into her hand, had obtained them bright and new from his bank for her; his touch had consecrated them to souvenirs of himself - they appeared to have had as yet no other history than such as was created by his and her own experiences - and to disperse them was like giving away relics. But she had to do it, and one by one they left her hands. She had been compelled to send her mother her address from time to time, but she concealed her circumstances. When her money had almost gone a letter from her mother reached her. Joan stated that they were in dreadful difficulty; the autumn rains had gone through the thatch of the house, which required entire renewal; but this could not be done because the previous thatching had never been paid for. New rafters and a new ceiling upstairs also were required, which, with the previous bill, would amount to a sum of twenty pounds. As her husband was a man of means, and had doubtless returned by this time, could she not send them the money? Tess had thirty pounds coming to her almost immediately from Angel's bankers, and, the case being so deplorable, as soon as the sum was received she sent the twenty as requested. Part of the remainder she was obliged to expend in winter clothing, leaving only a nominal sum for the whole inclement season at hand. When the last pound had gone, a remark of Angel's that whenever she required further resources she was to apply to his father, remained to be considered. But the more Tess thought of the step the more reluctant was she to take it. The same delicacy, pride, false shame, whatever it may be called, on Clare's account, which had led her to hide from her own parents the prolongation of the estrangement, hindered her in owning to his that she was in want after the fair allowance he had left her. They probably despised her already; how much more they would despise her in the character of a mendicant! The consequence was that by no effort could the parson's daughter-in-law bring herself to let him know her state.

she can produce only a flattened purse

No; it was a sense that, despite her love, as corroborated by Izz's admission, the facts had not changed. If he was right at first, he was right now. And the momentum of the course on which he had embarked tended to keep him going in it, unless diverted by a stronger, more sustained force than had played upon him this afternoon. He could soon come back to her. He took the train that night for London, and five days after shook hands in farewell of his brothers at the port of embarkation. From the foregoing events of the winter-time let us press on to an October day, more than eight months subsequent to the parting of Clare and Tess. We discover the latter in changed conditions; instead of a bride with boxes and trunks which others bore, we see her a lonely woman with a basket and a bundle in her own porterage, as at an earlier time when she was no bride; instead of the ample means that were projected by her husband for her comfort through this probationary period, she can produce only a flattened purse. After again leaving Marlott, her home, she had got through the spring and summer without any great stress upon her physical powers, the time being mainly spent in rendering light irregular service at dairy-work near Port-Bredy to the west of the Black-moor Valley, equally remote from her native place and from Talbothays. She preferred this to living on his allowance. Mentally she remained in utter stagnation, a condition which the mechanical occupation rather fostered than checked. Her consciousness was at that other dairy, at that other season, in the presence of the tender lover who had confronted her there - he who, the moment she had grasped him to keep for her own, had disappeared like a shape in a vision. The dairy-work lasted only till the milk began to lessen, for she had not met with a second regular engagement as at Talbothays, but had done duty as a supernumerary only. However, as harvest was now beginning, she had simply to remove from the pasture to the stubble to find plenty Of further occupation, and this continued till harvest was done. Of the five-and-twenty pounds which had remained to her of Clare's allowance, after deducting the other half of the fifty as a contribution to her parents for the trouble and expense to which she had put them, she had as vet spent but little. But there now followed an unfortunate interval of wet weather, during which she was obliged to fall back upon her sovereigns.

while she stood beside him there

He felt how richly he deserved the reproach that the wounded cry conveyed, and, in a sorrow that was inexpressible, leapt down and took her hand. `Well, but, Izz, we'll part friends, anyhow? You don't know what I've had to bear!' She was a really generous girl, and allowed no further bitterness to mar their adieux. `I forgive 'ee, sir!' she said. `Now Izz,' he said, while she stood beside him there, forcing himself to the mentor's part he was far from feeling; `I want you to tell Marian when you see her that she is to be a good woman, and not to give way to folly. Promise that, and tell Retty that there are more worthy men than I in the world, that for my sake she is to act wisely and well - remember the words - wisely and well - for my sake. I send this message to them as a dying man to the dying; for I shall never see them again. And you, Izzy, you have saved me by your honest words about my wife from an incredible impulse towards folly and treachery. Women may be bad, but they are not so bad as men in these things! On that one account I can never forget you. Be always the good and sincere girl you have hitherto been; and think of me as a worthless lover, but a faithful friend. Promise.' She gave the promise. `Heaven bless and keep you, sir. Good-bye!' He drove on; but no sooner had Izz turned into the lane, and Clare was out of sight, than she flung herself down on the bank in a fit of racking anguish; and it was with a strained unnatural face that she entered her mother's cottage late that night. Nobody ever was told how Izz spent the dark hours that intervened between Angel Clare's parting from her and her arrival home. Clare, too, after bidding the girl farewell, was wrought to aching thoughts and quivering lips. But his sorrow was not for Izz. That evening he was within a feather-weight's turn of abandoning his road to the nearest station, and driving across that elevated dorsal line of South Wessex which divided him from his Tess's home. It was neither a contempt for her nature, nor the probable state of her heart, which deterred him.

as if they were lower animals

He looked across at me, and his eye appraised my watch-chain, and then he incidentally spat and said something to the other convict, and they laughed and slued themselves round with a clink of their coupling manacle, and looked at something else. The great numbers on their backs, as if they were street doors; their coarse mangy ungainly outer surface, as if they were lower animals; their ironed legs, apologetically garlanded with pocket-handkerchiefs; and the way in which all present looked at them and kept from them; made them (as Herbert had said) a most disagreeable and degraded spectacle. But this was not the worst of it. It came out that the whole of the back of the coach had been taken by a family removing from London, and that there were no places for the two prisoners but on the seat in front, behind the coachman. Hereupon, a choleric gentleman, who had taken the fourth place on that seat, flew into a most violent passion, and said that it was a breach of contract to mix him up with such villainous company, and that it was poisonous and pernicious and infamous and shameful, and I don't know what else. At this time the coach was ready and the coachman impatient, and we were all preparing to get up, and the prisoners had come over with their keeper - bringing with them that curious flavour of bread-poultice, baize, rope-yarn, and hearthstone, which attends the convict presence. `Don't take it so much amiss. sir,' pleaded the keeper to the angry passenger; `I'll sit next you myself. I'll put 'em on the outside of the row. They won't interfere with you, sir. You needn't know they're there.' `And don't blame me,' growled the convict I had recognized. `I don't want to go. I am quite ready to stay behind. As fur as I am concerned any one's welcome to my place.' `Or mine,' said the other, gruffly. `I wouldn't have incommoded none of you, if I'd had my way.' Then, they both laughed, and began cracking nuts, and spitting the shells about. - As I really think I should have liked to do myself, if I had been in their place and so despised. At length, it was voted that there was no help for the angry gentleman, and that he must either go in his chance company or remain behind. So, he got into his place, still making complaints, and the keeper got into the place next him, and the convicts hauled themselves up as well as they could, and the convict I had recognized sat behind me with his breath on the hair of my head.

But I had a reason that was an old reason now

It was the afternoon coach by which I had taken my place, and, as winter had now come round, I should not arrive at my destination until two or three hours after dark. Our time of starting from the Cross Keys was two o'clock. I arrived on the ground with a quarter of an hour to spare, attended by the Avenger - if I may connect that expression with one who never attended on me if he could possibly help it. At that time it was customary to carry Convicts down to the dockyards by stage-coach. As I had often heard of them in the capacity of outside passengers, and had more than once seen them on the high road dangling their ironed legs over the coach roof, I had no cause to be surprised when Herbert, meeting me in the yard, came up and told me there were two convicts going down with me. But I had a reason that was an old reason now, for constitutionally faltering whenever I heard the world convict. `You don't mind them, Handel?' said Herbert. `Oh no!' `I thought you seemed as if you didn't like them?' `I can't pretend that I do like them, and I suppose you don't particularly. But I don't mind them.' `See! There they are,' said Herbert, `coming out of the Tap. What a degraded and vile sight it is!' They had been treating their guard, I suppose, for they had a gaoler with them, and all three came out wiping their mouths on their hands. The two convicts were handcuffed together, and had irons on their legs - irons of a pattern that I knew well. They wore the dress that I likewise knew well. Their keeper had a brace of pistols, and carried a thick-knobbed bludgeon under his arm; but he was on terms of good understanding with them, and stood, with them beside him, looking on at the putting-to of the horses, rather with an air as if the convicts were an interesting Exhibition not formally open at the moment, and he the Curator. One was a taller and stouter man than the other, and appeared as a matter of course, according to the mysterious ways of the world both convict and free, to have had allotted to him the smaller suit of clothes. His arms and legs were like great pincushions of those shapes, and his attire disguised him absurdly; but I knew his half-closed eye at one glance. There stood the man whom I had seen on the settle at the Three Jolly Bargemen on a Saturday night, and who had brought me down with his invisible gun! It was easy to make sure that as yet he knew me no more than if he had never seen me in his life.

in the old burnt apron

I'm wrong out of the forge, the kitchen, or off th' meshes. You won't find half so much fault in me if you think of me in my forge dress, with my hammer in my hand, or even my pipe. You won't find half so much fault in me if, supposing as you should ever wish to see me, you come and put your head in at the forge window and see Joe the blacksmith, there, at the old anvil, in the old burnt apron, sticking to the old work. I'm awful dull, but I hope I've beat out something nigh the rights of this at last. And so GOD bless you, dear old Pip, old chap, GOD bless you!' I had not been mistaken in my fancy that there was a simple dignity in him. The fashion of his dress could no more come in its way when he spoke these words, than it could come in its way in Heaven. He touched me gently on the forehead, and went out. As soon as I could recover myself sufficiently, I hurried out after him and looked for him in the neighbouring streets; but he was gone. It was clear that I must repair to our town next day, and in the first flow of my repentance it was equally clear that I must stay at Joe's. But, when I had secured my box-place by to-morrow's coach and had been down to Mr Pocket's and back, I was not by any means convinced on the last point, and began to invent reasons and make excuses for putting up at the Blue Boar. I should be an inconvenience at Joe's; I was not expected, and my bed would not be ready; I should be too far from Miss Havisham's, and she was exacting and mightn't like it. All other swindlers upon earth are nothing to the self-swindlers, and with such pretences did I cheat myself. Surely a curious thing. That I should innocently take a bad half-crown of somebody else's manufacture, is reasonable enough; but that I should knowingly reckon the spurious coin of my own make, as good money! An obliging stranger, under pretence of compactly folding up my bank-notes for security's sake, abstracts the notes and gives me nutshells; but what is his sleight of hand to mine, when I fold up my own nutshells and pass them on myself as notes! Having settled that I must go to the Blue Boar, my mind was much disturbed by indecision whether or no to take the Avenger. It was tempting to think of that expensive Mercenary publicly airing his boots in the archway of the Blue Boar's posting-yard; it was almost solemn to imagine him casually produced in the tailor's shop and confounding the disrespectful senses of Trabb's boy. On the other hand, Trabb's boy might worm himself into his intimacy and tell him things; or, reckless and desperate wretch as I knew he could be, might hoot him in the High-street, My patroness, too, might hear of him, and not approve. On the whole, I resolved to leave the Avenger behind.

with an air of legal formality

`"She wish," were Pumblechook's word, "to speak to you."' Joe sat and rolled his eyes at the ceiling. `Yes, Joe? Go on, please.' `Next day, Sir,' said Joe, looking at me as if I were a long way off, `having cleaned myself, I go and I see Miss A.' `Miss A., Joe? Miss Havisham?' `Which I say, Sir,' replied Joe, with an air of legal formality, as if he were making his will, `Miss A., or otherways Havisham. Her expression air then as follering: "Mr Gargery. You air in correspondence with Mr Pip?" Having had a letter from you, I were able to say "I am." (When I married your sister, Sir, I said "I will;" and when I answered your friend, Pip, I said "I am.") "Would you tell him, then," said she, "that which Estella has come home and would be glad to see him."' I felt my face fire up as I looked at Joe. I hope one remote cause of its firing, may have been my consciousness that if I had known his errand, I should have given him more encouragement. `Biddy,' pursued Joe, `when I got home and asked her fur to write the message to you, a little hung back. Biddy says, "I know he will be very glad to have it by word of mouth, it is holidaytime, you want to see him, go!" I have now concluded, Sir,' said Joe, rising from his chair, `and, Pip, I wish you ever well and ever prospering to a greater and a greater heighth.' `But you are not going now, Joe?' `Yes I am,' said Joe. `But you are coming back to dinner, Joe?' `No I am not,' said Joe. Our eyes met, and all the `Sir' melted out of that manly heart as he gave me his hand. `Pip, dear old chap, life is made of ever so many partings welded together, as I may say, and one man's a blacksmith, and one's a whitesmith, and one's a goldsmith, and one's a coppersmith. Diwisions among such must come, and must be met as they come. If there's been any fault at all to-day, it's mine. You and me is not two figures to be together in London; nor yet anywheres else but what is private, and beknown, and understood among friends. It ain't that I am proud, but that I want to be right, as you shall never see me no more in these clothes. I'm wrong in these clothes.

slightly tossing his head

As to his shirt-collar, and his coat-collar, they were perplexing to reflect upon - insoluble mysteries both. Why should a man scrape himself to that extent, before he could consider himself full dressed? Why should he suppose it necessary to be purified by suffering for his holiday clothes? Then he fell into such unaccountable fits of meditation, with his fork midway between his plate and his mouth; had his eyes attracted in such strange directions; was afflicted with such remarkable coughs; sat so far from the table, and dropped so much more than he ate, and pretended that he hadn't dropped it; that I was heartily glad when Herbert left us for the city. I had neither the good sense nor the good feeling to know that this was all my fault, and that if I had been easier with Joe, Joe would have been easier with me. I felt impatient of him and out of temper with him; in which condition he heaped coals of fire on my head. `Us two being now alone, Sir,' - began Joe. `Joe,' I interrupted, pettishly, `how can you call me, Sir?' Joe looked at me for a single instant with something faintly like reproach. Utterly preposterous as his cravat was, and as his collars were, I was conscious of a sort of dignity in the look. `Us two being now alone,' resumed Joe, `and me having the intentions and abilities to stay not many minutes more, I will now conclude - leastways begin - to mention what have led to my having had the present honour. For was it not,' said Joe, with his old air of lucid exposition, `that my only wish were to be useful to you, I should not have had the honour of breaking wittles in the company and abode of gentlemen.' I was so unwilling to see the look again, that I made no remonstrance against this tone. `Well, Sir,' pursued Joe, `this is how it were. I were at the Bargemen t'other night, Pip;' whenever he subsided into affection, he called me Pip, and whenever he relapsed into politeness he called me Sir; `when there come up in his shay-cart, Pumblechook. Which that same identical,' said Joe, going down a new track, `do comb my 'air the wrong way sometimes, awful, by giving out up and down town as it were him which ever had your infant companionation and were looked upon as a playfellow by yourself.' `Nonsense. It was you, Joe.' `Which I fully believed it were, Pip,' said Joe, slightly tossing his head, `though it signify little now, Sir. Well, Pip; this same identical, which his manners is given to blusterous, come to me at the Bargemen (wot a pipe and a pint of beer do give refreshment to the working-man, Sir, and do not over stimilate), and his word were, "Joseph, Miss Havisham she wish to speak to you."' `Miss Havisham, Joe?'

feelings so selfish to consent to it

Your sense of honour and honesty would have led you, I know, when aware of your situation, to attempt all the economy that would appear to you possible: and, perhaps, as long as your frugality retrenched only on your own comfort, you might have been suffered to practice it, but beyond that and how little could the utmost of your single management do to stop the ruin which had begun before your marriage? beyond that, had you endeavoured, however reasonably, to abridge his enjoyments, is it not to be feared, that instead of prevailing on feelings so selfish to consent to it, you would have lessened your own influence on his heart, and made him regret the connection which had involved him in such difficulties?" Marianne's lips quivered, and she repeated the word "selfish" in a tone that implied, "Do you really think him selfish?" "The whole of his behaviour," replied Elinor, "from the beginning to the end of the affair, has been grounded on selfishness. It was selfishness which first made him sport with your affections; which afterwards, when his own were engaged, made him delay the confession of it, and which finally carried him from Barton. His own enjoyment, or his own ease, was, in every particular, his ruling principle." "It is very true. My happiness never was his object." "At present," continued Elinor, "he regrets what he has done. And why does he regret it? Because he finds it has not answered towards himself. It has not made him happy. His circumstances are now unembarrassed- he suffers from no evil of that kind; and he thinks only that he has married a woman of a less amiable temper than yourself. But does it follow that had he married you, he would have been happy? The inconveniences would have been different. He would then have suffered under the pecuniary distresses which,because they are removed, he now reckons as nothing. He would have had a wife of whose temper he could make no complaint, but he would have been always necessitous- always poor; and probably would soon have learned to rank the innumerable comforts of a clear estate and good income as of far more importance, even to domestic happiness, than the mere temper of a wife." "I have not a doubt of it," said Marianne; "and I have nothing to regret- nothing but my own folly." "Rather say your mother's imprudence, my child," said Mrs. Dashwood: "she must be answerable." Marianne would not let her proceed; and Elinor, satisfied that each felt their own error, wished to avoid any survey of the past that might weaken her sister's spirits; she, therefore, pursuing the first subject, immediately continued"One observation may, I think, be fairly drawn from the whole of the story- that all Willoughby's difficulties have arisen from the first offence against virtue, in his behaviour to Eliza Williams.

to declare only the simple truth

But it was neither in Elinor's power, nor in her wish, to rouse such feelings in another, by her retailed explanation, as had at first been called forth in herself. Reflection had given calmness to her judgment, and sobered her own opinion of Willoughby's deserts; she wished, therefore, to declare only the simple truth, and lay open such facts as were really due to his character, without any embellishment of tenderness to lead the fancy astray. In the evening, when they were all three together, Marianne began voluntarily to speak of him again; but that it was not without an effort, the restless, unquiet thoughtfulness in which she had been for some time previously sitting, her rising colour, as she spoke, and her unsteady voice, plainly showed. "I wish to assure you both," said she, "that I see every thing as you can desire me to do." Mrs. Dashwood would have interrupted her instantly with soothing tenderness, had not Elinor, who really wished to hear her sister's unbiassed opinion, by an eager sign, engaged her silence. Marianne slowly continued,"It is a great relief to me, what Elinor told me this morning; I have now heard exactly what I wished to hear." For some moments her voice was lost; but recovering herself, she added, and with greater calmness than before,- "I am now perfectly satisfied, I wish no change. I never could have been happy with him, after knowing, as sooner or later I must have known, all this. I should have had no confidence, no esteem. Nothing could have done it away to my feelings." "I know it, I know it," cried her mother. "Happy with a man of libertine practices! With one who so injured the peace of the dearest of our friends, and the best of men! No- my Marianne has not a heart to be made happy with such a man! Her conscience would have felt all that the conscience of her husband ought to have felt." Marianne sighed, and repeated, "I wish for no change." "You consider the matter," said Elinor, "exactly as a good mind and a sound understanding must consider it; and I dare say you perceive, as well as myself, not only in this, but in many other circumstances, reason enough to be convinced that your marriage must have involved you in many certain troubles and disappointments, in which you would have been poorly supported by an affection, on his side, much less certain. Had you married, you must have been always poor. His expensiveness is acknowledged even by himself; and his whole conduct declares, that self-denial is a word hardly understood by him. His demands, and your inexperience together, on a small, very small income, must have brought on distresses which would not be the less grievous to you, from having been entirely unknown and unthought of before.

soon found herself leading to the fact

But it shall be regulated, it shall be checked by religion, by reason, by constant employment." She paused- and added, in a low voice, "If I could but know his heart, every thing would become easy." Elinor, who had now been for some time reflecting on the propriety or impropriety of speedily hazarding her narration, without feeling at all nearer decision than at first, heard this; and perceiving that as reflection did nothing resolution must do all, soon found herself leading to the fact. She managed the recital, as she hoped, with address; prepared her anxious listener with caution; related simply and honestly the chief points on which Willoughby grounded his apology; did justice to his repentance, and softened only his protestations of present regard. Marianne said not a word. She trembled: her eyes were fixed on the ground; and her lips became whiter than even sickness had left them. A thousand enquiries sprung up from her heart, but she dared not urge one. She caught every syllable with panting eagerness: her hand, unknowingly to herself, closely pressed her sister's, and tears covered her cheeks. Elinor, dreading her being tired, led her towards home; and till they reached the door of the cottage, easily conjecturing what her curiosity must be, though no question was suffered to speak it, talked of nothing but Willoughby, and their conversation together; and was carefully minute in every particular of speech and look, where minuteness could be safely indulged. As soon as they entered the house, Marianne, with a kiss of gratitude, and these two words just articulate through her tears, "Tell mamma," withdrew from her sister, and walked slowly up stairs. Elinor would not attempt to disturb a solitude so reasonable as what she now sought; and with a mind anxiously prearranging its results, and a resolution of reviving the subject again, should Marianne fail to do it, she turned into the parlour to fulfill her parting injunction. Chapter 47 MRS. DASHWOOD did not hear, unmoved, the vindication of her former favourite. She rejoiced in his being cleared from some part of his imputed guilt; she was sorry for him; she wished him happy. But the feelings of the past could not be recalled. Nothing could restore him with a faith unbroken, a character unblemished, to Marianne. Nothing could do away the knowledge of what the latter had suffered through his means, nor remove the guilt of his conduct towards Eliza. Nothing could replace him, therefore, in her former esteem, nor injure the interests of Colonel Brandon. Had Mrs. Dashwood, like her daughter, heard Willoughby's story from himself,- had she witnessed his distress, and been under the influence of his countenance and his manner,- it is probable that her compassion would have been greater.

with a heart hardened against their merits

How should I have lived in your remembrance! My mother, too! How could you have consoled her! I cannot express my own abhorrence of myself. Whenever I looked towards the past, I saw some duty neglected, or some failing indulged. Every body seemed injured by me. The kindness, the unceasing kindness, of Mrs. Jennings, I had repaid with ungrateful contempt. To the Middletons, to the Palmers, the Steeles, to every common acquaintance even, I had been insolent and unjust; with a heart hardened against their merits, and a temper irritated by their very attention. To John, to Fanny, yes, even to them, little as they deserve, I had given less than their due. But you, you above all, above my mother, had been wronged by me. I, and only I, knew your heart and its sorrows; yet to what did it influence me?- not to any compassion that could benefit you or myself. Your example was before me; but to what avail? Was I more considerate of you and your comfort? Did I imitate your forbearance, or lessen your restraints, by taking any part in those offices of general complaisance or particular gratitude which you had hitherto been left to discharge alone? No; not less when I knew you to be unhappy, than when I had believed you at ease, did I turn away from every exertion of duty or friendship; scarcely allowing sorrow to exist but with me, regretting only that heart which had deserted and wronged me, and leaving you, for or I professed an unbounded affection, to be miserable for my sake." Here ceased the rapid flow of her self-reproving spirit; and Elinor, impatient to soothe, though too honest to flatter, gave her instantly that praise and support which her frankness and her contrition so well deserved. Marianne pressed her hand and replied,"You are very good. The future must be my proof. I have laid down my plan, and if I am capable of adhering to it, my feelings shall be governed and my temper improved. They shall no longer worry others, nor torture myself. I shall now live solely for my family. You, my mother, and Margaret, must henceforth be all the world to me; you will share my affections entirely between you. From you, from my home, I shall never again have the smallest incitement to move; and if I do mix in other society, it will be only to show that my spirit is humbled, my heart amended, and that I can practise the civilities, the lesser duties of life, with gentleness and forbearance. As for Willoughby, to say that I shall soon, or that I shall ever forget him, would be idle. His remembrance can be overcome by no change of circumstances or opinions.

you think you should be easy

"As for regret," said Marianne, "I have done with that, as far as he is concerned. I do not mean to talk to you of what my feelings have been for him, but what they are now. At present, if I could be satisfied on one point, if I could be allowed to think that he was not always acting a part, not always deceiving me; but above all, if I could be assured that he never was so very wicked as my fears have sometimes fancied him, since the story of that unfortunate girl-" She stopped. Elinor joyfully treasured her words as she answered,"If you could be assured of that, you think you should be easy." "Yes. My peace of mind is doubly involved in it; for not only is it horrible to suspect a person, who has been what he has been to of such designs, but what must it make me appear to myself? What, in a situation like mine, but a most shamefully unguarded affection could expose me to-" "How then," asked her sister, "would you account for his behaviour?" "I would suppose him- oh, how gladly would I suppose him!- only fickle, very, very fickle." Elinor said no more. She was debating within herself on the eligibility of beginning her story directly, or postponing it till Marianne were in stronger health; and they crept on for a few minutes in silence. "I am not wishing him too much good," said Marianne at last, with a sigh, "when I wish his secret reflections may be no more unpleasant than my own. He will suffer enough in them." "Do you compare your conduct with his?" "No. I compare it with what it ought to have been; I compare it with yours." "Our situations have borne little resemblance." "They have borne more than our conduct. Do not, my dearest Elinor, let your kindness defend what I know your judgment must censure. My illness has made me think. It has given me leisure and calmness for serious recollection. Long before I was enough recovered to talk, I was perfectly able to reflect. I considered the past: I saw in my own behaviour, since the beginning of our acquaintance with him last autumn, nothing but a series of imprudence towards myself, and want of kindness to others. I saw that my own feelings had prepared my sufferings, and that my want of fortitude under them had almost led me to the grave. My illness, I well knew, had been entirely brought on by myself by such negligence of my own health, as I had felt, even at the time, to be wrong. Had I died, it would have been self-destruction. I did not know my danger till the danger was removed; but with such feelings as these reflections gave me, I wonder at my recovery,wonder that the very eagerness of my desire to live, to have time for atonement to my God, and to you all, did not kill me at once. Had I died, in what peculiar misery should I have left you, my nurse, my friend, my sister! You, who had seen all the fretful selfishness of my latter days; who had known all the murmurings of my heart!

its numbers limited to six millions

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.

Either it is conquered from without

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 for 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.

and to be uninterested in what their

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 twenty-four 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 by the fourth decade of

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.