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count them, he could not remember why. He knew only that it was impossible to count them, and that this was somehow due to the mysterious identity between five and four. The pain died down again. When he opened his eyes it was to find that he was still seeing the same thing. Innumerable fingers, like moving trees, were still streaming past in either direction, crossing and recrossing. He shut his eyes again. "How many fingers am I holding up, Winston?" "I don't know. I don't know. You will kill me if you do that again. Four, five, six—in all honesty I don't know." "Better," said O'Brien. A needle slid into Winston's arm. Almost in the same instant a blissful, healing warmth spread all through his body. The pain was already half-forgotten. He opened his eyes and looked up gratefully at O'Brien. At sight of the heavy, lined face, so ugly and so intelligent, his heart seemed to turn over. If he could have moved he would have stretched out a hand and laid it on O'Brien arm. He had never loved him so deeply as at this moment, and not merely because he had stopped die pain. The old feeling, that at bottom it did not matter whether O'Brien was a friend or an enemy, had come back. O'Brien was a person who could be talked to. Perhaps one did not want to be loved so much as to be understood. O'Brien had tortured him to the edge of lunacy, and in a little while, it was certain, he would send him to his death. It made no difference. In some sense that went deeper than friendship, they were intimates; somewhere or other, although the actual words might never be spoken, there was a place where they could meet and talk. O'Brien was looking down at him with an expression which suggested that the same thought might be in his own mind. When he spoke it was in an easy, conversational tone. "Do you know where you are, Winston?" he said. "I don't know. I can guess. In the Ministry of Love." "Do you know how long you have been here?" "I don't know. Days, weeks, months—I think it is months." "And why do you imagine that we bring people to this place?" "To make them confess." "No, that is not the reason. Try again." "To punish them." "No!" exclaimed O'Brien. His voice had changed extraordinarily, and his face had suddenly become both stern and animated. "No! Not merely to extract your confession, nor to punish you. Shall
I tell you why we have brought you here? To cure you! To make you sane! Will you understand, Winston, that no one whom we bring to this place ever leaves our hands uncured? We are not interested in those stupid crimes that you have committed. The Party is not interested in the overt act; the thought is all we care about. We do not merely destroy our enemies; we change them. Do you understand what I mean by that?" He was bending over Winston. His face looked enormous because of its nearness, and hideously ugly because it was seen from below. Moreover it was filled with a sort of exaltation, a lunatic intensity. Again Winston's heart shrank. If it had been possible he would have cowered deeper into the bed. He felt certain that O'Brien was about to twist the dial out of sheer wantonness. At this moment, however, O'Brien turned away. He took a pace or two up and down. Then he continued less vehemently: "The first thing for you to understand is that in this place there are no martyrdoms. You have read of the religious persecutions of the past. In the Middle Ages there was the Inquisition. It was a failure. It set out to eradicate heresy, and ended by perpetuating it. For every heretic it burned at the stake, thousands of others rose up. Why was that? Because the Inquisition killed its enemies in the open, and killed them while they were still unrepentant; in fact, it killed them because they were unrepentant. Men were dying because they would not abandon their true beliefs. Naturally all the glory belonged to the victim and all the shame to the Inquisitor who burned him. Later, in the twentieth century, there were the totalitarians, as they were called. There were the German Nazis and the Russian Communists. The Russians persecuted heresy more cruelly than the Inquisition had done. And they imagined that they had learned from the mistakes of the past; they knew, at any rate, that one must not make martyrs. Before they exposed their victims to public trial, they deliberately set themselves to destroy their dignity. They wore them down by torture and solitude until they were despicable, cringing wretches, confessing whatever was put into their mouths, covering themselves with abuse, accusing and sheltering behind one another, whimpering for mercy. And yet after only a few years the same thing had happened over again. The dead men had become martyrs and their degradation was forgotten. Once again, why was it? In the first place, because the confessions that they had made were obviously extorted and untrue. We do not make mistakes of that kind. All the confessions that are uttered here are true. We make them true. And above all we do not allow the dead to rise up against us. You must stop imagining that posterity will vindicate you, Winston. Posterity will never hear of you. You will be lifted clean out from the stream of history. We shall turn you into gas and pour you into the stratosphere. Nothing will remain of you: not a name in a register, not a memory in a living brain. You will be annihilated in the past as well as in the future. You will never have existed." Then why bother to torture me? thought Winston, with a momentary bitterness. O'Brien checked his step as though Winston had uttered the thought aloud. His large ugly face came nearer, with the eyes a little narrowed. "You are thinking," he said, "that since we intend to destroy you utterly, so that nothing that you say or do can make the smallest difference—in that case, why do we go to the trouble of interrogating you first? That is what you were thinking, was it not?"
Page 2 and 3:
Animal Farm and 1984 George Orwell
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HARCOURT, INC. Orlando Austin New Y
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Introduction THE TWO NOVELS THAT yo
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The original title of the novel was
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Eastern Europe, and of those who le
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1 MR. JONES, OF THE Manor Farm, had
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your four confinements and all your
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On the day that sets us free. For t
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Moses, who was Mr. Jones's especial
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eproached her sharply, and they wen
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3 HOW THEY TOILED and sweated to ge
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As for the pigs, they could already
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4 BY THE LATE SUMMER the news of wh
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All the men were gone except one. B
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his own following, and there were s
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can run, but the dogs were close on
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6 ALL THAT YEAR THE animals worked
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Every Monday Mr. Whymper visited th
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avenge himself for his ignominious
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through one of the other pigs, usua
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Comrade Napoleon. Do you not rememb
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that it was their own farm, every i
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8 A FEW DAYS LATER, when the terror
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were only conducted through Whymper
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The very next morning the attack ca
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fired in all—and heard the speech
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9 BOXER'S SPLIT HOOF was a long tim
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There was only one candidate, Napol
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The animals crowded round the van.
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10 YEARS PASSED. The seasons came a
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from the yard. Startled, the animal
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on Animal Farm did more work and re
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One IT WAS A BRIGHT cold day in Apr
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Winston turned round abruptly. He h
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was trying to burrow right into her
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Eurasia, he was advocating freedom
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At this moment the entire group of
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wanted to smudge the creamy paper b
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"Want to see the hanging! Want to s
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wrappings of a cigarette packet—e
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was never fully certain whether or
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satisfactorily under control. Offic
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the disposal of wastepaper. Similar
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ecome uncertain. Winston glanced ac
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was still crouching secretively ove
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"Not one!" said Winston with a sort
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Oldspeak, with all its vagueness an
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Syme looked up. "Here comes Parsons
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Syme swallowed it. Was he, then, al
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Parsons had begun talking again. "D
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divorce, but it rather encouraged s
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women crowding round the stalls of
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The ideal set up by the Party was s
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the very moment of their re-lease.
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Freedom is the freedom to say that
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"Can't you bleeding well listen to
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"You're a gent," said the other, st
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"One of 'em pushed me once," said t
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thing that gleamed softly in the la
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were in it—all the principal ones
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un, he could not strike a blow. Bes
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Two IT WAS THE MIDDLE of the mornin
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it the imbecile Parsons flopped dow
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flat face and tiny, suspicious eyes
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"Yes." "Can you get Sunday afternoo
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she turned round and looked at him
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The first whiff of its scent had st
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had imagined it, she had torn her c
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As it happened, they never went bac
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wondered vaguely how many others li
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"Yes, dear, you would have. I would
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The tune had been haunting London f
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"There's been a lot of tea about la
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"Dearest! You've gone quite pale. W
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The weather was baking hot. In the
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would hold indefinitely, and they w
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"It was no good, because I threw it
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"I am usually at home in the evenin
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with rage when she stopped ladling,
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"We've been lucky," he said "but it
Page 162 and 163: "Yes," said O'Brien, "we can turn i
Page 164 and 165: "Yes." "To betray your country to f
Page 166 and 167: Goldstein. When you looked at O'Bri
Page 168 and 169: "Oranges and lemons, say the bells
Page 170 and 171: the political literature of five ye
Page 172 and 173: so for the past twenty-five years.
Page 174 and 175: overwork, dirt, illiteracy, and dis
Page 176 and 177: emaining activities in which the in
Page 178 and 179: as Obliteration of the Self. The ci
Page 180 and 181: They did not return to the subject
Page 182 and 183: of machine production, however, the
Page 184 and 185: also useful in keying up public mor
Page 186 and 187: the contradictions inherent in Ings
Page 188 and 189: circumstances, and were overthrown,
Page 190 and 191: outlived the "Hate Song." Julia wok
Page 192 and 193: "You are the dead," repeated the ir
Page 194 and 195: the Thought Police.
Page 196 and 197: forced-labor camps to which most of
Page 198 and 199: from the telescreen. It was even co
Page 200 and 201: "Of course I'm guilty!" cried Parso
Page 202 and 203: There was a gasp and a flurry at Wi
Page 204 and 205: II HE WAS LYING ON something that f
Page 206 and 207: The man in the white coat did not t
Page 208 and 209: "Another example," he said. "Some y
Page 210 and 211: He paused for a few moments, as tho
Page 214 and 215: "Yes," said Winston. O'Brien smiled
Page 216 and 217: O'Brien held up the fingers of his
Page 218 and 219: As always, Winston was lying flat o
Page 220 and 221: "We are the priests of power," he s
Page 222 and 223: the love of Big Brother. There will
Page 224 and 225: he had enrolled himself in the Brot
Page 226 and 227: O'Brien looked down at him thoughtf
Page 228 and 229: into his head. He wrote first in la
Page 230 and 231: the wrong, but he preferred to be i
Page 232 and 233: "In your case," said O'Brien, "the
Page 234 and 235: VI THE CHESTNUT TREE was almost emp
Page 236 and 237: Park, on a vile, biting day in Marc
Page 238 and 239: and teacup placed beside the bed ov
Page 240 and 241: He gazed up at the enormous face. F
Page 242 and 243: The A. vocabulary. The A vocabulary
Page 244 and 245: Some of the B words had highly subt
Page 246 and 247: The intention was to make speech, a
Page 248 and 249: writers, such as Shakespeare, Milto
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