say, we would have no serums against cholera, typhoid, or diphtheria. ..." He emptied the rest of the bottle, yawned, stretched and stood up. He limped over to Rubashov at the window, and looked out. "It's getting light," he said. "Don't be a fool, Rubashov. Everything I brought up to-night is elementary knowledge, which you know as well asI . You were in a state of nervous depression, but now it is over." He stood next to Rubashov at the window, with his arm round Rubashov's shoulders; his voice was nearly tender. "Now go and sleep it off, old warhorse; to-morrow the time isup, and we will both need a clear head to concoct your deposition. Don't shrug your shoulders--you are yourself at least half convinced that you will sign. If you deny it, it's just moral cowardice. Moral cowardice has driven many to martyrdom." Rubashov looked out into the grey light. The sentry was just doing a right-about turn. Above the machinegun turret the sky was pale grey, with a shade of red. "I'll think it over again," said Rubashov after a while. When the door had closed behind his visitor, Rubashov knew that he had already half-surrendered. He threw himself on the bunk, exhausted and yet strangely relieved. He felt hollowed-out and sucked dry, and at the same time as if a weight had been lifted from him. Bogrov's pathetic appeal had in his memory lost some of its acoustic sharpness. Who could call it betrayal if, instead of the dead, one held faith with the living? While Rubashov slept quietly and dreamlessly--the toothache had also quietened down--Ivanov, on the way to his room, paid a visit to Gletkin. Gletkin sat at his desk in full uniform, and was working through files. For years he had had the habit of working right through the night three or four times a week. When Ivanov entered the room, Gletkin stood up to attention. "It is all right," said Ivanov. "To-morrow he will sign. But I had to sweat to repair your idiocy." Gletkin did not answer; he stood stiffly in front of his desk. Ivanov, who remembered the sharp scene he had had with Gletkin before his visit to Rubashov's cell and knew that Gletkin did not forget a rebuff so easily, shrugged his shoulders and blew cigarette smoke into Gletkin's face. "Don't be a fool," he said. "You all still suffer from personal feelings. In his place, you would be even more stubborn." "I have a backbone, which he hasn't" said Gletkin. "But you're an idiot," said Ivanov. "For that answer you ought to be shot before him." He hobbled to the door and banged it from outside. Gletkin sat down to his desk again. He did not believe Ivanov would succeed, and at the same time he was afraid of it. Ivanov's last sentence had sounded like a threat, and with him one never knew what was a joke and what serious. Perhaps he did not know himself--like all these intellectual cynics. ... Gletkin shrugged his shoulders, shoved his collar and crackling cuffs into place, and went on with his work on the pile of documents.
The Third Hearing
Occasionally words must serve to veil the facts. But this must happen in such a way that no onebecome aware of it, or, if it should be noticed, excuses must be at hand, to be produced immediately. MACHIAVELLI: Instructions to Raffaello Girolami
But let your communication be, Yea , yea; Nay, nay; for whatsoever is more than these cometh of evil. Matt. v. 37
1
Extract from N. S. Rubashov's diary, 20th Day of Prison. "... VLADIMIR BOGROV has fallen out of the swing. A hundred and fifty Years ago, the day of the storming of the Bastille, the European swing, after long inaction, again started to move. It had pushed o,$ from tyranny with gusto; with an apparently uncheckable impetus, it had swung up towards the blue sky of freedom. For a hundred years it had risen higher and higher into the spheres of liberalism and democracy. But, see, gradually the pace slowed down, the swing neared the summit and turning-point of its course; then, after a second of immobility, it started the movement backwards, with ever-increasing speed With the same Impetus as on the way up, the swing carried its