Prince Cecil: III

Chapter III.

The Totalitarian

In the royal palace Royston Wakjavotski, the figurehead and head of everything else in Pyromania, sat at his desk in his audience chamber, going over the morning’s mail. The audience chamber was rarely used now except for receiving Wakjavotski’s own personal friends who consisted of three individuals: Baden, Minister of Information and Propaganda; von der Grosse, Chief of the Armed Forces; and Limbrügher, Chief of the Air Force.
This morning Wakjavotski was giving audience to Marshal von der Grosse who sat in a large arm chair across from the desk, one booted leg thrown over the other and a heavy hand drawn across his mouth.
‘So you want to know what to do with the army chaplains, eh, Grosse?’ asked Wakjavotski, tossing a letter into his dustbin. ‘Put them in uniform and let them fight like the rest of the army. It’s about time they pulled their share.’
‘But most of these men are over forty-five,’ protested von der Grosse.
‘Well, what of that? I’m over forty-five myself and no one’s ever caught me shirking, has he?’
‘No, certainly not,’ said von der Grosse, looking at his leader with admiration. ‘Nobody can say you don’t do enough. The reforms you’ve instituted in just the past few months disprove that.’
‘And I mean to make more reforms. For a while we had to let up to keep the people appeased, but with the war we’ll have excellent opportunity of keeping the people in check and doing what we want to—I mean—need to do for the benefit of the State. We can always say it’s for the war effort.’
‘What do we mean to do next?’ asked von der Grosse with interest.
‘Shut down the churches.’
‘But we’ve already shut down the churches.’
‘Not officially. We’ve just turned most of them into restaurants or ruritan clubs. There are one or two still surviving and I mean to close them up for good. What’s the use of a tax-exempt organisation, I ask?’
‘Why don’t we tax them, then?’
‘Because we want to root out religion altogether. That’s why we’re getting rid of the army chaplains.’
‘But if we taxed them, the churches would soon close down by themselves.’
‘You’re a soldier, Grosse, not a politician. Think about it. What a person pays for becomes important to him. If we make these ignorant people pay for their religion, they will cling to it all the tighter and use it as a rallying point against the government. It will be us on one side and their church on the other.’
‘Why, you’re right!’ exclaimed von der Grosse. ‘You’ve got it all thought out, haven’t you? But supposing they don’t like us shutting down their churches?’
‘Oh, they won’t give us any trouble. We’ve gradually worked up to this point, of course.’
Wakjavotski got up and strode over to his bookshelves.
‘Have you seen our new national dictionary, Grosse? No? Have a look at it. It’s the first edition, compiled by professors from our universities. The words “religion,” “sin,” “God,” “righteousness,” “divinity” and “heaven” have all been eliminated.’
‘How masterful!’ said von der Grosse, turning over the pages.
‘They’ve got “hell” in here, anyway,’ he said, coming across it while looking for heaven. ‘”—A euphemism for the sewers.” Amazing! I had no idea we’d put out anything of such magnitude!’
‘We’re working on a set of encyclopaedias at present. When complete, they will not contain any reference to the Bible—not even Johannes Gütenburg.’
‘How superbly stunning!’
‘I thought you’d like it. Yes, we’ve come a long way from those superstitious times. The sun of enlightenment climbs towards its zenith. That sounds rather well, actually. I think I’ll put it in my next speech.’
And the dictator sat down at his desk again to type out the inspirational line on his typewriter.
‘But I still don’t quite understand why religion is so objectionable,’ said von der Grosse.
‘It is at the root of the whole matter for all its innocent exterior,’ said Wakjavotski. ‘I shall try to explain it to you, although it’s rather complicated. Baden understands it perfectly, which is why he labours so hard to suppress it in the newspapers. Let me see, you know that the most essential thing to our regime is that the individual be swallowed up by the State?’
‘Yes.’
‘The individual, then, must forget that he is an individual and see himself only as a fragment of a larger organism, incomplete in himself.’
‘But he is, isn’t he?’
‘Of course. But that’s not what religion teaches. By religion, I mean of course Christianity—it’s the most subversive of all of them. It teaches the ignorant classes that each person is a separate entity with an individual will and power of choice. If taken too far, it can be construed to mean that the State exists for the good of the individual instead of the other way round.’
‘But—but that’s ghastly!’
‘Not only ghastly—it’s deadly. Every single thing we wish to accomplish would be brought into question—such as the break-up of the family.’
‘But why is that so important?’
‘Quite simple. The family is a rival of the State because it claims a person’s loyalties much more strongly. A person will fight for his wife and children—even against the State.’
‘Oh, I see. I hadn’t thought of that. Of course that would be rather shocking.’
‘Of course. Then there is the religious idea that each person is responsible to Go—ahem, pardon me, it’s an old habit—to Fate or some such thing for his own actions. Such ideas must be abolished at all costs. Nobody is to ever think that he is responsible to anyone: the State alone is responsible for the individual’s actions.’
‘But why?’
‘Because if the individual thinks he will be held responsible, he will think before doing what we tell him to. The last thing we want is for any of them to think. They are only to think what we tell them to and obey without question.’
‘Is thinking so very dangerous?’
‘Take this example,’ said Wakjavotski patiently. ‘Supposing a soldier is told to fire into a crowd of demonstrators. He fires as he is told and the demonstration is stopped, peace is restored, and the State can carry on unmolested. But suppose he stops for an instant to think. His reasoning will run thus: “I am told to shoot these people. They are unarmed. There are women and children among them. According to the laws of decency, I ought not to do this thing.” He may do it anyway out of military discipline. But let him once think, “If I do this, I will be held responsible for my action. I may have to appear before an international tribunal or after I die go to some underworld where I will be eternally punished.” Do you think he will shoot?’
‘I wouldn’t under the circumstances,’ said von der Grosse, who looked uncomfortable.
‘That is just what I mean. That is one of the basic tenets of the Christian religion—that each person is responsible for himself—and the one that is the most serious threat.’
‘I understand perfectly now,’ said von der Grosse. ‘How long did it take you to discover all this?’
‘I’ve been considering it ever since coming to power, and I am learning what caused some of my early mistakes.’
The intercommunication system buzzed as he finished speaking. Wakjavotski switched on the speaker.
‘The professor is ready for the demonstration, your Excellency,’ came a voice from the machine.
‘Excellent! How very fortuitous!’ exclaimed Wakjavotski, who seemed to be highly delighted. ‘I shall be down directly.’
He switched off the system and turned to von der Grosse.
‘I have ordered a demonstration of a new type of explosive,’ he said. ‘I am just about to proceed to my laboratory to examine it. Would you like to come? It has great military potential.’
‘Certainly,’ said von der Grosse. ‘I have heard nothing about it.’
He was rather hurt that he had not been told anything before of a break-through of such military importance.
‘That’s because it is top-secret and no one is to hear anything about it until it has been perfected.’
‘Oh,’ said von der Grosse, mollified.
They left the audience chamber and went down a flight of stairs and a hallway to a heavy steel door with a small square window in it. Wakjavotski unlocked this door and went in, switching on the light as he did so.
It was a relatively small room, but large enough for the demonstrations Wakjavotski insisted on having of every new invention his scientists came up with. On a table in one corner lay a gas torch for testing the heat tolerance of an invention, a sledge hammer for testing its strength, and a pistol for testing its bullet-proofness. The last test was Wakjavotski’s own personal favourite.
He pushed a button on the wall and soon a sound of footsteps was heard down the hallway and the rolling wheels of a cart. A guard and a man in a laboratory jacket entered the room, followed by a rolling platform pushed by a second guard. They closed the door behind them after entering, and stood in a row with their arms raised in salute, crying in unison, ‘Hoch Wakjavotski!’
Wakjavotski strode up to the wheeled platform and examined a heavy block that stood upright on it.
‘This is very fascinating,’ he said, stepping to the side to look at it from an angle. ‘What do you think, Grosse?’
‘Be careful, my Superior!’ warned the man in the laboratory jacket. ‘It is exceedingly unstable.’
‘Smokeless, isn’t it?’ asked Wakjavotski.
‘Yes, my Superior; entirely smokeless. From a distance its presence is completely indiscernable.’
‘Are you going to give us a demonstration?’
‘I will burn a small amount for you,’ said the professor, taking a small vial from the pocket of his jacket.
‘Do you actually carry it on you?’ asked von der Grosse apprehensively.
‘Only a few grains. It will not cause a very large explosion. Pardon me, your Excellency; could you spare a match?’
‘My lighter, if you prefer,’ said Wakjavotski.
‘No, no: a match is safer. Thank you. I have a special asbestos pan to fire it in. Now: stand back, everyone!’
There was a muffled bang and the room dimmed in a cloud of smoke.
‘I thought you said it was smokeless!’ shouted Wakjavotski between fits of coughing.
‘It’s not the powder, your Excellency; my laboratory jacket—so stupid of me—I remember now spilling oil on it—it’s on fire!’
He said this jerkily as the two guards beat him resoundingly to put out the flames.
‘Fumigating flagellant!’ cried Wakjavotski, incensed. ‘My beautiful laboratory—cough, cough—crack-brained crematorium!’
The professor stood abashed in the middle of a puddle of water that the guards had thrown on him from a pail that been wisely placed in one corner of the room.
‘You could have burnt the palace down!’ said Wakjavotski. ‘Go home and take your stink-bombs with you, and don’t ever ask me for a match again!’
‘But, your Excellency, I assure you it really does work. If you’d only permit me to give a proper demonstration—’
‘Some other time,’ said Wakjavotski, cutting him short. ‘Outdoors, preferably. I’ll arrange for a demonstration in the palace gardens later to-day. Just now I have more important business to take care of.’
He went to his intercommunication system and buzzed his secretary while the crestfallen professor wheeled his invention out.
‘Your excellency?’ came Krassok’s voice.
‘Has Professor Smut arrived yet?’
‘He is waiting, your Excellency.’
‘Send him down.’
‘He is going to show me a new type of super-strong steel he has forged,’ explained Wakjavotski to von der Grosse as he switched off the machine. ‘Perhaps you would be interested?’
‘No, thank you,’ said von der Grosse. ‘I must get back to my office and to work. Besides, one explosion is enough for one day.’
He left the dictator rubbing his hands in anticipation and returned to the audience chamber at the same moment that another man entered it through a door on the opposite side. This man was about the same age as von der Grosse and Wakjavotski, but he was much thinner than the marshal and rather taller than the dictator.
‘Oh, hello, Baden,’ said von der Grosse. ‘You’ll pardon my appearance—I was just witnessing another of his Excellency’s demonstrations.’
‘He’s in his laboratory, then?’ asked Baden.
He was answered by the sound of heavy blows, followed by gunshots coming up from below.
‘I see. How does this thing work?’ asked Baden, tapping the intercommunication system.
‘He won’t hear it if you try to call him on it.’
‘Then I’ll call him on the telephone. He has a telephone in the laboratory, doesn’t he?’
Without waiting for an answer, Baden picked up the telephone from Wakjavotski’s desk and spoke to the palace operator.
‘Get me the laboratory,’ he said.
‘—Hello, your Excellency. This is Baden. I must speak to you at once on matters of supreme importance to the State.’
There was a pause.
‘I’m afraid it can’t wait. It’s serious.’
At this even von der Grosse could hear the dictator’s voice over the line as it rose to an angry pitch. Baden held the telephone away from his ear and spoke evenly into the receiver.
‘I’m very glad to hear that you’ll be coming up at once. I’ll be waiting in the audience chamber.’
‘You’ve the cheek, Baden,’ said von der Grosse as Baden hung up.
‘It worked,’ replied Baden.
‘Well, I shan’t stay here to face him,’ said von der Grosse. ‘Goodbye!’
And he hurried from the room. Wakjavotski soon appeared through the other doorway, looking displeased but otherwise in control of himself.
‘Hoch Wakjavotski,’ said Baden.
‘Have a seat, Baden,’ replied the dictator. ‘Well, what’s the earth-shattering news?’
‘I’m afraid it’s not all pleasant,’ said the minister of information and propaganda, without sitting down.
‘When has it ever been? I hope some of it is.’
‘Not any of it, actually.’
‘Well, get on with it. What’s happened?’
‘Just a minute. I want to show you something, if you don’t mind.’
Baden strode over and opened the door of the room. Two soldiers entered carrying a large board between them. It appeared to be a piece of a fence and it had writing across it in chalk.
‘Do you think I have nothing better to do with my time than look at samples of graffiti?’ asked Wakjavotski drily.
‘You had better read it,’ said Baden, sitting down in the armchair.
The writing said, ‘Had Zimri peace, who slew his master?’ and was written in a schoolboy hand with embellishments, such as a heavily underlined ‘master’.
‘Obviously put up by that subversive sect,’ said Wakjavotski composedly. ‘What of it? Do you imagine I want to hear their threats? You should have had them stamped out long ago.’
‘It was not,’ said Baden. ‘The prince has returned.’
‘What?’ cried Wakjavotski, turning suddenly pale and tripping over an open drawer as he started back.
‘What’s that you say?’ he gasped as he fell into his chair.
‘I said the prince has returned. He’s in the capitol right now.’
Wakjavotski stared at Baden as he rubbed his injured ankle.
‘Are you completely sure of this?’ he asked.
‘He was arrested by a patrol last night near the border, but escaped. There’s proof in front of you; that’s his doing. There were other examples, but this was the least offensive. Another read, “Sic semper tyrannis” and was accompanied by a caricature of a man in a noose.’
‘So,’ murmured Wakjavotski, gazing emptily at the desk; ‘he came back.’
He jerked into an upright posture and said with a recovery of his usual animation,
‘Of all the idiocies ever conceived by the mind of sub-intelligence! They had him? And they let him get away?! He must be apprehended and destroyed. Why has this not been done yet?’
‘Because as yet we have not been able to find him.’
‘Oh brilliant! Sparkling! Illustrious! I congratulate you on you astute powers, Baden. What about your agents? Where’s the army? What’s the secret police up to, I’d like to know? My life is at risk and nobody lifts a finger!’
‘I told you we haven’t been able to find him. It logically follows that we must be looking for him. He has the whole capitol to hide in—it may take us some time.’
‘We don’t have time. If the populace catches wind of his return, they’ll be up in arms against us. You were supposed to make sure he didn’t get into the country.’
‘There are thirteen hundred miles of border to patrol.’
‘Excuses, excuses! You’ve men, haven’t you?’
‘One of my agents discovered him as he was going through customs at the border and would have stopped him, but he escaped by leaping off the train.’
‘And your intrepid agent was too frightened to follow, eh? Frightened of a train, maybe? More frightened than a little twelve-year-old boy, hmm?’
‘Luck was on the prince’s side.’
‘Will you stop calling him that? He isn’t the prince! There’s no such thing as the prince! He didn’t get in and what’s more, he’s not going to get back out! He’s going to be caught, do you hear? I won’t hear any more of these excuses. I want results.’
‘Just as you say.’
‘I don’t want any of this getting into the papers. All such information must be suppressed. Tighten up the censor.’
‘I have already.’
‘Good. I’m glad you’ve thought of something on your own.’
‘I had several hundred of these printed out as well. Let me know if there’s anything lacking.’
‘What is it?’ asked Wakjavotski, taking the proffered poster.
‘A notice for his apprehension,’ replied Baden.
The notice was executed with the usual thoroughness of the Department of Information and Propaganda. It read:
Wanted for subversive activities:
Boy; 12 years old; brown eyes, dark brown hair; English accent.
Described as wearing navy blue shorts, khaki sweater, and red tie. Carries boy scout knapsack. Reported armed.
Any information tender to Secret Intelligence Agency. Reward.

‘Good enough,’ said Wakjavotski, somewhat appeased. ‘I think I’ll make a speech as well. Call in the recording crew.’
‘If you say so,’ said Baden, getting to his feet. ‘I’d handle the situation delicately, if I were you. The people are restless.’
‘Then they must be tamed. Leave me. I’ve some writing to do.’
Baden went out without another word and Wakjavotski set himself to compose his nerves and his speech at the desk.
‘By the bones of Tsar Nicholas, this is a scrape,’ he muttered to himself. ‘He’s right that they’re ready for revolt and that’s just what we don’t want just now with war impending. Still, I’ve only got to placate them a little longer—just until I get that next shipment of tanks.’
Thus soliloquising, he put a new sheet of paper into his typewriter and began to rattle away on the keys. Wakjavotski rarely left the palace and always had his speeches recorded instead of broadcasting them live so he added his own canned applause, inserting in italics where he wanted it to go as he wrote his speeches. When the speech was finished it went something like this:
‘Brothers, Comrades, Countrymen:’ (applause and shouts of Hoch Wakjavotski!) ‘Our Country is now the greatest in the world.’ (Applause) ‘But to remain the greatest we must get more rifles, more tanks, more machine guns, more bombers, more dreadnoughts!’ (Applause) ‘To get these things we must pay higher taxes.’ (some sort of enthusiasm necessary) ‘You say that times are hard; they are going to get harder. You say the country is unhealthy; it is going to get unhealthier. Everyone must deny himself for the common good. Don’t believe subversive traitors who claim to be the prince and talk of bringing back the old government. We don’t want the old government! We don’t want kings and capitalists! Javotskism forever! Hoch Wakjavotski! Hoch Pyromania!’ (Cheers and the national anthem played in the background)

There was more along these lines, but I shan’t bore you. It was broadcasted over the wireless that evening to the discomfiture of the Pyromanian populace. Cecil, incidentally, did not hear it. And I think it is time I tell you what had become of him in the interval.