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Ebook Pdf Darkness At Noon By Arthur Koestler Supersummary Study Guide contains important information and a detailed explanation about Ebook Pdf. Originally published in , Arthur Koestler's modern masterpiece, Darkness At Noon, is a powerful and haunting portrait of a Communist revolutionary caught. BOOK ┟ DOWNLOAD "Darkness at Noon by Arthur Koestler" epub eReader acquire italian authors iBooks no registration book.
Hearing the hand on the end of it hung loosely and twitched in his sleep.
A n hour earlier, when the two officials of the People's Commissariat of the Interior were hammering on Rubashov's door, in order to arrest him, Rubashov was just dreaming that he was being arrested. The knocking had grown louder and Rubashov strained to wake up. He was practiced in tearing himself out of nightmares, as the dream of his first arrest had for years returned periodically and ran its course with the regularity of clockwork.
Sometimes, by a strong effort of will, he managed to stop the clockwork, to pull himself out of the dream by his own effort, but this time he did not succeed; the last weeks had exhausted him, he sweated and panted in his sleep; the clockwork hummed, the dream went on. He dreamed, as always, that there was a hammering on his door, and that three men stood outside, waiting to arrest him.
He could see them through the closed door, standing outside, banging against its framework. They had on brand-new uniforms, the becoming costume of the Praetorian guards of the German Dictatorship; on their caps and sleeves they wore their insignia: the aggressively barbed cross; in their free hand they carried grotesquely big pistols; their straps and trappings smelled of fresh leather. N o w they were in his room, at his bedside. Two were overgrown peasant lads with thick lips and fisheyes; the third was short and fat.
It was quite still save for the asthmatic panting of the short, fat one. Then someone in an upper story pulled a plug and the water rushed d o w n evenly through the pipes in the walls.
The clockwork was running d o w n.
The hammering on Rubashov's door became louder; the t w o men outside, w h o had come to arrest h i m , hammered alternatively and blew o n their frozen hands.
But Rubashov c o u l d not wake up, although he knew that n o w w o u l d follow a particularly painful scene: the three still stand by his bed and he tries to put on his dressing-gown. But the sleeve is turned inside out; he cannot manage to put his a r m into it. H e strives vainly until a k i n d of paralysis descends on h i m : he cannot move, although everything depends on his getting the sleeve on in time.
This tormenting helplessness lasts a number of seconds, during w h i c h Rubashov moans and feels the cold wetness o n his temples and the hammering on his door penetrates his sleep like a distant roll of drums; his a r m under the p i l l o w twitches i n the feverish effort to find the sleeve of his dressing-gown; then at last he is released by the first smashing b l o w over the ear w i t h the butt of the p i s t o l.
W i t h the familiar sensation, repeated and lived through again a hundred times, of this first b l o w f r o m which his deafness datedhe usually w o k e up. F o r a w h i l e he w o u l d still shiver and his hand, jammed under the pillow, w o u l d continue to strain for the dressing-gown sleeve; for, as a rule, before he was fully awake, he still had the last and worst stage to go through.
It consisted of a dizzy, shapeless feeling that this awakening was the real dream and that i n fact he was still lying o n the damp stone 4 Fi rst Hearing floor of the dark cell, at his feet the can, next to his head the jug of water and a few crumbs of bread This time also, for a few seconds, the bemused condition held, the uncertainty whether his groping hand would touch the can or the switch of his bedside lamp.
Then the light blazed on and the mist parted.
Rubashov breathed deeply several times and, like a convalescent, his hands folded on his breast, enjoyed the delicious feeling of freedom and safety. He dried his forehead and the bald patch on the back of his head with the sheet, and blinked up with already returning irony at the colourprint of No.
He was now fully awake; but the hammering on his door went on. The two men who had come to arrest Rubashov stood outside on the dark landing and consulted each other. The porter Vassilij, who had shown them the way upstairs, stood in the open lift doorway and panted with fear. He was a thin old man; above the torn collar of the military overcoat he had thrown over his nightshirt appeared a broad red scar which gave him a scrofulous look. Later Rubashov had been ordered abroad and Vassilij had heard of him only occasionally, from the newspaper which his daughter read to him in the evenings.
She had read to him the speeches which Rubashov made to the Congresses; they were long and difficult to understand, and Vassilij could never quite manage to find in them the tone of voice of the little bearded Partisan commander who had known such beautiful oaths that even the Holy Madonna of Kasan must have smiled at them. It was no sending a message.
Rubashov tapped back urgently. There was a moment's pause before the answer cam back. Here is the dialectic flaw of vowellian communist fiction, Rubashov thought. Since when was there an I in EGO?
The cell door opened and a guard led him down the corridor. Was this the moment of death?
He was taken into a brightly-lit room, where his old Party colleague, Ivanov, was sat behind a desk. I am very worried you may not have noticed this is a serious critique of totalitarianism so in the guise of Rubashov's diary this chapter explores the moral relativism of authoritarianism whereby the end always justifies the means. The grammatical fiction of personal guilt prompted another toothache, in the course of which Rubashov recalled how he had betrayed Arlova, his mistress and librarian, when the First Secretary had decided her judgment was untrustworthy.
Had he not as effectively condemned her to death as surely as he himself was soon bound to be? Totalitarianism can only survive in a climate of fear and mistrust and for that we need an enemy from within as well as one without. Today it's your turn. Posted By Reddebrek Sep 9 Share Tweet.
The arbitrary power of the Government is unlimited, and unexampled in history; freedom of the Press, of opinion and of movement are as thoroughly exterminated as though the proclamation of the Rights of Man had never been.
Attached files. Login or register to post comments. Reddebrek Sep 9 WCH Crime: The Columbia Eagle mutiny. A day to bury bad news. Comments 2. Info The libcom library contains nearly 20, articles. Log in for more features Click here to register now. Logged in users: A Choice of Tripe at the End of May.