Mr Charrington placed his battered old wig and spectacles on the bench in front of him. He sighed inaudibly as he jerked the seat towards him and sat down directly in front of the telescreen. It was quite obvious that he was no longer the same person. He then roused himself and sat up straighter as he turned the telescreen on. It came with great relief to him to be finally away from such odious traitors. Brushing his eyebrows into place with his fingertips, he stared steadily at the telescreen.
His attention was caught by the paperweight on the table. He knew Winston would fail his test. A paperweight that existed for only the sake of beauty meant much more to a thought criminal. He knew Winston would seek more in the archaic object – that the paperweight was merely an excuse for him to believe in thoughtcrime. This he thought with a violent distaste – this paperweight was an excuse for Julia and Winston’s love. Mr Charrington did not have the faintest belief in any suggestion of goodness in love, much less a symbol of profound wisdom. It was, in fact, sheer folly to him that they were aware that this wouldn’t last. A constructed belief based on mere hope – or perhaps not even that.
He hated Julia and Winston. He hated watching them. Admittedly, he knew the danger of their love. It was quite simple. All that was needed to create a revolution was to put others above the Party – above Big Brother. Love was simply a sordid affair “which might otherwise be used to make the masses comfortable” (pg. 241). And the unorthodoxy in this was perhaps the reason for Mr Charrington’s hatred of love – that love, or rather the masses could somehow lead to power. He was well aware of the capabilities Winston possessed. It was even conceivable that this knowledge is what made him uneasy – that Winston chose the paperweight because he saw more in what seemed nothing to the average man. Indeed, he was an adept man capable of leading a revolution, and Julia would undoubtedly follow. Nevertheless, there were only two of them. And two people were nothing but meager traitors – thought criminals even.
With a deep, unconscious sigh, Mr Charrington straightened his old velvet jacket. It struck him as curious what would happen to them once caught. He did not know what would be made of Julia and Winston, but so long as they would not further interfere with the progress of the Party – it did not matter to him the slightest. His mind hovered for a moment around the thought. In the same instant, it had occurred to him that he knew what would happen to them. It was probable that Winston and Julia also knew because it was known – that freedom is slavery. An endless, hopeless effort to achieve a sort of false freedom – this was the motive for freedom in itself. Freedom was useless, as Mr Charrington well knew, as a human alone and free is a human that is always defeated. Or rather, as the Party says: only the “Proles and animals are free” (pg. 92).
Mr Charrington’s eyes flitted around the room, as though he half expected to find something through the telescreen. Instead, his eyes focused themselves on the two microphones that had the word-out words, ‘BIG BROTHER.’ With a sort of loathing, he leaned over and reached for the microphone that led to the Ministry of Love. He had decided – though perhaps overdue – that enough time had passed. He had undoubtedly handled the matter too correctly, so much so that he must have watched them perhaps a dozen times in a matter of months. His face felt heavy and yet somehow remained inherently inscrutable. His words were as stern and cold as his appearance – he commanded, ‘Bring the Thought Police in.’
He sat and listened to the drowning silence – there was no need for a reply, simply because there was nothing to be said. It was perhaps amusing to Mr Charrington why one would want to be a natural inferior, or rather, an animal who is better thought of as a corpse.
‘We are the dead,’ said Winston
‘We are the dead,’ echoed Julia dutifully.
‘You are the dead,’ (pg. 278) said Mr Charrington through the telescreen.
The room was filled with Thought Police. Even through the telescreen, Mr Charrington could see the black terror in Winston’s and Julia’s eyes. What will happen to them from here on is forever – and yet what will happen is nothing that they did not foresee. Yes, freedom is slavery, but slavery is also freedom.
Suddenly, with a sort of violent effort, an officer had smashed the glass paperweight against the hearth-stone table. And within a few seconds, it was all over – the tiny world they had created was gone. Like the paperweight, it was as if Winston’s desire to be free, had shattered too. Without saying anything, everybody knew what would happen. Everyone was aware – even Winston and Julia, despite their helplessness – that this was merely the beginning of “the never-mentioned thing that was about to happen” (pg. 204).
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Essay on Mr. Charrington in ‘1984’.
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2024 May 20 [cited 2024 Sept 28].
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