[ THE CRIMSON REVOLUTION ]
VOZVOGRAD, VALKHAVIA
VOZVOGRAD, VALKHAVIA
The morning over Vozvogrod began to creep through the windows of the duchy's capitol, casting a crimson glow over the peaked roofs and through the old, marble window-frames of the ducal residence. People had already begun moving on the streets, more often on donkey and horse than on automotive. But it wasn't the sound of donkeys and horses, the rooster crowing, or the bell of his servant that woke the Duke of Valkhavia, head of the noble House of Csesznek of Milvány, György the Fourteenth.
It was the sound of shoes and boots trodding up through the stone stairs leading to his private chambers. The sounds stopped immediately in front of the wooden doors, reinforced with the iron faces of the patron saints. Knuckles rapped out a curt knock once... twice. "Excuse our intrusion," came the equally curt nicety, and a rough hand made the door open.
For a short moment, the Duke panicked; he had a vague idea of who was about to enter, and the frumpy clothes he slept in was not, he felt, a particularly fitting outfit. He tried to sit up straighter in his covered bed, but stopped before he saw them enter.
A young man in a sharp, grey suit looked down dispassionately at the Duke. "As of yesterday night, the new People's Republic of Valkhavia has come to unanimously enact the first People's Decree. We are here to formally request your voluntary abdication, renunciation, and exile from the People's Republic as according to the provisions, Mister György Benedek. We have brought you the necessary documents that await your personal signature at your preference; however, you will be expected to vacate the premises of this building within twenty-four hours." A velvet folder and pen was passed around, and brought before the Duke.
The Duke sighed as he accepted the folder from the man. It seemed that the posse was reluctant to leave until their request was fulfilled, and as he looked over the faces of the policemen, he felt his original will to object crumble. "I see," he stumbled over the words, as he tried to fill the overbearing silence with small talk. "I don't suppose you gentlemen want to wait for a bit? Where is my Prime Minister?" He looked for acknowledgement from the strangers' faces. There was none.
"I see," the Duke's voice faltered. For a moment, he reached to his right, where he had usually kept the seal of the nation ― his nation ― but he found himself grasping in air. "Ah," He took the pen out of the velvet folder, and without reading much of the content, mechanically wrote his name in the blank spaces below. György Benedek looked up at the men, offering the folder.
"We thank you for your co-operation, Mister Benedek. A vehicle will come by the front entrance in twenty-four hours to escort you to your flight." György waited until the men left and closed the door behind them before he fell down on his bed and wept.
It was the sound of shoes and boots trodding up through the stone stairs leading to his private chambers. The sounds stopped immediately in front of the wooden doors, reinforced with the iron faces of the patron saints. Knuckles rapped out a curt knock once... twice. "Excuse our intrusion," came the equally curt nicety, and a rough hand made the door open.
For a short moment, the Duke panicked; he had a vague idea of who was about to enter, and the frumpy clothes he slept in was not, he felt, a particularly fitting outfit. He tried to sit up straighter in his covered bed, but stopped before he saw them enter.
A young man in a sharp, grey suit looked down dispassionately at the Duke. "As of yesterday night, the new People's Republic of Valkhavia has come to unanimously enact the first People's Decree. We are here to formally request your voluntary abdication, renunciation, and exile from the People's Republic as according to the provisions, Mister György Benedek. We have brought you the necessary documents that await your personal signature at your preference; however, you will be expected to vacate the premises of this building within twenty-four hours." A velvet folder and pen was passed around, and brought before the Duke.
The Duke sighed as he accepted the folder from the man. It seemed that the posse was reluctant to leave until their request was fulfilled, and as he looked over the faces of the policemen, he felt his original will to object crumble. "I see," he stumbled over the words, as he tried to fill the overbearing silence with small talk. "I don't suppose you gentlemen want to wait for a bit? Where is my Prime Minister?" He looked for acknowledgement from the strangers' faces. There was none.
"I see," the Duke's voice faltered. For a moment, he reached to his right, where he had usually kept the seal of the nation ― his nation ― but he found himself grasping in air. "Ah," He took the pen out of the velvet folder, and without reading much of the content, mechanically wrote his name in the blank spaces below. György Benedek looked up at the men, offering the folder.
"We thank you for your co-operation, Mister Benedek. A vehicle will come by the front entrance in twenty-four hours to escort you to your flight." György waited until the men left and closed the door behind them before he fell down on his bed and wept.
People wept in the city square as the hand-stitched flags of the new People's Republic fluttered in the wind, but the sounds of joy subsided as the figures of men, appearing as small as ants, climbed the temporary podium hastily put together under the statue of György the Great, the founding and first Duke from Milvány. A silence fell on the podium, and the square, as the man in a grey suit raised his hands and produced a single, velvet-covered binder. "People of Valkhavia!" his voice rang out clearly.
"People of Valkhavia," he said, "Comrades, we celebrate today the progression and transformation of our society. Our lives, the lives of the working-people, were hindered by Milvány, to whom this monument I stand under is dedicated. Our indignation, our objections, our will to overcome the yoke that the banks and factories and profiteers have pressed upon us, the yoke that the Duke has come to support with force and oppression. Do you know what they called this oppression? They called it 'freedom'.
"Down with such freedom, then! We need true freedom, real freedom, and that is only possible with an empathic government of working-people, when society consists entirely of working-people. To achieve this, we will do everything possible, to build Communism." His worsd were halted short by a surge of stormy applause, which continued for some time.
"In my hand," he yelled over the crowd, "I have the papers of the abdication and exile of the last Duke. I have the resignation of the puppet government of the profiteers and capital, and I can say with certainty that these were gained without blood spilled; enough blood has been spilled by us and our parents, and generations before. They have conceded to democratic will, of the strength of the workers who have come out on the streets today to demonstrate our triumph. And thus, today, the red flag of the Democratic Republic fly freely in Vozvogrod and throughout Valkhavia." Another surge of stormy applause gave him pause.
"But our moving forward is not a reason to not reflect on the past. The statue above me will remain standing. Our children and our grandchildren will examine the relics of the past epoch with amazement. It will be difficult for them to imagine how the world can remain in private hands of the few, how factories can belong to individuals, how some people can exploit others, how it was possible for people who did not work to exist. Until now, the story of the future our children would see sounds like a fairy-tale; but today, comrades, the Communist society of which we have laid the foundations is not a mere dream or utopia."
The man halted for a short, dramatic pause. He raised his fists, the folder forgotten, in triumph and said, "Long live Valkhavia! Long live Communism!" The ovation, shouts, and laughter repeated for a long time as the speaker was engulfed in the crowd.
"People of Valkhavia," he said, "Comrades, we celebrate today the progression and transformation of our society. Our lives, the lives of the working-people, were hindered by Milvány, to whom this monument I stand under is dedicated. Our indignation, our objections, our will to overcome the yoke that the banks and factories and profiteers have pressed upon us, the yoke that the Duke has come to support with force and oppression. Do you know what they called this oppression? They called it 'freedom'.
"Down with such freedom, then! We need true freedom, real freedom, and that is only possible with an empathic government of working-people, when society consists entirely of working-people. To achieve this, we will do everything possible, to build Communism." His worsd were halted short by a surge of stormy applause, which continued for some time.
"In my hand," he yelled over the crowd, "I have the papers of the abdication and exile of the last Duke. I have the resignation of the puppet government of the profiteers and capital, and I can say with certainty that these were gained without blood spilled; enough blood has been spilled by us and our parents, and generations before. They have conceded to democratic will, of the strength of the workers who have come out on the streets today to demonstrate our triumph. And thus, today, the red flag of the Democratic Republic fly freely in Vozvogrod and throughout Valkhavia." Another surge of stormy applause gave him pause.
"But our moving forward is not a reason to not reflect on the past. The statue above me will remain standing. Our children and our grandchildren will examine the relics of the past epoch with amazement. It will be difficult for them to imagine how the world can remain in private hands of the few, how factories can belong to individuals, how some people can exploit others, how it was possible for people who did not work to exist. Until now, the story of the future our children would see sounds like a fairy-tale; but today, comrades, the Communist society of which we have laid the foundations is not a mere dream or utopia."
The man halted for a short, dramatic pause. He raised his fists, the folder forgotten, in triumph and said, "Long live Valkhavia! Long live Communism!" The ovation, shouts, and laughter repeated for a long time as the speaker was engulfed in the crowd.