The Artist (3)

"I... I certainly believe there is something deeply, fundamentally wrong with this world."

So this evil Nazi is finally showing his true colors!

The moment I heard Hitler's first words, I immediately began plotting his assassination. But his thoughts were unexpectedly moderate.

"People do not understand art. The seats in the opera houses are empty. The bourgeoisie and the Jews care for nothing but money. And the workers are no different. Surely, there must be something more important than money. I do not know what it is yet. However..."

Hitler spoke, a spark of madness flickering in his eyes once more.

"Just once, this world needs to be swept clean. In this chaotic world where it is a struggle of all against all... I want to build the world of my dreams."

I almost let out a smirk. Should I call it the naive delusion of a sixteen-year-old boy? But I quickly pulled myself together.

"...For now, you pass. Oh, and Mr. Hitler, you will be appointed as the chief artist to lead the painters."

"Th-thank you so much!"

After sending Hitler on his way, I sat at my office desk and quietly pondered him. Right now, Hitler was nothing more than a sixteen-year-old boy. Granted, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I had been focusing on penicillin research at that age, but that was only because I was a man from the future. Generally speaking, a sixteen-year-old boy is closer to a beast on the verge of becoming human. Did I really need to be so wary of a sixteen-year-old?

Then, I recalled the path Hitler took in the original history. Hitler was a master of disguise. When the establishment grew wary of him, he instantly disguised himself as a clown. Later, after taking power, to appease the establishment that dismissed him as a mere clown, he disguised himself once more as a gentleman. Even Neville Chamberlain, who had rolled through the notoriously ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠filthy mud of British politics, was completely fooled by Hitler's flawless deception.

Could it be that I, too, am being deceived by Hitler's act?

Still, at this level, it should be fine.

At first, no one wanted to listen to the words of a mere sixteen-year-old painter. Yet, in less than a week, the members of the mass games were completely captivated by him.

"The national community is an illusion! We no longer need nations! What we need is class!"

"You are the most enlightened, and indeed the most united group in the Empire—no, in all of Europe! Mass games are the greatest artistic endeavor in Europe. But this is not merely art. This is war! Total war!"

Hitler frequently threw around words like "war" and "total war" to whip up the participants' morale. In truth, the actual content of his speeches might not have mattered. Though his speech was rough and heavily accented, that very dialect gave his words a rhythmic cadence. Even if it was the exact same message, when Hitler spoke, it carried an inexplicable weight, piercing straight into the ears of the listeners.

The participants of the mass games were already abandoning their families, pouring every ounce of their energy into the performances.

"M-mass...! Give me... the mass!"

"Today is your birthday! We were supposed to have a party, where are you going?!"

"The Party calls for me! What does a personal birthday matter?! Let go of me!"

"Darling!"

Stahl clicked his tongue at the sight of people acting less like they were performing mass games and more like they were addicted to methamphetamine.

Is this really okay...?

Hitler was a National "Socialist." Perhaps stripping away the "National" part and turning him into a pure Socialist wasn't so difficult after all. However...

This might be... a little dangerous.

Perhaps Hitler's true danger did not lie in eugenics, totalitarianism, or anti-Semitism. It was his innate artistic madness. The mysterious, consuming euphoria that seized him from time to time. A temperament that, regardless of political alignment, would run headlong into the absolute extreme once a path was chosen. And, above all, his natural talent for spreading that very madness to everyone around him.

He was like a human nuclear reactor—capable of causing an absolute catastrophe if even a single gear slipped.

I should seek Dr. Freud's help.

But then, what if even Freud gets consumed by Hitler?

In any case...

Before long, it was time to depart for Slovenia the following week. The card section team of the Social Democratic Workers' Party's Mass Games Committee had already become Viennese celebrities. Prior to their departure, the card section team was invited to the imperial palace. Naturally, the news of "Reds" entering the imperial palace caused quite an uproar. Yet, surprisingly, the content of the card section itself was remarkably loyal, save for a few subversive symbols.

Slogans that were hard to classify as either anti-social or ultra-conservative were proudly displayed. These were the slogans that Stahl and Hitler had stayed up all night meticulously crafting.

"They are a subversive mob advocating for extreme class struggle! We cannot allow such a group into the imperial palace!"

"...But those Reds are currently swearing loyalty to the imperial family."

"Is it some cunning deception of theirs? They will show their true colors eventually."

"They are voluntarily claiming loyalty as subjects of the Empire!"

Looking at these slogans, the conservatives within the court had absolutely no idea how to react. Suppressing nationalism through the Social Democratic Workers' Party was already an agreement reached with the Kaiser. Emperor Franz Joseph I had ruled the Empire for fifty years, securing absolute authority. With the Kaiser's approval, nothing in the Empire was impossible.

Thus, despite the raging controversy, it was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠decided that they would showcase the mass games in front of the Emperor before attending the Sokol slet in Slovenia.

"Remove the scene featuring you and me."

"Your Imperial Highness, if we do that, the performance will be far too short."

"Keep the same composition, but change the faces. Replace them with His Majesty the Emperor and the late Empress."

"While we're at it, should we change the slogans as well?"

"Focus on order and diligence."

Archduke Franz Ferdinand had also played a major ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠role in the Mass Games Committee. If Hitler's role was to whip up the participants' morale and churn out all kinds of terrifyingly effective propaganda slogans, Archduke Franz Ferdinand took charge of mediating in the middle to ensure they didn't provoke the imperial court. Perhaps because he had been scolded by the Emperor so many times, he knew exactly what would please him.

"Your Highness, since you know the Emperor so well, why do you always set yourself up to clash with His Majesty?"

"Didn't you know? I do it on purpose."

"..."

As expected of the no-retreat Crown Prince.

In any case, countless citizens of Vienna gathered at the athletic stadium. The Emperor, government officials, nobles, and members of the imperial family—an immense crowd packed the venue. Then, as the orchestra struck up a majestic march-style symphony accompanied by the clash of cymbals, over a thousand people marched in perfect, orderly ranks with flags in hand, taking their positions. The performance began.

The card section opened with the Crisis of 1848. At Hitler's insistence, the card section was structured as a narrative with a clear beginning, middle, and end. The beginning depicted war, strife, and discord among the nations.

Neighbors fighting one another simply because they belonged to different ethnic groups. A young child weeping from the horrors of war and civil strife. A mother tightly embracing her child. Christ in His heavenly kingdom, looking down in deep sorrow. The scene that truly whipped the crowd into a frenzy was the depiction of Russia and the Ottoman Empire, painted as devils, pulling the strings of Austria-Hungary's nationalists like mere puppets.

"Ahhh...!"

"No!"

The audience was instantly swept up in the emotion, captivated by the perfectly synchronized images and a story simple enough for a child to understand. And at that very moment, Emperor Franz Joseph made a grand entrance, radiating light, and healed the manipulated nationalists! The evil nationalists, suddenly snapping back to their senses, returned to being honest workers, marching down the streets with sickles and hammers.

Together with His Imperial Majesty, they overcame trials and tribulations, vanquishing the evil Russian and Ottoman Empires through the united strength of the working class. And so, the story concluded with dreams of a hopeful future. But the performance was not yet over.

"This is the crucial part, Chairman Stahl. The audience's brains are already thoroughly marinated in this sensational story. This is when we hammer the message home."

An endless barrage of slogans and propaganda flashed before their eyes at a dizzying speed. The audience, seized by a collective thrill, absorbed the propaganda without a shred of critical thought. The moment the performance ended, the spectators leaped to their feet, erupting into thunderous applause.

"Waaaaah!"

"Long live the Austrian Empire! Long live the Habsburgs!"

"O Christ! Protect Marx and Stahl!"

Some in the ecstatic crowd jumped up and down on the spot, while others collapsed to the ground weeping, looking like people possessed.

...But is this really okay? It feels like North Korea.

While Stahl was terrified by the unimaginable efficacy of the propaganda, he felt a shiver run through his entire body. Thousands of citizens gathered in the stadium, and without a single exception, they chanted the exact same slogans with one heart and mind. Stahl clenched his teeth and forced strength into his legs. The overwhelming cheers made his mind go blank, threatening to knock him off his feet.

And Stahl was not the only one. If even Stahl, who already knew the terrifying power of the masses' adulation, was affected to this degree, Hitler and Archduke Franz Ferdinand were trembling so violently that it wouldn't have been surprising if they fainted on the spot.

"Th-that such a thing... is possible. Stahl, you are a genius."

"Perhaps... I-I was born... for this very moment."

Hitler's legs had completely given out, and he collapsed back into his chair. Stahl looked up at the Kaiser's reserved box, positioned at the highest point of the stadium.

As long as the Kaiser is an OCD patient, there is no way he can hate this. The flattery the Kaiser loves most is anything that satisfies his obsessive-compulsive tendencies.

The Emperor, too, had risen from his seat, solemnly delivering a standing ovation. Franz Joseph I was, just as Stahl had predicted, highly satisfied as he clapped. Of course, he wasn't moved by the overwhelming cheers of the crowd like Hitler, the Archduke, or Stahl. To the Emperor, such political popularity was not something won through struggle; it was a right he had naturally possessed since birth, and one he was entitled to.

Though there had been many crises throughout his reign, the Emperor's authority and popularity largely stemmed from his sheer longevity. Furthermore, having ruled the Empire for over fifty years, he believed he could easily command such cheers without resorting to something like mass games.

The Emperor was satisfied for one reason, and one reason only.

Over a thousand people lined up without a single millimeter of deviation. The alignment is flawless. Even their uniforms are perfectly pressed without a single wrinkle. Except for the fellow in the fifth position of the very back row, who hesitated slightly when raising the seventh card, it is absolute perfection.

It was an event perfectly tailored to an obsessive-compulsive. It satisfied the Emperor's OCD while simultaneously resolving the very political issues that had been the source of his anxiety.

"Secretary. Record this. Marx Stahl is hereby exempt from Rule 11 through Rule 20. The Crown Prince is exempt from Rule 45."

The nobles standing near the Emperor broke into a cold sweat at this unprecedented favor.

Such privileges for a mere performance like that?

Even I was only exempted from Rule 31!

No ordinary flattery worked on the Emperor. He was, by nature, a devoutly Christian, cold, and industrious man. No matter how anachronistic he might be, by pre-modern standards, the Emperor was indeed a wise and benevolent ruler. Thus, not only did standard flattery fail to move him, but trying too hard to please him often resulted in losing points. Yet Stahl had successfully scored points with such an Emperor.

Certain nobles and military figures who despised Stahl felt a fire raging in their chests.

He may be riding high now, but how long can he keep this up?

This won't do. It's time to put that young upstart Stahl in his place.