The soil of England is
fertile, its climate is good, it is capable of affording food in abundance to an enormously greater number of animals than now inhabit it.
fertile, its climate is good, it is capable of affording food in abundance to an enormously greater number of animals than now inhabit it.
Orwell - Animal Farm
Animal Farm by George Orwell
ANIMAL FARM
by George Orwell
I
MR. JONES, of the Manor Farm, had locked the hen-houses for the
night, but was too drunk to remember to shut the popholes. With the
ring of light from his lantern dancing from side to side, he lurched
across the yard, kicked off his boots at the back door, drew himself a
last glass of beer from the barrel in the scullery, and made his way up to
bed, where Mrs. Jones was already snoring.
As soon as the light in the bedroom went out there was a stirring and a
fluttering all through the farm buildings. Word had gone round during
the day that old Major, the prize Middle White boar, had had a strange
dream on the previous night and wished to communicate it to the other
animals. It had been agreed that they should all meet in the big barn as
soon as Mr. Jones was safely out of the way. Old Major (so he was
always called, though the name under which he had been exhibited was
Willingdon Beauty) was so highly regarded on the farm that everyone
was quite ready to lose an hour's sleep in order to hear what he had to
say.
At one end of the big barn, on a sort of raised platform, Major was
already ensconced on his bed of straw, under a lantern which hung from
a beam. He was twelve years old and had lately grown rather stout, but
he was still a majestic-looking pig, with a wise and benevolent
appearance in spite of the fact that his tushes had never been cut.
Before long the other animals began to arrive and make themselves
comfortable after their different fashions. First came the three dogs,
Bluebell, Jessie, and Pincher, and then the pigs, who settled down in the
straw immediately in front of the platform. The hens perched
themselves on the window-sills, the pigeons fluttered up to the rafters,
the sheep and cows lay down behind the pigs and began to chew the
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Animal Farm by George Orwell
cud. The two cart-horses, Boxer and Clover, came in together, walking
very slowly and setting down their vast hairy hoofs with great care lest
there should be some small animal concealed in the straw. Clover was a
stout motherly mare approaching middle life, who had never quite got
her figure back after her fourth foal. Boxer was an enormous beast,
nearly eighteen hands high, and as strong as any two ordinary horses
put together. A white stripe down his nose gave him a somewhat stupid
appearance, and in fact he was not of first-rate intelligence, but he was
universally respected for his steadiness of character and tremendous
powers of work. After the horses came Muriel, the white goat, and
Benjamin, the donkey. Benjamin was the oldest animal on the farm,
and the worst tempered. He seldom talked, and when he did, it was
usually to make some cynical remark-for instance, he would say that
God had given him a tail to keep the flies off, but that he would sooner
have had no tail and no flies. Alone among the animals on the farm he
never laughed. If asked why, he would say that he saw nothing to laugh
at. Nevertheless, without openly admitting it, he was devoted to Boxer;
the two of them usually spent their Sundays together in the small
paddock beyond the orchard, grazing side by side and never speaking.
The two horses had just lain down when a brood of ducklings, which
had lost their mother, filed into the barn, cheeping feebly and
wandering from side to side to find some place where they would not
be trodden on. Clover made a sort of wall round them with her great
foreleg, and the ducklings nestled down inside it and promptly fell
asleep. At the last moment Mollie, the foolish, pretty white mare who
drew Mr. Jones's trap, came mincing daintily in, chewing at a lump of
sugar. She took a place near the front and began flirting her white
mane, hoping to draw attention to the red ribbons it was plaited with.
Last of all came the cat, who looked round, as usual, for the warmest
place, and finally squeezed herself in between Boxer and Clover; there
she purred contentedly throughout Major's speech without listening to a
word of what he was saying.
All the animals were now present except Moses, the tame raven, who
slept on a perch behind the back door. When Major saw that they had
all made themselves comfortable and were waiting attentively, he
cleared his throat and began:
"Comrades, you have heard already about the strange dream that I had
last night. But I will come to the dream later. I have something else to
say first. I do not think, comrades, that I shall be with you for many
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months longer, and before I die, I feel it my duty to pass on to you such
wisdom as I have acquired. I have had a long life, I have had much time
for thought as I lay alone in my stall, and I think I may say that I
understand the nature of life on this earth as well as any animal now
living. It is about this that I wish to speak to you.
"Now, comrades, what is the nature of this life of ours? Let us face it:
our lives are miserable, laborious, and short. We are born, we are given
just so much food as will keep the breath in our bodies, and those of us
who are capable of it are forced to work to the last atom of our strength;
and the very instant that our usefulness has come to an end we are
slaughtered with hideous cruelty. No animal in England knows the
meaning of happiness or leisure after he is a year old. No animal in
England is free. The life of an animal is misery and slavery: that is the
plain truth.
"But is this simply part of the order of nature? Is it because this land of
ours is so poor that it cannot afford a decent life to those who dwell
upon it? No, comrades, a thousand times no! The soil of England is
fertile, its climate is good, it is capable of affording food in abundance
to an enormously greater number of animals than now inhabit it. This
single farm of ours would support a dozen horses, twenty cows,
hundreds of sheep-and all of them living in a comfort and a dignity that
are now almost beyond our imagining. Why then do we continue in this
miserable condition? Because nearly the whole of the produce of our
labour is stolen from us by human beings. There, comrades, is the
answer to all our problems. It is summed up in a single word-Man. Man
is the only real enemy we have. Remove Man from the scene, and the
root cause of hunger and overwork is abolished for ever.
"Man is the only creature that consumes without producing. He does
not give milk, he does not lay eggs, he is too weak to pull the plough,
he cannot run fast enough to catch rabbits. Yet he is lord of all the
animals. He sets them to work, he gives back to them the bare
minimum that will prevent them from starving, and the rest he keeps
for himself. Our labour tills the soil, our dung fertilises it, and yet there
is not one of us that owns more than his bare skin. You cows that I see
before me, how many thousands of gallons of milk have you given
during this last year? And what has happened to that milk which should
have been breeding up sturdy calves? Every drop of it has gone down
the throats of our enemies. And you hens, how many eggs have you laid
in this last year, and how many of those eggs ever hatched into
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chickens? The rest have all gone to market to bring in money for Jones
and his men. And you, Clover, where are those four foals you bore,
who should have been the support and pleasure of your old age? Each
was sold at a year old-you will never see one of them again. In return
for your four confinements and all your labour in the fields, what have
you ever had except your bare rations and a stall?
"And even the miserable lives we lead are not allowed to reach their
natural span. For myself I do not grumble, for I am one of the lucky
ones. I am twelve years old and have had over four hundred children.
Such is the natural life of a pig. But no animal escapes the cruel knife in
the end. You young porkers who are sitting in front of me, every one of
you will scream your lives out at the block within a year. To that horror
we all must come-cows, pigs, hens, sheep, everyone. Even the horses
and the dogs have no better fate. You, Boxer, the very day that those
great muscles of yours lose their power, Jones will sell you to the
knacker, who will cut your throat and boil you down for the foxhounds.
As for the dogs, when they grow old and toothless, Jones ties a brick
round their necks and drowns them in the nearest pond.
"Is it not crystal clear, then, comrades, that all the evils of this life of
ours spring from the tyranny of human beings? Only get rid of Man,
and the produce of our labour would be our own. Almost overnight we
could become rich and free. What then must we do? Why, work night
and day, body and soul, for the overthrow of the human race ! That is
my message to you, comrades: Rebellion! I do not know when that
Rebellion will come, it might be in a week or in a hundred years, but I
know, as surely as I see this straw beneath my feet, that sooner or later
justice will be done. Fix your eyes on that, comrades, throughout the
short remainder of your lives ! And above all, pass on this message of
mine to those who come after you, so that future generations shall carry
on the struggle until it is victorious.
"And remember, comrades, your resolution must never falter. No
argument must lead you astray. Never listen when they tell you that
Man and the animals have a common interest, that the prosperity of the
one is the prosperity of the others. It is all lies. Man serves the interests
of no creature except himself. And among us animals let there be
perfect unity, perfect comradeship in the struggle. All men are enemies.
All animals are comrades. "
At this moment there was a tremendous uproar. While Major was
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speaking four large rats had crept out of their holes and were sitting on
their hindquarters, listening to him. The dogs had suddenly caught sight
of them, and it was only by a swift dash for their holes that the rats
saved their lives. Major raised his trotter for silence.
"Comrades," he said, "here is a point that must be settled. The wild
creatures, such as rats and rabbits-are they our friends or our enemies?
Let us put it to the vote. I propose this question to the meeting: Are rats
comrades? "
The vote was taken at once, and it was agreed by an overwhelming
majority that rats were comrades. There were only four dissentients, the
three dogs and the cat, who was afterwards discovered to have voted on
both sides. Major continued:
"I have little more to say. I merely repeat, remember always your duty
of enmity towards Man and all his ways. Whatever goes upon two legs
is an enemy. Whatever goes upon four legs, or has wings, is a friend.
And remember also that in fighting against Man, we must not come to
resemble him. Even when you have conquered him, do not adopt his
vices. No animal must ever live in a house, or sleep in a bed, or wear
clothes, or drink alcohol, or smoke tobacco, or touch money, or engage
in trade. All the habits of Man are evil. And, above all, no animal must
ever tyrannise over his own kind. Weak or strong, clever or simple, we
are all brothers. No animal must ever kill any other animal. All animals
are equal.
"And now, comrades, I will tell you about my dream of last night. I
cannot describe that dream to you. It was a dream of the earth as it will
be when Man has vanished. But it reminded me of something that I had
long forgotten. Many years ago, when I was a little pig, my mother and
the other sows used to sing an old song of which they knew only the
tune and the first three words. I had known that tune in my infancy, but
it had long since passed out of my mind. Last night, however, it came
back to me in my dream. And what is more, the words of the song also
came back-words, I am certain, which were sung by the animals of long
ago and have been lost to memory for generations. I will sing you that
song now, comrades. I am old and my voice is hoarse, but when I have
taught you the tune, you can sing it better for yourselves. It is called
Beasts of England. "
Old Major cleared his throat and began to sing. As he had said, his
voice was hoarse, but he sang well enough, and it was a stirring tune,
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Animal Farm by George Orwell
something between Clementine and La Cucaracha. The words ran
Beasts of England, beasts of Ireland,
Beasts of every land and clime,
Hearken to my joyful tidings
Of the golden future time.
Soon or late the day is coming,
Tyrant Man shall be o'erthrown,
And the fruitful fields of England
Shall be trod by beasts alone.
Rings shall vanish from our noses,
And the harness from our back,
Bit and spur shall rust forever,
Cruel whips no more shall crack.
Riches more than mind can picture,
Wheat and barley, oats and hay,
Clover, beans, and mangel-wurzels
Shall be ours upon that day.
Bright will shine the fields of England,
Purer shall its waters be,
Sweeter yet shall blow its breezes
On the day that sets us free.
For that day we all must labour,
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Though we die before it break;
Cows and horses, geese and turkeys,
All must toil for freedom's sake.
Beasts of England, beasts of Ireland,
Beasts of every land and clime,
Hearken well and spread my tidings
Of the golden future time.
The singing of this song threw the animals into the wildest excitement.
Almost before Major had reached the end, they had begun singing it for
themselves. Even the stupidest of them had already picked up the tune
and a few of the words, and as for the clever ones, such as the pigs and
dogs, they had the entire song by heart within a few minutes. And then,
after a few preliminary tries, the whole farm burst out into Beasts of
England in tremendous unison. The cows lowed it, the dogs whined it,
the sheep bleated it, the horses whinnied it, the ducks quacked it. They
were so delighted with the song that they sang it right through five
times in succession, and might have continued singing it all night if
they had not been interrupted.
Unfortunately, the uproar awoke Mr. Jones, who sprang out of bed,
making sure that there was a fox in the yard. He seized the gun which
always stood in a corner of his bedroom, and let fly a charge of number
6 shot into the darkness. The pellets buried themselves in the wall of
the barn and the meeting broke up hurriedly. Everyone fled to his own
sleeping-place. The birds jumped on to their perches, the animals
settled down in the straw, and the whole farm was asleep in a moment.
THREE nights later old Major died peacefully in his sleep. His body
was buried at the foot of the orchard.
This was early in March. During the next three months there was much
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secret activity. Major's speech had given to the more intelligent animals
on the farm a completely new outlook on life. They did not know when
the Rebellion predicted by Major would take place, they had no reason
for thinking that it would be within their own lifetime, but they saw
clearly that it was their duty to prepare for it. The work of teaching and
organising the others fell naturally upon the pigs, who were generally
recognised as being the cleverest of the animals. Pre-eminent among
the pigs were two young boars named Snowball and Napoleon, whom
Mr. Jones was breeding up for sale. Napoleon was a large, rather
fierce-looking Berkshire boar, the only Berkshire on the farm, not much
of a talker, but with a reputation for getting his own way. Snowball was
a more vivacious pig than Napoleon, quicker in speech and more
inventive, but was not considered to have the same depth of character.
All the other male pigs on the farm were porkers. The best known
among them was a small fat pig named Squealer, with very round
cheeks, twinkling eyes, nimble movements, and a shrill voice. He was a
brilliant talker, and when he was arguing some difficult point he had a
way of skipping from side to side and whisking his tail which was
somehow very persuasive. The others said of Squealer that he could
turn black into white.
These three had elaborated old Major's teachings into a complete
system of thought, to which they gave the name of Animalism. Several
nights a week, after Mr. Jones was asleep, they held secret meetings in
the barn and expounded the principles of Animalism to the others. At
the beginning they met with much stupidity and apathy. Some of the
animals talked of the duty of loyalty to Mr. Jones, whom they referred
to as "Master," or made elementary remarks such as "Mr. Jones feeds
us. If he were gone, we should starve to death. " Others asked such
questions as "Why should we care what happens after we are dead? " or
"If this Rebellion is to happen anyway, what difference does it make
whether we work for it or not? ", and the pigs had great difficulty in
making them see that this was contrary to the spirit of Animalism. The
stupidest questions of all were asked by Mollie, the white mare. The
very first question she asked Snowball was: "Will there still be sugar
after the Rebellion? "
"No," said Snowball firmly. "We have no means of making sugar on
this farm. Besides, you do not need sugar.
The soil of England is
fertile, its climate is good, it is capable of affording food in abundance to an enormously greater number of animals than now inhabit it. This
single farm of ours would support a dozen horses, twenty cows,
hundreds of sheep-and all of them living in a comfort and a dignity that
are now almost beyond our imagining. Why then do we continue in this
miserable condition? Because nearly the whole of the produce of our
labour is stolen from us by human beings. There, comrades, is the
answer to all our problems. It is summed up in a single word-Man. Man
is the only real enemy we have. Remove Man from the scene, and the
root cause of hunger and overwork is abolished for ever.
"Man is the only creature that consumes without producing. He does
not give milk, he does not lay eggs, he is too weak to pull the plough,
he cannot run fast enough to catch rabbits. Yet he is lord of all the
animals. He sets them to work, he gives back to them the bare
minimum that will prevent them from starving, and the rest he keeps
for himself. Our labour tills the soil, our dung fertilises it, and yet there
is not one of us that owns more than his bare skin. You cows that I see
before me, how many thousands of gallons of milk have you given
during this last year? And what has happened to that milk which should
have been breeding up sturdy calves? Every drop of it has gone down
the throats of our enemies. And you hens, how many eggs have you laid
in this last year, and how many of those eggs ever hatched into
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chickens? The rest have all gone to market to bring in money for Jones
and his men. And you, Clover, where are those four foals you bore,
who should have been the support and pleasure of your old age? Each
was sold at a year old-you will never see one of them again. In return
for your four confinements and all your labour in the fields, what have
you ever had except your bare rations and a stall?
"And even the miserable lives we lead are not allowed to reach their
natural span. For myself I do not grumble, for I am one of the lucky
ones. I am twelve years old and have had over four hundred children.
Such is the natural life of a pig. But no animal escapes the cruel knife in
the end. You young porkers who are sitting in front of me, every one of
you will scream your lives out at the block within a year. To that horror
we all must come-cows, pigs, hens, sheep, everyone. Even the horses
and the dogs have no better fate. You, Boxer, the very day that those
great muscles of yours lose their power, Jones will sell you to the
knacker, who will cut your throat and boil you down for the foxhounds.
As for the dogs, when they grow old and toothless, Jones ties a brick
round their necks and drowns them in the nearest pond.
"Is it not crystal clear, then, comrades, that all the evils of this life of
ours spring from the tyranny of human beings? Only get rid of Man,
and the produce of our labour would be our own. Almost overnight we
could become rich and free. What then must we do? Why, work night
and day, body and soul, for the overthrow of the human race ! That is
my message to you, comrades: Rebellion! I do not know when that
Rebellion will come, it might be in a week or in a hundred years, but I
know, as surely as I see this straw beneath my feet, that sooner or later
justice will be done. Fix your eyes on that, comrades, throughout the
short remainder of your lives ! And above all, pass on this message of
mine to those who come after you, so that future generations shall carry
on the struggle until it is victorious.
"And remember, comrades, your resolution must never falter. No
argument must lead you astray. Never listen when they tell you that
Man and the animals have a common interest, that the prosperity of the
one is the prosperity of the others. It is all lies. Man serves the interests
of no creature except himself. And among us animals let there be
perfect unity, perfect comradeship in the struggle. All men are enemies.
All animals are comrades. "
At this moment there was a tremendous uproar. While Major was
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Animal Farm by George Orwell
speaking four large rats had crept out of their holes and were sitting on
their hindquarters, listening to him. The dogs had suddenly caught sight
of them, and it was only by a swift dash for their holes that the rats
saved their lives. Major raised his trotter for silence.
"Comrades," he said, "here is a point that must be settled. The wild
creatures, such as rats and rabbits-are they our friends or our enemies?
Let us put it to the vote. I propose this question to the meeting: Are rats
comrades? "
The vote was taken at once, and it was agreed by an overwhelming
majority that rats were comrades. There were only four dissentients, the
three dogs and the cat, who was afterwards discovered to have voted on
both sides. Major continued:
"I have little more to say. I merely repeat, remember always your duty
of enmity towards Man and all his ways. Whatever goes upon two legs
is an enemy. Whatever goes upon four legs, or has wings, is a friend.
And remember also that in fighting against Man, we must not come to
resemble him. Even when you have conquered him, do not adopt his
vices. No animal must ever live in a house, or sleep in a bed, or wear
clothes, or drink alcohol, or smoke tobacco, or touch money, or engage
in trade. All the habits of Man are evil. And, above all, no animal must
ever tyrannise over his own kind. Weak or strong, clever or simple, we
are all brothers. No animal must ever kill any other animal. All animals
are equal.
"And now, comrades, I will tell you about my dream of last night. I
cannot describe that dream to you. It was a dream of the earth as it will
be when Man has vanished. But it reminded me of something that I had
long forgotten. Many years ago, when I was a little pig, my mother and
the other sows used to sing an old song of which they knew only the
tune and the first three words. I had known that tune in my infancy, but
it had long since passed out of my mind. Last night, however, it came
back to me in my dream. And what is more, the words of the song also
came back-words, I am certain, which were sung by the animals of long
ago and have been lost to memory for generations. I will sing you that
song now, comrades. I am old and my voice is hoarse, but when I have
taught you the tune, you can sing it better for yourselves. It is called
Beasts of England. "
Old Major cleared his throat and began to sing. As he had said, his
voice was hoarse, but he sang well enough, and it was a stirring tune,
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Animal Farm by George Orwell
something between Clementine and La Cucaracha. The words ran
Beasts of England, beasts of Ireland,
Beasts of every land and clime,
Hearken to my joyful tidings
Of the golden future time.
Soon or late the day is coming,
Tyrant Man shall be o'erthrown,
And the fruitful fields of England
Shall be trod by beasts alone.
Rings shall vanish from our noses,
And the harness from our back,
Bit and spur shall rust forever,
Cruel whips no more shall crack.
Riches more than mind can picture,
Wheat and barley, oats and hay,
Clover, beans, and mangel-wurzels
Shall be ours upon that day.
Bright will shine the fields of England,
Purer shall its waters be,
Sweeter yet shall blow its breezes
On the day that sets us free.
For that day we all must labour,
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Though we die before it break;
Cows and horses, geese and turkeys,
All must toil for freedom's sake.
Beasts of England, beasts of Ireland,
Beasts of every land and clime,
Hearken well and spread my tidings
Of the golden future time.
The singing of this song threw the animals into the wildest excitement.
Almost before Major had reached the end, they had begun singing it for
themselves. Even the stupidest of them had already picked up the tune
and a few of the words, and as for the clever ones, such as the pigs and
dogs, they had the entire song by heart within a few minutes. And then,
after a few preliminary tries, the whole farm burst out into Beasts of
England in tremendous unison. The cows lowed it, the dogs whined it,
the sheep bleated it, the horses whinnied it, the ducks quacked it. They
were so delighted with the song that they sang it right through five
times in succession, and might have continued singing it all night if
they had not been interrupted.
Unfortunately, the uproar awoke Mr. Jones, who sprang out of bed,
making sure that there was a fox in the yard. He seized the gun which
always stood in a corner of his bedroom, and let fly a charge of number
6 shot into the darkness. The pellets buried themselves in the wall of
the barn and the meeting broke up hurriedly. Everyone fled to his own
sleeping-place. The birds jumped on to their perches, the animals
settled down in the straw, and the whole farm was asleep in a moment.
THREE nights later old Major died peacefully in his sleep. His body
was buried at the foot of the orchard.
This was early in March. During the next three months there was much
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Animal Farm by George Orwell
secret activity. Major's speech had given to the more intelligent animals
on the farm a completely new outlook on life. They did not know when
the Rebellion predicted by Major would take place, they had no reason
for thinking that it would be within their own lifetime, but they saw
clearly that it was their duty to prepare for it. The work of teaching and
organising the others fell naturally upon the pigs, who were generally
recognised as being the cleverest of the animals. Pre-eminent among
the pigs were two young boars named Snowball and Napoleon, whom
Mr. Jones was breeding up for sale. Napoleon was a large, rather
fierce-looking Berkshire boar, the only Berkshire on the farm, not much
of a talker, but with a reputation for getting his own way. Snowball was
a more vivacious pig than Napoleon, quicker in speech and more
inventive, but was not considered to have the same depth of character.
All the other male pigs on the farm were porkers. The best known
among them was a small fat pig named Squealer, with very round
cheeks, twinkling eyes, nimble movements, and a shrill voice. He was a
brilliant talker, and when he was arguing some difficult point he had a
way of skipping from side to side and whisking his tail which was
somehow very persuasive. The others said of Squealer that he could
turn black into white.
These three had elaborated old Major's teachings into a complete
system of thought, to which they gave the name of Animalism. Several
nights a week, after Mr. Jones was asleep, they held secret meetings in
the barn and expounded the principles of Animalism to the others. At
the beginning they met with much stupidity and apathy. Some of the
animals talked of the duty of loyalty to Mr. Jones, whom they referred
to as "Master," or made elementary remarks such as "Mr. Jones feeds
us. If he were gone, we should starve to death. " Others asked such
questions as "Why should we care what happens after we are dead? " or
"If this Rebellion is to happen anyway, what difference does it make
whether we work for it or not? ", and the pigs had great difficulty in
making them see that this was contrary to the spirit of Animalism. The
stupidest questions of all were asked by Mollie, the white mare. The
very first question she asked Snowball was: "Will there still be sugar
after the Rebellion? "
"No," said Snowball firmly. "We have no means of making sugar on
this farm. Besides, you do not need sugar. You will have all the oats
and hay you want. "
"And shall I still be allowed to wear ribbons in my mane? " asked
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Mollie.
"Comrade," said Snowball, "those ribbons that you are so devoted to
are the badge of slavery. Can you not understand that liberty is worth
more than ribbons? "
Mollie agreed, but she did not sound very convinced.
The pigs had an even harder struggle to counteract the lies put about by
Moses, the tame raven. Moses, who was Mr. Jones's especial pet, was a
spy and a tale-bearer, but he was also a clever talker. He claimed to
know of the existence of a mysterious country called Sugarcandy
Mountain, to which all animals went when they died. It was situated
somewhere up in the sky, a little distance beyond the clouds, Moses
said. In Sugarcandy Mountain it was Sunday seven days a week, clover
was in season all the year round, and lump sugar and linseed cake grew
on the hedges. The animals hated Moses because he told tales and did
no work, but some of them believed in Sugarcandy Mountain, and the
pigs had to argue very hard to persuade them that there was no such
place.
Their most faithful disciples were the two cart-horses, Boxer and
Clover. These two had great difficulty in thinking anything out for
themselves, but having once accepted the pigs as their teachers, they
absorbed everything that they were told, and passed it on to the other
animals by simple arguments. They were unfailing in their attendance
at the secret meetings in the barn, and led the singing of Beasts of
England, with which the meetings always ended.
Now, as it turned out, the Rebellion was achieved much earlier and
more easily than anyone had expected. In past years Mr. Jones,
although a hard master, had been a capable farmer, but of late he had
fallen on evil days. He had become much disheartened after losing
money in a lawsuit, and had taken to drinking more than was good for
him. For whole days at a time he would lounge in his Windsor chair in
the kitchen, reading the newspapers, drinking, and occasionally feeding
Moses on crusts of bread soaked in beer. His men were idle and
dishonest, the fields were full of weeds, the buildings wanted roofing,
the hedges were neglected, and the animals were underfed.
June came and the hay was almost ready for cutting. On Midsummer's
Eve, which was a Saturday, Mr. Jones went into Willingdon and got so
drunk at the Red Lion that he did not come back till midday on Sunday.
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The men had milked the cows in the early morning and then had gone
out rabbiting, without bothering to feed the animals. When Mr. Jones
got back he immediately went to sleep on the drawing-room sofa with
the News of the World over his face, so that when evening came, the
animals were still unfed. At last they could stand it no longer. One of
the cows broke in the door of the store-shed with her horn and all the
animals began to help themselves from the bins. It was just then that
Mr. Jones woke up. The next moment he and his four men were in the
store-shed with whips in their hands, lashing out in all directions. This
was more than the hungry animals could bear. With one accord, though
nothing of the kind had been planned beforehand, they flung
themselves upon their tormentors. Jones and his men suddenly found
themselves being butted and kicked from all sides. The situation was
quite out of their control. They had never seen animals behave like this
before, and this sudden uprising of creatures whom they were used to
thrashing and maltreating just as they chose, frightened them almost out
of their wits. After only a moment or two they gave up trying to defend
themselves and took to their heels. A minute later all five of them were
in full flight down the cart-track that led to the main road, with the
animals pursuing them in triumph.
Mrs. Jones looked out of the bedroom window, saw what was
happening, hurriedly flung a few possessions into a carpet bag, and
slipped out of the farm by another way. Moses sprang off his perch and
flapped after her, croaking loudly. Meanwhile the animals had chased
Jones and his men out on to the road and slammed the five-barred gate
behind them. And so, almost before they knew what was happening, the
Rebellion had been successfully carried through: Jones was expelled,
and the Manor Farm was theirs.
For the first few minutes the animals could hardly believe in their good
fortune. Their first act was to gallop in a body right round the
boundaries of the farm, as though to make quite sure that no human
being was hiding anywhere upon it; then they raced back to the farm
buildings to wipe out the last traces of Jones's hated reign.
ANIMAL FARM
by George Orwell
I
MR. JONES, of the Manor Farm, had locked the hen-houses for the
night, but was too drunk to remember to shut the popholes. With the
ring of light from his lantern dancing from side to side, he lurched
across the yard, kicked off his boots at the back door, drew himself a
last glass of beer from the barrel in the scullery, and made his way up to
bed, where Mrs. Jones was already snoring.
As soon as the light in the bedroom went out there was a stirring and a
fluttering all through the farm buildings. Word had gone round during
the day that old Major, the prize Middle White boar, had had a strange
dream on the previous night and wished to communicate it to the other
animals. It had been agreed that they should all meet in the big barn as
soon as Mr. Jones was safely out of the way. Old Major (so he was
always called, though the name under which he had been exhibited was
Willingdon Beauty) was so highly regarded on the farm that everyone
was quite ready to lose an hour's sleep in order to hear what he had to
say.
At one end of the big barn, on a sort of raised platform, Major was
already ensconced on his bed of straw, under a lantern which hung from
a beam. He was twelve years old and had lately grown rather stout, but
he was still a majestic-looking pig, with a wise and benevolent
appearance in spite of the fact that his tushes had never been cut.
Before long the other animals began to arrive and make themselves
comfortable after their different fashions. First came the three dogs,
Bluebell, Jessie, and Pincher, and then the pigs, who settled down in the
straw immediately in front of the platform. The hens perched
themselves on the window-sills, the pigeons fluttered up to the rafters,
the sheep and cows lay down behind the pigs and began to chew the
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cud. The two cart-horses, Boxer and Clover, came in together, walking
very slowly and setting down their vast hairy hoofs with great care lest
there should be some small animal concealed in the straw. Clover was a
stout motherly mare approaching middle life, who had never quite got
her figure back after her fourth foal. Boxer was an enormous beast,
nearly eighteen hands high, and as strong as any two ordinary horses
put together. A white stripe down his nose gave him a somewhat stupid
appearance, and in fact he was not of first-rate intelligence, but he was
universally respected for his steadiness of character and tremendous
powers of work. After the horses came Muriel, the white goat, and
Benjamin, the donkey. Benjamin was the oldest animal on the farm,
and the worst tempered. He seldom talked, and when he did, it was
usually to make some cynical remark-for instance, he would say that
God had given him a tail to keep the flies off, but that he would sooner
have had no tail and no flies. Alone among the animals on the farm he
never laughed. If asked why, he would say that he saw nothing to laugh
at. Nevertheless, without openly admitting it, he was devoted to Boxer;
the two of them usually spent their Sundays together in the small
paddock beyond the orchard, grazing side by side and never speaking.
The two horses had just lain down when a brood of ducklings, which
had lost their mother, filed into the barn, cheeping feebly and
wandering from side to side to find some place where they would not
be trodden on. Clover made a sort of wall round them with her great
foreleg, and the ducklings nestled down inside it and promptly fell
asleep. At the last moment Mollie, the foolish, pretty white mare who
drew Mr. Jones's trap, came mincing daintily in, chewing at a lump of
sugar. She took a place near the front and began flirting her white
mane, hoping to draw attention to the red ribbons it was plaited with.
Last of all came the cat, who looked round, as usual, for the warmest
place, and finally squeezed herself in between Boxer and Clover; there
she purred contentedly throughout Major's speech without listening to a
word of what he was saying.
All the animals were now present except Moses, the tame raven, who
slept on a perch behind the back door. When Major saw that they had
all made themselves comfortable and were waiting attentively, he
cleared his throat and began:
"Comrades, you have heard already about the strange dream that I had
last night. But I will come to the dream later. I have something else to
say first. I do not think, comrades, that I shall be with you for many
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months longer, and before I die, I feel it my duty to pass on to you such
wisdom as I have acquired. I have had a long life, I have had much time
for thought as I lay alone in my stall, and I think I may say that I
understand the nature of life on this earth as well as any animal now
living. It is about this that I wish to speak to you.
"Now, comrades, what is the nature of this life of ours? Let us face it:
our lives are miserable, laborious, and short. We are born, we are given
just so much food as will keep the breath in our bodies, and those of us
who are capable of it are forced to work to the last atom of our strength;
and the very instant that our usefulness has come to an end we are
slaughtered with hideous cruelty. No animal in England knows the
meaning of happiness or leisure after he is a year old. No animal in
England is free. The life of an animal is misery and slavery: that is the
plain truth.
"But is this simply part of the order of nature? Is it because this land of
ours is so poor that it cannot afford a decent life to those who dwell
upon it? No, comrades, a thousand times no! The soil of England is
fertile, its climate is good, it is capable of affording food in abundance
to an enormously greater number of animals than now inhabit it. This
single farm of ours would support a dozen horses, twenty cows,
hundreds of sheep-and all of them living in a comfort and a dignity that
are now almost beyond our imagining. Why then do we continue in this
miserable condition? Because nearly the whole of the produce of our
labour is stolen from us by human beings. There, comrades, is the
answer to all our problems. It is summed up in a single word-Man. Man
is the only real enemy we have. Remove Man from the scene, and the
root cause of hunger and overwork is abolished for ever.
"Man is the only creature that consumes without producing. He does
not give milk, he does not lay eggs, he is too weak to pull the plough,
he cannot run fast enough to catch rabbits. Yet he is lord of all the
animals. He sets them to work, he gives back to them the bare
minimum that will prevent them from starving, and the rest he keeps
for himself. Our labour tills the soil, our dung fertilises it, and yet there
is not one of us that owns more than his bare skin. You cows that I see
before me, how many thousands of gallons of milk have you given
during this last year? And what has happened to that milk which should
have been breeding up sturdy calves? Every drop of it has gone down
the throats of our enemies. And you hens, how many eggs have you laid
in this last year, and how many of those eggs ever hatched into
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chickens? The rest have all gone to market to bring in money for Jones
and his men. And you, Clover, where are those four foals you bore,
who should have been the support and pleasure of your old age? Each
was sold at a year old-you will never see one of them again. In return
for your four confinements and all your labour in the fields, what have
you ever had except your bare rations and a stall?
"And even the miserable lives we lead are not allowed to reach their
natural span. For myself I do not grumble, for I am one of the lucky
ones. I am twelve years old and have had over four hundred children.
Such is the natural life of a pig. But no animal escapes the cruel knife in
the end. You young porkers who are sitting in front of me, every one of
you will scream your lives out at the block within a year. To that horror
we all must come-cows, pigs, hens, sheep, everyone. Even the horses
and the dogs have no better fate. You, Boxer, the very day that those
great muscles of yours lose their power, Jones will sell you to the
knacker, who will cut your throat and boil you down for the foxhounds.
As for the dogs, when they grow old and toothless, Jones ties a brick
round their necks and drowns them in the nearest pond.
"Is it not crystal clear, then, comrades, that all the evils of this life of
ours spring from the tyranny of human beings? Only get rid of Man,
and the produce of our labour would be our own. Almost overnight we
could become rich and free. What then must we do? Why, work night
and day, body and soul, for the overthrow of the human race ! That is
my message to you, comrades: Rebellion! I do not know when that
Rebellion will come, it might be in a week or in a hundred years, but I
know, as surely as I see this straw beneath my feet, that sooner or later
justice will be done. Fix your eyes on that, comrades, throughout the
short remainder of your lives ! And above all, pass on this message of
mine to those who come after you, so that future generations shall carry
on the struggle until it is victorious.
"And remember, comrades, your resolution must never falter. No
argument must lead you astray. Never listen when they tell you that
Man and the animals have a common interest, that the prosperity of the
one is the prosperity of the others. It is all lies. Man serves the interests
of no creature except himself. And among us animals let there be
perfect unity, perfect comradeship in the struggle. All men are enemies.
All animals are comrades. "
At this moment there was a tremendous uproar. While Major was
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speaking four large rats had crept out of their holes and were sitting on
their hindquarters, listening to him. The dogs had suddenly caught sight
of them, and it was only by a swift dash for their holes that the rats
saved their lives. Major raised his trotter for silence.
"Comrades," he said, "here is a point that must be settled. The wild
creatures, such as rats and rabbits-are they our friends or our enemies?
Let us put it to the vote. I propose this question to the meeting: Are rats
comrades? "
The vote was taken at once, and it was agreed by an overwhelming
majority that rats were comrades. There were only four dissentients, the
three dogs and the cat, who was afterwards discovered to have voted on
both sides. Major continued:
"I have little more to say. I merely repeat, remember always your duty
of enmity towards Man and all his ways. Whatever goes upon two legs
is an enemy. Whatever goes upon four legs, or has wings, is a friend.
And remember also that in fighting against Man, we must not come to
resemble him. Even when you have conquered him, do not adopt his
vices. No animal must ever live in a house, or sleep in a bed, or wear
clothes, or drink alcohol, or smoke tobacco, or touch money, or engage
in trade. All the habits of Man are evil. And, above all, no animal must
ever tyrannise over his own kind. Weak or strong, clever or simple, we
are all brothers. No animal must ever kill any other animal. All animals
are equal.
"And now, comrades, I will tell you about my dream of last night. I
cannot describe that dream to you. It was a dream of the earth as it will
be when Man has vanished. But it reminded me of something that I had
long forgotten. Many years ago, when I was a little pig, my mother and
the other sows used to sing an old song of which they knew only the
tune and the first three words. I had known that tune in my infancy, but
it had long since passed out of my mind. Last night, however, it came
back to me in my dream. And what is more, the words of the song also
came back-words, I am certain, which were sung by the animals of long
ago and have been lost to memory for generations. I will sing you that
song now, comrades. I am old and my voice is hoarse, but when I have
taught you the tune, you can sing it better for yourselves. It is called
Beasts of England. "
Old Major cleared his throat and began to sing. As he had said, his
voice was hoarse, but he sang well enough, and it was a stirring tune,
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something between Clementine and La Cucaracha. The words ran
Beasts of England, beasts of Ireland,
Beasts of every land and clime,
Hearken to my joyful tidings
Of the golden future time.
Soon or late the day is coming,
Tyrant Man shall be o'erthrown,
And the fruitful fields of England
Shall be trod by beasts alone.
Rings shall vanish from our noses,
And the harness from our back,
Bit and spur shall rust forever,
Cruel whips no more shall crack.
Riches more than mind can picture,
Wheat and barley, oats and hay,
Clover, beans, and mangel-wurzels
Shall be ours upon that day.
Bright will shine the fields of England,
Purer shall its waters be,
Sweeter yet shall blow its breezes
On the day that sets us free.
For that day we all must labour,
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Though we die before it break;
Cows and horses, geese and turkeys,
All must toil for freedom's sake.
Beasts of England, beasts of Ireland,
Beasts of every land and clime,
Hearken well and spread my tidings
Of the golden future time.
The singing of this song threw the animals into the wildest excitement.
Almost before Major had reached the end, they had begun singing it for
themselves. Even the stupidest of them had already picked up the tune
and a few of the words, and as for the clever ones, such as the pigs and
dogs, they had the entire song by heart within a few minutes. And then,
after a few preliminary tries, the whole farm burst out into Beasts of
England in tremendous unison. The cows lowed it, the dogs whined it,
the sheep bleated it, the horses whinnied it, the ducks quacked it. They
were so delighted with the song that they sang it right through five
times in succession, and might have continued singing it all night if
they had not been interrupted.
Unfortunately, the uproar awoke Mr. Jones, who sprang out of bed,
making sure that there was a fox in the yard. He seized the gun which
always stood in a corner of his bedroom, and let fly a charge of number
6 shot into the darkness. The pellets buried themselves in the wall of
the barn and the meeting broke up hurriedly. Everyone fled to his own
sleeping-place. The birds jumped on to their perches, the animals
settled down in the straw, and the whole farm was asleep in a moment.
THREE nights later old Major died peacefully in his sleep. His body
was buried at the foot of the orchard.
This was early in March. During the next three months there was much
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secret activity. Major's speech had given to the more intelligent animals
on the farm a completely new outlook on life. They did not know when
the Rebellion predicted by Major would take place, they had no reason
for thinking that it would be within their own lifetime, but they saw
clearly that it was their duty to prepare for it. The work of teaching and
organising the others fell naturally upon the pigs, who were generally
recognised as being the cleverest of the animals. Pre-eminent among
the pigs were two young boars named Snowball and Napoleon, whom
Mr. Jones was breeding up for sale. Napoleon was a large, rather
fierce-looking Berkshire boar, the only Berkshire on the farm, not much
of a talker, but with a reputation for getting his own way. Snowball was
a more vivacious pig than Napoleon, quicker in speech and more
inventive, but was not considered to have the same depth of character.
All the other male pigs on the farm were porkers. The best known
among them was a small fat pig named Squealer, with very round
cheeks, twinkling eyes, nimble movements, and a shrill voice. He was a
brilliant talker, and when he was arguing some difficult point he had a
way of skipping from side to side and whisking his tail which was
somehow very persuasive. The others said of Squealer that he could
turn black into white.
These three had elaborated old Major's teachings into a complete
system of thought, to which they gave the name of Animalism. Several
nights a week, after Mr. Jones was asleep, they held secret meetings in
the barn and expounded the principles of Animalism to the others. At
the beginning they met with much stupidity and apathy. Some of the
animals talked of the duty of loyalty to Mr. Jones, whom they referred
to as "Master," or made elementary remarks such as "Mr. Jones feeds
us. If he were gone, we should starve to death. " Others asked such
questions as "Why should we care what happens after we are dead? " or
"If this Rebellion is to happen anyway, what difference does it make
whether we work for it or not? ", and the pigs had great difficulty in
making them see that this was contrary to the spirit of Animalism. The
stupidest questions of all were asked by Mollie, the white mare. The
very first question she asked Snowball was: "Will there still be sugar
after the Rebellion? "
"No," said Snowball firmly. "We have no means of making sugar on
this farm. Besides, you do not need sugar.
The soil of England is
fertile, its climate is good, it is capable of affording food in abundance to an enormously greater number of animals than now inhabit it. This
single farm of ours would support a dozen horses, twenty cows,
hundreds of sheep-and all of them living in a comfort and a dignity that
are now almost beyond our imagining. Why then do we continue in this
miserable condition? Because nearly the whole of the produce of our
labour is stolen from us by human beings. There, comrades, is the
answer to all our problems. It is summed up in a single word-Man. Man
is the only real enemy we have. Remove Man from the scene, and the
root cause of hunger and overwork is abolished for ever.
"Man is the only creature that consumes without producing. He does
not give milk, he does not lay eggs, he is too weak to pull the plough,
he cannot run fast enough to catch rabbits. Yet he is lord of all the
animals. He sets them to work, he gives back to them the bare
minimum that will prevent them from starving, and the rest he keeps
for himself. Our labour tills the soil, our dung fertilises it, and yet there
is not one of us that owns more than his bare skin. You cows that I see
before me, how many thousands of gallons of milk have you given
during this last year? And what has happened to that milk which should
have been breeding up sturdy calves? Every drop of it has gone down
the throats of our enemies. And you hens, how many eggs have you laid
in this last year, and how many of those eggs ever hatched into
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chickens? The rest have all gone to market to bring in money for Jones
and his men. And you, Clover, where are those four foals you bore,
who should have been the support and pleasure of your old age? Each
was sold at a year old-you will never see one of them again. In return
for your four confinements and all your labour in the fields, what have
you ever had except your bare rations and a stall?
"And even the miserable lives we lead are not allowed to reach their
natural span. For myself I do not grumble, for I am one of the lucky
ones. I am twelve years old and have had over four hundred children.
Such is the natural life of a pig. But no animal escapes the cruel knife in
the end. You young porkers who are sitting in front of me, every one of
you will scream your lives out at the block within a year. To that horror
we all must come-cows, pigs, hens, sheep, everyone. Even the horses
and the dogs have no better fate. You, Boxer, the very day that those
great muscles of yours lose their power, Jones will sell you to the
knacker, who will cut your throat and boil you down for the foxhounds.
As for the dogs, when they grow old and toothless, Jones ties a brick
round their necks and drowns them in the nearest pond.
"Is it not crystal clear, then, comrades, that all the evils of this life of
ours spring from the tyranny of human beings? Only get rid of Man,
and the produce of our labour would be our own. Almost overnight we
could become rich and free. What then must we do? Why, work night
and day, body and soul, for the overthrow of the human race ! That is
my message to you, comrades: Rebellion! I do not know when that
Rebellion will come, it might be in a week or in a hundred years, but I
know, as surely as I see this straw beneath my feet, that sooner or later
justice will be done. Fix your eyes on that, comrades, throughout the
short remainder of your lives ! And above all, pass on this message of
mine to those who come after you, so that future generations shall carry
on the struggle until it is victorious.
"And remember, comrades, your resolution must never falter. No
argument must lead you astray. Never listen when they tell you that
Man and the animals have a common interest, that the prosperity of the
one is the prosperity of the others. It is all lies. Man serves the interests
of no creature except himself. And among us animals let there be
perfect unity, perfect comradeship in the struggle. All men are enemies.
All animals are comrades. "
At this moment there was a tremendous uproar. While Major was
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speaking four large rats had crept out of their holes and were sitting on
their hindquarters, listening to him. The dogs had suddenly caught sight
of them, and it was only by a swift dash for their holes that the rats
saved their lives. Major raised his trotter for silence.
"Comrades," he said, "here is a point that must be settled. The wild
creatures, such as rats and rabbits-are they our friends or our enemies?
Let us put it to the vote. I propose this question to the meeting: Are rats
comrades? "
The vote was taken at once, and it was agreed by an overwhelming
majority that rats were comrades. There were only four dissentients, the
three dogs and the cat, who was afterwards discovered to have voted on
both sides. Major continued:
"I have little more to say. I merely repeat, remember always your duty
of enmity towards Man and all his ways. Whatever goes upon two legs
is an enemy. Whatever goes upon four legs, or has wings, is a friend.
And remember also that in fighting against Man, we must not come to
resemble him. Even when you have conquered him, do not adopt his
vices. No animal must ever live in a house, or sleep in a bed, or wear
clothes, or drink alcohol, or smoke tobacco, or touch money, or engage
in trade. All the habits of Man are evil. And, above all, no animal must
ever tyrannise over his own kind. Weak or strong, clever or simple, we
are all brothers. No animal must ever kill any other animal. All animals
are equal.
"And now, comrades, I will tell you about my dream of last night. I
cannot describe that dream to you. It was a dream of the earth as it will
be when Man has vanished. But it reminded me of something that I had
long forgotten. Many years ago, when I was a little pig, my mother and
the other sows used to sing an old song of which they knew only the
tune and the first three words. I had known that tune in my infancy, but
it had long since passed out of my mind. Last night, however, it came
back to me in my dream. And what is more, the words of the song also
came back-words, I am certain, which were sung by the animals of long
ago and have been lost to memory for generations. I will sing you that
song now, comrades. I am old and my voice is hoarse, but when I have
taught you the tune, you can sing it better for yourselves. It is called
Beasts of England. "
Old Major cleared his throat and began to sing. As he had said, his
voice was hoarse, but he sang well enough, and it was a stirring tune,
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something between Clementine and La Cucaracha. The words ran
Beasts of England, beasts of Ireland,
Beasts of every land and clime,
Hearken to my joyful tidings
Of the golden future time.
Soon or late the day is coming,
Tyrant Man shall be o'erthrown,
And the fruitful fields of England
Shall be trod by beasts alone.
Rings shall vanish from our noses,
And the harness from our back,
Bit and spur shall rust forever,
Cruel whips no more shall crack.
Riches more than mind can picture,
Wheat and barley, oats and hay,
Clover, beans, and mangel-wurzels
Shall be ours upon that day.
Bright will shine the fields of England,
Purer shall its waters be,
Sweeter yet shall blow its breezes
On the day that sets us free.
For that day we all must labour,
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Though we die before it break;
Cows and horses, geese and turkeys,
All must toil for freedom's sake.
Beasts of England, beasts of Ireland,
Beasts of every land and clime,
Hearken well and spread my tidings
Of the golden future time.
The singing of this song threw the animals into the wildest excitement.
Almost before Major had reached the end, they had begun singing it for
themselves. Even the stupidest of them had already picked up the tune
and a few of the words, and as for the clever ones, such as the pigs and
dogs, they had the entire song by heart within a few minutes. And then,
after a few preliminary tries, the whole farm burst out into Beasts of
England in tremendous unison. The cows lowed it, the dogs whined it,
the sheep bleated it, the horses whinnied it, the ducks quacked it. They
were so delighted with the song that they sang it right through five
times in succession, and might have continued singing it all night if
they had not been interrupted.
Unfortunately, the uproar awoke Mr. Jones, who sprang out of bed,
making sure that there was a fox in the yard. He seized the gun which
always stood in a corner of his bedroom, and let fly a charge of number
6 shot into the darkness. The pellets buried themselves in the wall of
the barn and the meeting broke up hurriedly. Everyone fled to his own
sleeping-place. The birds jumped on to their perches, the animals
settled down in the straw, and the whole farm was asleep in a moment.
THREE nights later old Major died peacefully in his sleep. His body
was buried at the foot of the orchard.
This was early in March. During the next three months there was much
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secret activity. Major's speech had given to the more intelligent animals
on the farm a completely new outlook on life. They did not know when
the Rebellion predicted by Major would take place, they had no reason
for thinking that it would be within their own lifetime, but they saw
clearly that it was their duty to prepare for it. The work of teaching and
organising the others fell naturally upon the pigs, who were generally
recognised as being the cleverest of the animals. Pre-eminent among
the pigs were two young boars named Snowball and Napoleon, whom
Mr. Jones was breeding up for sale. Napoleon was a large, rather
fierce-looking Berkshire boar, the only Berkshire on the farm, not much
of a talker, but with a reputation for getting his own way. Snowball was
a more vivacious pig than Napoleon, quicker in speech and more
inventive, but was not considered to have the same depth of character.
All the other male pigs on the farm were porkers. The best known
among them was a small fat pig named Squealer, with very round
cheeks, twinkling eyes, nimble movements, and a shrill voice. He was a
brilliant talker, and when he was arguing some difficult point he had a
way of skipping from side to side and whisking his tail which was
somehow very persuasive. The others said of Squealer that he could
turn black into white.
These three had elaborated old Major's teachings into a complete
system of thought, to which they gave the name of Animalism. Several
nights a week, after Mr. Jones was asleep, they held secret meetings in
the barn and expounded the principles of Animalism to the others. At
the beginning they met with much stupidity and apathy. Some of the
animals talked of the duty of loyalty to Mr. Jones, whom they referred
to as "Master," or made elementary remarks such as "Mr. Jones feeds
us. If he were gone, we should starve to death. " Others asked such
questions as "Why should we care what happens after we are dead? " or
"If this Rebellion is to happen anyway, what difference does it make
whether we work for it or not? ", and the pigs had great difficulty in
making them see that this was contrary to the spirit of Animalism. The
stupidest questions of all were asked by Mollie, the white mare. The
very first question she asked Snowball was: "Will there still be sugar
after the Rebellion? "
"No," said Snowball firmly. "We have no means of making sugar on
this farm. Besides, you do not need sugar. You will have all the oats
and hay you want. "
"And shall I still be allowed to wear ribbons in my mane? " asked
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Mollie.
"Comrade," said Snowball, "those ribbons that you are so devoted to
are the badge of slavery. Can you not understand that liberty is worth
more than ribbons? "
Mollie agreed, but she did not sound very convinced.
The pigs had an even harder struggle to counteract the lies put about by
Moses, the tame raven. Moses, who was Mr. Jones's especial pet, was a
spy and a tale-bearer, but he was also a clever talker. He claimed to
know of the existence of a mysterious country called Sugarcandy
Mountain, to which all animals went when they died. It was situated
somewhere up in the sky, a little distance beyond the clouds, Moses
said. In Sugarcandy Mountain it was Sunday seven days a week, clover
was in season all the year round, and lump sugar and linseed cake grew
on the hedges. The animals hated Moses because he told tales and did
no work, but some of them believed in Sugarcandy Mountain, and the
pigs had to argue very hard to persuade them that there was no such
place.
Their most faithful disciples were the two cart-horses, Boxer and
Clover. These two had great difficulty in thinking anything out for
themselves, but having once accepted the pigs as their teachers, they
absorbed everything that they were told, and passed it on to the other
animals by simple arguments. They were unfailing in their attendance
at the secret meetings in the barn, and led the singing of Beasts of
England, with which the meetings always ended.
Now, as it turned out, the Rebellion was achieved much earlier and
more easily than anyone had expected. In past years Mr. Jones,
although a hard master, had been a capable farmer, but of late he had
fallen on evil days. He had become much disheartened after losing
money in a lawsuit, and had taken to drinking more than was good for
him. For whole days at a time he would lounge in his Windsor chair in
the kitchen, reading the newspapers, drinking, and occasionally feeding
Moses on crusts of bread soaked in beer. His men were idle and
dishonest, the fields were full of weeds, the buildings wanted roofing,
the hedges were neglected, and the animals were underfed.
June came and the hay was almost ready for cutting. On Midsummer's
Eve, which was a Saturday, Mr. Jones went into Willingdon and got so
drunk at the Red Lion that he did not come back till midday on Sunday.
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The men had milked the cows in the early morning and then had gone
out rabbiting, without bothering to feed the animals. When Mr. Jones
got back he immediately went to sleep on the drawing-room sofa with
the News of the World over his face, so that when evening came, the
animals were still unfed. At last they could stand it no longer. One of
the cows broke in the door of the store-shed with her horn and all the
animals began to help themselves from the bins. It was just then that
Mr. Jones woke up. The next moment he and his four men were in the
store-shed with whips in their hands, lashing out in all directions. This
was more than the hungry animals could bear. With one accord, though
nothing of the kind had been planned beforehand, they flung
themselves upon their tormentors. Jones and his men suddenly found
themselves being butted and kicked from all sides. The situation was
quite out of their control. They had never seen animals behave like this
before, and this sudden uprising of creatures whom they were used to
thrashing and maltreating just as they chose, frightened them almost out
of their wits. After only a moment or two they gave up trying to defend
themselves and took to their heels. A minute later all five of them were
in full flight down the cart-track that led to the main road, with the
animals pursuing them in triumph.
Mrs. Jones looked out of the bedroom window, saw what was
happening, hurriedly flung a few possessions into a carpet bag, and
slipped out of the farm by another way. Moses sprang off his perch and
flapped after her, croaking loudly. Meanwhile the animals had chased
Jones and his men out on to the road and slammed the five-barred gate
behind them. And so, almost before they knew what was happening, the
Rebellion had been successfully carried through: Jones was expelled,
and the Manor Farm was theirs.
For the first few minutes the animals could hardly believe in their good
fortune. Their first act was to gallop in a body right round the
boundaries of the farm, as though to make quite sure that no human
being was hiding anywhere upon it; then they raced back to the farm
buildings to wipe out the last traces of Jones's hated reign.
