No More Learning

This had long been expected, and all preparations had been made.
Snowball, who had studied an old book of Julius Caesar's campaigns
which he had found in the farmhouse, was in charge of the defensive
operations. He gave his orders quickly, and in a couple of minutes
every animal was at his post.


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As the human beings approached the farm buildings, Snowball
launched his first attack. All the pigeons, to the number of thirty-five,
flew to and fro over the men's heads and muted upon them from
mid-air; and while the men were dealing with this, the geese, who had
been hiding behind the hedge, rushed out and pecked viciously at the
calves of their legs. However, this was only a light skirmishing
manoeuvre, intended to create a little disorder, and the men easily drove
the geese off with their sticks. Snowball now launched his second line
of attack. Muriel, Benjamin, and all the sheep, with Snowball at the
head of them, rushed forward and prodded and butted the men from
every side, while Benjamin turned around and lashed at them with his
small hoofs. But once again the men, with their sticks and their
hobnailed boots, were too strong for them; and suddenly, at a squeal
from Snowball, which was the signal for retreat, all the animals turned
and fled through the gateway into the yard.

The men gave a shout of triumph. They saw, as they imagined, their
enemies in flight, and they rushed after them in disorder. This was just
what Snowball had intended. As soon as they were well inside the yard,
the three horses, the three cows, and the rest of the pigs, who had been
lying in ambush in the cowshed, suddenly emerged in their rear, cutting
them off. Snowball now gave the signal for the charge. He himself
dashed straight for Jones. Jones saw him coming, raised his gun and
fired. The pellets scored bloody streaks along Snowball's back, and a
sheep dropped dead. Without halting for an instant, Snowball flung his
fifteen stone against Jones's legs. Jones was hurled into a pile of dung
and his gun flew out of his hands. But the most terrifying spectacle of
all was Boxer, rearing up on his hind legs and striking out with his
great iron-shod hoofs like a stallion. His very first blow took a
stable-lad from Foxwood on the skull and stretched him lifeless in the
mud. At the sight, several men dropped their sticks and tried to run.
Panic overtook them, and the next moment all the animals together
were chasing them round and round the yard. They were gored, kicked,
bitten, trampled on. There was not an animal on the farm that did not
take vengeance on them after his own fashion. Even the cat suddenly
leapt off a roof onto a cowman's shoulders and sank her claws in his
neck, at which he yelled horribly. At a moment when the opening was
clear, the men were glad enough to rush out of the yard and make a bolt
for the main road. And so within five minutes of their invasion they
were in ignominious retreat by the same way as they had come, with a
flock of geese hissing after them and pecking at their calves all the way.


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All the men were gone except one. Back in the yard Boxer was pawing
with his hoof at the stable-lad who lay face down in the mud, trying to
turn him over. The boy did not stir.

"He is dead," said Boxer sorrowfully. "I had no intention of doing that.

I forgot that I was wearing iron shoes. Who will believe that I did not
do this on purpose? "

"No sentimentality, comrade! " cried Snowball from whose wounds the
blood was still dripping. "War is war. The only good human being is a
dead one. "

"I have no wish to take life, not even human life," repeated Boxer, and
his eyes were full of tears.

"Where is Mollie? " exclaimed somebody.

Mollie in fact was missing. For a moment there was great alarm; it was
feared that the men might have harmed her in some way, or even
carried her off with them. In the end, however, she was found hiding in
her stall with her head buried among the hay in the manger. She had
taken to flight as soon as the gun went off. And when the others came
back from looking for her, it was to find that the stable-lad, who in fact
was only stunned, had already recovered and made off.

The animals had now reassembled in the wildest excitement, each
recounting his own exploits in the battle at the top of his voice. An
impromptu celebration of the victory was held immediately. The flag
was run up and Beasts of England was sung a number of times, then the
sheep who had been killed was given a solemn funeral, a hawthorn
bush being planted on her grave. At the graveside Snowball made a
little speech, emphasising the need for all animals to be ready to die for
Animal Farm if need be.

The animals decided unanimously to create a military decoration,
"Animal Hero, First Class," which was conferred there and then on
Snowball and Boxer. It consisted of a brass medal (they were really
some old horse-brasses which had been found in the harness-room), to
be worn on Sundays and holidays. There was also "Animal Hero,
Second Class," which was conferred posthumously on the dead sheep.

There was much discussion as to what the battle should be called. In the
end, it was named the Battle of the Cowshed, since that was where the
ambush had been sprung. Mr. Jones's gun had been found lying in the


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mud, and it was known that there was a supply of cartridges in the
farmhouse. It was decided to set the gun up at the foot of the Flagstaff,
like a piece of artillery, and to fire it twice a year-once on October the
twelfth, the anniversary of the Battle of the Cowshed, and once on
Midsummer Day, the anniversary of the Rebellion.


V

AS WINTER drew on, Mollie became more and more troublesome.

She was late for work every morning and excused herself by saying that
she had overslept, and she complained of mysterious pains, although
her appetite was excellent. On every kind of pretext she would run
away from work and go to the drinking pool, where she would stand
foolishly gazing at her own reflection in the water. But there were also
rumours of something more serious. One day, as Mollie strolled
blithely into the yard, flirting her long tail and chewing at a stalk of
hay, Clover took her aside.

"Mollie," she said, "I have something very serious to say to you. This
morning I saw you looking over the hedge that divides Animal Farm
from Foxwood. One of Mr. Pilkington's men was standing on the other
side of the hedge. And-I was a long way away, but I am almost certain I
saw this-he was talking to you and you were allowing him to stroke
your nose. What does that mean, Mollie? "

"He didn't! I wasn't! It isn't true! " cried Mollie, beginning to prance
about and paw the ground.

"Mollie! Look me in the face. Do you give me your word of honour
that that man was not stroking your nose? "

"It isn't true! " repeated Mollie, but she could not look Clover in the
face, and the next moment she took to her heels and galloped away into
the field.

A thought struck Clover. Without saying anything to the others, she
went to Mollie's stall and turned over the straw with her hoof. Hidden
under the straw was a little pile of lump sugar and several bunches of
ribbon of different colours.


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Three days later Mollie disappeared. For some weeks nothing was
known of her whereabouts, then the pigeons reported that they had seen
her on the other side of Willingdon. She was between the shafts of a
smart dogcart painted red and black, which was standing outside a
public-house. A fat red-faced man in check breeches and gaiters, who
looked like a publican, was stroking her nose and feeding her with
sugar. Her coat was newly clipped and she wore a scarlet ribbon round
her forelock. She appeared to be enjoying herself, so the pigeons said.
None of the animals ever mentioned Mollie again.

In January there came bitterly hard weather. The earth was like iron,
and nothing could be done in the fields. Many meetings were held in
the big barn, and the pigs occupied themselves with planning out the
work of the coming season. It had come to be accepted that the pigs,
who were manifestly cleverer than the other animals, should decide all
questions of farm policy, though their decisions had to be ratified by a
majority vote. This arrangement would have worked well enough if it
had not been for the disputes between Snowball and Napoleon. These
two disagreed at every point where disagreement was possible. If one
of them suggested sowing a bigger acreage with barley, the other was
certain to demand a bigger acreage of oats, and if one of them said that
such and such a field was just right for cabbages, the other would
declare that it was useless for anything except roots. Each had his own
following, and there were some violent debates. At the Meetings
Snowball often won over the majority by his brilliant speeches, but
Napoleon was better at canvassing support for himself in between
times. He was especially successful with the sheep. Of late the sheep
had taken to bleating "Four legs good, two legs bad" both in and out of
season, and they often interrupted the Meeting with this. It was noticed
that they were especially liable to break into "Four legs good, two legs
bad" at crucial moments in Snowball's speeches. Snowball had made a
close study of some back numbers of the Farmer and Stockbreeder
which he had found in the farmhouse, and was full of plans for
innovations and improvements. He talked learnedly about field drains,
silage, and basic slag, and had worked out a complicated scheme for all
the animals to drop their dung directly in the fields, at a different spot
every day, to save the labour of cartage. Napoleon produced no
schemes of his own, but said quietly that Snowball's would come to
nothing, and seemed to be biding his time. But of all their
controversies, none was so bitter as the one that took place over the
windmill.


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In the long pasture, not far from the farm buildings, there was a small
knoll which was the highest point on the farm. After surveying the
ground, Snowball declared that this was just the place for a windmill,
which could be made to operate a dynamo and supply the farm with
electrical power. This would light the stalls and warm them in winter,
and would also run a circular saw, a chaff-cutter, a mangel-slicer, and
an electric milking machine. The animals had never heard of anything
of this kind before (for the farm was an old-fashioned one and had only
the most primitive machinery), and they listened in astonishment while
Snowball conjured up pictures of fantastic machines which would do
their work for them while they grazed at their ease in the fields or
improved their minds with reading and conversation.

Within a few weeks Snowball's plans for the windmill were fully
worked out. The mechanical details came mostly from three books
which had belonged to Mr. Jones - One Thousand Useful Things to Do
About the House, Every Man His Own Bricklayer, and Electricity for
Beginners. Snowball used as his study a shed which had once been used
for incubators and had a smooth wooden floor, suitable for drawing on.
He was closeted there for hours at a time. With his books held open by
a stone, and with a piece of chalk gripped between the knuckles of his
trotter, he would move rapidly to and fro, drawing in line after line and
uttering little whimpers of excitement. Gradually the plans grew into a
complicated mass of cranks and cog-wheels, covering more than half
the floor, which the other animals found completely unintelligible but
very impressive. All of them came to look at Snowball's drawings at
least once a day. Even the hens and ducks came, and were at pains not
to tread on the chalk marks. Only Napoleon held aloof. He had declared
himself against the windmill from the start. One day, however, he
arrived unexpectedly to examine the plans. He walked heavily round
the shed, looked closely at every detail of the plans and snuffed at them
once or twice, then stood for a little while contemplating them out of
the corner of his eye; then suddenly he lifted his leg, urinated over the
plans, and walked out without uttering a word.

The whole farm was deeply divided on the subject of the windmill.
Snowball did not deny that to build it would be a difficult business.
Stone would have to be carried and built up into walls, then the sails
would have to be made and after that there would be need for dynamos
and cables. (How these were to be procured, Snowball did not say. ) But
he maintained that it could all be done in a year. And thereafter, he


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declared, so much labour would be saved that the animals would only
need to work three days a week. Napoleon, on the other hand, argued
that the great need of the moment was to increase food production, and
that if they wasted time on the windmill they would all starve to death.
The animals formed themselves into two factions under the slogan,
"Vote for Snowball and the three-day week" and "Vote for Napoleon
and the full manger. " Benjamin was the only animal who did not side
with either faction. He refused to believe either that food would become
more plentiful or that the windmill would save work. Windmill or no
windmill, he said, life would go on as it had always gone on-that is,
badly.

Apart from the disputes over the windmill, there was the question of the
defence of the farm. It was fully realised that though the human beings
had been defeated in the Battle of the Cowshed they might make
another and more determined attempt to recapture the farm and
reinstate Mr. Jones. They had all the more reason for doing so because
the news of their defeat had spread across the countryside and made the
animals on the neighbouring farms more restive than ever. As usual,
Snowball and Napoleon were in disagreement. According to Napoleon,
what the animals must do was to procure firearms and train themselves
in the use of them. According to Snowball, they must send out more
and more pigeons and stir up rebellion among the animals on the other
farms. The one argued that if they could not defend themselves they
were bound to be conquered, the other argued that if rebellions
happened everywhere they would have no need to defend themselves.
The animals listened first to Napoleon, then to Snowball, and could not
make up their minds which was right; indeed, they always found
themselves in agreement with the one who was speaking at the
moment.

At last the day came when Snowball's plans were completed. At the
Meeting on the following Sunday the question of whether or not to
begin work on the windmill was to be put to the vote. When the
animals had assembled in the big barn, Snowball stood up and, though
occasionally interrupted by bleating from the sheep, set forth his
reasons for advocating the building of the windmill. Then Napoleon
stood up to reply. He said very quietly that the windmill was nonsense
and that he advised nobody to vote for it, and promptly sat down again;
he had spoken for barely thirty seconds, and seemed almost indifferent
as to the effect he produced. At this Snowball sprang to his feet, and


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shouting down the sheep, who had begun bleating again, broke into a
passionate appeal in favour of the windmill. Until now the animals had
been about equally divided in their sympathies, but in a moment
Snowball's eloquence had carried them away. In glowing sentences he
painted a picture of Animal Farm as it might be when sordid labour was
lifted from the animals' backs. His imagination had now run far beyond
chaff-cutters and turnip-slicers. Electricity, he said, could operate
threshing machines, ploughs, harrows, rollers, and reapers and binders,
besides supplying every stall with its own electric light, hot and cold
water, and an electric heater. By the time he had finished speaking,
there was no doubt as to which way the vote would go. But just at this
moment Napoleon stood up and, casting a peculiar sidelong look at
Snowball, uttered a high-pitched whimper of a kind no one had ever
heard him utter before.

At this there was a terrible baying sound outside, and nine enormous
dogs wearing brass-studded collars came bounding into the barn. They
dashed straight for Snowball, who only sprang from his place just in
time to escape their snapping jaws. In a moment he was out of the door
and they were after him. Too amazed and frightened to speak, all the
animals crowded through the door to watch the chase. Snowball was
racing across the long pasture that led to the road. He was running as
only a pig can run, but the dogs were close on his heels. Suddenly he
slipped and it seemed certain that they had him. Then he was up again,
running faster than ever, then the dogs were gaining on him again. One
of them all but closed his jaws on Snowball's tail, but Snowball
whisked it free just in time. Then he put on an extra spurt and, with a
few inches to spare, slipped through a hole in the hedge and was seen
no more.

Silent and terrified, the animals crept back into the bam. In a moment
the dogs came bounding back. At first no one had been able to imagine
where these creatures came from, but the problem was soon solved:
they were the puppies whom Napoleon had taken away from their
mothers and reared privately. Though not yet full-grown, they were
huge dogs, and as fierce-looking as wolves. They kept close to
Napoleon. It was noticed that they wagged their tails to him in the same
way as the other dogs had been used to do to Mr. Jones.

Napoleon, with the dogs following him, now mounted on to the raised
portion of the floor where Major had previously stood to deliver his
speech. He announced that from now on the Sunday-morning Meetings


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would come to an end. They were unnecessary, he said, and wasted
time. In future all questions relating to the working of the farm would
be settled by a special committee of pigs, presided over by himself.
These would meet in private and afterwards communicate their
decisions to the others.
The animals would still assemble on Sunday
mornings to salute the flag, sing Beasts of England, and receive their
orders for the week; but there would be no more debates.

In spite of the shock that Snowball's expulsion had given them, the
animals were dismayed by this announcement. Several of them would
have protested if they could have found the right arguments. Even
Boxer was vaguely troubled. He set his ears back, shook his forelock
several times, and tried hard to marshal his thoughts; but in the end he
could not think of anything to say. Some of the pigs themselves,
however, were more articulate. Four young porkers in the front row
uttered shrill squeals of disapproval, and all four of them sprang to their
feet and began speaking at once. But suddenly the dogs sitting round
Napoleon let out deep, menacing growls, and the pigs fell silent and sat
down again. Then the sheep broke out into a tremendous bleating of
"Four legs good, two legs bad! " which went on for nearly a quarter of
an hour and put an end to any chance of discussion.

Afterwards Squealer was sent round the farm to explain the new
arrangement to the others.

"Comrades," he said, "I trust that every animal here appreciates the
sacrifice that Comrade Napoleon has made in taking this extra labour
upon himself. Do not imagine, comrades, that leadership is a pleasure!
On the contrary, it is a deep and heavy responsibility. No one believes
more firmly than Comrade Napoleon that all animals are equal. He
would be only too happy to let you make your decisions for yourselves.
But sometimes you might make the wrong decisions, comrades, and
then where should we be? Suppose you had decided to follow
Snowball, with his moonshine of windmills-Snowball, who, as we now
know, was no better than a criminal? "

"He fought bravely at the Battle of the Cowshed," said somebody.

"Bravery is not enough," said Squealer. "Loyalty and obedience are
more important. And as to the Battle of the Cowshed, I believe the time
will come when we shall find that Snowball’s part in it was much
exaggerated. Discipline, comrades, iron discipline! That is the
watchword for today. One false step, and our enemies would be upon


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us. Surely, comrades, you do not want Jones back? "

Once again this argument was unanswerable. Certainly the animals did
not want Jones back; if the holding of debates on Sunday mornings was
liable to bring him back, then the debates must stop. Boxer, who had
now had time to think things over, voiced the general feeling by saying:
"If Comrade Napoleon says it, it must be right. " And from then on he
adopted the maxim, "Napoleon is always right," in addition to his
private motto of "I will work harder. "

By this time the weather had broken and the spring ploughing had
begun. The shed where Snowball had drawn his plans of the windmill
had been shut up and it was assumed that the plans had been rubbed off
the floor. Every Sunday morning at ten o'clock the animals assembled
in the big barn to receive their orders for the week. The skull of old
Major, now clean of flesh, had been disinterred from the orchard and
set up on a stump at the foot of the flagstaff, beside the gun. After the
hoisting of the flag, the animals were required to file past the skull in a
reverent manner before entering the barn. Nowadays they did not sit all
together as they had done in the past. Napoleon, with Squealer and
another pig named Minimus, who had a remarkable gift for composing
songs and poems, sat on the front of the raised platform, with the nine
young dogs forming a semicircle round them, and the other pigs sitting
behind. The rest of the animals sat facing them in the main body of the
barn. Napoleon read out the orders for the week in a gruff soldierly
style, and after a single singing of Beasts of England, all the animals
dispersed.

On the third Sunday after Snowball's expulsion, the animals were
somewhat surprised to hear Napoleon announce that the windmill was
to be built after all. He did not give any reason for having changed his
mind, but merely warned the animals that this extra task would mean
very hard work, it might even be necessary to reduce their rations. The
plans, however, had all been prepared, down to the last detail. A special
committee of pigs had been at work upon them for the past three weeks.
The building of the windmill, with various other improvements, was
expected to take two years.

That evening Squealer explained privately to the other animals that
Napoleon had never in reality been opposed to the windmill. On the
contrary, it was he who had advocated it in the beginning, and the plan
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actually been stolen from among Napoleon's papers. The windmill was,
in fact, Napoleon's own creation. Why, then, asked somebody, had he
spoken so strongly against it? Here Squealer looked very sly. That, he
said, was Comrade Napoleon's cunning. He had seemed to oppose the
windmill, simply as a manoeuvre to get rid of Snowball, who was a
dangerous character and a bad influence. Now that Snowball was out of
the way, the plan could go forward without his interference. This, said
Squealer, was something called tactics. He repeated a number of times,
"Tactics, comrades, tactics! " skipping round and whisking his tail with
a merry laugh. The animals were not certain what the word meant, but
Squealer spoke so persuasively, and the three dogs who happened to be
with him growled so threateningly, that they accepted his explanation
without further questions.


VI

ALL that year the animals worked like slaves. But they were happy in
their work; they grudged no effort or sacrifice, well aware that
everything that they did was for the benefit of themselves and those of
their kind who would come after them, and not for a pack of idle,
thieving human beings.

Throughout the spring and summer they worked a sixty-hour week, and
in August Napoleon announced that there would be work on Sunday
afternoons as well. This work was strictly voluntary, but any animal
who absented himself from it would have his rations reduced by half.
Even so, it was found necessary to leave certain tasks undone. The
harvest was a little less successful than in the previous year, and two
fields which should have been sown with roots in the early summer
were not sown because the ploughing had not been completed early
enough. It was possible to foresee that the coming winter would be a
hard one.

The windmill presented unexpected difficulties. There was a good
quarry of limestone on the farm, and plenty of sand and cement had
been found in one of the outhouses, so that all the materials for building
were at hand. But the problem the animals could not at first solve was
how to break up the stone into pieces of suitable size. There seemed no
way of doing this except with picks and crowbars, which no animal


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could use, because no animal could stand on his hind legs. Only after
weeks of vain effort did the right idea occur to somebody-namely, to
utilise the force of gravity. Huge boulders, far too big to be used as they
were, were lying all over the bed of the quarry. The animals lashed
ropes round these, and then all together, cows, horses, sheep, any
animal that could lay hold of the rope-even the pigs sometimes joined
in at critical moments-they dragged them with desperate slowness up
the slope to the top of the quarry, where they were toppled over the
edge, to shatter to pieces below. Transporting the stone when it was
once broken was comparatively simple. The horses carried it off in
cart-loads, the sheep dragged single blocks, even Muriel and Benjamin
yoked themselves into an old governess-cart and did their share. By late
summer a sufficient store of stone had accumulated, and then the
building began, under the superintendence of the pigs.

But it was a slow, laborious process. Frequently it took a whole day of
exhausting effort to drag a single boulder to the top of the quarry, and
sometimes when it was pushed over the edge it failed to break. Nothing
could have been achieved without Boxer, whose strength seemed equal
to that of all the rest of the animals put together. When the boulder
began to slip and the animals cried out in despair at finding themselves
dragged down the hill, it was always Boxer who strained himself
against the rope and brought the boulder to a stop. To see him toiling
up the slope inch by inch, his breath coming fast, the tips of his hoofs
clawing at the ground, and his great sides matted with sweat, filled
everyone with admiration. Clover warned him sometimes to be careful
not to overstrain himself, but Boxer would never listen to her. His two
slogans, "I will work harder" and "Napoleon is always right," seemed to
him a sufficient answer to all problems. He had made arrangements
with the cockerel to call him three-quarters of an hour earlier in the
mornings instead of half an hour. And in his spare moments, of which
there were not many nowadays, he would go alone to the quarry, collect
a load of broken stone, and drag it down to the site of the windmill
unassisted.

The animals were not badly off throughout that summer, in spite of the
hardness of their work. If they had no more food than they had had in
Jones's day, at least they did not have less. The advantage of only
having to feed themselves, and not having to support five extravagant
human beings as well, was so great that it would have taken a lot of
failures to outweigh it. And in many ways the animal method of doing


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things was more efficient and saved labour. Such jobs as weeding, for
instance, could be done with a thoroughness impossible to human
beings. And again, since no animal now stole, it was unnecessary to
fence off pasture from arable land, which saved a lot of labour on the
upkeep of hedges and gates. Nevertheless, as the summer wore on,
various unforeseen shortages began to make them selves felt. There was
need of paraffin oil, nails, string, dog biscuits, and iron for the horses'
shoes, none of which could be produced on the farm. Later there would
also be need for seeds and artificial manures, besides various tools and,
finally, the machinery for the windmill. How these were to be procured,
no one was able to imagine.

One Sunday morning, when the animals assembled to receive their
orders, Napoleon announced that he had decided upon a new policy.
From now onwards Animal Farm would engage in trade with the
neighbouring farms: not, of course, for any commercial purpose, but
simply in order to obtain certain materials which were urgently
necessary. The needs of the windmill must override everything else, he
said. He was therefore making arrangements to sell a stack of hay and
part of the current year's wheat crop, and later on, if more money were
needed, it would have to be made up by the sale of eggs, for which
there was always a market in Willingdon. The hens, said Napoleon,
should welcome this sacrifice as their own special contribution towards
the building of the windmill.

Once again the animals were conscious of a vague uneasiness. Never to
have any dealings with human beings, never to engage in trade, never
to make use of money-had not these been among the earliest resolutions
passed at that first triumphant Meeting after Jones was expelled? All
the animals remembered passing such resolutions: or at least they
thought that they remembered it. The four young pigs who had
protested when Napoleon abolished the Meetings raised their voices
timidly, but they were promptly silenced by a tremendous growling
from the dogs. Then, as usual, the sheep broke into "Four legs good,
two legs bad! " and the momentary awkwardness was smoothed over.
Finally Napoleon raised his trotter for silence and announced that he
had already made all the arrangements. There would be no need for any
of the animals to come in contact with human beings, which would
clearly be most undesirable. He intended to take the whole burden upon
his own shoulders. A Mr. Whymper, a solicitor living in Willingdon,
had agreed to act as intermediary between Animal Farm and the outside


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world, and would visit the farm every Monday morning to receive his
instructions. Napoleon ended his speech with his usual cry of "Long
live Animal Farm! " and after the singing of Beasts of England the
animals were dismissed.

Afterwards Squealer made a round of the farm and set the animals'
minds at rest. He assured them that the resolution against engaging in
trade and using money had never been passed, or even suggested. It
was pure imagination, probably traceable in the beginning to lies
circulated by Snowball. A few animals still felt faintly doubtful, but
Squealer asked them shrewdly, "Are you certain that this is not
something that you have dreamed, comrades? Have you any record of
such a resolution? Is it written down anywhere? " And since it was
certainly true that nothing of the kind existed in writing, the animals
were satisfied that they had been mistaken.

Every Monday Mr. Whymper visited the farm as had been arranged. He
was a sly-looking little man with side whiskers, a solicitor in a very
small way of business, but sharp enough to have realised earlier than
anyone else that Animal Farm would need a broker and that the
commissions would be worth having. The animals watched his coming
and going with a kind of dread, and avoided him as much as possible.
Nevertheless, the sight of Napoleon, on all fours, delivering orders to
Whymper, who stood on two legs, roused their pride and partly
reconciled them to the new arrangement. Their relations with the
human race were now not quite the same as they had been before. The
human beings did not hate Animal Farm any less now that it was
prospering; indeed, they hated it more than ever. Every human being
held it as an article of faith that the farm would go bankrupt sooner or
later, and, above all, that the windmill would be a failure. They would
meet in the public-houses and prove to one another by means of
diagrams that the windmill was bound to fall down, or that if it did
stand up, then that it would never work. And yet, against their will, they
had developed a certain respect for the efficiency with which the
animals were managing their own affairs. One symptom of this was that
they had begun to call Animal Farm by its proper name and ceased to
pretend that it was called the Manor Farm. They had also dropped their
championship of Jones, who had given up hope of getting his farm back
and gone to live in another part of the county. Except through
Whymper, there was as yet no contact between Animal Farm and the
outside world, but there were constant rumours that Napoleon was


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about to enter into a definite business agreement either with Mr.
Pilkington of Foxwood or with Mr. Frederick of Pinchfield-but never, it
was noticed, with both simultaneously.

It was about this time that the pigs suddenly moved into the farmhouse
and took up their residence there. Again the animals seemed to
remember that a resolution against this had been passed in the early
days, and again Squealer was able to convince them that this was not
the case. It was absolutely necessary, he said, that the pigs, who were
the brains of the farm, should have a quiet place to work in. It was also
more suited to the dignity of the Leader (for of late he had taken to
speaking of Napoleon under the title of "Leader") to live in a house
than in a mere sty. Nevertheless, some of the animals were disturbed
when they heard that the pigs not only took their meals in the kitchen
and used the drawing-room as a recreation room, but also slept in the
beds. Boxer passed it off as usual with "Napoleon is always right! ", but
Clover, who thought she remembered a definite ruling against beds,
went to the end of the bam and tried to puzzle out the Seven
Commandments which were inscribed there. Finding herself unable to
read more than individual letters, she fetched Muriel.

"Muriel," she said, "read me the Fourth Commandment. Does it not say
something about never sleeping in a bed? "

With some difficulty Muriel spelt it out.

"It says, 'No animal shall sleep in a bed with sheets,"’ she announced
finally.

Curiously enough, Clover had not remembered that the Fourth
Commandment mentioned sheets; but as it was there on the wall, it
must have done so. And Squealer, who happened to be passing at this
moment, attended by two or three dogs, was able to put the whole
matter in its proper perspective.

"You have heard then, comrades," he said, "that we pigs now sleep in
the beds of the farmhouse? And why not? You did not suppose, surely,
that there was ever a ruling against beds? A bed merely means a place
to sleep in. A pile of straw in a stall is a bed, properly regarded. The
rule was against sheets, which are a human invention. We have
removed the sheets from the farmhouse beds, and sleep between
blankets. And very comfortable beds they are too! But not more
comfortable than we need, I can tell you, comrades, with all the


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brainwork we have to do nowadays. You would not rob us of our
repose, would you, comrades? You would not have us too tired to carry
out our duties? Surely none of you wishes to see Jones back? "

The animals reassured him on this point immediately, and no more was
said about the pigs sleeping in the farmhouse beds. And when, some
days afterwards, it was announced that from now on the pigs would get
up an hour later in the mornings than the other animals, no complaint
was made about that either.

By the autumn the animals were tired but happy. They had had a hard
year, and after the sale of part of the hay and corn, the stores of food for
the winter were none too plentiful, but the windmill compensated for
everything. It was almost half built now. After the harvest there was a
stretch of clear dry weather, and the animals toiled harder than ever,
thinking it well worth while to plod to and fro all day with blocks of
stone if by doing so they could raise the walls another foot. Boxer
would even come out at nights and work for an hour or two on his own
by the light of the harvest moon. In their spare moments the animals
would walk round and round the half-finished mill, admiring the
strength and perpendicularity of its walls and marvelling that they
should ever have been able to build anything so imposing. Only old
Benjamin refused to grow enthusiastic about the windmill, though, as
usual, he would utter nothing beyond the cryptic remark that donkeys
live a long time.

November came, with raging south-west winds. Building had to stop
because it was now too wet to mix the cement. Finally there came a
night when the gale was so violent that the farm buildings rocked on
their foundations and several tiles were blown off the roof of the barn.
The hens woke up squawking with terror because they had all dreamed
simultaneously of hearing a gun go off in the distance. In the morning
the animals came out of their stalls to find that the flagstaff had been
blown down and an elm tree at the foot of the orchard had been plucked
up like a radish. They had just noticed this when a cry of despair broke
from every animal's throat. A terrible sight had met their eyes. The
windmill was in ruins.

With one accord they dashed down to the spot. Napoleon, who seldom
moved out of a walk, raced ahead of them all. Yes, there it lay, the fruit
of all their struggles, levelled to its foundations, the stones they had
broken and carried so laboriously scattered all around. Unable at first to


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