animal farm

175 Pages·2001·0.33 MB·English

by  George Orwell

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ALL ANIMALS ARE EQUAL
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BUT SOME ANIMALS ARE MORE EQUAL THAN
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OTHERS .......
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"I trust that every animal here appreciates the
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sacrifice that Comrade Na(cid:9)poleon has made in taking this
extra labour upon himself. Do not imagine, comrades, that
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leadership is a pleasure! On the contrary, it is a deep and
heavy responsibility. No one believes more firmly than
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Comrade Napoleon that all animals are equal. He would be
only too hap(cid:5)py to let you make your decisions for
yourselves. But sometimes you might make the wrong
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decisions, comrades, and then where should we be?
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Animal Farm By George Orwell
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Contents
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Chapter I.................................................... 3
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Chapter III............................................... 33
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Chapter IV................................................ 46
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Chapter V ................................................. 56
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Chapter VI................................................ 74
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Chapter VII .............................................. 90
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Chapter VIII........................................... 111
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Chapter IX.............................................. 135
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Chapter X ............................................... 156
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Animal Farm By George Orwell
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Chapter I
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Mr. Jones, of the Manor Farm, had locked
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the hen-houses for the night, but was too drunk to
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remember to shut the pop-holes. With the ring of
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light from his lantern dancing from side to side, he
lurched across the yard, kicked(cid:6) off his boots at the
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back door, drew himself a las(cid:2)t glass of beer from the
barrel in the scullery, and (cid:10)made his way up to bed,
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where Mrs. Jones was al(cid:9)ready snoring.
As soon as the light in the bedroom went out
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there was a stirring and a fluttering all through the
farm buildings. W(cid:6)ord had gone round during the day
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that old Major, the prize Middle White boar, had had
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a strange dream on the previous night and wished
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to communicate it to the other animals. It had been
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agreed that they should all meet in the big barn as
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soon as Mr. Jones was safely out of the way. Old
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Major (so he was always called, though the name
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under which he had been exhibited was Willingdon
Beauty) was so highly regarded on the farm that
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everyone was quite ready to lose an hour’s sleep in
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order to hear what he had to say.
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At one end of the big barn, on a sort of
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raised platform, Major was already ensconced on his
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bed of straw, under a lantern which hung from a
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beam. He was twelve years old and had lately grown
rather stout, but he was still a (cid:6)majestic-looking pig,
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with a wise and benevolent (cid:2)appearance in spite of
the fact that his tushes ha(cid:10)d never been cut. Before
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long the other animals(cid:9) began to arrive and make
themselves comfortable after their different
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fashions. First came the three dogs, Bluebell, Jessie,
and Pincher, and(cid:6) then the pigs, who settled down in
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the straw immediately in front of the platform. The
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hens perched themselves on the window-sills, the
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pigeons fluttered up to the rafters, the sheep and
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cows lay down behind the pigs and began to chew
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the cud. The two cart-horses, Boxer and Clover,
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came in together, walking very slowly and setting
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down their vast hairy hoofs with great care lest
there should be some small animal concealed in the
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straw. Clover was a stout motherly mare
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approaching middle life, who had never quite got her
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figure back after her fourth foal. Boxer was an
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enormous beast, nearly eighteen hands high, and as
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strong as any two ordinary horses put together. A
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white stripe down his nose gave him a somewhat
stupid appearance, and in fact (cid:6)he was not of first-
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rate intelligence, but he wa(cid:2)s universally respected
for his steadiness of ch(cid:10)aracter and tremendous
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powers of work. After t(cid:9)he horses came Muriel, the
white goat, and Benjamin, the donkey. Benjamin
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was the oldest animal on the farm, and the worst
tempered. He s(cid:6)eldom talked, and when he did, it
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was usually to make some cynical remark--for
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instance, he would say that God had given him a tail
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to keep the flies off, but that he would sooner have
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had no tail and no flies. Alone among the animals on
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the farm he never laughed. If asked why, he would
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say that he saw nothing to laugh at. Nevertheless,
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without openly admitting it, he was devoted to
Boxer; the two of them usually spent their Sundays
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together in the small paddock beyond the orchard,
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grazing side by side and never speaking.
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The two horses had just lain down when a
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brood of ducklings, which had lost their mother, filed
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into the barn, cheeping feebly and wandering from
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side to side to find some place where they would not
be trodden on. Clover made a(cid:6) sort of wall round
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them with her great forele(cid:2)g, and the ducklings
nestled down inside it and(cid:10) promptly fell asleep. At
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the last moment Mollie(cid:9), the foolish, pretty white
mare who drew Mr. Jones’s trap, came mincing
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daintily in, chewing at a lump of sugar. She took a
place near the (cid:6)front and began flirting her white
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mane, hoping to draw attention to the red ribbons it
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was plaited with. Last of all came the cat, who
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looked round, as usual, for the warmest place, and
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finally squeezed herself in between Boxer and
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Clover; there she purred contentedly throughout
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Major’s speech without listening to a word of what
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he was saying.
All the animals were now present except
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Moses, the tame raven, who slept on a perch behind
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the back door. When Major saw that they had all
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made themselves comfortable and were waiting
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attentively, he cleared his throat and began:
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"Comrades, you have heard already about
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the strange dream that I had last night. But I will
come to the dream later. I hav(cid:6)e something else to
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say first. I do not think, com(cid:2)rades, that I shall be
with you for many months (cid:10)longer, and before I die, I
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feel it my duty to pass (cid:9)on to you such wisdom as I
have acquired. I have had a long life, I have had
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much time for thought as I lay alone in my stall, and
I think I may say(cid:6) that I understand the nature of life
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on this earth as well as any animal now living. It is
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about this that I wish to speak to you.
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"Now, comrades, what is the nature of this
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life of ours? Let us face it: our lives are miserable,
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laborious, and short. We are born, we are given just
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so much food as will keep the breath in our bodies,
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and those of us who are capable of it are forced to
work to the last atom of our strength; and the very
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instant that our usefulness has come to an end we
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are slaughtered with hideous cruelty. No animal in
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England knows the meaning of happiness or leisure
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after he is a year old. No animal in England is free.
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The life of an animal is misery and slavery: that is
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the plain truth.
"But is this simply pa(cid:6)rt of the order of
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nature? Is it because this land(cid:2) of ours is so poor that
it cannot afford a decent(cid:10) life to those who dwell
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upon it? No, comrades(cid:9), a thousand times no! The
soil of England is fertile, its climate is good, it is
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capable of affording food in abundance to an
enormously grea(cid:6)ter number of animals than now
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inhabit it. This single farm of ours would support a
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dozen horses, twenty cows, hundreds of sheep--and
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all of them living in a comfort and a dignity that are
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now almost beyond our imagining. Why then do we
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continue in this miserable condition? Because nearly
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the whole of the produce of our labour is stolen from
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us by human beings. There, comrades, is the answer
to all our problems. It is summed up in a single
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word--Man. Man is the only real enemy we have.
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Remove Man from the scene, and the root cause of
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hunger and overwork is abolished for ever.
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"Man is the only creature that consumes
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without producing. He does not give milk, he does
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not lay eggs, he is too weak to pull the plough, he
cannot run fast enough to catc(cid:6)h rabbits. Yet he is
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lord of all the animals. He (cid:2)sets them to work, he
gives back to them the (cid:10)bare minimum that will
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prevent them from star(cid:9)ving, and the rest he keeps
for himself. Our labour tills the soil, our dung
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fertilises it, and yet there is not one of us that owns
more than his ba(cid:6)re skin. You cows that I see before
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me, how many thousands of gallons of milk have
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you given during this last year? And what has
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happened to that milk which should have been
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breeding up sturdy calves? Every drop of it has gone
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down the throats of our enemies. And you hens,
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how many eggs have you laid in this last year, and
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how many of those eggs ever hatched into chickens?
The rest have all gone to market to bring in money
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for Jones and his men. And you, Clover, where are
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those four foals you bore, who should have been the
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support and pleasure of your old age? Each was sold
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at a year old--you will never see one of them again.
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In return for your four confinements and all your
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labour in the fields, what have you ever had except
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"And even the miser(cid:2)able lives we lead are
not allowed to reach their (cid:10)natural span. For myself I
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do not grumble, for I am(cid:9) one of the lucky ones. I am
twelve years old and have had over four hundred
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children. Such is the natural life of a pig. But no
animal escapes t(cid:6)he cruel knife in the end. You young
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porkers who are sitting in front of me, every one of
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you will scream your lives out at the block within a
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year. To that horror we all must come--cows, pigs,
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hens, sheep, everyone. Even the horses and the
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dogs have no better fate. You, Boxer, the very day
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that those great muscles of yours lose their power,
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Jones will sell you to the knacker, who will cut your
throat and boil you down for the foxhounds. As for
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