Chapter V
As winter drew on, Mollie became more and more trouble-
some. She was late for work every morning and excused
herself by saying that she had overslept, and she com-
plained 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, begin-
ning 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.
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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.
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 Will-
ingdon. 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
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Chapter V
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.
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
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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.
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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 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 re-
alised 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 do-
ing so because the news of their defeat had spread across
the countryside and made the animals on the neighbour-
ing 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
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train themselves in the use of them. According to Snow-
ball, 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 com-
pleted. At the Meeting on the following Sunday the ques-
tion 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 occasion-
ally 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 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 glow-
ing 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
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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 Snow-
ball, 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
barn. 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.
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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 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 announce-
ment. 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.
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Afterwards Squealer was sent round the farm to ex-
plain the new arrangement to the others.
“Comrades,” he said, “I trust that every animal here ap-
preciates 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. Disci-
pline, comrades, iron discipline! That is the watchword
for today. One false step, and our enemies would be upon
us. Surely, comrades, you do not want Jones back?”
Once again this argument was unanswerable. Cer-
tainly 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.”
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Chapter V
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 an-
nounce 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 re-
duce 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.
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Chapter V
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 ad-
vocated it in the beginning, and the plan which Snowball
had drawn on the floor of the incubator shed had 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 wind-
mill, 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.
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