Animal Farm

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, 

Though we die before it break; 

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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. 

II

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  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

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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  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.  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