Animal Farm, published in 1945 by George Orwell, is a satirical novella that uses a group of farm animals to allegorize the events of the Russian Revolution of 1917 and the subsequent rise of Stalinism. It is famous for its critique of totalitarianism and how revolutionary ideals can be corrupted by power.
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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