Animal farm

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 o 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

uttering 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 dierent 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
uttered up to the rafters, the sheep and cows lay
down behind the pigs and began to chew the 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 gure 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 rst-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
1

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, led into the barn, cheeping feebly and wandering from side to
side to nd 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
irting 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 nally 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 rst. I
do not think, comrades, that I shall be with you for many 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 aord 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 aording 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.
2

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 chickens? The rest
have all gone to market to bring in money for Jones and his men. And you,
Clover, where are those four foals you bore, who should have been the support
and pleasure of your old age? Each was sold at a year old | you will never see
one of them again. In return for your four connements and all your labour in
the elds, what have you ever had except your bare rations and a stall?
`And even the miserable lives we lead are not allowed to reach their natural
span. For myself I do not grumble, for I am one of the lucky ones. I am twelve
years old and have had over four hundred children. Such is the natural life of
a pig. But no animal escapes the cruel knife in the end. You young porkers
who are sitting in front of me, every one of you will scream your lives out at the
block within a year. To that horror we all must come | cows, pigs, hens, sheep,
everyone. Even the horses and the dogs have no better fate. You, Boxer, the
very day that those great muscles of yours lose their power, Jones will sell you
to the knacker, who will cut your throat and boil you down for the foxhounds.
As for the dogs, when they grow old and toothless, Jones ties a brick round
their necks and drowns them in the nearest pond.
`Is it not crystal clear, then, comrades, that all the evils of this life of ours
spring from the tyranny of human beings? Only get rid of Man, and the produce
of our labour would be our own. A1most overnight we could become rich and
free. What then must we do? Why, work night and day, body and soul, for the
overthrow of the human race! That is my message to you, comrades: Rebellion!
I do not know when that Rebellion will come, it might be in a week or in a
hundred years, but I know, as surely as I see this straw beneath my feet, that
sooner or later justice will be done. Fix your eyes on that, comrades, throughout
the short remainder of your lives! And above all, pass on this message of mine to
those who come after you, so that future generations shall carry on the struggle
until it is victorious.
`And remember, comrades, your resolution must never falter. No argument
must lead you astray. Never listen when they tell you that Man and the animals
have a common interest, that the prosperity of the one is the prosperity of the
others. It is all lies. Man serves the interests of no creature except himself.
And among us animals let there be perfect unity, perfect comradeship in the
struggle. All men are enemies. All animals are comrades.'
At this moment there was a tremendous uproar. While Major was speaking
four large rats had crept out of their holes and were sitting on their hindquarters,
listening to him. The dogs had suddenly caught sight of them, and it was only
by a swift dash for their holes that the rats saved their lives. Major raised his
trotter for silence.
`Comrades,' he said, `here is a point that must be settled. The wild creatures,
such as rats and rabbits | are they our friends or our enemies? Let us put it
to the vote. I propose this question to the meeting: Are rats comrades?'
The vote was taken at once, and it was agreed by an overwhelming majority
that rats were comrades. There were only four dissentients, the three dogs and
the cat, who was afterwards discovered to have voted on both sides. Major
continued:
3

`I have little more to say. I merely repeat, remember always your duty of
enmity towards Man and all his ways. Whatever goes upon two legs is an enemy.
Whatever goes upon four legs, or has wings, is a friend. And remember also
that in ghting against Man, we must not come to resemble him. Even when
you have conquered him, do not adopt his vices. No animal must ever live in
a house, or sleep in a bed, or wear clothes, or drink alcohol, or smoke tobacco,
or touch money, or engage in trade. All the habits of Man are evil. And, above
all, no animal must ever tyrannise over his own kind. Weak or strong, clever
or simple, we are all brothers. No animal must ever kill any other animal. All
animals are equal.
`And now, comrades, I will tell you about my dream of last night. I cannot
describe that dream to you. It was a dream of the earth as it will be when Man
has vanished. But it reminded me of something that I had long forgotten. Many
years ago, when I was a little pig, my mother and the other sows used to sing
an old song of which they knew only the tune and the rst three words. I had
known that tune in my infancy, but it had long since passed out of my mind.
Last night, however, it came back to me in my dream. And what is more, the
words of the song also came back | words, I am certain, which were sung by
the animals of long ago and have been lost to memory for generations. I will
sing you that song now, comrades. I am old and my voice is hoarse, but when
I have taught you the tune, you can sing it better for yourselves. It is called
Beasts of England.'
Old Major cleared his throat and began to sing. As he had said, his voice
was hoarse, but he sang well enough, and it was a stirring tune, something
between Clementine and La Cucaracha. The words ran:
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 elds 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 elds 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 them-
selves. 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 ve 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
y 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
ed 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.
5

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 erce-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
dicult 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 asked
such questions as `Why should we care what happens after we are dead?' or `If
this Rebellion is to happen anyway, what dierence does it make whether we
work for it or not?', and the pigs had great diculty 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 rst question she asked Snowball
was: `Will there still be sugar after the Rebellion? '
`No,' said Snowball rmly. `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
6

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 diculty 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 elds were full of weeds, the buildings wanted roong,
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 the World over his face,
so that when evening came, the animals were still unfed. At last they could
stand it no longer. One of the cows broke in the door of the store-shed with
her horn and all the animals began to help themselves from the bins. It was
just then that Mr. Jones woke up. The next moment he and his four men
were in the store-shed with whips in their hands, lashing out in all directions.
This was more than the hungry animals could bear. With one accord, though
nothing of the kind had been planned beforehand, they
ung themselves upon
their tormentors. Jones and his men suddenly found themselves being butted
and kicked from all sides. The situation was quite out of their control. They
had never seen animals behave like this before, and this sudden uprising of
creatures whom they were used to thrashing and maltreating just as they chose,
frightened them almost out of their wits. After only a moment or two they gave
up trying to defend themselves and took to their heels. A minute later all ve
of them were in full
ight down the cart-track that led to the main road, with
the animals pursuing them in triumph.
Mrs. Jones looked out of the bedroom window, saw what was happening,
hurriedly
ung a few possessions into a carpet bag, and slipped out of the farm
7

by another way. Moses sprang o his perch and
apped after her, croaking
loudly. Meanwhile the animals had chased Jones and his men out on to the
road and slammed the ve-barred gate behind them. And so, almost before
they knew what was happening, the Rebellion had been successfully carried
through: Jones was expelled, and the Manor Farm was theirs.
For the rst few minutes the animals could hardly believe in their good
fortune. Their rst act was to gallop in a body right round the boundaries
of the farm, as though to make quite sure that no human being was hiding
anywhere upon it; then they raced back to the farm buildings to wipe out the
last traces of Jones's hated reign. The harness-room at the end of the stables
was broken open; the bits, the nose-rings, the dog-chains, the cruel knives with
which Mr. Jones had been used to castrate the pigs and lambs, were all
ung
down the well. The reins, the halters, the blinkers, the degrading nosebags,
were thrown on to the rubbish re which was burning in the yard. So were the
whips. All the animals capered with joy when they saw the whips going up in

ames. Snowball also threw on to the re the ribbons with which the horses'
manes and tails had usually been decorated on market days.
`Ribbons,' he said, `should be considered as clothes, which are the mark of
a human being. All animals should go naked.'
When Boxer heard this he fetched the small straw hat which he wore in
summer to keep the
ies out of his ears, and
ung it on to the re with the rest.
In a very little while the animals had destroyed everything that reminded
them of Mr. Jones. Napoleon then led them back to the store-shed and served
out a double ration of corn to everybody, with two biscuits for each dog. Then
they sang Beasts of England from end to end seven times running, and after
that they settled down for the night and slept as they had never slept before.
But they woke at dawn as usual, and suddenly remembering the glorious
thing that had happened, they all raced out into the pasture together. A little
way down the pasture there was a knoll that commanded a view of most of
the farm. The animals rushed to the top of it and gazed round them in the
clear morning light. Yes, it was theirs | everything that they could see was
theirs! In the ecstasy of that thought they gambolled round and round, they
hurled themselves into the air in great leaps of excitement.They rolled in the
dew, they cropped mouthfuls of the sweet summer grass, they kicked up clods of
the black earth and snued its rich scent. Then they made a tour of inspection
of the whole farm and surveyed with speechless admiration the ploughland, the
hayeld, the orchard, the pool, the spinney. It was as though they had never
seen these things before, and even now they could hardly believe that it was all
their own.
Then they led back to the farm buildings and halted in silence outside
the door of the farmhouse. That was theirs too, but they were frightened to
go inside. After a moment, however, Snowball and Napoleon butted the door
open with their shoulders and the animals entered in single le, walking with
the utmost care for fear of disturbing anything. They tiptoed from room to
room, afraid to speak above a whisper and gazing with a kind of awe at the
unbelievable luxury, at the beds with their feather mattresses, the looking-
glasses, the horsehair sofa, the Brussels carpet, the lithograph of Queen Victoria
over the drawing-room mantelpiece. They were lust coming down the stairs
when Mollie was discovered to be missing. Going back, the others found that she
had remained behind in the best bedroom. She had taken a piece of blue ribbon
8

from Mrs. Jones's dressing-table, and was holding it against her shoulder and
admiring herself in the glass in a very foolish manner. The others reproached
her sharply, and they went outside. Some hams hanging in the kitchen were
taken out for burial, and the barrel of beer in the scullery was stove in with
a kick from Boxer's hoof, | otherwise nothing in the house was touched. A
unanimous resolution was passed on the spot that the farmhouse should be
preserved as a museum. All were agreed that no animal must ever live there.
The animals had their breakfast, and then Snowball and Napoleon called
them together again.
`Comrades,' said Snowball, `it is half-past six and we have a long day before
us. Today we begin the hay harvest. But there is another matter that must be
attended to rst.'
The pigs now revealed that during the past three months they had taught
themselves to read and write from an old spelling book which had belonged to
Mr. Jones's children and which had been thrown on the rubbish heap. Napoleon
sent for pots of black and white paint and led the way down to the ve-barred
gate that gave on to the main road. Then Snowball (for it was Snowball who was
best at writing) took a brush between the two knuckles of his trotter, painted out
MANOR FARM from the top bar of the gate and in its place painted ANIMAL
FARM. This was to be the name of the farm from now onwards. After this
they went back to the farm buildings, where Snowball and Napoleon sent for
a ladder which they caused to be set against the end wall of the big barn.
They explained that by their studies of the past three months the pigs had
succeeded in reducing the principles of Animalism to Seven Commandments.
These Seven Commandments would now be inscribed on the wall; they would
form an unalterable law by which all the animals on Animal Farm must live for
ever after. With some diculty (for it is not easy for a pig to balance himself on
a ladder) Snowball climbed up and set to work, with Squealer a few rungs below
him holding the paint-pot. The Commandments were written on the tarred wall
in great white letters that could be read thirty yards away. They ran thus:
THE SEVEN COMMANDMENTS
1. Whatever goes upon two legs is an enemy.
2. Whatever goes upon four legs, or has wings, is a friend.
3. No animal shall wear clothes.
4. No animal shall sleep in a bed.
5. No animal shall drink alcohol.
6. No animal shall kill any other animal.
7. All animals are equal.
It was very neatly written, and except that `friend' was written `freind' and
one of the `S's' was the wrong way round, the spelling was correct all the way
through. Snowball read it aloud for the benet of the others. All the animals
nodded in complete agreement, and the cleverer ones at once began to learn the
Commandments by heart.
9