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George Orwell > Animal
Farm > Chapter
I

Animal Farm

Chapter I

Mr.
Jones, of the Manor Farm, had locked the
hen-houses for the night, but
was too drunk
to remember to shut the pop-holes. 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 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 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 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
confinements and all your labour in the

fields, 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. Almost 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:

"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 fighting 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 first 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 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;

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.

Forward >

Index
Index

Chapter
I

Chapter
II

Chapter
III

Chapter
IV

Chapter
V

Chapter
VI

Chapter
VII

Chapter
VIII

Chapter
IX

Chapter
X

Other
Authors:

> Charles
Darwin
> Charles
Dickens
> Mark
Twain
> William
Shakespeare

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