continuation from
above
There was nothing with which they could compare their present
lives: they had nothing to go upon except Squealer's lists of
figures, which invariably demonstrated that everything was getting
better and better.
The animals found the problem insoluble; in any case, they had
little time for speculating on such things now. Only old
Benjamin professed to remember every detail of his long life and to
know that things never had been, nor ever could be much better or
much worse-hunger, hardship, and disappointment being, so he said,
the unalterable law of life.
And yet the animals never gave up hope.
More, they never lost, even for an instant, their sense of honour
and privilege in being members of Animal
Farm.
They were still the only farm in the whole county-in all
England!-owned and operated by animals.
Not one of them, not even the youngest, not even the newcomers who
had been brought from farms ten or twenty miles away, ever ceased
to marvel at that. And when they heard the gun booming and saw the
green flag fluttering at the masthead, their hearts swelled with
imperishable pride, and the talk turned always towards the old
heroic days, the expulsion of Jones, the writing of the Seven
Commandments, the great battles in which the human invaders had
been defeated.
None of the old dreams had been abandoned. The Republic of the
Animals which Major had foretold, when the green fields of England
should be untrodden by human feet, was still believed in.
It might be that their lives were hard and that not all of their
hopes had been fulfilled; but they were conscious that they were
not as other animals. If they went hungry, it was not from feeding
tyrannical human beings; if they worked hard, at least they worked
for themselves.
No creature among them went upon two legs.
No creature called any other creature "Master." All animals were
equal.
One day in early summer Squealer ordered the sheep to follow him,
and led them out to a piece of waste ground at the other end of the
farm, which had become overgrown with birch saplings. The sheep
spent the whole day there browsing at the leaves under Squealer's
supervision. In the evening he returned to the farmhouse himself,
but, as it was warm weather, told the sheep to stay where they
were. It ended by their remaining there for a whole week, during
which time the other animals saw nothing of them. Squealer was with
them for the greater part of every day. He was, he said, teaching
them to sing a new song, for which privacy was needed.
It was just after the sheep had returned, on a pleasant evening
when the animals had finished work and were making their way back
to the farm buildings, that the terrified neighing of a horse
sounded from the yard. Startled, the animals stopped in their
tracks. It was Clover's voice. She neighed again, and all the
animals broke into a gallop and rushed into the yard. Then they saw
what Clover had seen.
It was a pig walking on his hind legs.
Yes, it was Squealer. A little awkwardly, as though not quite used
to supporting his considerable bulk in that position, but with
perfect balance, he was strolling across the yard. And a moment
later, out from the door of the farmhouse came a long file of pigs,
all walking on their hind legs. Some did it better than others, one
or two were even a trifle unsteady and looked as though they would
have liked the support of a stick, but every one of them made his
way right round the yard successfully. And finally there was a
tremendous baying of dogs and a shrill crowing from the black
cockerel, and out came Napoleon himself, majestically upright,
casting haughty glances from side to side, and with his dogs
gambolling round him.
He carried a whip in his trotter.
There was a deadly silence. Amazed, terrified, huddling together,
the animals watched the long line of pigs march slowly round the
yard. It was as though the world had turned upside-down. Then there
came a moment when the first shock had worn off and when, in spite
of everything-in spite of their terror of the dogs, and of the
habit, developed through long years, of never complaining, never
criticising, no matter what happened-they might have uttered some
word of protest. But just at that moment, as though at a signal,
all the sheep burst out into a tremendous bleating of-
"Four legs good, two legs better! Four legs good, two legs
better! Four legs good, two legs better!"
It went on for five minutes without stopping. And by the time the
sheep had quieted down, the chance to utter any protest had passed,
for the pigs had marched back into the farmhouse.
Benjamin felt a nose nuzzling at his shoulder. He looked round. It
was Clover. Her old eyes looked dimmer than ever. Without saying
anything, she tugged gently at his mane and led him round to the
end of the big barn, where the Seven Commandments were written. For
a minute or two they stood gazing at the tatted wall with its white
lettering.
"My sight is failing," she said finally. "Even when I was young I
could not have read what was written there. But it appears to me
that that wall looks different. Are the Seven Commandments the same
as they used to be, Benjamin?"
For once Benjamin consented to break his rule, and he read out to
her what was written on the wall. There was nothing there now
except a single Commandment. It ran:
ALL ANIMALS ARE EQUAL
BUT SOME ANIMALS ARE MORE EQUAL THAN OTHERS
After that it did not seem strange when next day the pigs who were
supervising the work of the farm all carried whips in their
trotters.
It did not seem strange to learn that the pigs had bought
themselves a wireless set, were arranging to install a telephone,
and had taken out subscriptions to John Bull, TitBits, and the
Daily Mirror.
It did not seem strange when Napoleon was seen strolling in the
farmhouse garden with a pipe in his mouth-no, not even when the
pigs took Mr. Jones's clothes out of the wardrobes and put them on,
Napoleon himself appearing in a black coat, ratcatcher breeches,
and leather leggings, while his favourite sow appeared in the
watered silk dress which Mrs. Jones had been used to wear on
Sundays.
That evening loud laughter and bursts of singing came from the
farmhouse. And suddenly, at the sound of the mingled voices, the
animals were stricken with curiosity. What could be happening in
there, now that for the first time animals and human beings were
meeting on terms of equality? With one accord they began to creep
as quietly as possible into the farmhouse garden.
At the gate they paused, half frightened to go on but Clover led
the way in. They tiptoed up to the house, and such animals as were
tall enough peered in at the dining-room window.
There, round the long table, sat half a dozen farmers and half a
dozen of the more eminent pigs, Napoleon himself occupying the seat
of honour at the head of the table.
The pigs appeared completely at ease in their chairs.
The company had been enjoying a game of cards but had broken off
for the moment, evidently in order to drink a toast. A large jug
was circulating, and the mugs were being refilled with beer. No one
noticed the wondering faces of the animals that gazed in at the
window.
