مزرعه حیوانات – Animal Farm

قسمت اول – Chapter 1

مزرعه حیوانات یا با نام معروف شده خود در ایران قلعه حیوانات نوشته شده توسط جورج اورل است، که در طول جنگ جهانی دوم نوشته شد و در سال ۱۹۴۵ در انگلستان منتشر شد. 

قلعه حیوانات درباره گروهی از جانوران اهلی است که در اقدامی آرمان گرایانه و انقلابی، صاحب مزرعه را از مزرعه اش فراری می دهند؛ تا خود اداره مزرعه را به دست گرفته و «برابری» و «رفاه» را در جامعه خود برقرار سازند.

 

 

 

Animal Farm

 

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 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 theirSundays 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 fr ee. 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 ol d 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 dog s 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 theirhindquarters, 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 m y 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.

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 porke rs. 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 sho uld 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 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 the World over his face, so

that when evening came, the animals were still unf ed. 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 flung 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 five of them were in full flight 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 flung a few possessions into a carpet bag, and slipped out of the farm
by another way. Moses sprang off his perch and flapped after her, croaking
loudly. Meanwhile the animals had chased Jones and his men out on to the
road and slammed the five-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 first few minutes the animals could hardly believe in their good
fortune. Their first 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 pig s and lambs, were all flung
down the well. The reins, the halters, the blinkers, the degrading nosebags,
were thrown on to the rubbish fire which was burning in the yard. So were the
whips. All the animals capered with joy when they saw the whips going up in
flames. Snowball also threw on to the fire 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 flies out of his ears, and flung it on to the fire 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 snuffed its rich scent. Then they made a tour of inspection of
the whole farm and surveyed with speechless admiration the ploughland, the
hayfield, 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 filed 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 file, 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 matt resses, the lookingglasses,
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 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 first.”
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
five-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 woul d form an unalterable law by which all the animals on Animal
Farm must live for ever after. With some difficulty (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
۱٫ Whatever goes upon two legs is an enemy.
۲٫ Whatever goes upon four legs, or has wings, is a friend.
۳٫ No animal shall wear clothes.
۴٫ No animal shall sleep in a bed.
۵٫ No animal shall drink alcohol.
۶٫ No animal shall kill any other animal.

۷٫ 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 benefit of the others. All the animals
nodded in complete agreement, and the cleverer ones at once began to learn
the Commandments by heart.
“Now, comrades,” cried Snowball, throwing down the paint-brush, “to the
hayfield! Let us make it a point of honour to get in the harvest more quickly
than Jones and his men could do.”
But at this moment the three cows, who had seemed uneasy for some time
past, set up a loud lowing. They had not been milked for twenty-four hours,
and their udders were almost bursting. After a little thought, the pigs sent for
buckets and milked the cows fairly successfully, their trotters being well
adapted to this task. Soon there were five buckets of frothing creamy milk at
which many of the animals looked with considerable interest.
“What is going to happen to all that milk?” said someone.
“Jones used sometimes to mix some of it in our mash,” said one of the hens.
“Never mind the milk, comrades!” cried Napoleon, placing himself in front
of the buckets. “That will be attended to. The harvest is more important.
Comrade Snowball will lead the way. I shall follow in a few minutes. Forward,
comrades! The hay is waiting.”
So the animals trooped down to the hayfield to begin the harvest, and when
they came back in the evening it was noticed that the milk had disappeared.

HOW they toiled and sweated to get the hay in! But their efforts were
rewarded, for the harvest was an even bigger success than they had hoped.
Sometimes the work was hard; the implements had been designed for
human beings and not for animals, and it was a great drawback that no animal
was able to use any tool that involved standing on his hind legs. But the pigs
were so clever that they could think of a way round every difficulty. As for the
horses, they knew every inch of the field, and in fact understood the business
of mowing and raking far better than Jones and his men had ever done. The
pigs did not actually work, but directed and supervi sed the others. With their
superior knowledge it was natural that they should assume the leadership.
Boxer and Clover would harness themselves to the cutter or the horse-rake (no
bits or reins were needed in these days, of course) and tramp steadily round
and round the field with a pig walking behind and calling out “Gee up,
comrade!” or “Whoa back, comrade!” as the case might be. And every animal
down to the humblest worked at turning the hay and gathering it. Even the
ducks and hens toiled to and fro all day in the sun, carrying tiny wisps of hay in
their beaks. In the end they finished the harvest in two days’ less time than it
had usually taken Jones and his men. Moreover, it was the biggest harvest that
the farm had ever seen. There was no wastage whatever; the hens and ducks
with their sharp eyes had gathered up the very last stalk. And not an animal on
the farm had stolen so much as a mouthful.
All through that summer the work of the farm went like clockwork. The
animals were happy as they had never conceived it possible to be. Every
mouthful of food was an acute positive pleasure, now that it was truly their
own food, produced by themselves and for themselves, not doled out to them
by a grudging master. With the worthless parasitical human beings gone, there
was more for everyone to eat. There was more leisure too, inexperienced
though the animals were. They met with many difficulties—for ins tance, later
in the year, when they harvested the corn, they had to tread it out in the
ancient style and blow away the chaff with their breath, since the farm
possessed no threshing machine—but the pigs with their cleverness and Boxer
with his tremendous muscles always pulled them through. Boxer was the
admiration of everybody. He had been a hard worker even in Jones’s time, but
now he seemed more like three horses than one; there were days when the
entire work of the farm seemed to rest on his mighty shou lders. From
morning to night he was pushing and pulling, always at the spot where the
work was hardest. He had made an arrangement with one of the cockerels to
call him in the mornings half an hour earlier than anyone else, and would put
in some volunteer labour at whatever seemed to be most needed, before the

regular day’s work began. His answer to every problem, every setback, was “I
will work harder!”—which he had adopted as his personal motto.

 

 

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