This is Animal Farm by George Orwell.
Chapter 5.
As winter drew on, Mollie became more and
more troublesome.
She was late for work every morning and excused
herself by saying that she had overslept,
and she complained of mysterious pains, although
her appetite was excellent.
On every kind of pretext she would run away
from work and go to the drinking pool, where
she would stand foolishly gazing at her own
reflection in the water.
But there were also rumours of something more
serious.
One day, as Mollie strolled blithely into
the yard, flirting her long tail and chewing
at a stalk of hay, Clover took her aside.
"Mollie," she said, "I have something very
serious to say to you.
This morning I saw you looking over the hedge
that divides Animal Farm from Foxwood.
One of Mr. Pilkington's men was standing on
the other side of the hedge.
And--I was a long way away, but I am almost
certain I saw this--he was talking to you
and you were allowing him to stroke your nose.
What does that mean, Mollie?"
"He didn't!
I wasn't!
It isn't true!" cried Mollie, beginning to
prance about and paw the ground.
"Mollie!
Look me in the face.
Do you give me your word of honour that that
man was not stroking your nose?"
"It isn't true!" repeated Mollie, but she
could not look Clover in the face, and the
next moment she took to her heels and galloped
away into the field.
A thought struck Clover.
Without saying anything to the others, she
went to Mollie's stall and turned over the
straw with her hoof.
Hidden under the straw was a little pile of
lump sugar and several bunches of ribbon of
different colours.
Three days later Mollie disappeared.
For some weeks nothing was known of her whereabouts,
then the pigeons reported that they had seen
her on the other side of Willingdon.
She was between the shafts of a smart dogcart
painted red and black, which was standing
outside a public-house.
A fat red-faced man in check breeches and
gaiters, who looked like a publican, was stroking
her nose and feeding her with sugar.
Her coat was newly clipped and she wore a
scarlet ribbon round her forelock.
She appeared to be enjoying herself, so the
pigeons said.
None of the animals ever mentioned Mollie
again.
In January there came bitterly hard weather.
The earth was like iron, and nothing could
be done in the fields.
Many meetings were held in the big barn, and
the pigs occupied themselves with planning
out the work of the coming season.
It had come to be accepted that the pigs,
who were manifestly cleverer than the other
animals, should decide all questions of farm
policy, though their decisions had to be ratified
by a majority vote.
This arrangement would have worked well enough
if it had not been for the disputes between
Snowball and Napoleon.
These two disagreed at every point where disagreement
was possible.
If one of them suggested sowing a bigger acreage
with barley, the other was certain to demand
a bigger acreage of oats, and if one of them
said that such and such a field was just right
for cabbages, the other would declare that
it was useless for anything except roots.
Each had his own following, and there were
some violent debates.
At the Meetings Snowball often won over the
majority by his brilliant speeches, but Napoleon
was better at canvassing support for himself
in between times.
He was especially successful with the sheep.
Of late the sheep had taken to bleating "Four
legs good, two legs bad" both in and out of
season, and they often interrupted the Meeting
with this.
It was noticed that they were especially liable
to break into "Four legs good, two legs bad"
at crucial moments in Snowball's speeches.
Snowball had made a close study of some back
numbers of the 'Farmer and Stockbreeder' which
he had found in the farmhouse, and was full
of plans for innovations and improvements.
He talked learnedly about field drains, silage,
and basic slag, and had worked out a complicated
scheme for all the animals to drop their dung
directly in the fields, at a different spot
every day, to save the labour of cartage.
Napoleon produced no schemes of his own, but
said quietly that Snowball's would come to
nothing, and seemed to be biding his time.
But of all their controversies, none was so
bitter as the one that took place over the
windmill.
In the long pasture, not far from the farm
buildings, there was a small knoll which was
the highest point on the farm.
After surveying the ground, Snowball declared
that this was just the place for a windmill,
which could be made to operate a dynamo and
supply the farm with electrical power.
This would light the stalls and warm them
in winter, and would also run a circular saw,
a chaff-cutter, a mangel-slicer, and an electric
milking machine.
The animals had never heard of anything of
this kind before (for the farm was an old-fashioned
one and had only the most primitive machinery),
and they listened in astonishment while Snowball
conjured up pictures of fantastic machines
which would do their work for them while they
grazed at their ease in the fields or improved
their minds with reading and conversation.
Within a few weeks Snowball's plans for the
windmill were fully worked out.
The mechanical details came mostly from three
books which had belonged to Mr. Jones--'One
Thousand Useful Things to Do About the House',
'Every Man His Own Bricklayer', and 'Electricity
for Beginners'.
Snowball used as his study a shed which had
once been used for incubators and had a smooth
wooden floor, suitable for drawing on.
He was closeted there for hours at a time.
With his books held open by a stone, and with
a piece of chalk gripped between the knuckles
of his trotter, he would move rapidly to and
fro, drawing in line after line and uttering
little whimpers of excitement.
Gradually the plans grew into a complicated
mass of cranks and cog-wheels, covering more
than half the floor, which the other animals
found completely unintelligible but very impressive.
All of them came to look at Snowball's drawings
at least once a day.
Even the hens and ducks came, and were at
pains not to tread on the chalk marks.
Only Napoleon held aloof.
He had declared himself against the windmill
from the start.
One day, however, he arrived unexpectedly
to examine the plans.
He walked heavily round the shed, looked closely
at every detail of the plans and snuffed at
them once or twice, then stood for a little
while contemplating them out of the corner
of his eye; then suddenly he lifted his leg,
urinated over the plans, and walked out without
uttering a word.
The whole farm was deeply divided on the subject
of the windmill.
Snowball did not deny that to build it would
be a difficult business.
Stone would have to be carried and built up
into walls, then the sails would have to be
made and after that there would be need for
dynamos and cables.
(How these were to be procured, Snowball did
not say.)
But he maintained that it could all be done
in a year.
And thereafter, he declared, so much labour
would be saved that the animals would only
need to work three days a week.
Napoleon, on the other hand, argued that the
great need of the moment was to increase food
production, and that if they wasted time on
the windmill they would all starve to death.
The animals formed themselves into two factions
under the slogan, "Vote for Snowball and the
three-day week" and "Vote for Napoleon and
the full manger."
Benjamin was the only animal who did not side
with either faction.
He refused to believe either that food would
become more plentiful or that the windmill
would save work.
Windmill or no windmill, he said, life would
go on as it had always gone on--that is, badly.
Apart from the disputes over the windmill,
there was the question of the defence of the
farm.
It was fully realised that though the human
beings had been defeated in the Battle of
the Cowshed they might make another and more
determined attempt to recapture the farm and
reinstate Mr. Jones.
They had all the more reason for doing so
because the news of their defeat had spread
across the countryside and made the animals
on the neighbouring farms more restive than
ever.
As usual, Snowball and Napoleon were in disagreement.
According to Napoleon, what the animals must
do was to procure firearms and train themselves
in the use of them.
According to Snowball, they must send out
more and more pigeons and stir up rebellion
among the animals on the other farms.
The one argued that if they could not defend
themselves they were bound to be conquered,
the other argued that if rebellions happened
everywhere they would have no need to defend
themselves.
The animals listened first to Napoleon, then
to Snowball, and could not make up their minds
which was right; indeed, they always found
themselves in agreement with the one who was
speaking at the moment.
At last the day came when Snowball's plans
were completed.
At the Meeting on the following Sunday the
question of whether or not to begin work on
the windmill was to be put to the vote.
When the animals had assembled in the big
barn, Snowball stood up and, though occasionally
interrupted by bleating from the sheep, set
forth his reasons for advocating the building
of the windmill.
Then Napoleon stood up to reply.
He said very quietly that the windmill was
nonsense and that he advised nobody to vote
for it, and promptly sat down again; he had
spoken for barely thirty seconds, and seemed
almost indifferent as to the effect he produced.
At this Snowball sprang to his feet, and shouting
down the sheep, who had begun bleating again,
broke into a passionate appeal in favour of
the windmill.
Until now the animals had been about equally
divided in their sympathies, but in a moment
Snowball's eloquence had carried them away.
In glowing sentences he painted a picture
of Animal Farm as it might be when sordid
labour was lifted from the animals' backs.
His imagination had now run far beyond chaff-cutters
and turnip-slicers.
Electricity, he said, could operate threshing
machines, ploughs, harrows, rollers, and reapers
and binders, besides supplying every stall
with its own electric light, hot and cold
water, and an electric heater.
By the time he had finished speaking, there
was no doubt as to which way the vote would
go.
But just at this moment Napoleon stood up
and, casting a peculiar sidelong look at Snowball,
uttered a high-pitched whimper of a kind no
one had ever heard him utter before.
At this there was a terrible baying sound
outside, and nine enormous dogs wearing brass-studded
collars came bounding into the barn.
They dashed straight for Snowball, who only
sprang from his place just in time to escape
their snapping jaws.
In a moment he was out of the door and they
were after him.
Too amazed and frightened to speak, all the
animals crowded through the door to watch
the chase.
Snowball was racing across the long pasture
that led to the road.
He was running as only a pig can run, but
the dogs were close on his heels.
Suddenly he slipped and it seemed certain
that they had him.
Then he was up again, running faster than
ever, then the dogs were gaining on him again.
One of them all but closed his jaws on Snowball's
tail, but Snowball whisked it free just in
time.
Then he put on an extra spurt and, with a
few inches to spare, slipped through a hole
in the hedge and was seen no more.
Silent and terrified, the animals crept back
into the barn.
In a moment the dogs came bounding back.
At first no one had been able to imagine where
these creatures came from, but the problem
was soon solved: they were the puppies whom
Napoleon had taken away from their mothers
and reared privately.
Though not yet full-grown, they were huge
dogs, and as fierce-looking as wolves.
They kept close to Napoleon.
It was noticed that they wagged their tails
to him in the same way as the other dogs had
been used to do to Mr. Jones.
Napoleon, with the dogs following him, now
mounted on to the raised portion of the floor
where Major had previously stood to deliver
his speech.
He announced that from now on the Sunday-morning
Meetings would come to an end.
They were unnecessary, he said, and wasted
time.
In future all questions relating to the working
of the farm would be settled by a special
committee of pigs, presided over by himself.
These would meet in private and afterwards
communicate their decisions to the others.
The animals would still assemble on Sunday
mornings to salute the flag, sing 'Beasts
of England', and receive their orders for
the week; but there would be no more debates.
In spite of the shock that Snowball's expulsion
had given them, the animals were dismayed
by this announcement.
Several of them would have protested if they
could have found the right arguments.
Even Boxer was vaguely troubled.
He set his ears back, shook his forelock several
times, and tried hard to marshal his thoughts;
but in the end he could not think of anything
to say.
Some of the pigs themselves, however, were
more articulate.
Four young porkers in the front row uttered
shrill squeals of disapproval, and all four
of them sprang to their feet and began speaking
at once.
But suddenly the dogs sitting round Napoleon
let out deep, menacing growls, and the pigs
fell silent and sat down again.
Then the sheep broke out into a tremendous
bleating of "Four legs good, two legs bad!"
which went on for nearly a quarter of an hour
and put an end to any chance of discussion.
Afterwards Squealer was sent round the farm
to explain the new arrangement to the others.
"Comrades," he said, "I trust that every animal
here appreciates the sacrifice that Comrade
Napoleon has made in taking this extra labour
upon himself.
Do not imagine, comrades, that leadership
is a pleasure!
On the contrary, it is a deep and heavy responsibility.
No one believes more firmly than Comrade Napoleon
that all animals are equal.
He would be only too happy to let you make
your decisions for yourselves.
But sometimes you might make the wrong decisions,
comrades, and then where should we be?
Suppose you had decided to follow Snowball,
with his moonshine of windmills--Snowball,
who, as we now know, was no better than a
criminal?"
"He fought bravely at the Battle of the Cowshed,"
said somebody.
"Bravery is not enough," said Squealer.
"Loyalty and obedience are more important.
And as to the Battle of the Cowshed, I believe
the time will come when we shall find that
Snowball's part in it was much exaggerated.
Discipline, comrades, iron discipline!
That is the watchword for today.
One false step, and our enemies would be upon
us.
Surely, comrades, you do not want Jones back?"
Once again this argument was unanswerable.
Certainly the animals did not want Jones back;
if the holding of debates on Sunday mornings
was liable to bring him back, then the debates
must stop.
Boxer, who had now had time to think things
over, voiced the general feeling by saying:
"If Comrade Napoleon says it, it must be right."
And from then on he adopted the maxim, "Napoleon
is always right," in addition to his private
motto of "I will work harder."
By this time the weather had broken and the
spring ploughing had begun.
The shed where Snowball had drawn his plans
of the windmill had been shut up and it was
assumed that the plans had been rubbed off
the floor.
Every Sunday morning at ten o'clock the animals
assembled in the big barn to receive their
orders for the week.
The skull of old Major, now clean of flesh,
had been disinterred from the orchard and
set up on a stump at the foot of the flagstaff,
beside the gun.
After the hoisting of the flag, the animals
were required to file past the skull in a
reverent manner before entering the barn.
Nowadays they did not sit all together as
they had done in the past.
Napoleon, with Squealer and another pig named
Minimus, who had a remarkable gift for composing
songs and poems, sat on the front of the raised
platform, with the nine young dogs forming
a semicircle round them, and the other pigs
sitting behind.
The rest of the animals sat facing them in
the main body of the barn.
Napoleon read out the orders for the week
in a gruff soldierly style, and after a single
singing of 'Beasts of England', all the animals
dispersed.
On the third Sunday after Snowball's expulsion,
the animals were somewhat surprised to hear
Napoleon announce that the windmill was to
be built after all.
He did not give any reason for having changed
his mind, but merely warned the animals that
this extra task would mean very hard work,
it might even be necessary to reduce their
rations.
The plans, however, had all been prepared,
down to the last detail.
A special committee of pigs had been at work
upon them for the past three weeks.
The building of the windmill, with various
other improvements, was expected to take two
years.
That evening Squealer explained privately
to the other animals that Napoleon had never
in reality been opposed to the windmill.
On the contrary, it was he who had advocated
it in the beginning, and the plan which Snowball
had drawn on the floor of the incubator shed
had actually been stolen from among Napoleon's
papers.
The windmill was, in fact, Napoleon's own
creation.
Why, then, asked somebody, had he spoken so
strongly against it?
Here Squealer looked very sly.
That, he said, was Comrade Napoleon's cunning.
He had SEEMED to oppose the windmill, simply
as a manoeuvre to get rid of Snowball, who
was a dangerous character and a bad influence.
Now that Snowball was out of the way, the
plan could go forward without his interference.
This, said Squealer, was something called
tactics.
He repeated a number of times, "Tactics, comrades,
tactics!" skipping round and whisking his
tail with a merry laugh.
The animals were not certain what the word
meant, but Squealer spoke so persuasively,
and the three dogs who happened to be with
him growled so threateningly, that they accepted
his explanation without further questions.
