George Orwell - Animal Farm

VIP免费

2024-11-19 2 0 106.82KB 47 页 5.9玖币

侵权投诉

Animal Farm

by George Orwell

(bm) 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 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. 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:

"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.

(bm) 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

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 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 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 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 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 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 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 pigs 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 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 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 would 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

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 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.

(bm) III

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 supervised 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 instance, 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 shoulders.

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.

But everyone worked according to his capacity The hens and ducks, for instance,

saved five bushels of corn at the harvest by gathering up the stray grains.

Nobody stole, nobody grumbled over his rations, the quarrelling and biting and

jealousy which had been normal features of life in the old days had almost

disappeared. Nobody shirked-or almost nobody. Mollie, it was true, was not good

at getting up in the mornings, and had a way of leaving work early on the ground

that there was a stone in her hoof. And the behaviour of the cat was somewhat

peculiar. It was soon noticed that when there was work to be done the cat could

never be found. She would vanish for hours on end, and then reappear at meal-

times, or in the evening after work was over, as though nothing had happened.

But she always made such excellent excuses, and purred so affectionately, that

it was impossible not to believe in her good intentions. Old Benjamin, the

donkey, seemed quite unchanged since the Rebellion. He did his work in the same

slow obstinate way as he had done it in Jones's time, never shirking and never

volunteering for extra work either. About the Rebellion and its results he would

express no opinion. When asked whether he was not happier now that Jones was

gone, he would say only "Donkeys live a long time. None of you has ever seen a

dead donkey," and the others had to be content with this cryptic answer.

On Sundays there was no work. Breakfast was an hour later than usual, and after

breakfast there was a ceremony which was observed every week without fail. First

came the hoisting of the flag. Snowball had found in the harness-room an old

green tablecloth of Mrs. Jones's and had painted on it a hoof and a horn in

white. This was run up the flagstaff in the farmhouse garden every Sunday 8,

morning. The flag was green, Snowball explained, to represent the green fields

of England, while the hoof and horn signified the future Republic of the Animals

which would arise when the human race had been finally overthrown. After the

hoisting of the flag all the animals trooped into the big barn for a general

assembly which was known as the Meeting. Here the work of the coming week was

planned out and resolutions were put forward and debated. It was always the pigs

who put forward the resolutions. The other animals understood how to vote, but

could never think of any resolutions of their own. Snowball and Napoleon were by

far the most active in the debates. But it was noticed that these two were never

in agreement: whatever suggestion either of them made, the other could be

counted on to oppose it. Even when it was resolved-a thing no one could object

to in itself-to set aside the small paddock behind the orchard as a home of rest

for animals who were past work, there was a stormy debate over the correct

retiring age for each class of animal. The Meeting always ended with the singing

of Beasts of England, and the afternoon was given up to recreation.

The pigs had set aside the harness-room as a headquarters for themselves. Here,

in the evenings, they studied blacksmithing, carpentering, and other necessary

arts from books which they had brought out of the farmhouse. Snowball also

busied himself with organising the other animals into what he called Animal

Committees. He was indefatigable at this. He formed the Egg Production Committee

for the hens, the Clean Tails League for the cows, the Wild Comrades' Re-

education Committee (the object of this was to tame the rats and rabbits), the

Whiter Wool Movement for the sheep, and various others, besides instituting

classes in reading and writing. On the whole, these projects were a failure. The

attempt to tame the wild creatures, for instance, broke down almost immediately.

They continued to behave very much as before, and when treated with generosity,

simply took advantage of it. The cat joined the Re-education Committee and was

very active in it for some days. She was seen one day sitting on a roof and

文档加载中……请稍候！
如果长时间未打开，您也可以点击刷新试试。

下载文档到电脑，查找使用更方便

5.9 玖币 0人已下载

立即下载 VIP免费下载

摘要：

AnimalFarmbyGeorgeOrwell(bm)IMr.Jones,oftheManorFarm,hadlockedthehen-housesforthenight,butwastoodrun...

展开>> 收起<<

George Orwell - Animal Farm.pdf

共47页,预览10页

还剩页未读，继续阅读

声明：本站为文档C2C交易模式，即用户上传的文档直接被用户下载，本站只是中间服务平台，本站所有文档下载所得的收益归上传人(含作者)所有。玖贝云文库仅提供信息存储空间，仅对用户上传内容的表现方式做保护处理，对上载内容本身不做任何修改或编辑。若文档所含内容侵犯了您的版权或隐私，请立即通知玖贝云文库，我们立即给予删除！

George Orwell - Animal Farm

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: