Animal Farm - Act 2

(Lights up)

A few days later, when the terror caused by the executions had died down, some of the animals thought they remembered that the Sixth Comandment decreed no animal should kill any other animal. It was felt that the killings which had taken place did not square with this.

No animal should kill any other animal… without cause.

Somehow or other these words had slipped everyone’s memory.

All orders were now issued through Squealer. Napoleon himself was not seen in public once in a fortnight. Even in the farmhouse Napoleon inhabited seperate apartments, took his meals alone, and always ate through the Crown Derby Dinner Service. It was also announced that the gun would be fired every year on Napoleon’s birthday, as well as on the other two anniversaries.

Napoleon was now always reffered to in formal style as Our Leader, Comrade Napoleon, and the pigs like to invent for him such titles as Father of All Animals, Protector of the Sheepfold, Ducklings’ Friend, and the like. In his speeches, Squealer would talk with tears running down his cheeks of Napoleon’s wisdom, the goodness of his heart, and the deep love he bore to all animals everywhere. It had become customary to give Napoleon the credit for every successful achievement. You would often hear one hen remark to another:

Under the guidance of Our Leader, Comrade Napoleon, I have laid five eggs in six days.

Or two cows, drinking at a pool, would exclaim:

Thanks to the leadership of Comrade Napoleon, how excellent this water tastes!

Meanwhile, Napoleon was engaged in complicated negotiations with Frederick and Pilkington. The pile of timber was still unsold. Frederick was the more anxious to get hold of it, but he would not offer a reasonable price. At the same time there were renewed rumors that Frederick and his men were plotting to destroy Animal Farm and destroy the windmill.

He flogged an old horse to death… he starves his cows… he killed his dog by throwing it into the furnace… he amuses himself in the evenings by making cocks fight with splinters of razor blade yied to their spurs!

The animals’ blood boiled with rage when they heard these things, and sometimes they clamored to be allowed to attack Pinchfield farm and set the animals free.

I hearby name this structure… Napoleon Mill!

Two days later the animals were struck dumb with suprise to learn that Napoleon had sold the timber to Frederick. Throughout the whole of his seeming friendship with Pilkington, he had really been in secret agreement with Frederick!

But Our Leader was too clever for him. He demanded payment in real five pound notes, to be handed over before the timber is removed.

Frederick removed the timber with amazing speed. But three days later there was a terrible hullabaloo. Whymper, his face deadly pale, came racing up the path on his bicycle and rushed straight to the farmhouse. The next moment the animals heard a chocking roar of rage from Napoleon’s apartment.

Death! Death to Frederick!

News of what had happened spread around the farm like wildfire. The bank notes were forgeries! Frederick had gotten the timber for nothing!

Four pigeons were sent to Foxwood with conciliatory messages which it was hoped might re-establish good relations with Pilkington.

The very next morning the attack came. The lookouts came racing in with the news that

It says… “Served you right!”

Frederick and his men halted at the windmill. Two of the men produced a crowbar and a sledge hammer. The animals watched them, and a murmur of dismay went round.

Impossible! The walls are too thick. They could not kick it down in a week. Courage, Comrades.

But the men were drilling a hole in the base of the windmill. Slowly, and with an air almost of amusement, Benjamin nodded his long muzzle.

I thought so. Do you see what they’re doing? They’re packing blasting powder into that hole.

In a few minutes there was a sudden deafening roar. All the animals flung themselves flat on their faces. When they got up again, a huge cloud of smoke was hanging where the windmill had been.

Boxer, who had suffered asplit hoof, limped painfully back into the yard. He saw ahead of him the heavy labor of rebuilding the windmill from its foundations, and already in imagination braced himself for the task. But for the first time it occured to him that he was eleven years old, and his great muscles were not what they once had been.

But when the animals heard Napoleon’s speech, congratulating them on their conduct, it did seem that, after all, they had won a great victor. The animals slain in the battle were given a solemn funeral. It was announced that the battle would be called the Battle of the Windmill.

At about half past nine, Napoleon, wearing an oldbowler hat of Mr. Jones’, was distinctly seen to emerge from the back door, gallop rapidly around the yard, and disappear indoors again.

But in the morning a deep silence hung over the farmhouse. Not a pig appeared to be stirring. It was nearly nine o’clock before Squealer made his appearance, walking slowly and dejectedly, his eyes dull, with every appearance of being seriously ill. He called the animals together and told them he had terrible news to impart.

Comrades… Comrade Napoleon is dying!

A cry of lamentation went up. With tears in their eyes the animals asked one another what they should so if their Leader were taken from them.

A rumor went round that Snowball had contrived to poison Napoleon.

At eleven o’clock Squealer came to make another announcement.

And the next day it was learned that he had instructed Whymper to purchase some books on brewing and distilling. The small paddock beyond the orchard was to be ploughed up. Napoleon intended to sow it with barley.

About this time occured a strange incident. One night there was a loud crash in the yard, and the animals rushed out of their stalls. At the foot of the end wall of the big barn, where the Seven Comandments were written, lay a ladder broken in two. Squealer was sprawling beside it, and near at hand lay a lantern, a paint brush, and an overturned pot of white paint. None of the animals could form any idea what this meant, except old Benjamin, who nodded his muzzle with a knowing air and would say nothing.

Clover treated the hoof with poultices, and both she and Benjamin urged boxer to work less hard, but he would not listen. He had one burning ambition: to see the windmill completed before he reached the age for retirement.

At the beginning, the retirement age had been fixed for horses and pigs at twelve, for cows at fourteen, for dogs at nine, sheep at seven, for hens and geese at five. So far no animal had actually retired.

The animals believed every word of it. Truth to tell, Jones and all that he stood for had almost faded out of their memory.

In the autumn, the four sows all littered simultaneously, producing thirty-one young pigs. It was announced that a schoolroom would be built in the farmhouse garden. For the time being, the young pigs were to be given their instruction by Napoleon himself.

The news leaked out that every pig was now receiving a ration of a pint of beer daily, with half a gallon for Napoleon himself, which was always served to him in a Crown Derby tureen.

But if there were hardships to be borne, they were partly offset by the fact that life nowadays had greater dignity than ever before. There were more songs, more speeches, more processions. So what with Squealer’s list of figures and the fluttering of the flag, the animals were able to forget… at least part of the time… that their bellies were empty.

In fact, he had actually been the leader of the human forces, charging into battle with the cry, “Long Live Humanity!” on his lips. The wounds on Snowball’s back, which a few of the animals still remembered seeing, had been inflicted by Napoleons teeth.

In the middle of the summer, Moses the raven suddenly reappeared on the farm. He was quite unchanged, still did no work, and would talk by the hour to anyone who would listen about:

…the linseed cake and lump sugar growing on the hedges. Oh, it’s beautiful, comrades… beautiful!

Many of the animals believed him. Was it not right and just that somewhere a better world should exist? A thing difficult to comprehend was the attitude of the pigs toward Moses.

They declared contemptuously that his stories about Sugarcandy Mountain were lies…

yet they allowed him to remain on the farm, not working, with an allowance of a gill of beer a day.

Comrade Napoleon has learned with the deepest distress of this misfortune to one of our most loyal workers. He has already made arrangements to send Boxer to the town hospital for treatment.

The animals felt a little uneasy at this. They did not like to think of their sick comrade in the hands of human beings. However, Squealer convinced them that the veterinary surgeon could treat Boxer more satisfactorily than could be done on the farm. And about a half an hour later, when Boxer had somewhat recovered, he managed to limp back to his stall.

Quick! Quick! Come at once! They’re taking Boxer away!

The animals raced back to the farm buildings. Sure enough, there in the yard stood a large closed van with a sly looking man sitting on the driver’s seat. The animals crowded round the van.

They heard the sound of a tremendous drumming of hoofs from inside the van, But the van was already gathering speed. In another moment it disappeared down the road. Boxer was never seen again.

Three days later it was announced that he had died in the hospital in spite of receiving every attention a horse could have. Squealer came to announce the news to the others.

“Forward, comrades!” he whispered. “Forward in the name of the Rebellion! Long Live Animal Farm! Long Live Napoleon!” Those were his very last words, comrades.

The animals were enormously impressed. And when Squealer went on to give further graphic details of Boxer’s deathbed… the admirable care he had received, and the expensive medicines for which Napoleon had paid without a thought as to the cost… the sorrow they felt for their comrade’s death was tempered by the though that at least he had died happy.

Remember forever, comrades, the wise words of our dear Boxer…”I will work harder!”… and “Comrade Napoleon is always right!”

On the day appointed for the banquet, a grocer delivered a large wooden crate to the farmhouse. That night there was the sound of uproarious singing from within. No one stirred in the farmhouse until noon the following day. From somewhere or other the pigs had acquired the money to buy themselves another case of whiskey.

The windmill had been successfully completed at last, and the farm possessed a thresing-maching and a hay elevator, and various new buildings.

The windmill had not, after all, been used for generating electrical power. It was used for milling corn, and brought in a handsome profit. But the luxuries of which Snowball had taught the animals to dream… the stalls of electric lights, and hot and cold running water… these were no longer talked about. Napoleon had denounced such ideas as being contrary to the spirit of Animalism. True happiness, he said, lay in working hard and living frugally.

There they remained for a whole week, during which time Squealer was with them for the greater part of every day, teaching them to sing a new song.

It was just after the sheep had returned, on a pleasent eveing when the animals had finished work and were making their way back to the farm buildings, that a terrified neighing sounded from the yard. It was clover. She neighed again, and all the animals rushed into the yard. Then they saw what Clover had seen. 

Yes, it was Squealer, walking on his hind legs. 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 farmhouse came a long file of pigs… all walking on their hind legs. One or two looked as though they would have liked the support of a stick. But every one of them made his way round the yard successfully.

Finally there was a tremedous baying of dogs, and out came Napoleon himself, majestically upright, casting haughty glances from side to side, with his dogs gambolling around him. And in his trotter… he carried a whip!

There was a deadly silence. Amazed, terrified, the animals watched the long line of pigs march slowly round the yard. It was as though the world had turned upside down. Then came a moment 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, they might have uttered some word of protest. But just at that moment… as though at a signal… all the sheep burst into a tremendous bleating:

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 quited down, the pigs had marched back into the farmhouse.

My sight is failing. But it appears to me that the wall looks different. Are the Seven Comandments 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 read:

It did not seem strange when Napoleon was seen strolling in the garden with a pipe in his mouth… No, not even whem the pigs took Mr. Jones’ clothes out of the wardrobes and put them on.

A week later the deputation of neighboring farmers came to inspect the farm. They were shown all over, and expressed great admiration for everything they saw: especially the windmill. The animals worked diligently, hardly raising their faces from the ground, not knowing whether to be frightened of the pigs or of the human visitors. That evening, loud laughter and bursts of song came from the farmhouse.