The animals huddled about Clover, not speaking. The knoll where they
were lying gave them a wide prospect across the countryside. Most of
Animal Farm was within their view–the long pasture stretching down to
the main road, the hayfield, the spinney, the drinking pool, the
ploughed fields where the young wheat was thick and green, and the red
roofs of the farm buildings with the smoke curling from the chimneys. It
was a clear spring evening. The grass and the bursting hedges were
gilded by the level rays of the sun. Never had the farm–and with a kind
of surprise they remembered that it was their own farm, every inch of it
their own property–appeared to the animals so desirable a place. As
Clover looked down the hillside her eyes filled with tears. If she could
have spoken her thoughts, it would have been to say that this was not
what they had aimed at when they had set themselves years ago to work
for the overthrow of the human race. These scenes of terror and
slaughter were not what they had looked forward to on that night when
old Major first stirred them to rebellion. If she herself had had any
picture of the future, it had been of a society of animals set free from
hunger and the whip, all equal, each working according to his capacity,
the strong protecting the weak, as she had protected the lost brood of
ducklings with her foreleg on the night of Major's speech. Instead–she
did not know why–they had come to a time when no one dared speak his
mind, when fierce, growling dogs roamed everywhere, and when you had to
watch your comrades torn to pieces after confessing to shocking crimes.
There was no thought of rebellion or disobedience in her mind. She knew
that, even as things were, they were far better off than they had been
in the days of Jones, and that before all else it was needful to prevent
the return of the human beings. Whatever happened she would remain
faithful, work hard, carry out the orders that were given to her, and
accept the leadership of Napoleon. But still, it was not for this that
she and all the other animals had hoped and toiled. It was not for this
that they had built the windmill and faced the bullets of Jones's gun.
Such were her thoughts, though she lacked the words to express them.
At last, feeling this to be in some way a substitute for the words she was unable to find, she began to sing Beasts of England.
The other animals sitting round her took it up, and they sang it three
times over–very tunefully, but slowly and mournfully, in a way they had
never sung it before.
They had just finished singing it for the third time when Squealer,
attended by two dogs, approached them with the air of having something
important to say. He announced that, by a special decree of Comrade
Napoleon, Beasts of England had been abolished. From now onwards it was forbidden to sing it.
The animals were taken aback.
'Why?' cried Muriel.
'It's no longer needed, comrade,' said Squealer stiffly. 'Beasts of England
was the song of the Rebellion. But the Rebellion is now completed. The
execution of the traitors this afternoon was the final act. The enemy
both external and internal has been defeated. In Beasts of England
we expressed our longing for a better society in days to come. But that
society has now been established. Clearly this song has no longer any
purpose.'
George Orwell, Animal Farm
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