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One day in early summer Squealer ordered the sheep to follow him, and led them out to a piece of waste ground at the other end of the farm, which had become overgrown with birch saplings. The sheep spent the whole day there browsing at the leaves under Squealer's supervision. In the evening he returned to the farmhouse himself, but, as it was warm weather, told the sheep to stay where they were. It ended by their remaining there for a whole week, during which time the other animals saw nothing of them. Squealer was with them for the greater part of every day. He was, he said, teaching them to sing a new song, for which privacy was needed. (10.8)
Not a new song—a new motto. After bleating "four legs good, two legs bad" over and over, no wonder it takes them a whole week to learn a new phrase—even if only one word is different.
But just at that moment, as though at a signal, all the sheep burst out into a tremendous bleating of-
"Four legs good, two legs better! 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 quieted down, the chance to utter any protest had passed, for the pigs had marched back into the farmhouse. (10.13, 10.14, 10.15)
Second verse, same as the first. This is the end of Animal Farm and the return of Manor Farm. We'd like to blame the pigs—but we can't help feeling the sheep are partly to blame, too. And we think Orwell probably agrees with us.
Like all of Napoleon's speeches, it was short and to the point. He too, he said, was happy that the period of misunderstanding was at an end. For a long time there had been rumours-circulated, he had reason to think, by some malignant enemy-that there was something subversive and even revolutionary in the outlook of himself and his colleagues. They had been credited with attempting to stir up rebellion among the animals on neighbouring farms. Nothing could be further from the truth! Their sole wish, now and in the past, was to live at peace and in normal business relations with their neighbours. This farm which he had the honour to control, he added, was a co-operative enterprise. The title-deeds, which were in his own possession, were owned by the pigs jointly. (10.29)
Napoleon is telling the farm animals one thing—that all animals are equal; that everyone is working together—and he's telling the humans another thing: that the pigs are co-owners of the farm. And you know what? These lies seem to be working out pretty well for him.