check out our:
Two days later the animals were called together for a special meeting in the barn. They were struck dumb with surprise when Napoleon announced that he had sold the pile of timber to Frederick. Tomorrow Frederick's wagons would arrive and begin carting it away. Throughout the whole period of his seeming friendship with Pilkington, Napoleon had really been in secret agreement with Frederick. (8.11)
At least Napoleon isn't just deceiving the animals. He's fooling—or at least trying to fool—the humans, as well. Unfortunately for this little piggy, Mr. Frederick has a few tricks of his own.
A few days later, when the terror caused by the executions had died down, some of the animals remembered– or thought they remembered– that the Sixth Commandment decreed "No animal shall kill any other animal." And though no one cared to mention it in the hearing of the pigs or the dogs, it was felt that the killings which had taken place did not square with this. Clover asked Benjamin to read her the Sixth Commandment, and when Benjamin, as usual, said that he refused to meddle in such matters, she fetched Muriel. Muriel read the Commandment for her. It ran: "No animal shall kill any other animal WITHOUT CAUSE." (8.1)
We could let the "sleep in a bed with sheets" revision slide, but this one? This one seems a bit less harmless. In fact, it seems downright harmful. Pretty soon, the commandments are going to be as complicated as… well, the U.S. Constitution.
Napoleon was now never spoken of simply as "Napoleon." He was always referred to in formal style as "our Leader, Comrade Napoleon," and this pigs liked to invent for him such titles as Father of All Animals, Terror of Mankind, Protector of the Sheep-fold, Ducklings' Friend, and the like. In his speeches, Squealer would talk with the tears rolling down his cheeks of Napoleon's wisdom the goodness of his heart, and the deep love he bore to all animals everywhere, even and especially the unhappy animals who still lived in ignorance and slavery on other farms. It had become usual to give Napoleon the credit for every successful achievement and every stroke of good fortune. 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, enjoying a drink at the pool, would exclaim, "Thanks to the leadership of Comrade Napoleon, how excellent this water tastes!" (8.4)
"Thanks to Shmoop, how excellent Animal Farm is! Thanks to Shmoop, how well I have scored on my exam!" (Okay, maybe we'll keep credit for the last one.) But you get the point. The animals are so taken in by Napoleon's self-congratulations that they actually praise him for how the water tastes and how many eggs they lay. And, unless he's secretly become a rooster, we're pretty sure he has nothing to do with eggs.