a revolta dos animais

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 uttering 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 uttered 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 of, 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.

Animal Farm

George Orwell

 Publicada o 17 de agosto de 1945 por Secker and Warburg (Londres).

Traducida ao galego por Xose Antón López Dobao e publicada como

A revolta dos animais

Santiago de Compostela, edicións Positivas, 1992.

 

O señor Jones, o dono da Granxa Manor, pechara os galiñeiros pola noite, pero estaba bébedo de máis para lembrarse de pecha-las ventás. Co anel  de luz do foco a bailar dun lado para outro, cruzou o curral randeando, tirou as botas diante da porta de atrás, bebeu unha última xerra de cervexa de barril que tiña na cociña e marchou para a cama, onde xa a señora Jones roncaba.

En apagándose a luz do cuarto, un barullo percorreu os pavillóns do casal. Andara todo o día a voz de que o vello Maior, o esbrancuxado porco premiado, tivera un soño estraño a noite anterior e desexaba comunicárllelo aos animais. Acordaran xuntarse todos na corte en canto o señor Jones desaparecese de diante deles. O vello Maior –así lle chamaban sempre, aínda que era Willingdon Beauty o nome co que o presentaran á exposición- era tan respectado que a ninguén lle importaba perder unha hora de sono por escoitar canto el tivese que dicir.

Contra a parte posterior da corte, encol dunha especie de estrado, estaba xa o Maior acomodado no seu leito de palla, baixo unha lámpada pendurada da trabe. Tiña doce anos e puxérase ultimamente bastante grollo, pero conservaba aínda un aspecto maxestuoso, de porco sabio e nobrote, a pesar que endexamais lle cortaran os cabeiros. Moito antes empezaran a chegar os outros animais que se colocando en diferentes posturas. Apareceron primeiro os tres cans, Bluebell, Jessie e Pincher, e despois os porcos, que se estarricaron na palla xusto diante do estrado. As galiñas pousaron nos peitorís, voaron as pombas ata as vigas, as ovellas e mailas vacas deitáronse detrás dos porcos e comezaron a remoer. Boxer e Clover, as dúas bestas de tiro, chegaron camiñando de vagar e pousaron moi a modo os seus enormes cascos peludos por medo a que puidese haber algún animaliño agochado na palla. Clover era unha egua rexa de aspecto maternal e idade madura que nunca dera recuperado a súa figura despois de pari-lo cuarto potro. Boxer era un cabalo enorme, de case dezaoito palmos de altura, que posuía a forza de dúas bestas xuntas. Unha liña branca baixo os fociños dáballe certa apariencia estúpida; e de veras non posuía unha intelixencia superior, pero todos o respectaban pola súa rectitude de carácter e pola súa gran capacidade de traballo. Tralos cabalos chegaron Muriel, a cabra branca, e Benxamín, o burro. Benxamín era o animal máis vello da granxa e o que peor xenio tiña. Poucas veces falaba, e normalmente só o facía para botar algún comentario cínico. Por exemplo, adoitaba dicir que Deus lle dera un rabo para axota-las moscas pero que prefería non ter moscas nin rabo. Era o único animal da granxa que nunca ría. Se lle preguntaban por que, contestaba que non vía razóns para facelo. Con todo, aínda que non o admitía abertamente, apreciaba a Boxer; ámbolos dous pasaban os domingos no agro de detrás do pomar, pacendo xuntos, sen falaren para nada.