Every morning at half-past five o'clock, I hear, as I am dressing, the
sudden blast of an immense long wooden horn, from which always proceed
the same four notes. I have got quite accustomed to this wild reveille,
and the vibration has scarcely subsided, it is still ringing among the
distant hills, when, leisurely proceeding from almost every door in
the street, behold a pig! Some, from their jaded, careworn, dragged
appearance, are evidently leaving behind them a numerous litter; others
are great, tall, monastic, melancholy-looking creatures, which seem to
have no other object left in this wretched world than to become bacon;
while others are thin, tiny, light-hearted, brisk, petulant piglings,
with the world and all its loves and sorrows before them. Of their own
accord these creatures proceed down the street to join the herdsman,
who occasionally continues to repeat the sorrowful blast from his horn.
Gregarious, or naturally fond of society, with one curl in their tails,
and with their noses almost touching the ground, the pigs trot on,
grunting to themselves and to their comrades, halting only whenever
they come to anything they can manage to swallow.
I have observed that the old ones pass all the carcasses, which,
trailing to the ground, are hanging before the butchers' shops, as
if they were on a sort of _parole d'honneur_ not to touch them; the
middle-aged ones wistfully eye this meat, yet jog on also, while the
piglings, who (so like mankind) have more appetite than judgment, can
rarely resist taking a nibble; yet, no sooner does the dead calf begin
again to move, than from the window immediately above out pops the
head of a butcher, who, drinking his coffee, whip in hand, inflicts
a prompt punishment, sounding quite equal to the offence. As I have
stated, the pigs, generally speaking, proceed of their own accord; but
shortly after they have passed, there comes down our street a little
bareheaded, barefooted, stunted dab of a child, about eleven years
old,--a Flibbertigibbet sort of creature, which, in a drawing, one
would express by a couple of blots, the small one for her head, the
other for her body; while, streaming from the latter, there would be a
long line ending in a flourish, to express the immense whip which the
child carries in its hand. This little goblin page, the whipper-in,
attendant, or aid-de-camp of the old pig-driver, facetiously called,
at Langen-Schwalbach, the "Schwein-General," is a being no one looks
at, and who looks at nobody. Whether the hofs of Schwalbach are full
of strangers, or empty--whether the promenades are occupied by princes
or peasants--whether the weather be good or bad, hot or rainy, she
apparently never stops to consider; upon these insignificant subjects
it is evident she never for a moment has reflected. But such a pair
of eyes for a pig have perhaps seldom beamed from human sockets! The
little intelligent urchin knows every house from which a pig ought to
have proceeded; she can tell by the door being open or shut, and even
by footmarks, whether the creature has joined the herd, or whether,
having overslept itself, it is still snoring in its sty--a single
glance determines whether she shall pass a yard or enter it; and if a
pig, from indolence or greediness, be loitering on the road, the sting
of the wasp cannot be sharper or more spiteful than the cut she gives
it. As soon as finishing with one street, she joins her General in the
main road, the herd slowly proceed down the town.
On meeting them this morning, they really appeared to have no hams at
all; their bodies were as flat as if they had been squeezed in a vice,
and when they turned sideways, their long sharp noses, and tucked-up
bellies, gave to their profile the appearance of starved greyhounds.
As I gravely followed this grunting, unearthly-looking herd of unclean
spirits, through that low part of Langen-Schwalbach which is solely
inhabited by Jews, I could not help fancying that I observed them
holding their very breaths, as if a loathsome pestilence were passing;
for though fat pork be a wicked luxury--a forbidden pleasure which the
Jew has been supposed occasionally in secret to indulge in, yet one may
easily imagine that such very lean ugly pigs have not charms enough to
lead them astray.
Besides the little girl who brought up the rear, the herd was preceded
by a boy of about fourteen, whose duty it was not to let the foremost,
the more enterprising, or, in other words, the most empty pigs, advance
too fast. In the middle of the drove, surrounded like a shepherd by his
flock, slowly stalked the "SCHWEIN-GENERAL," a wan, spectre-looking
old man, worn out, or nearly so, by the arduous and every-day duty of
conducting, against their wills, a gang of exactly the most obstinate
animals in creation. A single glance at his jaundiced, ill-natured
countenance was sufficient to satisfy one that his temper had been
soured by the vexatious contrarieties and "untoward events" it had met
with. In his left hand he held a staff to help himself onwards, while
round his right shoulder hung one of the most terrific whips that
could possibly be constructed. At the end of a short handle, turning
upon a swivel, there was a lash about nine feet long, formed like the
vertebræ of a snake, each joint being an iron ring, which, decreasing
in size, was closely connected with its neighbour, by a band of hard
greasy leather. The pliability, the weight, and the force of this
iron whip rendered it an argument which the obstinacy even of the pig
was unable to resist; yet, as the old man proceeded down the town,
he endeavoured to speak kindly to the herd, and as the bulk of them
preceded him, jostling each other, grumbling and grunting on their
way, he occasionally exclaimed, in a low, hollow, worn-out tone of
encouragement, "Nina! Anina!" drawling of course very long on the last
syllable.
If any little savoury morsel caused a contention, stoppage, or
constipation on the march, the old fellow slowly unwound his dreadful
whip, and by merely whirling it round his head, like reading the Riot
Act, he generally succeeded in dispersing the crowd; but if they
neglected the solemn warning, if their stomachs prove stronger than
their judgments, and if the group of greedy pigs still continued to
stagnate--"ARRIFF!" the old fellow exclaimed, and rushing forwards,
the lash whirling round his head, he inflicted, with strength which no
one could have fancied he possessed, a smack, that seemed absolutely
to electrify the leader. As lightning shoots across the heavens, I
observed the culprit fly forwards, and for many yards continuing to
sidle towards the left, it was quite evident that the thorn was still
smarting in his side; and no wonder, poor fellow! for the blow he
received would almost have cut a piece out of a door.
As soon as the herd got out of the town, they began gradually to ascend
the rocky, barren mountain which appeared towering above them; and
then the labours of the Schwein-general and his staff became greater
than ever; for as the animals from their solid column began to extend
or deploy themselves into line, it was necessary constantly to ascend
and descend the slippery hill, in order to outflank them. "ARRIFF!"
vociferated the old man, striding after one of his rebellious subjects;
"Arriff!" in a shrill tone of voice was re-echoed by the lad, as he ran
after another; however, in due time the drove reached the ground which
was devoted for that day's exercise, the whole mountain being thus
taken in regular succession.
The Schwein-general now halted, and the pigs being no longer called
upon to advance, but being left entirely to their own motions, I became
exceedingly anxious attentively to observe them.
No wonder, poor reflecting creatures! that they had come unwillingly to
such a spot--for there appeared to be literally nothing for them to eat
but hot stones and dust; however, making the best of the bargain, they
all very vigorously set themselves to work. Looking up the hill, they
dexterously began to lift up with their snouts the largest of the loose
stones, and then grubbing their noses into the cool ground, I watched
their proceedings for a very long time. Their tough wet snouts seemed
to be sensible of the quality of every thing they touched; and thus out
of the apparently barren ground they managed to get fibres of roots,
to say nothing of worms, beetles, or any other travelling insects they
met with. As they slowly advanced working up the hill, their ears most
philosophically shading their eyes from the hot sun, I could not help
feeling how little we appreciate the delicacy of several of their
senses, and the extreme acuteness of their instinct.
There exists, perhaps, in creation, no animal which has less justice
and more injustice done to him by man than the pig. Gifted with every
faculty of supplying himself, and of providing even against the
approaching storm, which no creature is better capable of foretelling
than a pig, we begin by putting an iron ring through the cartilage of
his nose, and having thus barbarously deprived him of the power of
searching for, and analyzing, his food, we generally condemn him for
the rest of his life to solitary confinement in a sty.
While his faculties are still his own, only observe how, with a
bark or snort, he starts if you approach him, and mark what shrewd
intelligence there is in his bright twinkling little eye: but with
pigs, as with mankind, idleness is the root of all evil. The poor
animal finding that he has absolutely nothing to do--having no
enjoyment--nothing to look forward to but the pail which feeds him,
naturally most eagerly, or, as we accuse him, most greedily, greets
its arrival. Having no natural business or diversion--nothing to
occupy his brain--the whole powers of his system are directed to the
digestion of a superabundance of food. To encourage this, nature
assists him with sleep, which, lulling his better faculties, leads
his stomach to become the ruling power of his system--a tyrant
that can bear no one's presence but his own. The poor pig, thus
treated, gorges himself--sleeps--eats again--sleeps--awakens in a
fright--screams--struggles against the blue apron--screams fainter and
fainter--turns up the whites of his little eyes--and ...... dies!
It is probably from abhorring this picture, that I know of nothing
which is more distressing to me than to witness an indolent man eating
his own home-fed pork.
There is something so horridly similar between the life of the human
being and that of his victim--their notions on all subjects are so
unnaturally contracted--there is such a melancholy resemblance between
the strutting residence in the village, and the stalking confinement
of the sty--between the sound of the dinner-bell and the rattling
of the pail--between snoring in an arm-chair and grunting in clean
straw--that, when I contrast the "pig's countenance" in the dish with
that of his lord and master, who, with outstretched elbows, sits
leaning over it, I own I always feel it is so hard the one should have
killed the other--in short, there is a sort of "Tu quoque, BRUTE!"
moral in the picture, which to my mind is most painfully distressing.
But to return to the Schwein-general, whom, with his horn and whip, I
have left on the steep side of a barren mountain.
In this situation do the pigs remain every morning for four hours,
enjoying little else than air and exercise. At about nine or ten
o'clock, they begin their march homewards, and nothing can form a
greater contrast than their entry into their native town does to their
exit from it.
Their eager anxiety to get to the dinner-trough that awaits them is
almost ungovernable; and they no sooner reach the first houses of the
town, than a sort of "sauve qui peut" motion takes place: away each
then starts towards his dulce domum; and it is really curious to stand
still and watch how very quickly they canter by, greedily grunting and
snuffling as if they could smell with their stomachs, as well as their
noses, the savoury food which was awaiting them.
At half-past four, the same four notes of the same horn are heard
again; the pigs once more assemble--once more tumble over the hot
stones on the mountain--once more remain there for four hours--and in
the evening once again return to their styes.
Such is the life of the pigs not only of Langen-Schwalbach, but those
of every village throughout a great part of Germany: every day of their
existence, summer and winter, is spent in the way I have described.
The squad consists here of about a hundred and fifty, and for each pig
the poor old Schwein-general receives forty kreuzers (about 13_d._)
for six months' drilling of each recruit. His income, therefore, is
about 20_l._ a year, out of which he has to pay the board, lodging,
and clothing of his two aid-de-camps; and when one considers how
unremittingly this poor fellow-creature has to contend with the gross
appetites, sulky tempers, and pig-headed dispositions of the swinish
multitude, surely not even the most niggardly reformer would wish to
curtail his emoluments.