A Wild Boar Rampant

HERE was the very deuce to pay in Ebernburg. A siege within a siege, if you please; a commotion that thrilled the beleaguered inhabitants of the town from the highest to the lowest, and all about a pig! No wonder the stout Baron von Sickingen stormed, and would have sworn mighty oaths were it not for the fact that he belonged to the Reformed Faith, whose tenets prohibited the use of strong language. But his huge fist descending on the oaken table had all the virility of profanity, as Von Sickingen shouted that, if it took every soldier in his garrison, he would have the man out of the Town Hall and hanged in the market square, while the pig's throat was being cut by the municipal butcher.

"Who is this rebellious wretch?" demanded the Baron of his captain; for the captain, curiously enough, who was no coward, seemed to hesitate about giving instant force to the orders of his commander-in-chief.

"My lord," said the captain, "he is a fugitive from the other side of the Rhine. He calls himself Bernard Eberbach, and appears to have been the son of a farmer who held his ground from the monks of Eberbach monastery. The pious Bernard of Clairvaux founded the monastery in times gone by, and this young man appears to have been named for him. I have long suspected him of being a spy, for the monks of Eberbach profess no love for the enlightened opinions of Ebernburg; but the young man has never shirked military duty, although he has refrained from joining any of our sorties. He spends his nights writing on parchment, which in itself is a suspicious thing to do."

"True, true," commented the Baron, nodding. "Could you not get your hands on any of these manuscripts and bring them to me?"

"I have done so, my lord, but they are merely ribald verses, condemning the monks, but praising their wine. He says it was songs like these that lost him his patrimony in the Rheingau."

"Is it on account of his poetic talent that you hesitated to get him out of the Town Hall? Nay, do not protest, I saw your reluctance when I gave the command."

"My lord, excepting yourself, Bernard Eberbach is the most popular man among the soldiery in all the town."

"Does his popularity hold, then, when the soldiery must know that in time of siege, with starvation upon us, this man reserves for his own use the huge pig you tell me of?"

"Indeed, my lord, they know such is not the case, but are convinced that Bernard would himself die before he allowed that mammoth boar to be slain. It is of the wild breed that haunts the Rheingau forests, as savage as a trooper of Traves to others, but tame as a cat with him; so, between love of the man and fear of the brute, 'twould be difficult to find a dozen soldiers to attack the pair, and it will take at least fourscore to get him out of the Town Hall, where he and the boar are securely barricaded."

The Baron meditated gloomily, with a frown on his brow. At last he said—

"We could do to him what the Archbishop is trying to do to us—surround the hall and starve him out."

"Aye, my lord! But the Archbishop has this advantage over us: he possesses ample supplies for himself and his army, whereas we should starve as soon as Bernard Eberbach and his boar."

"How came he by the keys of the Town Hall?" demanded Von Sickingen.

Once more the captain hesitated, then replied with palpable reluctance—

"He is betrothed to Gretchen, daughter of old Stein Gratz, the Town Clerk."

"Say no more, say no more," interrupted the Baron, with a sigh. "I might have known that with such a songster we were sure soon to encounter one of the beauties of the town. Nevertheless, Captain Dorn, we must get our popular man and his pig out of the Town Hall. This defiance of authority is subversive of all discipline."

"Discipline, my lord, becomes relaxed when hunger is a member of the corps. I can lead every trooper under arms, gaunt as they are, with shouts against the Archbishop outside the walls. There they will go merrily for death or dinner, but it will take stern discipline to collect ten men to attack the citadel within our gates. Listen, my lord."

In the pause that succeeded they heard the voices of the starving soldiery celebrating the fame of the twelve-thousand-gallon cask in the Eberbach monastery, and hailing the time when Baron von Sickingen should lead them against the convent.

"That's one of his latest songs, my lord, and the poor thirsty devils sing it to the uplifting of empty flagons."

The Baron moistened his own parched lips and said mournfully—

"A gallon or two of the Steinberger would never be missed by the monks. Would that we had a bucketful of it here! Still, Captain Dorn, our chief difficulty remains unsolved. This man has been in arms opposed to our soldiers."

"Pardon me, Baron, he raised no hand against them. They overpowered him and bound him. It was the pig who scattered the soldiers, and the girl who unbuckled the thongs that leashed her lover."

"Bring hither some of the men who were in the mêlée."

"They are all in hospital except one, Baron. I will send for him."

Corporal Rathhaus presented a unique spectacle when he arrived. His uniform was in tatters, and through the rents could be seen wounded arms and legs.

"Well, fellow," cried the Baron, with a grim grin, as he regarded his dishevelled appearance, "there seems to be worse animals on earth than besieging archbishops. Tell me what happened."

"We were informed, my lord, that the poet kept a pig in the garden behind his house. The army being in need of swine-flesh, I took fourteen men and surrounded the place. Half-a-dozen of us entered the house."

"Did Bernard Eberbach resist you?"

"No, my lord. He always welcomes the soldiery, and we took him thus by surprise. He cursed us like a Schwarzwald brigand when we set upon him, and the wild boar, hearing his voice, burst in through the back door like an avalanche from Switzerland. It was big as a church, and nothing could withstand it. Its red eyes seemed to spurt fire, its tusks were a foot long, and the froth at its mouth was like the foam at the foot of the Rhein-fall."

"God save us!" cried Sickingen, "this man has infected my whole army with poetry! And what happened after, I suppose, resembled a hurricane mixed with hail and enlivened by thunder?"

"Indeed, your lordship is quite right. We were scattered like chaff before a whirlwind."

The conference was here interrupted by the approach of a soldier, who, saluting his commander-in-chief, said that Gretchen Gratz, daughter of the Town Clerk, begged audience with Baron von Sickingen.

"Ah!" said the Baron, "the woman in the case! Now we may expect enlightenment. Bring her in."

There entered a stalwart, comely maid of about nineteen, whose youthful vigour and beauty had as yet been unaffected by the rigours of the siege. She might have stood model for a statue of a superb Rhine goddess, and there is a poem by Bernard preserved in the library at Traves which compares her hair to the colour of Steinberger wine when held between the eye and the light, while her eyes are likened in blueness to the infant Rhine where it issues from the crystal glaciers. But if Bernard had seen them when they looked at the Baron, he might have added that a dark cloud hung over the upper Rhine, from whose depths lightning glittered, for her eyes were those of an angry woman ready to fight for her man, and the greeting of the Baron did nothing to lessen their indignant sparkle.

"Well, hussy! " he cried, "so you dared to release the prisoner whom my soldiers had placed in bond?"

"Yes, my lord."

"And you stole the keys of the Town Hall from your father?"

"Yes, my lord."

"And placed your lover there in supposed safety?"

"Yes, my lord."

"And now you have the impudence to come before me?"

"Yes, my lord."

"You avow yourself in flat rebellion against my authority?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Do you realise, you jade, that your action may cost your father his position?"

"My lord, the position is of no value in a town defended by incompetents, and besieged by the Archbishop of Mayence."

"You young she-devil!" growled Captain Dorn, clenching his fists and taking a step towards her, indignant on hearing such language addressed to the commander whom officers and men alike adored; but the hand of the Baron, upraised, checked him.

"Tut tut, Captain Dorn!" said Von Sickingen. "Have we proclaimed Ebenburg a town of free speech and given refuge here to Luther, Melancthon, Ulrich von Hutten, Aecolampadius, and Bucer, and would now deny our women utterance? While I rule the valley of the Nahe, all tongues shall be unfettered. Girl, where is your father?"

"Bound by the thongs that held my lover, he lies locked in the cellar among the empty wine-tubs."

The great Baron leaned back in his chair and strove to keep his countenance grave, but the wrinkles around his eyes grew deeper, and, in spite of him, a glimmer of merriment lightened his glance as his mental vision saw a picture of the stout Town Clerk prone and tied like a bundle of the merchandise in which he dealt when unencumbered by civic duties.

"By my faith!" he cried, "I must set my soldiers to housekeeping, and lead a company of women against the Archbishop of Mayence!"

"Indeed, my lord, it is time that the women took a hand in affairs. Here we have stupidity on the defence within our citadel, and stupidity in the attack throughout the Archbishop's camp. Therefore a deadlock between the two, and women and children starving."

This was a harsh way of putting it; still, the facts were as she had stated, and the Baron made no denial.

"You have perhaps," he said, "come to serve me as you have served your father, and place another empty man beside the empty wine-casks?"

"If I could do that, my lord, the town would be relieved within three days."

"Ah, by surrender."

The eyes of the girl flashed at the word.

"My lord," she said, "in what siege were women the first to propose surrender?"

The Baron bowed his head.

"Your pardon, madam; what you say is true. I had no right to make so unjust a remark. And now, Fraülein Gretchen, I suspect your lover had been sowing sedition in my unhappy city, and that the charges of stupidity levelled against me are received through you at second hand."

"No, my lord; I alone am talking sedition. My lover never did so, but he is a man of genius, and has a thousand plans for saving Ebernburg."

"One will be sufficient. Fraülein. Captain Dorn tells me it will take a hundred men to get him out of the Town Hall. I shall do it without a man at all. Go and bring him, then send the keys to their lawful custodian, your father, whom I advise you to release. At first I thought of offering to stand between you and his wrath, but I am now convinced that any influence I possess should be used on behalf of the old man. Therefore I beg of you to release him. Now, go quickly, that I may the sooner have the pleasure of making the acquaintance of a popular poet."

But the girl stood her ground.

"You will give him safe conduct back to the Town Hall, should the meeting come to naught?"

"Of course." Then, seeing she still hesitated, he asked: "Must I put it in writing?"

"No; the word of a Von Sickingen is sufficient."

"Let us thank Heaven for that! What else must I do?"

"You must grant me safe conduct for the boar. We dare not leave him behind. With Bernard Eberbach gone, he would break through any barrier. Remember he is starving, like the rest of us."

"Oh, the pig's liberty shall be respected also, provided you do not stipulate to stay his hunger with a soldier or two."

When the girl had gone, the tattered soldier whispered to the captain, who then addressed Baron von Sickingen.

"My lord, as the animal also is to be received in audience, I suggest that we place a double line of pikemen between the door and the daïs. We have had sufficient proof that the animal is fiendishly ferocious."

"What precautions you please, captain. I cannot refrain from hoping that the brute's bad manners will come uppermost, in which case we may chance to have swine's flesh for supper to-night."

The double line of lance knights took their position, with the points of their pikes on the floor, the lance shaft being inclined at an angle of forty-five up under the arm of each man, ready for instant use should there be need of it. The approach of the strange trio was announced by low, deep, growling grunts, mitigated by the soothing accents of a man, apparently trying to calm the apprehension of which the grunts were the indication. Up the hall, between the lines of pikemen, came the three; and even the redoubtable Baron was taken aback by the ferocious appearance of the wild boar of the Rheingau. It was of enormous size, and the bristles stood up from the back of its neck like a hedge of lances. Its two fierce tusks gleamed white against its tawny hide, and the powerful jaws ground together with a continuous gnashing that sent flecks of froth now to this side, now to that, of its massive head. The little, round, red eyes glared at the soldiers with shooting glances of malignant hate, and when it saw itself fenced in by the deflected pikes, it planted its front hoofs on the polished floor, prodding viciously with its tusks this way and that, and would go no farther till Bernard Eberbach patted it on the flank and, taking one ear, half drew, half led the ferocious animal along beside him. The beast seemed to realise its helplessness on the slippery floor, and the foam increased at its champing mouth.

"It's all right, Bruno," murmured the poet; "don't worry. These pikes were growing in the forest you roamed some months ago; all good lancewood, you know. Cheer up, my beauty! Just a guard of honour to introduce us with ceremony." Then, with a laugh to the soldiers, he cried—

"In the name of the saints, lads, don't wink an eyelash, or we're undone!"

This remark was caused by the ragged sergeant, who, on seeing the boar, becked [sic] suddenly, tripped over a lance, and came down on the floor amidst the somewhat uneasy laughter of his comrades, for the boar was an uncertain element in the situation.

In Bernard Eberbach the troubadours of old lived once again. His costume was of many colours, dashingly cut with slashed sleeves and the shimmer of silk, the whole rather disarrayed by the tussle in which he had so recently taken part. On his curly head was jauntily placed, at a rakish angle, a blue, flat cap of Genoa velvet. A pointed beard and heavy moustache, turned up at the ends, gave him the appearance of a jovial wine-god as pictured by the old Rhine painters, and as if to link women and song, his left arm, unabashed, was round the waist of the girl, while the right hand patted the head of the monster on the other side, and thus the three came to a stand before the stern old Baron, who viewed them with amazement. Bernard swept off his cap, and lightly touched the floor with it in one comprehensive gesture of obeisance, bowing low; then stood at courteous ease before his overlord.

"Master Poet," began the Baron, "I regret that stress of war has hitherto prevented me from making your acquaintance."

"My lord, the loss is mine," replied the young man, with an inclination of his head and another flourish of the Genoa bonnet. "In a garrison of loyal and appreciative soldiers, my lord, there is no greater admirer of your generalship than myself."

"You surprise me," returned his Lordship drily. "I understood the very reverse of that was the case."

"Now you in turn astonish me, my lord," replied Bernard. "I defy any man truthfully to say that I ever spoke of you save with the deepest reverence and respect."

"Do you challenge any woman to make that statement?"

Bernard offered no reply, but thoughtfully pulled his pointed beard, as a gentle smile slightly disturbed that heavy moustache. His eyes turned to the girl beside him, who tossed her head defiantly and spoke up—

"I said his Lordship was stupid, and he thinks you told me that."

"Oh, my dear," protested the poet, "for once, much to my regret, I find myself unable to bear you out, and I am sure his Lordship misinterpreted what you said."

"He didn't!"

"My lord, the gift of expression is sometimes driven too hard by women, as well as by men, in moments of excitement. Let me at once take the blame upon myself, but allow me the privilege of stating the case in my own words. I think that your Lordship and his Eminence the Archbishop of Mayence, whom God preserve and confound, both lack imagination. The Archbishop, with his forty thousand men, circles you round at safe distance from your garrison walls. He sits there to starve you out without losing a soldier, being as deficient in courage as in brains. Now, any fool could do that. Here, inside of the walls, are you, too weak to make successful sorties, unprovisioned, and gradually starving towards inevitable surrender. Now" He paused and shrugged his shoulders, with a little flutter of the velvet bonnet.

"Now, any fool could do that," completed the Baron.

"I did not say so, my lord, but I affirm that while a man may be a good general without imagination, he never can become a great general lacking it. There, for instance, is the Archbishop of Traves, a fighting man and a man of imagination. With half the men engaged in this siege, I believe he could crumple up both you and Mayence."

"My fine fellow," said the Baron somewhat brusquely, "I am a plain, practical, blunt man, and I like better the woman's word 'stupidity' than your word 'imagination.' I am a stupid man, you say, and the Archbishop, my enemy, is the same. If you were in the Archbishop's place, what would you do?"

"I should take this town within three days."

"Oh! would you? If you were in my place, what would you do?"

"Within three days I should have this town choked with bread and flowing with wine."

The effect of these words upon the listening, starving soldiery was instant and almost disastrous. A long, simultaneous sigh was drawn, to the company of a rattle and shifting of pikes, whereupon the boar, whom everyone had forgotten, let forth a roar like that of a wounded elephant, and its huge head swung from side to side, as if indecisive which rank to attack. Bernard raised his open hand and brought it down lightly on the brute's forehead, whereupon it fell to the floor as if poleaxed, and lay there motionless, to all appearance dead. With a frank smile Bernard looked up and down the ranks of soldiery.

"Comrades," he cried, "in this interview between the great, which you have been privileged to overhear, I am certain to say something good, but I implore you not to applaud. This is a little trick I have taught Bruno. If I pat him on the forehead, he drops as you have seen. Indeed, he can do many things more remarkable than that, for if the floor were not so slippery, he would stand on his hind-legs and shake hands with each of you."

Then he turned towards the Baron again, and the latter continued the conversation—

"You would relieve the town, then, by aid of your own imagination?"

"Yes, my lord, by the aid of my own imagination, and through stimulating the imagination of others."

"May a famished man venture to hope that the bread and wine will not be imaginary?"

Bernard laughed joyously.

"They will be real, my lord."

"Very well, Sir Balladmaker. I give you six days to accomplish the proposed miracle. If you fail, the members of my garrison are in only a week's worse plight than that in which they find themselves to-day; if you succeed, I shall ennoble you, and place a wild boar rampant on your shield. Also I shall bestow upon you the hand of the fair maiden by your side, with my blessing."

"My lord, with your approval, and the girl, I am rewarded beyond my deserts. And now, that no further time be lost, let me entreat you to withdraw these troops."

At a nod from the Baron, Captain Dorn gave the command.

"Tread lightly, comrades, I implore you," said Bernard, as the pikemen tiptoed out. The huge boar stirred uneasily, and the young man's hand patted it.

"My lord, we will first proceed to stir up the sluggish imagination of his reverend Excellency, the besieging Archbishop. You hold in your prison a thief and a liar, justly interred this four months back."

The Baron looked inquiringly at Captain Dorn, who said—

"Yes. Heinrich Max."

"I shall want him released, but not allowed to communicate with any of the garrison. At ten o'clock to-night he is to receive an excellent meal of black and brown bread, and a full bottle of Kauzenberger wine."

"Ah!" growled his Lordship, "if you begin with impossibilities, you make a farce of the situation. Remember your bread and wine has not yet arrived."

"Pardon me, my lord. For the occasion which I have, in, mind, I had concealed in my own house one loaf of black and one of white bread, and also the bottle of wine. You see my plan? At midnight this fellow is sent over the wall with instructions to carry your message to Traves."

"Tut tut!" cried the, Baron; "he'd never get through the lines."

"I devoutly hope not, your Lordship. He, having been imprisoned four months, knows nothing of our straits, for the food in his cell is no more scanty than it was in the beginning. I shall press on him the bread and wine, urging him to eat and drink in abundance, and he leaves this town at midnight imagining he quits a garrison plenteousiy provided with food and drink. Thus is his imagination stimulated. Now let us tackle the Archbishop of Traves. I ask you, my lord, to write as follows—

"But—but" protested the Baron, "Traves is my enemy, and Cologne is my friend. Mayence knows that if I made an appeal, it would be to Cologne. Both Mayence and Cologne mistrust Traves."

"Cologne dare not march to your assistance. Here stands Ebernburg; seven leagues east is the city of Mayence; nineteen leagues west is the city of Traves; twenty-nine leagues north is the city of Cologne. Cologne dare not march upon Mayence, because Traves could come down the Moselle and cut his communications at Coblenz;; but there's nothing to hinder Traves from marching on Mayence, and very well does the Archbishop of Mayence know this. And remember, my lord, it is an imaginary army I am calling to your assistance."

"I see. Then Max, the prisoner, takes this despatch to-night?"

"Yes, carefully concealed. It will be discovered on him, and he, having been prisoner four months, a thief and a liar to boot, will tell all he knows once he is captured, and likely embellish the importance of the feast he has received."

Next morning watchers on the walls of Ebernburg saw a commotion in the Archbishop's lines, and at first it was thought he was on the move. Finally it was seen that a cavalcade was approaching the gate of Ebernburg. Bernard Eberbach asserted he had expected this delegation, and prophesied that it would be a summons to instant surrender.

"I, with your permission, my lord, will hold converse with the embassy, after which I expect further to stimulate the imagination of the Archbishop by giving him an exhibition of butchery."

Bernard's prediction proved correct. The envoy from the Archbishop, with a flourish of trumpets, demanded the presence of the Baron von Sickingen to receive a demand for unconditional capitulation.

"I am here in the Baron's place," said Bernard with great politeness. "The Baron is entertaining a company of his officers at a banquet in the Town Hall."

"And who are you?" cried the envoy.

"I," replied Bernard deferentially, "with your permission, am the pig-butcher of Ebernburg."

At that there was a laugh.

"We do not hold communication with such as you," said the envoy haughtily, "and we know well you have no pigs to slaughter, and that no banquet is being held in the Town Hall."

"If you will do me the honour to come within our gates," said the young man, "I will show you five hundred excellent boars."

"If you prove that to us," said the envoy, "we will raise the siege."

"’Tis easily done. Enter, I beg of you."

"We are not such fools. Drive a herd of five hundred boars outside the gates, and drive them back again."

"Ah, there we are not such fools. I could not risk half a thousand fine animals scattered over the countryside. Once outside the gates, we could never get them in again; but to-day I have to slaughter twenty-five pigs, and for your delectation I shall do so each morning outside the gates instead of inside them. Keep good count, I beg of you."

When the envoy returned to the Archbishop's camp, one leaf of the gate was thrown open, and Bernard took his place outside of it, flourishing a long-handled mallet, which had, however, soft pads at the end of the hammer. Two men led out Bruno, and the self-styled butcher swung his mallet, whereupon the great hog dropped and lay stark. A dozen stout fellows issued from the gates, bore the carcass inside, and almost instantly two more led what seemed to be a second boar to the slaughter; thus it went on until twenty-five had been carried inside.

Then, with a flourish of his blue cap towards the Archbishop's headquarters, Bernard disappeared, and the gate was closed. That afternoon the Archbishop and his men departed towards Mayence. Bread and wine flowed towards the beleaguered city from Bingin on the Rhine and elsewhere, the most skilful mason carved the boar's head on the stone of the Town Hall walls, where you may see it to this day, and other boars' heads were being carved on trenchers, while the bells of the city rang merrily out to announce the marriage of Bernard and Gretchen.