piece.”

“Yes, we just didn’t think it out better and we could not always be pestering our neighbors afresh, they had already given us a lot of help with gifts of timber and with the loan of horses and carts,” the old man replied.

“Listen, Granddad,” the cousin said, “don’t beat about the bush, but tell the truth and give an honest account. I’ve already heard various rumors, but I’ve never yet been able to hear the truth exactly. Now would be a good time, you could entertain us so well with the story, until the women have got the roast ready; so you give us an honest account!” The grandfather still beat about the bush before he would consent; but the cousin and the womenfolk did not give way until he at last gave his promise, though nevertheless with the express reservation that he would prefer what he had to tell to remain a secret and not to go beyond the present company. A good many people would fight shy of anything like that about a house, and he would not like to be responsible in his old age for anything that might harm his own relatives.

“Every time that I look at this piece of wood, the venerable old man began, “I cannot but wonder how it all happened that people came as far as here from the distant East, where the human race is said to have originated, and found this spot in this narrow valley; I cannot but think of those who drifted here or else were driven here, and everything that they must have suffered, and who indeed they may have been. I have inquired a lot about it, but all I have been able to find out is that this district was inhabited very early in history, and indeed that Sumiswald[3] is supposed to have been a town even before our Lord was on earth; but that is not written down anywhere. However, we do know that a castle, where the hospital now is, stood there more than six hundred years ago, and apparently about the same time there would be a house here too which belonged to the castle, along with a great part of the district; the house would have to pay tithes and ground rent to the castle, and compulsory labor would have to be performed as well; for the people then were held as serfs without legal rights of their own, as everybody has now as soon as he becomes an adult. People lived in widely divergent conditions in those days, quite dose together there lived serfs who had the best conditions and those who were sorely and almost unbearably o pressed and were not even sure of their lives. Their circumstances depended on who their lord was at the time; these lords were very different from one another and at the same time almost absolute masters over their people; the latter had no one to whom they could make their complaint easily and effectively. Those who belonged to this castle are said to have suffered worse at times than most of those who belonged to other castles. Most of the other castles belonged to one family and were passed down from father to son; here the lord and his subjects were known to each other from youth onwards, and many a one behaved like a father to his people. Now this castle came at an early stage into the hands of the Teutonic Knights, as they were called, and the one who was in charge here was known as the district commander. These superiors changed frequently, and for a time there was somebody from Saxony, and then somebody from Swabia; consequently no sense of trust could grow, and each commander brought manners and customs with him from his own country.

In fact the knights were supposed to fight with the heathen in Poland and Prussia, and in these countries they almost accustomed themselves to the heathen way of living, treated their fellow-men as if there were no God in heaven, and when they did eventually come home they continued to fancy that they were still in the heathen country and carried on with the same type of life here. Those who preferred to sit in the shade and enjoy themselves rather than to fight bloodily in grim, desert country, or those who had to nurse their wounds and strengthen their bodies came to the lands which the Order (such was called the company of the knights) possessed in Germany and in Switzerland, and each of the commanders could do as he pleased. One of the worst of them is said to have been Hans von Stoffeln[4] from Swabia, and it was under his rule that these things are said to have happened which you want to know about and which have been passed down in our family from father to son.

This man Hans von Stoffeln had the idea of building a great castle up over there on the Bärhegenhübel[5]; the castle stood on the spot where in stormy weather you can even now still see the spirits of the castle displaying their treasures. Usually the knights built their castles near the roads, just as today inns are built by the roadside; in both cases it is a question of being able to plunder the people better, though in different ways, admittedly. But why the knight wanted to have a castle up there on the wild, bare hill in the midst of deserted country, we do not know; it is enough that he did want it, and the peasants who were attached to the to the castle had to do the building.

The knight was indifferent to what work might be demanded by the season, whether it was haymaking-time, harvest-time, or seed-time. So many teams or carts had to move, so many men had to labour, and at this or that particular time the last tile had to be in place and the last nail knocked in. What is more, he insisted on every tenth sheaf of corn that was due to him and on every measure of his ground rent; he never let them have a chicken for Shrove Tuesday nor even an egg; he had no pity, and knew nothing of the needs of the poor. He spurred them on in heathen manner with blows and curses, and if anyone became tired, or was slower in his movements or wanted to rest, the bailiff would be at his back with the whip, and neither the aged nor the weak were spared. When the wild knights were up there, they enjoyed hearing the crack of the whip and playing all sorts of unpleasant tricks on the workers; if they could maliciously compel the men to double the pace of their work, they forced them to it and then took great pleasure in their fear and sweat.

At last the castle was finished, with its walls that were five yards thick; nobody knew why it was standing up there, but the peasants were glad that it really did stand, if it had to be there at all, and that the last nail was knocked in and the last tile fixed into place up on top.

They wiped the sweat from their brows, looked round their own property with dejected hearts and sighed to see to what extent the accursed building work had held them back. But there was a long summer ahead of them all the same, and God was above them; therefore they took courage and firmly grasped their plows, consoling their wives and children who had suffered severe hunger and for whom work appeared as yet another torment.

But scarcely had they taken their plows to the fields when the message game that all the peasants were to appear one evening at a specific time in the castle at Sumiswald. They were both fearful and hopeful. It was true that they had up to now experienced nothing enjoyable at the hands of the present inhabitants of the castle, but had only suffered malice and severity, but it seemed right to them that the gentry should do something for them as a reward for the unheard-of piece of forced labor which had just been accomplish ed; and because the peasants thought it seemed right, many of them believed their lords would think so too, and they hoped they would that evening be given a present or a remission of some other obligations.

On the evening arranged they appeared punctually and with beating hearts, but they had to wait a long time in the courtyard of the castle where the servants could jeer at them. These servants too had been in heathen counties. What is more, it must have been the same then as it is now, when every twopenny-half-penny gentleman’s lackey thinks he has a right to look down on and be scornful of property-owning peasants.

Eventually they were summoned to the hall of the knights; in front of them the heavy door was opened; inside the dark tanned knights sat round the heavy oak table, fierce dogs at their feet, and at their head was von Stoffeln, a fierce, powerful man who had a bead like a three-liter measure, eyes like cartwheels and a beard like an old lion’s mane. Then the knights laughed so that the wine slopped over their tankards and the dogs darted angrily forward; for as soon as dogs like these see trembling, hesitant limbs they have the idea that they belong to some prey that should be hunted down. The peasants, however, did not feel confident; they thought, if only they were back home, and each tried to hide behind the other. When at last dogs and knights were silent, von Stoffeln raised his voice, and it sounded as if it came from a hundred-year-old oak: ‘My castle is finished, but there is something still missing; summer is coming, and up there there is no avenue of trees to provide a shady walk. In a month you must plant an avenue for me; you must take a hundred full-grown beech-trees from the Münneberg[6] root and branch, and plant them for me on Bärhegen, and if one single beech-tree is missing, I shall make you pay for it with property and life. Down below there is something to eat and drink, but the first beech must be standing on Bärhegen tomorrow.’

When one of the peasants heard something about food and drink he thought that the knight might be lenient and in a good mood; and he therefore began to talk about their work at home and their hungry wives and children, and the fact that this particular task could be better done in winter.