It was soon agreed to try the arrangement. In the worst eventuality the business could hardly go badly; for it would not be the first time that men had deceived the most evil spirits, and if they themselves did not know what to do, a priest surely would give advice and find a way out. But in their darkness of mind many a one must have thought what he later admitted: that he would not risk much money or time on account of an unbaptized child.
When the decision was taken according to Christine’s wishes, it was as if all the whirlwinds were crashing together over the house top, as if the armies of wild huntsmen were roaring overhead; the upright posts of the house quivered, the beams bent, trees splintered against the house like spears on a knight’s breastplate. The people within turned pale and were overcome with horror, but they did not rescind their decision; when the gray light of dawn appeared they set about putting their counsel into effect.
The morning was beautiful and bright, thunder and lightning and witchcraft had vanished, the axes struck twice as sharply as before, the soil was friable and every beech-tree fell straight, just as one would like it, none of the carts broke, the cattle were amenable and strong and the men were protected from all accidents as if by an invisible hand.
There was only one thing that was queer. At that time there was no track below Sumiswald leading to the lower valley; in that part there was still swampland which was watered by the uncontrollable river Grüne; one had to go up the slope and through the village past the church. As on the previous days they travelled always three teams together, so that they could help each other with advice, strength and cattle, and from that point onwards all they had to do was to go through Sumiswald, down the slope by the church on the other side of the village, and here there stood a little shrine; they had to lay out the beeches beyond the slope where the road was flat. As soon as they had come up the slope and were approaching the church on a level part of the road, the weight of the carts did not become lighter but heavier and heavier; they had to harness as many animals as they could muster, had to beat them unmercifully, had to lay hand on the spokes themselves to turn them, and what is more, even the quietest horses shied as if there were something invisible appearing from the churchyard that stood in their way, and a hollow sounding a bell, almost like the misplaced noise of a distant death-knell, came from the church, so that a peculiar sensation of horror seized even the strongest men, and evry time that they approached the church, both men and beast shook with fear. Once they had passed beyond, they could move on quietly, unload quietly, and then go quietly back for a fresh load.
On that same day the peasants unloaded six beech-trees and placed them side by side at the agreed spot; the next morning six beech-trees had been planted up on Bärhegen and throughout the whole valley nobody had heard an axle turning over on its hub, and nobody had heard the usual calling of carters, the neighing of horses or the monotonous bellowing of oxen. But there were six beech trees standing up there, anybody could see them who wanted to, and they were the six trees which had been laid down at the root of the slope, and no other ones.
At that there was great astonishment throughout the valley, and many people’s curiosity was aroused. The knights especially wondered what kind of agreement the peasants had made and by what means the beech-trees had been transported to the spot. They would have gladly used heathenish means of forcing the secret from the peasants. However, they soon realized that the peasants too did not know all and were themselves half terrified. Furthermore, von Stoffeln resisted them. He was not only indifferent about how the trees came to Bärhegen, on the contrary, provided only that the trees did arrive there. He had indeed realized that the mockery of his knights had misled him to a foolish action, for if the peasants were ruined and the fields not cultivated, it was the ruling class which would suffer the greatest loss; but once von Stoffeln had given an order, it had to stand. Therefore the relief which the peasants had obtained for themselves suited him quite well, and he was wholly indifferent whether in consequence they had foresworn their soul’s salvation; for what did he care about the souls of peasants, once death had taken their bodies. Now he laughed at his knights and protected the peasants from their wantonness. In spite of this the knights wanted to get to the bottom of the business and sent squires to keep watch; these were found the next morning lying half-dead in ditches, hurled by an invisible hand.
Then two knights set off to Bärhegen. They were bold warriors, and where there had been any hazardous enterprise to be faced in heathen lands, they had faced it. They were found the next morning lying unconscious on the ground, and when they recovered their speech they said that they had been hurled down by a red knight with a fiery lance. Here and there could be found an inquisitive woman who could not refrain from looking out at midnight from a crack in the timber or from a dormer-window to the road in the valley. Immediately a poisonous wind blew up at such a one, so that the face swelled up, and for weeks afterwards nose and eyes could not be seen and her mouth could be found only with difficulty. That made people less anxious to indulge in peeping, and no single eye looked out when midnight lay over the valley.
On one occasion, however, death came suddenly upon a man; he needed the last sacraments, but nobody could fetch the priest, since it was almost midnight, and the way lay past Kilchstalden. So an innocent little boy, dear in the sight of God and man, ran to Sumiswald without informing anybody, impelled by anxiety for his father. When he came to the Kilchstalden he saw beech-trees rising up from the ground, each one drawn by two fiery squirrels, and nearby he saw a green huntsman riding on a black ram, with a fiery whip in his hand, a fiery beard on his face and a feather swaying red hot on his hat. The transport flew high into the air over all the slopes and as quick as a flash. This is what the lad saw, and no harm came to him. Before three weeks had passed, ninety beech-trees were standing on Bärhegen, making a beautiful shaded walk, for all the trees put out shoots luxuriantly and none of them withered. But neither the knights nor von Stoffeln himself went walking there often, for every time they were seized by a secret horror; they would rather have known nothing further about the business, but nobody made a suggestion that the work should be stopped, and each comforted himself by saying that if things went wrong, it would be somebody else’s fault.
But the peasants felt easier with every beech-tree that was planted up on top, for with every tree grew the hope that their lord would be satisfied and the green huntsman deceived; after all, he had no guarantee, and once the hundredth tree was up there, what did they care about the green huntsman? Nevertheless they were still certain about the matter; every day they were afraid that he might play them a trick and leave them in the lurch. On May 25th, St. Urban’s day, they brought him the last beeches to the Kilchstalden, and neither old nor young slept much that night; it was scarcely believable that he would complete the work without making some trouble, if he were without a child or any surety. The next morning old and young were up long before sunrise, for everybody was impelled by the same inquisitive anxiety; but it was a long time before anybody ventured to the place where the beech-trees had been put; perhaps there would be some trap there for those who wished to deceive the green huntsman.
A wild cowheard who had brought goats down from high mountain pasture finally dared to go forward; he found no beech-trees lying on the ground, nor could any trace of trickery be perceived at that spot. They still had no trust in the business; the cowheard had to go ahead of them to Bärhegen. There everything was in order, a hundred beech-trees stood in full array, none was withered, nobody’s face swelled up, nobody had pains in any limb. Then their hearts became exultant, and much mockery could be heard at the expense of the green huntsman and the knights. For the third time they sent out the wild cowherd and had him inform von Stoffeln that everything was now in order on Bärhegen, and that he might like to come and count the beech-trees. But von Stoffeln felt terrified, and he sent them the message that they should see to it that they went home. He would have gladly told them to remove the whole avenue of trees, but he did not do this on account of his knights; he did not know about the peasants’ compact, and who it was who might intervene in the business.
When the cowherd brought the message, hearts swelled yet more with defiance; wild youths danced in the avenue, a wild yodelling resounded from ravine to ravine, from one mountain to another, and re-echoed from the walls of Sumiswald castle. Thoughtful older people admonished and pleaded, but defiant hearts do not pay attention to the warnings of cautious old age; and then once the misfortune has come about, the old people are blamed for it on account of their hesitation and warnings. The time has not yet come when it is recognized that when defiance stamps its foot, misfortune grows forth from the ground. The rejoicing spread over hill and vale into all the houses; and wherever a finger’s length of smoked meat remained, it was taken down and prepared for eating, and wherever a lump of butter as big as a hand remained in a basin, it was used for baking.
The meat was eaten, the fritters disappeared, day had gone and a new day rose in the sky. Nearer and nearer came the day when a woman should bear a child; and the nearer the day, the more urgently did the fear become renewed that the green huntsman would announce himself again and demand what was his by right, or else prepare a trap for them.
Who could measure the distress of that young woman who was to give birth to the child? Her cries of despair resounded throughout the whole house, gradually affecting all who lived there, and no body could give any counsel, apart from saying that there was no trusting that huntsman whom they had had the dealings with. The nearer the fateful hour came, the more closely the poor woman pressed to God, embraced the Holy Mother not with her arms alone but with body and soul and whole mind, praying for protection for the sake of Her blessed Son. And it became clearer and clearer to her that in life and death in every need the greatest comfort is in God, for where He is, the evil one may not be and has no power.
Her soul was convinced ever more clearly that if a priest of the Lord were present at the birth with that holiest of all things, the sacred body of the Redeemer, and if he were armed with strong sentences of anathema, no evil spirit would dare to draw near, and at once the priest would be able to provide the newborn child with the sacrament of baptism, as was allowed by custom at that time; then the poor child would be removed forever from the danger which the presumption of its fathers had brought upon it. This belief came to be shared by others, and the young woman’s wretched plight went to their hearts, but they fought shy of confessing to the priest their pact with Satan, and since that time nobody had gone to confession nor had given an account of themselves to him. The priest was a very pious man, and even the knights of the castle did not make fun of him, thought he told them the truth straight. What the peasants had thought was that once the business was over, he could do nothing to stop them, but all the same nobody now wanted to be the first to tell him, and their consciences told them why.
At last the wretchedness of the situation moved one woman to take action; she went off and disclosed to the priest the compact and what it was the poor woman wanted. The pious man was greatly shocked, but he did not waste time with empty words; he boldly took up the fight with the mighty enemy on behalf of a poor soul. He was one of those men who do not fear the hardest fight, because they wish to be crowned with the crown of eternal life, and because indeed they know that no man will be crowned unless he fights well.
He drew a consecrated circle with holy water about the house where the woman was awaiting her time, for no evil spirits might step into this circle; he blessed the threshold and the whole room, and the woman had a quiet labour and the priest baptized the child without any disturbance. Outside all was quiet, bright stars sparkled in the clear sky and gentle breezes played in the trees. Some people said they heard laughter like a horse’s neighing from afar; but others thought it was only the owls at the edge of the wood. Everyone present, however, was highly delighted, and all fear had disappeared, for ever, as they thought; for if they had fooled the green huntsman once, they could go on doing so by the same method.
A great feast was prepared, and guests were invited from far and wide. The priest of the Lord warned them in vain against feasting and rejoicing, told them to be fearful and to pray, for the enemy was not overcome nor God propitiated. He felt in his mind that he was not in a position to lay any act of penance upon them, and that a mighty and heavy punishment was approaching from God’s own hand. But they did not listen to him and wanted to satisfy him with invitations to food and drink. He, however, went sadly away, prayed for those who did not know what they were doing, and armed himself with prayer and fasting to fight like a true shepherd for the flock entrusted to his care.
Christine too was sitting in the midst of the jubilant throng, but she sat strangely still with glowing cheeks, somber eyes, and one could see a strange twitching in her face. Christine, as an experienced midwife, had been present at the birth, and had acted as godmother during the hasty christening ceremony with an insolent, fearless heart, but when the priest sprinkled the water over the child and baptized it in the three holy names, she felt as if someone were suddenly pressing a red-hot iron on the spot where she had received the green huntsman’s kiss. She had started in sudden terror, had almost dropped the child on to the ground, and since that time the pain had not decreased but became more glowing from hour to hour. At first she had sat still, had forced back the pain and kept to herself the dark thoughts which were turning in her awakened mind, but she moved her hand ever more frequently to the burning spot, on which a poisonous wasp seemed to be placed, piercing with a burning sting right into her marrow. But as there was no wasp to be chased away and as the stings became ever more burning and her thoughts ever more dreadful, Christine began to show people her cheek and ask them what could be seen on it, and she kept on asking, but nobody saw anything, and soon nobody had any wish to be diverted from the pleasures of the christening celebration by peering at her cheeks. Finally she found an old woman who was willing to look carefully; just at that moment the cock crowed, the gray of dawn came, so that what the old woman saw on Christine’s cheek was an almost invisible spot. It was nothing, she said, it would go away all right; and she moved off.