Many things had to be taken
into account. First of all, perhaps, were the feathers to make new
beds, which were always needed for guest chambers; but the chief
concern were the smoked goose-breasts, almost as important articles as
the hams and sides of bacon hanging in the chimney. Shortly before St.
Martin's day, if enough geese had been collected to supply the needs,
they were penned up for fattening, in the court, which gave rise to a
horrible cackling, well calculated to rob us of our night's rest for a
whole week. But a day was straightway set for the beginning of the
feast, about the middle of November. In the court, in a lean-to built
near the end of the house, and, strange to say, with a dove-cote over
it, was the servants' room, in which, beside the cook, two house-maids
slept, provided always they did any sleeping. The coachman was
supposed, according to a rule of the house, to occupy the straw-loft,
but was happy to forego the independence of these quarters, which went
with his position, preferring by his presence to crowd still worse the
already crowded space of the servants' room, in full accord with
Schiller's lines,
"Room is in the smallest hovel
For a happy, loving pair."
But when goose-killing time came it meant a very considerable further
overcrowding, for on the evening that the massacring was to begin
there was added to the number of persons usually quartered in the
servants' room a special force of old women, four or five in number,
who at other times earned a living at washing or weeding.
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