When it came our turn to entertain, the whole house was pervaded with a feeling of solemnity, which had a certain similarity to the feeling at the time of a wedding.  Furthermore, a parallel to the tripartite division into wedding-eve celebration, wedding day, and the day after, appeared in the form of preparation day, real feast-day, and eating of the remnants.  Which of these three days deserved the prize may remain an open question, but I am inclined to believe I liked the first the best.  To be sure, it was unepicurean and called for much self-restraint, but it was rich in anticipation of glorious things to come.

On this day of preparation the widow Gaster, a celebrated cook, came to our house, as she did to all other houses on similar occasions.  Her personal appearance united complacence with dignity, and by virtue of this latter quality she was received with respect and unlimited confidence.  Because of a dislike, easily understood, for all the things she had to prepare day in and day out, especially sweets, she lived-almost exclusively on red wine, deriving the little other sustenance she needed from the vapors of hot grease, with which she was continually surrounded.  Her arrival at our house was always a signal for me to plant myself near the kitchen, where everything that took place could be observed and, incidentally, admired.  It was always her first task to bake a tree-cake on a spit.  She kept a record of all the tree-cakes she baked, and when the number reached a thousand the housewives of Swinemuende gave her a well-deserved feast in celebration of the achievement.  To be sure, tree-cakes are to be had even today, but they are degenerations, weak, spongy, and pale-cheeked, whereas in those days they had a happy firmness, which in the most successful specimens rose to crispness, accompanied by a scale of colors running from the darkest ocher to the brightest yellow.  It always gave me great pleasure to watch a tree-cake come into being.  Toward the back wall of a huge fireplace stood a low half-dome, built of bricks, the top projecting forward like a roof, the bottom slanting toward the back.  Along this slanting part was built a narrow charcoal fire about four feet long and by it were placed two small iron supports, upon which a roasting spit was laid, with a contrivance for turning it.  However, the spit resting upon the supports proved to be something more than a mere rod.  In fact the spit itself was run lengthwise through a hollow wooden cone, which had a covering of greased paper over its outer surface, and the purpose of which was to form a core for the tree-cake.  Then, with a tin spoon fastened upon a long stick, the cook began to pour on a thin batter, which at first dripped off in a way that made the method of application appear futile, and this continued for a considerable length of time.  But from the moment that the batter became more consistent, and the dripping slower, hope began to revive, and in a few hours the splendidly browned and copiously jagged tree-cake was taken off the wooden cone.  All this had a symbolical significance.  The successful completion of this piece de resistance inspired confidence in the success of the feast itself.  The tree-cake cast the horoscope, so to speak, of the whole affair.