Bab Bab 180 · The Grave-Mound

. The Grave-Mound

A rich farmer was one day standing in his yard inspecting his fields

and gardens. The corn was growing up vigorously and the fruit-trees

were heavily laden with fruit. The grain of the year before still lay

in such immense heaps on the floors that the rafters could hardly bear

it. Then he went into the stable, where were well-fed oxen, fat cows,

and horses bright as looking-glass. At length he went back into his

sitting-room, and cast a glance at the iron chest in which his money

lay.

Whilst he was thus standing surveying his riches, all at once there was

a loud knock close by him. The knock was not at the door of his room,

but at the door of his heart. It opened, and he heard a voice which

said to him, “Hast thou done good to thy family with it? Hast thou

considered the necessities of the poor? Hast thou shared thy bread with

the hungry? Hast thou been contented with what thou hast, or didst thou

always desire to have more?” The heart was not slow in answering, “I

have been hard and pitiless, and have never shown any kindness to my

own family. If a beggar came, I turned away my eyes from him. I have

not troubled myself about God, but have thought only of increasing my

wealth. If everything which the sky covers had been mine own, I should

still not have had enough.”

When he was aware of this answer he was greatly alarmed, his knees

began to tremble, and he was forced to sit down.

Then there was another knock, but the knock was at the door of his

room. It was his neighbour, a poor man who had a number of children

whom he could no longer satisfy with food. “I know,” thought the poor

man, “that my neighbour is rich, but he is as hard as he is rich. I

don’t believe he will help me, but my children are crying for bread, so

I will venture it.” He said to the rich man, “You do not readily give

away anything that is yours, but I stand here like one who feels the

water rising above his head. My children are starving, lend me four

measures* of corn.” The rich man looked at him long, and then the first

sunbeam of mercy began to melt away a drop of the ice of greediness. “I

will not lend thee four measures,” he answered, “but I will make thee a

present of eight, but thou must fulfil one condition.” “What am I to

do?” said the poor man. “When I am dead, thou shalt watch for three

nights by my grave.” The peasant was disturbed in his mind at this

request, but in the need in which he was, he would have consented to

anything; he accepted, therefore, and carried the corn home with him.

It seemed as if the rich man had foreseen what was about to happen, for

when three days were gone by, he suddenly dropped down dead. No one

knew exactly how it came to pass, but no one grieved for him. When he

was buried, the poor man remembered his promise; he would willingly

have been released from it, but he thought, “After all, he acted kindly

by me. I have fed my hungry children with his corn, and even if that

were not the case, where I have once given my promise I must keep it.”

At nightfall he went into the churchyard, and seated himself on the

grave-mound. Everything was quiet, only the moon appeared above the

grave, and frequently an owl flew past and uttered her melancholy cry.

When the sun rose, the poor man betook himself in safety to his home,

and in the same manner the second night passed quietly by. On the

evening of the third day he felt a strange uneasiness, it seemed to him

that something was about to happen. When he went out he saw, by the

churchyard-wall, a man whom he had never seen before. He was no longer

young, had scars on his face, and his eyes looked sharply and eagerly

around. He was entirely covered with an old cloak, and nothing was

visible but his great riding-boots. “What are you looking for here?”

the peasant asked. “Are you not afraid of the lonely churchyard?”

“I am looking for nothing,” he answered, “and I am afraid of nothing! I

am like the youngster who went forth to learn how to shiver, and had

his labour for his pains, but got the King’s daughter to wife and great

wealth with her, only I have remained poor. I am nothing but a paid-off

soldier, and I mean to pass the night here, because I have no other

shelter.” “If you are without fear,” said the peasant, “stay with me,

and help me to watch that grave there.”

“To keep watch is a soldier’s business,” he replied, “whatever we fall

in with here, whether it be good or bad, we will share it between us.”

The peasant agreed to this, and they seated themselves on the grave

together.

All was quiet until midnight, when suddenly a shrill whistling was

heard in the air, and the two watchers perceived the Evil One standing

bodily before them. “Be off, you ragamuffins!” cried he to them, “the

man who lies in that grave belongs to me; I want to take him, and if

you don’t go away I will wring your necks!” “Sir with the red feather,”

said the soldier, “you are not my captain, I have no need to obey you,

and I have not yet learned how to fear. Go away, we shall stay sitting

here.”

The Devil thought to himself, “Money is the best thing with which to

get hold of these two vagabonds.” So he began to play a softer tune,

and asked quite kindly, if they would not accept a bag of money, and go

home with it? “That is worth listening to,” answered the soldier, “but

one bag of gold won’t serve us, if you will give as much as will go

into one of my boots, we will quit the field for you and go away.”

“I have not so much as that about me,” said the Devil, “but I will

fetch it. In the neighbouring town lives a money-changer who is a good

friend of mine, and will readily advance it to me.” When the Devil had

vanished the soldier took his left boot off, and said, “We will soon

pull the charcoal-burner’s nose for him, just give me your knife,

comrade.” He cut the sole off the boot, and put it in the high grass

near the grave on the edge of a hole that was half over-grown. “That

will do,” said he; “now the chimney-sweep may come.”

They both sat down and waited, and it was not long before the Devil

returned with a small bag of gold in his hand. “Just pour it in,” said

the soldier, raising up the boot a little, “but that won’t be enough.”

The Black One shook out all that was in the bag; the gold fell through,

and the boot remained empty. “Stupid Devil,” cried the soldier, “it

won’t do! Didn’t I say so at once? Go back again, and bring more.” The

Devil shook his head, went, and in an hour’s time came with a much

larger bag under his arm. “Now pour it in,” cried the soldier, “but I

doubt the boot won’t be full.” The gold clinked as it fell, but the

boot remained empty. The Devil looked in himself with his burning eyes,

and convinced himself of the truth. “You have shamefully big calves to

your legs!” cried he, and made a wry face. “Did you think,” replied the

soldier, “that I had a cloven foot like you? Since when have you been

so stingy? See that you get more gold together, or our bargain will

come to nothing!” The Wicked One went off again. This time he stayed

away longer, and when at length he appeared he was panting under the

weight of a sack which lay on his shoulders. He emptied it into the

boot, which was just as far from being filled as before. He became

furious, and was just going to tear the boot out of the soldier’s

hands, but at that moment the first ray of the rising sun broke forth

from the sky, and the Evil Spirit fled away with loud shrieks. The poor

soul was saved.

The peasant wished to divide the gold, but the soldier said, “Give what

falls to my lot to the poor, I will come with thee to thy cottage, and

together we will live in rest and peace on what remains, as long as God

is pleased to permit.”