Prevod

One day a rich farmer stood in his courtyard, looking out over his fields and gardens. The grain was growing strong, and the fruit trees were laden with fruit. Last year’s harvest still lay in such great heaps in the loft that the beams could scarcely bear the weight. Then he went into the stable, where the fattened oxen stood, the sleek cows, and the horses with coats like polished glass. At last he returned to his room and cast his eyes over the iron chests that held his money. As he stood surveying his riches, there suddenly came a loud knocking. But it was not at the door of his room: it was at the door of his heart. The door opened, and he heard a voice saying, “Have you used your wealth to do good to your own people? Have you taken heed of the suffering of the poor? Have you shared your bread with the hungry? Were you content with what you possessed, or have you always longed for more?” His heart did not hesitate to answer. “I have been hard and pitiless, and have never shown my own people any kindness. When a poor man came, I turned my eyes away. I cared nothing for God, but thought only of increasing my wealth. Had everything beneath the heavens been mine, I would still not have had enough.” When he heard this answer, he was filled with terror. His knees began to tremble, and he had to sit down. Then came another knock, but this time it was at the door of his room. It was his neighbor, a poor man with a little brood of children whom he could no longer feed. “I know,” the poor man had thought, “that my neighbor is rich, but he is just as hardhearted. I do not believe he will help me, but my children are crying for bread, so I shall venture to ask.” He said to the rich man, “You do not readily part with what is yours, but I am like a man with the water up to his neck. My children are starving. Lend me four measures of grain.” The rich man looked at him for a long time, and the first ray of kindness began to melt a drop from the ice of his greed. “I will not lend you four measures,” he answered, “but I will give you eight. Only you must fulfill one condition.” “What must I do?” asked the poor man. “When I am dead, you must keep watch at my grave for three nights.” The farmer felt uneasy at this proposal, but in his distress he would have agreed to anything. So he gave his promise and carried the grain home.

It was as though the rich man had foreseen what was to happen, for three days later he suddenly fell to the ground, dead. No one quite knew how it had happened, but no one mourned him. When he had been buried, the poor man remembered his promise. Gladly would he have been released from it, but he thought, “He did show you kindness, after all. You fed your hungry children with his grain. And even if you had not, you gave your word, and you must keep it.” At nightfall he went to the churchyard and sat down on the grave mound. All was still; only the moon shone over the graves, and now and then an owl flew past, uttering its mournful cries. When the sun rose, the poor man went home unharmed, and the second night passed just as quietly. On the evening of the third day, he felt a peculiar dread, as though something still lay ahead. When he reached the churchyard, he saw a man beside the wall whom he had never seen before. He was no longer young, his face was scarred, and his keen, fiery eyes darted about. An old cloak covered him completely, so that only his great riding boots could be seen. “What are you looking for here?” the farmer asked him. “Does this lonely churchyard not give you the shivers?” “I am looking for nothing,” he answered, “but I fear nothing either. I am like the boy who went out to learn how to shudder and tried in vain. Only he married the king’s daughter and gained great riches with her, while I have always remained poor. I am nothing but a discharged soldier, and I mean to spend the night here because I have no other shelter.” “If you have no fear,” said the farmer, “stay with me and help me keep watch over that grave mound.” “Keeping watch is a soldier’s business,” he answered. “Whatever comes our way here, good or ill, we shall face it together.” The farmer shook his hand on it, and they sat down together on the grave.

All remained quiet until midnight. Then a piercing whistle suddenly rang through the air, and the two watchers saw the Evil One standing bodily before them. “Away, you scoundrels!” he cried. “The man lying in that grave is mine. I have come to fetch him, and if you do not leave, I shall wring your necks.” “Sir Red Feather,” said the soldier, “you are not my captain, and I need not obey you. Nor have I learned to be afraid. Go your way; we are staying here.” The devil thought, “Gold is the best bait for these two ragamuffins.” So he changed his tune and asked them quite amiably whether they would accept a purse of gold and go home with it. “Now that sounds more promising,” answered the soldier, “but one purse of gold is no use to us. If you will give us enough gold to fill one of my boots, we will clear the field for you and march away.” “I do not have that much with me,” said the devil, “but I will fetch it. In the neighboring town lives a money changer who is a good friend of mine. He will gladly advance me that much.” When the devil had vanished, the soldier pulled off his left boot and said, “We shall play a fine trick on that charcoal burner. Just lend me your knife, my friend.” He cut the sole off the boot and set it beside the mound, in the tall grass at the edge of a half-overgrown pit. “There, all is ready,” he said. “Now let the chimney sweep come.”

The two sat down and waited. Before long the devil returned with a little sack of gold in his hand. “Pour it in,” said the soldier, lifting the boot a little, “though that will not be enough.” The black fellow emptied the sack. The gold fell straight through, and the boot remained empty. “Stupid devil!” cried the soldier. “It is not enough. Did I not tell you so at once? Back you go, and fetch more.” The devil shook his head, went away, and returned an hour later with a much larger sack under his arm. “Pour it in!” cried the soldier. “Though I doubt it will fill the boot.” The gold jingled as it fell, and the boot remained empty. The devil peered into it himself with his glowing eyes and saw that it was true. “You have outrageously thick calves,” he cried, twisting his mouth. “Do you imagine,” replied the soldier, “that I have a cloven hoof like you? Since when have you been so stingy? See that you bring more gold, or our bargain is off.” Once more the fiend trudged away. This time he was gone longer, and when he finally appeared, he was panting beneath the weight of a sack on his shoulder. He emptied it into the boot, but it filled no more than before. He flew into a rage and tried to wrench the boot from the soldier’s hand, but at that moment the first ray of the rising sun broke across the sky, and the evil spirit fled with a loud shriek. The poor soul was saved.

The farmer wanted to divide the gold, but the soldier said, “Give my share to the poor. I shall come and live with you in your cottage, and with what remains we shall live together in peace and quiet for as long as God pleases.”