In my younger days, there was a dinner given in the village of
Floremburgh, Westphalia, where I was born, on the occasion of a
baptism, to which the clergyman, a worthy man, was invited. During
dinner, the conversation turned upon the grave-digger of the place,
who was well known, particularly on account of his second-sight, and
even feared; for as often as he saw a corpse, he was always telling
that there would be a funeral out of such a house. Now, as the event
invariably took place, the inhabitants of the house he indicated
were placed by the man’s tale in the greatest dilemma and anxiety,
particularly if there was any one in the house who was sickly, whose
death might probably be hastened if the prediction was not concealed
from him―which, however, generally took place.
This man’s prophecying was an abomination to the clergyman. He forbade
it, he reproved, he scolded, but all to no purpose; for the poor dolt,
although he was a drunkard, and a man of low and vulgar sentiments,
believed firmly that it was a prophetic gift of God, and that he must
make it known, in order that the people might still repent. At length,
as all reproof was in vain, the clergyman gave him notice that if he
announced one funeral more, he should be deprived of his place, and
expelled the village. This availed―the grave-digger was silent from
that time forward. Half a year afterward, in autumn, about the year
1745, the grave-digger comes to the clergyman and says: “Sir, you
have forbidden me to announce any more funerals, and I have not done
so since, nor will I do so any more; but I must now tell you something
that is particularly remarkable, that you may see that my second-sight
is really true. In a few weeks a corpse will be brought up the meadow,
which will be drawn on a sledge by an ox.” The clergyman seemingly
paid no attention to this, but listened to it with indifference, and
replied: “Only go about your business, and leave off such superstitious
follies; it is sinful to have anything to do with them.”
The thing, nevertheless, appeared extremely singular and remarkable to
the clergyman; for, in my country, a corpse being drawn on a sledge
by an ox is most disgraceful, because the bodies of those that commit
suicide, and notorious malefactors, are thus drawn on sledges.
Some weeks after a strong body of Austrian troops passed through the
village on their way to the Netherlands. While resting there a day,
the snow fell nearly three feet deep. At the same time, a woman died
in another village of the same parish. The military took away all the
horses out of the country to drag their wagons. Meanwhile the corpse
lay there; no horses came back; the corpse began to putrify, and the
stench became intolerable: they were, therefore, compelled to make a
virtue of necessity―to place the corpse upon a sledge and harness an
ox to the vehicle.
In the meantime, the clergyman, and the schoolmaster with his scholars,
proceeded to the entrance of the village to meet the corpse; and, as
the funeral came along the meadow in this array, the grave-digger
stepped up to the clergyman, pulled him by the gown, pointed with his
finger to it, and said not a word.
Such was the tale, with all its circumstances, as related by the
clergyman. I was well acquainted with the good man: he was incapable of
telling an untruth, much less in a matter which contradicted all his
principles.
Another history of this kind, for the truth of which I can vouch, was
related to me by my late father and his brother, both very pious men,
and to whom it would have been impossible to have told a falsehood.
Both of them had business, on one occasion, in the Westphalian provence
of Mark, when they were invited to dinner at the protestant preacher’s.
During the repast, the subject of second-sight was likewise brought
upon the carpet. The minister spoke of it with acrimony, because he had
also a grave-digger who was afflicted with that evil; he had often and
repeatedly forbidden him from mentioning it, but all to no purpose. On
one occasion, the prognosticator came to the minister and said, “I have
to tell you, sir, that in a short time there will be a funeral from
your house, and you will have to follow the coffin before all the other
funeral attendants.” Terror, anger, and displeasure, got so much the
better of the good pastor, that he drove the thoughtless fellow out of
the door; for his wife was near her confinement: and, notwithstanding
every rational view which he took, he passed a melancholy time of it,
till at length his wife was safely delivered and out of danger. He now
reproached the grave-digger most bitterly, and said, “See, now, how
unfounded thy reveries have been!” But the corpse-seer only smiled and
said, “Sir, the matter is not yet finished.”
Immediately afterward the preacher’s servant-maid died of an
apoplexy. Now, it is the custom there for the master of the house,
on such occasions, to immediately follow the coffin, before the next
relatives; but this time the preacher endeavored to avoid it, in order
to confound the corpse-seer. He did not venture, however, to offend
the parents of the deceased, which he would have done most grossly
if he had not followed the coffin. He found, therefore, a suitable
excuse in the circumstance that his wife―who, according to the custom
prevalent there, was then to go to church for the first time after her
confinement―should take his place, and he would then accompany the
schoolmaster and his scholars, as was usual.
This was discussed and agreed upon, and the parents were likewise
satisfied with it. On the day the funeral was to take place, the
company assembled at the parsonage. The coffin lay on a bier in the
porch; the schoolmaster with his scholars stood in a circle in front of
the house and sang;―the minister was just going out to his appointed
place; his wife stepped behind the coffin, and the bearers laid hold
of the bier, when that very moment the minister’s wife fell down in
a fit; she was taken into a room, and brought again to herself, but
was so ill that she could not go to church; and the minister was so
terrified by this accident, that it no longer occurred to him to make
the grave-digger into a liar, but he stepped very quietly behind the
coffin, as the prognosticator would have it.