Then follow the ass’s eighteen years, when one burden
after another is laid on him, he has to carry the corn which feeds
others, and blows and kicks are the reward of his faithful services. Then come the dog’s twelve years, when he lies in the corner, and
growls and has no longer any teeth to bite with, and when this time is
over the monkey’s ten years form the end. Then man is weak-headed and
foolish, does silly things, and becomes the jest of the children. 177 Death’s Messengers

In ancient times a giant was once travelling on a great highway, when
suddenly an unknown man sprang up before him, and said, “Halt, not one
step farther!” “What!” cried the giant, “a creature whom I can crush
between my fingers, wants to block my way? Who art thou that thou
darest to speak so boldly?” “I am Death,” answered the other. “No one
resists me, and thou also must obey my commands.” But the giant
refused, and began to struggle with Death. It was a long, violent
battle, at last the giant got the upper hand, and struck Death down
with his fist, so that he dropped by a stone. The giant went his way,
and Death lay there conquered, and so weak that he could not get up
again. “What will be done now,” said he, “if I stay lying here in a
corner? No one will die in the world, and it will get so full of people
that they won’t have room to stand beside each other.” In the meantime
a young man came along the road, who was strong and healthy, singing a
song, and glancing around on every side. When he saw the half-fainting
one, he went compassionately to him, raised him up, poured a
strengthening draught out of his flask for him, and waited till he came
round. “Dost thou know,” said the stranger, whilst he was getting up,
“who I am, and who it is whom thou hast helped on his legs again?”
“No,” answered the youth, “I do not know thee.” “I am Death,” said he. “I spare no one, and can make no exception with thee, but that thou
mayst see that I am grateful, I promise thee that I will not fall on
thee unexpectedly, but will send my messengers to thee before I come
and take thee away.” “Well,” said the youth, “it is something gained
that I shall know when thou comest, and at any rate be safe from thee
for so long.” Then he went on his way, and was light-hearted, and
enjoyed himself, and lived without thought. But youth and health did
not last long, soon came sicknesses and sorrows, which tormented him by
day, and took away his rest by night. “Die, I shall not,” said he to
himself, “for Death will send his messengers before that, but I do wish
these wretched days of sickness were over.” As soon as he felt himself
well again he began once more to live merrily. Then one day some one
tapped him on the shoulder. He looked round, and Death stood behind
him, and said, “Follow me, the hour of thy departure from this world
has come.” “What,” replied the man, “wilt thou break thy word? Didst
thou not promise me that thou wouldst send thy messengers to me before
coming thyself? I have seen none!” “Silence!” answered Death. “Have I
not sent one messenger to thee after another? Did not fever come and
smite thee, and shake thee, and cast thee down? Has dizziness not
bewildered thy head? Has not gout twitched thee in all thy limbs? Did
not thine ears sing? Did not tooth-ache bite into thy cheeks? Was it
not dark before thine eyes? And besides all that, has not my own
brother Sleep reminded thee every night of me? Didst thou not lie by
night as if thou wert already dead? The man could make no answer; he
yielded to his fate, and went away with Death. 178 Master Pfriem (Master Cobbler’s Awl)

Master Pfriem was a short, thin, but lively man, who never rested a
moment. His face, of which his turned-up nose was the only prominent
feature, was marked with small-pox and pale as death, his hair was gray
and shaggy, his eyes small, but they glanced perpetually about on all
sides. He saw everything, criticised everything, knew everything best,
and was always in the right. When he went into the streets, he moved
his arms about as if he were rowing; and once he struck the pail of a
girl, who was carrying water, so high in the air that he himself was
wetted all over by it. “Stupid thing,” cried he to her, while he was
shaking himself, “couldst thou not see that I was coming behind thee?”
By trade he was a shoemaker, and when he worked he pulled his thread
out with such force that he drove his fist into every one who did not
keep far enough off. No apprentice stayed more than a month with him,
for he had always some fault to find with the very best work. At one
time it was that the stitches were not even, at another that one shoe
was too long, or one heel higher than the other, or the leather not cut
large enough. “Wait,” said he to his apprentice, “I will soon show thee
how we make skins soft,” and he brought a strap and gave him a couple
of strokes across the back. He called them all sluggards. He himself
did not turn much work out of his hands, for he never sat still for a
quarter of an hour. If his wife got up very early in the morning and
lighted the fire, he jumped out of bed, and ran bare-footed into the
kitchen, crying, “Wilt thou burn my house down for me? That is a fire
one could roast an ox by! Does wood cost nothing?” If the servants were
standing by their wash-tubs and laughing, and telling each other all
they knew, he scolded them, and said, “There stand the geese cackling,
and forgetting their work, to gossip! And why fresh soap? Disgraceful
extravagance and shameful idleness into the bargain! They want to save
their hands, and not rub the things properly!” And out he would run and
knock a pail full of soap and water over, so that the whole kitchen was
flooded. Someone was building a new house, so he hurried to the window
to look on. “There, they are using that red sand-stone again that never
dries!” cried he. “No one will ever be healthy in that house! and just
look how badly the fellows are laying the stones! Besides, the mortar
is good for nothing! It ought to have gravel in it, not sand. I shall
live to see that house tumble down on the people who are in it.” He sat
down, put a couple of stitches in, and then jumped up again, unfastened
his leather-apron, and cried, “I will just go out, and appeal to those
men’s consciences.” He stumbled on the carpenters. “What’s this?” cried
he, “you are not working by the line! Do you expect the beams to be
straight?—one wrong will put all wrong.” He snatched an axe out of a
carpenter’s hand and wanted to show him how he ought to cut; but as a
cart loaded with clay came by, he threw the axe away, and hastened to
the peasant who was walking by the side of it: “You are not in your
right mind,” said he, “who yokes young horses to a heavily-laden cart? The poor beasts will die on the spot.” The peasant did not give him an
answer, and Pfriem in a rage ran back into his workshop. When he was
setting himself to work again, the apprentice reached him a shoe.