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Updated: June 9, 2025
The strap slipped through his fingers and the box fell with a heavy thud. It fell upon its side and the lid came off. "My God!" The grave-digger was staring into the hole with all his bulging eyes. "You fool! You clumsy, blunderin' fool!" The epithet passed unheard, for the grave-digger was looking at the stark body rolled in a soiled blanket now lying face downward in the dirt of the grave.
For my part, having given the greater part of my life to the study and analysis of facts, I would rather be the author of the tritest homily, or the baldest poem, that inculcated that imperishable essence of the soul to which I have neither scalpel nor probe, than be the founder of the subtlest school, or the framer of the loftiest verse, that robbed my fellow-men of their faith in a spirit that eludes the dissecting-knife, in a being that escapes the grave-digger.
The grave-digger, too, was very proud of its depth, and the neatness of his handiwork. The clergyman, who had marched in advance of us from the chapel, now took his stand at the head of the grave, and, lifting his hat, proceeded with what remained of the service, while we stood bareheaded around.
To saw, to break, to disentangle, to lift, to shake, to displace: these are so many means which are indispensable to the grave-digger in a predicament. Deprived of these resources, reduced to uniformity of procedure, the insect would be incapable of pursuing its calling.
Still, however, the wild flare of the pine-torch over the lone grave of his adversary, and the horrid answer of the grave-digger, that he was but "finishing his work," would recur to his memory and awake an internal pang.
She thinks that she will rock and strain in the grip of the sea-wind, and that she will be whitened with the salt and the foam of the sea. She does not know that she will be sawn into planks and made into a coffin for the wife of the sexton and grave-digger of Aschaffenburg.
Here we have the aberration of exhaustion, the morbid fury of a life on the point of extinction. As is generally the case, work bestows a peaceable disposition on the grave-digger, while inaction inspires him with perverted tastes. Having no longer anything to do, he breaks his fellow's limbs, eats him up, heedless of being mutilated or eaten up himself.
He was a pictur, and a pictur I must say, I liked to look at. "And now Squire, do you take him off too, ingrave him, and bind him up in your book, and let others look at it, and put onder it 'the Elder and the Grave-digger."
But this certainly is the impress of what was meant for a human foot, and coincides strangely with the legend of the Bloody Footstep, the mark of the foot that trod in the blessed King Charles's blood." "For that matter," said the grave-digger, "it comes into my mind that my father used to call it the stamp of Satan's foot, because he claimed the dead man for his own.
The grave-digger paused. "What card?" "The sun is on the point of setting." "That's good, it is going to put on its nightcap." "The gate of the cemetery will close immediately." "Well, what then?" "Have you your card?" "Ah! my card?" said the grave-digger. And he fumbled in his pocket. Having searched one pocket, he proceeded to search the other.
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