theOldGrave-StonebyHansChristianAndersen（1852）INahouse，withalargecourtyard，inaprovincialtown，atthattimeoftheyearinwhichpeoplesaytheeveningsaregrowinglonger，afamilycircleweregatheredtogetherattheiroldhome.Alampburnedonthetable，althoughtheweatherwasmildandwarm，andthelongcurtainshungdownbeforetheopenwindows，andwithoutthemoonshonebrightlyinthedark-bluesky.Buttheywerenottalkingofthemoon，butofalarge，oldstonethatlaybelowinthecourtyardnotveryfarfromthekitchendoor.Themaidsoftenlaidthecleancoppersaucepansandkitchenvesselsonthisstone，thattheymightdryinthesun，andthechildrenwerefondofplayingonit.Itwas，infact，anoldgrave-stone.“Yes，”saidthemasterofthehouse， “Ibelievethestonecamefromthegraveyardoftheoldchurchoftheconventwhichwaspulleddown，andthepulpit，themonuments，andthegrave-stonessold.Myfatherboughtthelatter；mostofthemwerecutintwoandusedforpaving-stones，butthatonestonewaspreservedwhole，andlaidinthecourtyard.”“Anyonecanseethatitisagrave-stone，”saidtheeldestofthechildren； “therepresentationofanhour-glassandpartofthefigureofanangelcanstillbetraced，buttheinscriptionbeneathisquitewornout，exceptingthenamePreben，andalargeSclosebyit，andalittlefartherdownthenameofMarthacanbeeasilyread.Butnothingmore，andeventhatcannotbeseenunlessithasbeenraining，orwhenwehavewashedthestone.”“Dearme！howsingular.Whythatmustbethegrave-stoneofPrebenSchwaneandhiswife.”theoldmanwhosaidthislookedoldenoughtobethegrandfatherofallpresentintheroom.“Yes，”hecontinued， “thesepeoplewereamongthelastwhowereburiedinthechurchyardoftheoldconvent.Theywereaveryworthyoldcouple，Icanrememberthemwellinthedaysofmyboyhood.Everyoneknewthem，andtheywereesteemedbyall.Theyweretheoldestresidentsinthetown，andpeoplesaidtheypossessedatonofgold，yettheywerealwaysveryplainlydressed，inthecoarseststuff，butwithlinenofthepurestwhiteness.PrebenandMarthawereafineoldcouple，andwhentheybothsatonthebench，atthetopofthesteepstonesteps，infrontoftheirhouse，withthebranchesofthelinden-treewavingabovethem，andnoddedinagentle，friendlywaytopassersby，itreallymadeonefeelquitehappy.Theywereverygoodtothepoor；theyfedthemandclothedthem，andintheirbenevolencetherewasjudgmentaswellastrueChristianity.Theoldwomandiedfirst；thatdayisstillquitevividlybeforemyeyes.Iwasalittleboy，andhadaccompaniedmyfathertotheoldmanshouse.Marthahadfallenintothesleepofdeathjustaswearrivedthere.Thecorpselayinabedroom，neartotheoneinwhichwesat，andtheoldmanwasinGREatdistressandweepinglikeachild.Hespoketomyfather，andtoafewneighborswhowerethere，ofhowlonelyheshouldfeelnowshewasgone，andhowgoodandtrueshe，hisdeadwife，hadbeenduringthenumberofyearsthattheyhadpassedthroughlifetogether，andhowtheyhadbecomeacquainted，andlearnttoloveeachother.Iwas，asIhavesaid，aboy，andonlystoodbyandlistenedtowhattheotherssaid；butitfilledmewithastrangeemotiontolistentotheoldman，andtowatchhowthecolorroseinhischeeksashespokeofthedaysoftheircourtship，ofhowbeautifulshewas，andhowmanylittletrickshehadbeenguiltyof，thathemightmeether.Andthenhetalkedofhiswedding-day；andhiseyesbrightened，andheseemedtobecarriedback，byhiswords，tothatjoyfultime.Andyetthereshewas，lyinginthenextroom，deadanoldwoman，andhewasanoldman，speakingofthedaysofhope，longpassedaway.Ah，well，soitis；thenIwasbutachild，andnowIamold，asoldasPrebenSchwanethenwas.Timepassesaway，andallthingschanged.Icanrememberquitewellthedayonwhichshewasburied，andhowOldPrebenwalkedclosebehindthecoffin.“Afewyearsbeforethistimetheoldcouplehadhadtheirgrave-stoneprepared，withaninscriptionandtheirnames，butnotthedate.Intheeveningthestonewastakentothechurchyard，andlaidonthegrave.Ayearlateritwastakenup，thatOldPrebenmightbelaidbythesideofhiswife.Theydidnotleavebehindthemwealth，theyleftbehindthemfarlessthanpeoplehadbelievedtheypossessed；whattherewaswenttofamiliesdistantlyrelatedtothem，ofwhom，tillthen，noonehadeverheard.Theoldhouse，withitsbalconyofwickerwork，andthebenchatthetopofthehighsteps，underthelime-tree，wasconsidered，bytheroad-inspectors，toooldandrottentobeleftstanding.Afterwards，whenthesamefatebefelltheconventchurch，andthegraveyardwasdestroyed，thegrave-stoneofPrebenandMartha，likeeverythingelse，wassoldtowhoeverwouldbuyit.Andsoithappenedthat