THE BELL-DEEP故事

　　 "DING-DONG! ding-dong!" It sounds up from the "bell-deep"

　　 in the Odense-Au. Every child in the old town of Odense, on

　　 the island of Funen, knows the Au, which washes the gardens

　　 round about the town, and flows on under the wooden bridges

　　 from the dam to the water-mill. In the Au grow the yellow

　　 water-lilies and brown feathery reeds; the dark velvety flag

　　 grows there, high and thick; old and decayed willows, slanting

　　 and tottering, hang far out over the stream beside the monk's

　　 meadow and by the bleaching ground; but opposite there are

　　 gardens upon gardens, each different from the rest, some with

　　 pretty flowers and bowers like little dolls' pleasure grounds,

　　 often displaying cabbage and other kitchen plants; and here

　　 and there the gardens cannot be seen at all, for the great

　　 elder trees that spread themselves out by the bank, and hang

　　 far out over the streaming waters, which are deeper here and

　　 there than an oar can fathom. Opposite the old nunnery is the

　　 deepest place, which is called the "bell-deep," and there

　　 dwells the old water spirit, the "Au-mann." This spirit sleeps

　　 through the day while the sun shines down upon the water; but

　　 in starry and moonlit nights he shows himself. He is very old.

　　 Grandmother says that she has heard her own grandmother tell

　　 of him; he is said to lead a solitary life, and to have nobody

　　 with whom he can converse save the great old church Bell. Once

　　 the Bell hung in the church tower; but now there is no trace

　　 left of the tower or of the church, which was called St.

　　 Alban's.

　　 "Ding-dong! ding-dong!" sounded the Bell, when the tower

　　 still stood there; and one evening, while the sun was setting,

　　 and the Bell was swinging away bravely, it broke loose and

　　 came flying down through the air, the brilliant metal shining

　　 in the ruddy beam.

　　 "Ding-dong! ding-dong! Now I'll retire to rest!" sang the

　　 Bell, and flew down into the Odense-Au, where it is deepest;

　　 and that is why the place is called the "bell-deep."

　　 But the Bell got neither rest nor sleep. Down in the

　　 Au-mann's haunt it sounds and rings, so that the tones

　　 sometimes pierce upward through the waters; and many people

　　 maintain that its strains forebode the death of some one; but

　　 that is not true, for the Bell is only talking with the

　　 Au-mann, who is now no longer alone.

　　 And what is the Bell telling? It is old, very old, as we

　　 have already observed; it was there long before grandmother's

　　 grandmother was born; and yet it is but a child in comparison

　　 with the Au-mann, who is quite an old quiet personage, an

　　 oddity, with his hose of eel-skin, and his scaly Jacket with

　　 the yellow lilies for buttons, and a wreath of reed in his

　　 hair and seaweed in his beard; but he looks very pretty for

　　 all that.

　　 What the Bell tells? To repeat it all would require years

　　 and days; for year by year it is telling the old stories,

　　 sometimes short ones, sometimes long ones, according to its

　　 whim; it tells of old times, of the dark hard times, thus:

　　 "In the church of St. Alban, the monk had mounted up into

　　 the tower. He was young and handsome, but thoughtful

　　 exceedingly. He looked through the loophole out upon the

　　 Odense-Au, when the bed of the water was yet broad, and the

　　 monks' meadow was still a lake. He looked out over it, and

　　 over the rampart, and over the nuns' hill opposite, where the

　　 convent lay, and the light gleamed forth from the nun's cell.

　　 He had known the nun right well, and he thought of her, and

　　 his heart beat quicker as he thought. Ding-dong! ding-dong!"

　　 Yes, this was the story the Bell told.

　　 "Into the tower came also the dapper man-servant of the

　　 bishop; and when

　　I, the Bell, who am made of metal, rang hard

　　 and loud, and swung to and fro, I might have beaten out his

　　 brains. He sat down close under me, and played with two little

　　 sticks as if they had been a stringed instrument; and he sang

　　 to it. 'Now I may sing it out aloud, though at other times I

　　 may not whisper it. I may sing of everything that is kept

　　 concealed behind lock and bars. Yonder it is cold and wet. The

　　 rats are eating her up alive! Nobody knows of it! Nobody hears

　　 of it! Not even now, for the bell is ringing and singing its

　　 loud Ding-dong, ding-dong!'

　　 "There was a King in those days. They called him Canute.

　　 He bowed himself before bishop and monk; but when he offended

　　 the free peasants with heavy taxes and hard words, they seized

　　 their weapons and put him to flight like a wild beast. He

　　 sought shelter in the church, and shut gate and door behind

　　 him. The violent band surrounded the church; I heard tell of

　　 it. The crows, ravens and magpies started up in terror at the

　　 yelling and shouting that sounded around. They flew into the

　　 tower and out again, they looked down upon the throng below,

　　 and they also looked into the windows of the church, and

　　 screamed out aloud what they saw there. King Canute knelt

　　 before the altar in prayer; his brothers Eric and Benedict

　　 stood by him as a guard with drawn swords; but the King's

　　 servant, the treacherous Blake, betrayed his master. The

　　 throng in front of the church knew where they could hit the

　　 King, and one of them flung a stone through a pane of glass,

　　 and the King lay there dead! The cries and screams of the

　　 savage horde and of the birds sounded through the air, and I

　　 joined in it also; for I sang 'Ding-dong! ding-dong!'

　　 "The church bell hangs high, and looks far around, and

　　 sees the birds around it, and understands their language. The

　　 wind roars in upon it through windows and loopholes; and the

　　 wind knows everything, for he gets it from the air, which

　　 encircles all things, and the church bell understands his

　　 tongue, and rings it out into the world, 'Ding-dong!

　　 ding-dong!'

　　 "But it was too much for me to hear and to know; I was not

　　 able any longer to ring it out. I became so tired, so heavy,

　　 that the beam broke, and I flew out into the gleaming Au,

　　 where the water is deepest, and where the Au-mann lives,

　　 solitary and alone; and year by year I tell him what I have

　　 heard and what I know. Ding-dong! ding-dong"

　　 Thus it sounds complainingly out of the bell-deep in the

　　 Odense-Au. That is what grandmother told us.

　　 But the schoolmaster says that there was not any bell that

　　 rung down there, for that it could not do so; and that no

　　 Au-mann dwelt yonder, for there was no Au-mann at all! And

　　 when all the other church bells are sounding sweetly, he says

　　 that it is not really the bells that are sounding, but that it

　　 is the air itself which sends forth the notes; and grandmother

　　 said to us that the Bell itself said it was the air who told

　　 it to him, consequently they are agreed on that point, and

　　 this much is sure.

　　 "Be cautious, cautious, and take good heed to thyself,"

　　 they both say.

　　 The air knows everything. It is around us, it is in us, it

　　 talks of our thoughts and of our deeds, and it speaks longer

　　 of them than does the Bell down in the depths of the Odense-Au

　　 where the Au-mann dwells. It rings it out in the vault of

　　 heaven, far, far out, forever and ever, till the heaven bells

　　 sound "Ding-dong! ding-dong!"

　　 THE END