Hans Christian Andersen
The Bell
In the narrow streets of the big town, toward
evening when the sun was setting and the clouds shone like gold on the chimney
tops, people would hear a strange sound like that of a church bell. But they
heard it only for a few moments before it was lost in the rumble of city
carriages and the voices of the multitudes, for such noises are very
distracting. "Now the evening bell is ringing," people used to say.
"The sun is setting."
People who were outside the town, where the houses were more scattered,
with little gardens or fields between them, could see the evening sky in even
more splendour and hear the bell more distinctly. It was as if the tones came
from some church, buried in the silent and fragrant depths of the forest, and
people looked solemnly in that direction.
A long time passed, and people began to say to each other, "I
wonder if there really is a church out there in the woods? That bell has a
mysterious, sweet tone. Let's go out there and see what it looks like."
So the rich people drove out, and the poor people walked out, but to all
of them it seemed a very long way. When they reached a grove of willows on the
outskirts of the woods, they sat down and looked up into the branches and
imagined they were really in the heart of the forest. The town confectioner
came out and set up his tent there, and then another confectioner came, and he
hung a bell right above his tent; but the bell had no clapper and was all
tarred over as a protection against the rain.
When the people went home again, they said it had all been very
romantic, much more fun than a tea party. Three people even said that they had
gone right through the forest to the far side and had still heard the strange
sound of the bell, only then it seemed to be coming from the direction of town.
One of these even wrote a poem about the bell and compared its tones to
those of a mother singing to a beloved child -- no melody could be sweeter than
the tones of that bell.
The Emperor of the country heard about the bell and issued a solemn
proclamation promising that whoever discovered the source of the lovely sounds
would receive the title of "Bell Ringer to the World," even if there
were not really a bell there at all.
Of course, a great many people went to the woods now to try to gain that
fine title, but only one of them came back with some kind of an explanation. No
one had been deep enough into the forest -- neither had he, for that matter --
but just the same, he said the sound was made by a very large owl in an old
hollow tree, a wise owl which continually knocked its head against the trunk of
the tree. He was not quite sure whether the sound came from the bird's head or
from the hollow trunk, but still he was appointed "Public Bell Ringer
Number One," and every year he wrote a little treatise about the
remarkable old owl. No one was much the wiser for it.
Now, on a certain Confirmation Day, the minister had preached a very
beautiful and moving sermon; the children who were confirmed were deeply
touched by it. It was a tremendously important day in their lives, for on this
day they were leaving childhood behind and becoming grown-up persons. Their
infant souls would take wing into the bodies of adults. It was a glorious,
sunny day, and after the confirmation the children walked together out of the
town, and from the depths of the woods the strange tolling of the bell came
with a mysterious clear sweetness.
At once all the children decided to go into the woods and find the bell.
All except three, that is to say. The first of these three just had to go home
and try on a new ball dress; for that forthcoming ball was the very reason she
had been confirmed at this time, otherwise she would have had to wait until
next year's ceremony. The second was a poor boy who had borrowed his
confirmation coat and boots from the landlord's son and had to give them back
by a certain hour. And the third said he never went to a strange place without
his parents; he had always been a dutiful child and would continue to be good,
even though he was confirmed now. The others made fun of him for this, which
was very wrong of them indeed.
So these three dropped out while the others started off into the woods.
The sun shone, the birds sang, and the children sang too, walking along hand in
hand. They had not yet received any responsibilities or high position in life
-- all were equal in the eye of God on that Confirmation Day.
But soon two of the smallest grew tired and returned to town; two other
little girls sat down to make wreaths and therefore did not go any farther. The
rest went on until they reached the willows where the confectioner had his
tent, and then they said, "Well, here we are! You see, the bell doesn't
really exist at all; it's just something people imagine!"
And then suddenly the sound of the bell came from the depths of the
woods, so sweet and solemn that four or five of the young people decided to
follow it still farther. The underbrush was so thick and close that their
advance was most difficult. Woodruff and anemone grew almost too high;
convolvuluses and blackberry brambles hung in long garlands from tree to tree,
where the nightingale sang and the sunbeams played through the leaves. It was
so lovely and peaceful, but it was a bad place for the girls, because they
would get their dresses torn on the brambles.
There were large boulders overgrown with many-coloured mosses, and a
fresh spring bubbled forth among them with a strange little gurgling sound.
"Cluck, cluck," it said.
"I wonder if that can be the bell," one of the children
thought, lying down to listen to it. "I'd better look into this." So
he remained there, and the others went on without him.
They came to a little hut, all made of branches and tree bark. Its roof
was covered with roses, and over it a wild apple tree was bending as if it
would shower its blessings down on the little house. The long sprays of the
apple tree clustered around the gable, and on that there hung a little bell!
Could that be the one they had heard? Yes, they all -- except for one
boy -- agreed it must be. This one boy said it was much too small and delicate
to be heard so far away, and besides, its tones were very different from those
that moved human hearts so strangely. The boy who spoke was a king's son, so
the other children said, "Of course he thinks he knows a lot more than
anybody else."
So the king's son went on alone, and as he proceeded deeper into the
woods, his heart was filled more and more with the solitude of the forest. He
could still hear the little bell which had satisfied the others, and when the
wind was from the right direction, he could even hear the voices of the people
around the confectioner's tent, singing while they were having their tea.
But above all rose the peeling of that mysterious bell. Now it sounded
as if an organ were being played with it, and the tones came from the left-hand
side, where the heart is.
Suddenly there was a rustling in the bushes, and a little boy stood
before the king's son. He was wearing wooden shoes and such a short jacket that
the sleeves did not cover his long wrists. They knew each other at once, for
this was the poor boy who had had to go back to return the coat and boots to
the landlord's son. This done, he had changed again into his shabby clothes and
wooden shoes and come into the woods, for the bell sounded so loudly and so
deeply that he had to follow its call.
"Then let's go on together," suggested the king's son.
But the poor boy in his wooden shoes was very shy, pulled at his short
sleeves, and said he was afraid he could not walk as fast as the king's son;
besides, he was sure the sound of the bell came from the right, because that
side looked much more beautiful.
"Then I guess we can't go together," said the king's son
nodding his head to the poor boy who went in the direction he thought best,
which took him into the thickest and darkest part of the forest. The thorns
tore his shabby clothes and scratched his face, hands, and feet until they
bled.
The king's son received some scratches too, but the sun shone on his
path. And he is the one we will follow, for he was a bright young lad.
"I will and must find that bell," he said, "even if I
have to go to the end of the world!"
High in the trees above him ugly monkeys sat and grinned and showed
their teeth. "Let's throw things at him!" they said to each other.
"Let's thrash him, 'cause he's the son of a king."
But he went on unwearied, and went farther and farther into the woods,
where the most wonderful flowers were growing. There were lilies white as
stars, with blood-red stamens; there were light-blue tulips that gleamed in the
breeze, and apple trees with their fruit shining like big soap bubbles. Imagine
how those trees sparkled in the sunlight! Around the beautiful rolling green
meadows where the deer played grew massive oaks and beeches; and wherever one
of the trees had a crack in the bark, mosses and long tendrils were growing out
of it. In some of the meadows were quiet lakes, where beautiful white swans
swam and beat the air gently with their wings. The
king’s son often stopped to listen;
for the tones of the bell sometimes seemed to come from the depths of
these lakes; then again he felt sure that the notes were coming from farther
away in the forest.
Slowly the sun set, and the clouds turned a fiery red; a stillness, a
deep stillness, settled over the forest. The boy fell on his knees, sang his
evening hymn, and said to himself, "I'll never find what I'm seeking now.
The sun is setting, and the night is coming -- the dark night. But perhaps I
can catch one more glimpse of the round red sun before it disappears below the
horizon. I'll climb up on those rocks; they rise up as high as the tallest
trees!" Seizing the roots and creepers, he slowly made his way up the
slippery stones, where the water snakes writhed and the toads and frogs seemed
to be barking at him. Yet he reached the summit just as the sun was going down.
Oh, what a wonderful sight!
The sea, the great, the beautiful sea, rolling its long waves against
the shore, lay stretched out before him, and the sun stood like a large shining
altar, where ocean and heaven met; the whole world seemed to melt together in
glowing colours. The forest sang, the sea sang, and the heart of the boy sang,
too. Nature was a vast, holy church, where the trees and drifting clouds were
the pillars; flowers and grass made the velvet carpet, and heaven itself was
the great dome. Up there, the red colours faded as the sun sank into the ocean,
but then millions of stars sprang out, like millions of diamond lamps, and the
king's son spread out his arms in joy toward the heavens, the sun, and the
forest.
At that moment, from the right-hand path, there appeared the poor boy
with the short sleeves and the wooden shoes. He had come there as quickly and
by following his own path. Joyfully they ran towards each other, and held each
other by the hand in the great tabernacle of Nature and Poetry, while above
them sounded the invisible, holy bell. The blessed spirits floated around them
and lifted up their voices in a joyful hallelujah.