英語童話故事THE BELL故事

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 whenI, 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