THE OLD CHURCH BELL

                                  1872

                 FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

                          THE OLD CHURCH BELL

                    (WRITTEN FOR THE SCHILLER ALBUM)

                       by Hans Christian Andersen



IN the country of Wurtemburg, in Germany, where the acacias grow

by the public road, where the apple-trees and the pear-trees in autumn

bend to the earth with the weight of the precious fruit, lies the

little town of Marbach. As is often the case with many of these towns,

it is charmingly situated on the banks of the river Neckar, which

rushes rapidly by, passing villages, old knights' castles, and green

vineyards, till its waters mingle with those of the stately Rhine.

It was late in the autumn; the vine-leaves still hung upon the

branches of the vines, but they were already tinted with red and gold;

heavy showers fell on the surrounding country, and the cold autumn

wind blew sharp and strong. It was not at all pleasant weather for the

poor. The days grew shorter and more gloomy, and, dark as it was out

of doors in the open air, it was still darker within the small,

old-fashioned houses of the village. The gable end of one of these

houses faced the street, and with its small, narrow windows, presented

a very mean appearance. The family who dwelt in it were also very poor

and humble, but they treasured the fear of God in their innermost

hearts. And now He was about to send them a child. It was the hour

of the mother's sorrow, when there pealed forth from the church

tower the sound of festive bells. In that solemn hour the sweet and

joyous chiming filled the hearts of those in the humble dwelling

with thankfulness and trust; and when, amidst these joyous sounds, a

little son was born to them, the words of prayer and praise arose from

their overflowing hearts, and their happiness seemed to ring out

over town and country in the liquid tones of the church bells'

chime. The little one, with its bright eyes and golden hair, had

been welcomed joyously on that dark November day. Its parents kissed

it lovingly, and the father wrote these words in the Bible, "On the

tenth of November, 1759, God sent us a son." And a short time after,

when the child had been baptized, the names he had received were

added, "John Christopher Frederick."

And what became of the little lad?- the poor boy of the humble

town of Marbach? Ah, indeed, there was no one who thought or supposed,

not even the old church bell which had been the first to sound and

chime for him, that he would be the first to sing the beautiful song

of "The Bell." The boy grew apace, and the world advanced with him.

While he was yet a child, his parents removed from Marbach, and

went to reside in another town; but their dearest friends remained

behind at Marbach, and therefore sometimes the mother and her son

would start on a fine day to pay a visit to the little town. The boy

was at this time about six years old, and already knew a great many

stories out of the Bible, and several religious psalms. While seated

in the evening on his little cane-chair, he had often heard his father

read from Gellert's fables, and sometimes from Klopstock's grand poem,

"The Messiah." He and his sister, two years older than himself, had

often wept scalding tears over the story of Him who suffered death

on the cross for us all.

On his first visit to Marbach, the town appeared to have changed

but very little, and it was not far enough away to be forgotten. The

house, with its pointed gable, narrow windows, overhanging walls and

stories, projecting one beyond another, looked just the same as in

former times. But in the churchyard there were several new graves; and

there also, in the grass, close by the wall, stood the old church

bell! It had been taken down from its high position, in consequence of

a crack in the metal which prevented it from ever chiming again, and a

new bell now occupied its place. The mother and son were walking in

the churchyard when they discovered the old bell, and they stood still

to look at it. Then the mother reminded her little boy of what a

useful bell this had been for many hundred years. It had chimed for

weddings and for christenings; it had tolled for funerals, and to give

the alarm in case of fire. With every event in the life of man the

bell had made its voice heard. His mother also told him how the

chiming of that old bell had once filled her heart with joy and

confidence, and that in the midst of the sweet tones her child had

been given to her. And the boy gazed on the large, old bell with the

deepest interest. He bowed his head over it and kissed it, old, thrown

away, and cracked as it was, and standing there amidst the grass and

nettles. The boy never forgot what his mother told him, and the

tones of the old bell reverberated in his heart till he reached

manhood. In such sweet remembrance was the old bell cherished by the

boy, who grew up in poverty to be tall and slender, with a freckled

complexion and hair almost red; but his eyes were clear and blue as

the deep sea, and what was his career to be? His career was to be

good, and his future life enviable. We find him taking high honors

at the military school in the division commanded by the member of a

family high in position, and this was an honor, that is to say, good

luck. He wore gaiters, stiff collars, and powdered hair, and by this

he was recognized; and, indeed, he might be known by the word of

command- "March! halt! front!"

The old church bell had long been quite forgotten, and no one

imagined it would ever again be sent to the melting furnace to make it

as it was before. No one could possibly have foretold this. Equally

impossible would it have been to believe that the tones of the old

bell still echoed in the heart of the boy from Marbach; or that one

day they would ring out loud enough and strong enough to be heard

all over the world. They had already been heard in the narrow space

behind the school-wall, even above the deafening sounds of "March!

halt! front!" They had chimed so loudly in the heart of the youngster,

that he had sung them to his companions, and their tones resounded

to the very borders of the country. He was not a free scholar in the

military school, neither was he provided with clothes or food. But

he had his number, and his own peg; for everything here was ordered

like clockwork, which we all know is of the greatest utility- people

get on so much better together when their position and duties are

understood. It is by pressure that a jewel is stamped. The pressure of

regularity and discipline here stamped the jewel, which in the

future the world so well knew.

In the chief town of the province a great festival was being

celebrated. The light streamed forth from thousands of lamps, and

the rockets shot upwards towards the sky, filling the air with showers

of colored fiery sparks. A record of this bright display will live

in the memory of man, for through it the pupil in the military

school was in tears and sorrow. He had dared to attempt to reach

foreign territories unnoticed, and must therefore give up

fatherland, mother, his dearest friends, all, or sink down into the

stream of common life. The old church bell had still some comfort;

it stood in the shelter of the church wall in Marbach, once so

elevated, now quite forgotten. The wind roared around it, and could

have readily related the story of its origin and of its sweet

chimes, and the wind could also tell of him to whom he had brought

fresh air when, in the woods of a neighboring country, he had sunk

down exhausted with fatigue, with no other worldly possessions than

hope for the future, and a written leaf from "Fiesco." The wind

could have told that his only protector was an artist, who, by reading

each leaf to him, made it plain; and that they amused themselves by

playing at nine-pins together. The wind could also describe the pale

fugitive, who, for weeks and months, lay in a wretched little

road-side inn, where the landlord got drunk and raved, and where the

merry-makers had it all their own way. And he, the pale fugitive, sang

of the ideal.

For many heavy days and dark nights the heart must suffer to

enable it to endure trial and temptation; yet, amidst it all, would

the minstrel sing. Dark days and cold nights also passed over the

old bell, and it noticed them not; but the bell in the man's heart

felt it to be a gloomy time. What would become of this young man,

and what would become of the old bell?

The old bell was, after a time, carried away to a greater distance

than any one, even the warder in the bell tower, ever imagined; and

the bell in the breast of the young man was heard in countries where

his feet had never wandered. The tones went forth over the wide

ocean to every part of the round world.

We will now follow the career of the old bell. It was, as we

have said, carried far away from Marbach and sold as old copper;

then sent to Bavaria to be melted down in a furnace. And then what

happened?

In the royal city of Bavaria, many years after the bell had been

removed from the tower and melted down, some metal was required for

a monument in honor of one of the most celebrated characters which a

German people or a German land could produce. And now we see how

wonderfully things are ordered. Strange things sometimes happen in

this world.

In Denmark, in one of those green islands where the foliage of the

beech-woods rustles in the wind, and where many Huns' graves may be

seen, was another poor boy born. He wore wooden shoes, and when his

father worked in a ship-yard, the boy, wrapped up in an old worn-out

shawl, carried his dinner to him every day. This poor child was now

the pride of his country; for the sculptured marble, the work of his

hands, had astonished the world.* To him was offered the honor of

forming from the clay, a model of the figure of him whose name,

"John Christopher Frederick," had been written by his father in the

Bible. The bust was cast in bronze, and part of the metal used for

this purpose was the old church bell, whose tones had died away from

the memory of those at home and elsewhere. The metal, glowing with

heat, flowed into the mould, and formed the head and bust of the

statue which was unveiled in the square in front of the old castle.

The statue represented in living, breathing reality, the form of him

who was born in poverty, the boy from Marbach, the pupil of the

military school, the fugitive who struggled against poverty and

oppression, from the outer world; Germany's great and immortal poet,

who sung of Switzerland's deliverer, William Tell, and of the

heaven-inspired Maid of Orleans.

* The Danish sculptor Thorwaldsen.



It was a beautiful sunny day; flags were waving from tower and

roof in royal Stuttgart, and the church bells were ringing a joyous

peal. One bell was silent; but it was illuminated by the bright

sunshine which streamed from the head and bust of the renowned figure,

of which it formed a part. On this day, just one hundred years had

passed since the day on which the chiming of the old church bell at

Marbach had filled the mother's heart with trust and joy- the day on

which her child was born in poverty, and in a humble home; the same

who, in after-years, became rich, became the noble woman-hearted poet,

a blessing to the world- the glorious, the sublime, the immortal bard,

John Christoper Frederick Schiller!

                        THE END

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