THE BELL-DEEP

                                  1872

                 FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

                             THE BELL-DEEP

                       by Hans Christian Andersen



"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

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