安徒生童话-第53章

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　deeper　here　and　there　than　an　oar　canfathom。　Opposite　the　old　nunnery　is　the　deepest　place；　which　is　calledthe　〃bell…deep；〃　and　there　dwells　the　old　water　spirit；　the　〃Au…mann。〃This　spirit　sleeps　through　the　day　while　the　sun　shines　down　uponthe　water；　but　in　starry　and　moonlit　nights　he　shows　himself。　He　isvery　old。　Grandmother　says　that　she　has　heard　her　own　grandmother　tellof　him；　he　is　said　to　lead　a　solitary　life；　and　to　have　nobody　withwhom　he　can　converse　save　the　great　old　church　Bell。　Once　the　Bellhung　in　the　church　tower；　but　now　there　is　no　trace　left　of　thetower　or　of　the　church；　which　was　called　St。　Alban's。

〃Ding…dong！　ding…dong！〃　sounded　the　Bell；　when　the　tower　stillstood　there；　and　one　evening；　while　the　sun　was　setting；　and　theBell　was　swinging　away　bravely；　it　broke　loose　and　came　flying　downthrough　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　whythe　place　is　called　the　〃bell…deep。〃

But　the　Bell　got　neither　rest　nor　sleep。　Down　in　the　Au…mann'shaunt　it　sounds　and　rings；　so　that　the　tones　sometimes　pierce　upwardthrough　the　waters；　and　many　people　maintain　that　its　strains　forebodethe　death　of　some　one；　but　that　is　not　true；　for　the　Bell　is　onlytalking　with　the　Au…mann；　who　is　now　no　longer　alone。

And　what　is　the　Bell　telling？　It　is　old；　very　old；　as　we　havealready　observed；　it　was　there　long　before　grandmother's　grandmotherwas　born；　and　yet　it　is　but　a　child　in　parison　with　the　Au…mann；who　is　quite　an　old　quiet　personage；　an　oddity；　with　his　hose　ofeel…skin；　and　his　scaly　Jacket　with　the　yellow　lilies　for　buttons；　anda　wreath　of　reed　in　his　hair　and　seaweed　in　his　beard；　but　he　looksvery　pretty　for　all　that。

What　the　Bell　tells？　To　repeat　it　all　would　require　years　anddays；　for　year　by　year　it　is　telling　the　old　stories；　sometimesshort　ones；　sometimes　long　ones；　according　to　its　whim；　it　tells　ofold　times；　of　the　dark　hard　times；　thus：

〃In　the　church　of　St。　Alban；　the　monk　had　mounted　up　into　thetower。　He　was　young　and　handsome；　but　thoughtful　exceedingly。　Helooked　through　the　loophole　out　upon　the　Odense…Au；　when　the　bed　ofthe　water　was　yet　broad；　and　the　monks'　meadow　was　still　a　lake。　Helooked　out　over　it；　and　over　the　rampart；　and　over　the　nuns'　hillopposite；　where　the　convent　lay；　and　the　light　gleamed　forth　fromthe　nun's　cell。　He　had　known　the　nun　right　well；　and　he　thought　ofher；　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；　andswung　to　and　fro；　I　might　have　beaten　out　his　brains。　He　sat　downclose　under　me；　and　played　with　two　little　sticks　as　if　they　hadbeen　a　stringed　instrument；　and　he　sang　to　it。　'Now　I　may　sing　itout　aloud；　though　at　other　times　I　may　not　whisper　it。　I　may　sing　ofeverything　that　is　kept　concealed　behind　lock　and　bars。　Yonder　it　iscold　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　andsinging　its　loud　Ding…dong；　ding…dong！'

〃There　was　a　King　in　those　days。　They　called　him　Canute。　Hebowed　himself　before　bishop　and　monk；　but　when　he　offended　the　freepeasants　with　heavy　taxes　and　hard　words；　they　seized　their　weaponsand　put　him　to　flight　like　a　wild　beast。　He　sought　shelter　in　thechurch；　and　shut　gate　and　door　behind　him。　The　violent　band　surroundedthe　church；　I　heard　tell　of　it。　The　crows；　ravens　and　magpiesstarted　up　in　terror　at　the　yelling　and　shouting　that　soundedaround。　They　flew　into　the　tower　and　out　again；　they　looked　downupon　the　throng　below；　and　they　also　looked　into　the　windows　of　thechurch；　and　screamed　out　aloud　what　they　saw　there。　King　Canuteknelt　before　the　altar　in　prayer；　his　brothers　Eric　and　Benedict　stoodby　him　as　a　guard　with　drawn　swords；　but　the　King's　servant；　thetreacherous　Blake；　betrayed　his　master。　The　throng　in　front　of　thechurch　knew　where　they　could　hit　the　King；　and　one　of　them　flung　astone　through　a　pane　of　glass；　and　the　King　lay　there　dead！　Thecries　and　screams　of　the　savage　horde　and　of　the　birds　sounded　throughthe　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　thebirds　around　it；　and　understands　their　language。　The　wind　roars　inupon　it　through　windows　and　loopholes；　and　the　wind　knowseverything；　for　he　gets　it　from　the　air；　which　encircles　all　things；and　the　church　bell　understands　his　tongue；　and　rings　it　out　intothe　world；　'Ding…dong！　ding…dong！'

〃But　it　was　too　much　for　me　to　hear　and　to　know；　I　was　not　ableany　longer　to　ring　it　out。　I　became　so　tired；　so　heavy；　that　thebeam　broke；　and　I　flew　out　into　the　gleaming　Au；　where　the　water　isdeepest；　and　where　the　Au…mann　lives；　solitary　and　alone；　and　yearby　year　I　tell　him　what　I　have　heard　and　what　I　know。　Ding…dong！ding…dong〃

Thus　it　sounds　plainingly　out　of　the　bell…deep　in　theOdense…Au。　That　is　what　grandmother　told　us。

But　the　schoolmaster　says　that　there　was　not　any　bell　that　rungdown　there；　for　that　it　could　not　do　so；　and　that　no　Au…mann　dweltyonder；　for　there　was　no　Au…mann　at　all！　And　when　all　the　other　churchbells　are　sounding　sweetly；　he　says　that　it　is　not　really　the　bellsthat　are　sounding；　but　that　it　is　the　air　itself　which　sends　forth　thenotes；　and　grandmother　said　to　us　that　the　Bell　itself　said　it　was　theair　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；〃　theyboth　say。

The　air　knows　everything。　It　is　around　us；　it　is　in　us；　it　talksof　our　thoughts　and　of　our　deeds；　and　it　speaks　longer　of　them　thandoes　the　Bell　down　in　the　depths　of　the　Odense…Au　where　the　Au…manndwells。　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。

　　1872

　FAIRY　TALES　OF　HANS　CHRISTIAN　ANDERSEN

THE　BIRD　OF　POPULAR　SONG

　　　by　Hans　Christian　Andersen

IT　is　winter…time。　The　earth　wears　a　snowy　garment；　and　looks　likemarble　hewn　out　of　the　rock；　the　air　is　bright　and　clear；　the　windis　sharp　as　a　well…tempered　sword；　and　the　trees　stand　like　branchesof　white　coral　or　blooming　almond　twigs；　and　here　it　is　keen　as　on　thelofty　Alps。

The　night　is　splendid　in　the　gleam　of　the　Northern　Lights；　andin　the　glitter　of　innumerable　twinkling　stars。

But　we　sit　in　the　warm　room；　by　the　hot　stove；　and　talk　aboutthe　old　times。　And　we　listen　to　this　story：

By　the　open　sea　was　a　giant's　grave；　and　on　the　grave…mound　sat　atmidnight　the　spirit　of　the　buried　hero；　who　had　been　a　king。　Thegolden　circlet　gleamed　on　his　brow；　his　hair　fluttered　in　the　wind；and　he　was　clad　in　steel　and　iron。　He　bent　his　head　mournfully；　andsighed　in　deep　sorrow；　as　an　unquiet　spirit　might　sigh。

And　a　ship　came　sailing　by。　Presently　the　sailors　lowered　theanchor　and　landed。　Among　them　was　a　singer；　and　he　approached　theroyal　spirit；　and　said；

〃Why　mournest　thou；　and　wherefore　dost　thou　suffer　thus？〃

And　the　dead　man　answered；

〃No　one　has　sung　the　deeds　of　my　life；　they　are　dead　andforgotten。　Song　doth　not　carry　them　forth　over　the　lands；　nor　into　thehearts　of　men；　therefore　I　have　no　rest　and　no　peace。〃

And　he　spoke　of　his　works；　and　of　his　warlike　deeds；　which　hiscontemporaries　had　known；　but　which　had　not　been　sung；　because　therewas　no　singer　among　his　panions。

Then　the　old　bard　struck　the　strings　of　his　harp；　and　sang　ofthe　youthful　courage　of　the　hero；　of　the　strength　of　the　man；　and　ofthe　greatness　of　his　good　deeds。　Then　the　face　of　the　dead　one　gleamedlike　the　margin　of　the　cloud　in　the　moonlight。　Gladly　and　of　goodcourage；　the　form　arose　in　splendor　and　in　majesty；　and　vanishedlike　the　glancing　of　the　northern　light。　Nought　was　to　be　seen　but　thegreen　turfy　mound；　with　the　stones　on　which　no　Runic　record　has　beengraven；　but　at　the　last　sound　of　the　harp　there　soared　over　thehill；　as　though　he　had　fluttered　from　the　harp；　a　little　bird；　acharming　singing…bird；　with　ringing　voice　of　the　thrush；　with　themoving　voice　pathos　of　the　human　heart；　with　a　voice　that　told　ofhome；　like　the　voice　that　is　heard　by　the　bird　of　passage。　Thesinging…bird　soared　away；　over　mountain　and　valley；　over　field　andwood…　he　was　the　Bird　of　Popular　Song；　who　never　dies。

We　hear　his　song…　we　hear　it　now　in　the　room　while　the　whitebees　are　swarming　without；　and　the　storm　clutches　the　windows。　Thebird　sings　not　alone　the　requiem　of　heroes；　he　sings　also　sweet　gentlesongs　of　love；　so　many　and　so　warm；　of　Northern　fidelity　and　truth。　Hehas　stories　in　words　and　in　tones；　he　has　proverbs　and　snatches　ofproverbs；　songs　which；　like　Runes　laid　under　a　dead　man's　tongue；force　him　to　speak；　and　thus　Popular　Song　tells　of　the　land　of　hisbirth。

In　the　old　heathen　days；　in　the　times　of　the　Vikings；　thepopular　speech　was　enshrined　in　the　harp　of　the　bard。

In　the　days　of　knightly　castles；　when　the　strongest　fist　heldthe　scales　of　justice；　when　only　might　was　right；　and　a　peasant　anda　dog　were　of　equal　importance；　where　did　the　Bird　of　Song　findshelter　and　protect