The Old Church Bell

THE OLD CHURCH BELL

(WRITTEN FOR THE SCHILLER ALBUM)

 

    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