THEBELL
THE BELL-DEEP
"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
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