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The OldChurch Bell古教堂的钟In theGerman countryof Wurttemberg,where thebeautiful acaciatrees bloombeside thehighways,and theapple andpear treesbend down in autumnunder theweight of their ripeblessings,there liesthe littletown of Marbach.It belongsto theclass ofquite unimportanttowns,but itis locatedin a beautiful spotnear theNeckar,the riverthat flowsswiftlypast townsand greenvineyards andold knightscastles,to joinits waterswith thoseofthe proudRhine.It waslate oneyear;the vineshad redleaves;showers fell,and thecold windsincreased.This was not ahappy timefor the poor people.The dayswere dark,but it was darkerstillwithin thecramped oldhouses.One of these stoodwith itsgabled endtoward thestreet,with lowwindows,poor andhumble inappearance;and poorindeed was the familythat livedthere,yet courageous and diligent,with thelove andfear ofGod within their hearts.God wassoon togive themone morechild.The hourof itsbirth had come;the motherlayin pain and need.From the church towercame thesound ofchiming bells,so deep,so festive.It was a holiday,and thesolemn ringingof the bells filledthe heartof thepraying womanwithfaith anddevotion;she liftedher soulto Godin ferventprayer,and atthat momenther little sonwas born;and she was happybeyond words.The bellfrom thechurch towerseemedto sendforth herjoy overtown andcountry.Two brightbaby eyesgazed upat her,and thelittleone,s hairshone asif itwere gilded.On thatgloomy Novemberday thechild had beenwelcomed into the worldby thechiming bells;the motherand fatherkissed itand wrote intheir Bible,“The tenthof November,1759,God gaveusason,〃adding laterthat he hadreceived athis baptismthe names,“Johann ChristophFriedrich.〃What becameof the little fellow,thepoorboy from the humbletown ofMarbach Atthat timenobodyknew,not even the old church bellhigh inits belfry,though it had firstrung andsungfor him,that heshould oneday singthat mostbeautiful songabout TheBell.〃And thelittle boygrew,and the world grewlarger abouthim;the parentsmoved toanothertown,but somedear friendsof theirsstill remainedin Marbach;and thusit happenedthatmother and son returnedthere oneday fora visit.The boy was stillonly sixyears old,but alreadyhe knewparts of the Bibleand thepious oldhymns;many anevening whileseatedon hislittle canestool,he hadheard his father readGellerts Fablesand thepoem aboutMessiah;hot tearshadcomeinto the boy,s eyes,and hissister hadcried athearing ofHimwho hadsuffered deathon thecross ofGolgotha,that Hemight saveus.At thetime of their firstvisit toMarbach thetown hadnot changedvery much-in fact,it wasnot verylong sincethey hadleft it.The housesstood exactlyas before,with theirpointedgables,sloping walls,and lowwindows;but therewere newgraves in the churchyard;and there,downinthe grass,close bythe wall,lay the oldchurch bell,fallen from itshigh position.It haddeveloped aflaw andcould ringno longer,and anew onehadbeenputup inits place.The motherandsonhad enteredthe churchyardand stoodstill before the old bell,whileshe toldthelittle boy howthis bell had performedits dutyfor centuries;it had pealedat baptisms,and joyfulweddings,and funerals.Its toneshad told of joyand of the horrorsoffire;yes,the bellhad sungof themost importantmoments inhuman life.And neverdid thechild forgetwhat his mother toldhim that day;it soundedwithin his breastuntil,when hewas grownto bea man,he couldpour itout insong.And themother toldhimhow thisold bellhadpealedcomfort andjoy toher inher hourof fear,had rungand sungwhen herlittle boywasgiven toher.The childlooked almostwith aweat thegrand old bell;he stoopedover andkissed itas it lay there,old andbroken andcast asideamong grassandnettles.And itlingered inthe memoryof thatlittleboy,as hegrew upin poverty,tall andthin,with reddishhair and a freckledface.Yes,thats whathe lookedlike,but hiseyes wereas clearand blueasthedeep water.Andhow didhe geton Well,hehadbeen lucky,enviably lucky.He hadbeen receivedgraciouslyinto the military school,and eveninto thesection where the childrenof therich peoplewere.This wasan honor,a pieceof raregood fortune;and hewore topboots,a stiffcollar,andapowdered wig.He wastaught underthe systemof〃March!Halt!Front!/z Thiswas likelytoresult in something!The oldchurchbellwould probablysomeday gointo thesmelting furnace,and what would becomeofit nextWell,nobody could tell that,and nobodycouldtell,either,whatwouldcomefrom the bell inthe breast of the young man.There wasa turmoilwithin him;it rangandechoed andstrained tosound forthinto thewide world.The morecramped thespace withintheschool walls,the moredeafening thecommands of“March!Halt!Front!,z themore stronglyitrang withinthe youth,sbreast.What hefelt hesang to his comrades,and it was heardbeyondthe boundariesof the country;but itwasnotfor thisthat hehad receivedascholarship,clothing,and food.He alreadyhad thenumber ofthe screwhewasto bein thegreatwatchwork thatwe allbelong to.How littlewe understandourselves,and howthen shallothers,eventhebest of them,understand usBut itis thepressure thatforms thepreciousgem.The pressurewas here;would the world inthe courseof timebe ableto recognizetheprecious gemTherewasagreat festivalinthe capital ofthecountry.Thousands oflamps glittered,androckets flamed;people stillremember thatsplendor,remember itbecause of him whoin tearsandsorrow triedthen toescape unnoticedto foreignsoil.He mustleave hisnative land,hismother,and all his lovedones farbehind,or perishinthestream ofcommonplace life.But the oldbell was welloff;itlayhidden inthe shelterofthechurch wallofMarbach.As thewind sweptover it,it could have toldof himat whosebirth the bellhadrung;itcould havetold howcoldly ithad blownupon himas,weary andexhausted,he sankdown intheforest ofa neighboringcountry,with allhis treasures,allhishopes forthe future,insomewritten pagesof Fiesco.The windcould havetold how,whenheread italoud,hisonly patrons,artists allofthem,stole awayand amusedthemselves byplaying ninepins.The windcouldhavetoldofthe palefugitive wholived forweeks andmonths inthe miserableinn,where thelandlord wasnoisy anddrank,and wherevulgar merrimenttook placewhilehe sangoftheIdeal.Hard days,dark days!The heartitself mustsuffer andunderstand whatitwould singto theworld.Dark daysand coldnights passedover theoldbell,and itdid notfeel them;but thebellwithin thehuman breastis sensitiveto thesemiseries.What happenedtotheyoung manWhathappened totheoldbell Well,thebellwent faraway,farther thanits soundcould everbeheard evenfromitshigh tower;theyoungman-ah,yes,thebellwithin hisbreast soundedfartherinto distantlands thanever hisfoot wouldever treador hiseyes eversee;it soundedandresounded acrossthe oceanand aroundthe earth.But firstyou musthear aboutthechurchbell.It wastaken awayfrom Marbachand soldforold copper,and nowitwasto gointo asmelting furnacein Bavaria.How didit comethere,and whenWell,this thebell itselfmay tellyou,if itcan-its ofno greatimportance;but itis certain that itcame tothecapitalof Bavaria.Many yearshad passedsince itfellfromthetower;and nowitwasto bemelted down,to becomepart ofthe castingof agreatmonument,a statuein honor of oneoftheGerman people*s greatmen.Now listentohow itall cameabout.Strange andbeautiful thingsdo happenin thisworld!Up inDenmark,on oneofthegreen islandswherethebeech treegrows and there aremanyancient vikinggraves,there oncelived avery poorlittleboywho worewooden shoesandused tocarry themeals,wrapped upinanold pieceof cloth,tohisfather whoworked onthewharves,carving figureheadsfor ships.This poorchild hadbecome hiscountry,s pride;he carvedout ofmarble suchwonderful thingsthat theyamazed thewhole world,and tohimthe nobletask wasgiven toshape fromclay amajestic andbeautiful figurethat wouldbecast inbronze,a statueofhimwhose namehisfatherwroteinthe Bible,Johann ChristophFriedrich.And thebronze flowedglowing intothe mold.Nobody thoughtof wheretheoldchurch bellhadcome from,orofits soundsthat haddied away-thebell,too,flowed intothe moldandbecame thehead andbreastofthe statuethat nowstands unveiledbeforetheold palaceinStuttgart.There itstands,on thespot wherehe whomit representswalked inlife,amidstrife andstruggles,oppressed bytheworldaround him-he,theboyfrom Marbach,the pupilfromthemilitaryschool,the fugitive,the immortalpoet ofGermany,who sangof theliberatorof Switzerlandandtheheaven-inspired Maidof France.It wasabeautifulsunny day,and flagswaved fromthe towersand roofsoftheroyal townofStuttgart.The churchbells chimedin holidayjoy;only onebellwassilent,but itshonein thebright sunlight,shone fromthe breastand faceof thatnoble statue.It wasjusta hundredyears sincethatdaywhen,in Marbachschurch tower,ithadpealed joyand comforttothe sufferingmother wheninthatlowly houseshe gavebirth toher child-who wouldoneday bea richman,whose treasurestheworldblesses,the heart-thrilling poetof noblewomen,the greatand glorioussinger-Johann ChristophFriedrich Schiller.。