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 mostcelebrated 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.
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 Christopher Frederick Schiller!
古教堂的钟——为席勒纪念册而作
在德国瓦尔登堡地方，槐树在大路旁边开满了美丽的花朵，苹果树和梨树在秋天被成熟的果实压弯了枝条，这儿有一个小城市，玛尔巴赫。它是那些微不足道的城市之一，但它是在涅加尔河边，处在一个美丽的位置上。这条河匆忙地流过许多村庄，古老的骑士城堡和青翠的葡萄园，为的是要把它的水倾泻到莱茵河里去。
这正是岁暮的时候，葡萄的叶子已经红了，天上在下着阵雨，寒风在吹。对于穷人来说，这并不是一个愉快的时节。日子一天比一天变得阴暗，而那些老式的房子内部更显得阴暗。街上就有这样的一幢房子，它的山形墙面向前街，它的窗子很矮，它的外表很寒酸。它里面住的一家人也的确很贫寒，但是非常正直和勤俭;在他们心的深处，他们怀着对于上帝的敬爱。
上帝很快就要送一个孩子给他们。时刻已经要到了，母亲躺在床上，感到阵痛和难过。这时她听到教堂塔上飘来的钟声——洪亮和快乐的钟声。这是一个快乐的时刻。钟声充满了这个在祈祷着的女人的虔诚的心。她内心的思想飞向上帝。正在这时候，她生了一个男孩;她感到无限的快乐。教堂塔上的钟声似乎在把她的欢乐向全市，向全国播送。两颗明亮的眼睛在向她凝望，这个小家伙的头发发着光亮，好像是镀了金似的。在十一月的一个阴暗的日子里，这个孩子就在钟声中被送到世界上来了。妈妈和爸爸吻了他，同时在他们的《圣经》上写道：“一七五九年十一月十日，上帝送给我们一个男孩。”后来他加了一句，说孩子在受洗礼时起名为约翰·克里斯朵夫·佛里得利西。
这个小家伙，寒酸的玛尔巴赫城里的一个穷孩子，成了怎样的一个人呢?
的确，在那个时候谁也不知道。甚至那个老教堂的钟也不知道，虽然它悬得那样高，最先为他唱着歌——后来他自己也唱出一支非常美丽的歌：《钟》①。