Those who went outside the city where the houses were farther apart and where there were gardens and small fields, could see the evening sky even better and hear the pealing of the bell much louder than in the city. It was as if the sound came from a church deep within the quiet, fragrant forest. People looked towards the forest and became quite solemn.

As time passed, people would ask each other, “I wonder if there’s a church out there in the woods? That bell has such a lovely, strange sound. Why don’t we go out and take a closer look at it?” So the rich people drove, and the poor people walked, but the road was so oddly long for them, and when they came to a grove of willow trees that grew by the edge of the forest, they sat down and looked up into the trees and thought they were really out in the woods. A baker from town went out there and put up his tent, and then another baker came and hung a bell over his tent, and it was a bell that was weather-proofed, but the clapper was missing. When people went home again, they said that it had been so romantic—quite different from a tea party.¹ Three people insisted that they had gone all the way through the forest, and they had heard the strange pealing all the time, but it seemed to them that it was coming from town. One wrote an entire poem about it and said that the bell rang like a mother’s voice to a dear, bright child. No melody was lovelier than the peal of the bell.

The emperor of the country found out about it too and promised that whoever could determine where the sound was coming from would have the title Bellringer of the World even if a bell wasn’t making the sound.

Many went to the woods for the sake of getting that appointment, but there was only one who came back with any kind of explanation. No one had gone deeply enough into the forest, and he hadn’t either, but he said that the ringing sound came from an enormous owl in a hollow tree. It was an owl of wisdom that continually hit its head against the tree, but although he couldn’t with certainty say if the sound came from the head or from the hollow trunk, he was made Bellringer of the World. Every year he wrote a little paper about the owl, but really no one was the wiser for that.

It was Confirmation day. The minister had preached so beautifully and fervently. The confirmands had been very moved by his sermon. It was an important day for them because they suddenly went from childhood to adulthood. The childish soul was now supposed to somehow pass over into a more reasonable person. The sun was shining brightly, and the young people who had been confirmed went out of the city. From the forest the big unknown bell was pealing remarkably loudly. Right away they had such a desire to find it, all except three of them. One was going home to try her dance dress because the dress and the dance were the reason she had been confirmed now; otherwise she wouldn’t have done it. The second was a poor boy who had borrowed his confirmation suit and shoes from the landlord’s son and had to bring them back at a certain time. The third said that he never went to a strange place unless his parents were along, and that he had always been a good boy and he would remain so, even if he was confirmed. And you shouldn’t make fun of that, of course—but that’s what they did!

So three of them didn’t go along. The others set out. The sun was shining and the birds were singing, and the young people sang along and held hands because they didn’t have jobs yet and were all confirmed before the Lord.

But pretty soon two of the smallest ones got tired and turned back to town. Two young girls sat down and braided wreaths, so they didn’t go along either, and when the others got to the willow trees where the baker’s tent was, they said, “Well, now we’re out here, but the bell really doesn’t exist. It’s just something you imagine.”

Just then the bell rang out sweetly and solemnly deep in the forest, so four or five of the young people decided to go further into the woods. It was so dense and full of leafy growth that it was really hard to move forward. Woodruff and anemones grew almost too high. Flowering bindweed and blackberry vines hung in long festoons from tree to tree where the nightingale sang, and the sunbeams played. Oh, it was so beautiful, but it was no place for the girls—their clothes would be torn. There were big boulders covered with moss of all colors, and the fresh spring water trickled up, making an odd “gluck gluck” sound.

“Could that be the bell?” one of the young people asked, and lay down on the ground to listen. “This really needs to be looked into!” so he stayed there and the others went on.

They came to a house of bark and branches. A big tree full of wild apples hung down over it, as if it wanted to shake its blessings over the roof, which was flowering with roses. The long branches were spread over the gable, and a small bell was hanging from it. Could that be the one they had heard? They all agreed that it was, except one boy who said that the bell was too little and fine to be heard so far away as it had been, and that the tones it would produce wouldn’t stir the heart as the bell had. The one who spoke was a prince, and so the others said, “Someone like him is always such a know-it-all.”

So they let him go on alone, and as he walked his breast became more and more filled with the loneliness of the woods, but still he heard the little bell that had satisfied the others, and sometimes when the wind was in the right direction, he heard them singing over tea at the baker’s. But the deep pealing was stronger, and it was as if an organ were playing along. The sound came from the left, from the side where the heart is.

Suddenly there was a rustling in the bushes, and a little boy stood in front of the prince. He was wearing wooden shoes, and his jacket was so short that you could see what long wrists he had. They knew each other because the boy was the same one who couldn’t come along because he had to go home and deliver the suit and shoes to the landlord’s son. He had done that and now he was wearing the wooden shoes and his poor clothing. He had come into the woods alone because the bell pealed so loudly and deeply that he had to come.

“Well, then we can go together,” said the prince. But the poor boy with the wooden shoes was quite shy. He tugged on his short sleeves, and said that he was afraid that he couldn’t walk fast enough. And he also was convinced that the bell had to be sought to the right, since everything grand and magnificent lies on the right hand side.

“Well, then we won’t meet again,” said the prince and nodded to the poor boy, who went into the darkest and most dense part of the woods where the thorns ripped his worn-out clothes apart and bloodied his face, hands, and feet. The prince also got a few good scratches, but the sun shone on his path, and he’s the one we’ll follow because he was a bright lad.

“I must and will find the bell,” he said, “if I have to walk to the ends of the earth!”

The nasty monkeys sat up in the trees, grinning and showing all their teeth. “Should we pelt him? Should we pelt him? He’s a prince.”

But he went steadily deeper and deeper into the forest where the most wonderful flowers grew. There were white paradise lilies with blood-red stamens, sky-blue tulips that sparkled in the wind, and apple trees whose apples looked exactly like big shining soap bubbles. Just imagine how those trees shone in the sunlight! Around the lovely green meadows where deer played in the grass magnificent oaks and beeches were growing, and where a tree had a crack in the bark, grass and long vines were sprouting in the crack. There were also large stretches of woods with quiet lakes where white swans swam and spread their wings. The prince often stood still and listened and thought that he heard the bell pealing from one of these deep lakes, but then he noticed that it didn’t come from there, but was pealing from still deeper in the woods.

Then the sun went down, and the sky shone red like fire. It became very quiet, so quiet in the forest. And he sank to his knees, sang his evening hymn, and said, “I’ll never find what I’m seeking! Now the sun’s going down, and night is coming, the dark night. But maybe I can still see the round, red sun before it completely sinks behind the earth. I’ll climb up on those rocks over there. They’re as high as the tallest trees.”

He grabbed hold of the vines and roots and climbed up the wet rocks where the water snakes twisted around and toads seemed to bark at him. But he reached the top before the sun had set. What grandeur could be seen from that height! The sea, the great magnificent sea, with its long waves rolling towards shore, lay stretched out before him. The sun stood like a large shining altar where sea and sky met, and everything melted together in glowing colors. The forest sang, and the sea sang, and his heart sang along with them. All of nature was a great holy church where trees and floating clouds were the pillars, the flowers and grass the woven velvet cloth, and the sky itself the great dome. The red colors went out up there as the sun disappeared, but millions of stars were lit, and then millions of diamond lamps were shining. The prince stretched his arms out to the sky, the sea, and the forest and, just then, from the right side came the poor boy with the short sleeves and the wooden shoes. He had gotten there at the same time, going his own way, and they ran towards each other and held each other’s hands in Nature and Poetry’s great church. And above them pealed the invisible holy bell, and blessed spirits swayed in a dance around it in a jubilant hallelujah!