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What the Bell Saw and Said
By
Louisa May Alcott
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"Bells ring others to church, but go not in themselves."
No one saw the spirits of the bells up there in the old steeple at midnight on
Christmas Eve. Six quaint figures, each wrapped in a shadowy cloak and
wearing a bell-shaped cap. All were gray-headed, for they were among the
oldest bell-spirits of the city, and "the light of other days" shone in their
thoughtful eyes. Silently they sat, looking down on the snow-covered roofs
glittering in the moonlight, and the quiet streets deserted by all but the
watchmen on their chilly rounds, and such poor souls as wandered
shelterless in the winter night. Presently one of the spirits said, in a tone,
which, low as it was, filled the belfry with reverberating echoes,--
"Well, brothers, are your reports ready of the year that now lies dying?"
All bowed their heads, and one of the oldest answered in a sonorous voice:--
"My report isn't all I could wish. You know I look down on the commercial
part of our city and have fine opportunities for seeing what goes on there.
It's my business to watch the business men, and upon my word I'm heartily
ashamed of them sometimes. During the war they did nobly, giving their
time and money, their sons and selves to the good cause, and I was proud of
them. But now too many of them have fallen back into the old ways, and
their motto seems to be, 'Every one for himself, and the devil take the
hindmost.' Cheating, lying and stealing are hard words, and I don't mean to
apply them to all who swarm about below there like ants on an ant-hill--
they have other names for these things, but I'm old-fashioned and use plain
words. There's a deal too much dishonesty in the world, and business seems
to have become a game of hazard in which luck, not labor, wins the prize.
When I was young, men were years making moderate fortunes, and were
satisfied with them. They built them on sure foundations, knew how to enjoy
them while they lived, and to leave a good name behind them when they
died.
"Now it's anything for money; health, happiness, honor, life itself, are flung
down on that great gaming-table, and they forget everything else in the
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excitement of success or the desperation of defeat. Nobody seems satisfied
either, for those who win have little time or taste to enjoy their prosperity,
and those who lose have little courage or patience to support them in
adversity. They don't even fail as they used to. In my day when a merchant
found himself embarrassed he didn't ruin others in order to save himself,
but honestly confessed the truth, gave up everything, and began again. But
now-a-days after all manner of dishonorable shifts there comes a grand
crash; many suffer, but by some hocus-pocus the merchant saves enough to
retire upon and live comfortably here or abroad. It's very evident that honor
and honesty don't mean now what they used to mean in the days of old
May, Higginson and Lawrence.
"They preach below here, and very well too sometimes, for I often slide down
the rope to peep and listen during service. But, bless you! they don't seem to
lay either sermon, psalm or prayer to heart, for while the minister is doing
his best, the congregation, tired with the breathless hurry of the week, sleep
peacefully, calculate their chances for the morrow, or wonder which of their
neighbors will lose or win in the great game. Don't tell me! I've seen them do
it, and if I dared I'd have startled every soul of them with a rousing peal. Ah,
they don't dream whose eye is on them, they never guess what secrets the
telegraph wires tell as the messages fly by, and little know what a report I
give to the winds of heaven as I ring out above them morning, noon, and
night." And the old spirit shook his head till the tassel on his cap jangled
like a little bell.
"There are some, however, whom I love and honor," he said, in a benignant
tone, "who honestly earn their bread, who deserve all the success that
comes to them, and always keep a warm corner in their noble hearts for
those less blest than they. These are the men who serve the city in times of
peace, save it in times of war, deserve the highest honors in its gift, and
leave behind them a record that keeps their memories green. For such an
one we lately tolled a knell, my brothers; and as our united voices pealed
over the city, in all grateful hearts, sweeter and more solemn than any
chime, rung the words that made him so beloved,--
"'Treat our dead boys tenderly, and send them home to me.'"
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He ceased, and all the spirits reverently uncovered their gray heads as a
strain of music floated up from the sleeping city and died among the stars.
"Like yours, my report is not satisfactory in all respects," began the second
spirit, who wore a very pointed cap and a finely ornamented cloak. But,
though his dress was fresh and youthful, his face was old, and he had
nodded several times during his brother's speech. "My greatest affliction
during the past year has been the terrible extravagance which prevails. My
post, as you know, is at the court end of the city, and I see all the
fashionable vices and follies. It is a marvel to me how so many of these
immortal creatures, with such opportunities for usefulness, self-
improvement and genuine happiness can be content to go round and round
in one narrow circle of unprofitable and unsatisfactory pursuits. I do my
best to warn them; Sunday after Sunday I chime in their ears the beautiful
old hymns that sweetly chide or cheer the hearts that truly listen and
believe; Sunday after Sunday I look down on them as they pass in, hoping to
see that my words have not fallen upon deaf ears; and Sunday after Sunday
they listen to words that should teach them much, yet seem to go by them
like the wind. They are told to love their neighbor, yet too many hate him
because he possesses more of this world's goods or honors than they: they
are told that a rich man cannot enter the kingdom of heaven, yet they go on
laying up perishable wealth, and though often warned that moth and rust
will corrupt, they fail to believe it till the worm that destroys enters and
mars their own chapel of ease. Being a spirit, I see below external splendor
and find much poverty of heart and soul under the velvet and the ermine
which should cover rich and royal natures. Our city saints walk abroad in
threadbare suits, and under quiet bonnets shine the eyes that make
sunshine in the shady places. Often as I watch the glittering procession
passing to and fro below me. I wonder if, with all our progress, there is to-
day as much real piety as in the times when our fathers, poorly clad, with
weapon in one hand and Bible in the other, came weary distances to
worship in the wilderness with fervent faith unquenched by danger,
suffering and solitude.
"Yet in spite of my fault-finding I love my children, as I call them, for all are
not butterflies. Many find wealth no temptation to forgetfulness of duty or
hardness of heart. Many give freely of their abundance, pity the poor,
comfort the afflicted, and make our city loved and honored in other lands as
in our own. They have their cares, losses, and heartaches as well as the
poor; it isn't all sunshine with them, and they learn, poor souls, that
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"'Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.'"But I've hopes of them, and lately
they have had a teacher so genial, so gifted, so well-beloved that all who
listen to him must be better for the lessons of charity, good-will and
cheerfulness which he brings home to them by the magic of tears and
smiles. We know him, we love him, we always remember him as the year
comes round, and the blithest song our brazen tongues utter is a Christmas
carol to the Father of 'The Chimes!'"
As the spirit spoke his voice grew cheery, his old face shone, and in a burst
of hearty enthusiasm he flung up his cap and cheered like a boy. So did the
others, and as the fairy shout echoed through the belfry a troop of shadowy
figures, with faces lovely or grotesque, tragical or gay, sailed by on the wings
of the wintry wind and waved their hands to the spirits of the bells.
As the excitement subsided and the spirits reseated themselves, looking ten
years younger for that burst, another spoke. A venerable brother in a dingy
mantle, with a tuneful voice, and eyes that seemed to have grown sad with
looking on much misery.
"He loves the poor, the man we've just hurrahed for, and he makes others
love and remember them, bless him!" said the spirit. "I hope he'll touch the
hearts of those who listen to him here and beguile them to open their hands
to my unhappy children over yonder. If I could set some of the forlorn souls
in my parish beside the happier creatures who weep over imaginary woes as
they are painted by his eloquent lips, that brilliant scene would be better
than any sermon. Day and night I look down on lives as full of sin, self-
sacrifice and suffering as any in those famous books. Day and night I try to
comfort the poor by my cheery voice, and to make their wants known by
proclaiming them with all my might. But people seem to be so intent on
business, pleasure or home duties that they have no time to hear and
answer my appeal. There's a deal of charity in this good city, and when the
people do wake up they work with a will; but I can't help thinking that if
some of the money lavished on luxuries was spent on necessaries for the
poor, there would be fewer tragedies like that which ended yesterday. It's a
short story, easy to tell, though long and hard to live; listen to it.
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"Down yonder in the garret of one of the squalid houses at the foot of my
tower, a little girl has lived for a year, fighting silently and single-handed a
good fight against poverty and sin. I saw her when she first came, a hopeful,
cheerful, brave-hearted little soul, alone, yet not afraid. She used to sit all
day sewing at her window, and her lamp burnt far into the night, for she
was very poor, and all she earned would barely give her food and shelter. I
watched her feed the doves, who seemed to be her only friends; she never
forgot them, and daily gave them the few crumbs that fell from her meagre
table. But there was no kind hand to feed and foster the little human dove,
and so she starved.
"For a while she worked bravely, but the poor three dollars a week would not
clothe and feed and warm her, though the things her busy fingers made sold
for enough to keep her comfortably if she had received it. I saw the pretty
color fade from her cheeks; her eyes grew hollow, her voice lost its cheery
ring, her step its elasticity, and her face began to wear the haggard, anxious
look that made its youth doubly pathetic. Her poor little gowns grew shabby,
her shawl so thin she shivered when the pitiless wind smote her, and her
feet were almost bare. Rain and snow beat on the patient little figure going
to and fro, each morning with hope and courage faintly shining, each
evening with the shadow of despair gathering darker round her. It was a
hard time for all, desperately hard for her, and in her poverty, sin and
pleasure tempted her. She resisted, but as another bitter winter came she
feared that in her misery she might yield, for body and soul were weakened
now by the long struggle. She knew not where to turn for help; there seemed
to be no place for her at any safe and happy fireside; life's hard aspect
daunted her, and she turned to death, saying confidingly, 'Take me while I'm
innocent and not afraid to go.'
"I saw it all! I saw how she sold everything that would bring money and paid
her little debts to the utmost penny; how she set her poor room in order for
the last time; how she tenderly bade the doves good-by, and lay down on her
bed to die. At nine o'clock last night as my bell rang over the city, I tried to
tell what was going on in the garret where the light was dying out so fast. I
cried to them with all my strength.--
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"'Kind souls, below there! a fellow-creature is perishing for lack of charity!
Oh, help her before it is too late! Mothers, with little daughters on your
knees, stretch out your hands and take her in! Happy women, in the safe
shelter of home, think of her desolation! Rich men, who grind the faces of
the poor, remember that this soul will one day be required of you! Dear
Lord, let not this little sparrow fall to the ground! Help, Christian men and
women, in the name of Him whose birthday blessed the world!'
"Ah me! I rang, and clashed, and cried in vain. The passers-by only said, as
they hurried home, laden with Christmas cheer: 'The old bell is merry to-
night, as it should be at this blithe season, bless it!'
"As the clocks struck ten, the poor child lay down, saying, as she drank the
last bitter draught life could give her, 'It's very cold, but soon I shall not feel
it;' and with her quiet eyes fixed on the cross that glimmered in the
moonlight above me, she lay waiting for the sleep that needs no lullaby.
"As the clock struck eleven, pain and poverty for her were over. It was bitter
cold, but she no longer felt it. She lay serenely sleeping, with tired heart and
hands, at rest forever. As the clocks struck twelve, the dear Lord
remembered her, and with fatherly hand led her into the home where there
is room for all. To-day I rung her knell, and though my heart was heavy, yet
my soul was glad; for in spite of all her human woe and weakness, I am sure
that little girl will keep a joyful Christmas up in heaven."
In the silence which the spirits for a moment kept, a breath of softer air
than any from the snowy world below swept through the steeple and seemed
to whisper, "Yes!"
"Avast there! fond as I am of salt water, I don't like this kind," cried the
breezy voice of the fourth spirit, who had a tiny ship instead of a tassel on
his cap, and who wiped his wet eyes with the sleeve of his rough blue cloak.
"It won't take me long to spin my yarn; for things are pretty taut and ship-
shape aboard our craft. Captain Taylor is an experienced sailor, and has
brought many a ship safely into port in spite of wind and tide, and the
devil's own whirlpools and hurricanes. If you want to see earnestness come
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aboard some Sunday when the Captain's on the quarter-deck, and take an
observation. No danger of falling asleep there, no more than there is up
aloft, 'when the stormy winds do blow.' Consciences get raked fore and aft,
sins are blown clean out of the water, false colors are hauled down and true
ones run up to the masthead, and many an immortal soul is warned to steer
off in time from the pirates, rocks and quicksands of temptation. He's a
regular revolving light, is the Captain,--a beacon always burning and saying
plainly, 'Here are life-boats, ready to put off in all weathers and bring the
shipwrecked into quiet waters.' He comes but seldom now, being laid up in
the home dock, tranquilly waiting till his turn comes to go out with the tide
and safely ride at anchor in the great harbor of the Lord. Our crew varies a
good deal. Some of 'em have rather rough voyages, and come into port pretty
well battered; land-sharks fall foul of a good many, and do a deal of damage;
but most of 'em carry brave and tender hearts under the blue jackets, for
their rough nurse, the sea, manages to keep something of the child alive in
the grayest old tar that makes the world his picture-book. We try to supply
'em with life-preservers while at sea, and make 'em feel sure of a hearty
welcome when ashore, and I believe the year '67 will sail away into eternity
with a satisfactory cargo. Brother North-End made me pipe my eye; so I'll
make him laugh to pay for it, by telling a clerical joke I heard the other day.
Bellows didn't make it, though he might have done so, as he's a connection
of ours, and knows how to use his tongue as well as any of us. Speaking of
the bells of a certain town, a reverend gentleman affirmed that each bell
uttered an appropriate remark so plainly, that the words were audible to all.
The Baptist bell cried, briskly, 'Come up and be dipped! come up and be
dipped!' The Episcopal bell slowly said, 'Apos-tol-ic suc-cess-ion! apos-tol-ic
suc-cess-ion!' The Orthodox bell solemnly pronounced, 'Eternal damnation!
eternal damnation!' and the Methodist shouted, invitingly, 'Room for all!
room for all!'"
As the spirit imitated the various calls, as only a jovial bell-sprite could, the
others gave him a chime of laughter, and vowed they would each adopt some
tuneful summons, which should reach human ears and draw human feet
more willingly to church.
"Faith, brother, you've kept your word and got the laugh out of us," cried a
stout, sleek spirit, with a kindly face, and a row of little saints round his cap
and a rosary at his side. "It's very well we are doing this year; the cathedral
is full, the flock increasing, and the true faith holding its own entirely. Ye
may shake your heads if you will and fear there'll be trouble, but I doubt it.
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We've warm hearts of our own, and the best of us don't forget that when we
were starving, America--the saints bless the jewel!--sent us bread; when we
were dying for lack of work, America opened her arms and took us in, and
now helps us to build churches, homes and schools by giving us a share of
the riches all men work for and win. It's a generous nation ye are, and a
brave one, and we showed our gratitude by fighting for ye in the day of
trouble and giving ye our Phil, and many another broth of a boy. The land is
wide enough for us both, and while we work and fight and grow together,
each may learn something from the other. I'm free to confess that your
religion looks a bit cold and hard to me, even here in the good city where
each man may ride his own hobby to death, and hoot at his neighbors as
much as he will. You seem to keep your piety shut up all the week in your
bare, white churches, and only let it out on Sundays, just a trifle musty with
disuse. You set your rich, warm and soft to the fore, and leave the poor
shivering at the door. You give your people bare walls to look upon,
common-place music to listen to, dull sermons to put them asleep, and then
wonder why they stay away, or take no interest when they come.
"We leave our doors open day and night; our lamps are always burning, and
we may come into our Father's house at any hour. We let rich and poor
kneel together, all being equal there. With us abroad you'll see prince and
peasant side by side, school-boy and bishop, market-woman and noble lady,
saint and sinner, praying to the Holy Mary, whose motherly arms are open
to high and low. We make our churches inviting with immortal music,
pictures by the world's great masters, and rites that are splendid symbols of
the faith we hold. Call it mummery if ye like, but let me ask you why so
many of your sheep stray into our fold? It's because they miss the warmth,
the hearty, the maternal tenderness which all souls love and long for, and
fail to find in your stern. Puritanical belief. By Saint Peter! I've seen many a
lukewarm worshipper, who for years has nodded in your cushioned pews,
wake and glow with something akin to genuine piety while kneeling on the
stone pavement of one of our cathedrals, with Raphael's angels before his
eyes, with strains of magnificent music in his ears, and all about him, in
shapes of power or beauty, the saints and martyrs who have saved the
world, and whose presence inspires him to follow their divine example. It's
not complaining of ye I am, but just reminding ye that men are but children
after all, and need more tempting to virtue than they do to vice, which last
comes easy to 'em since the Fall. Do your best in your own ways to get the
poor souls into bliss, and good luck to ye. But remember, there's room in
the Holy Mother Church for all, and when your own priests send ye to the
divil, come straight to us and we'll take ye in."
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"A truly Catholic welcome, bull and all," said the sixth spirit, who, in spite of
his old-fashioned garments, had a youthful face, earnest, fearless eyes, and
an energetic voice that woke the echoes with its vigorous tones. "I've a
hopeful report, brothers, for the reforms of the day are wheeling into rank
and marching on. The war isn't over nor rebeldom conquered yet, but the
Old Guard has been 'up and at 'em' through the year. There has been some
hard fighting, rivers of ink have flowed, and the Washington dawdlers have
signalized themselves by a 'masterly inactivity.' The political campaign has
been an anxious one; some of the leaders have deserted; some been
mustered out; some have fallen gallantly, and as yet have received no
monuments. But at the Grand Review the Cross of the Legion of Honor will
surely shine on many a brave breast that won no decoration but its virtue
here; for the world's fanatics make heaven's heroes, poets say.
"The flock of Nightingales that flew South during the 'winter of our
discontent' are all at home again, some here and some in Heaven. But the
music of their womanly heroism still lingers in the nation's memory, and
makes a tender minor-chord in the battle-hymn of freedom.
"The reform in literature isn't as vigorous as I could wish; but a sharp attack
of mental and moral dyspepsia will soon teach our people that French
confectionery and the bad pastry of Wood, Bracdon, Yates & Co. is not the
best diet for the rising generation.
"Speaking of the rising generation reminds me of the schools. They are doing
well; they always are, and we are justly proud of them. There may be a slight
tendency toward placing too much value upon book-learning; too little upon
home culture. Our girls are acknowledged to be uncommonly pretty, witty
and wise, but some of us wish they had more health and less excitement,
more domestic accomplishments and fewer ologies and isms, and were
contented with simple pleasures and the old-fashioned virtues, and not
quite so fond of the fast, frivolous life that makes them old so soon. I am
fond of our girls and boys. I love to ring for their christenings and marriages,
to toll proudly for the brave lads in blue, and tenderly for the innocent
creatures whose seats are empty under my old roof. I want to see them
anxious to make Young America a model of virtue, strength and beauty, and
I believe they will in time.
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"There have been some important revivals in religion; for the world won't
stand still, and we must keep pace or be left behind to fossilize. A free
nation must have a religion broad enough to embrace all mankind, deep
enough to fathom and fill the human soul, high enough to reach the source
of all love and wisdom, and pure enough to satisfy the wisest and the best.
Alarm bells have been rung, anathemas pronounced, and Christians,
forgetful of their creed, have abused one another heartily. But the truth
always triumphs in the end, and whoever sincerely believes, works and
waits for it, by whatever name he calls it, will surely find his own faith
blessed to him in proportion to his charity for the faith of others.
"But look!--the first red streaks of dawn are in the East. Our vigil is over,
and we must fly home to welcome in the holidays. Before we part, join with
me, brothers, in resolving that through the coming year we will with all our
hearts and tongues,--
"'Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring out the false, ring in the true;
Ring in the valiant man and free,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.'"Then hand in hand the spirits of the bells
floated away, singing in the hush of dawn the sweet song the stars sung
over Bethlehem,--"Peace on earth, good will to men."