安徒生童話故事第79篇：瓶頸The Bottle Neck
引導語：瓶頸是什么意思，大家是否知道?下面是小編收集的安徒生童話故事《瓶頸》，歡迎大家閱讀與學習其中的道理。
在一條狹窄、彎曲的街上，在許多窮苦的住屋中間，有一座非常狹小、但是很高的木房子。它四邊都要塌了。這屋子里住著的全是窮人，而住在頂樓里的人最窮。在這房間唯一的一個小窗子前面，掛著一個歪歪斜斜的破鳥籠。它連一個適當的水盅也沒有;只有一個倒轉來的瓶頸，嘴上塞著一個塞子，盛滿了水。一位老小姐站在這開著的窗子旁邊，她剛剛用繁縷草把這鳥籠打扮了一番。一只小蒼頭燕雀從這根梁上跳到那根梁上，唱得非常起勁。
“是的，你倒可以唱歌!”瓶頸說——它當然不是像我們一樣講話，因為瓶頸是不會講話的。不過它是在心里這樣想，正如我們人靜靜地在內心里講話一樣。“是的，你倒可以唱歌!因為你的肢體是完整的呀。你應該體會一下這種情況：沒有身體，只剩下一個頸項和一個嘴，而且像我一樣嘴上還堵了一個塞子。這樣你就不會唱歌了。但是能作作樂也是一樁好事!我沒有任何理由來唱歌，而且我也不會唱。是的，當我是一個完整的瓶子的時候，如果有人用塞子在我身上擦幾下的話，我也能唱一下的。人們把我叫做十全十美的百靈鳥，偉大的百靈鳥!啊，當我和毛皮商人一家人在郊游野餐的時候!當他的女兒在訂婚的時候!是的，我記得那情景，仿佛就是昨天的事情似的。只要我回憶一下，我經歷過的事情可真不少。我經歷過火和水，在黑泥土里面呆過，也曾經比大多數的東西爬得高。現在我卻懸在這鳥籠的外面，懸在空氣中，在太陽光里!我的故事值得聽一聽;但是我不把它大聲講出來，因為我不能大聲講。”
于是瓶頸就講起自己的故事，這是一個很奇怪的故事。它在心里講這故事，也可以說是在心里想自己的故事。那只小鳥愉快地唱著歌。街上的人有的乘車子，有的匆匆步行;各人想著各人的事，也許什么事也沒有想�？墒瞧款i在想。
它在想著工廠里那個火焰高躥的熔爐。它就是在那兒被吹成瓶形的。它還記得那時它很熱，它曾經向那個發出咝咝聲的爐子——它的老家——望過一眼。它真想再跳回到里面去;不過它后來慢慢地變冷了，它覺得它當時的樣子也蠻好。它是立在一大群兄弟姊妹的行列中間——都是從一個熔爐里生出來的。不過有的被吹成了香檳酒瓶，有的被吹成了啤酒瓶，而這是有區別的!在它們走進世界里去以后，一個啤酒瓶很可能會裝最貴重的“拉克里麥·克利斯蒂”①，而一個香檳酒瓶可能只裝黑鞋油。不過一個人天生是什么東西，他的樣子總不會變的——貴族究竟是貴族，哪怕他滿肚子裝的是黑鞋油也罷。
所有的瓶子不久就被包裝起來了，我們的這個瓶子也在其中。在那個時候，它沒有想到自己會成為一個瓶頸，當作鳥兒的水盅——這究竟是一件光榮的事情，因為這說明它還有點用處!它再也沒有辦法見到天日，直到最后才跟別的朋友們一塊兒從一個酒商的地窖里被取出箱子來，第一次在水里洗了一通——這是一種很滑稽的感覺。
它躺在那兒，空空地，沒有瓶塞。它感到非常不愉快，它缺少一件什么東西——究竟是什么東西，它也講不出來。最后它裝滿了貴重的美酒，安上一個塞子，并且封了口。它上面貼著一張紙條：“上等”。它覺得好像在考試時得了優等一樣。不過酒的確不壞，瓶也不壞。一個人的年輕時代是詩的時代!其中有它所不知道的優美的歌：綠色的、陽光照著的山岳，那上面長著葡萄，還有許多快樂的女子和高興的男子，在歌唱，跳舞。的確，生活是多么美好啊!這瓶子的身體里，現在就有這種優美的歌聲，像在許多年輕詩人的心里一樣——他們常常也不知道他們心里唱的是什么東西。
有一天早晨，瓶子被人買去了。毛皮商人的學徒被派去買一瓶最上等的酒。瓶子就跟火腿、干酪和香腸一起放進一個籃子里。那里面還有最好的黃油和最好的面包——這是毛皮商人的女兒親手裝進去的。她是那么年輕，那么美麗。她有一雙笑瞇瞇的棕色眼睛，嘴唇上也老是飄著微笑——跟她的眼睛同樣富有表情的微笑。她那雙柔嫩的手白得可愛，而她的脖子更白。人們一眼就可以看出，她是全城中最美的女子;而且她還沒有訂過婚。
當這一家人到森林里去野餐的時候，籃子就放在這位小姐的膝上。瓶頸從白餐巾的尖角里伸出來。塞子上封著紅蠟，瓶子一直向這姑娘的臉上望，也朝著坐在這姑娘旁邊的一個年輕的水手望。他是她兒時的朋友，一位肖像畫家的兒子。最近他考試得到優等，成了大副;明天就要開一條船到一個遙遠的國度去。當瓶子裝進籃子里去的時候，他們正談論著這次旅行的事情。那時，這位毛皮商人的漂亮女兒的一對眼睛和嘴唇的確沒有露出什么愉快的表情。
這對年輕人在綠樹之間漫步著，交談著。他們在談什么呢?是的，瓶子聽不見，因為它是裝在菜籃子里。過了很長的一段時間以后，它才被取出來。不過當它被取出來的時候，大家已經很快樂了，因為所有的人都在笑，而毛皮商人的女兒也在笑。不過她的話講得很少，而她的兩個臉蛋紅得像兩朵玫瑰花。
父親一手拿著酒瓶，一手緊握著拔瓶塞的開塞鉆。是的，被人拔一下的確是一種奇怪的感覺，尤其是第一次。瓶頸永遠也忘不了這給它印象最深的一剎那。的確，當那瓶塞飛出去的時候，它心里說了一聲“撲!”當酒倒進杯子里的時候，它咯咯地唱了一兩下。
“祝這訂婚的一對健康!”爸爸說。每次總是干杯。那個年輕的水手吻著他美麗的未婚妻。
“祝你們幸福和快樂!”老年夫婦說。
年輕人又倒滿了一杯。
“明年這時就回家結婚!”他說。當他把酒喝干了的時候，他把瓶子高高地舉起，說：“在我這一生最愉快的一天中，你恰巧在場;我不愿意你再為別人服務!”
于是他就把瓶子扔向空中。毛皮商人的女兒肯定地相信她決不會再有機會看到這瓶子了，然而她卻看到了。它落到樹林里一個小池旁濃密的蘆葦中去了。瓶子還能清楚地記得它在那兒躺著時的情景。它想：
“我給他們酒，而他們卻給我池水，但是他們本來的用意是很好的!”
它再也沒有看到這對訂了婚的年輕人和那對快樂的老夫婦了。不過它有好一會兒還能聽到他們的歡樂和歌聲。最后有兩個農家孩子走來了;他們朝蘆葦里望，發現了這個瓶子，于是就把它撿起來�，F在它算是有一個歸宿了。
他們住在一個木房子里，共有兄弟三個。他們的大哥是一個水手。他昨天回家來告別，因為他要去作一次長途旅行。母親在忙著替他收拾旅途中要用的一些零碎東西。這天晚上他父親就要把行李送到城里去，想要在別離前再看兒子一次，同時代表母親和他自己說幾句告別的話。行李里還放有一瓶藥酒，這時孩子們恰巧拿著他們找到的那個更結實的大瓶子走進來。比起那個小瓶子來，這瓶子能夠裝更多的酒，而且還是能治消化不良的好燒酒，里面浸有藥草。瓶子里裝的不是以前那樣好的紅酒，而是苦味的藥酒，但這有時也是很好的——對于胃痛很好�，F在要裝進行李中去的就是這個新的大瓶子，而不是原來的那個小瓶子。因此這瓶子又開始旅行起來。它和彼得·演生一起上了船。這就是那個年輕的大副所乘的一條船。但是他沒有看到這瓶子。的確，他不會知道，或者想到，這就是曾經倒出酒來、祝福他訂婚和安全回家的那個瓶子。
當然它里面沒有好酒，但是它仍然裝著同樣好的東西。每當彼得·演生把它取出來時，他的朋友們總把它叫做“藥店”。它里面裝著好藥——治腹痛的藥。只要它還有一滴留下，它總是有用的。這要算是它幸福的時候了。當塞子擦著它的時候，它就唱出歌來。因此它被人叫做“大百靈鳥——彼得·演生的百靈鳥”。
漫長的歲月過去了。瓶子呆在一個角落里，已經空了。這時出了一件事情——究竟是在出航時出的呢，還是在回家的途中出的，它說不大清楚，因為它從來沒有上過岸。暴風雨起來了，巨浪在沉重地、陰森地顛簸著，船在起落不定。主桅在斷裂;巨浪把船板撞開了;抽水機現在也無能為力了。這是漆黑的夜。船在下沉。但是在最后一瞬間，那個年輕的大副在一頁紙上寫下這樣的字：“愿耶穌保佑!我們現在要沉了!”他寫下他的未婚妻的名字，也寫下自己的名字和船的名字，便把紙條塞在手邊這只空瓶子里，然后把塞子塞好，把它扔進這波濤洶涌的大海里去。他不知道，它曾經為他和她倒出過幸福和希望的酒�，F在它帶著他的祝福和死神的祝福在浪花中漂流。
船沉了，船員也一起沉了。瓶子像鳥兒似地飛著，因為它身體里帶著一顆心和一封親愛的信;太陽升起了，又落下了。對瓶子說來，這好像它在出生時所看見的那個紅彤彤的熔爐——它那時多么希望能再跳進去啊!
它經歷過晴和的天氣和新的暴風雨。但是它沒有撞到石礁，也沒有被什么鯊魚吞掉。它這樣漂流了不知多少年，有時漂向北，有時漂向南，完全由浪濤的流動來左右。除此以外，它可以算是獨立自主了;但是一個人有時也不兔對于這種自由感到厭倦起來。
那張字條——那張代表戀人同未婚妻最后告別的字條，如果能到達她手中的話，只會帶給她悲哀;但是那雙白嫩的、曾在訂婚那天在樹林中新生的草地上鋪過桌布的手現在在什么地方呢?那毛皮商的女兒在哪兒呢?是啊，那塊土地，那塊離她的住所最近的陸地在哪兒呢?瓶子一點也不知道;它往前漂流著，漂流著;最后漂流得厭倦了，因為漂流究竟不是生活的目的。但是它不得不漂流，一直到最后它到達了陸地——到達一塊陌生的陸地。這兒人們所講的話，它一句也聽不懂，因為這不是它從前聽到過的語言。一個人不懂當地的語言，真是一件很大的損失。
瓶子被撈起來了，而且也被檢查過了。它里面的紙條也被發現了，被取了出來，同時被人翻來覆去地看，但是上面所寫的字卻沒有人看得懂。他們知道瓶子一定是從船上拋下來的——紙條上一定寫著這類事情。但是紙上寫的是什么字呢?這個問題卻是一個謎。于是紙條又被塞進瓶子里面去，而瓶子被放進一個大柜子里。它們現在都在一座大房子里的一個大房間里。
每次有生人來訪的時候，紙條就被取出來，翻來覆去地看，弄得上面鉛筆寫的字跡變得更模糊了，最后連上面的字母也沒有人看得出來了。
瓶子在柜子里呆了一年，后來被放到頂樓的儲藏室里去了，全身都布滿了灰塵和蜘蛛網。于是它就想起了自己的幸福的時光，想起它在樹林里倒出紅酒，想起它帶著一個秘密、一個音信、一個別離的嘆息在海上漂流。
它在頂樓里待了整整20年。要不是這座房子要重建的話，它可能待得更長。屋頂被拆掉了，瓶子也被人發現了。大家都談論著它，但是它卻聽不懂他們的話，因為一個人被鎖在頂樓里決不能學會一種語言的，哪怕他待上20年也不成。
“如果我住在下面的房間里，”瓶子想，“我可能已經學會這種語言了!”
它現在被洗刷了一番。這的確是很必要的。它感到透亮和清爽，真是返老還童了。但是它那么忠實地帶來的那張紙條，已經在洗刷中被毀掉了。
瓶子裝滿了種子：它不知道這是些什么種子。它被塞上了塞子，包起來。它既看不到燈籠，也看不到蠟燭，更談不上月亮和太陽。但是它想：當一個人旅行的時候，應該看一些東西才是。但是它什么也沒有看到，不過它總算做了一件最重要的事情——它旅行到了目的地，并且被人從包中取出來了。
“那些外國人該是費了多少麻煩才把這瓶子包裝好啊!”它聽到人們講;“它早就該損壞了。”但是它并沒有損壞。
瓶子現在懂得人們所講的每一個字：這就是它在熔爐里、在酒商的店里、在樹林里、在船上聽到的、它能懂得的那種唯一的、親愛的語言。它現在回到家鄉來了，對它來說，這語言就是一種歡迎的表示。出于一時的高興，它很想從人們手中跳出來。在它還沒有覺得以前，塞子就被取出來了，里面的東西倒出來了，它自己被送到地下室去，扔在那兒，被人忘掉。什么地方也沒有家鄉好，哪怕是待在地下室里!瓶子從來沒有想過自己在這兒待了多久：因為它在這兒感到很舒服，所以就在這兒躺了許多年。最后人們到地下室來，把瓶子都清除出去——包括這個瓶子在內。
花園里正在開一個盛大的慶祝會。閃耀的燈兒懸著，像花環一樣;紙燈籠射出光輝，像大朵透明的郁金香。這是一個美麗的晚上，天氣是晴和的，星星在眨著眼睛。這正是上弦月的時候;但是事實上整個月亮都現出來了，像一個深灰色的圓盤，上面鑲著半圈金色的框子——這對于眼睛好的人看起來，是一個美麗的景象。
燈火甚至把花園里最隱蔽的小徑都照到了：最低限度，照得可以使人找到路。籬笆上的樹葉中間立著許多瓶子，每個瓶里有一個亮光。我們熟識的那個瓶子，也在這些瓶子中間。它命中注定有一天要變成一個瓶頸，一個供鳥兒吃水的小盅。
不過在一時間，它覺得一切都美麗無比：它又回到綠樹林中，又在欣賞歡樂和慶祝的景象。它聽到歌聲和音樂，聽到許多人的話聲和低語聲——特別是花園里點著玻璃燈和種種不同顏色的紙燈籠的那塊地方。它遠遠地立在一條小徑上，一點也不錯，但這正是使人感到了不起的地方。瓶子里點著一個火，既實用，又美觀。這當然是對的。這樣的一個鐘頭可以使它忘記自己在頂樓上度過的20年光陰——把它忘掉也很好。
有兩個人在它旁邊走過去了。他們手挽著手，像多少年以前在那個樹林里的一對訂了婚的戀人——水手和毛皮商人的女兒。瓶子似乎重新回到那個情景中去了�；▓@里不僅有客人在散步，而且還有許多別的人到這兒來參觀這良辰美景。在這些人中間有一位沒有親戚的老小姐，不過她并非役有朋友。像這瓶子一樣，她也正在回憶那個綠樹林，那對訂了婚的年輕人。這對年輕人牽涉到她，跟她的關系很密切，因為她就是兩人中的一個。那是她一生中最幸福的時刻——這種時刻，一個人是永遠忘記不了的，即使變成了這么一個老小姐也忘記不了。但是她不認識這瓶子，而瓶子也不認識她;在這世界上我們就這樣擦肩而過，又一次次地碰到一起。他們倆就是如此，他們現在又在同一個城市里面。
瓶子又從這花園到一個酒商的店里去了。它又裝滿了酒，被賣給一個飛行家。這人要在下星期天坐著氣球飛到空中去。有一大群人趕來觀看這個場面;還有一個軍樂隊和許多其他的布置。和一只活兔子一起待在一個籃子里的瓶子，看到了這全部景象。兔子感到非�？只�，因為它知道自己要升到空中去，然后又要跟著一個降落傘落下來。不過瓶子對于“上升”和“下落”的事兒一點也不知道;它只看到這氣球越鼓越大，當它鼓得不能再鼓的時候，就開始升上去了，越升趨高，而且動蕩起來。系著它的那根繩子這時被剪斷了。這樣它就帶著那個飛行家、籃子、瓶子和兔子航行起來。音樂奏起來了，大家都高呼：“好啊!”
“像這樣在空中航行真是美妙得很!”瓶子想。“這是一種新式的航行;在這上面無論如何是觸不到什么暗礁的。”
成千成萬的人在看這氣球。那個老小姐也抬頭向它凝望。她立在一個頂樓的窗口。這兒掛著一個鳥籠，里面有一只小蒼頭燕雀。它還沒有一個水盅，目前只好滿足于使用一個舊杯子。窗子上有一盆桃金娘。老小姐把它移向旁邊一點，免得它落下去，因為她正要把頭伸到窗子外面去望。她清楚地看到氣球里的那個飛行家，看到他讓兔子和降落傘一起落下來，看到他對觀眾干杯，最后把酒瓶向空中扔去。她沒有想到，在她年輕的時候，在那個綠樹林里的歡樂的一天，她早已看到過這瓶子為了慶祝她和她的男朋友，也曾經一度被扔向空中。
瓶子來不及想什么了，因為忽然一下子升到這樣一個生命的最高峰，它簡直驚呆了。教堂塔樓和屋頂躺在遙遠的下面，人群看起來簡直渺小得很。
這時它開始下降，而下降的速度比兔子快得多。瓶子在空中翻了好幾個跟頭，覺得非常年輕，非常自由自在。它還裝著半瓶酒，雖然它再也裝不了多久。這真是了不起的旅行!太陽照在瓶子上;許多人在看著它。氣球已經飛得很遠了，瓶子也落得很遠了。它落到一個屋頂上，因此跌碎了。但是碎片產生出一種動力，弄得它們簡直靜止不下來。它們跳，滾，一直落到院子里，跌成更小的碎片。只有瓶頸算是保持完整，像是用金剛鉆鋸下來的一樣。
“把它用做鳥兒的水盅倒是非常合適!”住在地下室的一個人說。但是他既沒有鳥兒，也沒有鳥籠。只是因為有一個可以當作水盅用的瓶頸就去買一只鳥和一個鳥籠來，那未免太不實際了。但是住在頂樓上的那位老小姐可能用得著它。于是瓶頸就被拿到樓上來了，并且還有了一個塞子。原來朝上的那一部分，現在朝下了——當客觀情勢一變的時候，這類事兒是常有的。它里面盛滿了新鮮的水，并且被系在籠子上，面對著小鳥。鳥兒現在正在唱歌，唱得很美。
“是的，你倒可以唱歌!”瓶頸說。
它的確是了不起。因為它在氣球里待過——關于它的歷史，大家知道的只有這一點。現在它卻是鳥兒的水盅，吊在那兒，聽著下邊街道上的喧鬧聲和低語聲以及房間里那個老小姐的講話聲：一個老朋友剛才來拜訪她，她們聊了一陣天——不是關于瓶頸，而是關于窗子上的那棵桃金娘。
“不，花兩塊大洋為你的女兒買一個結婚的花環，的確沒有這個必要!”老小姐說。“我送給你一個開滿了花的、美麗的花束吧。你看，這棵樹長得多么可愛!是的，它就是一根桃金娘枝子栽大的。這枝子是你在我訂婚后的第一天送給我的。那年過去以后，我應當用它為我自己編成一個結婚的花環。但是那個日子永遠也沒有到來!那雙應該是我一生快樂和幸福的眼睛②閉上了。他，我親愛的人，現在睡在海的深處。這棵桃金娘已經成了一棵老樹，而我卻成了一個更老的人。當它凋零了以后，我摘下它最后的一根綠枝，把它插在土里，現在它長成了一株樹�，F在你可以用它為你的女兒編成一個結婚的花環，它總算碰上一次婚禮③，有些用處!”
這位老小姐的眼里含有淚珠。她談起她年輕時代的戀人，和他們在樹林里的訂婚。她不禁想起了那多次的干杯，想起了那個初吻——她現在不愿意講這事情了，因為她已經是一個老小姐。她想起了的事情真多，但是她卻從沒有想到在她的近旁，在這窗子前面，就有那些時光的一個紀念物：一個瓶頸——這瓶子當它的塞子為了大家的于杯而被拔出來的時候，曾經發出過一聲快樂的歡呼。不過瓶頸也沒有認出她，因為它沒有聽她講話——主要是因為它老在想著自己。
①這是一種酒名，原文是Lacrymae christi。
�、谥杆奈椿榉�。
③按照丹麥的風俗，一個女子結婚時，要戴一個用桃金娘編成的花環。
瓶頸英文版：
The Bottle Neck
CLOSE to the corner of a street, among other abodes of poverty, stood an exceedingly tall, narrow house, which had been so knocked about by time that it seemed out of joint in every direction. This house was inhabited by poor people, but the deepest poverty was apparent in the garret lodging in the gable. In front of the little window, an old bent bird-cage hung in the sunshine, which had not even a proper water-glass, but instead of it the broken neck of a bottle, turned upside down, and a cork stuck in to make it hold the water with which it was filled. An old maid stood at the window; she had hung chickweed over the cage, and the little linnet which it contained hopped from perch to perch and sang and twittered merrily.
“Yes, it’s all very well for you to sing,” said the bottle neck: that is, he did not really speak the words as we do, for the neck of a bottle cannot speak; but he thought them to himself in his own mind, just as people sometimes talk quietly to themselves.
“Yes, you may sing very well, you have all your limbs uninjured; you should feel what it is like to lose your body, and only have a neck and a mouth left, with a cork stuck in it, as I have: you wouldn’t sing then, I know. After all, it is just as well that there are some who can be happy. I have no reason to sing, nor could I sing now if I were ever so happy; but when I was a whole bottle, and they rubbed me with a cork, didn’t I sing then? I used to be called a complete lark. I remember when I went out to a picnic with the furrier’s family, on the day his daughter was betrothed,—it seems as if it only happened yesterday. I have gone through a great deal in my time, when I come to recollect: I have been in the fire and in the water, I have been deep in the earth, and have mounted higher in the air than most other people, and now I am swinging here, outside a bird-cage, in the air and the sunshine. Oh, indeed, it would be worth while to hear my history; but I do not speak it aloud, for a good reason—because I cannot.”
Then the bottle neck related his history, which was really rather remarkable; he, in fact, related it to himself, or, at least, thought it in his own mind. The little bird sang his own song merrily; in the street below there was driving and running to and fro, every one thought of his own affairs, or perhaps of nothing at all; but the bottle neck thought deeply. He thought of the blazing furnace in the factory, where he had been blown into life; he remembered how hot it felt when he was placed in the heated oven, the home from which he sprang, and that he had a strong inclination to leap out again directly; but after a while it became cooler, and he found himself very comfortable. He had been placed in a row, with a whole regiment of his brothers and sisters all brought out of the same furnace; some of them had certainly been blown into champagne bottles, and others into beer bottles, which made a little difference between them. In the world it often happens that a beer bottle may contain the most precious wine, and a champagne bottle be filled with blacking, but even in decay it may always be seen whether a man has been well born. Nobility remains noble, as a champagne bottle remains the same, even with blacking in its interior. When the bottles were packed our bottle was packed amongst them; it little expected then to finish its career as a bottle neck, or to be used as a water-glass to a bird’s-cage, which is, after all, a place of honor, for it is to be of some use in the world. The bottle did not behold the light of day again, until it was unpacked with the rest in the wine merchant’s cellar, and, for the first time, rinsed with water, which caused some very curious sensations. There it lay empty, and without a cork, and it had a peculiar feeling, as if it wanted something it knew not what. At last it was filled with rich and costly wine, a cork was placed in it, and sealed down. Then it was labelled “first quality,” as if it had carried off the first prize at an examination; besides, the wine and the bottle were both good, and while we are young is the time for poetry. There were sounds of song within the bottle, of things it could not understand, of green sunny mountains, where the vines grow and where the merry vine-dressers laugh, sing, and are merry. “Ah, how beautiful is life.” All these tones of joy and song in the bottle were like the working of a young poet’s brain, who often knows not the meaning of the tones which are sounding within him. One morning the bottle found a purchaser in the furrier’s apprentice, who was told to bring one of the best bottles of wine. It was placed in the provision basket with ham and cheese and sausages. The sweetest fresh butter and the finest bread were put into the basket by the furrier’s daughter herself, for she packed it. She was young and pretty; her brown eyes laughed, and a smile lingered round her mouth as sweet as that in her eyes. She had delicate hands, beautifully white, and her neck was whiter still. It could easily be seen that she was a very lovely girl, and as yet she was not engaged. The provision basket lay in the lap of the young girl as the family drove out to the forest, and the neck of the bottle peeped out from between the folds of the white napkin. There was the red wax on the cork, and the bottle looked straight at the young girl’s face, and also at the face of the young sailor who sat near her. He was a young friend, the son of a portrait painter. He had lately passed his examination with honor, as mate, and the next morning he was to sail in his ship to a distant coast. There had been a great deal of talk on this subject while the basket was being packed, and during this conversation the eyes and the mouth of the furrier’s daughter did not wear a very joyful expression. The young people wandered away into the green wood, and talked together. What did they talk about? The bottle could not say, for he was in the provision basket. It remained there a long time; but when at last it was brought forth it appeared as if something pleasant had happened, for every one was laughing; the furrier’s daughter laughed too, but she said very little, and her cheeks were like two roses. Then her father took the bottle and the cork-screw into his hands. What a strange sensation it was to have the cork drawn for the first time! The bottle could never after that forget the performance of that moment; indeed there was quite a convulsion within him as the cork flew out, and a gurgling sound as the wine was poured forth into the glasses.
“Long life to the betrothed,” cried the papa, and every glass was emptied to the dregs, while the young sailor kissed his beautiful bride.
“Happiness and blessing to you both,” said the old people-father and mother, and the young man filled the glasses again.
“Safe return, and a wedding this day next year,” he cried; and when the glasses were empty he took the bottle, raised it on high, and said, “Thou hast been present here on the happiest day of my life; thou shalt never be used by others!” So saying, he hurled it high in the air.
The furrier’s daughter thought she should never see it again, but she was mistaken. It fell among the rushes on the borders of a little woodland lake. The bottle neck remembered well how long it lay there unseen. “I gave them wine, and they gave me muddy water,” he had said to himself, “but I suppose it was all well meant.” He could no longer see the betrothed couple, nor the cheerful old people; but for a long time he could hear them rejoicing and singing. At length there came by two peasant boys, who peeped in among the reeds and spied out the bottle. Then they took it up and carried it home with them, so that once more it was provided for. At home in their wooden cottage these boys had an elder brother, a sailor, who was about to start on a long voyage. He had been there the day before to say farewell, and his mother was now very busy packing up various things for him to take with him on his voyage. In the evening his father was going to carry the parcel to the town to see his son once more, and take him a farewell greeting from his mother. A small bottle had already been filled with herb tea, mixed with brandy, and wrapped in a parcel; but when the boys came in they brought with them a larger and stronger bottle, which they had found. This bottle would hold so much more than the little one, and they all said the brandy would be so good for complaints of the stomach, especially as it was mixed with medical herbs. The liquid which they now poured into the bottle was not like the red wine with which it had once been filled; these were bitter drops, but they are of great use sometimes-for the stomach. The new large bottle was to go, not the little one: so the bottle once more started on its travels. It was taken on board (for Peter Jensen was one of the crew) the very same ship in which the young mate was to sail. But the mate did not see the bottle: indeed, if he had he would not have known it, or supposed it was the one out of which they had drunk to the felicity of the betrothed and to the prospect of a marriage on his own happy return. Certainly the bottle no longer poured forth wine, but it contained something quite as good; and so it happened that whenever Peter Jensen brought it out, his messmates gave it the name of “the apothecary,” for it contained the best medicine to cure the stomach, and he gave it out quite willingly as long as a drop remained. Those were happy days, and the bottle would sing when rubbed with a cork, and it was called a “great lark,” “Peter Jensen’s lark.”
Long days and months rolled by, during which the bottle stood empty in a corner, when a storm arose—whether on the passage out or home it could not tell, for it had never been ashore. It was a terrible storm, great waves arose, darkly heaving and tossing the vessel to and fro. The main mast was split asunder, the ship sprang a leak, and the pumps became useless, while all around was black as night. At the last moment, when the ship was sinking, the young mate wrote on a piece of paper, “We are going down: God’s will be done.” Then he wrote the name of his betrothed, his own name, and that of the ship. Then he put the leaf in an empty bottle that happened to be at hand, corked it down tightly, and threw it into the foaming sea. He knew not that it was the very same bottle from which the goblet of joy and hope had once been filled for him, and now it was tossing on the waves with his last greeting, and a message from the dead. The ship sank, and the crew sank with her; but the bottle flew on like a bird, for it bore within it a loving letter from a loving heart. And as the sun rose and set, the bottle felt as at the time of its first existence, when in the heated glowing stove it had a longing to fly away. It outlived the storms and the calm, it struck against no rocks, was not devoured by sharks, but drifted on for more than a year, sometimes towards the north, sometimes towards the south, just as the current carried it. It was in all other ways its own master, but even of that one may get tired. The written leaf, the last farewell of the bridegroom to his bride, would only bring sorrow when once it reached her hands; but where were those hands, so soft and delicate, which had once spread the table-cloth on the fresh grass in the green wood, on the day of her betrothal? Ah, yes! where was the furrier’s daughter? and where was the land which might lie nearest to her home?
The bottle knew not, it travelled onward and onward, and at last all this wandering about became wearisome; at all events it was not its usual occupation. But it had to travel, till at length it reached land—a foreign country. Not a word spoken in this country could the bottle understand; it was a language it had never before heard, and it is a great loss not to be able to understand a language. The bottle was fished out of the water, and examined on all sides. The little letter contained within it was discovered, taken out, and turned and twisted in every direction; but the people could not understand what was written upon it. They could be quite sure that the bottle had been thrown overboard from a vessel, and that something about it was written on this paper: but what was written? that was the question,—so the paper was put back into the bottle, and then both were put away in a large cupboard of one of the great houses of the town. Whenever any strangers arrived, the paper was taken out and turned over and over, so that the address, which was only written in pencil, became almost illegible, and at last no one could distinguish any letters on it at all. For a whole year the bottle remained standing in the cupboard, and then it was taken up to the loft, where it soon became covered with dust and cobwebs. Ah! how often then it thought of those better days—of the times when in the fresh, green wood, it had poured forth rich wine; or, while rocked by the swelling waves, it had carried in its bosom a secret, a letter, a last parting sigh. For full twenty years it stood in the loft, and it might have stayed there longer but that the house was going to be rebuilt. The bottle was discovered when the roof was taken off; they talked about it, but the bottle did not understand what they said—a language is not to be learnt by living in a loft, even for twenty years. “If I had been down stairs in the room,” thought the bottle, “I might have learnt it.” It was now washed and rinsed, which process was really quite necessary, and afterwards it looked clean and transparent, and felt young again in its old age; but the paper which it had carried so faithfully was destroyed in the washing. They filled the bottle with seeds, though it scarcely knew what had been placed in it. Then they corked it down tightly, and carefully wrapped it up. There not even the light of a torch or lantern could reach it, much less the brightness of the sun or moon. “And yet,” thought the bottle, “men go on a journey that they may see as much as possible, and I can see nothing.” However, it did something quite as important; it travelled to the place of its destination, and was unpacked.
“What trouble they have taken with that bottle over yonder!” said one, “and very likely it is broken after all.” But the bottle was not broken, and, better still, it understood every word that was said: this language it had heard at the furnaces and at the wine merchant’s; in the forest and on the ship,—it was the only good old language it could understand. It had returned home, and the language was as a welcome greeting. For very joy, it felt ready to jump out of people’s hands, and scarcely noticed that its cork had been drawn, and its contents emptied out, till it found itself carried to a cellar, to be left there and forgotten. “There’s no place like home, even if it’s a cellar.” It never occurred to him to think that he might lie there for years, he felt so comfortable. For many long years he remained in the cellar, till at last some people came to carry away the bottles, and ours amongst the number.
Out in the garden there was a great festival. Brilliant lamps hung in festoons from tree to tree; and paper lanterns, through which the light shone till they looked like transparent tulips. It was a beautiful evening, and the weather mild and clear. The stars twinkled; and the new moon, in the form of a crescent, was surrounded by the shadowy disc of the whole moon, and looked like a gray globe with a golden rim: it was a beautiful sight for those who had good eyes. The illumination extended even to the most retired of the garden walks, at least not so retired that any one need lose himself there. In the borders were placed bottles, each containing a light, and among them the bottle with which we are acquainted, and whose fate it was, one day, to be only a bottle neck, and to serve as a water-glass to a bird’s-cage. Everything here appeared lovely to our bottle, for it was again in the green wood, amid joy and feasting; again it heard music and song, and the noise and murmur of a crowd, especially in that part of the garden where the lamps blazed, and the paper lanterns displayed their brilliant colors. It stood in a distant walk certainly, but a place pleasant for contemplation; and it carried a light; and was at once useful and ornamental. In such an hour it is easy to forget that one has spent twenty years in a loft, and a good thing it is to be able to do so. Close before the bottle passed a single pair, like the bridal pair—the mate and the furrier’s daughter—who had so long ago wandered in the wood. It seemed to the bottle as if he were living that time over again. Not only the guests but other people were walking in the garden, who were allowed to witness the splendor and the festivities. Among the latter came an old maid, who seemed to be quite alone in the world. She was thinking, like the bottle, of the green wood, and of a young betrothed pair, who were closely connected with herself; she was thinking of that hour, the happiest of her life, in which she had taken part, when she had herself been one of that betrothed pair; such hours are never to be forgotten, let a maiden be as old as she may. But she did not recognize the bottle, neither did the bottle notice the old maid. And so we often pass each other in the world when we meet, as did these two, even while together in the same town.
The bottle was taken from the garden, and again sent to a wine merchant, where it was once more filled with wine, and sold to an aeronaut, who was to make an ascent in his balloon on the following Sunday. A great crowd assembled to witness the sight; military music had been engaged, and many other preparations made. The bottle saw it all from the basket in which he lay close to a live rabbit. The rabbit was quite excited because he knew that he was to be taken up, and let down again in a parachute. The bottle, however, knew nothing of the “up,” or the “down;” he saw only that the balloon was swelling larger and larger till it could swell no more, and began to rise and be restless. Then the ropes which held it were cut through, and the aerial ship rose in the air with the aeronaut and the basket containing the bottle and the rabbit, while the music sounded and all the people shouted “Hurrah.”
“This is a wonderful journey up into the air,” thought the bottle; “it is a new way of sailing, and here, at least, there is no fear of striking against anything.”
Thousands of people gazed at the balloon, and the old maid who was in the garden saw it also; for she stood at the open window of the garret, by which hung the cage containing the linnet, who then had no water-glass, but was obliged to be contented with an old cup. In the window-sill stood a myrtle in a pot, and this had been pushed a little on one side, that it might not fall out; for the old maid was leaning out of the window, that she might see. And she did see distinctly the aeronaut in the balloon, and how he let down the rabbit in the parachute, and then drank to the health of all the spectators in the wine from the bottle. After doing this, he hurled it high into the air. How little she thought that this was the very same bottle which her friend had thrown aloft in her honor, on that happy day of rejoicing, in the green wood, in her youthful days. The bottle had no time to think, when raised so suddenly; and before it was aware, it reached the highest point it had ever attained in its life. Steeples and roofs lay far, far beneath it, and the people looked as tiny as possible. Then it began to descend much more rapidly than the rabbit had done, made somersaults in the air, and felt itself quite young and unfettered, although it was half full of wine. But this did not last long. What a journey it was! All the people could see the bottle; for the sun shone upon it. The balloon was already far away, and very soon the bottle was far away also; for it fell upon a roof, and broke in pieces. But the pieces had got such an impetus in them, that they could not stop themselves. They went jumping and rolling about, till at last they fell into the court-yard, and were broken into still smaller pieces; only the neck of the bottle managed to keep whole, and it was broken off as clean as if it had been cut with a diamond.
“That would make a capital bird’s glass,” said one of the cellar-men; but none of them had either a bird or a cage, and it was not to be expected they would provide one just because they had found a bottle neck that could be used as a glass. But the old maid who lived in the garret had a bird, and it really might be useful to her; so the bottle neck was provided with a cork, and taken up to her; and, as it often happens in life, the part that had been uppermost was now turned downwards, and it was filled with fresh water. Then they hung it in the cage of the little bird, who sang and twittered more merrily than ever.
“Ah, you have good reason to sing,” said the bottle neck, which was looked upon as something very remarkable, because it had been in a balloon; nothing further was known of its history. As it hung there in the bird’s-cage, it could hear the noise and murmur of the people in the street below, as well as the conversation of the old maid in the room within. An old friend had just come to visit her, and they talked, not about the bottle neck, but of the myrtle in the window.
“No, you must not spend a dollar for your daughter’s bridal bouquet,” said the old maid; “you shall have a beautiful little bunch for a nosegay, full of blossoms. Do you see how splendidly the tree has grown? It has been raised from only a little sprig of myrtle that you gave me on the day after my betrothal, and from which I was to make my own bridal bouquet when a year had passed: but that day never came; the eyes were closed which were to have been my light and joy through life. In the depths of the sea my beloved sleeps sweetly; the myrtle has become an old tree, and I am a still older woman. Before the sprig you gave me faded, I took a spray, and planted it in the earth; and now, as you see, it has become a large tree, and a bunch of the blossoms shall at last appear at a wedding festival, in the bouquet of your daughter.”
There were tears in the eyes of the old maid, as she spoke of the beloved of her youth, and of their betrothal in the wood. Many thoughts came into her mind; but the thought never came, that quite close to her, in that very window, was a remembrance of those olden times,—the neck of the bottle which had, as it were shouted for joy when the cork flew out with a bang on the betrothal day. But the bottle neck did not recognize the old maid; he had not been listening to what she had related, perhaps because he was thinking so much about her.
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