THE BOTTLE NECK [0]
1872
FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
THE BOTTLE NECK
by Hans Christian Andersen
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,
FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN
THE BOTTLE NECK
by Hans Christian Andersen
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,