The Bottle Neck

"The Bottle Neck" is a short story by Hans Christian Andersen that details the lifetime adventures of a bottle. Beginning its life as a container of wine, the bottle experiences many incarnations: a buoy at sea, a bird’s home, a corner decoration in a poor man's room. Its life ends trapped in a mason’s wall, only to be discovered years later with a message that carries a lot of significance for its finder. This story is a reflection on life's journey and the significance of past experiences.

• Children

								
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;

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