还剩4页未读,继续阅读
文本内容:
The Bottle-Neck瓶颈In thenarrow,crooked street,among severalshabby dwellings,stood avery talland verynarrowhouse,the frameworkof which had givenso thatit was out ofjoint inevery direction.Only poorpeoplelived here,and poorestof allwere thosewho lived in the attic.Outside thesmall atticwindowan old,bent birdcage hungin thesunshine;it didn,t evenhave areal bird glass,buthad only a bottle neck,upside down,with a cork in its mouth,and filled with water.At theopenwindow stoodan old maid who had justbeen deckingthe cagewi thchickweed;the littlecanaryin ithopped fromperch toperch andsang with all hismight.“Yes,you maywe11sing!”said the Bottle Neck.Of course,it dicint sayit audibly,as wereableto,for a bottle neckcannot speak,but it thought it,just aswhen wehumans speakinwardly.Yes,you maywe11sing-you,with yourlimbs whole!But whatif youhad lostyour lowerhalfas Ihave,and hadonlyaneck anda mouthleft,and thenhad acork stuffedinto you!You certainlywouldn,t singthen!But it*s goodthat somebodyis pleased.1have noreason tosing,and I can*t anyway;I cou1d once,when I was awhole bottle,and someonerubbed mewith acork;they usedtocal1me areal larkthen,the grand lark.*Didn,t Ising thatday in the woodswhen thefurrier*s daughterbecame engagedIcanremember itas though it wereyesterday.When Icometo thinkof it,Ive1ived throughmany things;Ive beenthrough fireand water-down in theblack earth,and higherup thanmost people.And nowI hanghere on the outsideof the cage inthe air andsunshine.It might be worth while tohear mystory,but Imnot going to tellit aloud,because Icant!And soit inwardlytold,or thought,its story,which was a strangeone,and in the meantimethelittle birdsang merrily,and peoplerode orwalked throughthe streetsdown below.Each thoughtofhis ownstory ordidnt think at all;but,at anyrate,the Bottle Neck wasengrossed inthought.Itrememberedthe flamingfurnaceinthe manufacturingplant,whereithad beenblownintoexistence.Itstillrememberedhowwarmitwas atfirst,howitlookedintothatroaringfurnace,itsbirthplace,and longed to leapback intoit.But thenas itgradually cooled,it founditself welloff whereit was,standing in a longrow wi thawhole regimentof brothersand sisters.Al1had beenbornfrom the same furnace,but somehad beenblown intochampagne bottles,some into beer bottles,and thatmakes adifference.To besure,as thingshappen in the world,a beerbottle mayholdthe costliestLeichryma Christiwine,while achampagne bottlemay befilled withblack ink;butwhat eachone wasborn formay stillbe clearlyseen in its form;nobility remainsnobility,evenwith blackink inside.All the bottles weresoon packedup,our Bottle among them.Little did it thinkthen thatit wou1dend as abottle neck,serving as a birdglass,and yetthat is an honorableexistence-its atleastsomething.It did not seedaylight againuntil itwas unpacked,together with its comrades,in thecel larof awine merchant;and thenfor thefirst time it wasrinsed out-that was anodd sensation.It thenlay emptyand corkless,and feltstrangely dull,as if it lackedsomething,though it didn tknow what.But then it was filled withgood,glorious winereceived acork,andwas sealedup;a labelwas pastedon it,“Best Quality,“and it felt as ifit had been awardedthe highestrating as the resultof itsexamination-thoughit had tobe admittedthat the winewas good,as wellas the Bottle.When one is young,oneisa lyricpoet!The Bottlewas singinginward1y ofthings itknew nothingabout-green,sunlit mountains,where thevineyards grow,and wheremerry maidensand happyyouthssing andkiss.Yes,it iswonderful tobe alive!Indeed,the Bottleinwardly sangof allthis,as doyoung poets,who frequentlyalso knownothing aboutthe thingsof which they sing.One morningit wasbought.The furrier*s boyhad beensent tofetch abottle of the bestwine;and thenit waspacked intoa largebasket,together withham,cheese,sausages,the bestbutter,andthefinestbread.Thefurrier*sdaughterherself packedthebasket.Shewassoyoung,so pretty;her browneyes laughed,and there was asmile onher1ips,which seemedas expressiveas hereyes.Her handswere small,soft,and white,but notso whiteas herforehead andthroat.You could seeat oncethat she was one of theprettiest girlsin thevillage,and stillshe wasnot yetbetrothed.When theparty droveout into the woods,the basketlay in her lap.The neck of the Bottle peepedoutfrom thefolds of the whitetablecloth;the redsealing waxon the cork lookedright in theface of the younggirl andlooked alsoat the young sailorwho satbeside her.He had been herfriendsince chiIdhood,and was a portraitpainters son.He hadrecently passedhis examinationfor the navelservice withhigh honors,and onthe nextday hewas tosail away,far away,to foreignlands.This had been spokenof duringthe packingof the basket,and it hadnt beenquite sopleasantto lookat theeyes andlips of the furrier,s prettydaughter whilethere*dbeentalk of that.The twoyoung peoplewent for a walkin thegreen forest,talking-and whatdid theytalk aboutThe Bottle couldnthear that,for it was leftin thebasket.A longtime passedbefore thebasketwasunpacked,butwhen itwas,it wasapparentthatsomepleasantthinghadhappenedinthemeantime,for alleyes werefilled withhappiness,particularly thoseof thefurrier,s daughter,thoughshe saidless thanthe others,and hercheeks blushedlike twored roses.The fatherunwrapped the Bottle and took upthe corkscrew.Yes,it was a strangesensation thatthe Bottle feltwhen,for thefirst time,the cork was drawn!The Bottleneck could neverforgetthat solemnmoment;it said pop!asthecork waspulled out,and then the winegurgled when itflowed into the gkisses.“A toastto thebetrothed!*said thefather,and everyglass wasemptied,and thenthe young mankissed hispretty fiancee.Good luckand blessings,,/said the old couple.And theyoungmanthenrefilled theglasses,exclaiming,“To myhome-coming andour wedding,a yearfrom today!,z Whentheglasses had been emptied;he raisedthe Bottlein the air,saying,“You have beena part ofthehappiest dayof mylife.You shal1never serveanyone else!”Then heflung ithigh into the air.Little didthe furriers daughter thinkthat she would eversee the Bottle again-and yetshewould.The Bottlefell downamong thethick reedsfringing thelittlewood kindlake.The Bottleneckcouldremember clearlyhow itlay there,thinking,“I gavethemwine,and theygave meswamp water-but theymeant well.It couldno longersee thehappybetrothed and their pleasedparents,but it could hear them talkingand singingin thedistance.Then aftera whiletwo peasantboys camealong,found the Bottleamongthe reeds,andtookit away.Now ithad someone to takecare ofit.At thewood1and hutwhere the boys lived,they and their elderbrother,who wasa sailor,had partedthe day before,when he had comehome tosay good-by priorto leavingon along voyage.Now theirmotherwas packinga fewthings that their fatherwas goingto taketo himin the town thatevening;this wou1d givehim anopportuni tyto seehis sononce morebefore hisdeparture andto bringhimgreetingsfromhismotherandhimself.A]ittleflaskofspicedbrandywasplacedinthepackage.But thentheboyscame homewith thebottle theyhad found;it waslarger andstronger andwou1d holdmore thanthe littleflask;it wasjust rightfor agood-sized schnappsfor astomachin needof such.So it was filled,not withred wineas before,but withbrandy containingherbsthat aregood for the stomach.The newlyfound Bottle,rather thanthe littleone,would goonthe trip.And sothe Bottlecontinued onits travels.It wentwith PeterJensen onboard thevery sameshipas thisyoung officerwhohad been betrothed.He hadn,t yetseen the Bottleagain,and ifhehad,he wouldnt have recognizedit,or thought,“This isthebottlefrom whichthe toaststo ourbetrothaland myhomecoming weredrunk!”Now,of course,it nolonger containedred wine,butthere was something justas goodin it.Whenever PeterJensen broughtit out,his shipmatesalwayscalled it“the Apothecary”;it providedgood medicinefor thestomach,they agreed,and indeedithelped themas long as therewasadrop leftinit.Those werehappy times,and the Bottle sangwhen it wasrubbed withthecorkand thusit came tobecalled ihegrandlark,and PeterJensen,s lark.”A longtime hadpassed;theBottle stood emptyin acorner,and itdidnot knowwhether it wason thevoyage outor boundfor home,for ithadnt beenashore.Then a mighty stormarose.Huge,heavy,black wavesrose up and hurledthe vesselabout.The mastcrashed overboard;amightywavesmashed in a plank,and thepumps wereuseless.The shipwas sinking,but in the lastminute theyoungofficer wroteon apiece ofpaper,“Lord Jesushave mercyon us-we perish!”He wrotehisfiancees name,his own,and thatof the ship,put the note into an emptybottle hefound nearby,pressed thecork intightly,and thenflung thebottle out into thestormy sea.Never didherealize thatthis was theBottle that had provided winefor toaststo hisand herhappiness andthefulfillment oftheir hopes.It nowtossed onthe surgingbillows,carrying itstidings ofdeath,its greetingto theliving.The shipsank,and thecrew withit.The Bottlewas like a birdin flight,the wayit was tossedabove thewaves-and,what5s more,ithad a heartwithin it,in theform ofa lover*s message.The sunrose,and thesun set-and thatreminded theBottle ofthe timeof itsbirth,in the red,glowing furnace;it1ongedtofly back into theheat.It wentthrough calmseas and more storms;it wasneither dashedagainst rocksnor swallowedbya shark.For morethan ayear anda dayit drifted,now north,now south,as it was carriedbythe currents.To besure it was its own master,but onegets tiredof that.The note,that lastfarewell fromtheyoungofficer tohis betrothed,would bringonly sorrowifi tever shouldfall into the properhands.But wherewere thosehands,the handsthat hadgleamedso whitewhile spreadingthe tableclothover the fresh grassonthebetrothal dayWherewasthefurrier5s daughterYes,and wherewas landWhat kindlay nearestThe Bottlehadno idea.It driftedon andon andfinally becamevery wearyof drifting-for whichithadneverbeen intended,anyway-but sti11it driftedon,until atlast it was castashore on a foreignland.It couldn,t understanda wordthat wasspoken here;this wasnot the language ithad alwaysheardbefore,andone missesagreatdealwheninacountrywhereone cannotunderstandthelanguage.The Bottlewas pickedupandexamined;the noteinside it was noticed,taken out,turned around,and turnedover,but the people couldnot understandwhat waswritten onit.They realized,ofcourse,that thebottle had been thrownoverboard and that therewassomethingabout thatwrittenon the paper,but whatit saidwasamystery.And sothenote was putbackinto theBottle,andthe Bottleitself placedin alarge cabinetinalarge roominalarge house.Whenever strangerscametothehouse thenotewasbrought forth,turned aroundand over,and viewedfrom everyangle,until thewriting-which wasonly pencil,to beginwith-became moreandmoreillegible,andat lastthe letterscould hardlybe madeout at all.For ayear theBottle remainedin thecabinet;thenitwas sentup tothe attic,where itwas smotheredwith dustand spiderwebs.Up there itthought ofits betterdays,whenithadprovidedtheredwine in thefreshwoods,and whenit hadbeenrocked bythe billows,and hadhad asecret,a letter,a sighof farewell,entrusted to itscare.For twenty years itwas leftintheattic,and itmight haveremained therestill longerifthehouse had not beenrebuilt.The roofwas torndown;theBottlewas found,and remarkswere madeaboutit,but itstill couldn*t understand thelanguage;one doesn*t learna languageby standinginan attic,even intwentyyears.If onlyI hadstayed inthe parlordownstairs,“itthought,“I wouldhave learnedit!”It nowwas washedand rinsedout,and itneeded cleaningbadly.Itfelt itselfonce morequite clearand transparent;itfeltyoung inits oldage.But thenote ithadcarried hadbeen destroyedinthewashing.Now itwasfilledwith seedcorn-what sort,itdicin tknow-was wellpacked,and corkedup tightly;it couldsee neitherlamp norcandle,notto mentionsun ormoon.One shouldbe ableto seesomething whenone goeson ajourney,“thoughtthe Bottle.But whileit sawnothing,it didsomething-and thatis offar greaterimportance.It traveled,and atlast cametoitsdestination,where itwasunpacked.“WhalalotoftroublethoseforeignershavegonetowithIhal!”itwassaid.Andyetitsprobablycracked!*But theBottle wasn*t cracked.It understoodall that was saidhere,for everywordwas spokeninthelanguage ithad heardon comingout ofthe furnaceat thefactory,and at thewine merchant1s,and inthe woods,and aboardtheship-the onlylanguage thatwas right,thegood,old languagethat onecould understand.The Bottlehad comehome toitsowncountry;to hearthelanguage wasa welcomegreeting initself,and inits joyit nearlyjumped fromthe handsthatheld it!It wasbarely awarethat itscorkwaspulled outand thatitwasemptied ofits contentsandsent downtothe cellar-there tobe keptand forgotten;however,there isno place1ike home,even inthe cellar!It nevergave thoughtto howlonga timeitlay there,for itlay incomfort;itwasthere formany years.Then,finally,one daypeople camedown andtook thebottles away,ours amongthem.Thegardenofthehousewasmagnificentlydecorated;colorfullylightedlampswerehungingarlands,and paperlanterns glowedfestively,resembling big,seemingly transparenttulips.It wasabeautiful evening,too;ihe airwas calmand mild;the starstwinkled brightly,and therewas anewmoon;people withsharp eyescouldsee the who1e roundmoon,which looked1ikeablue-grayglobe halfencircled withgold.There wassome illuminationalong theoutlying walks,too-atleast enoughto enableonetofind hisway along them.Rows ofbottles,each witha candleinit,hadbeenset upalongthehedges.Among thesestood theBottle weknow-that whichwas toendas abottleneck,a birdglass-and itfound everythinghere completelydel ightful;itwasagainout amongthe greenery;again iI heardthe soundsof gladnessand festivity,song andmusic,thebuzz andchatter ofmany people,especially fromthe sectionofthegarden wherethe lampswereburning and thepaperlanterns showedtheir brightcolors.Though theBottlestoodalong anout-of-the-way walk,even thatgave itfood forthought;in standinghere andbearing itslight,itwasbeing bothuseful andenjoyable toothers,and suchwas itsrightful purpose.In anhourlike thatone canforget twentyyears inan attic-and thatisagood thingto forget.A couplepassedclose by,arm inarm,like thebetrothed pairoutinthe woods-the navalofficer andthefurrier*sdaughter;it seemedtotheBottlethatitwasliving itslife overagain.Guests strolledtoand frointhegarden;there werealso passers-by whohad venturedhere fora glimpseof theguestsandthefestivities,and amongthem wasan old maid whohadnorelatives orfami lybutwas notfriendless.She wasthinking ofthesamething that theBottlewas;she thought ofthegreen woodsand theyoungbetrothed coupleof solong ago.That indeedconcerned her,because shehadbeenapartofit-she wasoneofthe twolovers!That hadbeen thehappiest timeof herlife,atimenever tobeforgotten,however oldan oldmaid maybe.But shedidnotrecognize theBottle,nor diditrecognize her;and thusit isthat wepass oneanother byin thisworld-though sooneror laterweare sureto meetagain,as didthese two,who werenow residentsofthesame town.From thegarden theBottle wentback tothewinemerchant,s;thereitwas oncemore filledwithwine andthen soldtoanaeronaut,whose nextballoon ascensionwastobe onthe followingSunday.A crowdof peoplecametoseetheevent;therewasmilitary music,and manyelaborate preparationshadbeen madefor theoccasion.The Bottlesaw ital1from abasket,where itlay witha1iverabbit,who wasvery disheartenedbecause heknew hewas goingup onlyto comeclown againbyparachute.The Bottleknew nothingabout goingup orcoming down,but itsaw howthe balloonswe11edout largerand larger,andthatwhenitcould growno largerit beganto raiseitself,higher andhigher,and rolleduneasily;thentheropes thatheld itdown werecut,and itfloated upwiththe aeronaut,thebasket,the rabbit,andthebottle.The bandplayed,and allthepeoplecried,“Hurrah!”Its funnyto goup inthe airlike this!”thought theBottle.It mustbe anew kindof sai1ing;you cantrun ontorocks uphere!”Many thousandsof peoplelooked upat the balloon,andtheoldmaidwatched it,too.She wasstandingat theopen atticwindow,beside thecage withthe littlecanary,who atthat timedidn*t haveaglass forhis waterbut hadto getalong withan oldcup.In thewindow wasa floweringmyrtle,whichtheold womanhad movedaside soitwouldn*t fal1out whenshe leanedforward tosee theproceedings.She couldseetheaeronaut inthe balloonbasket;he letthe rabbitfall byparachute,then dranka toastto alI thespectators andflung theBottle highintotheair.She naturallyhadno thoughtof havingseen thesame bottlefly throughtheairon thathappy dayinthegreenwoods,inheryouth.The Bottledidn,thavetime tothinkat all,so suddenlydiditreach thehighest pointof itslife.Far belowlay thetowers androofs ofthetown;people wereso tinythat theywere hardlyvisibleatall.Now itfell,but itwasaquite differentfall fromthe rabbit1s.TheBottleturned somersaultsintheair,and feltitself soyoung,so wild!11was halfful1of wine,but notfor long.Whata voyage!The sunglittered ontheBottle,and alleyes followedit;theballoonitself wasalreadya considerabledistance aloft,and soontheBottlewasoutof view.It fellonaroof,and brokeintwo,but therewas suchspirit inthe piecesthat theycouldnt remainstill!They leapedandrolled,downward,downward untilthey reachedthe courtyard,where theybroke intostill smallerpieces.Only the neckoftheBottlewas leftwhole;it lookedasifithadbeen cutoff cleanlywitha diamond.“It canbe used asa birdglass,“said theman wholivedinthecellar.But hehimself hadneitherbird norcage,and itwou1d hardlyhave beenworthwhileto getthem justbecause hehadabottleneck thatmightbeusedasabirdglass.He knew,however,that theoldmaidup intheatticcoulduse it.So theBottle Neckwas takenupstairs,acorkwas putin,andthepart thathad alwaysbeenthe topwas nowatthebottom-as oftenhappens inlife*s changes;itwasfilledwithfreshwater,and washung onthecageforthelittle birdwho sangso merrily.“Yes,you maywell sing,“said theBottleNeck.And itwas indeeda remarkablebottleneck,for ithadbeenup ina balloon;this,however,was allthatwasknown ofits story.Now,in hanginghereasabird gkiss,itcouldhearthehum andbuzz ofpeople inthe streetbelow andthe voiceoftheoldmaid inher chamber.She hada visitorjust now,a friendof herown age,and theyweretalking-not aboutthe birdgkiss,but aboutthe myrtleatthewindow.“You certainlyshant wastetwo dollarsforabridal bouquetfor yourdaughter!”said theoldmaid.You shallhave acharming onefrom me,full offlowers!See how1ove1y mymyrtle is!Yes,its anoffshoot fromthe myrtleyou gaveme,thedayafter mybetrothal.Iwasgoingtohavemy ownbridal bouquetmade ofit,when theyear wasup,but thatday nevercame.Those eyesthatwere tohavebeenmy lightand joythroughout lifewere closed;atthebottom ofthe seahe sleepssweetly,the angel.The myrtlegrew untilitwaslike an old tree,but Iaged evenmore;and whenit witheredI tookthelast freshshoot andset itintotheground,and nowthat shootis likea tree,and atlastit shallserve ata wedding,asabridal bouquetfor yourdaughter!”And therewere tearsintheold maidseyes;she spokeagain ofthe friendof heryouth andoftheir betrothalinthewoods;she thoughtofthe toasts thathadbeendrunk,thoughtofhis firstkiss-but shesaid nothingabout that;shewasanoldmaid now.Shethoughtofsomanythings,butlittledidshethinkthatjustoutsideherwindowwasaremembranceof thattime,theneckofthatvery Bottlewhichhad saidpop!when itscork hadbeen pulledoutforthedrinking ofthetoasts.The oldBottle didntknow hereither,for ithadn*t listenedtowhat shehadsaid,partly-in fact,chiefly-because itthought onlyof itself.。