in a narrow crooked street，among other abodes of poverty，stood an especially narrow and tall house huilt of timber，which had given way in every direction．the house was inhabited by poor people，and the deepest poverty was in the garret-lodging in the gable，where，in front of the only window，hung an old bent birdcage，which had not even a proper water-glass，but only a bottle-neck reversed，with a cork stuck in the mouth，and filled with water．an old maid stood by the window：she had hung the cage with green chickweed；and a little chaffinch hopped from perch to perch，and sang and twittered merrily enough．
“yes，it's all very will for you to sing，”said the bottle-neck；that is to say，it did not pronounce the words as we can speak them，for a bottle-neck can't speak；but that's what he thought to himself in his own mind，as when we people talk quietly to ourselves．“yes，it's all very well for you to sing，you that have all your limbs uninjured．you ought to feel what it's like to lose one's body，and to have only mouth and neck left，and that with a cork into the bargain，as in my case；and then i'm sure you would not sing．but after all it is well that there should be somebody at least who is merry．i've no reason to sing，and，moreover，i can't sing．yes，when i was a whole bottle，i sang out well if they rubbed me with a cork．they used to call me a perfect lart，a magnificent lark！ah，when i was out at a picnic with the tanner's family，and his daughter was betrothed！yes，i remember it as if it had happened only yesterday．i have gone through a great deal，when i come to recollect．i've been in the fire and the water，have been deep in the black earth，and have mounted higher than most of the others；and now i'm hanging here，outside the birdcage，in the air and the sunshine！oh，it would be quite worth while to hear my history；but i don't speak aloud of it，because i can't．”
and now the bottle－neck told its story，which was sufficiently remarkable．it told the story to itself，or only thought it in its own mind；and the little bird sang his song merrily，and down in the street there was driving and burrying，and every one thought of his own affairs，or perhaps of nothing at all；but the bottle-neck did think．it thought of the flaming furnace in the manufactory，where it had been blown into life；it still remembered that it had been quite warm，that it had glanced into the hiss-in furnace，the home of its origin，and had felt a great desire to leap directly back again；but that gradually it had become cooler，and had been very comfortable in the place to which it was taken．it had stood in a rank with a whole regiment of brothers and sisters，all out of the same furnace；some of them had certainly been blown into champagne bottles，and others into beer bottles，and that makes a difference．later，out in the world，it may well happen that a beer bottle may contain the most precious wine，and a champagne bottle be filled with blacking；but even in decay there is always something left by which people can see what one has been—nobility is nobility，even when filled with blacking．
all the bottles were packed up，and our bottle was among them．at that time it did not think to finish its career as a bottle-neck，or that it should work its way up to be a bird's glass，which is always an honourable thing，for one is of some consequence，after all．the bottle did not again behold the light of day till it was unpacked with the other bottles in the cellar of the wine merchant，and rinsed out for the first time；and that was a strange sensation．there it lay，empty and without a cork，and felt strangely unwell，as if it wanted something，it could not tell what．at last it was filled with good costly wine，and was provided with a cork，and sealed down．a ticket was placed on it marked“first quality”；and it felt as if it had carried off the first prize at an examination；for，you see，the wine was good and the bottle was good．when one is young，that's the time for poetry！there was a singing and sounding within it，of things which it could not understand—of green sunny mountains，whereon the grape grows，where many vine dressers，men and women，sing and dance and rejoice．“ah，how beautiful is life！”there was a singing and sounding of all this in the bottle，as in a young poet's brain；and many a young poet does not understand the meaning of the song that is within him．
one morning the bottle was bought，for the tanner's apprentice was dispatched for a bottle of wine—“of the best．”and now it was put in the provision basket，with ham and cheese and sausages；the finest butter and the best bread were put into the basket too—the tanner's daughter herself packed it．she was young and very pretty；her brown eyes laughed，and round her mouth played a smile which said just as much as her eyes．she had delicate hands，beautifully white，and her neck was whiter still；you saw at once that she was one of the most beautiful girls in the town：and still she was not engaged．
the provision basket was in the lap of the young girl when the family drove out into the forest．the bottle-neck looked out from the folds of the white napkin．there was red wax upon the cork，and the bottle looked straight into the girl's face．it also looked at the young sailor who sat next to the girl．he was a friend of old days，the son of the portrait painter．quite lately he had passed with honour through his examination as mate，and tomorrow he was to sail away in a ship，far off to a distant land．there had been much talk of this while the basket was being packed；and certainly the eves and mouth of the tanner's pretty daughter did not wear a very joyous expression just then．
the young people sauntered through the greenwood，and talked to one another．what were they talking of？no，the bottle could not hear that，for it was in the provision basket．a long time passed before it was drawn forth；but when that happened，there had been pleasant things going on，for all were laughing，and the tanner's daughter laughed too；but she spoke less than before，and her cheeks glowed like two roses．
the father took the full bottle and the corkscrew in his hand．yes，it's a strange thing to be drawn thus，the first time！the bottle-neck could never afterwards forget that impressive moment；and indeed there was quite a con-vulsion within him when the cork flew out，and a great throbbing as the wine poured forth into the glasses．
“health to the betrothed pair！”cried the papa．and every glass was emptied to the bottom，and the young mate kissed his beautiful bride．
“happiness and blessing！said the two old people．and the young man filled the glasses again．
“safe return，and a wedding this day next year！”he cried；and when the glasses were emptied，he took the bottle，raised it on high，and said，“the hast been pre-sent at the happiest day of my life，thou shalt never serve another！”
and so saying，he hurled it high into the air．the tanner's daughter did not then think that she should see the bottle fly again；and yet it was to be so．it then fell into the thick reeds on the margin of a little woodland lake；and the bottle-neck could remember quite plainly how it lay there for some，time．
“i gave them wine，and they give me marsh water，”he said：“but it is well meant．”
he could no longer see the betrothed couple and the cheerful old peoples；but for a long time be could hear them rejoicing and singing．then at last came two peasant boys，and looked into the reeds；they spied out the bottle，and took it up；and now it was provided for．
at their home，in the wooden cottage，the eldest of three brothers，who was a sailor，and about to start on a long voyage，had been the day before to take leave．the mother was just engaged in packing up various things he was to take with him upon his journey，and which the father was going to carry into the town that evening to see his son once more，to give him a farewell greeting from the lad's mother and himself，and a little bottle of medicated brandy had already been wrapped up in a parcel，when the boys came in with the larger and stronger bottle which they had found．this bottle would hold more than the little one，and they pronounced that the brandy would be capital for a bad digestion，inasmuch as it was mixed with medical herbs．the draught that was poured into the bottle was not so good as the red wine with which it had once been filled；these were bitter thoughts，but even these are sometimes good．the new big bottle was to go，and not the little one；and so the bottle went travelling again．it was taken on board for peter jensen，in the very same ship in which the young mate sailed．but he did not see the bottle；and，indeed，he would not have known it，or thought it was the same one out of which had been drunk a health to the betrothed pair and to his own happy return．
certainly it had no longer wine to give，but still it contained something that was just as good．accordingly，whenever peter jensen brought it out，it was dubbed by his messmates the apothecary．it contained the best medicine，medicine that strengthened the weak，and it gave liberally so long as it hid a drop left．that was a pleasant time，and the bottle sang when it was rubbed with the cork；and it was called the great lark，“peter jensen's lark．”
long days and months rolled on，and the bottle al-ready stood empty in a corner，when it happened—whether on the passage out or home the bottle could not tell，for it had never been ashore—that a storm arose；great waves came careering along，darkly and heavily，and lifted and tossed the ship to and fro．the mainmast was shivered，and a wave started one of the planks，and the pumps became useless．it was black night．the ship sank；but at the last moment the young mate wrote on a leaf of paper，“god's will be done！we are sinking！”he wrote the name of his betrothed，and his own name，and that of the ship，and put the leaf in an empty bottle that happened to be at hand：he corked it firmly down，and threw it out into the foaming sea．he knew not that it was the very bottle from which the goblet of joy and hope had once been filled for him and for her；and now it was tossing on the waves with his last greeting and the message of death．
the ship sank，and the crew sank with her．the bottle sped on like a bird，for it bore a heart，a loving letter，within itself．and the sun rose and set；and the bottle felt as at the time．when it first came into being in the red gleaming oven—it felt a strong desire to leap back into the light．
it experienced calms and fresh storms；but it was hurled against no rock，and was devoured by no shark；and thus it drifted on for a year and a day，sometimes towards the north，sometimes towards the south，just as the current carried it．beyond this it was its own master，but one may grow tired even of that．
the written page，the last farewell of the sweetheart to his betrothed，would only bring sorrow if it came into her hands；but where were the hands，so white and delicate，which had once spread the cloth on the fresh grass in the greenwood，on the betrothal day？where was the tanner's daughter？yes，where was the land，and which land might be nearest to ber dwelling？the bottle knew not；it drove onward and onward，and was at last tired of wandering，because that was not in its way；but yet it had to travel until at last it came to land—to a strange land．it understood not a word of what was spoken here，for this was not the language it had heard spoken before；and one loses a good deal if one does not understand the language．
the bottle was fished out and examined．the leaf of paper within it was discovered，and taken out，and turned over and over，but the people did not understand what was written thereon．they saw that the bottle must have been thrown overboard，and that something about this was written on the paper，but what were the words？that question remained unanswered，and the paper was put back into the bottle，and the latter was deposited in a great cupboard in a great room in a great house．
whenever strangers came，the paper was brought out and turned over and over，so that the inscription，which was only written in pencil，became more and more illegible，so that at last no one could see that there were letters on it．and for a whole year more the bottle remained standing in the cupboard；and then it was put into the loft，where it became covered with dust and cobwebs．then it thought of the better days，the times when it had poured forth red wine in the greenwood，when it had been rocked on the waves of the sea，and when it had carried a secret，a letter，a parting sigh．
for full twenty years it stood up in the loft；and it might have remained there longer，but that the house was to be rebuilt．the roof was taken off，and then the bottle was noticed，and they spoke about it，but it did not understand their language；for one cannot learn a language by being shut up in a loft，even if one stays there twenty years．
“if i had been down in the room，”thought the bottle，“i might have learned it．”
it was now washed and rinsed，and indeed this was requisite．it felt quite transparent and fresh，and as if its youth had been renewed in this its old age；but the paper it had carried so faithfully had been destroyed in the wash-in．
the bottle was filled with seeds，it did not know the kind．it was corked and well wrapped up．it saw neither lantern nor candle，to say nothing of sun or moon；and yet，it thought，when one goes on a journey one ought to see something；but though it saw nothing，it did what was most important—it travelled to the place of its destination，and was there unpacked．
“what trouble they have taken over yonder with that bottle！”it heard people say；“and yet it is most likely broken．”but it was not broken．
the bottle understood every word that was now said；this was the language it had heard at the furnace，and at the wine merchant's，and in the forest，and in the ship，the only good old language it understood：it had come back home，and the language was as a salutation of welcome to it．for very joy it felt ready to jump out of people's hands；hardly did it notice that its cork had been drawn，and that it had been emptied and carried into the cellar，to be placed there and forgotten．there's no place like home，even if it's in a cellar！it never occurred to the bottle to think how long it lay there，for it felt comfortable，and ac-cordingly lay there for years．at last people came down into the cellar to carry off all the bottles，and ours among the rest．
out in the garden there was a great festival．flaming lamps hung like garlands，and paper lanterns shone transparent，like great tulips．the evening was lovely，the weather still and clear，the stars twinkled；it was the time of the new moon，but in reality the whole moon could be seen as a bluishgrey disk with a golden rim round half its surface，which was a very beautiful sight for those who had good eyes．
the illumination extended even to the most retired of the garden walks；at least，so much of it that one could find one's way there．among the leaves of the bedges stood bottles，with a light in each；and among them was also the bottle we know，and which was destined one day to finish its career as a bottle-neck，a bird's drinking-glass．
everything here appeared lovely to our bottle，for it was once more in the greenwood，amid joy and feasting，and heard song and music，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 many colours．thus it stood，in a distant walk certainly，but that made it the more important；for it bore its light，and was at once ornamental and useful，and that is as it should be：in such an hour one forgets twenty years spent in a loft，and it is right one should do so．
there passed close to it a pair，like the pair who had walked together long ago in the wood，the sailor and the tanner's daughter；the bottle seemed to experience all that over again．in the garden were walking not only the guests，but other people who were allowed to view all the splendour；and among these latter came an old maid with-out kindred，but not without friends．she was just think-in，like the bottle，of the greenwood，and of a young betrothed pair—of a pair which concerned her very nearly，a pair in which she had an interest，and of which she had been a part in that happiest hour of her life—the hour one never forgets，if one should become ever so old a maid．but she did not know the bottle，and it did not know her：it is thus we pass each other in the world，meeting again and again，as these two met，now that they were together again in the same town．
from the garden the bottle was dispatched once more to the wine merchant's，where it was filled with wine and sold to the aeronaut，who was to make an ascent in his balloon on the following sunday．a great crowd had as-sembled to witness the sight；military music had been provided，and many other preparations had been made．the bottle saw everything from a basket in which it lay next to a live rabbit，which latter was quite bewildered because he knew he was to be taken up into the air，and let down again in a parachute；but the bottle knew nothing of the“up”or the“down”；it only saw the balloon swelling up bigger and bigger，and at last，when it could swell no more，beginning to rise，and to grow more and more restless．the ropes that held it were cut，and the huge machine floated aloft with the aeronaut and the bas-ket containing the bottle and the rabbit，and the music sounded，and all the people cried，“hurrah！”
“this is a wonderful passage，up into the air！”thought the bottle；“this is a new way of sailing：at any rate，up here we cannot strike upon anything．”
thousands of people gazed up at the balloon，and theold maid looked up at it also；she stood at the open window of the garret，in which hung the cage，with the little chaffinch，who had no water-glass as yet，but was obliged to be content with an old cup．in the window stood a myrtle in a pot；and it had been put a little aside that it might not fall out，for the old maid was leaning out of the window to look，and she distinctly saw 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，and at length hurled the bottle high in the air；she never thought that this was the identical bottle which she had already once seen thrown aloft in honour of her and of her friend on the day of rejoicing in the greenwood，in the time of her youth．
the bottle had no time for thought，for it was quite startled at thus suddenly reaching the highest point in its career．steeples and roofs lay far，far beneath，and the people looked like mites．
but now it began to descend with a much more rapid fall than that of the rabbit；the bottle threw somersaults in the air，and felt quite young，and quite free and unfettered；and yet it was half full of wine，though it did not remain so for long．what a journey！the sun shone on the bottle，all the people were looking at it；the balloon was already far away，and soon the bottle was far away too，for it fell upon a roof and broke；but the pieces had got such an impetus that they could not stop themselves，but went jumping and rolling on till they came down into the court-yard and lay there in smaller pieces yet；only the bottle-neck managed to keep whole，and that was cut off as if it had been done with a diamond．
“that would do capitally for a bird-glass．”said the cellar-man；but he had neither a bird nor a cage；and to expect him to provide both because they had found a bottle－neck that might be made available for a glass，would have been expecting too much；but the old maid in the garret，perhaps it might be useful to her；and now the bottle-neck was taken up to her，and was provided with a cork．the part that had been uppermost was now turned downwards，as often happens when changes take place；fresh water was poured into it，and it was fastened to the cage of the little bird，which sang and twittered right merrily．
“yes，it's very well for you to sing，”said the bottle－neck．
and it was considered remarkable for having been in the balloon—for that was all they knew of its history．now it hung there as a bird-glass，and heard the murmur-in and noise of the people in the street below，and also the words of the old maid in the room within．an old friend had just come to visit her，and they talked—not of the bottle-neck，but about the myrtle in the window．
“no，you certainly must not spend two dollars for your daughter's bridal wreath，”said the old maid．“you shall have a beautiful little nosegay from me，full of blossoms．do you see how splendidly that tree has come on？yes，that has been raised from a spray of the myrtle you gave me on the day after my betrothal，and from which i was to have made my own wreath when the year was past；but that day never came！the eyes closed that were to have been my joy and delight through life．in the depths of the sea he sleeps sweetly，my dear one！the myrtle has become an old tree，and i have become a yet older woman；and when it faded at last，i took the last green shoot，and planted it in the ground，and it has be－come a great tree；and now at length the myrtle will serve at the wedding—as a wreath for your daughter．”
there were tears in the eyes of the old maid．she spoke of the beloved of her youth，of their betrothal in the wood；many thoughts came to her，but the thought never came that，quite close to her，before the very window，was a remembrance of those times—the neck of the bottle which had shouted for joy when the cork flew out with a bang on the betrothal day．but the bottle－neck did not recognize her either，for he was not listening to what she said—partly because it only thought about itself．
瓶颈
在一条狭窄、弯曲的街上，在许多穷苦的住屋中间，有一座非常狭小、但是很高的木房子。它四边都要塌了。这屋子里住着的全是穷人，而住在顶楼里的人最穷。在这房间唯一的一个小窗子前面，挂着一个歪歪斜斜的破鸟笼。它连一个适当的水盅也没有；只有一个倒转来的瓶颈，嘴上塞着一个塞子，盛满了水。一位老小姐站在这开着的窗子旁边，她刚刚用繁缕草把这鸟笼打扮了一番。一只小苍头燕雀从这根梁上跳到那根梁上，唱得非常起劲。
“是的，你倒可以唱歌！”瓶颈说——它当然不是像我们一样讲话，因为瓶颈是不会讲话的。不过它是在心里这样想，正如我们人静静地在内心里讲话一样。“是的，你倒可以唱歌！因为你的肢体是完整的呀。你应该体会一下这种情况：没有身体，只剩下一个颈项和一个嘴，而且像我一样嘴上还堵了一个塞子。这样你就不会唱歌了。但是能作作乐也是一桩好事！我没有任何理由来唱歌，而且我也不会唱。是的，当我是一个完整的瓶子的时候，如果有人用塞子在我身上擦几下的话，我也能唱一下的。人们把我叫做十全十美的百灵鸟，伟大的百灵鸟！啊，当我和毛皮商人一家人在郊游野餐的时候！当他的女儿在订婚的时候！是的，我记得那情景，仿佛就是昨天的事情似的。只要我回忆一下，我经历过的事情可真不少。我经历过火和水，在黑泥土里面呆过，也曾经比大多数的东西爬得高。现在我却悬在这鸟笼的外面，悬在空气中，在太阳光里！我的故事值得听一听；但是我不把它大声讲出来，因为我不能大声讲。”
于是瓶颈就讲起自己的故事，这是一个很奇怪的故事。它在心里讲这故事，也可以说是在心里想自己的故事。那只小鸟愉快地唱着歌。街上的人有的乘车子，有的匆匆步行；各人想着各人的事，也许什么事也没有想。可是瓶颈在想。
它在想着工厂里那个火焰高蹿的熔炉。它就是在那儿被吹成瓶形的。它还记得那时它很热，它曾经向那个发出咝咝声的炉子——它的老家——望过一眼。它真想再跳回到里面去；不过它后来慢慢地变冷了，它觉得它当时的样子也蛮好。它是立在一大群兄弟姊妹的行列中间——都是从一个熔炉里生出来的。不过有的被吹成了香槟酒瓶，有的被吹成了啤酒瓶，而这是有区别的！在它们走进世界里去以后，一个啤酒瓶很可能会装最贵重的“拉克里麦·克利斯蒂”，而一个香槟酒瓶可能只装黑鞋油。不过一个人天生是什么东西，他的样子总不会变的——贵族究竟是贵族，哪怕他满肚子装的是黑鞋油也罢。
所有的瓶子不久就被包装起来了，我们的这个瓶子也在其中。在那个时候，它没有想到自己会成为一个瓶颈，当作鸟儿的水盅——这究竟是一件光荣的事情，因为这说明它还有点用处！它再也没有办法见到天日，直到最后才跟别的朋友们一块儿从一个酒商的地窖里被取出箱子来，第一次在水里洗了一通——这是一种很滑稽的感觉。
它躺在那儿，空空地，没有瓶塞。它感到非常不愉快，它缺少一件什么东西——究竟是什么东西，它也讲不出来。最后它装满了贵重的美酒，安上一个塞子，并且封了口。它上面贴着一张纸条：“上等”。它觉得好像在考试时得了优等一样。不过酒的确不坏，瓶也不坏。一个人的年轻时代是诗的时代！其中有它所不知道的优美的歌：绿色的、阳光照着的山岳，那上面长着葡萄，还有许多葡萄园艺工，快乐的女子和高兴的男子，在歌唱，跳舞。的确，生活是多么美好啊！这瓶子的身体里，现在就有这种优美的歌声，像在许多年轻诗人的心里一样——他们常常也不知道他们心里唱的是什么东西。
有一天早晨，瓶子被人买去了。毛皮商人的学徒被派去买一瓶最上等的酒。瓶子就跟火腿、干酪和香肠一起放进一个篮子里。那里面还有最好的黄油和最好的面包——这是毛皮商人的女儿亲手装进去的。她是那么年轻，那么美丽。她有一双笑眯眯的棕色眼睛，嘴唇上也老是飘着微笑——跟她的眼睛同样富有表情的微笑。她那双柔嫩的手白得可爱，而她的脖子更白。人们一眼就可以看出，她是全城中最美的女子；而且她还没有订过婚。
当这一家人到森林里去野餐的时候，篮子就放在这位小姐的膝上。瓶颈从白餐巾的尖角里伸出来。塞子上封着红蜡，瓶子一直向这姑娘的脸上望，也朝着坐在这姑娘旁边的一个年轻的水手望。他是她儿时的朋友，一位肖像画家的儿子。最近他考试得到优等，成了大副；明天就要开一条船到一个遥远的国度去。当瓶子装进篮子里去的时候，他们正谈论着这次旅行的事情。那时，这位毛皮商人的漂亮女儿的一对眼睛和嘴唇的确没有露出什么愉快的表情。
这对年轻人在绿树之间漫步着，交谈着。他们在谈什么呢？是的，瓶子听不见，因为它是装在菜篮子里。过了很长的一段时间以后，它才被取出来。不过当它被取出来的时候，大家已经很快乐了，因为所有的人都在笑，而毛皮商人的女儿也在笑。不过她的话讲得很少，而她的两个脸蛋红得像两朵玫瑰花。
父亲一手拿着酒瓶，一手紧握着拔瓶塞的开塞钻。是的，被人拔一下的确是一种奇怪的感觉，尤其是第一次。瓶颈永远也忘不了这给它印象最深的一刹那。的确，当那瓶塞飞出去的时候，它心里说了一声“扑！”当酒倒进杯子里的时候，它咯咯地唱了一两下。
“祝这订婚的一对健康！”爸爸说。每次总是干杯。那个年轻的水手吻着他美丽的未婚妻。
“祝你们幸福和快乐！”老年夫妇说。
年轻人又倒满了一杯。
“明年这时就回家结婚！”他说。当他把酒喝干了的时候，他把瓶子高高地举起，说：“在我这一生最愉快的一天中，你恰巧在场；我不愿意你再为别人服务！”
于是他就把瓶子扔向空中。毛皮商人的女儿肯定地相信她决不会再有机会看到这瓶子了，然而她却看到了。它落到树林里一个小池旁浓密的芦苇中去了。瓶子还能清楚地记得它在那儿躺着时的情景。它想：
“我给他们酒，而他们却给我池水，但是他们本来的用意是很好的！”
它再也没有看到这对订了婚的年轻人和那对快乐的老夫妇了。不过它有好一会儿还能听到他们的欢乐和歌声。最后有两个农家孩子走来了；他们朝芦苇里望，发现了这个瓶子，于是就把它捡起来。现在它算是有一个归宿了。
他们住在一个木房子里，共有兄弟三个。他们的大哥是一个水手。他昨天回家来告别，因为他要去作一次长途旅行。母亲在忙着替他收拾旅途中要用的一些零碎东西。这天晚上他父亲就要把行李送到城里去，想要在别离前再看儿子一次，同时代表母亲和他自己说几句告别的话。行李里还放有一瓶药酒，这时孩子们恰巧拿着他们找到的那个更结实的大瓶子走进来。比起那个小瓶子来，这瓶子能够装更多的酒，而且还是能治消化不良的好烧酒，里面浸有药草。瓶子里装的不是以前那样好的红酒，而是苦味的药酒，但这有时也是很好的[——对于胃痛很好]。现在要装进行李中去的就是这个新的大瓶子，而不是原来的那个小瓶子。因此这瓶子又开始旅行起来。它和彼得·演生一起上了船。这就是那个年轻的大副所乘的一条船。但是他没有看到这瓶子。的确，他不会知道，或者想到，这就是曾经倒出酒来、祝福他订婚和安全回家的那个瓶子。
当然它里面没有好酒，但是它仍然装着同样好的东西。每当彼得·演生把它取出来时，他的朋友们总把它叫做“药店”。它里面装着好药——治腹痛的药。只要它还有一滴留下，它总是有用的。这要算是它幸福的时候了。当塞子擦着它的时候，它就唱出歌来。因此它被人叫做“大百灵鸟——彼得·演生的百灵鸟”。
漫长的岁月过去了。瓶子呆在一个角落里，已经空了。这时出了一件事情——究竟是在出航时出的呢，还是在回家的途中出的，它说不大清楚，因为它从来没有上过岸。暴风雨起来了，巨浪在沉重地、阴森地颠簸着，船在起落不定。主桅在断裂；巨浪把船板撞开了；抽水机现在也无能为力了。这是漆黑的夜。船在下沉。但是在最后一瞬间，那个年轻的大副在一页纸上写下这样的字：“愿耶稣保佑！我们现在要沉了！”他写下他的未婚妻的名字，也写下自己的名字和船的名字，便把纸条塞在手边这只空瓶子里，然后把塞子塞好，把它扔进这波涛汹涌的大海里去。他不知道，它曾经为他和她倒出过幸福和希望的酒。现在它带着他的祝福和死神的祝福在浪花中漂流。
船沉了，船员也一起沉了。瓶子像鸟儿似地飞着，因为它身体里带着一颗心和一封亲爱的信；太阳升起了，又落下了。对瓶子说来，这好像它在出生时所看见的那个红彤彤的熔炉——它那时多么希望能再跳进去啊！
它经历过晴和的天气和新的暴风雨。但是它没有撞到石礁，也没有被什么鲨鱼吞掉。它这样漂流了不知多少年，有时漂向北，有时漂向南，完全由浪涛的流动来左右。除此以外，它可以算是独立自主了；但是一个人有时也不免对于这种自由感到厌倦起来。
那张字条——那张代表恋人同未婚妻最后告别的字条，如果能到达她手中的话，只会带给她悲哀；但是那双白嫩的、曾在订婚那天在树林中新生的草地上铺过桌布的手现在在什么地方呢？那毛皮商的女儿在哪儿呢？是啊，那块土地，那块离她的住所最近的陆地在哪儿呢？瓶子一点也不知道；它往前漂流着，漂流着；最后漂流得厌倦了，因为漂流究竟不是生活的目的。但是它不得不漂流，一直到最后它到达了陆地——到达一块陌生的陆地。这儿人们所讲的话，它一句也听不懂，因为这不是它从前听到过的语言。一个人不懂当地的语言，真是一件很大的损失。
瓶子被捞起来了，而且也被检查过了。它里面的纸条也被发现了，被取了出来，同时被人翻来覆去地看，但是上面所写的字却没有人看得懂。他们知道瓶子一定是从船上抛下来的——纸条上一定写着这类事情。但是纸上写的是什么字呢？这个问题却是一个谜。于是纸条又被塞进瓶子里面去，而瓶子被放进一个大柜子里。它们现在都在一座大房子里的一个大房间里。
每次有生人来访的时候，纸条就被取出来，翻来覆去地看，弄得上面铅笔写的字迹变得更模糊了，最后连上面的字母也没有人看得出来了。
瓶子在柜子里呆了一年，后来被放到顶楼的储藏室里去了，全身都布满了灰尘和蜘蛛网。于是它就想起了自己的幸福的时光，想起它在树林里倒出红酒，想起它带着一个秘密、一个音信、一个别离的叹息在海上漂流。
它在顶楼里待了整整20年。要不是这座房子要重建的话，它可能待得更长。屋顶被拆掉了，瓶子也被人发现了。大家都谈论着它，但是它却听不懂他们的话，因为一个人被锁在顶楼里决不能学会一种语言的，哪怕他待上20年也不成。
“如果我住在下面的房间里，”瓶子想，“我可能已经学会这种语言了！”
它现在被洗刷了一番。这的确是很必要的。它感到透亮和清爽，真是返老还童了。但是它那么忠实地带来的那张纸条，已经在洗刷中被毁掉了。
瓶子装满了种子：它不知道这是些什么种子。它被塞上了塞子，包起来。它既看不到灯笼，也看不到蜡烛，更谈不上月亮和太阳。但是它想：当一个人旅行的时候，应该看一些东西才是。但是它什么也没有看到，不过它总算做了一件最重要的事情——它旅行到了目的地，并且被人从包中取出来了。
“那些外国人该是费了多少麻烦才把这瓶子包装好啊！”它听到人们讲；“它早就该损坏了。”但是它并没有损坏。
瓶子现在懂得人们所讲的每一个字：这就是它在熔炉里、在酒商的店里、在树林里、在船上听到的、它能懂得的那种唯一的、亲爱的语言。它现在回到家乡来了，对它来说，这语言就是一种欢迎的表示。出于一时的高兴，它很想从人们手中跳出来。在它还没有觉得以前，塞子就被取出来了，里面的东西倒出来了，它自己被送到地下室去，扔在那儿，被人忘掉。什么地方也没有家乡好，哪怕是待在地下室里！瓶子从来没有想过自己在这儿待了多久：因为它在这儿感到很舒服，所以就在这儿躺了许多年。最后人们到地下室来，把瓶子都清除出去——包括这个瓶子在内。
花园里正在开一个盛大的庆祝会。闪耀的灯儿悬着，像花环一样；纸灯笼射出光辉，像大朵透明的郁金香。这是一个美丽的晚上，天气是晴和的，星星在眨着眼睛。这正是上弦月的时候；但是事实上整个月亮都现出来了，像一个深灰色的圆盘，上面镶着半圈金色的框子——这对于眼睛好的人看起来，是一个美丽的景象。
灯火甚至把花园里最隐蔽的小径都照到了：最低限度，照得可以使人找到路。篱笆上的树叶中间立着许多瓶子，每个瓶里有一个亮光。我们熟识的那个瓶子，也在这些瓶子中间。它命中注定有一天要变成一个瓶颈，一个供鸟儿吃水的小盅。
不过在一时间，它觉得一切都美丽无比：它又回到绿树林中，又在欣赏欢乐和庆祝的景象。它听到歌声和音乐，听到许多人的话声和低语声——特别是花园里点着玻璃灯和种种不同颜色的纸灯笼的那块地方。它远远地立在一条小径上，一点也不错，但这正是使人感到了不起的地方。瓶子里点着一个火，既实用，又美观。这当然是对的。这样的一个钟头可以使它忘记自己在顶楼上度过的20年光阴——把它忘掉也很好。
有两个人在它旁边走过去了。他们手挽着手，像多少年以前在那个树林里的一对订了婚的恋人——水手和毛皮商人的女儿。瓶子似乎重新回到那个情景中去了。花园里不仅有客人在散步，而且还有许多别的人到这儿来参观这良辰美景。在这些人中间有一位没有亲戚的老小姐，不过她并非没有朋友。像这瓶子一样，她也正在回忆那个绿树林，那对订了婚的年轻人。这对年轻人牵涉到她，跟她的关系很密切，因为她就是两人中的一个。那是她一生中最幸福的时刻——这种时刻，一个人是永远忘记不了的，即使变成了这么一个老小姐也忘记不了。但是她不认识这瓶子，而瓶子也不认识她；在这世界上我们就这样擦肩而过，又一次次地碰到一起。他们俩就是如此，他们现在又在同一个城市里面。
瓶子又从这花园到一个酒商的店里去了。它又装满了酒，被卖给一个飞行家。这人要在下星期天坐着气球飞到空中去。有一大群人赶来观看这个场面；还有一个军乐队和许多其他的布置。和一只活兔子一起待在一个篮子里的瓶子，看到了这全部景象。兔子感到非常恐慌，因为它知道自己要升到空中去，然后又要跟着一个降落伞落下来。不过瓶子对于“上升”和“下落”的事儿一点也不知道；它只看到这气球越鼓越大，当它鼓得不能再鼓的时候，就开始升上去了，越升越高，而且动荡起来。系着它的那根绳子这时被剪断了。这样它就带着那个飞行家、篮子、瓶子和兔子航行起来。音乐奏起来了，大家都高呼：“好啊！”
“像这样在空中航行真是美妙得很！”瓶子想。“这是一种新式的航行；在这上面无论如何是触不到什么暗礁的。”
成千成万的人在看这气球。那个老小姐也抬头向它凝望。她立在一个顶楼的窗口。这儿挂着一个鸟笼，里面有一只小苍头燕雀。它还没有一个水盅，目前只好满足于使用一个旧杯子。窗子上有一盆桃金娘。老小姐把它移向旁边一点，免得它落下去，因为她正要把头伸到窗子外面去望。她清楚地看到气球里的那个飞行家，看到他让兔子和降落伞一起落下来，看到他对观众干杯，最后把酒瓶向空中扔去。她没有想到，在她年轻的时候，在那个绿树林里的欢乐的一天，她早已看到过这瓶子为了庆祝她和她的男朋友，也曾经一度被扔向空中。
瓶子来不及想什么了，因为忽然一下子升到这样一个生命的最高峰，它简直惊呆了。教堂塔楼和屋顶躺在遥远的下面，人群看起来简直渺小得很。
这时它开始下降，而下降的速度比兔子快得多。瓶子在空中翻了好几个跟头，觉得非常年轻，非常自由自在。它还装着半瓶酒，虽然它再也装不了多久。这真是了不起的旅行！太阳照在瓶子上；许多人在看着它。气球已经飞得很远了，瓶子也落得很远了。它落到一个屋顶上，因此跌碎了。但是碎片产生出一种动力，弄得它们简直静止不下来。它们跳，滚，一直落到院子里，跌成更小的碎片。只有瓶颈算是保持完整，像是用金刚钻锯下来的一样。
“把它用做鸟儿的水盅倒是非常合适！”住在地下室的一个人说。但是他既没有鸟儿，也没有鸟笼。只是因为有一个可以当作水盅用的瓶颈就去买一只鸟和一个鸟笼来，那未免太不实际了。但是住在顶楼上的那位老小姐可能用得着它。于是瓶颈就被拿到楼上来了，并且还有了一个塞子。原来朝上的那一部分，现在朝下了——当客观情势一变的时候，这类事儿是常有的。它里面盛满了新鲜的水，并且被系在笼子上，面对着小鸟。鸟儿现在正在唱歌，唱得很美。
“是的，你倒可以唱歌！”瓶颈说。
它的确是了不起，因为它在气球里待过——关于它的历史，大家知道的只有这一点。现在它却是鸟儿的水盅，吊在那儿，听着下边街道上的喧闹声和低语声以及房间里那个老小姐的讲话声：一个老朋友刚才来拜访她，她们聊了一阵天——不是关于瓶颈，而是关于窗子上的那棵桃金娘。
“不，花两块大洋为你的女儿买一个结婚的花环，的确没有这个必要！”老小姐说。“我送给你一个开满了花的、美丽的花束吧。你看，这棵树长得多么可爱！是的，它就是一根桃金娘枝子栽大的。这枝子是你在我订婚后的第一天送给我的。那年过去以后，我应当用它为我自己编成一个结婚的花环。但是那个日子永远也没有到来！那双应该是我一生快乐和幸福的眼睛闭上了。他，我亲爱的人，现在睡在海的深处。这棵桃金娘已经成了一棵老树，而我却成了一个更老的人。当它凋零了以后，我摘下它最后的一根绿枝，把它插在土里，现在它长成了一株树。现在你可以用它为你的女儿编成一个结婚的花环，它总算碰上一次婚礼，有些用处！”
这位老小姐的眼里含有泪珠。她谈起她年轻时代的恋人，和他们在树林里的订婚。[她不禁想起了那多次的干杯，想起了那个初吻——她现在不愿意讲这事情了，因为她已经是一个老小姐。]她想起了的事情真多，但是她却从没有想到在她的近旁，在这窗子前面，就有那些时光的一个纪念物：一个瓶颈——这瓶子当它的塞子为了大家的干杯而被拔出来的时候，曾经发出过一声快乐的欢呼。不过瓶颈也没有认出她，因为它没有听她讲话——主要是因为它老在想着自己。
这个故事发表在1858年的《丹麦历书》里。它的内容很清楚：写的是人世的沧桑——也是安徒生进入中年以后对人生的感受。关于这个故事安徒生在他的手记中说：“我的好朋友j·m·蒂勒（丹麦著名诗人）一天对我开玩笑他说，‘你应该写一个关于瓶子的故事，从它的开始直到它只能当作鸟儿饮水用的一个瓶颈。’《瓶颈》就是这样写成的。”