THE BELL-DEEP

　　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.

　　THE END