THE BUTTERFLY

                                  1872

                 FAIRY TALES OF HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN

                             THE BUTTERFLY

                       by Hans Christian Andersen



THERE was once a butterfly who wished for a bride, and, as may

be supposed, he wanted to choose a very pretty one from among the

flowers. He glanced, with a very critical eye, at all the flower-beds,

and found that the flowers were seated quietly and demurely on their

stalks, just as maidens should sit before they are engaged; but

there was a great number of them, and it appeared as if his search

would become very wearisome. The butterfly did not like to take too

much trouble, so he flew off on a visit to the daisies. The French

call this flower "Marguerite," and they say that the little daisy

can prophesy. Lovers pluck off the leaves, and as they pluck each

leaf, they ask a question about their lovers; thus: "Does he or she

love me?- Ardently? Distractedly? Very much? A little? Not at all?"

and so on. Every one speaks these words in his own language. The

butterfly came also to Marguerite to inquire, but he did not pluck off

her leaves; he pressed a kiss on each of them, for he thought there

was always more to be done by kindness.

"Darling Marguerite daisy," he said to her, "you are the wisest

woman of all the flowers. Pray tell me which of the flowers I shall

choose for my wife. Which will be my bride? When I know, I will fly

directly to her, and propose."

But Marguerite did not answer him; she was offended that he should

call her a woman when she was only a girl; and there is a great

difference. He asked her a second time, and then a third; but she

remained dumb, and answered not a word. Then he would wait no

longer, but flew away, to commence his wooing at once. It was in the

early spring, when the crocus and the snowdrop were in full bloom.

"They are very pretty," thought the butterfly; "charming little

lasses; but they are rather formal."

Then, as the young lads often do, he looked out for the elder

girls. He next flew to the anemones; these were rather sour to his

taste. The violet, a little too sentimental. The lime-blossoms, too

small, and besides, there was such a large family of them. The

apple-blossoms, though they looked like roses, bloomed to-day, but

might fall off to-morrow, with the first wind that blew; and he

thought that a marriage with one of them might last too short a

time. The pea-blossom pleased him most of all; she was white and

red, graceful and slender, and belonged to those domestic maidens

who have a pretty appearance, and can yet be useful in the kitchen. He

was just about to make her an offer, when, close by the maiden, he saw

a pod, with a withered flower hanging at the end.

"Who is that?" he asked.

"That is my sister," replied the pea-blossom.

"Oh, indeed; and you will be like her some day," said he; and he

flew away directly, for he felt quite shocked.

A honeysuckle hung forth from the hedge, in full bloom; but

there were so many girls like her, with long faces and sallow

complexions. No; he did not like her. But which one did he like?

Spring went by, and summer drew towards its close; autumn came;

but he had not decided. The flowers now appeared in their most

gorgeous robes, but all in vain; they had not the fresh, fragrant

air of youth. For the heart asks for fragrance, even when it is no

longer young; and there is very little of that to be found in the

dahlias or the dry chrysanthemums; therefore the butterfly turned to

the mint on the ground. You know, this plant has no blossom; but it is

sweetness all over,- full of fragrance from head to foot, with the

scent of a flower in every leaf.

"I will take her," said the butterfly; and he made her an offer.

But the mint stood silent and stiff, as she listened to him. At last

she said,-

"Friendship, if you please; nothing more. I am old, and you are

old, but we may live for each other just the same; as to marrying- no;

don't let us appear ridiculous at our age."

And so it happened that the butterfly got no wife at all. He had

been too long choosing, which is always a bad plan. And the

butterfly became what is called an old bachelor.

It was late in the autumn, with rainy and cloudy weather. The cold

wind blew over the bowed backs of the willows, so that they creaked

again. It was not the weather for flying about in summer clothes;

but fortunately the butterfly was not out in it. He had got a

shelter by chance. It was in a room heated by a stove, and as warm

as summer. He could exist here, he said, well enough.

"But it is not enough merely to exist," said he, "I need

freedom, sunshine, and a little flower for a companion."

Then he flew against the window-pane, and was seen and admired

by those in the room, who caught him, and stuck him on a pin, in a box

of curiosities. They could not do more for him.

"Now I am perched on a stalk, like the flowers," said the

butterfly. "It is not very pleasant, certainly; I should imagine it is

something like being married; for here I am stuck fast." And with this

thought he consoled himself a little.

"That seems very poor consolation," said one of the plants in

the room, that grew in a pot.

"Ah," thought the butterfly, "one can't very well trust these

plants in pots; they have too much to do with mankind."

                        THE END

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