The story of a 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?” Everyone 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”, he thought to himself. 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 for
marrying, it’s a 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 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.” and with this thought
the butterfly decided to remain single all his life.
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