*Note that the original story has been slightly modified in terms of addressing contemporary narrative.
*This classic children’s story may contain mentions of death and/or contain scenes of violence. Parents are advised to read the story by themselves before reading to children.
The Butterfly
by
Hans Christian Andersen
There was once a butterfly who wished for a bride, and, as you may suppose, he wanted to choose a very pretty bride among the flowers. He glanced, with a very critical eye, at all the flower-beds, and found that the flowers were seated quietly on their stalks, just as ladies should sit before they are engaged to be married. But there was a great number of flowers, and it appeared as if his search would become very long and tiring.
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:
“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 ask about love, 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. Please 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 silent, and answered not a word. The butterfly decided not to wait any longer, so flew away, too find his bride 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 things; but they are rather formal.”
Then, as the young men often do, he looked out for the older 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 today, but might fall off tomorrow, with the first wind that blew. The butterfly 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 ladies 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 someday,” 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 didn’t have 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 toe, 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; to marry you — 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 around in summer clothes; but fortunately, the butterfly was not out in it. He had got a shelter by an accident. 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 pinned 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.
“Oh,” thought the butterfly, “you can’t trust these plants in pots – they have too much to do with mankind.”
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Hans Christian Andersen was a Danish author best remembered for his fairy tales. Andersen’s popularity is not limited to children: his stories express themes that transcend age and nationality.
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