英語童話故事THE BUTTERFLY故事

　　THE BUTTERFLY故事

　　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, a

　　s 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