Fairy Tales

here.”

“You talk according to your lights! Don’t you see that I’m tied up?”

“I’m not tied,” said the fly and flew away.

“Now I know the world,” the dung beetle said. “And it’s a mean world. I’m the only honorable one in it! First they deny me gold shoes, then I have to lie on wet linen, stand in a draft, and finally they foist a wife on me! When I then take a quick step out into the world to see what it’s like and how it will treat me, then a people-puppy comes along and sets me in a tether on the wild sea. And meanwhile the emperor’s horse is walking around in gold shoes! That annoys me the most. But you can’t expect sympathy in this world! My life is very interesting, but what good is that if no one knows about it? The world doesn’t deserve to hear about it either, or it would have given me golden shoes in the emperor’s stable when the favorite horse got them, and I reached out my legs. If I had gotten golden shoes I would have brought honor to the stable. Now it’s lost me, and the world has lost me. Everything’s over!”

But everything wasn’t over yet because a boat sailed by with some young girls in it.

“There’s a wooden shoe!” one of them said.

“There’s a little animal tied up to it,” said another.

They were right beside the wooden shoe and picked it up. One of the girls took a little scissors and cut the woolen thread without hurting the dung beetle, and when they got to land, she set it in the grass.

“Crawl, crawl! Fly, fly, if you can!” she said. “Freedom is a lovely thing.”

And the dung beetle flew right through an open window in a big building and sank tiredly down in the fine, soft, long mane of the emperor’s favorite horse who was standing in the stable where it and the dung beetle belonged. It clung to the mane and sat collecting its thoughts for awhile. “Here I am sitting on the emperor’s favorite horse— sitting as a horseman. What’s that I said? Well, now everything is clear to me! It’s a good idea, and the right one. Why did the horse get golden shoes? He asked me about that, the blacksmith. Now I realize why! The horse got golden shoes for my sake!”

And that put the dung beetle in a good mood.

“You get clear-headed from travel,” he said.

The sun shone in on him, shone very beautifully. “The world isn’t so bad after all,” said the dung beetle. “You just have to know how to take it.” The world was lovely—the emperor’s favorite horse had gotten golden shoes because the dung beetle was to be its rider.

“Now I’ll just step down to the other beetles and tell them how much has been done for me. I’ll tell about all the pleasures I enjoyed on my travel abroad, and I’ll tell them that now I’ll stay home until the horse has worn out his golden shoes.”

THE BUTTERFLY

THE BUTTERFLY WANTED A sweetheart, and naturally he wanted one of the pretty little flowers. He looked at them. Each sat so quietly and steadily on her stalk, just like a maiden should sit when she’s not yet engaged. But there were so many to choose among—it was too much trouble, and the butterfly couldn’t be bothered, so he flew away to the daisy. The French call her Margrethe. They know that she can tell fortunes, which she does when people pick petal after petal, and with each one say, “She loves me—She loves me not—She loves me—She loves me not,” or something like that. Everyone asks in his own language. The butterfly came to ask too, but he didn’t pluck the petals off. Instead he kissed each one, believing that you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.

“Sweet Margrethe Daisy,” he said. “You’re the wisest woman of all the flowers. You know how to tell fortunes. Tell me, will I have that one, or that one? Who will I get? When I know that, I’ll fly right over and propose.”

But Margrethe didn’t answer at all. She didn’t like being called a woman because she was an unmarried virgin and wasn’t properly speaking a woman yet. He asked a second and then a third time. When he couldn’t get a single word out of her, he couldn’t be bothered to ask again, but flew directly away to propose.

It was early spring, and there were lots of snowdrops and crocuses. “They are very pretty,” said the butterfly. “Sweet little things who have just come out, but somewhat tasteless.” Like all young men, he looked for older girls. So then he flew to the anemones, but they were a little too bitter for him, and the violets a bit too romantic. The tulips were too ostentatious, the narcissus too simple, and the lime blossoms were too small and had too many relations. The apple blossoms really did look like roses, but they were here today and gone tomorrow according to how the wind blew. He thought that would be too short a marriage! The sweet pea was the one who pleased him the most. She was red and white, pure and delicate. She was one of those domestic girls who look good and are also useful in the kitchen. He was just about to propose to her, but just then he saw a pea-pod with a withering flower on the end hanging close to her.

They were here today and gone tomorrow.

“Who’s that?” he asked. “That’s my sister,” said the sweet pea.

“Oh, so that’s what you’ll look like later!” That scared the butterfly, and he flew off.

The honeysuckle was hanging over the fence, full of those young ladies with long faces and sallow skin. He didn’t care for that type. But what did he like? You’ve got to ask him yourself.

Spring passed, summer passed, and then it was autumn. But he got nowhere. And the flowers were wearing the most beautiful dresses, but that didn’t help. They didn’t have that fresh fragrance of youth. Fragrance is just what the heart needs with age, and there’s not much of that in dahlias and hollyhocks. And so the butterfly flew down to the curled mint.

“She actually has no flower, but is a whole flower, fragrant from root to tip. She has fragrance in every leaf. I’ll take her!”

And so he finally proposed.

But the curled mint stood stiff and silent, and at last she said, “Friendship—but nothing more! I am old, and you are old. We could certainly live for each other, but get married? No! Let’s not make fools of ourselves in our old