IT is a long time ago since King Buttercup was married, so long that
the most venerable Yew in the forest cannot remember anything about it,
though it was a very grand Wedding and made a great sensation in the
Flower-World. It took place in the beautiful meadows that surround the
town of Stratford-on-Avon, where the greatest poet of all the world,
Shakespeare, was born,--but it was long ages before either he saw the
light or Stratford-on-Avon looked as it does now. Only the West Wind,
who was really present at the ceremony, can give any exact account of
it, and he told me all about it, just as I shall tell you. If you doubt
the truth of the story, you must blame him, not me.
This is how it happened. On a beautiful May morning, just as all the
early Spring flowers were awaking from their night’s slumber, a big
Bee, splendidly dressed in a costume of brown and yellow velvet,
bounced suddenly on a spray of syringa. He was one of the Town Criers
in the employ of the Government, whose business it is to fly every
morning from blossom to blossom, and relate every event that takes
place in Flowerland, where as yet they have no newspapers. With a long,
loud buzz, the Bee proclaimed:--
“Important! Special!! Startling news!!! His Gracious Majesty, King
Buttercup, Monarch of Meadowland, is about to marry!!!! Marriage of the
Monarch of Meadowland!!!!!”
At this, several lazy Forget-me-nots who had before felt inclined to
take five minutes’ more nap, became broad awake in a second, and opened
their sleepy blue eyes wide in astonishment, while a group of highly
cultivated Lilies of the Valley, instead of nodding drowsily on their
green stems, drew themselves up with an air of offended dignity,--“The
Monarch of Meadowland,” said they; “What is he to us? A common wild
flower--a weed--a nobody--called a king merely by courtesy. True, he
rules over a small part of our country, but pooh! we would not be seen
at his court!”--and they rustled their long leaves haughtily. The
Bee rubbed his forelegs together thoughtfully for a second, and then
observed--
“You spoke of a _small_ part of our country,--why Meadowland is
the largest kingdom in it!”
“Nonsense!” sharply exclaimed the stately Hyacinth. “It is an
unexplored wilderness,--its king and people are nothing better than
savages! Do not presume to argue with _us_, Sir Bee! _We_ are
the aristocracy!”
The Bee bowed humbly and was silent.
“Pray,” inquired a dandy Tulip, languidly uncurling his leaves to the
sun, “who is the lady destined to be the future Queen of Meadowland?”
“The fair Daisy,” replied the Bee, “and report says she is as good as
she is lovely.”
A cluster of brilliantly-attired Crocuses here set up a shrill little
laugh of contempt and derision.
“What, Daisy!” they exclaimed,--“that little fright! A dwarf! A model
of ugliness! Well, the King’s taste is not very refined!”
The Lilies, Hyacinths, and Tulips, together with some newly-awakened
Jonquils, all joined in mockery of King Buttercup’s chosen bride, and
the poor Town Crier was losing patience with them, when he heard a
sweet voice near him say--
“Good-morning, Sir Bee! Your news delights me. I am always happy when I
hear of the good fortune of others. Daisy has long been a dear friend
of mine, and I heartily wish her joy. Come and tell me all about it.”
Thus invited, the Bee gladly flew down to a bank of dewy moss, where
dwelt the flower who spoke to him, the fair and gentle Violet. The
other flowers were silent; they knew that though the Violet was really
a native of Meadowland, yet there was no one more honoured at the
brilliant court of their Queen, the Rose, than she was, and they dared
not speak against Daisy, whom she thus publicly acknowledged as a dear
friend. Meanwhile, the Violet, after hospitably giving the Bee some
fresh honey for breakfast, listened with great interest to his account
of the approaching festivities.
“Two thousand blue butterflies are commissioned by his Majesty,” said
he, “to be the bearers of the royal invitations to the marriage. You
will no doubt receive yours in the course of the day. One million
spiders are employed in weaving a canopy under which the bridal pair
will receive their friends. The Daisy is to be attended by one hundred
of the whitest Anemones as bridesmaids, and the King will be escorted
by the same number of selected Celandines. The Wedding will take place
to-morrow at sunrise, in the centre of the green field that slopes
down to the river yonder, and after the ceremony there will be a grand
Banquet. In the evening a State Ball will be held in the King’s Palace,
to which many of the highest aristocracy will come, though the season
for them is not yet begun. But many have consented to travel thither to
do honour to the King--one Lily in particular is on her way from the
Nile, travelling night and day in order to be present.”
Here the Bee paused a moment, and rubbed his forelegs in great
excitement. Not only Violet, but all the flowers near him were bending
eagerly forward to listen to his account of the morrow’s programme, and
he went on--
“I am to be there with all the Worshipful Company of Town Criers,--we
are to stand on each side of the path down which the King and his
newly-made Queen will pass--and at a signal from our Chief, we shall
all buzz together, which will have a grand effect. The Thrush has been
asked to sing an anthem, but his voice has been so much admired, that
he has become fanciful and conceited, and always has a cold when he
is wanted to sing. He says he has heard that if singers can manage to
have a cold whenever it suits their caprice, they become more popular.
But I must not stay any longer gossiping, or I shall never get through
my business. I shall see you among the guests to-morrow. Good-bye!”
and away flew the Bee buzzing as loudly as he could, for he felt very
fussy, as most people do who have important news to tell. The Violet,
left to herself, thought very much of her friend Daisy’s good fortune,
and looked forward with eagerness to the forthcoming festivities.
“Are you going to this absurd ceremony, Lady Violet?” inquired the same
dandy, Tulip, who had before spoken to the Bee.
“Certainly, if the King invites me,” she replied.
“Oh, we are all sure to be invited!” he exclaimed. “The vulgar little
monarch will honour himself by pretending to know us and sending us his
invitations; but I, for one, shall not trouble myself to go.”
“Nor we,” said the Lilies.
“Nor we,” chorused the Crocuses.
“Well,” gently said the Violet, “we need not decide what to do till the
invitations come.”
The sun was now high in the heavens, and all the fields and gardens
were bright with life and activity. The birds warbled gaily on the
budding green boughs, and hosts of gay insects with rainbow-tinted
wings fluttered and danced in the fresh breeze. Many butterflies passed
to and fro, some pure white, others pale yellow, others crimson, and
some beautifully variegated; but as the messengers of King Buttercup
were to be recognized by their blue costume, the other members of the
tribe did not attract as much attention from the Flowers as usual. The
hours passed on, and yet not a single blue butterfly appeared. Now,
though Lilies, Crocuses, and Hyacinths had all derided King Buttercup
and his bride, they were in secret very anxious to be invited to the
wedding, which they knew well enough would be a grand affair, and they
kept sharp watch for the first glimpse of the Royal ambassadors. At
last, a faint flicker of pale blue wings appeared in the distance,
and then the long expected procession of butterflies came floating
swiftly through the air. Very brilliant and lovely they looked in
the broad blaze of sunshine, and a linnet, perched up in a hawthorn
tree, was so charmed with the sight that he composed a song about it
and sang it then and there with all his heart in it. The beautiful
butterflies did not stop in their graceful flight for the Lilies, or
the Crocuses, or any other aristocratic flower; they descended to the
Forget-me-nots, rose again lightly and went on to the Violet, where
three of them rested an instant, then on again, now and then fluttering
down to give invitations to some modest field flowers almost hidden in
the grass--sometimes poising on the white blossoms of the blackthorn,
sometimes disappearing in the scented cups of early bluebells--away
they flew bearing King Buttercup’s message to his chosen guests, and
in a few seconds they had left far behind them the brilliant cluster
of cultivated flowers that had sneered so unkindly at the Monarch of
Meadowland. The Hyacinths trembled with anger, and the complexions
of the Crocuses grew even yellower in the extremity of their
disappointment. But they said nothing, they knew well enough they had
deserved the slight they had received.
The day passed, and the young May moon smiled radiantly down on
sleeping Flowerland. The Violet, who had been greatly excited by
receiving a royal invitation, and the Forget-me-nots also, could
scarcely close their eyes all night, and therefore they saw a party
of the Fungus Elves practising their dances for the next evening. A
pretty sight it was to see them all troop out from under the cover of
the funguses which are their houses, and then to watch them gracefully
skipping about in the moonshine. They were all dressed in brown and
silver, and wore crowns of dewdrops, and nothing could exceed the
activity and ease of their motions. Ten glow-worms lit up the grass
on which they danced, and altogether it was a charming sight. Violet
looked on at their fantastic capers till she fell unconsciously into
a sound slumber from which she did not awake till the first streak of
morning appeared in the east. A great noise of booming and buzzing
then aroused her, and opening her dark blue eyes she saw that the Town
Criers were all passing her dwelling on their way to the wedding.
Looking around her, she observed the coquettish Forget-me-nots busily
engaged in dressing themselves for the occasion, and what a fuss they
made to be sure! They washed all their leaves, and were most particular
to arrange a dewdrop in the centre of each one of their blossoms. They
certainly would have been the latest arrivals at the King’s Palace had
they not been reminded how time was going by a cross old grasshopper
with a squeaky voice, who was hurrying off to the wedding as fast as he
could go.
“There you are!” he grumbled, “dressing yourselves and muddling
about, just as women always do. When are you going to start, pray?
I suppose you’ll arrive just as the ceremony is ended!”--And on he
hopped faster than ever. The Forget-me-nots now hurried the finishing
of their toilette, and the Violet hastily arose from her mossy couch.
Putting on her richest purple robe, she summoned a fly (you can hire
flies in Flowerland as you can in our world, only you do not pay
them so much), and seating herself on his back, away she went to the
marriage festival, and succeeded in reaching the meadow just as the
King entered. What a scene it was to be sure! Such a vast concourse of
flowers had never been seen assembled in one field before. They were
all packed together as closely as they could stand, and all pressed
eagerly towards one spot, where the spider-woven canopy was erected.
And a wonderful canopy it was, finer than silk, and studded thickly
with dewdrops of all sizes that glittered like the rarest diamonds.
Under it, King Buttercup sat on his throne waiting the approach of his
bride. He was the cynosure of all eyes, and in truth he was a handsome
little fellow. He wore a robe of cloth of gold, and on his head was
placed a golden crown, and his bright face shone with happiness.
Beside him stood his attendant groomsmen, the Celandines, together
with several other distinguished Flower-people, many of whom bore
titles of distinction. There was Count Dandelion, one of the handsomest
soldiers in Meadowland, who had travelled in many countries, and, it
was said, had saved many lives at the risk of losing his own. He looked
very gorgeous in his showy uniform of pale green and gold, and he was
engaged in what seemed to be a very interesting conversation with
the beautiful Lady Pimpernel, who was one of the greatest belles and
coquettes of the court. Then there was the Grand Duke of Borage who
was flirting desperately with the young Duchess Eye-bright, and the
gallant nobleman Lord Fox-Glove was busy paying most devoted attention
to the graceful and fascinating Marchioness Meadowsweet. There were
knights and nobles in abundance, and in short all the rank, wealth
and beauty of Meadowland had gathered to King Buttercup’s wedding.
Many were curious to see the bride, as few persons present knew what
she was like, and all they had heard was that she was very small and
shy and timid. But now there was heard a great clash of armour, and a
brilliant regiment of Rose Beetles splendidly attired in green coats
of mail appeared on the field and formed in two lines, one on each
side of the King. Then came the Bees or Town Criers, and took their
places;--after which a strain of sweet melody was heard, and lo! a
skylark rose into the air, fluttering his pretty wings and singing
as only skylarks can sing, with a clear joyous voice that made the
very heavens ring with music. And perhaps it is because he sang so
beautifully on this occasion, that ever since that time the skylarks
that live in the fields and woodlands round about Shakespeare’s Town
are famous for their lovely clear voices, which break forth in a chorus
of the most joyous melody in the world every year when Spring colours
the trees green, and fills the meadows with flowers. They are, as they
certainly must be, the descendants of that special bird which carolled
so merrily on the morning King Buttercup was married. He warbled the
“Wedding Anthem” instead of the conceited thrush, and as he sang, all
the blossoms rustled their leaves expectantly, for it was time for the
bride to appear. A few seconds more of suspense and anxiety, and then a
deepening murmur of applause and admiration ran through the dense crowd
of Flowers as the fair Daisy entered. What a lovely little creature she
was!--So simple, so pure and innocent;--so shy and sweet she looked in
her snow-white robes, with her little golden bodice and crown! She was
followed by her fair bridesmaids, the Anemones, but beautiful though
they were, simple little Daisy outshone them all. King Buttercup rose
from his throne and advanced to meet her--all the Bees buzzed, the Rose
Beetles clashed their swords, and the Skylark sang louder and louder,
hovering, like a living jewel in the sunshine, just above the Royal
Canopy. Now as the little Daisy approached her kingly bridegroom, her
great happiness and honour seemed more than she could bear, and a faint
beautiful rose-blush tinged her tiny white petals. That is the reason
why so many daisies are pink-tipped to this very hour. The King bowed
low and led her to his throne,--then, turning to his courtiers and
friends, said in a small voice as clear as a bell,--
“Loving subjects!--It has seemed good to us that in order to maintain
the honour and position of our Kingdom and State, we should take upon
ourselves the solemn duty of matrimony. In choosing a partner for our
Throne, we have not considered rank and wealth so much as virtue and
goodness, and in all our search we have been unable to find a fairer or
more modest maiden flower than the Daisy, whom we now have the honour
to present to you as your future Queen. We feel confident that the many
beauties of her mind and the sweetness and constancy of her character
will enhance the value of our Throne and increase the happiness and
prosperity of our Kingdom. Moreover, it has been made known to us
that in days to come, that portion of Flowerland whereon we now grow
and flourish will be made valuable and beloved to all the rest of
the world by the presence of a far greater King than ourselves,--one
who will lead the thoughts of men even as we lead the first golden
blossoming-out of Spring. Therefore it shall be our duty to make this
centre of our realm beautiful with all the fairest thoughts of love
and grace and innocence which can charm a Poet’s fancy, and we here
decree that these fields by the river shall be the beginning of all
lovely fields in all lovely lands. None shall be more peaceful and
pure,--none shall be more full of gold and silver bloom,--none shall be
more delicately fragrant, or more sweetly surrounded by the singing of
birds. Subjects, behold your Queen! Before you all, I proudly declare
my love for her;--and from henceforth shall Buttercup and Daisy dwell
together in loving hope to make the world brighter and happier for
their blossoming!”
Loud cheers responded to the King’s speech, and then the marriage
ceremony commenced. The venerable Archbishop Ivy, glorious in his
glossy green sleeves and quaintly twisted brown mitre, read the service
and pronounced the Blessing, and then, as King Buttercup kissed Queen
Daisy, there began a general “March past” of all the representatives of
Meadowland. What a wonderful sight that was! The West Wind, who kept on
blowing the news as hard as he could to all the four quarters of the
globe, found it almost impossible to telegraph his description of the
scene fast enough, though he was generally admitted to be an excellent
reporter. The procession was almost interminable, and lasted nearly
all day. Then there was the wedding Breakfast which took place under a
beautiful tent of gossamer-web, round which a thousand tall Cowslips,
officers of the Royal guard, stood “at attention.” Innumerable
Ladybirds, in black and scarlet livery, ran about, waiting upon the
King and Queen and their distinguished guests, and some specially
selected Moths, in brown coats and white stockings, brought various
kinds of honey-dew and sweet nectar to fill the Royal cups. Then came
a grand dance, and the King, leading his fair Consort out, opened the
Ball with her. All the flower-eyes were turned upon the Royal pair as
they glided together over the green meadow in the light of the setting
sun at the close of the long bright festival-day,--and on the very edge
of the grass, as an uninvited spectator, stood the dandy Tulip who had
sneered at the whole business of the marriage in the morning when he
had first heard of it. Yes, there he was, twirling his petals just as
some gentlemen twirl their moustaches.
“Upon my word!” he exclaimed--“The new Queen is not bad-looking!”
Jealous Lady Hyacinth, who had followed him, heard what he said and was
very angry.
“Not bad-looking!” she cried in a little shrill voice--“How dare you,
Sir Tulip! Do you not remember that you admired _Me_ yesterday?”
“Ah, but that _was_ yesterday!” drawled the Tulip--“You are all
very well in your way, but you are heavy, my dear Lady Hyacinth!--large
and heavy!--You do not wear well!”
“Dear me!” said a tall stately-looking flower-personage, attired in
purest white and carrying a golden wand like a sceptre--“How you
‘cultivated’ persons quarrel! I have never seen worse manners even
among the frogs in Egypt! Really, Lady Hyacinth, your relatives the
Bluebells are much better behaved!”
Sir Tulip waved his leaves carelessly with a rakish air, and Lady
Hyacinth trembled with rage,--for it was the Lily who had come all
the way from the Nile who thus reproached them, and she was a great
authority on deportment.
Meanwhile the Buttercup and Daisy danced on, and all the other field
and woodland flowers danced too, till the sun sank and the moon
rose, and the meadows shone with the silvery reflections of a million
fantastic and graceful forms that swayed to and fro in the wind like
pretty gleams of pale sunshine on dark green water. The river murmured
and plashed among the reeds--tall osiers nodded their heads in drowsy
time to the flying feet of the flower-dancers, and little moor-hens
paddled to and fro from one bank of moss to the other, gossiping and
making their comments on the beauty and brilliancy of King Buttercup’s
State Ball. Higher and higher the moon climbed into the dark blue
heaven,--the stars came out--and then the Laureate singer and Chief
Minstrel of Meadowland, the Nightingale, began to sing. As soon as he
tuned up his first rich liquid note, the dancing ceased,--and all the
flowers stood stock still just where they were in the field and bent
their heads to listen, while tears of dew filled their eyes. And King
Buttercup and Queen Daisy, seeing all their subjects thus entranced,
stole softly away together like the fond little lovers they were, and
lay down to rest on a Royal couch of budding wild thyme and velvet
moss. And the nightingale sang on and on,--and the glow-worms came
out and twinkled, and all the flowers fell asleep together, and their
spirits wandered away to the beautiful Land of Dreams. And what they
saw there, who shall tell? Queen Daisy rested her little head on the
golden heart of her King, and they too folded themselves up closely
and slept and dreamed, while the nightingale warbled a serenade and
lullaby in one all the night long. It was a magical night, and a
magical wedding; and the wonder of it all is that ever since then the
fields have been full of buttercups and daisies, and we have grown to
know them so well and love them so much that if they were taken away
from us we should not know what to do, or how to replace them. And if
you want to know the exact spot where King Buttercup’s marriage took
place,--well!--there is a corner by the river Avon, just between two
beautiful bending willows, where you will find.... But, no!--I will not
tell you what you will find in that enchanted little nook. For if you
know anything about Fairyland, you do not need telling!