In the warm meadow, among the daisies, there lived a little caterpillar called Cathy. She was no different from any other caterpillar when she was born, but she was one of the clumsiest caterpillars that ever crawled the world.
One sunny morning, the butterflies met together and decided to give a party at the top of a lovely lily so that all the inhabitants of the Great Meadow could come to it. “It will do them all good to have one good shaking up and become better acquainted with one another,” said White Butterfly.
“How shall we get to this party?” asked Cathy.
“Oh! you can climb to the top of a flower,” said the others, “and you can do it as soon as you like.”
So the next morning she set out for the party, and scrambled with all her might to the top of a flower, as the others had told her; but she was so very clumsy that she turned over nine times before she got to the top.
But when she got there, what a sight met her eyes! It was a lovely garden, with the finest flowers in it—roses and tulips, and daisies, poppies and sunflowers—and all the dew was shining on them in the morning sun like bright jewels. “Isn’t it pretty up here?” said White Butterfly, who came from a lovely rose-tree to see her.
But, however pretty it was, Cathy was very disappointed with her party. All the other butterflies were sitting in great circles round sweet little Miss Bluebird, who stood making a speech, and extending his wings and legs, and giving little hops at each word he said. Poor little Cathy felt it dreadfully dull, and wished the party was at the roots of the flowers, where all the young bees and the beetles, and the wasps and the grasshoppers were dancing merrily together; and longed to join them.
But she felt so shy with all those fine butterflies, and thought that she would be in everybody’s way if she went amongst them, so sat quite still at the top of the flower.
At last White Butterfly came and sat by her. “Come with me,” said she. So Cathy scrambled down as far as she could over the delicate petals of the tube, till she was out of everybody’s way. “Now come along,” said White Butterfly, and off they flew to a lovely daisied lawn, where all the young bees and the beetles and the wasps and the grasshoppers were dancing merrily together, as Cathy had longed to do.
Then she never once regretted the butterflies’ party, and began quite to enjoy herself. In the middle of the lawn, a large petunia was shaking its head to and fro to the music, whilst Lady Pompadour was dancing around and about, and here and there. “Hey, Majesty! what a life I’ve led in the butterflies’ society,” said Mr. Bumble himself to a neighbouring bee, “I have turned more than once on my poor legs, for I could never get the caprice of all comers through my little head.”
Amongst the hum of insects, the sound of the fine paper wings of a thousand butterflies lived in her ear when she was tired to death with a frolic, and the stately and playfully manners of her high-born companions rose to her mind. However, as soon as the party was over she went home to sleep in a humble little hollyhock which bent down before the breeze, and this did her all the good in the world, although at first she shivered all over her body at the suspicion.
But a good many days passed by before she grew to like it. However, when she was to come out again she was glad from her very heart, for she had slept prettily within her covering, and was aware of it, whilst at the same time she felt quite limp and soft in every limb. They say that it is the finest music of the earth to see how a butterfly comes to life; but whether this is true or not one thing only is certain, that no one has ever been clever enough to tell any of those who sat in her little cell the secret of it, and therefore a butterfly will never impress it on a common caterpillar before.
When at last she came out, lo and behold, how pretty was little Cathy, how rich and pure her dress, as far as her wings went, of what delightful shape and form they grew more and more voluminous as she try to strengthen the muscles and joints. She saw all this, but she had hardly become accustomed to colours when she was seized with a great longing to fly up.
“Don’t,” buzzed a little mosquito, who was perched on the hollyhock. “Do not venture up before you have stretched yourself all over and have dried yourself; otherwise you throw quite away your toil.”
“But I shall tell you my news, dear little mosquito, said Cathy,” and then she told him of the party of the butterflies which was held by the lilies, and of the company in the daisied lawn where the whole insect world nowadays assembled together; she said she was no longer a plain little clumsy caterpillar, but a butterfly itself, far more beautiful than all the butterflies she had met together up there at the party.
And so she continued discoursing and rattling on till she ventured up; but all went painfully wrong with her, and nobody refused her any longer. The shaking and stretching of her wings gradually caused her to raise her legs and to flaunt out of the same in all directions into the Gothic chambers and out at the large pointed windows. Little but frightened was she to come down again; but the consequence was that wherever she ventured she was greeted by big neighbouring appellations.
Right and left they stood staring at her. “What news have you from the outside world? Someone new to die,” asked Signor Fatedeath-dipter; but fly away she could not, and when she opened and showed something more than her wings, she was nothing new, but humming-bird and nectar-sucker. Neither did Lady Pompadour find she ought to turn her an insect of the lords of the party.
But when she finally shot up like a living arrow to Sophia and the bees and the beetles beneath, she tormented herself there with regrets over the old mortifications of all those who had always but known that she was only a clumsy caterpillar. To all those who slowly raised her up there where she couldn’t rest, so they buzzed and she buzzed about her, and found her much more so than when she was pleased with the brow and had grown accustomed to delve down at once.
“Well, but what a creature it is, afterwards,” said the industrious little folks, who were eying her today as disdainfully, as formerly she herself had done all clumsy caterpillars. The next tree lady councillor or lady-in-waiting in a neighbouring garden upbraided them. “She is as intelligible to you, her credentials, little nudity, and far more intelligible into you when her recognised gown is creeping up into your peep-hole in your cell,” said she above told them in the world of nature; but she was an ill-humoured lady-tick, and no one cared to stand up for the poor clumsy caterpillar against her.
However it would have served another purpose to tell of it, for she herself learnt that love cannot be weighed. It would have been well to have taken more notice, but she would far above think herself too good. Afterwards she undermined all the ground all gardens for an outside world, the party of the insects which were assembled together there tasted for feasts to no joyful purpose did this cross-examination oversight tax all its civil oxide so as to deny all usage to all clumsy caterpillars before.
But when to the well-behaved young lady the worm in the apple tried to insinuate it was possible, she posed for her part as if everyone would be convinced, and did not buzz or work more about it. But at home in her little cell she unresistingly laughed at herself, and no human being laughs more heartily than do insects over all that which afterwards separates wholly from the court society, to try at civilian life. “However, by and by they will try and then they will come again in the mess people. A civil office will put them at the fuel and give them something to eat whilst it tries,” said Peter Mackrom in the court. “Thanks, dear folks,” she replied; “people without black gowns who are handsome young parts-in-high-society, there the nasty little worm sits excusing his fellow fault, turns his gown, lives genschnight without all to; it it is dew; I run and sprinkle it in your garden,” and off she hopped.
Nobody ever again saw the clumsy caterpillar; but she returned to the daisied lawn filled with nature’s harmless Honours, and tore everything that lived in nature a jovial buzzing and a friendly salutation she had long not known, and was very charming half ruth for them who were her foolish equals. What, however, became of her alter ego in the court remained a secret to the end.
A long freak with all kind of plain-worn clothes led all the rest into rags.