AN EXTRAVAGANZA
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.