THE REAL PRINCESS
AFTER A FAIRY TALE BY
HANS ANDERSEN
Once upon a time there was a prince, and, as he knew very well that he was a real prince and could never forget it for a single moment, he very naturally wanted to marry a real princess. He sought one after another, and, after talking about the weather and the health of the emperor, he found in each case that there was something about them he didn't like—something artificial and unprincess-like. When he spoke gently they smiled; when he spoke roughly to hurt them, they still smiled—the same smile. They were not a success. None of them was what he wanted. His princess must be so sensitive that she would wither at a reproachful glance; so delicately dainty that a spot of dust would make her scream, and the draught of a fly's wings cause her a severe cold. He would have the real thing, or nothing.
When this exacting prince had duly considered all the princesses in his own country, and found them wanting, he set out to travel all over the world, forever saying to himself, 'I am a real prince: there must be a real princess somewhere.'
He found plenty of princesses on his travels, but when he spoke to them about the weather he soon found that they were not what he called real princesses. They were the daughters of kings and queens, yes, but——
Sad and weary he returned home with an empty heart. He had not found what he set out to seek, yet he was firmly convinced that the world did contain such a thing as a real princess. He wanted her so badly, and that was how he knew that she must be there—somewhere.
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