He came crawling up on his eight legs, very sedately¹ and circumspectly². A little behind him came all that was left in the way of man-spiders in the hedge. The long twigs³ on the stubs stretched out their necks to see him. The parsley and the goat’s-foot spread out both flowers and leaves, to make his road as easy as possible. The mouse stood on her hind-legs with curiosity and stared and listened.

 

The princess herself sat in her web and pretended not to see him.

 

“Noble princess,” he said, “I have come to ask you if you will have me for your husband.”

 

“This is the thirteenth,” she said.

 

But within herself she thought that she liked him better than the others. They had all wanted to take her for their wife: this one begged her to take him for her husband. That sounded modest and well-mannered.

 

“She’s giving way,” said the mouse and danced with rapture⁴.

 

“Hush!” said the parsley.

 

“Hark!” said the goat’s-foot.

 

“She hasn’t eaten him yet!” whispered the gentleman-spiders to one another.

 

“I well know,” said the wooer, “how presumptuous⁵ it is of me to address such a request to you. What is a wretched man compared with a woman and, in particular, what is a silly fellow like myself to you, who are the largest and cleverest lady in all the hedge? But that is just what attracts me to you.”

 

She turned and looked at him. He nearly fell to the ground with fright and cast his eight eyes down before him. All the other gentleman-spiders rushed away at a furious pace.

 

“Now she’ll eat him,” said the goat’s-foot and the parsley.

 

“She is a sweet young thing!” said the twigs on the stubs.

 

“She’s a terrible woman!” said the mouse.

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