There was once a velveteen rabbit, and in the beginning he was really
splendid. He was fat and bunchy, as a rabbit should be; his coat was spotted
brown and white, he had real thread whiskers, and his ears were lined with pink
sateen. On Christmas morning, when he sat wedged in the top of the Boy’s
stocking, with a sprig of holly between his paws, the effect was charming.
There were other
things in the stocking, nuts and oranges and a toy engine, and chocolate
almonds and a clockwork mouse, but the Rabbit was quite the best of all. For at
least two hours the Boy loved him, and then Aunts and Uncles came to dinner,
and there was a great rustling of tissue paper and unwrapping of parcels, and
in the excitement of looking at all the new presents the Velveteen Rabbit was
forgotten.
For a long time he lived
in the toy cupboard or on the nursery floor, and no one thought very much about
him. He was naturally shy, and being only made of velveteen, some of the more
expensive toys quite snubbed him. The mechanical toys were very superior, and
looked down upon every one else; they were full of modern ideas, and pretended
they were real. The model boat, who had lived through two seasons and lost most
of his paint, caught the tone from them and never missed an opportunity of
referring to his rigging in technical terms. The Rabbit could not claim to be a
model of anything, for he didn’t know that real rabbits existed; he thought
they were all stuffed with sawdust like himself, and he understood that sawdust
was quite out-of-date and should never be mentioned in modern circles. Even
Timothy, the jointed wooden lion, who was made by the disabled soldiers, and
should have had broader views, put on airs and pretended he was connected with
Government. Between them all the poor little Rabbit was made to feel himself very
insignificant and commonplace, and the only person who was kind to him at all
was the Skin Horse.
The Skin Horse had lived longer in the nursery than any of the others. He was so old that his brown coat was bald in patches and showed the seams underneath, and most of the hairs in his tail had been pulled out to string bead necklaces. He was wise, for he had seen a long succession of mechanical toys arrive to boast and swagger, and by-and-by break their mainsprings and pass away, and he knew that they were only toys, and would never turn into anything else. For nursery magic is very strange and wonderful, and only those playthings that are old and wise and experienced like the Skin Horse understand all about it.
"What is
REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near
the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean
having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"
"Real isn't how
you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to
you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but
REALLY loves you, then you become Real."
"Does it
hurt?" asked the Rabbit.
"Sometimes,"
said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you
don't mind being hurt."
"Does it happen
all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"
"It doesn't
happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a
long time. That's why it doesn't often happen to people who break easily, or
have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you
are Real, most of your hair has been loved off and your eyes drop out and you
get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all,
because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't
understand."
"I suppose you
are Real?" said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he
thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive. But the Skin Horse only smiled.
"The Boy's Uncle
made me Real," he said. "That was a great many years ago; but once
you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always."
The Rabbit sighed. He
thought it would be a long time before this magic called Real happened to him.
He longed to become Real, to know what it felt like; and yet the idea of
growing shabby and losing his eyes and whiskers was rather sad. He wished that
he could become it without these uncomfortable things happening to him.
There was a person
called Nana who ruled the nursery. Sometimes she took no notice of the
playthings lying about, and sometimes, for no reason whatever, she went
swooping about like a great wind and hustled them away in cupboards. She called
this "tidying up," and the playthings all hated it, especially the
tin ones. The Rabbit didn't mind it so much, for wherever he was thrown he came
down soft.
One evening, when the
Boy was going to bed, he couldn't find the china dog that always slept with
him. Nana was in a hurry, and it was too much trouble to hunt for china dogs at
bedtime, so she simply looked about her, and seeing that the toy cupboard door
stood open, she made a swoop.
"Here," she
said, "take your old Bunny! He'll do to sleep with you!" And she
dragged the Rabbit out by one ear, and put him into the Boy's arms.
That night, and for
many nights after, the Velveteen Rabbit slept in the Boy’s bed. At first he
found it rather uncomfortable, for the Boy hugged him very tight, and sometimes
he rolled over on him, and sometimes he pushed him so far under the pillow that
the Rabbit could scarcely breathe. And he missed, too, those long moonlight
hours in the nursery, when all the house was silent, and his talks with the
Skin Horse. But very soon he grew to like it, for the Boy used to talk to him,
and made nice tunnels for him under the bedclothes that he said were like the
burrows the real rabbits lived in. And they had splendid games together, in
whispers, when Nana had gone away to her supper and left the nightlight burning
on the mantelpiece. And when the Boy dropped off to sleep, the Rabbit would
snuggle down close under his little warm chin and dream, with the Boy's hands
clasped close round him all night long.
And so time went on,
and the little Rabbit was very happy—so happy that he never noticed how his
beautiful velveteen fur was getting shabbier and shabbier, and his tail coming
unsewn, and all the pink rubbed off his nose where the Boy had kissed him.
Spring came, and they had long days in the garden,
for wherever the Boy went the Rabbit went too. He had rides in the wheelbarrow,
and picnics on the grass, and lovely fairy huts built for him under the
raspberry canes behind the flower border. And once, when the Boy was called
away suddenly to go out to tea, the Rabbit was left out on the lawn until long
after dusk, and Nana had to come and look for him with the candle because the
Boy couldn’t go to sleep unless he was there. He was wet through with the dew
and quite earthy from diving into the burrows the Boy had made for him in the
flower bed, and Nana grumbled as she rubbed him off with a corner of her apron.
"You must have
your old Bunny!" she said. "Fancy all that fuss for a toy!"
The Boy sat up in bed
and stretched out his hands.
"Give me my
Bunny!" he said. "You mustn't say that. He isn’t a toy. He’s
REAL!"
When the little Rabbit
heard that he was happy, for he knew that what the Skin Horse had said was true
at last. The nursery magic had happened to him, and he was a toy no longer. He
was Real. The Boy himself had said it.
That night he was
almost too happy to sleep, and so much love stirred in his little sawdust heart
that it almost burst. And into his boot-button eyes, that had long ago lost
their polish, there came a look of wisdom and beauty, so that even Nana noticed
it next morning when she picked him up, and said, "I declare if that old
Bunny hasn't got quite a knowing expression!"
That was a wonderful Summer!
Near the house where
they lived there was a wood, and in the long June evenings the Boy liked to go
there after tea to play. He took the Velveteen Rabbit with him, and before he
wandered off to pick flowers, or play at brigands among the trees, he always
made the Rabbit a little nest somewhere among the bracken, where he would be
quite cosy, for he was a kind-hearted little boy and he liked Bunny to be
comfortable. One evening, while the Rabbit was lying there alone, watching the
ants that ran to and fro between his velvet paws in the grass, he saw two
strange beings creep out of the tall bracken near him.
They were rabbits like himself, but quite
furry and brand-new. They must have been very well made, for their seams didn't
show at all, and they changed shape in a queer way when they moved; one minute
they were long and thin and the next minute fat and bunchy, instead of always
staying the same like he did. Their feet padded softly on the ground, and they
crept quite close to him, twitching their noses, while the Rabbit stared hard
to see which side the clockwork stuck out, for he knew that people who jump
generally have something to wind them up. But he couldn't see it. They were
evidently a new kind of rabbit altogether.
They stared at him,
and the little Rabbit stared back. And all the time their noses twitched.
"Why don't you
get up and play with us?" one of them asked.
"I don't feel
like it," said the Rabbit, for he didn't want to explain that he had no
clockwork.
"Ho!" said
the furry rabbit. "It's as easy as anything." And he gave a big hop
sideways and stood on his hind legs.
"I don't believe
you can!" he said.
"I can!"
said the little Rabbit. "I can jump higher than anything!" He meant
when the Boy threw him, but of course he didn't want to say so.
"Can you hop on
your hind legs?" asked the furry rabbit.
That was a dreadful
question, for the Velveteen Rabbit had no hind legs at all! The back of him was
made all in one piece, like a pincushion. He sat still in the bracken, and
hoped that the other rabbits wouldn't notice.
"I don't want
to!" he said again.
But the wild rabbits
have very sharp eyes. And this one stretched out his neck and looked.
"He hasn't got
any hind legs!" he called out. "Fancy a rabbit without any hind
legs!" And he began to laugh.
"I have!"
cried the little Rabbit. "I have got hind legs! I am sitting on
them!"
"Then stretch
them out and show me, like this!" said the wild rabbit. And he began to
whirl round and dance, till the little Rabbit got quite dizzy.
"I don't like
dancing," he said. "I'd rather sit still!"
But all the while he
was longing to dance, for a funny new tickly feeling ran through him, and he
felt he would give anything in the world to be able to jump about like these
rabbits did.
The strange rabbit
stopped dancing, and came quite close. He came so close this time that his long
whiskers brushed the Velveteen Rabbit's ear, and then he wrinkled his nose
suddenly and flattened his ears and jumped backwards.
"He doesn’t smell
right!" he exclaimed. "He isn’t a rabbit at all! He isn’t real!"
"I am
Real!" said the little Rabbit, "I am Real! The Boy said so!" And
he nearly began to cry.
Just then there was a
sound of footsteps, and the Boy ran past near them, and with a stamp of feet
and a flash of white tails the two strange rabbits disappeared.
"Come back and
play with me!" called the little Rabbit. "Oh, do came back! I know
I am Real!"
But there was no
answer, only the little ants ran to and fro, and the bracken swayed gently
where the two strangers had passed. The Velveteen Rabbit was all alone.
"Oh, dear!"
he thought. "Why did they run away like that? Why couldn't they stop and
talk to me?" For a long time he lay very still, watching the bracken, and
hoping that they would come back. But they never returned, and presently the
sun sank lower and the little white moths fluttered out, and the Boy came and
carried him home.
Weeks passed, and the little Rabbit grew very old and shabby, but the Boy loved him just as much. He loved him so hard that he loved all his whiskers off, and the pink lining to his ears turned grey, and his brown spots faded. He even began to lose his shape, and he scarcely looked like a rabbit any more, except to the Boy. To him he was always beautiful, and that was all that the little Rabbit cared about. He didn’t mind how he looked to other people, because the nursery magic had made him Real, and when you are Real shabbiness doesn't matter.
And then, one day, the
Boy was ill.
His face grew very flushed, and he talked in
his sleep, and his little body was so hot that it burned the Rabbit when he
held him close. Strange people came and went in the nursery, and a light burned
all night, and through it all the little Velveteen Rabbit lay there, hidden
from sight under the bedclothes, and he never stirred, for he was afraid that
if they found him some one might take him away, and he knew that the Boy needed
him.
It was a long weary
time, for the Boy was too ill to play, and the little Rabbit found it rather
dull with nothing to do all day long. But he snuggled down patiently, and
looked forward to the time when the Boy should be well again, and they would go
out in the garden amongst the flowers and the butterflies and play splendid
games in the raspberry thicket like they used to. All sorts of delightful
things he planned, and while the Boy lay half asleep he crept up close to the
pillow and whispered them in his ear. And presently the fever turned, and the
Boy got better. He was able to sit up in bed and look at picture books, while
the little Rabbit cuddled close at his side. And one day, they let him get up
and dress.
It was a bright, sunny
morning, and the windows stood wide open. They had carried the Boy out on to
the balcony, wrapped in a shawl, and the little Rabbit lay tangled up among the
bedclothes, thinking.
The Boy was going to
the seaside to-morrow. Everything was arranged, and now it only remained to
carry out the doctor's orders. They talked about it all, while the little
Rabbit lay under the bedclothes, with just his head peeping out, and listened.
The room was to be disinfected, and all the books and toys that the Boy had
played with in bed must be burnt.
"Hurrah!"
thought the little Rabbit. "To-morrow we shall go to the seaside!"
For the Boy had often talked of the seaside, and he wanted very much to see the
big waves coming in, and the tiny crabs, and the sand castles.
Just then Nana caught
sight of him.
"How about his
old Bunny?" she asked.
"That?"
said the doctor. "Why, it’s a mass of scarlet fever germs!—Burn it at
once. What? Nonsense! Get him a new one. He mustn’t have that any more!"
And so the little
Rabbit was put into a sack with the old picture-books and a lot of rubbish, and
carried out to the end of the garden behind the fowl-house. That was a fine
place to make a bonfire, only the gardener was too busy just then to attend to
it. He had the potatoes to dig and the green peas to gather, but next morning
he promised to come quite early and burn the whole lot.
That night the Boy
slept in a different bedroom, and he had a new bunny to sleep with him. It was
a splendid bunny, all white plush with real glass eyes, but the Boy was too
excited to care very much about it. For to-morrow he was going to the seaside,
and that in itself was such a wonderful thing that he could think of nothing
else.
And while the Boy was
asleep, dreaming of the seaside, the little Rabbit lay among the old
picture-books in the corner behind the fowlhouse, and he felt very lonely. The
sack had been left untied, and so by wriggling a bit he was able to get his
head through the opening and look out. He was shivering a little, for he had
always been used to sleeping in a proper bed, and by this time his coat had
worn so thin and threadbare from hugging that it was no longer any protection
to him. Near by he could see the thicket of raspberry canes, growing tall and
close like a tropical jungle, in whose shadow he had played with the Boy on
bygone mornings. He thought of those long sunlit hours in the garden—how happy
they were—and a great sadness came over him. He seemed to see them all pass
before him, each more beautiful than the other, the fairy huts in the
flower-bed, the quiet evenings in the wood when he lay in the bracken and the
little ants ran over his paws; the wonderful day when he first knew that he was
Real. He thought of the Skin Horse, so wise and gentle, and all that he had
told him. Of what use was it to be loved and lose one’s beauty and become Real
if it all ended like this? And a tear, a real tear, trickled down his little
shabby velvet nose and fell to the ground.
And then a strange
thing happened. For where the tear had fallen a flower grew out of the ground,
a mysterious flower, not at all like any that grew in the garden. It had
slender green leaves the colour of emeralds, and in the centre of the leaves a
blossom like a golden cup. It was so beautiful that the little Rabbit forgot to
cry, and just lay there watching it. And presently the blossom opened, and out
of it there stepped a fairy.
She was quite the loveliest fairy in the whole
world. Her dress was of pearl and dewdrops, and there were flowers round her
neck and in her hair, and her face was like the most perfect flower of all. And
she came close to the little Rabbit and gathered him up in her arms and kissed
him on his velveteen nose that was all damp from
crying.
"Little
Rabbit," she said, "don't you know who I am?"
The Rabbit looked up
at her, and it seemed to him that he had seen her face before, but he couldn't
think where.
"I am the nursery
magic Fairy," she said. "I take care of all the playthings that the
children have loved. When they are old and worn out and the children don't need
them any more, then I come and take them away with me and turn them into
Real."
"Wasn't I Real
before?" asked the little Rabbit.
"You were Real to
the Boy," the Fairy said, "because he loved you. Now you shall be
real to every one."
And she held the
little Rabbit close in her arms and flew with him into the wood.
It was light now, for
the moon had risen. All the forest was beautiful, and the fronds of the bracken
shone like frosted silver. In the open glade between the tree-trunks the wild
rabbits danced with their shadows on the velvet grass, but when they saw the
Fairy they all stopped dancing and stood round in a ring to stare at her.
"I’ve brought you
a new playfellow," the Fairy said. "You must be very kind to him and
teach him all he needs to know in Rabbitland, for he is going to live with you
for ever and ever!"
And she kissed the
little Rabbit again and put him down on the grass.
"Run and play,
little Rabbit!" she said.
But the little Rabbit
sat quite still for a moment and never moved. For when he saw all the wild
rabbits dancing around him he suddenly remembered about his hind legs, and he
didn’t want them to see that he was made all in one piece. He did not know that
when the Fairy kissed him that last time she had changed him altogether. And he
might have sat there a long time, too shy to move, if just then something
hadn't tickled his nose, and before he thought what he was doing he lifted his
hind toe to scratch it.
And he found that he
actually had hind legs! Instead of dingy velveteen he had brown fur, soft and
shiny, his ears twitched by themselves, and his whiskers were so long that they
brushed the grass. He gave one leap and the joy of using those hind legs was so
great that he went springing about the turf on them, jumping sideways and
whirling round as the others did, and he grew so excited that when at last he
did stop to look for the Fairy she had gone.
He was a Real Rabbit
at last, at home with the other rabbits.
Autumn passed and Winter, and in the Spring, when the days grew warm and sunny, the Boy went out to play in the wood behind the house. And while he was playing, two rabbits crept out from the bracken and peeped at him. One of them was brown all over, but the other had strange markings under his fur, as though long ago he had been spotted, and the spots still showed through. And about his little soft nose and his round black eyes there was something familiar, so that the Boy thought to himself:
"Why, he looks
just like my old Bunny that was lost when I had scarlet fever!"
But he never knew that
it really was his own Bunny, come back to look at the child who had first
helped him to be Real.
EmoticonEmoticon