It was the birthday of the Infanta. She was just twelve years old, and
the sun shone brightly in the garden of the palace.
On ordinary days, she was only allowed to play with children of her
own rank, but on this, her birthday, the King had given orders that
she was to invite any one whom she liked to amuse her. So she had many
children with whom to play, but she was the most beautiful of them
all. Her robe was of gray satin, embroidered with silver and studded
with pearls. Two tiny slippers with big pink rosettes peeped out
beneath her dress as she walked. Pink and pearl was her great gauze
fan, and in her hair, which, like an aureole of gold, stood out
stiffly around her pale little face, she had a beautiful white rose.
The Infanta watched her companions play hide and seek round the stone
vases and the old moss-grown statues of the garden. Then a procession
of noble boys came out to meet her and led her solemnly to a little
gilt and ivory chair that was placed on a raised dais above an arena.
The children grouped themselves all round, laughing and whispering,
for the Infanta's birthday sports were now to begin.
There was a marvellous bull fight in which some of the boys pranced
about on richly caparisoned hobby horses and vanquished a bull made of
wicker work and stretched hide. Next came the puppet show, and then a
juggler who played on a curious reed pipe for two green and gold
snakes to dance. He made a tiny orange tree grow out of sand, and
blossom and bear fruit; and he took the Infanta's fan and changed it
into a bluebird that flew about and sang. Then a shaggy brown bear and
some little apes were brought in. The bear stood on his head, and the
apes fought with tiny swords and went through a regular soldiers'
drill like the King's own bodyguard.
But the funniest part of the whole morning's entertainment was
undoubtedly the dancing of the little dwarf.
When he stumbled into the arena, waddling on his crooked legs and
wagging his huge misshapen head from side to side, the children went
off into a loud shout of delight; and the Infanta, herself, laughed so
much that one of the Court ladies had to remind her that such
merriment was not befitting a princess.
It was the dwarf's first appearance, too. He had been discovered only
the day before, running wild in the forest, and had been brought to
the palace to surprise the Infanta. His father, a poor charcoal
burner, was pleased to get rid of so ugly and useless a child. Perhaps
the most amusing thing about the little dwarf was his happiness. He
did not know how ugly he was; he did not know that he was a dwarf.
When the children laughed, he laughed as joyously as any of them. At
the close of each dance he made the funniest bows, smiling and nodding
to them just as if he were one of them. As for the Infanta, he could
not keep his eyes off her and seemed to dance for her alone. When, in
jest, she took the beautiful white rose out of her hair and threw it
at him, the dwarf put his hand on his heart and knelt before her, his
little bright eyes sparkling with pleasure.
The Infanta laughed at him until long after he had run out of the
arena, and she commanded that his dance be immediately repeated. But
it was growing warm in the garden. The Infanta was reminded that a
wonderful feast awaited her, including a birthday cake with her
initials worked all over it in painted sugar, and a lovely silver flag
waving in the top. So she rose with great dignity, and gave orders
that the little dwarf should perform before her again, after she had
taken her nap.
Now when the little dwarf heard that he was to dance a second time
before the Infanta, he was so proud that he ran about the garden,
kissing the white rose in his great delight. She had given him her
beautiful rose; she must love him, he thought. Perhaps she would put
him at her right hand in the throne room and let him be her playmate,
for, although the dwarf had never been in a palace before, he knew a
great many wonderful things.
He could make little cages out of rushes for the grasshoppers to sing
in, and he knew where the wood pigeon built her nest. All the wild
dances he knew: the swift dance in a red mantle with the autumn, the
light dance in blue sandals over the corn, the dance with white snow
wreaths in the winter, and the blossom dance through the orchards in
the spring. The Infanta would love his forest friends, too, the
rabbits that scurried about in the fern, the hedgehogs that could curl
themselves up into prickly balls, and the great wise tortoises that
crawled slowly about, nibbling the leaves and shaking their heads.
Yes, she must certainly come to the forest to play with him!
He would give her his own little bed, and would watch outside the
window until dawn to see that the wolves did not creep too near the
hut. Then, in the morning, he would tap at the shutters and wake her,
and they would go out and play together all day long.
But where was the Infanta?
The whole palace seemed asleep. The dwarf wandered around looking for
some place through which he might gain an entrance, and at last he
caught sight of a small door that was lying open. He slipped through,
and found himself in a splendid hall. He followed it to the end,
slipping through velvet curtains from one gilded room to another, each
one more magnificent than the last. Here was another room, the
brightest and most beautiful of all. The walls were patterned with
birds and dotted with silver blossoms. The furniture was of heavy
silver festooned with wreaths. It seemed as if the Infanta must run
across the pale green floor to meet him. At last he discovered that he
was no longer alone in the palace. Standing under the shadow of the
doorway, at the extreme end of the room, he saw a little figure
watching him. His heart trembled, a cry of joy broke from his lips,
and he moved out into the sunlight. As he did so, the figure moved
out also, and the little dwarf saw it plainly.
The Infanta? No, it was a monster; not properly shaped as all other
people were, but with a crooked back and limbs! The little dwarf
frowned and the monster frowned. He struck at it, and it returned blow
for blow. What was it, he asked himself? He took the Infanta's rose
from his coat and kissed it to comfort himself, for he was afraid. The
monster had a rose, too, and kissed it also.
So the truth came to the little dwarf. It was he who was misshapen and
ugly to look at; a mirror had shown him. He could not bear it and he
fell, crying, to the floor.
At that moment the Infanta, herself, came in through the open door,
and when she saw the ugly little dwarf lying on the ground and beating
it with his clenched hands, she went off into shouts of happy
laughter.
"His dancing was funny," said the Infanta, "but his acting is funnier
still. He is almost as good as the puppets," and she clapped her
hands.
But the little dwarf never looked up, and his sobs grew fainter and
fainter, and suddenly he gave a curious gasp and clutched his side.
And then he fell back, and lay quite still.
"That was splendid!" said the Infanta, "and now you must get up and
dance for me!"
But the little dwarf made no answer.
The Infanta stamped her foot, and called to the Court Chamberlain.
"My funny little dwarf is sulking," she cried. "You must wake him up
and tell him to dance for me!"
So the Chamberlain came in from the terrace where he had been walking
and bent over the dwarf, tapping him on his cheek with his embroidered
glove.
But the little dwarf never moved.
The Chamberlain looked grave, and he knelt beside the dwarf, putting
his hand on his heart. And after a few moments he rose up, and making
a low bow to the Infanta, said,
"My beautiful Princess, your funny little dwarf will never dance
again. It is a pity, for he is so ugly that he might have made the
King smile."
"But why will he not dance again?" asked the Infanta, laughing.
"Because his heart is broken," answered the Chamberlain.
And the Infanta frowned, and her rose-leaf lips curled in scorn. "For
the future let those who come to play with me have no hearts," she
cried, and she ran out into the garden.