Birthday Of The Infanta
by
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.