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The Spanish Princess
as told by the Spanish Princess, to her grandaughter, who told it to her daughter, who told it to her son Cyril

The morning of my twelfth birthday was bright and clear. Myriads of children had gathered for the celebrations, all dressed in their best clothes. I wore a beautiful white dress adorned with pearls and lace, and over it a delicate gold-tissue cloak, fastened at my throat with a pearl broach. I frolicked happily with my friends, pleased to be celebrating my birthday and immensely proud of my clothes. The dress had been made by the best seamstress in the kingdom, and the cloak had been handed down from my grandfather. I thought vainly to myself that I was the most beautiful girl in the kingdom, and was glad none of the other girls there had clothes as beautiful as mine, so no one would compare us.

princess
After gathering on the front lawn of the palace, we all proceeded to the courtyard where there was to be a performance. The children gathered at the front near the stage and the adults stayed at the back. I sat in a special, ornamented chair that I had requested to be constructed for my birthday. The performace began, and what a show it was! There was a mock bullfight, with wooden swords and costumed bulls, there was a man on a tight rope, a snake charmer, a magician, and a puppet show. There were dancers and wild gypsies, and monkeys and a brown bear. My friends by turn laughed and clapped their hands and sat mesmerized. Never had there been a show so wonderful before, not in the whole kingdom. They would tell of that day for years to come. I was so proud.

Lastly the servants brought out a small dwarf, hunchbacked and hideously disfigured, but with a happy grin on his face. He proceeded to dance before us and put on a very merry performance. I clapped and smiled and gave him the white rose from my hair, requesting that he dance again for me later. The dwarf was very pleased and would not take his eyes off me. I could tell that he was instantly in love with me, and I was pleased. He was so shockingly ugly that he was almost cute. I tossed my head proudly and looked away.

After this, the party moved inside the palace, where there was a great feast followed by a magnificent birthday cake, nearly as tall as me, and richly ornamented. The guests were then given parting gifts, and I retired happily to my chambers. I wanted people to love me, and I knew that after a party like that, I would have many friends.

A few hours later, some of my friends and I were walking around the palace, soon to go watch the dwarf perform again, when we came into one of the long banqueting halls that stood empty most of the year, with a great mirror all along one side of it, and found the dwarf in there. He was standing motionless in the middle of the room in front of the mirror with a look of shock on his face. Upon seeing him, we squealed with delight and began coaxing him to dance for us again. At the sound of our voices the dwarf looked over. His eyes met mine and I saw a look of intense terror and shame in his face. It was as if, standing in front of the mirror, he had for the first time seen and realized his utter ugliness. And seeing me, he was filled with shame at the thought that all our laughter and merriment from this morning had been in mockery of him, not out of love or amusement. I saw these thoughts flit across his face in the instant before he fell to the floor and lay still. One of the servants went over to the dwarf, and on touching his wrist, told me he would not be dancing for us again that day.

"Why not?" I asked, pouting. Only later did I really realize what I had seen that day. At that moment I was upset at the loss of entertainment. I didn't know until later that the dwarf had come from a poor woodcutter's family, that he had likely never seen his reflection before and didn't know of his deformity, that he had been delighted by the attention, in love with me, and desirous of finding me to tell me so. Upon realizing what he truly was, he could not handle his feelings, and instead dropped dead.

"Because his heart is broken," answered the servant.

"Then for the future," I declared, "let those who come to play with me have no hearts!" And I ran from the room.

Cyril looked down at the gold cloak in his hands. "What a creepy story, Mom," he said. "I feel so sorry for the dwarf. But you said the princess got this cloak from her grandfather? Who was that? Do you know where he got it? What's his story?"

So Cyril's mother began the story of The Star Child.

Author's Note: The original of this story was over 7000 words long, so for my retelling I chose to shorten it significantly. I left out a few major subplots. In the original, which is told from third person omniscient perspective, the King, the father of the princess (who is called an Infanta), is described in detail. He is reminded by the sight of his daughter of his wife, who died giving birth to the princess. She was young and he loved her greatly, and still mourns her death. The princess is oblivious to why he is constantly sad and detached. I also left out most of the story about the Dwarf. After leaving the performance, he wanders around the palace gardens. There the Flowers get into a conversation about him, indignant that someone so hideous could be allowed near them. The Sundial was also disgusted with him, but the Lizards and Birds took a liking to him. The Dwarf is oblivious to this conversation, but is only thinking about his love for the Princess, and he goes into the palace to try to find her when he finds a mirror and his reflection of himself. After finally figuring out that that horribly ugly creature he sees is in fact himself, he is ashamed and sad, and realizes why the children had been laughing. I kept the end the same, and the last quote is word-for-word, but I told the story from the princess's point of view to add more interest and feeling.

Bibliography: "The Birthday of the Infanta," by Oscar Wilde. From The House of Pomegranates, 1891. web source: SurLaLane Fairy Tales.
image: The Spanish Princess. web source: ArtsyCraftsy.

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