okuduğum en güzel oscar wilde hikayesi. ispanya prensesine aşık olan bir cüceyi anlatıyor. tesisde de geçen hikayenin özeti ve tam metni şöyle ki:

evvel zaman içinde, sarayda yaşayan bir prenses varmış. 12 yasina geldiginde onun icin palyoçaların, şaklabanlarin, akrobatların olduğu bir balo düzenlemişler ama o cok sıkılıyormuş. sonra çirkin bir cüce cıkvermis. dans ediyor, piruetler yapiyormus. “lutfen dans etmeye devam et” demis prenses. ama cuce cok yorulmus, sonra prenses odasina cekilmis. cuce, prensesin gelip onunla birlikte ormanda yasayacagindan eminmis. “burada mutlu degil” diye dusunmus. “ona hep bakacagim, onu hep guldurecegim. boylece cuce sarayda prensesin odasini aramaya baslamis. ama odalarin birinde cok kotu birsey gormus. gozleri kizgin ve kanla kaplielleri killi ve koca ayakli bir yaratik varmis. aynada kendini gordugunu anlayinca, oracikta olmus,. o sirada prenses iceri girmis “geri donmussun, ne kadar guzel. yine benim icin dans edecek misin?” fakat cuce cansiz bir sekilde yerde yatiyormus. şansolye nabzini yoklamis, “sizinle bir daha dans edemiyecek, prenses” demis. “neden?” diye sormus prenses.
“çünkü kalbi kırılmış.”
ve prenses soyle demis:
“su andan itibaren kalbi olan hic kimse benimle olmaya gelmesin.”

it was the birthday of the infanta. she was just twelve years of
age, and the sun was shining brightly in the gardens of the palace.

although she was a real princess and the infanta of spain, she had
only one birthday every year, just like the children of quite poor
people, so it was naturally a matter of great importance to the
whole country that she should have a really fine day for the
occasion. and a really fine day it certainly was. the tall
striped tulips stood straight up upon their stalks, like long rows
of soldiers, and looked defiantly across the grass at the roses,
and said: 'we are quite as splendid as you are now.' the purple
butterflies fluttered about with gold dust on their wings, visiting
each flower in turn; the little lizards crept out of the crevices
of the wall, and lay basking in the white glare; and the
pomegranates split and cracked with the heat, and showed their
bleeding red hearts. even the pale yellow lemons, that hung in
such profusion from the mouldering trellis and along the dim
arcades, seemed to have caught a richer colour from the wonderful
sunlight, and the magnolia trees opened their great globe-like
blossoms of folded ivory, and filled the air with a sweet heavy
perfume.

the little princess herself walked up and down the terrace with her
companions, and played at hide and seek round the stone vases and
the old moss-grown statues. on ordinary days she was only allowed
to play with children of her own rank, so she had always to play
alone, but her birthday was an exception, and the king had given
orders that she was to invite any of her young friends whom she
liked to come and amuse themselves with her. there was a stately
grace about these slim spanish children as they glided about, the
boys with their large-plumed hats and short fluttering cloaks, the
girls holding up the trains of their long brocaded gowns, and
shielding the sun from their eyes with huge fans of black and
silver. but the infanta was the most graceful of all, and the most
tastefully attired, after the somewhat cumbrous fashion of the day.
her robe was of grey satin, the skirt and the wide puffed sleeves
heavily embroidered with silver, and the stiff corset studded with
rows of fine 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 faded
gold stood out stiffly round her pale little face, she had a
beautiful white rose.

from a window in the palace the sad melancholy king watched them.
behind him stood his brother, don pedro of aragon, whom he hated,
and his confessor, the grand inquisitor of granada, sat by his
side. sadder even than usual was the king, for as he looked at the
infanta bowing with childish gravity to the assembling counters, or
laughing behind her fan at the grim duchess of albuquerque who
always accompanied her, he thought of the young queen, her mother,
who but a short time before--so it seemed to him--had come from the
gay country of france, and had withered away in the sombre
splendour of the spanish court, dying just six months after the
birth of her child, and before she had seen the almonds blossom
twice in the orchard, or plucked the second year's fruit from the
old gnarled fig-tree that stood in the centre of the now grass-
grown courtyard. so great had been his love for her that he had
not suffered even the grave to hide her from him. she had been
embalmed by a moorish physician, who in return for this service had
been granted his life, which for heresy and suspicion of magical
practices had been already forfeited, men said, to the holy office,
and her body was still lying on its tapestried bier in the black
marble chapel of the palace, just as the monks had borne her in on
that windy march day nearly twelve years before. once every month
the king, wrapped in a dark cloak and with a muffled lantern in his
hand, went in and knelt by her side calling out, 'mi reina! mi
reina!' and sometimes breaking through the formal etiquette that in
spain governs every separate action of life, and sets limits even
to the sorrow of a king, he would clutch at the pale jewelled hands
in a wild agony of grief, and try to wake by his mad kisses the
cold painted face.

to-day he seemed to see her again, as he had seen her first at the
castle of fontainebleau, when he was but fifteen years of age, and
she still younger. they had been formally betrothed on that
occasion by the papal nuncio in the presence of the french king and
all the court, and he had returned to the escurial bearing with him
a little ringlet of yellow hair, and the memory of two childish
lips bending down to kiss his hand as he stepped into his carriage.
later on had followed the marriage, hastily performed at burgos, a
small town on the frontier between the two countries, and the grand
public entry into madrid with the customary celebration of high
mass at the church of la atocha, and a more than usually solemn
auto-da-fe, in which nearly three hundred heretics, amongst whom
were many englishmen, had been delivered over to the secular arm to
be burned.

certainly he had loved her madly, and to the ruin, many thought, of
his country, then at war with england for the possession of the
empire of the new world. he had hardly ever permitted her to be
out of his sight; for her, he had forgotten, or seemed to have
forgotten, all grave affairs of state; and, with that terrible
blindness that passion brings upon its servants, he had failed to
notice that the elaborate ceremonies by which he sought to please
her did but aggravate the strange malady from which she suffered.
when she died he was, for a time, like one bereft of reason.
indeed, there is no doubt but that he would have formally abdicated
and retired to the great trappist monastery at granada, of which he
was already titular prior, had he not been afraid to leave the
little infanta at the mercy of his brother, whose cruelty, even in
spain, was notorious, and who was suspected by many of having
caused the queen's death by means of a pair of poisoned gloves that
he had presented to her on the occasion of her visiting his castle
in aragon. even after the expiration of the three years of public
mourning that he had ordained throughout his whole dominions by
royal edict, he would never suffer his ministers to speak about any
new alliance, and when the emperor himself sent to him, and offered
him the hand of the lovely archduchess of bohemia, his niece, in
marriage, he bade the ambassadors tell their master that the king
of spain was already wedded to sorrow, and that though she was but
a barren bride he loved her better than beauty; an answer that cost
his crown the rich provinces of the netherlands, which soon after,
at the emperor's instigation, revolted against him under the
leadership of some fanatics of the reformed church.

his whole married life, with its fierce, fiery-coloured joys and
the terrible agony of its sudden ending, seemed to come back to him
to-day as he watched the infanta playing on the terrace. she had
all the queen's pretty petulance of manner, the same wilful way of
tossing her head, the same proud curved beautiful mouth, the same
wonderful smile--vrai sourire de france indeed--as she glanced up
now and then at the window, or stretched out her little hand for
the stately spanish gentlemen to kiss. but the shrill laughter of
the children grated on his ears, and the bright pitiless sunlight
mocked his sorrow, and a dull odour of strange spices, spices such
as embalmers use, seemed to taint--or was it fancy?--the clear
morning air. he buried his face in his hands, and when the infanta
looked up again the curtains had been drawn, and the king had
retired.

she made a little moue of disappointment, and shrugged her
shoulders. surely he might have stayed with her on her birthday.
what did the stupid state-affairs matter? or had he gone to that
gloomy chapel, where the candles were always burning, and where she
was never allowed to enter? how silly of him, when the sun was
shining so brightly, and everybody was so happy! besides, he would
miss the sham bull-fight for which the trumpet was already
sounding, to say nothing of the puppet-show and the other wonderful
things. her uncle and the grand inquisitor were much more
sensible. they had come out on the terrace, and paid her nice
compliments. so she tossed her pretty head, and taking don pedro
by the hand, she walked slowly down the steps towards a long
pavilion of purple silk that had been erected at the end of the
garden, the other children following in strict order of precedence,
those who had the longest names going first.

a procession of noble boys, fantastically dressed as toreadors,
came out to meet her, and the young count of tierra-nueva, a
wonderfully handsome lad of about fourteen years of age, uncovering
his head with all the grace of a born hidalgo and grandee of spain,
led her solemnly in to a little gilt and ivory chair that was
placed on a raised dais above the arena. the children grouped
themselves all round, fluttering their big fans and whispering to
each other, and don pedro and the grand inquisitor stood laughing
at the entrance. even the duchess--the camerera-mayor as she was
called--a thin, hard-featured woman with a yellow ruff, did not
look quite so bad-tempered as usual, and something like a chill
smile flitted across her wrinkled face and twitched her thin
bloodless lips.

it certainly was a marvellous bull-fight, and much nicer, the
infanta thought, than the real bull-fight that she had been brought
to see at seville, on the occasion of the visit of the duke of
parma to her father. some of the boys pranced about on richly-
caparisoned hobby-horses brandishing long javelins with gay
streamers of bright ribands attached to them; others went on foot
waving their scarlet cloaks before the bull, and vaulting lightly
over the barrier when he charged them; and as for the bull himself,
he was just like a live bull, though he was only made of wicker-
work and stretched hide, and sometimes insisted on running round
the arena on his hind legs, which no live bull ever dreams of
doing. he made a splendid fight of it too, and the children got so
excited that they stood up upon the benches, and waved their lace
handkerchiefs and cried out: bravo toro! bravo toro! just as
sensibly as if they had been grown-up people. at last, however,
after a prolonged combat, during which several of the hobby-horses
were gored through and through, and, their riders dismounted, the
young count of tierra-nueva brought the bull to his knees, and
having obtained permission from the infanta to give the coup de
grace, he plunged his wooden sword into the neck of the animal with
such violence that the head came right off, and disclosed the
laughing face of little monsieur de lorraine, the son of the french
ambassador at madrid.

the arena was then cleared amidst much applause, and the dead
hobbyhorses dragged solemnly away by two moorish pages in yellow
and black liveries, and after a short interlude, during which a
french posture-master performed upon the tightrope, some italian
puppets appeared in the semi-classical tragedy of sophonisba on the
stage of a small theatre that had been built up for the purpose.
they acted so well, and their gestures were so extremely natural,
that at the close of the play the eyes of the infanta were quite
dim with tears. indeed some of the children really cried, and had
to be comforted with sweetmeats, and the grand inquisitor himself
was so affected that he could not help saying to don pedro that it
seemed to him intolerable that things made simply out of wood and
coloured wax, and worked mechanically by wires, should be so
unhappy and meet with such terrible misfortunes.

an african juggler followed, who brought in a large flat basket
covered with a red cloth, and having placed it in the centre of the
arena, he took from his turban a curious reed pipe, and blew
through it. in a few moments the cloth began to move, and as the
pipe grew shriller and shriller two green and gold snakes put out
their strange wedge-shaped heads and rose slowly up, swaying to and
fro with the music as a plant sways in the water. the children,
however, were rather frightened at their spotted hoods and quick
darting tongues, and were much more pleased when the juggler made a
tiny orange-tree grow out of the sand and bear pretty white
blossoms and clusters of real fruit; and when he took the fan of
the little daughter of the marquess de las-torres, and changed it
into a blue bird that flew all round the pavilion and sang, their
delight and amazement knew no bounds. the solemn minuet, too,
performed by the dancing boys from the church of nuestra senora del
pilar, was charming. the infanta had never before seen this
wonderful ceremony which takes place every year at maytime in front
of the high altar of the virgin, and in her honour; and indeed none
of the royal family of spain had entered the great cathedral of
saragossa since a mad priest, supposed by many to have been in the
pay of elizabeth of england, had tried to administer a poisoned
wafer to the prince of the asturias. so she had known only by
hearsay of 'our lady's dance,' as it was called, and it certainly
was a beautiful sight. the boys wore old-fashioned court dresses
of white velvet, and their curious three-cornered hats were fringed
with silver and surmounted with huge plumes of ostrich feathers,
the dazzling whiteness of their costumes, as they moved about in
the sunlight, being still more accentuated by their swarthy faces
and long black hair. everybody was fascinated by the grave dignity
with which they moved through the intricate figures of the dance,
and by the elaborate grace of their slow gestures, and stately
bows, and when they had finished their performance and doffed their
great plumed hats to the infanta, she acknowledged their reverence
with much courtesy, and made a vow that she would send a large wax
candle to the shrine of our lady of pilar in return for the
pleasure that she had given her.

a troop of handsome egyptians--as the gipsies were termed in those
days--then advanced into the arena, and sitting down cross-legs, in
a circle, began to play softly upon their zithers, moving their
bodies to the tune, and humming, almost below their breath, a low
dreamy air. when they caught sight of don pedro they scowled at
him, and some of them looked terrified, for only a few weeks before
he had had two of their tribe hanged for sorcery in the market-
place at seville, but the pretty infanta charmed them as she leaned
back peeping over her fan with her great blue eyes, and they felt
sure that one so lovely as she was could never be cruel to anybody.
so they played on very gently and just touching the cords of the
zithers with their long pointed nails, and their heads began to nod
as though they were falling asleep. suddenly, with a cry so shrill
that all the children were startled and don pedro's hand clutched
at the agate pommel of his dagger, they leapt to their feet and
whirled madly round the enclosure beating their tambourines, and
chaunting some wild love-song in their strange guttural language.
then at another signal they all flung themselves again to the
ground and lay there quite still, the dull strumming of the zithers
being the only sound that broke the silence. after that they had
done this several times, they disappeared for a moment and came
back leading a brown shaggy bear by a chain, and carrying on their
shoulders some little barbary apes. the bear stood upon his head
with the utmost gravity, and the wizened apes played all kinds of
amusing tricks with two gipsy boys who seemed to be their masters,
and fought with tiny swords, and fired off guns, and went through a
regular soldier's drill just like the king's own bodyguard. in
fact the gipsies were a great success.

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 the
camerera was obliged to remind her that although there were many
precedents in spain for a king's daughter weeping before her
equals, there were none for a princess of the blood royal making so
merry before those who were her inferiors in birth. the dwarf,
however, was really quite irresistible, and even at the spanish
court, always noted for its cultivated passion for the horrible, so
fantastic a little monster had never been seen. it was his first
appearance, too. he had been discovered only the day before,
running wild through the forest, by two of the nobles who happened
to have been hunting in a remote part of the great cork-wood that
surrounded the town, and had been carried off by them to the palace
as a surprise for the infanta; his father, who was a poor charcoal-
burner, being but too well pleased to get rid of so ugly and
useless a child. perhaps the most amusing thing about him was his
complete unconsciousness of his own grotesque appearance. indeed
he seemed quite happy and full of the highest spirits. when the
children laughed, he laughed as freely and as joyously as any of
them, and at the close of each dance he made them each the funniest
of bows, smiling and nodding at them just as if he was really one
of themselves, and not a little misshapen thing that nature, in
some humourous mood, had fashioned for others to mock at. as for
the infanta, she absolutely fascinated him. he could not keep his
eyes off her, and seemed to dance for her alone, and when at the
close of the performance, remembering how she had seen the great
ladies of the court throw bouquets to caffarelli, the famous
italian treble, whom the pope had sent from his own chapel to
madrid that he might cure the king's melancholy by the sweetness of
his voice, she took out of her hair the beautiful white rose, and
partly for a jest and partly to tease the camerera, threw it to him
across the arena with her sweetest smile, he took the whole matter
quite seriously, and pressing the flower to his rough coarse lips
he put his hand upon his heart, and sank on one knee before her,
grinning from ear to ear, and with his little bright eyes sparkling
with pleasure.

this so upset the gravity of the infanta that she kept on laughing
long after the little dwarf had ran out of the arena, and expressed
a desire to her uncle that the dance should be immediately
repeated. the camerera, however, on the plea that the sun was too
hot, decided that it would be better that her highness should
return without delay to the palace, where a wonderful feast had
been already prepared for her, including a real birthday cake with
her own initials worked all over it in painted sugar and a lovely
silver flag waving from the top. the infanta accordingly rose up
with much dignity, and having given orders that the little dwarf
was to dance again for her after the hour of siesta, and conveyed
her thanks to the young count of tierra-nueva for his charming
reception, she went back to her apartments, the children following
in the same order in which they had entered.

now when the little dwarf heard that he was to dance a second time
before the infanta, and by her own express command, he was so proud
that he ran out into the garden, kissing the white rose in an
absurd ecstasy of pleasure, and making the most uncouth and clumsy
gestures of delight.

the flowers were quite indignant at his daring to intrude into
their beautiful home, and when they saw him capering up and down
the walks, and waving his arms above his head in such a ridiculous
manner, they could not restrain their feelings any longer.

'he is really far too ugly to be allowed to play in any place where
we are,' cried the tulips.

'he should drink poppy-juice, and go to sleep for a thousand
years,' said the great scarlet lilies, and they grew quite hot and
angry.

'he is a perfect horror!' screamed the cactus. 'why, he is twisted
and stumpy, and his head is completely out of proportion with his
legs. really he makes me feel prickly all over, and if he comes
near me i will sting him with my thorns.'

'and he has actually got one of my best blooms,' exclaimed the
white rose-tree. 'i gave it to the infanta this morning myself, as
a birthday present, and he has stolen it from her.' and she called
out: 'thief, thief, thief!' at the top of her voice.

even the red geraniums, who did not usually give themselves airs,
and were known to have a great many poor relations themselves,
curled up in disgust when they saw him, and when the violets meekly
remarked that though he was certainly extremely plain, still he
could not help it, they retorted with a good deal of justice that
that was his chief defect, and that there was no reason why one
should admire a person because he was incurable; and, indeed, some
of the violets themselves felt that the ugliness of the little
dwarf was almost ostentatious, and that he would have shown much
better taste if he had looked sad, or at least pensive, instead of
jumping about merrily, and throwing himself into such grotesque and
silly attitudes.

as for the old sundial, who was an extremely remarkable individual,
and had once told the time of day to no less a person than the
emperor charles v. himself, he was so taken aback by the little
dwarf's appearance, that he almost forgot to mark two whole minutes
with his long shadowy finger, and could not help saying to the
great milk-white peacock, who was sunning herself on the
balustrade, that every one knew that the children of kings were
kings, and that the children of charcoal-burners were charcoal-
burners, and that it was absurd to pretend that it wasn't so; a
statement with which the peacock entirely agreed, and indeed
screamed out, 'certainly, certainly,' in such a loud, harsh voice,
that the gold-fish who lived in the basin of the cool splashing
fountain put their heads out of the water, and asked the huge stone
tritons what on earth was the matter.

but somehow the birds liked him. they had seen him often in the
forest, dancing about like an elf after the eddying leaves, or
crouched up in the hollow of some old oak-tree, sharing his nuts
with the squirrels. they did not mind his being ugly, a bit. why,
even the nightingale herself, who sang so sweetly in the orange
groves at night that sometimes the moon leaned down to listen, was
not much to look at after all; and, besides, he had been kind to
them, and during that terribly bitter winter, when there were no
berries on the trees, and the ground was as hard as iron, and the
wolves had come down to the very gates of the city to look for
food, he had never once forgotten them, but had always given them
crumbs out of his little hunch of black bread, and divided with
them whatever poor breakfast he had.

so they flew round and round him, just touching his cheek with
their wings as they passed, and chattered to each other, and the
little dwarf was so pleased that he could not help showing them the
beautiful white rose, and telling them that the infanta herself had
given it to him because she loved him.

they did not understand a single word of what he was saying, but
that made no matter, for they put their heads on one side, and
looked wise, which is quite as good as understanding a thing, and
very much easier.

the lizards also took an immense fancy to him, and when he grew
tired of running about and flung himself down on the grass to rest,
they played and romped all over him, and tried to amuse him in the
best way they could. 'every one cannot be as beautiful as a
lizard,' they cried; 'that would be too much to expect. and,
though it sounds absurd to say so, he is really not so ugly after
all, provided, of course, that one shuts one's eyes, and does not
look at him.' the lizards were extremely philosophical by nature,
and often sat thinking for hours and hours together, when there was
nothing else to do, or when the weather was too rainy for them to
go out.

the flowers, however, were excessively annoyed at their behaviour,
and at the behaviour of the birds. 'it only shows,' they said,
'what a vulgarising effect this incessant rushing and flying about
has. well-bred people always stay exactly in the same place, as we
do. no one ever saw us hopping up and down the walks, or galloping
madly through the grass after dragon-flies. when we do want change
of air, we send for the gardener, and he carries us to another bed.
this is dignified, and as it should be. but birds and lizards have
no sense of repose, and indeed birds have not even a permanent
address. they are mere vagrants like the gipsies, and should be
treated in exactly the same manner.' so they put their noses in
the air, and looked very haughty, and were quite delighted when
after some time they saw the little dwarf scramble up from the
grass, and make his way across the terrace to the palace.

'he should certainly be kept indoors for the rest of his natural
life,' they said. 'look at his hunched back, and his crooked
legs,' and they began to titter.

but the little dwarf knew nothing of all this. he liked the birds
and the lizards immensely, and thought that the flowers were the
most marvellous things in the whole world, except of course the
infanta, but then she had given him the beautiful white rose, and
she loved him, and that made a great difference. how he wished
that he had gone back with her! she would have put him on her
right hand, and smiled at him, and he would have never left her
side, but would have made her his playmate, and taught her all
kinds of delightful tricks. for though he 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 fashion the long jointed bamboo into the pipe that pan loves to
hear. he knew the cry of every bird, and could call the starlings
from the tree-top, or the heron from the mere. he knew the trail
of every animal, and could track the hare by its delicate
footprints, and the boar by the trampled leaves. all the wild-
dances he knew, the mad dance in red raiment with the autumn, the
light dance in blue sandals over the corn, the dance with white
snow-wreaths in winter, and the blossom-dance through the orchards
in spring. he knew where the wood-pigeons built their nests, and
once when a fowler had snared the parent birds, he had brought up
the young ones himself, and had built a little dovecot for them in
the cleft of a pollard elm. they were quite tame, and used to feed
out of his hands every morning. she would like them, and the
rabbits that scurried about in the long fern, and the jays with
their steely feathers and black bills, and the hedgehogs that could
curl themselves up into prickly balls, and the great wise tortoises
that crawled slowly about, shaking their heads and nibbling at the
young leaves. yes, she must certainly come to the forest and play
with him. he would give her his own little bed, and would watch
outside the window till dawn, to see that the wild horned cattle
did not harm her, nor the gaunt wolves creep too near the hut. and
at dawn he would tap at the shutters and wake her, and they would
go out and dance together all the day long. it was really not a
bit lonely in the forest. sometimes a bishop rode through on his
white mule, reading out of a painted book. sometimes in their
green velvet caps, and their jerkins of tanned deerskin, the
falconers passed by, with hooded hawks on their wrists. at
vintage-time came the grape-treaders, with purple hands and feet,
wreathed with glossy ivy and carrying dripping skins of wine; and
the charcoal-burners sat round their huge braziers at night,
watching the dry logs charring slowly in the fire, and roasting
chestnuts in the ashes, and the robbers came out of their caves and
made merry with them. once, too, he had seen a beautiful
procession winding up the long dusty road to toledo. the monks
went in front singing sweetly, and carrying bright banners and
crosses of gold, and then, in silver armour, with matchlocks and
pikes, came the soldiers, and in their midst walked three
barefooted men, in strange yellow dresses painted all over with
wonderful figures, and carrying lighted candles in their hands.
certainly there was a great deal to look at in the forest, and when
she was tired he would find a soft bank of moss for her, or carry
her in his arms, for he was very strong, though he knew that he was
not tall. he would make her a necklace of red bryony berries, that
would be quite as pretty as the white berries that she wore on her
dress, and when she was tired of them, she could throw them away,
and he would find her others. he would bring her acorn-cups and
dew-drenched anemones, and tiny glow-worms to be stars in the pale
gold of her hair.

but where was she? he asked the white rose, and it made him no
answer. the whole palace seemed asleep, and even where the
shutters had not been closed, heavy curtains had been drawn across
the windows to keep out the glare. he wandered all round looking
for some place through which he might gain an entrance, and at last
he caught sight of a little private door that was lying open. he
slipped through, and found himself in a splendid hall, far more
splendid, he feared, than the forest, there was so much more
gilding everywhere, and even the floor was made of great coloured
stones, fitted together into a sort of geometrical pattern. but
the little infanta was not there, only some wonderful white statues
that looked down on him from their jasper pedestals, with sad blank
eyes and strangely smiling lips.

at the end of the hall hung a richly embroidered curtain of black
velvet, powdered with suns and stars, the king's favourite devices,
and broidered on the colour he loved best. perhaps she was hiding
behind that? he would try at any rate.

so he stole quietly across, and drew it aside. no; there was only
another room, though a prettier room, he thought, than the one he
had just left. the walls were hung with a many-figured green arras
of needle-wrought tapestry representing a hunt, the work of some
flemish artists who had spent more than seven years in its
composition. it had once been the chamber of jean le fou, as he
was called, that mad king who was so enamoured of the chase, that
he had often tried in his delirium to mount the huge rearing
horses, and to drag down the stag on which the great hounds were
leaping, sounding his hunting horn, and stabbing with his dagger at
the pale flying deer. it was now used as the council-room, and on
the centre table were lying the red portfolios of the ministers,
stamped with the gold tulips of spain, and with the arms and
emblems of the house of hapsburg.

the little dwarf looked in wonder all round him, and was half-
afraid to go on. the strange silent horsemen that galloped so
swiftly through the long glades without making any noise, seemed to
him like those terrible phantoms of whom he had heard the charcoal-
burners speaking--the comprachos, who hunt only at night, and if
they meet a man, turn him into a hind, and chase him. but he
thought of the pretty infanta, and took courage. he wanted to find
her alone, and to tell her that he too loved her. perhaps she was
in the room beyond.

he ran across the soft moorish carpets, and opened the door. no!
she was not here either. the room was quite empty.

it was a throne-room, used for the reception of foreign
ambassadors, when the king, which of late had not been often,
consented to give them a personal audience; the same room in which,
many years before, envoys had appeared from england to make
arrangements for the marriage of their queen, then one of the
catholic sovereigns of europe, with the emperor's eldest son. the
hangings were of gilt cordovan leather, and a heavy gilt chandelier
with branches for three hundred wax lights hung down from the black
and white ceiling. underneath a great canopy of gold cloth, on
which the lions and towers of castile were broidered in seed
pearls, stood the throne itself, covered with a rich pall of black
velvet studded with silver tulips and elaborately fringed with
silver and pearls. on the second step of the throne was placed the
kneeling-stool of the infanta, with its cushion of cloth of silver
tissue, and below that again, and beyond the limit of the canopy,
stood the chair for the papal nuncio, who alone had the right to be
seated in the king's presence on the occasion of any public
ceremonial, and whose cardinal's hat, with its tangled scarlet
tassels, lay on a purple tabouret in front. on the wall, facing
the throne, hung a life-sized portrait of charles v. in hunting
dress, with a great mastiff by his side, and a picture of philip
ii. receiving the homage of the netherlands occupied the centre of
the other wall. between the windows stood a black ebony cabinet,
inlaid with plates of ivory, on which the figures from holbein's
dance of death had been graved--by the hand, some said, of that
famous master himself.

but the little dwarf cared nothing for all this magnificence. he
would not have given his rose for all the pearls on the canopy, nor
one white petal of his rose for the throne itself. what he wanted
was to see the infanta before she went down to the pavilion, and to
ask her to come away with him when he had finished his dance.
here, in the palace, the air was close and heavy, but in the forest
the wind blew free, and the sunlight with wandering hands of gold
moved the tremulous leaves aside. there were flowers, too, in the
forest, not so splendid, perhaps, as the flowers in the garden, but
more sweetly scented for all that; hyacinths in early spring that
flooded with waving purple the cool glens, and grassy knolls;
yellow primroses that nestled in little clumps round the gnarled
roots of the oak-trees; bright celandine, and blue speedwell, and
irises lilac and gold. there were grey catkins on the hazels, and
the foxgloves drooped with the weight of their dappled bee-haunted
cells. the chestnut had its spires of white stars, and the
hawthorn its pallid moons of beauty. yes: surely she would come
if he could only find her! she would come with him to the fair
forest, and all day long he would dance for her delight. a smile
lit up his eyes at the thought, and he passed into the next room.

of all the rooms this was the brightest and the most beautiful.
the walls were covered with a pink-flowered lucca damask, patterned
with birds and dotted with dainty blossoms of silver; the furniture
was of massive silver, festooned with florid wreaths, and swinging
cupids; in front of the two large fire-places stood great screens
broidered with parrots and peacocks, and the floor, which was of
sea-green onyx, seemed to stretch far away into the distance. nor
was he alone. 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 he
saw it plainly.

the infanta! it was a monster, the most grotesque monster he had
ever beheld. not properly shaped, as all other people were, but
hunchbacked, and crooked-limbed, with huge lolling head and mane of
black hair. the little dwarf frowned, and the monster frowned
also. he laughed, and it laughed with him, and held its hands to
its sides, just as he himself was doing. he made it a mocking bow,
and it returned him a low reverence. he went towards it, and it
came to meet him, copying each step that he made, and stopping when
he stopped himself. he shouted with amusement, and ran forward,
and reached out his hand, and the hand of the monster touched his,
and it was as cold as ice. he grew afraid, and moved his hand
across, and the monster's hand followed it quickly. he tried to
press on, but something smooth and hard stopped him. the face of
the monster was now close to his own, and seemed full of terror.
he brushed his hair off his eyes. it imitated him. he struck at
it, and it returned blow for blow. he loathed it, and it made
hideous faces at him. he drew back, and it retreated.

what is it? he thought for a moment, and looked round at the rest
of the room. it was strange, but everything seemed to have its
double in this invisible wall of clear water. yes, picture for
picture was repeated, and couch for couch. the sleeping faun that
lay in the alcove by the doorway had its twin brother that
slumbered, and the silver venus that stood in the sunlight held out
her arms to a venus as lovely as herself.

was it echo? he had called to her once in the valley, and she had
answered him word for word. could she mock the eye, as she mocked
the voice? could she make a mimic world just like the real world?
could the shadows of things have colour and life and movement?
could it be that--?

he started, and taking from his breast the beautiful white rose, he
turned round, and kissed it. the monster had a rose of its own,
petal for petal the same! it kissed it with like kisses, and
pressed it to its heart with horrible gestures.

when the truth dawned upon him, he gave a wild cry of despair, and
fell sobbing to the ground. so it was he who was misshapen and
hunchbacked, foul to look at and grotesque. he himself was the
monster, and it was at him that all the children had been laughing,
and the little princess who he had thought loved him--she too had
been merely mocking at his ugliness, and making merry over his
twisted limbs. why had they not left him in the forest, where
there was no mirror to tell him how loathsome he was? why had his
father not killed him, rather than sell him to his shame? the hot
tears poured down his cheeks, and he tore the white rose to pieces.
the sprawling monster did the same, and scattered the faint petals
in the air. it grovelled on the ground, and, when he looked at it,
it watched him with a face drawn with pain. he crept away, lest he
should see it, and covered his eyes with his hands. he crawled,
like some wounded thing, into the shadow, and lay there moaning.

and at that moment the infanta herself came in with her companions
through the open window, and when they saw the ugly little dwarf
lying on the ground and beating the floor with his clenched hands,
in the most fantastic and exaggerated manner, they went off into
shouts of happy laughter, and stood all round him and watched him.

'his dancing was funny,' said the infanta; 'but his acting is
funnier still. indeed he is almost as good as the puppets, only of
course not quite so natural.' and she fluttered her big fan, and
applauded.

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 again, and lay quite still.

'that is capital,' said the infanta, after a pause; 'but now you
must dance for me.'

'yes,' cried all the children, 'you must get up and dance, for you
are as clever as the barbary apes, and much more ridiculous.' but
the little dwarf made no answer.

and the infanta stamped her foot, and called out to her uncle, who
was walking on the terrace with the chamberlain, reading some
despatches that had just arrived from mexico, where the holy office
had recently been established. 'my funny little dwarf is sulking,'
she cried, 'you must wake him up, and tell him to dance for me.'

they smiled at each other, and sauntered in, and don pedro stooped
down, and slapped the dwarf on the cheek with his embroidered
glove. 'you must dance,' he said, 'petit monsire. you must dance.
the infanta of spain and the indies wishes to be amused.'

but the little dwarf never moved.

'a whipping master should be sent for,' said don pedro wearily, and
he went back to the terrace. but the chamberlain looked grave, and
he knelt beside the little dwarf, and put his hand upon his heart.
and after a few moments he shrugged his shoulders, and rose up, and
having made a low bow to the infanta, he said -

'mi bella princesa, 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 dainty rose-leaf lips curled in
pretty disdain. 'for the future let those who come to play with me
have no hearts,' she cried, and she ran out into the garden.

(caiphas - 1 Şubat 2004 16:22)

bir oscar wilde masalı. güzel ve şımarık bir prenses olan infanta'ya bir doğum günü hazırlığı yapılır bir sürü hazırlığın arasında henüz hiç ayna görmemiş ve ne kadar çirkin olduğunun farkında olmayan bir cüce'nin hokkabazlıkları da vardır. prensesi en çok güldüren bu cüce olmuştur. zavallı cüce öyle sevinmiş ki prensesi mutlu ettiğine onu mutlu etmenin saadeti aşka dönüşmüş... ancak bu şaşkın ve çirkin cücenin nasıl olup da mutlu olduğunu bir türlü anlayamamış bahçe sakinleri öyle çirkin ki nasıl mutlu olabilir demişler ve bir gün cüce tam tekrar prensesini mutlu etmek için gösterisini yapmaya hazırlanacakken kendi gerçeğiyle yüzleşir o kadar çirkindir ki herkes o yüzden ona gülmektedir, kendinden bi haber bu hali insanları eğlendirmektedir. bununla yüzleşmek cücenin kalbinin durmasına neden olur.
onun için dans etmesini isteyen prensesin şımarık ısrarı üzerine cücenin bir daha dans edemiyeceğini söyler görevli, neden diye sorar infanta görevliyse kalbinin kırıldığını söyler, cücenin yerde yatan cesedine bakarak, şımarık prenses ne dediğini bilmeden^* bağırır bir daha benimle oynamaya gelenlerin kalbi olmasın diye...

(karanliktaparlayancakiltasi - 30 Mayıs 2004 10:59)

içinde güzel kalpli bir cüce ve çirkin kalpli bir çiçek bulunan öykü. cücenin kendi gerçekliğiyle yüzlesmiş olduğu an ne acıdır. çünkü aynı anda insanların ona görüntüsünden dolayı güldüğünü anlar. allahtan bize iyi gelen şeylerin perde arkasıyla bu kadar çabuk ve net yüzleşmiyoruz. başkalarının gözünden kendimi görmek istemezdim zira. yaratılan kafi bence.

yalnız bazen yanlışlıkla ön kamerayı açınca cücenin aynaya baktığı an gibi oluyorum adfjl.

(lapiska - 26 Temmuz 2017 18:35)

alejandro amenabar'ın tesis adlı filminde chema karakterinin, angela'nın korkusuna derman olabilmek için fakültenin karanlık ve tekinsiz bodrumunda anlattığı hikaye. ki filmin sonunda angela chema'yı hastanede ziyaret ederken bu hikayenin olduğu bir kitap hediye edecektir artık gözlüksüz olan arkadaşına^*.

(little wing - 20 Ekim 2005 01:29)