The Doll Story MEGAPACK ®. Frances Hodgson Burnett
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on her second birthday. Do you mean to tell me you don’t remember?’
None of them did remember anything of the kind. But Marie, seeing that her father and mother’s faces were clear of clouds again, ran up to her Godpapa, crying:
‘You know all about the affair, Godpapa Drosselmeier; tell it to them then. Let them know from your own lips that my Nutcracker is your nephew, young Mr. Drosselmeier from Nürnberg, and that it was he who gave me the crowns.’ But Drosselmeier made a very angry face, and muttered, ‘Stupid stuff and nonsense!’ upon which Marie’s father took her in front of him, and said, with much earnestness:
‘Now just look here, Marie; let there be an end of all this foolish trash and absurd nonsense for once and for all; I’m not going to allow any more of it; and if ever I hear you say again that that idiotic, misshapen Nutcracker is your Godpapa’s nephew, I shall shy, not only Nutcracker, but all your other playthings—Miss Clara not excepted—out of the window.’
Of course poor Marie dared not utter another word concerning that which her whole mind was full of, for you may well suppose that it was impossible for anyone who had seen all that she had seen to forget it. And I regret to say that even Fritz himself at once turned his back on his sister whenever she wanted to talk to him about the wondrous realm in which she had been so happy. Indeed, he is said to have frequently murmured, ‘Stupid goose!’ between his teeth, though I can scarcely think this compatible with his proved kindness of heart. This much, however, is a matter of certainty, that, as he no longer believed what his sister said, he now, on a public parade, formally recanted what he had said to his red hussars, and, in the place of the plumes he had deprived them of, gave them much taller and finer ones of goose quills, and allowed them to sound the march of the hussars of the guard as before.
Marie did not dare to say anything more of her adventures. But the memories of that fairy realm haunted her with a sweet intoxication, and the music of that delightful, happy country still rang sweetly in her ears. Whenever she allowed her thoughts to dwell on all those glories she saw them again, and so it came about that, instead of playing as she used to do, she sat quiet and meditative, absorbed within herself. Everybody found fault with her for being this sort of little dreamer.
It chanced one day that Godpapa Drosselmeier was repairing one of the clocks in the house, and Marie was sitting beside the glass cupboard, sunk in her dreams and gazing at Nutcracker. All at once she said, as if involuntarily:
‘Ah, dear Mr. Drosselmeier, if you really were alive, I shouldn’t be like Princess Pirlipat, and despise you because you had had to give up being a nice handsome gentleman for my sake!’
‘Stupid stuff and nonsense!’ cried Godpapa Drosselmeier.
But, as he spoke, there came such a tremendous bang and shock that Marie fell from her chair insensible.
When she came back to her senses her mother was busied about her and said:
‘How could you go and tumble off your chair in that way, a big girl like you? Here is Godpapa Drosselmeier’s nephew come from Nürnberg. See how good you can be.’
Marie looked up. Her Godpapa had got on his yellow coat and his glass wig, and was smiling in the highest good-humor. By the hand he was holding a very small but very handsome young gentleman. His little face was red and white; he had on a beautiful red coat trimmed with gold lace, white silk stockings and shoes, with a lovely bouquet of flowers in his shirt frill. He was beautifully frizzed and powdered, and had a magnificent queue hanging down his back. The little sword at his side seemed to be made entirely of jewels, it sparkled and shone so, and the little hat under his arm was woven of flocks of silk. He gave proof of the fineness of his manners in that he had brought for Marie a quantity of the most delightful toys—above all, the very same figures as those which the mouse king had eaten up—as well as a beautiful sabre for Fritz. He cracked nuts at table for the whole party; the very hardest did not withstand him. He placed them in his mouth with his left hand, tugged at his pigtail with his right, and crack! they fell in pieces.
Marie grew red as a rose at the sight of this charming young gentleman; and she grew redder still when, after dinner, young Drosselmeier asked her to go with him to the glass cupboard in the sitting-room.
‘Play nicely together, children,’ said Godpapa Drosselmeier; ‘now that my clocks are all nicely in order, I can have no possible objection.’
But as soon as young Drosselmeier was alone with Marie, he went down on one knee, and spake as follows:
‘Ah! My most dearly-beloved Miss Stahlbaum! See here at your feet the fortunate Drosselmeier, whose life you saved here on this very spot. You were kind enough to say, plainly and unmistakably, in so many words, that you would not have despised me, as Princess Pirlipat did, if I had been turned ugly for your sake. Immediately I ceased to be a contemptible Nutcracker, and resumed my former not altogether ill-looking person and form. Ah! Most exquisite lady! Bless me with your precious hand; share with me my crown and kingdom, and reign with me in Marchpane Castle, for there I now am king.’
Marie raised him, and said gently:
‘Dear Mr. Drosselmeier, you are a kind, nice gentleman; and as you reign over a delightful country of charming, funny, pretty people, I accept your hand.’
So then they were formally betrothed; and when a year and a day had come and gone, they say he came and fetched her away in a golden coach, drawn by silver horses. At the marriage there danced two-and-twenty thousand of the most beautiful dolls and other figures, all glittering in pearls and diamonds; and Marie is to this day the queen of a realm where all kinds of sparkling Christmas Woods, and transparent Marchpane Castles—in short, the most wonderful and beautiful things of every kind—are to be seen—by those who have the eyes to see them.
So this is the end of the tale of Nutcracker and the King of the Mice.
THE DEAD DOLL, by Margaret Vandergrift [Poem]
You needn’t be trying to comfort me—I tell you my dolly is dead!
There’s no use in saying she isn’t, with a crack like that in her head.
It’s just like you said it wouldn’t hurt much to have my tooth out, that day;
And then, when the man ‘most pulled my head off, you hadn’t a word to say.
And I guess you must think I’m a baby, when you say you can mend it with glue:
As if I didn’t know better than that! Why, just suppose it was you?
You might make her look all mended—but what do I care for looks?
Why, glue’s for chairs and tables, and toys and the backs of books!
My dolly! my own little daughter! Oh, but it’s the awfullest crack!
It just makes me sick to think of the sound when her poor head went whack
Against that horrible brass thing that holds up the little shelf.
Now, Nursey, what makes you remind me? I know that I did it myself!
I think you must be crazy—you’ll get her another head!
What good would forty heads do her? I tell you my dolly is dead!
And to think I hadn’t quite finished her elegant new spring hat!
And I took a sweet ribbon of hers last night to tie on that horrid cat!
When my mamma gave me that ribbon—I was playing out in the yard—
She said to me, most expressly, “Here’s a ribbon for Hildegarde.”
And I went and put it on Tabby, and Hildegarde saw me do it;
But I said to myself, “Oh, never mind, I don’t believe she knew it!”
But I know that she knew it now, and I just believe, I do,
That her poor little heart was broken, and so her head broke too.
Oh, my baby! my little baby! I wish