The Doll Story MEGAPACK ®. Frances Hodgson Burnett

which Godpapa Drosselmeier was once going to make for me, and I am the girl who is to play with the swans.’

      Nutcracker gave a sneering sort of laugh, such as she had never seen in him before, and said:

      ‘My uncle could never make a thing of this kind. You would be much more likely to do it yourself. But don’t let us bother about that. Rather let us go sailing over the water, Lake Rosa here, to the metropolis.’

      THE METROPOLIS

      Nutcracker clapped his little hands again, and the waves of Lake Rosa began to sound louder and to plash higher, and Marie became aware of a sort of car approaching from the distance, made wholly of glittering precious stones of every color, and drawn by two dolphins with scales of gold. Twelve of the dearest little negro boys, with head-dresses and doublets made of humming-birds’ feathers woven together, jumped to land, and carried first Marie and then Nutcracker, gently gliding above the water, into the car, which immediately began to move along over the lake of its own accord. Ah! how beautiful it was when Marie went onward thus over the waters in the shell-shaped car, with the rose-perfume breathing around her, and the rosy waves plashing. The two golden-scaled dolphins lifted their nostrils, and sent streams of crystal high in the air; and as these fell down in glittering, sparkling rainbows, there was a sound as of two delicate, silvery voices, singing, ‘Who comes over the rosy sea?—Fairy is she. Bim-bim—fishes; sim-sim—swans; sfa-sfa—golden birds; tratrah, rosy waves, wake you, and sing, sparkle and ring, sprinkle and kling—this is the fairy we languish to see—coming at last to us over the sea. Rosy waves dash—bright dolphins play—merrily, merrily on!’

      But the twelve little black boys at the back of the car seemed to take some umbrage at this song of the water-jets; for they shook the sunshades they were holding so that the palm leaves they were made of clattered and rattled together; and as they shook them they stamped an odd sort of rhythm with their feet, and sang:

      ‘Klapp and klipp, and klipp and klapp, and up and down.’

      ‘Negroes are merry, amusing fellows,’ said Nutcracker, a little put out; ‘but they’ll set the whole lake into a state of regular mutiny on my hands!’ And in fact there did begin a confused, and confusing, noise of strange voices which seemed to be floating both in the water and in the air. However, Marie paid no attention to it, but went on looking into the perfumed rosy waves, from each of which a pretty girl’s face smiled back to her.

      ‘Oh! Look at Princess Pirlipat,’ she cried, clapping her hands with gladness, ‘smiling at me so charmingly down there! Do look at her, Mr. Drosselmeier.’

      But Nutcracker sighed, almost sorrowfully, and said:

      ‘That is not Princess Pirlipat, dearest Miss Stahlbaum, it is only yourself; always your own lovely face smiling up from the rosy waves.’ At this Marie drew her head quickly back, closed her eyes as tightly as she could, and was terribly ashamed. But just then the twelve negroes lifted her out of the car and set her on shore. She found herself in a small thicket or grove, almost more beautiful even than Christmas Wood, everything glittered and sparkled so in it. And the fruit on the trees was extraordinarily wonderful and beautiful, and not only of very curious colors, but with the most delicious perfume.

      ‘Ah!’ said Nutcracker, ‘here we are in Comfit Grove, and yonder lies the metropolis.’

      How shall I set about describing all the wonderful and beautiful sights which Marie now saw, or give any idea of the splendor and magnificence of the city which lay stretched out before her on a flowery plain? Not only did the walls and towers of it shine in the brightest and most gorgeous colors, but the shapes and appearance of the buildings were like nothing to be seen on earth. Instead of roofs the houses had on beautiful twining crowns, and the towers were garlanded with beautiful leaf-work, sculptured and carved into exquisite, intricate designs. As they passed in at the gateway, which looked as if it was made entirely of macaroons and sugared fruits, silver soldiers presented arms, and a little man in a brocade dressing-gown threw himself upon Nutcracker’s neck, crying:

      ‘Welcome, dearest prince! Welcome to Sweetmeatburgh!’

      Marie wondered not a little to see such a very grand personage recognize young Mr. Drosselmeier as a prince. But she heard such a number of small delicate voices making such a loud clamoring and talking, and such a laughing and chattering going on, and such a singing and playing, that she couldn’t give her attention to anything else, but asked Drosselmeier what was the meaning of it all.

      ‘Oh, it is nothing out of the common, dearest Miss Stahlbaum,’ he answered. ‘Sweetmeatburgh is a large, populous city, full of mirth and entertainment. This is only the usual thing that is always going on here every day. Please to come on a little farther.’

      After a few paces more they were in the great marketplace, which presented the most magnificent appearance. All the houses which were round it were of filigreed sugar-work, with galleries towering above galleries; and in the center stood a lofty cake covered with sugar, by way of an obelisk, with fountains round it spouting orangeade, lemonade, and other delicious beverages into the air. The runnels at the sides of the footways were full of creams, which you might have ladled up with a spoon if you had chosen. But prettier than all this were the delightful little people who were crowding about everywhere by the thousands, shouting, laughing, playing, and singing, in short, producing all that jubilant uproar which Marie had heard from the distance. There were beautifully dressed ladies and gentlemen, Greeks and Armenians, Tyrolese and Jews, officers and soldiers, clergymen, shepherds, jack-puddings, in short, people of every conceivable kind to be found in the world.

      The tumult grew greater towards one of the corners; the people streamed asunder. For the Great Mogul happened to be passing along there in his palanquin, attended by three-and-ninety grandees of the realm, and seven hundred slaves. But it chanced that the Fishermen’s Guild, about five hundred strong, were keeping a festival at the opposite corner of the place; and it was rather an unfortunate coincidence that the Grand Turk took it in his head just at this particular moment to go out for a ride, and crossed the square with three thousand Janissaries. And, as if this were not enough, the grand procession of the Interrupted Sacrifice came along at the same time, marching up towards the obelisk with a full orchestra playing, and the chorus singing:

      ‘Hail! All hail to the glorious sun!’

      So there was a thronging and a shoving, a driving and a squeaking; and soon lamentations arose, and cries of pain, for one of the fishermen had knocked a Brahmin’s head off in the throng, and the Great Mogul had been very nearly run down by a jack-pudding. The din grew wilder and wilder. People were beginning to shove one another, and even to come to fisticuffs; when the man in the brocade dressing-gown who had welcomed Nutcracker as prince at the gate, clambered up to the top of the obelisk, and, after a very clear-tinkling bell had rung thrice, shouted, very loudly, three several times:

      ‘Pastry cook! Pastry cook! Pastry cook!’

      Instantly the tumult subsided. Everybody tried to save his bacon as quickly as he could; and, after the entangled processions had been got disentangled, the dirt properly brushed off the Great Mogul, and the Brahmin’s head stuck again all right, the merry noise went on just the same as before.

      ‘Tell me why that gentleman called out pastry cook, Mr. Drosselmeier, please,’ said Marie.

      ‘Ah! Dearest Miss Stahlbaum,’ said Nutcracker, ‘in this place pastry cook means a certain unknown and very terrible Power, which, it is believed, can do with people just what it chooses. It represents the Fate, or Destiny, which rules these happy little people, and they stand in such awe and terror of it that the mere mention of its name quells the wildest tumult in a moment, as the burgomaster has just shown. Nobody thinks further of earthly matters, cuffs in the ribs, broken heads, or the like. Every one retires within himself, and says:

      ‘“What is man? And what his ultimate destiny?”’

      Marie could not forbear a cry of admiration and utmost astonishment as she now found herself all of a sudden before a castle, shining in roseate radiance, with a hundred beautiful towers. Here and there at intervals upon its walls were rich bouquets of violets, narcissus,