“And that can’t be done, either,” said his godpapa once more; “it can’t be altered, you know.”
“Oh,” said Fritz, “it can’t be done? Very well, if your little creatures in the castle can only always do the same thing, they’re not very much!” So he went back to his Christmas table to play with his hussars.
Marie, too, was soon tired of the little castle people, though she did not like to show it as her brother did. At last, however, she also crept back to the table where the Christmas presents were laid out, for she had just noticed there among Fritz’s soldiers an excellent little man, standing still and modest as if he were waiting patiently until some one should notice him. In regard to his appearance, there was much that was objectionable, for his body was rather too tall and stout for his little thin legs, and his head was a great deal too large. But the elegance of the little gentleman’s costume showed him to be a person of taste and cultivation. He had on a very pretty violet hussar’s jacket, and the loveliest little boots ever seen. It was certainly funny that, dressed in such style as he was, he wore a rather absurd short cloak on his shoulders which looked as if it were made of wood and on his head he wore a miner’s cap. Nevertheless, as Marie kept looking at this little man she saw more and more clearly what a sweet disposition was legible on his countenance. His green eyes spoke only kindness, and the nicely curled white cotton beard on his chin drew attention to the sweet smile which his bright lips always expressed.
“Oh, papa, dear,” cried Marie at last, “whose is that most darling little man beside the tree?”
“That little fellow, my dear, will work hard for you all; he’s going to crack nuts for you.” With that, Marie’s father took him from the table, and when he raised the wooden cloak the little man opened his mouth. Marie put in a nut, and with a crack the little man bit it in pieces. He had to crack a great many nuts. Marie picked out the smallest ones, but Fritz gave him all the biggest and hardest nuts he could find. But all at once there was a crack! crack! and three little teeth fell out of Nutcracker’s mouth; and his chin became loose and shaky.
“Ah! my poor Nutcracker!” Marie cried as she gathered up the lost teeth, bound a pretty white ribbon about his poor chin, and wrapped the poor little fellow tenderly in her handkerchief. In this way she held him, rocking him like a child in her arms, as she looked at her picture books.
Marie and Fritz were allowed to keep their playthings in the glass cupboard in the sitting room. Fritz soon tired of playing with his hussars and placed them on the upper shelf, and Marie put her dolls in the beautiful doll’s room on the lower shelf. It had become almost midnight, and their mother had aroused the children to go to bed. Fritz obeyed, but Marie begged for just a little while longer, saying she had such a number of things to see to and promising that as soon as ever she had got them all settled she would go to bed at once. Marie was a good girl and her mother allowed her to remain a little longer with her toys, but fearing lest Marie should be too much occupied with her new doll and other playthings to think of the lights, her mother put all of them out, leaving only the lamp which hung from the ceiling and which shed a soft light over everything.
As soon as Marie was alone she carefully unbound the ribbon around Nutcracker’s head and examined his wounds.
“Oh, my darling Nutcracker,” she said, “I’ll take the best care of you, for I am really fond of you. Your teeth shall be put back and your shoulder made right again.” She took him in her arms again, went to the cupboard, and said to her new doll:
“Clara, you will give up your bed to this poor, sick, wounded Nutcracker, I’m sure.” Miss Clara in her Christmas dress looked very disdainful, but Marie took the bed and moved it forward, laid Nutcracker carefully upon it, and placed them on the upper shelf near the village in which Fritz’s hussars were resting. She was about to close the cupboard door when—hark! there began a low, soft rustling and rattling all around, behind the stove, under the chairs, behind the cupboards. The clock on the wall warned louder and louder, but it could not strike. Marie looked at it, and saw that the big gilt owl which was on the top had drooped its wings so that they covered the whole of the clock. And the warning of the clock kept growing louder and louder, with distinct words: “Clocks, stop ticking. Mousey king’s ears are fine. Prr-prr! Only sing ‘poom, poom.’ Bells go chime! Soon rings out the fated time!”