not surprising that creative writers have responded to the devotion that many children maintain for dolls, producing fictional accounts that have thrilled the fans and readers of each new generation. This anthology includes twenty-five stories, six poems, and one play relating to dolls. Some are classics—Frances Hodgson Burnett’s A Little Princess always ranks near the top on readers’ lists of their favorite doll tales—while others are less well known.
Other classic tales include “Nutcracker and the King of Mice,” by E. T. A. Hoffmann (the inspiration for Tchaikovsky’s great work); “Dolly and I,” by Oliver Optic; “The Doll and Her Friends,” by Julia Maitland; “The Dolls’ Journey from Minnesota to Maine,” by Louisa May Alcott; “Raggedy Ann Stories,” by Johnny Gruelle; and “Racketty-Packetty House,” also by Burnett. More recent stories include “The Doll,” by Edmund Glasby; “The Doll’s Ghost,” by F. Marion Crawford; “The Doll,” by Vernon Lee; “The Dybbuk Dolls,” by Jack Dann; “Smothered Dolls,” by A. R. Morlan; “Lukundoo,” by Edward Lucas White; “The Man Who Wasn’t Nice to Pumpkin Head Dolls,” by Darrell Schweitzer; “Tiny Doll-Face,” by Marilyn “Mattie” Brahen; “Doll,” by Don Webb; “Mrs. Corter Makes Up Her Mind,” by August Derleth; and “The Doll,” by Barry Pain.
There’s something here for everyone—good writing, great reading, and just plain fun!
—Robert Reginald & Mary Wickizer Burgess, 17 Aug. 2013
NUTCRACKER AND THE KING OF MICE, by E. T. A. Hoffmann, Translated by Major Alex. Ewing
CHRISTMAS EVE
On the 24th of December Dr. Stahlbaum’s children were not allowed, on any pretext whatever, at any time of all that day, to go into the small drawing-room, much less into the best drawing-room into which it opened. Fritz and Marie were sitting cowered together in a corner of the back parlor when the evening twilight fell, and they began to feel terribly eerie. Seeing that no candles were brought, as was generally the case on Christmas Eve, Fritz, whispering in a mysterious fashion, confided to his young sister (who was just seven) that he had heard rattlings and rustlings going on all day, since early morning, inside the forbidden rooms, as well as distant hammerings. Further, that a short time ago a little dark-looking man had gone slipping and creeping across the floor with a big box under his arm, though he was well aware that this little man was no other than Godpapa Drosselmeier. At this news Marie clapped her little hands for gladness, and cried:
‘Oh! I do wonder what pretty things Godpapa Drosselmeier has been making for us this time!’
Godpapa Drosselmeier was anything but a nice-looking man. He was little and lean, with a great many wrinkles on his face, a big patch of black plaster where his right eye ought to have been, and not a hair on his head; which was why he wore a fine white wig, made of glass, and a very beautiful work of art. But he was a very, very clever man, who even knew and understood all about clocks and watches, and could make them himself. So that when one of the beautiful clocks that were in Dr. Stahlbaum’s house was out of sorts, and couldn’t sing, Godpapa Drosselmeier would come, take off his glass periwig and his little yellow coat, gird himself with a blue apron, and proceed to stick sharp-pointed instruments into the inside of the clock, in a way that made little Marie quite miserable to witness. However, this didn’t really hurt the poor clock, which, on the contrary, would come to life again, and begin to whirr and sing and strike as merrily as ever; which caused everybody the greatest satisfaction. Of course, whenever he came he always brought something delightful in his pockets for the children—perhaps a little man, who would roll his eyes and make bows and scrapes, most comic to behold; or a box, out of which a little bird would jump; or something else of the kind. But for Christmas he always had some specially charming piece of ingenuity provided; something which had cost him infinite pains and labor—for which reason it was always taken away and put by with the greatest care by the children’s parents.
‘Oh! What can Godpapa Drosselmeier have been making for us this time.’ Marie cried, as we have said.
Fritz was of opinion that, this time, it could hardly be anything but a great castle, a fortress, where all sorts of pretty soldiers would be drilling and marching about; and then, that other soldiers would come and try to get into the fortress, upon which the soldiers inside would fire away at them, as pluckily as you please, with cannon, till everything banged and thundered like anything.
‘No, no,’ Marie said. ‘Godpapa Drosselmeier once told me about a beautiful garden, with a great lake in it, and beautiful swans swimming about with great gold collars, singing lovely music. And then a lovely little girl comes down through the garden to the lake, and calls the swans and feeds them with shortbread and cake.’
‘Swans don’t eat cake and shortbread,’ Fritz cried, rather rudely (with masculine superiority); ‘and Godpapa Drosselmeier couldn’t make a whole garden. After all, we have got very few of his playthings; whatever he brings is always taken away from us. So I like the things papa and mamma give us much better; we keep them, all right, ourselves, and can do what we like with them.’
The children went on discussing as to what he might have in store for them this time. Marie called Fritz’s attention to the fact that Miss Gertrude (her biggest doll) appeared to be failing a good deal as time went on, inasmuch as she was more clumsy and awkward than ever, tumbling on to the floor every two or three minutes, a thing which did not occur without leaving very ugly marks on her face, and of course a proper condition of her clothes became out of the question altogether. Scolding was of no use. Mamma too had laughed at her for being so delighted with Miss Gertrude’s little new parasol. Fritz, again, remarked that a good fox was lacking to his small zoological collection, and that his army was quite without cavalry, as his papa was well aware. But the children knew that their elders had got all sorts of charming things ready for them, as also that the Child-Christ, at Christmas time, took special care for their wants. Marie sat in thoughtful silence, but Fritz murmured quietly to himself:
‘All the same, I should like a fox and some hussars!’
It was now quite dark; Fritz and Marie sitting close together, did not dare to utter another syllable; they felt as if there were a fluttering of gentle, invisible wings around them, whilst a very far away, but unutterably beautiful strain of music could dimly be heard. Then a bright gleam of light passed quickly athwart the wall, and the children knew that the Child-Christ had sped away, on shining wings, to other happy children. At this moment a silvery bell said, ‘Kling-ling! Kling-ling!’ the doors flew open, and such a brilliance of light came streaming from the drawing-room that the children stood rooted where they were with cries of ‘Oh! Oh!’
But papa and mamma came and took their hands, saying, ‘Come now, darlings, and see what the blessed Child-Christ has brought for you.’
THE CHRISTMAS PRESENTS
I appeal to yourself, kind reader (or listener)—Fritz, Theodore, Ernest, or whatsoever your name may chance to be—and I would beg you to bring vividly before your mind’s eye your last Christmas table, all glorious with its various delightful Christmas presents; and then perhaps you will be able to form some idea of the manner in which the two children stood speechless with brilliant glances fixed on all the beautiful things; how, after a little, Marie, with a sigh, cried, ‘Oh, how lovely! How lovely!’ and Fritz gave several jumps of delight. The children had certainly been very, very good and well-behaved all the foregoing year to be thus rewarded; for never had so many beautiful and delightful things been provided for them as this time. The great Christmas tree on the table bore many apples of silver and gold, and all its branches were heavy with bud and blossom, consisting of sugar almonds, many-tinted bonbons, and all sorts of charming things to eat. Perhaps the prettiest thing about this wonder-tree, however, was the fact that in all the recesses of its spreading branches hundreds of little tapers glittered like stars, inviting the children to pluck its flowers and
