In Hoffmann’s time there was a much different attitude toward children, family life, and the imagination; and fairy tales, in particular, were looked upon with suspicion because they might spark children to think in the “wrong” way. Gradually, thanks to the Romantics like Hoffmann, imaginative stories for children have become acceptable for “good” middle-class children. But fantasy works have also become domesticated in the western world, and The Nutcracker as ballet represents such domestication. Yet, as Freud has explained in his interpretation of the uncanny in Hoffmann’s works, there is always a return of the repressed, and even as The Nutcracker merrily dances on, it carries within it the wound that it has caused to the power of the imagination in Hoffmann’s tale, and who knows how viewers and participants will perceive and feel this wound? They might even be impelled to respond to the damage in their own fantastic ways.
Suggestions for Further Reading
E. T. A. HOFFMANN’S WORKS IN GERMAN
For the best contemporary collected edition, see:
Sämtliche Werke in 6 Einzelbänden. Ed. Walter Müller-Seidel, Friedrich Schnapp et al. Munich: Winkler, 1960–81.
“Der Nu?knacker und der Mausekönig” first appeared in Kinder-Märchen. Berlin: Realschulbuchhandlung, 1816.
SELECTED WORKS IN ENGLISH
There is no single edition in English of Hoffmann’s Fantasy Pieces, The Serapion Brothers, or Night Pieces. However, the following collections include most of the more important tales published by Hoffmann during his lifetime. The translations vary in quality.
Bleiler, Everett Franklin, ed. The Best Tales of Hoffmann. New York: Dover, 1967.
Bullock, Michael, ed. and trans. The Tales of Hoffmann. New York: Ungar, 1963.
Cohen, J. M., ed. and trans. Tales from Hoffmann. London: The Bodley Head, 1951.
Hoffmann, E. T. A. Tales. Ed. Victor Lange. New York: Continuum, 1982.
Hollingdale, R. J., ed. Tales of Hoffmann. Harmondsworth, Middlesex, England: Penguin, 1982.
Kent, Leonard, and Elizabeth Knights, eds. and trans. Tales of Hoffmann. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1972.
Kirkup, James, trans. Tales of Hoffmann. London: Blackie, 1966. Lazare, Christopher, ed. and trans. Tales of Hoffmann. New York: Wyn, 1946.
ALEXANDRE DUMAS’S WORKS IN FRENCH
The best contemporary collected edition is:
Oeuvres d’Alexandre Dumas père. Ed. Gilbert Sigaux. 38 vols. Lausanne: Éditions Rencontre, 1962–67.
“The Story of a Nutcracker” first appeared as “Histoire d’un casse-noisette.” Paris: J. Hetzel, 1845.
ENGLISH TRANSLATION
The first English translation was published as “The Story of a Nutcracker.” London: Chapman and Hall, 1847. There was no name given for the translator.
SECONDARY WORKS
Bell, A. Craig. Alexandre Dumas: A Biography and a Study. London: Cassell, 1950.
Clouard, Henri. Alexandre Dumas. Paris: Albin Michel, 1954.
Elardo, Ronald J. “E. T. A. Hoffmann’s ‘Nussknacker und Mausekönig’: The Mouse-Queen in the Tragedy of the Hero.” Germanic Review 55 (1980): 1–8.
Daemmrich, Horst. The Shattered Self: E. T. A. Hoffmann’s Tragic Vision. Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1974.
Ewers, Hans-Heino. “Nachwort.” In C. W. Contessa, Friedrich Baron de la Motte Fouqué, and E. T. A. Hoffmann, Kinder-Märchen. Ed. Hans-Heino Ewers. Stuttgart: Reclam, 1987. Pp. 327–50.
Fisher, Jennifer. “Nutcracker” Nation: How an Old World Ballet Became a Christmas Tradition in the New World. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2003.
Freud, Sigmund. The “Uncanny.” Trans. James Strachey. London: Penguin, 1985.
Hemmings, Frederick W. J. Alexandre Dumas: The King of Romance. New York: Scribner’s, 1979.
Heintz, Günter. “Mechanik und Phantasie. Zu E. T. A. Hoffmanns Märchen ‘Nu?knacker und Mausekönig.’” Literatur in Wissenschaft und Unterricht 7 (1974): 1–15.
Hewett-Thayer, Harvey W. Hoffmann: Author of the Tales. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1948.
Kle?mann, Eckart. E. T. A. Hoffmann oder die Tiefe zwischen Stern und Erde. Stuttgart: Deutsche Verlags-Anstalt, 1988.
Maurois, André. Les Trois Dumas. Paris: Hachette, 1957.
Safranski, Rüdiger. E. T. A. Hoffmann: Das Leben eines skeptischen Phantasten. Munich: Hanser, 1984.
Steinecke, Hartmut. Die Kunst der Fantasie: E. T. A. Hoffmanns Leben und Werke. Frankfurt am Main: Insel, 2004.
Stowe, Richard. Alexandre Dumas. Boston: Twayne, 1976.
Wiley, Roland John. Tchaikovsky’s Ballets: Swan Lake, Sleeping Beauty, The Nutcracker. Oxford: Clarendon, 1985.
Wittkop-Ménardeau, Gabrielle. E. T. A. in Selbstzeugnissen und Bilddokumenten. Reinbek: Rowohlt, 1966; 2d ed. 1992.
Nutcracker and Mouse King
The Tale of the Nutcracker
Nutcracker and Mouse King
A FAIRY TALE
E. T. A. HOFFMANN
Christmas Eve
For the entire twenty-fourth of December, the children of Medical Officer Stahlbaum were not permitted to step inside the intermediary room, much less the magnificent showcase next door. Fritz and Marie sat huddled together in a corner of the back room. The deep evening dusk had set in, and the children felt quite eerie because, as was usual on this day, no light had been brought in. Fritz quite secretly whispered to his younger sister (she had just turned seven) that he had heard a rustling and murmuring and soft throbbing in the locked rooms since early that morning. Also, not so long ago (Fritz went on), a short, dark man with a large casket under his arm had stolen across the vestibule. However, said Fritz, he knew quite well that it was none other than Godfather Drosselmeier.
Marie joyfully clapped her little hands and exclaimed: “Ah, I wonder what lovely presents he’s made for us!”
Supreme Court Justice Drosselmeier was anything but handsome. He was short and scrawny, his face was covered with wrinkles, and he wore a big, black patch instead of a right eye. He also had no hair on his head, which is why he sported a very lovely periwig made of spun glass and very artistic. Indeed, the godfather was altogether a very artistic man, who even knew a thing or two about clocks and could actually build them. So if any of the beautiful clocks in Stahlbaum’s home fell ill and couldn’t sing, Godfather Drosselmeier would come by, remove his glass periwig, take off his snug yellow vest, tie on a blue apron, and insert sharp instruments into the gears. It was very painful for little Marie, but it didn’t harm the clock at all. In fact, the clock even grew lively, and it started cheerfully humming, striking, and singing again, much to everyone’s delight.
Whenever Drosselmeier visited them, he would bring something nice for the children. His pocket might contain a manikin that could twist its eyes and bow—which was comical to see. Or Drosselmeier might have a box from which a little bird came hopping out, or he might have something utterly different. But for Christmas, Drosselmeier always completed a gorgeous artistic work, which cost him a great effort. That is why, after showing the gift, the parents very cautiously stored it away.
“Ah, I wonder what lovely presents he’s made for us,” Marie exclaimed.
Fritz decided that this year it could be nothing but a fortress, where all kinds of very handsome soldiers drilled and marched to and fro. Next, other soldiers would have to storm and invade the fortress. But now the inside soldiers boldly shot their cannons, making them boom and burst.
“No, no!” Marie interrupted Fritz. “Godfather Drosselmeier told me about a beautiful park with a huge lake and with marvelous swans gliding about and wearing gold neckbands and singing the loveliest songs. Then a little girl comes to the lake and entices the swans and feeds them sweet marzipan.”
“Swans don’t eat marzipan,” Fritz broke in quite roughly, “and Godfather Drosselmeier can’t make a whole park. Actually, we get little out of his toys. They’re promptly taken away from us. So I much prefer what Mama and Papa give us. We can keep their presents nicely and
do whatever we like with them.”
Now the children debated what their parents would bring them. Marie felt that Fräulein Trutchen (her large doll) was changing deeply. For, clumsier than ever, she fell on the floor every moment. This didn’t happen without a nasty grin, and there was no further thought of the cleanliness of her garments. Nor did a thorough scolding help. Also, Mama, we are told, smiled with such delight at Gretchen’s small parasol. Fritz, by contrast, assured the others that his royal stable lacked a good sorrel, just as his troops fully lacked a cavalry—Papa was well aware of that.
So the children knew that their parents had bought them all kinds of beautiful presents, which they now displayed. But the children were also certain that the dear Holy Christ shone upon them with the pious and friendly eyes of children. And they were equally convinced that, as if touched by fruitful hands, every Christmas gift would bring marvelous pleasure like no other.
The children, who kept whispering about the expected presents, were reminded of that pleasure by their older sister, Luise. And they added that it was now also the Holy Christ, who, through the hands of their dear parents, always gave them whatever real joy and pleasure He could bring them. Indeed, He knew that a lot better than did the children themselves, who didn’t have to nurture all sorts of hopes and wishes. Rather, they had to wait, still and pious, for their Christmas presents.
Little Marie grew pensive, while Fritz murmured to himself: “I’d love to have a sorrel and Hussars.”
By now it had grown completely dark. Fritz and Marie, thoroughly pressed together, did not dare say another word. It sounded as if rustling wings encircled them, and as if they could catch a very distant and very splendid music. A bright shine grazed the wall, and now the children knew that the Christ Child had flown away on radiant clouds, flown to other happy children.
At that moment, they heard a bright silvery chime: “Klingling, klingling!”
The doors burst open, and the radiance erupting into the large room was so deep that the children cried out: “Ah! Ah!” and they halted on the threshold, petrified.
But then Mama and Papa stepped in, took the children by the hand, and said: “Come on, come on, you dear children, and look what the Holy Christ has brought you.”
The Gifts
I turn to you, gentle reader or listener—Fritz, Theodor, Emst—or whatever your name may be, and I picture you vividly at your last Christmas table, which is richly adorned with gorgeous, multicolored presents. You will then envisage how the children halted, in silence and with shining eyes. You will then envision how, after a while, Marie cried out with a deep sigh: “Ah! How beautiful! Ah! How beautiful!” And Fritz tried out his caprioles, which were very successful. But the children had to have been devout and well behaved the entire year, for never had they had such splendid and such beautiful gifts as this time.
The huge fir tree in the center carried many gold and silver apples, and, like buds and blossoms, the sugared almonds and colorful bonbons and goodness knows what other tidbits emerged from all the branches. However, the loveliest and most praiseworthy feature of the wonder tree was the myriad of tiny lights that twinkled like tiny stars in its dark boughs. And the tree itself, shining in and out, warmly invited the children to pick its blooms and fruits. Around the tree, everything shone very grand and bright—what gorgeous things there were—why, who could describe them all?
Marie saw the most delicate dolls, all kinds of small, clean implements, and, what was loveliest to view: a silk frock, daintily garnished with parti-colored ribbons, hung from a rack right in front of Marie, so she could observe the dress from all sides. And that is what she did, while exclaiming over and over: “Oh, the darling little frock, oh, the lovely little frock! And I’ll be quite confident that I’ll be allowed to wear it!”
Meanwhile, Fritz, trotting and galloping around the table three or four times, was testing the new sorrel, which he had indeed found on the table, fenced in. Climbing back down, Fritz thought that the sorrel was a wild beast. But it didn’t matter, Fritz would certainly overcome it. And he mustered the new squadrons of Hussars, who were magnificently garbed in red and gold and carried silver weapons. The horses they were riding were so shiny white you might have almost believed that they were pure silver too.
The children, a bit calmer now, wanted to pounce on the picture books, which were lying open, so you could see all sorts of very lovely blossoms and gaudy people and delightful children playing. And they were all painted so naturally as if they could truly live and speak.
Yes, indeed. The children were about to pounce on these wonderful books when the doorbell rang again. Knowing that now Godfather Drosselmeier would offer his gifts, the children ran over to the table, which was standing alongside the wall. The screen that had hidden the table for such a long time was quickly removed. And what did the children witness?!
On a green lawn embellished with colorful flowers stood a fabulous castle with many plate-glass windows and golden turrets. A glockenspiel resounded, doors and windows opened, and you could see very tiny but dainty ladies and gentlemen in plumed hats and with long trains strolling through the chambers. The middle room had so many burning candles in silver chandeliers that it looked as if it were fully ablaze, and children in short vests and jerkins were dancing to the sound of the glockenspiel. A gentleman in an emerald cape often peered through the window, beckoned to the onlookers, and disappeared again—just as Godfather Drosselmeier himself, but scarcely larger than Papa’s thumb, at times stood below, at the castle gates, then stepped back inside.
With elbows propped on the table, Fritz had looked at the beautiful castle and the strolling and dancing figurines. Then he said: “Godfather Drosselmeier! Let me into your castle!”
Drosselmeier indicated that this was out of the question. And he was right. For it was foolish of Fritz to wish to enter a castle that, together with its golden turrets, was not as tall as Fritz himself.
And Fritz understood.
After a time—when the ladies and gentlemen were strolling to and fro in the same fashion, the children were dancing, the emerald man was peering out the same window, and Godfather Drosselmeier stationed himself at the gates—Fritz asked impatiently: “Godfather Drosselmeier, why don’t you come out through the other door over there?!”
“That won’t do, dear little Fritz,” Drosselmeier replied.
“Well, then let him go,” Fritz went on. “Let the green man go strolling with the others. After all, he keeps peering out.”
“That won’t do either,” Drosselmeier again replied.
“Then tell the children to come down,” cried Fritz. “I want to investigate them more closely.”
“Oh, none of this will really do,” said Drosselmeier, annoyed. “The mechanics are set up, and that’s how they must stay.”
“Reeaaaly?” Fritz drawled. “None of this will do? Listen, Godfather Drosselmeier. If those small polished things in the castle can only keep repeating themselves, then they’re not worth much, and I don’t especially have to call for them. I need to praise my Hussars. They have to maneuver forward, backward—whatever I wish, and they’re not locked in any house.”
And with that, Fritz jumped out toward the Christmas table, and he had his squadron leap back and forth on his silver horses, trotting and wheeling and smashing and firing to his heart’s content.
Marie had likewise stolen away so gently, for she too had soon gotten fed up with the dancing and meandering of the tiny dolls in the castle; though, well behaved and well brought up as she was, she didn’t voice her annoyance as did Brother Fritz.
Drosselmeier spoke rather crossly to the parents: “Such artistic work is not meant for senseless children. I’m simply going to pack up my castle!”
However, the mother came over and had the godfather explain the inner construction and the very wonderful and very creative gear unit, which set teensy dolls moving. The counselor took everything apart and then put it together again. While laboring, he
turned cheerful again, and he gave the children a few lovely tan men and women with golden hands, legs, and faces. They were made entirely out of the fanciest gingerbread and they were so sweet and pleasant as to greatly delight Fritz and Marie.
Sister Luise, as Mother wished, had put on the lovely frock that was one of her gifts, and she looked gorgeous. However, when she was likewise about to don her dress, Marie felt that she would rather see it on Luise for a bit. And her mother was glad to comply.
The Protégé
Actually, Marie didn’t want to leave the Christmas table, for she had discovered something that no one else had as yet noticed. You see, the review of Fritz’s Hussars, who had paraded closely past the tree, had revealed an excellent little man, who stood there, quiet and modest, as if calmly awaiting his turn. Granted, there was a lot to object to in his stature; for aside from the fact that his somewhat lengthy and powerful upper body didn’t quite fit in with the tiny, skinny legs, his head likewise seemed much too big.
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