Nutcracker and Mouse King and The Tale of the Nutcracker

by E. T. A. Hoffmann

  Young Drosselmayer approached the royal family with a self-confidence that doubled the hopes of the well-wishers. Arriving in front of the royal rostrum, he bowed to the king and the queen, then to the princess, then to the ladies-in-waiting. Next, the Grand Master of Ceremony handed him Krakatuk Nut, which the young man took delicately between his index and his thumb, like a conjuror playing with his vanishing ball. He then inserted Nut into his mouth, violently punched the wooden plait, and—Crack! Crack!—he crushed the shell into several pieces. Next, he skillfully slipped the kernel out of the attached filaments and presented it to the princess, drawing a both elegant and respectful metal doormat. After that, he shut his eyes and began walking backward.

  As soon as the princess swallowed the nut meat—Oh, miracle!—the deformed monster vanished and was replaced by a girl of angelic beauty. Her face seemed woven out of silk flakes as rosy as roses and as white as lilies. Her eyes were a sparkling azure, and the abundant curls formed by gold threads tumbled down over her alabaster shoulders.

  The trumpets blared and the cymbals clanged—to beat the band! The joyful shouts of the people responded to the clamor of the instruments. Like at Pirlipat’s birth, the king, the ministers, the councilors, and the judges began dancing and hopping, and they had to sprinkle cologne on the face of the queen, who had fainted in sheer delight. This huge tumult troubled young Drosselmayer, who, we recall, had to take those seven paces backward in order to complete his mission.

  Still, he pulled himself together with a power that inspired the greatest hopes for the time when he himself would be ruling. He was just extending his leg for the seventh pace when, all at once, Mouse Queen pierced through the floor, squealing horribly as she scurried between the legs of the future crown prince. At that moment, he lowered his heel right into Mouse Queen, which caused him to stagger and very nearly fall.

  Oh! Fatality! The handsome young man was instantly as malformed as the princess had been before him. His legs were skinny, his shriveled body could barely support his enormous and repulsive head. His eyes were green, haggard, and bulging. Finally, his mouth was split from ear to ear, and his pretty little burgeoning beard changed into a soft, white material that was later identified as cotton.

  However, the offender who caused this turn of events was punished even as she caused it. Lady Mouserink bled and twisted on the floor. Thus her evil did not go unpenalized. Indeed, young Drosselmayer’s boot heel had pressed her so violently against the floor that the crush was mortal. As she lay there, twisting and writhing, she exclaimed with all the strength of her agonizing voice:

  Krakatuk! Krakatuk! Oh, Nut so hard!

  It is to you I owe the death I endure.

  Heeheeheehee…

  But the future will hold my revenge:

  My son will even the score, Nutcracker.

  Teeteeteetee…

  Farewell, life,

  Taken too soon!

  Farewell, sky,

  Cup of honey!

  Farewell, world,

  Fertile source!

  Ah, I am dying!

  Heeheetee! See!

  Lady Mouserink’s final breath may not have been so well rhymed. But if one is allowed a single fault in this versification, it is—we agree—in rendering the final sigh.

  Once the final sigh was rendered, they summoned the Grand Royal Felt Maker. He picked Lady Mouserink up by her tail and carried her away, promising to unite her with the unhappy remnants of her family, who, fifteen years and several months ago, had been buried in a mass grave.

  Meanwhile, no one but the technician and the astrologer had focused on Nathaniel Drosselmayer. The princess, unaware of his condition, ordered her servants to bring her the young hero. Despite the rebukes of the Supervisor for Education, she was eager to thank Nathaniel. But no sooner did she set eyes on him than she buried her face in her hands and, forgetting his service to her, she exclaimed:

  “Get out! Get out! You terrible Nutcracker! Get out! Get out!”

  The grand marshal of the palace instantly grabbed poor Nathaniel’s shoulders and pushed him down the stairs.

  The king, furious that they had dared to propose a Nutcracker as his son-in-law, blamed the astrologer and the technician. He refused to grant the astrologer the pension of ten thousand ducats, plus the Telescope of Honor. And he refused to award the technician the diamond-studded sword, plus the Royal Order of the Golden Spider and the yellow frock coat. Instead of all those prizes that he owed them, the king exiled both men from his kingdom, allowing them a mere twenty-four hours to reach the border. They had to obey. The technician, the astrologer, and young Drosselmayer (now Nutcracker) left the capital and crossed the border.

  At nightfall, however, the two savants consulted the stars again and they read in their conjunction that, albeit deformed, their godson would nevertheless become prince and then king, unless he preferred remaining a private citizen—that would be totally up to him. It would come about when his malformation disappeared, and his malformation would disappear once he commanded his side of a battle. This conflict would claim the life of Mouse Prince, whom, after the deaths of her first seven sons, Lady Mouserink had borne with seven heads. And this prince was the current Mouse King. Finally, despite his ugliness, Nutcracker would have to gain the love of a pretty lady.

  While awaiting these brilliant destinies, Nathaniel Drosselmayer, who had left his father’s boutique as an only child, reentered it as Nutcracker. Needless to say, his father didn’t recognize him at all. And when he asked the technician and the astrologer about his son, these two illustrious personages replied with the composure that characterizes scholars. They explained that the king and the queen had refused to let the princess’s savior leave, so that young Nathaniel had remained at court, overwhelmed with glory and honor.

  As for unhappy Nutcracker, who felt everything that was distressing about his position, he didn’t breathe a word. He was waiting for the change that was bound to occur in him. Still, despite the gentleness of his nature and the stoicism of his mind, we must admit that, at the very bottom of his enormous mouth, he kept one of his uncle’s biggest teeth. Seeking the young man at the very moment that he least expected him to be, and inveigled by his marvelous promises, Drosselmayer was the one and only cause of the horrible misfortune that had befallen him.

  Well, my dear children, there you have the tale of Krakatuk Nut and Princess Pirlipat, as recounted by Godfather Drosselmayer to little Marie. And now you know why we say about a difficult thing:

  “That’s a hard nut to crack.”

  The Uncle and the Nephew

  If any of my readers, girls or boys, had ever cut themselves on broken glass, which they might have done on their days of disobedience, they must know from experience that this is a particularly unpleasant cut because it takes forever to heal. Marie was therefore compelled to spend an entire week in bed, for she felt dizzy whenever she tried to stand up. In the end, she was completely cured and she could skip around the room as she had done before the accident.

  Either we are unjust toward our little heroine or we can easily understand why her first visit was at the glass cabinet. It looked absolutely charming: The broken pane had been replaced, and behind the other panes, scrupulously cleaned by Mademoiselle Trudchen, the trees, the houses, and the dolls of the new year appeared, fresh, brilliant, and polished. But, among all the treasures of her juvenile realm, and before anything else, what stood out for Marie was her Nutcracker. He smiled at her from the second shelf, and his teeth were in as good a state as they had ever been.

  As Marie happily contemplated her favorite, a certain thought, which had already occurred to her several times, now made her heart sink. She figured that everything her godfather had related was no fairy tale. It was all a history of Nutcracker’s quarrels with the late Mouse Queen and her son, the prince regnant. Marie therefore realized that Nutcracker could be none other than young Drosselmayer of Nuremberg, her godfather’s pleasant but spellbound nephew. Nor
could the ingenious technician of the king, Pirlipat’s father, be anyone but Drosselmayer. She had never doubted it for even a second once his yellow frock coat had surfaced in the narrative. And her conviction had deepened when she saw that he had lost his hair because of sunstroke, and his eye because of an arrow. The latter had necessitated the fabrication of the dreadful eye patch and the former her invention of the inspired glass periwig, which we talked about at the beginning of this account.

  “But why didn’t your uncle help you, poor Nutcracker?” said Marie in front of the glass cabinet. Looking at her protégé, she considered that the disenchantment of that poor little fellow depended on their victory in the battle. His elevation to the rank of monarch over the kingdom of dolls marked these dolls as being ready to submit to his authority. Marie recalled that during the combat the dolls had obeyed Nutcracker just as soldiers obey a general. Her godfather’s indifference caused her all the more pain in that she was positive that these dolls, to whom her imagination gave life and movement, actually lived and moved.

  However, things were different in the glass cabinet, at least initially. Everything was tranquil and immobile. Yet, rather than renouncing her inner conviction, Marie attributed all those things to the spell cast by the Mouse Queen and her son. The little girl was involved so deeply in her sentiment that, albeit watching Nutcracker, she soon continued to tell him aloud what she had started to tell him very softly.

  “Still,” Marie went on, “even if you’re unable to move or just to breathe the slightest word because of the spell, I’m certain, my dear Herr Drosselmayer, that you understand me perfectly. In fact, you are well aware of my intentions toward you. So please count on my support if you need it. Meanwhile, keep calm. I’m going to ask your uncle to help you. He is so adroit that we have to hope he’ll come to your aid, as slightly as he may care for you.”

  Despite Marie’s eloquence, Nutcracker didn’t budge. However, a sigh appeared to pass very softly across the glass cabinet while the panes began reverberating very gently. The sounds were so miraculously tender that Marie felt as if a voice as sweet as a small silver chime were saying: “Dear little Marie, my guardian angel. I’ll be yours, Marie, all yours.”

  Hearing those mysterious words, Marie, across a thrill that shot through her entire body, felt overwhelmed by a singular well-being.

  Meantime, twilight had set in. The judge entered together with Drosselmayer. Mademoiselle Trudchen had laid out the tea service in the twinkling of an eye, and the entire family sat down around the table. Everyone was chatting merrily. As for Marie, she had taken hold of her little armchair and had wordlessly settled at her godfather’s feet. Then, in an instant when everybody happened to be silent, Marie raised her big, blue eyes and stared at her godfather’s face.

  “Now I know, dear Godfather,” she said, “that my Nutcracker is your nephew, young Drosselmayer of Nuremberg. He became the prince and the king of the kingdom of dolls, as was so accurately forecast by your companion, the astrologer. But you do know that the nephew is involved in fierce open warfare with Mouse King. Honestly, dear Godfather, why didn’t you come to his aid when you were an owl mounted on the clock? And why are you still abandoning him even now?”

  At these words, Marie once again described the famous battle that she had witnessed. She spoke amid the laughter of her father, her mother, and Mademoiselle Trudchen. The only ones who frowned were Fritz and Godfather.

  “Just where,” said the godfather, “does this little girl find all the silly things that occur to her?”

  “She has a very lively imagination,” said the mother. “These are basically dreams and visions created by her fever.”

  “And the proof,” said Fritz, “is that she says my Red Hussars fled the battle, which couldn’t be further from the truth—unless they’re abominable cowards. In which case—darn it all!—they’d be risking nothing, and I’d knock them silly!”

  With a bizarre grin, Godfather Drosselmayer took little Marie on his lap and spoke more gently than before:

  “Dear child, you don’t realize what path you’re choosing if you so heatedly take up Nutcracker’s interests? You’ll have to endure a lot of suffering if you continue siding with the poor, disgraced candidate. You see, Mouse King considers him his mother’s killer and he’ll persecute him by all possible means. In any case, it’s not I, do you hear, it’s only you who can save him. Be firm and loyal, and it will all work out for the best.”

  Neither Marie nor anyone else grasped a single bit of that discourse. Furthermore, it sounded so outlandish to the judge that he wordlessly took hold of the medical counselor and, after checking his pulse, he said: “My dear friend, you’ve got a high fever. I advise you to go to bed.”

  The Capital

  During the night after the scene that we have just described, the moon was shining with all its power, slipping a light ray between the twisted curtains of the chamber. Little Marie, sleeping near her mother, was awakened by a noise that seemed to come from a corner and was punctuated by sharp hissing and prolonged squealing.

  “Alas!” exclaimed Marie, who had heard those noises during the famous evening of the battle. “Alas! The mice are coming back, Mama, Mama, Mama!” But no matter how strenuous her efforts, her voice faded in her mouth. She tried to leave, but she couldn’t move her arms and legs—she appeared virtually nailed to her bed. Turning her horrified eyes to the corner from which the noise was coming, Marie saw Mouse King scratching himself a passage through the wall, making the hole bigger and bigger. First one of his heads poked out, then two, then three, until finally all seven heads, each one crowned. After touring the room several times, like a conqueror taking possession of his conquest, Mouse King leaped up to little Marie’s nightstand. There, he gazed at the girl with his carbuncle eyes, whistling and grinding his teeth while talking:

  “Hee hee hee! You have to give me your sugar pills and your marzipan cookies, little girl. Otherwise I’ll devour your friend Nutcracker!” After voicing that threat, Mouse King escaped through his hole.

  Marie was so terrified by the dreadful apparition that when she awoke in the morning, she had a pale face and a heavy heart—and even more so because she didn’t dare describe what she had experienced that night. She was afraid the others would make fun of her. The account reached her lips twenty times, regarding either her mother or her brother. But she caught herself every time. She was still convinced that neither would believe her. However, what struck her the most clearly in this confusion was that she would have to sacrifice her sugar pills and marzipan cookies in order to save Nutcracker. That same evening, she put all her sweets on the edge of the cabinet.

  The next morning, the judge’s wife said: “Honestly, I don’t know where all these mice are coming from—bursting into our home! Just look, my poor Marie,” she went on, taking the little girl into the parlor. “Those nasty beasts have gobbled up all the goodies!”

  The judge’s wife was making a mistake. Instead of “gobbled up,” she ought to have said “spoiled.” For this gourmand, Mouse King, didn’t much care for marzipan. He had just nibbled the cookies so thoroughly that they had to be thrown away.

  Moreover, since it wasn’t bonbons either that Marie preferred, she didn’t truly regret the sacrifice demanded of her by Mouse King. Believing he’d be satisfied with that first contribution, she was delighted that she had gotten Nutcracker off so easily.

  Unfortunately, her enjoyment did not last. That night, she was awoken by squeals and hisses.

  Alas! It was Mouse King again, his eyes sparkling more horribly than in the previous night. And in the same voice, mixed with squeals and hisses, he said to Marie: “You have to give me your sugar dolls and your biscuit dolls, little girl. Otherwise I’ll devour your friend Nutcracker.”

  And the Mouse King scurried away and vanished through his hole.

  The next morning, Marie, who was terribly distressed, headed straight for the glass cabinet. With a mournful gaze, she surveyed her sugar
dolls and her biscuit dolls. Her pain was certainly natural, for nobody had ever seen such a little girl with such a big sweet tooth.

  “Alas!” said little Marie, turning toward Nutcracker. “Dear Herr Drosselmayer, what wouldn’t I do to save you! But you’ll agree that the demand made on me is quite harsh.”

  Nutcracker now looked so lamentable that Marie, who believed she saw Mouse King’s jaw open in order to devour Nutcracker, resolved to make this sacrifice, too, in order to save the unhappy young man. That same evening, she therefore placed her sugar dolls and her biscuit dolls on the edge of the cabinet just as she had placed her sugar pills and marzipan cookies there the previous night. But, by way of saying farewell, Marie kissed her dolls each in turn—her shepherds, her shepherdesses, and their sheep. And behind the herd, there was a puffy-cheeked baby whom Marie particularly liked.

  “This is too much!” the judge’s wife cried out the next morning. “Some awful mice must have established their domicile in the glass cabinet. They’ve devoured all of poor Marie’s dolls.”

  Thick tears welled up from Marie’s eyes, but they dried up almost instantly, giving way to a gentle smile, for she told herself: “Who cares about shepherds, shepherdesses, and sheep? Nutcracker is saved!”

  “But,” said Fritz, who had had a pensive air about him throughout the conversation, “let me remind you, dear Mama, that the baker has an excellent gray legation adviser—a cat. We can find him, and he can soon put an end to this business by munching the mice one after the other, and after the mice Lady Mouserink herself, and Mouse King as well as his royal mother.”