Nutcracker and Mouse King and The Tale of the Nutcracker

by E. T. A. Hoffmann

  Soon the tumult intensified at the entrance to a street leading to the square, and the merrymakers stepped aside, allowing the passage of a cortege. It was the Grand Mogul carried on a palanquin and escorted by ninety-three grandees of his kingdom and seven hundred slaves. But at that very moment, in a parallel street, the Grand Sultan came galloping along, accompanied by three hundred Janissaries. The two sovereigns had always been rivals, so to speak, and therefore enemies. As a result, the members of their suites rarely crossed paths without getting into a brawl.

  The situation, as we can readily understand, was different when these two powerful monarchs met face to face. First of all, there was profound confusion, which the citizens tried to escape. Soon, the air was alive with shouts of fury and despair. A gardener, using the handle of a spade, had lopped off the head of a Brahman, who was highly esteemed in his caste. The Grand Sultan himself had knocked a terrified Punchinello off his mount, the victim tumbling between the legs of his quadruped. The brouhaha was getting worse and worse—when they had a surprise encounter with the man in the brocade robe, the same man who had saluted Nutcracker as “Prince” at the city gates. Now, in a single leap, the stranger reached the height of the gigantic brioche, where he rang the bell three times, a loud, clear, twinkling bell, and he cried out three times:

  “Confectioner! Confectioner! Confectioner!”

  Instantly the tumult faded. The two embroiled corteges disembroiled. Someone was brushing the Grand Sultan, who was covered with dust. Someone else was returning the Brahman’s head, recommending that he avoid sneezing for three days. Otherwise he might lose his head!

  With calm restored, people were joyful again, and they each returned to sipping lemonade, orangeade, and currant syrup at the fountain and wolfing down big spoonfuls of whipped cream from the basins. “But my dear Herr Drosselmayer,” said Marie, “how come that word, if you pronounce it three times, has such an effect on these little people? Confectioner! Confectioner! Confectioner!”

  “I must tell you, Fräulein,” Nutcracker responded, “that on the basis of their experiences, the people of Marmaladeburg believe in metempsychosis. They live under the influence of a prime cause known as ‘Confectioner’—a principle that, according to caprice, gives them the shape they desire. And they acquire that shape by being baked for a more or less prolonged time. Now since everyone feels that his shape is the best, no one ever cares to alter it. That’s what gives the word ‘Confectioner’ its magical power over the inhabitants.

  “And when the mayor pronounces that word, it is strong enough to put down the worst tumult, as you have just seen. At such a moment, each person forgets earthly matters—fractured ribs and bumps on the head. Then, entering his home, he asks himself:

  “‘Oh, God! What is man and what can’t he become?’”

  While chatting, they arrived at a palace that, spreading a rosy light, was surmounted by a hundred elegant, aerial turrets. The walls showed scattered nosegays of violets, narcissi, tulips, and jasmine, and these various colors enhanced the rosy background against which it stood out. The enormous cupola at the center of the palace was strewn with thousands of gold and silver stars.

  “Oh, my goodness!” Marie exclaimed. “What is this marvelous building?”

  “It is the Palace of the Marzipans,” replied Nutcracker, “—that is to say, one of the most remarkable monuments in the capital of the Kingdom of Dolls.”

  However, absorbed as Marie was in her contemplative admiration, she nevertheless realized that the roof on one big tower was entirely gone, and that little gingerbread manikins on a cinnamon scaffold were trying to replace it. She wanted to ask Nutcracker about that disaster, but he cut her off:

  “Alas! Not so long ago, this palace was threatened with a great deal of damage if not total dilapidation. The giant Sweet-Tooth had lightly bit into that tower, and he had even started nibbling on the cupola. But then the Marmaladeburgers brought a fourth of a town (named Nougat) and a huge portion of the Angelica Forest. Seeing these tributes, the giant agreed to withdraw, wreaking no further havoc than what you now see.”

  At this point, they heard some sweet and charming music. The gates of the palace opened of their own accord, and twelve little pageboys emerged, clutching sheaves of aromatic herbs lit up like torches. Each head was composed of a pearl; six pageboys had bodies made of rubies, and six had bodies made of emeralds. And each page very nicely trotted along on two small feet of gold engraved meticulously in the style of Benvenuto Cellini.

  They were followed by four ladies, who were the same size as Mademoiselle Claire, the new doll, but so splendidly clad, so richly adorned that Marie couldn’t fail to perceive in them the crown princesses of Marmaladeburg. Upon spotting Nutcracker, the four ladies flung their arms around him with demonstrations of love, while exclaiming in one voice:

  “Oh! My prince! My excellent prince!…Oh! My brother! My excellent brother!”

  Nutcracker sounded deeply moved, as he dried the many tears that were gushing from his eyes. Taking Marie’s hand, he said grandiloquently to the four princesses:

  “My dear sisters, may I introduce Fräulein Marie Silberhaus, the daughter of Magistrate Silberhaus of Nuremberg, a gentleman who is highly esteemed in his native city. It was his daughter who saved my life, just as I had lost the battle. She flung her slipper at Mouse King, and later on she had the goodness to lend me the saber of a retired major. Had she not done those things, I would now be moldering in the grave or, even worse, be devoured by Mouse King.

  “Ah! Dear Fräulein Silberhaus!” cried Nutcracker, unable to master his excitement. “Pirlipat, Princess Pirlipat, albeit the king’s daughter, is not worthy of untying the laces of your pretty little shoes!”

  “Oh, no! Quite certainly!” the four princesses repeated in chorus.

  And throwing their arms around Marie, they exclaimed: “Oh! Noble liberator of our dearly beloved prince and brother! Oh! Excellent Fräulein Silberhaus!”

  And with these exclamations, which their joyously swollen hearts did not allow them to develop any further, the four princesses conducted Marie and Nutcracker into the palace. Here they urged the visitors to sit on charming little couches made of cedar and brazilwood and strewn with gold flowers. Saying they wanted to prepare the meal themselves, the princesses went in search of numerous small vessels and small bowls of the finest Japanese porcelain, spoons, knives, forks, saucepans, and other kitchenware in gold and silver. They brought the loveliest fruits and the tastiest candies that Marie had ever seen, and they made such a tremendous effort that Marie could tell that the princesses of Marmaladeburg were marvelous chefs. Now since Marie knew a thing or two about cooking, she tacitly wanted to take an active part in the proceedings. As if she could read Marie’s mind, the most beautiful of Nutcracker’s four sisters handed the little girl a small gold mortar, saying:

  “Dear liberator of my brother, please crush some of that sugar candy for me.”

  Marie instantly did so, and while she was gently pounding away, making a delightful melody, Nutcracker started to describe all his adventures in detail. However, during his account, Marie was struck by something bizarre. Little by little, young Drosselmayer’s words and the crushing of the mortar reached her ears only indistinctly. Soon she was virtually enveloped by a flimsy mist. Then the mist changed into a silvery gauze, which grew thicker and thicker around her as it gradually veiled the sight of Nutcracker and his sisters, the princesses. A strange singing, which reminded the little girl of the crooning she had heard on the river of attar of roses, mingled with the growing murmur of the water. Now it seemed to Marie that the waves were billowing underneath her, plunging and lifting her. She felt she was ascending—high, higher, far higher, and prrrrrrrrrrrr! And paff! And now she felt she was plunging down from a height that she couldn’t measure.

  Conclusion

  You can’t plummet thousands of feet without waking up. So Marie woke up, and upon waking up, she found herself in her little bed. It was
broad daylight, and her mother was at her side, saying:

  “Is it possible to be as lazy as you? Come on, let’s get up! And let’s get dressed very fast—breakfast is waiting for us.”

  “Oh, dear, sweet mother,” said Marie, wide-eyed with astonishment. “Where did the young Herr Drosselmayer take me last night, and what admirable things did he show me?”

  Marie recounted everything that we have just described. And when she was done, her mother said to her:

  “You’ve had a very long and charming dream, dear little Marie. But now that you’re awake, you’ve got to forget all that. Come and have breakfast.”

  But while dressing, Marie persisted in maintaining that it hadn’t been a dream, that she had really seen all those things. Her mother then went to the cabinet, took Nutcracker (who was on the third shelf as usual), handed him to her daughter, and said:

  “You foolish child, how can you imagine that this doll, which is composed of wood and cloth, can have life, motion, and reflection?”

  “But dear Mama,” little Marie responded impatiently, “I know perfectly well that Nutcracker is no one else but the young Herr Drosselmayer, our godfather’s nephew.”

  Marie heard a blast of mirth behind her.

  The judge, Fritz, and Mademoiselle Trudchen were laughing their heads off at Marie’s expense.

  “Ah!” cried Marie. “Aren’t you also making fun of my Nutcracker, dear Papa? Yet he spoke very respectfully about you when we entered the Marzipan Palace and he introduced me to his sisters, the princesses.”

  The hilarity grew so loud that Marie understood she had to provide some kind of evidence of what she had told them. Otherwise they would think she had lost her mind. Stepping into the adjacent room, she picked up a small casket in which she had carefully stored the seven crowns of Mouse King. Then she returned, saying:

  “Look, dear Mama. Here are Mouse King’s seven crowns, which Nutcracker gave me last night as a sign of his victory.”

  The judge, quite amazed, scrutinized the crowns. Fashioned out of an unknown and brilliant metal, they were engraved with a finesse that human hands were incapable of implementing. The judge was unable to stop the examination, and he declared the crowns to be so precious that he ignored Fritz’s appeals. Indeed, the boy stood on tiptoe to see them and he asked whether he could touch them. But his father refused to let him touch even one.

  Her parents pressured Marie to tell them the origin of these tiny crowns, but she stuck to her account. Next, when her father, annoyed at what he regarded as her mulishness, called her a liar, the little girl burst into tears and cried out:

  “Alas! Poor child that I am—what do you want me to say?”

  At that moment, the door opened. The godfather appeared and he exclaimed in his turn:

  “What’s the matter? What have they done to my godchild, making her cry and sob like this? What’s wrong? What’s the matter?”

  The judge instructed the godfather about everything that had occurred. He then showed the godfather the crowns. But barely did he see them than he started guffawing:

  “Ah! Ah! It’s a great joke! Those are the crowns I wore on my watch chain several years ago. I gave them to my godchild on her second birthday—don’t you remember, dear judge?”

  The parents wracked their brains, but they couldn’t ferret out a single reminiscence of that event. Still and all, they took the godfather at his word, so that their faces gradually regained their expressions of ordinary kindness. Seeing this, Marie dashed over to her godfather and exclaimed:

  “But you know all this, Godfather Drosselmayer. Admit that Nutcracker is your nephew and that he’s the person who gave you these seven crowns!”

  However, the godfather seemed to take the matter poorly. His brow furrowed and he scowled so deeply that the judge called little Marie over, taking her between his legs and saying:

  “Now listen to me, my dear child! I’m speaking to you very seriously. Do me a favor and discard those wild fantasies once and for all! If you happen to say yet again that your ugly and misshapen Nutcracker is the nephew of our friend, Godfather Drosselmayer, I warn you that I will throw all your dolls out the window—not only Herr Nutcracker but all your other dolls, too, including Mademoiselle Claire.”

  Poor Marie no longer dared to talk about all the beautiful fancies that filled her imagination. But my young readers, especially the girls, will understand the effect of spending just a single hour in as gorgeous a country as the Kingdom of Dolls, and viewing as succulent a city as Marmaladeburg. The traveler visiting these places will not easily forget them.

  Marie therefore tried to speak to her brother about that whole business. But he had lost all his confidence in her the instant she had dared to tell him that his Hussars had taken flight. Convinced by their father that Marie had lied, Fritz restored the earlier ranks of his officers, and he permitted the trumpeters to play “The March of the Hussars of the Guard” again. But this rehabilitation did not prevent Marie from believing what pleased her about their courage.

  The little girl didn’t dare talk about her own adventures. However, she was endlessly besieged by her memories of the Kingdom of Dolls. And when her mind dwelt on these memories, she reviewed everything as if she were still in Christmas Forest or in Rose Attar River or in the city of Marmaladeburg. Instead of playing with her toys as she had done before, she just sat there, silent and immobile, keeping her thoughts to herself. As a result, people called her the Little Dreamer.

  But one day, with his glass periwig lying on the floor, his tongue darting into a corner of his mouth, the sleeves of his yellow jacket rolled up, Drosselmayer was repairing a clock. He had inserted a long, pointed instrument into its gears. Marie happened to be sitting by the glass cabinet, watching Nutcracker, as was her habit. She was so absorbed in her reveries that, suddenly forgetting that not only her godfather but also her mother were present, Marie accidentally cried out:

  “Ah! Dear Herr Drosselmayer! If you weren’t made of wood, as my father claims, and if you really existed, I wouldn’t imitate Princess Pirlipat, I wouldn’t desert you. To oblige me, you wouldn’t have to be a charming young man, for I truly love you. Ah!”

  But no sooner had Marie heaved a sigh than the room was filled with such a racket that the little girl fainted and tumbled to the floor.

  When she came to, she found herself in her mother’s arms, and her mother said to her:

  “How is it possible, I ask you, that a big girl like yourself can be foolish enough to fall off her chair—and at the very moment that Herr Drosselmayer’s nephew has finished his travels and has returned to Nuremberg? Come on! Wipe your eyes and be good!”

  Marie indeed wiped her eyes and, turning toward the door, which opened at that moment, she spotted her godfather. With his glass periwig on his head, his hat under his arm, his yellow frock coat on his torso, he was smiling with an air of satisfaction. Moreover, he was holding the hand of a young man, who was very tiny but very nicely shaped and very handsome.

  The young man was wearing a superb red velvet frock coat with gold embroideries. He was also sporting white silk stockings and glossy patent-leather shoes. He had a delightful nosegay on his jabot and he was very daintily groomed and powdered, while a perfectly braided queue was hanging down his back. Furthermore, the little sword at his side looked studded with jewels, and the hat under his arm was woven of the finest silk.

  The young man’s amiable manners became known instantly. For no sooner had he entered than he deposited a huge number of magnificent toys at Marie’s feet. More than anything else, he gave Marie the most delectable marzipans and the most delicious bonbons that she had ever tasted in all her life (aside from those she had enjoyed in the Kingdom of Dolls). Regarding Fritz: As if the godfather’s nephew had guessed the boy’s military pleasures, he brought him a saber—the finest Damascus blade. Nor was that all. When, at the end of the meal, they reached dessert, the amicable Nutcracker cracked nuts for the entire company. Even the hardes
t nuts couldn’t resist him for a second. His right hand placed the nut in the boy’s teeth, his left hand drew the braid, and crack! The nut shattered into pieces.

  Marie had reddened upon spotting that handsome little fellow, and she reddened even deeper when, after dinner, he invited her to join him in passing the glass cabinet.

  “Come on, children, come on! And have a good time!” said the godfather. “I don’t need the salon. All the clocks of my friend the judge are working properly.”

  The two young people stepped into the parlor. But scarcely was young Drosselmayer alone with Marie when he knelt down on one foot and spoke to her:

  “Oh, my excellent Fräulein Silberhaus! You see at your feet the happy Drosselmayer whose life you saved in this same place. Furthermore, you’ve been good enough to tell me that you wouldn’t reject me like the ugly Princess Pirlipat—if, to serve you, I had turned hideous. Now, the spell cast on me by Mouse Queen would lose its total impact on the day that, despite my ugly face, I were loved by a young and pretty girl. At that very moment, I would stop being a stupid Nutcracker, and I would revert to my original form, which is not disagreeable, as you can see. So, my dear Fräulein, if you still feel the same way about me, please do me the honor of giving me your beloved hand, sharing my throne and my crown, and reigning with me over the Kingdom of Dolls, for I have now become its king again.”