“Aha!” said Nutcracker, “here we are at Marzipan Castle at last!”
Marie was sunk and absorbed in contemplation of this magic palace. But the fact did not escape her that the roof was wanting to one of the principal towers, and that little men up upon a scaffold made of sticks of cinnamon were busy putting it on again. But before she had had time to ask Nutcracker about this, he said:
“This beautiful castle a short time ago was threatened with tremendous havoc, if not with total destruction. Sweet-tooth the giant happened to be passing by, and he bit off the top of that tower there, and was beginning to gnaw at the great dome. But the Sweetmeatburgh people brought him a whole quarter of the town by way of tribute, and a considerable slice of Comfit Grove into the bargain. This stopped his mouth, and he went on his way.”
At this moment, soft, beautiful music was heard, and out came twelve little pages with lighted clove-sticks, which they held in their little hands by way of torches. Each of their heads was a pearl, their bodies were emeralds and rubies, and their feet were beautifully worked pure gold. After them came four ladies about the size of Marie’s Miss Clara, but so gloriously and brilliantly attired that Marie saw in a moment that they could be nothing but princesses of the blood royal. They embraced Nutcracker most tenderly, and shed tears of gladness, saying, “Oh, dearest prince! beloved brother!”
Nutcracker seemed deeply affected. He wiped away his tears, which flowed thick and fast, and then he took Marie by the hand and said with much pathos and solemnity:
“This is Miss Marie Stahlbaum, the daughter of a most worthy medical man and the preserver of my life. Had she not thrown her slipper just in the nick of time—had she not procured me the pensioned Colonel’s sword—I should have been lying in my cold grave at this moment, bitten to death by the accursed king of the mice. I ask you to tell me candidly, can Princess Pirlipat, princess though she is, compare for a moment with Miss Stahlbaum here in beauty, in goodness, in virtues of every kind? My answer is, emphatically ‘No.’ ”
All the ladies cried “No;” and they fell upon Marie’s neck with sobs and tears, and cried: “Ah! noble preserver of our beloved royal brother! Excellent Miss Stahlbaum!”
They now conducted Marie and Nutcracker into the castle, to a hall whose walls were composed of sparkling crystal. But what delighted Marie most of all was the furniture. There were the most darling little chairs, bureaus, writing-tables, and so forth, standing about everywhere, all made of cedar or Brazil-wood, covered with golden flowers. The princesses made Marie and Nutcracker sit down, and said that they would themselves prepare a banquet. So they went and brought quantities of little cups and dishes of the finest Japanese porcelain, and spoons, knives and forks, graters and stew pans, and other kitchen utensils of gold and silver. Then they fetched the most delightful fruits and sugar things—such as Marie had never seen the like of—and began to squeeze the fruit in the daintiest way with their little hands, and to grate the spices and rub down the sugar-almonds; in short, they set to work so skillfully that Marie could see very well how accomplished they were in kitchen matters, and what a magnificent banquet there was going to be. Knowing her own skill in this line, she wished in her secret heart, that she might be allowed to go and help the princesses and have a finger in all these pies herself. And the prettiest of Nutcracker’s sisters, just as if she had read the wishes of Marie’s heart, handed her a little gold mortar, saying:
“Sweet friend, dear preserver of my brother, would you mind pounding a little of this sugar-candy?”
Now as Marie went on pounding in the mortar with good will and the utmost enjoyment—and the sound of it was like a lovely song—Nutcracker began to relate with much minuteness all that had happened on the occasion of the terrible engagement between his forces and the army of the king of the mice; how he had had the worst of it on account of the bad behaviour of his troops; how the horrible mouse king had all but bitten him to death, so that Marie had had to sacrifice a number of his subjects who were in her service, etc., etc.
During all this it seemed to Marie as if what Nutcracker was saying—and even the sound of her own mortar—kept growing more and more indistinct, and going farther and farther away. Presently she saw a silver mistiness rising up all about, like clouds, in which the princesses, the pages, Nutcracker, and she herself were floating. And a curious singing and a buzzing and humming began, which seemed to die away in the distance; and then she seemed to be going up—up—up, as if on waves constantly rising and swelling higher and higher, higher and higher, higher and higher.
CONCLUSION
And then came a “prr-poof,” and Marie fell down from some inconceivable height.
That was a crash and a tumble!
However, she opened her eyes, and, to and behold, there she was in her own bed! It was broad daylight, and her mother was standing at her bedside, saying:
“Well, what a sleep you have had! Breakfast has been ready for ever so long.”
Of course, dear audience, you see how it was. Marie, confounded and amazed by all the. wonderful things she had seen, had at last fallen asleep in Marzipan Castle, and the Negroes or the pages, or perhaps the princesses themselves, had carried her home and put her to bed.
“Oh, mother darling,” said Marie, “what a number of places young Mr. Drosselmeier has taken me to in the night, and what beautiful things I have seen!” And she gave very much the same faithful account of it all as I have given to you.
Her mother listened, looking at her with astonishment, and when she had finished, said:
“You have had a long, beautiful dream, Marie; but now you must put it all out of your head.”
Marie firmly maintained that she had not been dreaming at all; so her mother took her to the glass cupboard, lifted out Nutcracker from his usual position on the third shelf, and said:
“You silly girl, how can you believe that this wooden figure can have life and motion?”
“Ah, mother,” answered Marie, “I know perfectly well that Nutcracker is young Mr. Drosselmeier from Nuremberg, Godpapa Drosselmeier’s nephew.”
Her father and mother both burst out into laughter.
“It’s all very well your laughing at poor Nutcracker, father,” cried Marie, almost weeping, “but he spoke very highly of you; for when we arrived at Marzipan Castle, and he was introducing me to his sisters, the princesses, he said you were a most worthy medical man.”
The laughter grew louder, and Louise and even Fritz joined in it. Marie ran into the next room, took the Mouse-King’s seven crowns from her little box, and handed them to her mother, saying, “Look there, then, dear mother; those are the Mouse-King’s seven crowns which young Mr. Drosselmeier gave me last night as a proof that he had got the victory.”
Her mother gazed in amazement at the little crowns, which were made of some very brilliant, wholly unknown metal, and worked more beautifully than any human hands could have worked them. Dr. Stahlbaum could not cease looking at them with admiration and astonishment either, and both the father and the mother enjoined Marie most earnestly to tell them where she really had got them from. But she could only repeat what she had said before; and when her father scolded her and accused her of untruthfulness, she began to cry bitterly, and said, “Oh, dear me; what can I tell you except the truth!”
At this moment the door opened, and Godpapa Drosselmeier came in, crying, “Hullo! hullo! what’s all this? My little Marie crying? What’s all this? what’s all this?”
Dr. Stahlbaum told him all about it, and showed him the crowns. As soon as he had looked at them, however, he cried out:
“Stuff and nonsense! stuff and nonsense! These are the crowns I used to wear on my watch-chain. I gave them as a present to Marie on her second birthday. Do you mean to tell me you don’t remember?”
None of them did remember anything of the kind. But Marie, seeing that her father and mother’s faces were clear of clouds again, ran up to her godpapa, crying:
“You know all ab
out the affair, Godpapa Drosselmeier; tell it to them. Let them know from your own lips that my Nutcracker is your nephew, young Mr. Drosselmeier from Nuremberg, and that it was he who gave me the crowns.” But Drosselmeier made a very angry face, and muttered, “Stupid stuff and nonsense!” upon which Marie’s father took her in front of him, and said with much earnestness:
“Now look here, Marie; let there be an end of all this foolish trash and absurd nonsense for once and for all; I’m not going to allow any more of it; and if ever I hear you say again that that idiotic, misshapen Nutcracker is your godpapa’s nephew, I shall throw, not only Nutcracker, but all your other playthings—Miss Clara not excepted—out of the window.”
Of course poor Marie dared not utter another word concerning that which her whole mind was full of, for you may well suppose that it was impossible for anyone who had seen all that she had seen to forget it. And I regret to say that even Fritz himself at once turned his back on his sister whenever she wanted to talk to him about the wondrous realm in which she had been so happy. Indeed, he is said to have frequently murmured, “Stupid goose!” between his teeth, though I can scarcely think this compatible with his proved kindness of heart. This much, however, is matter of certainty, that as he no longer believed what his sister said, he now at a public parade formally recanted what he had said to his red hussars, and in the place of the plumes he had deprived them of, gave them much taller and finer ones of goose quills and allowed them to sound the march of the hussars of the guard as before.
Marie did not dare to say anything more of her adventures. But the memories of that fairy realm haunted her with a sweet intoxication, and the music of that delightful, happy country still rang sweetly in her ears. Whenever she allowed her thoughts to dwell on all those glories, she saw them again, and so it came about that, instead of playing as she used to, she sat quiet and meditative, absorbed within herself. Everybody found fault with her for being such a little dreamer.
It chanced one day that Godpapa Drosselmeier was repairing one of the clocks in the house, and Marie was sitting beside the glass cupboard, sunk in her dreams and gazing at Nutcracker. All at once she said, as if involuntarily:
“Ah, dear Mr. Drosselmeier, if you really were alive, I shouldn’t be like Princess Pirlipat and despise you because you had had to give up being a nice handsome gentleman for my sake!”
“Stupid stuff and nonsense!” cried Godpapa Drosselmeier.
But, as he spoke, there came such a tremendous bang and shock that Marie fell from her chair insensible.
When she came back to her senses her mother was busied about her and said, “How could you go and tumble off your chair in that way, a big girl like you? Here is Godpapa Drosselmeier’s nephew come from Nuremberg. See how good you can be.”
Marie looked up. Her godpapa had on his yellow coat and his glass wig, and was smiling in the highest good humour. By the hand he was holding a very small but very handsome young gentleman. His little face was red and white; he had on a beautiful red coat trimmed with gold lace, white silk stockings and shoes, with a lovely bouquet of flowers in his shirt frill. He was beautifully frizzed and powdered, and had a magnificent queue hanging down his back. The little sword at his side seemed to be made entirely of jewels, it sparkled and shone so, and the little hat under his arm was woven of flocks of silk. He gave proof of the fineness of his manners in that he had brought for Marie a quantity of the most delightful toys—above all, the very same figures as those which the Mouse-King had eaten up—as well as a beautiful sabre for Fritz. He cracked nuts at table for the whole party; the very hardest did not withstand him. He placed them in his mouth with his left hand, tugged at his pigtail with his right, and crack! they fell in pieces.
Marie grew red as a rose at the sight of this charming young gentleman; and she grew redder still when after dinner young Drosselmeier asked her to go with him to the glass cupboard in the sitting-room.
“Play nicely together, children,” said Godpapa Drosselmeier; “now that my clocks are all nicely in order, I can have no possible objection.”
But as soon as young Drosselmeier was alone with Marie, he went down on one knee, and spoke as follows:
“Ah! my most dearly beloved Miss Stahlbaum! see here at your feet the fortunate Drosselmeier, whose life you saved here on this very spot. You were kind enough to say, plainly and unmistakably, in so many words, that you would not have despised me, as Princess Pirlipat did, if I had been turned ugly for your sake. Immediately I ceased to be a contemptible Nutcracker, and resumed my former not altogether ill-looking person and form. Ah! most exquisite lady! bless me with your precious hand; share with me my crown and kingdom, and reign with me in Marzipan Castle, for there I am now king.”
Marie raised him, and said gently, “Dear Mr. Drosselmeier, you are a kind, nice gentleman; and as you reign over a delightful country of charming, funny, pretty people, I accept your hand.”
So then they were formally betrothed; and when a year and a day had come and gone, they say he came and fetched her away in a golden coach, drawn by silver horses. At the marriage there danced two-and-twenty thousand of the most beautiful dolls and other figures, all glittering in pearls and diamonds; and Marie is to this day the queen of a realm where all kinds of sparkling Christmas Woods, and transparent Marzipan Castles—in short, the most wonderful and beautiful things of every kind—are to be seen—by those who have the eyes to see them.
So this is the end of the tale of Nutcracker and the King of the Mice.
THE SAND-MAN
NATHANAEL TO LOTHAIR
I know you are all very uneasy because I have not written for such a long, long time. Mother, to be sure, is angry, and Clara, I dare say, believes I am living here in riot and revelry, and quite forgetting my sweet angel, whose image is so deeply engraved upon my heart and mind. But that is not so; daily and hourly I think of you all, and my lovely Clara’s form comes to gladden me in my dreams, and smiles upon me with her bright eyes, as graciously as she used to do in the days when I used to associate daily with you.
Oh! how could I write to you in the distracted state of mind in which I have been, and which, until now, has quite bewildered me! A terrible thing has happened to me. Dark forebodings of some awful fate threatening me are spreading themselves out over my head like black clouds, impenetrable to every friendly ray of sunlight. I must now tell you what has taken place; I must, that I see well enough, but only to think of it makes the wild laughter burst from my lips. Oh! my dear, dear Lothair, what shall I say to make you feel, if only in an inadequate way, that what happened to me a few days ago could thus really exercise such a hostile and disturbing influence upon my life? I wish you were here to see for yourself! But now you will, I suppose, take me for a superstitious ghost-seer. In a word, the terrible thing which I have experienced, the fatal effect of which I in vain exert every effort to shake off, is simply that some days ago, namely, on the thirtieth of October, at twelve o’clock at noon, a peddler of weather glasses and thermometers came into my room and wanted to sell me one of his wares. I bought nothing, and threatened to kick him downstairs, whereupon he went away of his own accord.
You will conclude that it can only be very peculiar relations—relations intimately intertwined with my life—that can give significance to this event, and that it must be the peddler himself who had such a very unpleasant effect upon me. And so it really is. I will summon up all my faculties in order to narrate to you calmly and patiently enough about the early days of my youth to put matters before you in such a way that your keen sharp intellect can grasp everything clearly and distinctly, in bright and living pictures.
Just as I am beginning, I hear you laugh and Clara say, “What’s all this childish nonsense about!” Well, laugh at me, laugh heartily at me, pray do. But, good God! my hair is standing on end, and I seem to be entreating you to laugh at me in the same sort of frantic despair in which Franz Moor [in Schiller’s Die Räuber] entreated Daniel to laugh him to scorn. But
to my story.
Except at dinner we, i.e., I and my brothers and sisters, saw little of our father all day long. His business no doubt took up most of his time. After our evening meal, which usually was served at seven o’clock, we all went, mother with us, into father’s room, and took our places around a round table. My father smoked his pipe, drinking a large glass of beer at the same time. Often he told us many wonderful stories, and got so excited over them that his pipe would go out; I used then to light it for him with a spill, and this formed my chief amusement. Often, again, he would give us picture books to look at, while he sat silent and motionless in his easy chair, puffing out such dense clouds of smoke that we were all as it were enveloped in mist.
On such evenings mother was very sad; and as soon as it struck nine she said, “Come, children! off to bed! Come! The Sand-man is come, I see.” And I always did seem to hear something trampling upstairs with slow heavy steps; that must be the Sand-man. Once in particular I was very much frightened at this dull trampling and knocking; as mother was leading us out of the room I asked her, “O mamma! who is this nasty Sand-man who always sends us away from papa? What does he look like?”
“There is no Sand-man, my dear,” mother answered; “when I say the Sand-man is come, I only mean that you are sleepy and can’t keep your eyes open, as if somebody had put sand in them.” This answer of mother’s did not satisfy me; nay, in my childish mind the thought clearly unfolded itself that mother denied there was a Sand-man only to prevent us from being afraid,—why, I always heard him come upstairs.
Full of curiosity to learn something more about this Sand-man and what he had to do with us children, I finally asked the old woman who acted as my youngest sister’s nurse, what sort of man he was—the Sand-man?
“Why, ’thanael, darling, don’t you know?” she replied. “Oh! he’s a wicked man, who comes to little children when they won’t go to bed and throws handfuls of sand in their eyes, so that they jump out of their heads all bloody; and he puts them into a bag and takes them to the half-moon as food for his little ones; and they sit there in the nest and have hooked beaks like owls, and they pick naughty little boys’ and girls’ eyes out with them.”
The Best Tales of Hoffmann Page 28