The Nutcracker

by E T A Hoffman

  The children longed, heart and soul, to go out into the wood, and they stopped listening to their tutor. He lost his temper at that, brought both fists down on the table, and muttered, growling and buzzing, “Brr—zzz—prrr—bzz—grrr—bzz—what’s all this? Pay attention!”

  Felix couldn’t stand it any longer. He jumped up, crying, “Never mind all this silly nonsense, Master Inkblot. I want to run in the wood. You go and look for Cousin Knickerbockers, this is more in his line! Come on, Christlieb, the strange child is waiting for us!”

  With that they ran off, but Master Inkblot jumped up and ran very nimbly after them. He caught up with the children just as they reached the doorway. Felix resisted him bravely, and Master Inkblot had nearly lost the scuffle, for the faithful dog Sultan had also come to Felix’s aid. Usually a good, well-behaved dog, Sultan had taken a decided dislike to Master Inkblot from the moment he set eyes on him. As soon as the tutor came close he growled and waved his tail so vigorously that, since he knew just how to snuffle at Master Inkblot’s spindly little legs, he almost knocked him over. Now Sultan jumped up at the tutor, who was holding Felix by both his shoulders, and without more ado seized the collar of Master Inkblot’s coat in his jaws. Master Inkblot set up a pitiful howling, whereupon Sir Thaddeus came hurrying along. The tutor let go of Felix, and Sultan let go of the tutor.

  “We’re not allowed to go into the wood any more, Papa!” complained Christlieb, weeping bitterly. Although Sir Thaddeus gave Felix a good scolding, he felt sorry for the children now that they were not supposed to run around in the woods and meadows. Master Inkblot had to agree to take the children out to the wood once a day, reluctant as he was. “If this house only had a sensible fenced garden with box hedges in it, Sir Thaddeus,” he said, “then I could walk there with the children at midday. But what in the world are we going to do in the wild wood?” The children were not happy about it either, and said, “What on earth is Master Inkblot going to do in our dear wood?”

  HOW THE CHILDREN WENT TO THE WOOD WITH MASTER INKBLOT, AND WHAT HAPPENED THEN

  “WELL, DON’T YOU LIKE it in our wood, Master Inkblot?” Felix asked the tutor as they walked past the rustling bushes. Master Inkblot made a cross face, and said, “It’s a poor sort of place, there’s no proper path, we shall just tear our stockings, and what with the horrible screeching of those stupid birds we won’t be able to say a sensible word.”

  “Aha, Master Inkblot,” said Felix, “I can see that you don’t understand the birdsong, you don’t even hear the morning wind talking to the bushes, and the old brook running through the wood telling its wonderful tales.”

  “Oh,” said Christlieb, interrupting Felix, “don’t you even like the flowers, Master Inkblot?”

  Master Inkblot went yet darker in the face than he naturally was, struck out with his hands and cried angrily, “Why do you two say such silly things? Who put this foolishness into your heads? To think of woods and brooks having the impertinence to engage in sensible conversation—that’s all I needed! There’s no sense in birdsong either. As for flowers, I don’t mind them if they’re nicely arranged in vases indoors, where they smell sweet and save you money on room perfumes, but no real flowers grow in the wood.”

  “Oh, Master Inkblot,” said Christlieb, “don’t you see those pretty lilies of the valley looking at you with their bright, friendly eyes?”

  “What, what?” screeched the tutor. “Flowers? With eyes? Ha ha ha! A fine sort of eyes, I must say! These useless things don’t even smell sweet!” And with these words Master Inkblot bent down, pulled up a whole clump of lilies of the valley, roots and all, and threw them away into the bushes. The children felt as if a cry of sorrow went through the wood. Christlieb shed bitter tears, and Felix gritted his teeth. Then a little greenfinch fluttered past Master Inkblot’s face, perched on a branch and sang a merry song. “I do believe,” said the tutor, “I do believe that that’s a mocking-bird!” And he picked up a stone, threw it at the greenfinch and hit the poor bird, which fell off the green branch to the ground, silenced by death.

  This was too much for Felix. “You horrible Master Inkblot!” he cried angrily. “What did that poor bird ever do to harm you and make you kill it? Oh, where are you, dear strange child, do come back and let’s fly far away. I don’t want to be here with this nasty man any more, I want to fly away to your home!”

  Weeping and sobbing, Christlieb joined in too. “Oh dear sweet child, please come to us, do please come to us! Oh, save us, save us! If Master Inkblot can kill flowers and birds he’ll strike us dead as well!”

  “What’s all this about a strange child?” cried the tutor. But at that moment there was a louder rustling in the bushes, and in the murmur of their leaves the children heard heart-rending melancholy music like the faint chime of bells ringing very far away. A shining cloud came down low, and in it they saw the strange child’s lovely face approaching. But tears like bright pearls were running down their friend’s rosy cheeks. “Oh, dear playmates,” wailed the strange child, “I can’t come to be with you any more, and you will never see me again! Farewell, farewell! Pepser the gnome has you in his power, you poor children. Goodbye for ever!” And with those words the strange child rose high into the air.

  But behind the children there was a fearsome humming and buzzing and snarling and growling. Master Inkblot had turned into a huge, horrible fly, and the worst of the sight was that he still had a human face and even kept some of his clothes on. He rose slowly from the ground, flying with difficulty, and obviously intending to follow the strange child. Felix and Christlieb ran out of the wood in fear and horror. They didn’t dare look up until they were in the open fields. Then they saw a shining patch in the clouds, twinkling like a star and seeming to come down a little lower.

  “There’s the strange child again!” cried Christlieb.

  But the star grew larger and larger, and the children heard a sound like a fanfare of trumpets. Soon they could see that the star was a beautiful bird, magnificent in glittering golden plumage, beating its mighty wings and singing aloud as it came down over the wood.

  “Oh, look,” cried Felix. “It’s the Pheasant Prince. He’ll peck Master Inkblot to death—ha ha, the strange child is safe and so are we! Come along, Christlieb, let’s hurry home and tell Papa what’s happened.”

  HOW SIR THADDEUS VON BRAKEL SENT MASTER INKBLOT PACKING

  SIR THADDEUS VON BRAKEL and his good lady were sitting outside the door of their little house, looking at the sky as the bright sun began to set behind the blue mountains. Their supper was on a small table in front of them, a good bowl of delicious milk and a plate of bread and butter.

  “I can’t think,” said Sir Thaddeus, “I can’t think where Master Inkblot and the children have been all this time. First he protested that he didn’t want to go to the wood at all, and now he won’t come out again. This Master Inkblot is a very strange man, and I’m beginning to feel it might have been better if he’d never come here. I didn’t like it when he pricked the children so viciously as soon as he arrived, and there may not be so very much in his famous natural sciences either, for he trots out all manner of strange words and stuff that no one can understand. He knows what kind of gaiters the Grand Mogul wears, but out-of-doors he can’t tell a chestnut tree from a linden tree, and he behaves very foolishly and tastelessly in general. I don’t see how the children can possibly respect him.”

  “I feel,” replied Lady von Brakel, “I feel just the same, dear husband! Glad as I was that your cousin kindly wanted to do something for our children, I am convinced now that it could have been in a better way than by burdening us with Master Inkblot. As for the natural sciences, I don’t know about those, but one thing’s certain, I like that dark, fat little man with his spindly legs less and less. First and foremost, he’s shockingly greedy, and I don’t care for that. He can’t pass a tankard with a few dregs of beer or milk left in it without draining it, and if he sees the sugar box standing open he’s on it like
a flash, sniffing and nibbling until I slam the lid down in front of his nose. Then he goes off in a huff, buzzing and humming in a very strange, unpleasant way.”

  Sir Thaddeus was about to continue this conversation when Felix and Christlieb came running full tilt out of the birch trees. “Hooray, hooray!” Felix kept shouting. “Hooray, hooray! The Pheasant Prince has pecked Master Inkblot to death!”

  “Oh, Mama!” cried Christlieb, out of breath. “Master Inkblot isn’t Master Inkblot after all, he’s Pepser the King of the Gnomes, and he’s really a nasty huge fly wearing a wig and shoes and stockings.”

  The children’s parents looked at them in astonishment as they went on talking, very excited and heated now, telling their mother and father about the strange child, the strange child’s mother the Fairy Queen, Pepser the King of the Gnomes and the Pheasant Prince’s battle with him.

  “Whoever put all this nonsense into your heads?” asked Sir Thaddeus again and again. But the children insisted that it had all happened just as they said, and the ugly Pepser, who had only been pretending to be their tutor Master Inkblot, must be lying dead in the wood. Lady von Brakel clasped her hands above her head and cried, in distress, “Children, children, what’s to become of you if you take such dreadful ideas into your heads, and nothing will persuade you they’re not true?”

  But Sir Thaddeus von Brakel grew very grave and thoughtful. “Felix, you’re a sensible boy,” he said, “and I may as well tell you that Master Inkblot has seemed to me a very strange fellow all along. Yes, it struck me that there was something very odd about him, and that he was not at all like other tutors! And indeed, your mother and I are not entirely happy with Master Inkblot, your mother mainly because he’s so greedy, always nibbling, always sniffing at sweet things, and humming and hawing so nastily. So he won’t be staying here much longer. But now, my dear boy, do stop and think! Even supposing such nasty creatures as gnomes really existed, how do you think a tutor could be a fly?”

  Felix looked Sir Thaddeus straight in the face with his clear blue eyes, very seriously. Sir Thaddeus repeated his question. “Tell me, my boy, how do you suppose a tutor could be a fly?”

  “I never thought of such a thing before, and I wouldn’t have believed it myself now,” said Felix, “if the strange child hadn’t told me so, and if I hadn’t seen with my own eyes that Pepser is a nasty fly and was only pretending to be Master Inkblot. And Papa,” he went on, when Sir Thaddeus shook his head in silence, so astonished that he didn’t know what to say, “and Papa, tell me, didn’t Master Inkblot once more or less admit that he was really a fly? Didn’t I hear him say, here at our door, that there were no flies on him—and how could there be, if he was a fly himself? And I don’t suppose a person can change his nature! And then remember that, as Mama says, Master Inkblot was terribly greedy, always sniffing at sweet things, and what else do flies do? Think of all that nasty humming and buzzing!”

  “Hush!” cried Sir Thaddeus von Brakel, quite angry now. “Whatever Master Inkblot may be, one thing’s certain, no Pheasant Prince has pecked him to death, because here he comes out of the wood!”

  At these words the children screamed and ran into the house. Sure enough, Master Inkblot was walking up the slope through the birch trees, but he looked very wild, with his eyes flashing, his wig untidy, and he was buzzing and humming as he leapt high in the air from side to side, knocking his head against the tree trunks with a loud cracking sound. When he reached the supper table he fell on the bowl of milk, getting half into it, so that the milk overflowed as he lapped it up, slurping in a disgusting way.

  “For Heaven’s sake, Master Inkblot, whatever do you think you’re doing?” cried Lady von Brakel.

  “Are you mad, sir?” cried Sir Thaddeus von Brakel. “Is the Devil after you or what?”

  Taking no notice, the tutor heaved himself out of the bowl of milk and sat down on the bread and butter, shaking out his coat-tails, catching them up nimbly with his thin little legs, smoothing them down and folding them. Then, humming louder than ever, he flung himself against the door. However, he couldn’t find his way into the house, but swayed back and forth as if he were drunk, bumping into the windows and rattling the glass.

  “Now then, you!” cried Sir Thaddeus. “This is no way to behave, and you’ll be sorry for it!” He tried catching the tutor’s coat tails, but Master Inkblot kept eluding him. Then Felix came out of the house with the big fly swatter and gave it to his father.

  “Here, Papa, take this,” he cried, “and swat that nasty Pepser dead!”

  Sir Thaddeus von Brakel really did take the fly swatter, and now there was a fine chase after Master Inkblot. Felix, Christlieb and their mother had taken the napkins off the table and were waving them in the air, driving the tutor this way and that, while Sir Thaddeus kept trying to hit him with the fly swatter, although unfortunately he missed most of the time, for the tutor took care never to stand still for a moment. And on and on went the hunt—bzzz, bzzz, bzzz! The tutor scurried up and down, while Sir Thaddeus hit out with the fly swatter—slap, slap!—and Felix, Christlieb and Lady von Brakel chased their enemy. At last Sir Thaddeus managed to catch the tutor’s coat tails. Groaning, he fell to the ground, but just as Sir Thaddeus was about to bring the fly swatter down again he heaved himself up, redoubling his strength, and stormed away in the direction of the birch trees, snarling and buzzing, and that was the last anyone ever saw of him.

  “Thank goodness we’re rid of that terrible Master Inkblot,” said Sir Thaddeus von Brakel. “He shall never darken my doors again!”

  “I should think not!” said Lady von Brakel. “Tutors with manners like that can only do harm! Boasting of his natural sciences and then plunging into a bowl of milk! A fine sort of tutor, if you ask me!” But the children shouted for joy and cried,

  “Hooray—Papa hit Master Inkblot on the nose with the fly swatter and then he ran away! Hip hip hooray!”

  WHAT HAPPENED IN THE WOOD AFTER MASTER INKBLOT HAD BEEN CHASED AWAY

  FELIX AND CHRISTLIEB BREATHED freely again, as if a heavy weight had been lifted from their hearts. Above all, however, they thought that now ugly Pepser had flown away the strange child would surely come back, and they would all play together as they used to. They went into the wood full of joyful expectation, but all was silent and desolate there, no cheerful birdsong from the finches and siskins was heard, and instead of the merry rustling of the bushes, instead of the happy rippling of the brook, sighs of anguish filled the air. The rays cast by the sun from the hazy sky were pale. Soon a black cloud towered up, a stormy wind blew, thunder began to mutter angrily in the distance, and the tall pines groaned and creaked. Christlieb, trembling and hesitant, kept close to Felix, but he said, “What are you so afraid of, Christlieb? There’s a storm brewing, we must hurry home.”

  They began running, but instead of coming out of the wood—how it happened they themselves didn’t know—they made their way further and further in. It grew darker and darker, large raindrops fell, and lightning flashes hissed across the sky. The children found themselves near a dense, thick tangle of bushes.

  “Christlieb,” said Felix, “let’s take shelter here for a little while. The storm can’t last long.”

  Christlieb was weeping with fear, but she did as Felix said. However, as soon as they were sitting in the middle of the dense bushes they heard harsh, rasping voices right behind them saying, “Silly things, simple-minded creatures—despised us—didn’t know how to treat us! Now you can do without toys, you silly, simple-minded things!”

  Felix looked around, and he felt his flesh creep when he saw the toy huntsman and harpist he had thrown away rise from the undergrowth, staring at him with red eyes and waving and gesticulating with their little hands. The harpist plucked his strings with a jarring, jangling noise, and the huntsman even levelled his little shotgun at Felix. Then they both croaked, “You just wait, boy, you just wait, girl, we are Master Inkblot’s obedient pupils, he’ll soon be here, and then
we’ll make you sorry you ever defied him!”

  The rain was now pouring down, thunder was rolling overhead, the stormy wind was roaring in the branches of the pine trees, but taking no notice of that the children ran in terror from the bushes to the bank of the big pond at the side of the wood. But as soon as they reached it, Christlieb’s big doll rose from the reeds into which Felix had thrown her and said in a grating voice, “Silly things, simple-minded creatures—despised me—didn’t know how to treat me! Now you can do without toys, you silly, simple-minded things! You just wait, boy, you just wait, girl, we are Master Inkblot’s obedient pupils, he’ll soon be here, and then we’ll make you sorry you defied him!”

  Then the disfigured doll sprayed streams of water into the faces of the two children, who were already drenched with rain. Felix could stand no more of this terrible haunting, poor Christlieb was half-dead of fright, but once again they ran away. In the middle of the wood, however, they dropped to the ground, worn out by fear and exhaustion. There was a humming and a buzzing in the air behind them. “Here comes Master Inkblot!” cried Felix, but at that moment both he and poor Christlieb lost consciousness.