Godfather Drosselmayer then burst out laughing and said: “Goodness, my dear goddaughter! I don’t understand how a pretty girl like you can be so kind to that horrid manikin!”
Marie turned around. In her neighborly love, the compliment paid to her by her godfather (“pretty”) was not sufficient compensation for the unjust attack against Nutcracker. Contrary to her nature, she was inundated by a great anger. And this vague comparison between Godfather and the manikin in the wooden cape crossed her mind:
“Godfather Drosselmayer,” she said. “You’re unfair to my poor little Nutcracker, whom you call a horrid manikin! Who knows—if you even had his pretty little polonaise, his pretty little culottes, and his pretty little boots—who knows if you wouldn’t look as good as he does.”
Marie’s parents started laughing, and the medical counselor’s nose grew prodigiously. Why did it grow? And why did the parents burst out laughing? That was what Marie, astonished by the effect of her reply, was trying vainly to fathom. Now since there is no effect without a cause, this effect was doubtlessly attached to some unknown and mysterious cause, which will be explained below.
Wondrous Things
I do not know, my dear little friends, if you recall that I mentioned a huge glass cabinet in which the children locked away their toys. This cabinet stood to the right of the entrance to the judge’s salon. Marie had still been in her cradle, and Fritz had barely been able to walk, when the judge had ordered this cabinet from a highly skillful artisan. The cabinetmaker had decorated the cabinet with squares so brilliant that the toys were ten times more beautiful on the shelves than in your hands.
On the topmost level, beyond the reach of Marie and Fritz, were the masterpieces of Godfather Drosselmayer. Directly underneath were the picture books, while the two shelves below were given over to Marie and Fritz, who filled them to their hearts’ content. However, according to a tacit agreement, Fritz always took hold of the upper shelf for billeting his troops while Marie reserved the lower shelf for her dolls, their household goods, and their beds.
That was what happened on Christmas Day. Fritz arranged his newcomers on his upper shelf, and Marie, after relegating Mademoiselle Rose to a corner, had assigned her bedroom and her bed to Mademoiselle Claire. That was the name of the new doll, whom Marie invited over for an evening of candies. Furthermore, Mademoiselle Claire, looking all around, saw her household goods nicely arranged on the cabinet shelves. Her table was laden with bonbons and pralines, and, above all, her little white bed with its rose silk quilt was fresh and lovely. She appeared extremely satisfied with her new apartment.
Meanwhile, evening had been advancing. It was almost midnight, and Godfather Drosselmayer had long since taken his leave. The parents were unable to tear the children away from their cabinet. Contrary to his habit, though, it was Fritz who first surrendered to their reasoning: They pointed out to him that it was time he went to bed.
“Actually,” said Fritz, “upon getting drilled all evening, my poor, miserable Hussars must be dog tired. I know them. They are brave soldiers who are fully aware of their duty toward me. Since as long as I’m here, not a single man will permit himself to close his eyes, I’m going to retire right away.”
After giving them the password so they wouldn’t be caught off guard by an enemy patrol, Fritz did indeed retire for the night.
Marie, however, stayed awake. Eager to join the judge, who had already gone to their bedchamber, the mother urged the girl to tear herself away from her dear cabinet.
“Just one more instant, a teensy instant, dear Mama,” said Marie. “Let me finish my business here. I still have a lot of important things to take care of. Once I’m done, I promise I’ll go to bed.”
The voice of this both well-behaved and obedient child was so insistent that her mother saw nothing wrong in fulfilling her desire. Mademoiselle Trudchen had already gone upstairs to prepare the bed for the little girl, afraid as she was that Marie would be so absorbed in her new toys that she would forget to snuff the candles. Her mother snuffed them for her, leaving only the ceiling lamp, which spread a soft, pale light in the room. The mother retired in her turn, saying: “Go to bed soon, my dear little Marie. If you stayed up too late, you’d be exhausted, and you might not get up tomorrow.” Having said those words, the mother left the salon, shutting the door behind her.
Finding herself alone, Marie took up the thought that occupied her more than any other—her poor little Nutcracker, whom she still carried in her arm, wrapped in her pocket handkerchief. She placed him gently on the table, unswaddling him and inspecting his injuries. Nutcracker appeared to be suffering greatly—at least, he seemed very disgruntled.
“Ah. Poor manikin!” Marie whispered. “Please don’t be angry at my brother, Fritz, for all the injuries he’s inflicted on you. He meant no harm—you can be certain of that! It’s just that in his military life his manners have grown a bit crude, and his heart has hardened ever so slightly. Otherwise he’s a very fine boy—I can assure you of that. I’m convinced that when you get to know him, you’ll forgive him. To make amends for what my brother has done to you, I’m going to nurse you so properly and attentively that within a few days you’ll be cheerful and healthy again. As for reinserting your teeth and reattaching your chin, that’s the responsibility of Godfather Drosselmayer. He’s well versed in such things.”
However, Marie couldn’t finish her brief discourse. The moment she pronounced Godfather’s name, Nutcracker, to whom those words were addressed, made such an atrocious grimace, and his two green eyes flashed so brilliantly, that the terrified little girl halted and then stepped back. But as soon as Nutcracker regained his benevolent physiognomy and his melancholy smile, she assumed that it had all been an illusion, and that the flame of the lamp, agitated by some draft, had thus disfigured the manikin.
Marie even went so far as to make fun of herself and tell herself: “Honestly! It was so stupid of me to believe for even an instant that this wooden figure was capable of making faces at me. Come on! Let’s go over to him and nurse him as his position requires.”
Following this interior monologue, Marie took her protégé back into her arms, stepped over to the glass cabinet, and knocked on the door that had been closed by Fritz. She then said to the new doll:
“I beg you, Mademoiselle Claire, please turn your bed over to my Nutcracker—he’s sick. Make do for one night with the sofa. Remember that you are the picture of health, which is proved by your chubby red cheeks. Besides, one night passes quickly. The sofa is comfortable. And in all of Nuremberg there are not many dolls that are as contented as you.”
Mademoiselle Claire, as we can imagine, did not breathe a word, though it struck the little girl that the new doll looked very glum and very peevish. But Marie, who found in her conscience that she and Mademoiselle Claire had been extra cautious, made no fuss. The girl very carefully pulled over and slipped the patient under the covers, drawing them up to his chin.
Marie then reflected that she was unacquainted with the depth of the new doll’s character because she had arrived only a few hours ago. When Marie had borrowed her bed, the doll seemed to have been in an awful mood. Moreover, Marie figured that something dreadful might have happened to the patient if the manikin were left within the range of that insolent person.
In consequence, Marie placed the bed and Nutcracker on the top shelf of the cabinet, against the lovely hamlet where Fritz’s cavalry was billeted. Next, after placing Mademoiselle Claire on the sofa, Marie shut the cabinet door and was about to rejoin Mademoiselle Trudchen in her bedroom. However, the entire room around that poor girl emitted a throng of terse, dry noises behind the easy chairs, behind the stove, behind the cabinets. The big wall clock, surmounted by a huge gilded owl in lieu of the traditional cuckoo, hummed louder and louder without, however, deciding to strike amidst all this. Marie peered at the clock and she saw that the big, gilded owl had spread its wings, fully covering the dial face. The clock, as well as it could, thru
st out its repulsive feline head with its round eyes and its recurved bill. The humming grew louder and louder, changing into a murmur that resembled a human voice, and you could distinguish these words, which seemed to emerge from the beak of the owl:
“Clocks, clocks, hum very softly, Mouse King has a fine ear. Boom, boom, boom, just sing, sing the ancient song. Boom, boom, boom, ring, handbell, ring, ring the final hour, for soon he will be done for.”
And boom, boom, boom, they heard a dozen hollow, husky strokes. Marie was terrified. She shuddered from head to foot, and she was about to flee, when she spotted Godfather Drosselmayer sitting on the clock instead of the owl. Furthermore, the two tails of his yellow frock coat had taken the place of the two wings hanging from the night bird. Upon seeing this, Marie stopped in her tracks and she tearfully exclaimed:
“Godfather Drosselmayer, what are you doing up there? Come down to me, and stop trying to scare me, you wicked man!”
With these words, a shrill hissing and an enraged snickering could be heard all around. Soon you heard thousands of tiny feet pitter-pattering behind the walls. Then you saw thousands of tiny lights flickering through cracks in the walls. When I say “thousands of tiny lights,” I’m mistaken. They were actually thousands of tiny, brilliant eyes. Marie realized that she was surrounded by a whole population of mice, who were preparing to enter the room. And indeed, during the next five minutes, thousands of mice came pitter-pattering through door joints, through chinks in the floor. And trot, trot, trot, and hop, hop, hop, they galloped hither and yon. Soon they lined up in the same fashion in which Fritz arranged his soldiers for battle.
The little girl really liked this disposition, for she didn’t feel the natural and puerile terror that other children feel toward mice. She was probably about to enjoy this spectacle ad infinitum when she suddenly heard a dreadful hissing. It was so acute and so prolonged that it sent icy shivers up and down her spine.
At that moment, the floor rose up under Marie’s feet, and, pushed by a cavernous force, Mouse King, sporting his seven crowned heads, appeared at her feet, amidst sand, plaster, and crushed soil. Each of those seven heads began to hiss and nibble hideously, while the body to which they belonged emerged in its turn. The entire mouse army dashed toward its king, squeaking three times in unison. Next, while keeping their ranks, the mouse regiments started rushing all over the room, heading toward the glass cabinet. Enveloped on all sides, the girl beat a retreat—toward that cabinet.
As we have said, Marie was no scaredy-cat. But when she found herself encircled by that endless horde of mice under the command of that seven-headed monster, she was overwhelmed with fear. Her heart pounded so intensely that her chest was ready to burst. The blood seemed to freeze in her veins. She couldn’t breathe. Half fainting, she reeled backward. Finally: kling, kling, purr. The glass of the cabinet, poked by her elbow, fell on the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces.
That very instant, Marie suffered a sharp pain in her left arm, whereas her heart felt lighter, for she no longer heard those horrible squeaks, squeaks, that had terrified her. Indeed, everything around Marie had grown tranquil again. The mice had disappeared, and the girl believed that, petrified by the noise of shattering glass, those creatures had taken refuge in their holes.
However, following that almost immediate noise, a bizarre clamor resounded in the cabinet, and all the sharp, shrill voices exclaimed with all their weak might: “To arms! To arms!” At the same time, the castle bells started ringing, and murmurs came from all sides: “Mayday! Mayday! Let’s get up! It’s the enemy! Battle, battle, battle!”
Marie turned around. The cabinet was miraculously lit and it was filled with a loud hubbub. All the Harlequins, the Pierrots, the Punchinellos, and the jumping jacks were on the move, scurrying hither and yon, exhorting one another, while the dolls were shredding linen and preparing remedies for the wounded.
Finally, Nutcracker himself flung away his covers and with two feet together he leaped off the bed and onto the floor, yelling: “Crack! Crack! Crack! Stupid heap of mice! Get back to your holes or I’ll take care of you on the spot!”
However, this threat triggered a wide hissing, and Marie realized that the mice had not returned to their holes. Terrified by the clatter of shattering glass, the mice had sought refuge under the tables and under the armchairs, and now they were beginning to venture forth.
Nutcracker, far from being alarmed by the hissing, was now twice as courageous. “Ah! Miserable Mouse King!” he exclaimed. “So it’s you! And you finally accept the challenge that I’ve been offering you for ages! Come on! And let this night decide which of us two is the better one. As for you, my companions, my brothers! If it’s true that we were linked by some tenderness in Zechariah’s shop, then support me in this raw combat! Come on! Forward! Attack! And whoever loves me can follow me!”
No proclamation had ever had a similar effect. Two Harlequins, a Pierrot, two Punchinellos, and three jumping jacks cried out: “Yes, my lord, you can count on us for life and for death! We will triumph under your orders or we will perish with you!”
Upon these words, which proved that the hearts of his friends echoed his sentiments, Nutcracker felt so thoroughly electrified that he drew his saber and, heedless of the dreadful height he was on, he hurled himself from the second shelf. Marie, seeing that perilous leap, cried out, for Nutcracker was sure to break. Now Mademoiselle Claire, who was on the lower shelf, jumped from her sofa and received Nutcracker in her arms.
“Ah! Dear, kind little Claire!” exclaimed Marie, tenderly joining her two hands. “How gravely I misjudged you!”
But Mademoiselle Claire, fully given to the situation, told Nutcracker: “Excuse me, sir. Already wounded and suffering as you are, how can you risk new dangers? Stick to commanding! Let the others fight. Your courage is well known and it won’t gain anything if I furnish more proof.”
Speaking those words, Mademoiselle Claire tried to hold back the valiant Nutcracker. She pressed him against her silk bodice, but he wriggled and struggled so much that she was forced to let him escape. He glided from her arms and, falling to his feet with perfect grace, he placed one knee on the floor and said to her:
“Princess, rest assured that even though you were unjust to me at a certain time, I will never forget you—even in the thickest fray of battle!”
Mademoiselle Claire leaned over him as far as she could and, clutching his little arm, she forced him to stand up again. Next, vividly removing her sparkling spangled belt, she turned it into a scarf that she wanted to slip around the young hero’s neck. But he recoiled two paces. Bowing as evidence of his gratitude for such a great favor, he undid the small, white ribbon with which Marie had bandaged him. He raised the ribbon to his lips, and then drew it around his waist. Light and swift as a bird, brandishing his sword, he leaped from the shelf to the floor.
The squeaking and squealing resumed more fiercely than ever, and Mouse King, as if in response to Nutcracker’s challenge, emerged from under the huge central table. Mouse King was accompanied by his army, while to the right and to the left, the soldiers of the two wings started overrunning the armchairs, where they had entrenched themselves.
The Battle
“Bugles, sound the charge! Drums, call to arms!” hollered Nutcracker. And the bugles of Fritz’s Hussars started blasting, while the drums of his infantry began beating, and you could hear the dull boom of cannons jumping on their mounts.
At the same time, a corps of musicians was formed. There were barbers with their guitars, piferaris with their accordions, Swiss shepherds with their horns, Africans with their triangles. Although not summoned by Nutcracker, they nevertheless began to descend as volunteers from shelf to shelf, playing the March of the Samnites. This got even the most peaceable men excited, and at that very moment, a kind of national guard took shape, commanded by the Swiss mercenary of the parish. The ranks were filled with Harlequins, Punchinellos, Pierrots, and jumping jacks, and in an instant, the guar
ds, arming themselves with whatever they could grab, were prepared for combat. The last to go was a cook, who, abandoning his fire, came down with his skewer, on which he had half roasted a turkey. He now took his position in the ranks. Nutcracker gained control of this intrepid battalion, which, to the shame of the regular troops, was the first to be prepared.
We also have to reveal everything, for one might think we were blinded by our empathy with the illustrious Citizens’ Militia, to which I belong. It was not the fault of Fritz’s Hussars and foot soldiers that they couldn’t press forward as rapidly as the others. After fixing the advanced sentinels and the outlying posts, Fritz had barracked the rest of his army, locking it up in four boxes. The unfortunate prisoners had therefore heard uselessly the drum and the bugle, which summoned them to combat. They were locked up, unable to leave. You could hear them swarming in their boxes like lobsters in a basket. But no matter how hard they tried, they were unable to escape. Finally, the grenadiers, less tightly shut than the others, managed to raise the lid of their box, and they now lent a hand to the chasseurs and the riflemen. Within an instant, they were all on their feet. Sensing how valuable the cavalry would be for them, they went to deliver the Hussars, who started capering on the flanks and lining up four abreast.
However, if the regular troops were several minutes late, they quickly made up for lost time, thanks to the discipline in which Fritz had always maintained them. Horsemen, gunners, foot soldiers started plunging down like an avalanche, amid the applause of Mademoiselle Rose and Mademoiselle Claire, who clapped their hands, watching them pass, and who egged them on with their voices and their gestures. They resembled those beautiful chatelaines from whom they were, no doubt, descended.
However, Mouse King had understood that he would be facing a full army. Indeed, at the center stood Nutcracker with his valiant Civic Guard; at the left, the Hussar regiment, waiting solely for the moment to charge; at the right, a formidable infantry. Meanwhile, on a stool that dominated the whole battlefield, a battery of ten cannons was established. Furthermore, a powerful reserve composed of gingerbread manikins and sugary cavaliers of all colors had remained in the cabinet, and now they were making their presence felt in their turn. But Mouse King was too advanced to move back. And he gave the signal with a “squeak,” which was echoed in unison by his entire army.
Nutcracker and Mouse King and The Tale of the Nutcracker Page 13