Nutcracker and Mouse King and The Tale of the Nutcracker

by E. T. A. Hoffmann

  “Fine,” replied the judge’s wife, “but the legation adviser is going to jump on the tables and the fireplace mantels and shatter my cups and my glasses.”

  “Oh, come on!” said Fritz. “There’s no danger! The baker’s legation adviser is too skillful to commit such blunders. I wish I could walk on the edges of gutters and the ridges of roofs as solidly and proficiently as he does.”

  “No cats in the house! No cats here!” cried the judge’s wife, who couldn’t stand cats.

  “But,” said the judge, drawn by the noise, “there was something helpful in what Herr Fritz has stated: Instead of a cat, we can use mousetraps.”

  “Goodness!” exclaimed Fritz. “They’re very welcome here since Godfather Drosselmayer invented the mousetrap.”

  Everyone burst out laughing. Now after a narrow search of the entire house, they decided that no such implement existed here. So they sent to the godfather’s home for an outstanding mousetrap, which was enticed by a piece of bacon and put in the very place where the mice had wrought so much havoc the preceding night.

  Marie went to bed, hoping that in the morning, Mouse King would be found in the trap box to which his greediness would lead him. But, around eleven P.M., when Marie was drifting into her early sleep, she was awoken by something cold and hairy that was hopping about on her arms and her face. At the same instant, the squealing and hissing that she was thoroughly familiar with reverberated in her ears. Dreadful Mouse King was there, on her bolster, his eyes scintillating with a gory flame, and his seven mouths open as if he were about to devour poor Marie.

  “I thumb my nose! I thumb my nose!” said Mouse King. “I won’t enter the small box. Your bacon doesn’t tempt me! I won’t be caught! I thumb my nose! But you have to give me your picture books and your petite silk gown. Otherwise, watch out! I’ll devour your Nutcracker.”

  We can understand why, after such a demand, Marie woke up in the morning with her soul full of pain and her eyes full of tears. Thus her mother told her nothing new when she informed her that the trap was useless, and that Mouse King must have suspected some kind of trap. Next, when the mother left to take care of preparations for breakfast, Marie stepped into the salon and, heading toward the glass cabinet, she sobbed:

  “Alas, my good and dear Herr Drosselmayer! Where is he going to stop? When I’ve given Mouse King my lovely picture books to tear up and my beautiful petite silk gown to rip apart—the gown the Infant Jesus gave me for Christmas—Mouse King still won’t be content. He’ll require something new every day. And once I have nothing more to give him, he may devour me in your stead. Alas! Poor child that I am, what should I do, my good and dear Herr Drosselmayer? What should I do?”

  Amid her weeping and lamenting, Marie noticed that Nutcracker had a drop of blood on his neck. The day on which Marie had learned that her protégé was the toy dealer’s son, and the medical counselor’s nephew, she had stopped carrying Nutcracker in her arms. She had no longer caressed or embraced him. Indeed her shyness toward him was so great that she hadn’t even dared to touch him with a fingertip.

  But at this moment, seeing he was hurt, and fearing his injury might be dangerous, Marie carefully removed him from the glass cabinet and wiped that blood away with her handkerchief. Now what was her amazement when she abruptly felt Nutcracker beginning to stir in her hand! His mouth slashed to the right and to the left, which made it look even bigger and, with great difficulty, he finished his movements, articulating these words:

  “Ah! My very dear Fräulein Silberhaus, my excellent friend! How much do I owe you, and how grateful must I be to you! Do not sacrifice your picture books and your silk gown for my sake. Just get me a sword, a good sword, and I’ll take care of the rest!”

  Nutcracker wanted to keep talking, but his speech grew unintelligible, his voice faded completely, and his eyes, briefly animated by the most tender melancholy, were now immobile and lackluster.

  Marie felt no terror. Quite the opposite: She jumped for joy, delighted as she was that she could save Nutcracker without sacrificing her picture books and her silk gown. Only one thing worried her. She had to know where to find the good sword that the little fellow was asking for.

  The little girl decided to unburden herself and describe her problems to Fritz, who, apart from his braggadocio, was, as she knew, an obliging boy. She therefore took him to the glass cabinet and told him about everything that had happened to her with Nutcracker and Mouse King. Marie ended her account by informing Fritz what service she expected of him. The only thing to make an impact on Fritz was the fact that his Hussars had actually lacked courage in the thick of battle. He asked Marie if the accusation was true, and she affirmed that it was true. Now since he knew the little girl to be incapable of lying, he reached into the cabinet and gave a long speech, which seemed to inspire a great shame.

  And that wasn’t all. To punish the entire regiment with their leaders as proxies, he lowered the rank of each and every officer one by one. He also ordered the trumpeters not to play the march “Hussars of the Guard” for a whole year. Then, turning to Marie, he said:

  “As for Nutcracker, he seems to be a decent boy, and I think I can help him get a sword. Yesterday I cashiered an old major of the Cuirassiers—with his pension, of course. He had completed his hitch and so I assume he no longer needs his saber, which has an excellent blade.”

  Next they had to track down the major and they found him squandering the pension that Fritz had awarded him. The major was at a small, far-flung inn at the most out-of-the-way nook of the third shelf of the cabinet. As Fritz had assumed, the major didn’t cause any problems in handing over his saber, which was now useless for him.

  That night, Marie couldn’t fall asleep. She was so wide awake that she could hear the twelve strokes emitted by the clock in the salon. Scarcely had the vibrations of the last stroke faded when bizarre noises resounded from the cabinet, and the clashing of swords made it seem as if two fierce adversaries were facing each other. Suddenly, one of the combatants squealed.

  “Mouse King!” exclaimed Marie, both joyful and terrified.

  At first, nothing budged. But then somebody tapped softly, very softly, and a harmonious voice spoke:

  “My very dear Mademoiselle Silberhaus, I am bringing you some wonderful news! Please open the door, I beg you!”

  Marie recognized young Drosselmayer’s voice. She slipped into her little gown and briskly opened the door. There was Nutcracker, his left hand clutching a blood-stained saber, his right hand gripping a candle. Upon seeing Marie, he knelt before her and said:

  “You alone, Mademoiselle, animated me with the chivalrous courage that I have just deployed. You also gave my arm the strength to fight the insolent creature who dared to threaten you. That miserable Mouse King is now bathing in his own blood. Please, Mademoiselle, would you disdain the trophies of victory, which are offered by a knight who will be devoted to you until his last breath?”

  Nutcracker removed Mouse King’s seven gold crowns from his left arm, having worn them as bracelets, and he presented them to Marie, who was thrilled to accept them.

  Encouraged by this benevolence, Nutcracker stood up and continued:

  “Oh, my dear Demoiselle Silberhaus, now that I have vanquished my enemy, what admirable things could I not show you if you had the gracious condescendence to accompany me for only a few paces? Oh, do it, do it, my dear demoiselle, I beg you.”

  Marie didn’t waver for even an instant. She followed Nutcracker, knowing that she owed him her gratitude and quite certain that he had no designs on her.

  “I’ll follow you, my dear Herr Drosselmayer,” she said. “But the trip mustn’t be long and the destination mustn’t be far—you see, I didn’t get enough sleep last night.”

  “Then,” said Nutcracker, “I’ll choose the shorter road even though it’s the more difficult one.”

  Next he walked ahead, followed by Marie.

  The Kingdom of Dolls

  The two of them
soon arrived in front of an old and huge armoire that stood in a corridor right next to the door, serving as a wardrobe. Nutcracker halted. To her great astonishment, Marie noticed that the cabinet leaves, usually shut tight, were wide open. As a result, she had a marvelous view of her father’s travel pelisse, a fox skin hanging in front of the other garments. Nutcracker very skillfully climbed up along the edges. With the help of frogs and loops, he managed to reach the great crest, which, attached by a thick braid, hung down the back of the pelisse. Nutcracker promptly drew forth some charming cedar steps, which he arranged in such a way that their base touched the ground while their head vanished inside the sleeve of the pelisse.

  “And now, my dear Mademoiselle,” said Nutcracker, “please be so kind as to give me your hand and go up together with me.”

  Marie obeyed. And scarcely was she seen through the sleeve than a light sparkled in front of her. Suddenly, she was transported to the middle of a fragrant meadow, which scintillated as if it had been completely strewn with precious stones.

  “Oh, my goodness!” cried Marie, bedazzled. “Just where are we, my dear Herr Drosselmayer?”

  “We are in the Sugar Candy Plain, Mademoiselle. But we won’t stop off here, if you don’t mind. We will immediately pass through this gate.”

  Only now did Marie, raising her eyes, notice an admirable gate through which you could leave the plain. The gate seemed to be built out of white marble, red marble, and brown marble. But when Marie drew nearer, she saw that the entire gate was made of preserves—orgeat blossoms, pralines, and currants. That was why, according to Nutcracker, this gate was known as the Praline Gate.

  The gate opened upon an immense gallery supported by columns of barley sugar. On top of the gallery, six monkeys clad in red were making music—if not the most melodious then at least the most original. Marie was in such a hurry to arrive that she didn’t even realize she was walking on a pavement of pistachios and macaroons, which she quite simply mistook for marble.

  At last, she reached the end of the gallery, and no sooner was she out in the fresh air than she found herself overpowered by the most delicious perfumes, which emanated from a charming little forest that opened in front of her. This forest, which would have been dark without its countless lights, was so thoroughly illuminated that you could sharply distinguish the gold and silver fruits which were suspended from branches adorned by ribbons and bouquets and similar to those of joyful newlyweds.

  “Oh, my dear Herr Drosselmayer!” cried Marie. “Please tell me! What is this charming place?”

  “We’re in Christmas Forest, Mademoiselle,” said Nutcracker. “This is where they get the trees on which the Infant Jesus hangs his presents.”

  “Oh!” Marie continued. “Couldn’t I stop here for a moment? It’s so comfortable and it smells so good!”

  Nutcracker applauded, and several shepherds and shepherdesses, huntsmen and huntswomen emerged from the forest. They were so white and delicate that they looked like refined sugar. They were also carrying a lovely easy chair made of chocolate encrusted with angelica. They placed a jujube cushion on the chair and they very cordially urged Marie to sit down.

  No sooner was she sitting than, as is customary in operas, the shepherds and shepherdesses, the huntsmen and huntswomen took their positions. They began to dance a delightful ballet accompanied by horns. The huntsmen blew the horns in a very masculine way that colored their faces so that they looked as if they had made preserves of roses. When the performance was done, they vanished in the bushes.

  “Please forgive me, my dear Mademoiselle Silberhaus,” said Nutcracker, giving Marie his hand. “Forgive me for offering you such a dreadful ballet. These rascals can only keep reiterating the same choreography that they’ve performed a hundred times. As for the huntsmen, they blew their horns like good-for-nothings. I assure you that I’ll be dealing with them all. Let’s leave these nobodies and let’s continue our promenade, if you please.”

  “Why, I find all these things very appealing,” said Marie, accepting Nutcracker’s invitation. “It strikes me, my dear Herr Drosselmayer, that you’re being unfair to the little dancers.”

  Nutcracker pouted, which signified: “We’ll see, and your indulgence will be counted in their favor.”

  They went on, arriving on the banks of a creek that seemed to exhale all the fragrances that filled the air.

  “This,” said Nutcracker without even waiting for Marie to question him, “is the Orange River. It’s one of the smallest rivers in the kingdom. Apart from its lovely scents, it can’t be compared to the Lemonade River, which flows into the Southern Sea, which is known as the Punch Sea, and it can’t be compared to Lake Orgeat, which empties into the Northern Sea, which is known as the Almond Milk Sea.”

  Not far from there lay a small village, in which houses, churches, the presbytery—in short, everything was brown. However, the roofs were gilded, and the walls were resplendent and encrusted with small pink, blue, and white bonbons.

  “That’s Marzipan Hamlet,” said Nutcracker. “It’s a genteel hamlet, as you can see, and it’s situated on the Honey Creek. The inhabitants are a pleasant sight to behold, but they are always in a bad mood because they suffer from constant toothaches.

  “However, dear Mademoiselle Silberhaus, we can’t halt at every village and every townlet in the kingdom. To the capital! To the capital!”

  Nutcracker walked on, still holding Marie’s hand. But he now moved more briskly, for Marie, who was very curious, walked at his side, as light as a bird. After a while, the scent of roses wafted through the air, and everything around them took on a rosy tint. Marie noticed that it was the fragrance and the reflection of a river of attar of roses, which rolled its little waves with a charming melody. Silver swans with gold necklaces glided slowly on the water, crooning the most delicious songs, and this very joyful harmony seemed to make the diamond fish skip around them.

  “Ah!” Marie explained. “This is the lovely river that Godfather Drosselmayer wanted to give me at Christmas, and I’m the little girl who petted the swans.”

  The Journey

  Nutcracker clapped again, and the river of attar of roses swelled perceptibly. And from its agitated waves, a wagon of seashells emerged. This vehicle, covered with jewels that sparkled in the sun, was drawn by gold dolphins. A dozen charming little Moors, sporting dorado scales on their heads and suits of hummingbird feathers, jumped ashore. And they gently carried first Marie, then Nutcracker, to the vehicle, which began to cross the water.

  The sight of Marie on her seashell carriage was, we must admit, a ravishing tableau, comparable to Cleopatra’s voyage up the Cydnus River. Marie was bathed in fragrances as she floated on waves of attar of roses, drawn along by gold dolphins, who reared their heads, launching brilliant sheaves of rosy crystal in the air, then falling back in a rain that ran the gamut of all the colors of the rainbow. Finally, with all the senses imbued with joy, a sweet harmony began to resound, and delicate, silvery voices could be heard singing:

  “Who is sailing on the river of attar of roses? Is it Queen Mab or Queen Titania? Answer me, you little fish who scintillate under the waves, similar to liquid lightning. Answer me, you graceful swans who glide across the watery surface. Answer me, you colorful birds who fly through the air like hovering flowers.”

  Meanwhile, the dozen little Moors, who had jumped in back of the seashell vehicle, rhythmically shook their small parasols, which were decorated with chimes. The shade cast by these parasols provided a shelter for Marie, who, leaning over the water, smiled at the charming face, which smiled at her from every passing wave.

  Thus she forded the river of attar of roses and approached the opposite shore. Then, when the shore was only an oar’s length away, the dozen Moors leaped into the water or on the riverbank. Forming a chain, they carried Marie and Nutcracker on an angelica carpet strewn with peppermint candy.

  Next, they had to pass through a small grove, which was perhaps even lovelier than Christ
mas Forest, whereby each tree shimmered and sparkled with its own essence. But most remarkable of all were the fruits hanging from the various branches. Not only were these fruits of a singular color and transparency—some of them were yellow like topazes, others red like rubies, topped off by a strange perfume.

  “We’re in Marmalade Forest,” said Nutcracker, “and the capital is just beyond that border.”

  And indeed, when Marie pushed away the final branches, she was stunned by the vastness, the magnificence, and the originality of the city that now loomed before them on a lawn of flowers. Not only were the walls and the belfries resplendent with the most vivid colors, but there was no chance of encountering the same shapes of the buildings anywhere else on earth. As for the gates and the ramparts, they were constructed entirely of glacé fruits, their true colors shining in the sun and dazzled more brilliant by the crystallized sugar that covered them. At the main gate, through which they entered the capital, silver soldiers presented their weapons, and a little manikin, enveloped in a gold brocade house coat, flung his arms around Nutcracker, saying:

  “Oh! Dear Prince, you’ve come at last! Welcome to Marmaladeburg.”

  Marie was a bit astonished by the pompous title given Nutcracker. But she was then so distracted by the noise of a huge number of voices jabbering together that she asked Nutcracker if people were rioting or celebrating in the capital of the Kingdom of Dolls.

  “Neither one, dear Mademoiselle Silberhaus,” replied Nutcracker. “You see, the capital is a joyful, densely populated city that creates a hullabaloo on the surface of the earth. And this occurs every single day, as you will see. Just take the trouble to keep going forward—that’s all I ask of you!”

  Impelled by her own curiosity as well as Nutcracker’s cordial invitation, Marie quickened her steps. Soon she arrived at the marketplace, which had the most magnificent vista in the world. All the surrounding houses were sugar candy, with galleries upon galleries. And at the center of the square, in the shape of an obelisk, there was a gigantic brioche, in the midst of which four fountains bubbled away: lemonade, orangeade, orgeat, and currant syrup. As for the basins, they were filled with whipped cream so appetizing that countless very elegant people, who appeared to be at the acme of fashion, were publicly eating the whipped cream with spoons. However, most agreeable and most entertaining at once were the charming little people strolling arm in arm, elbowing one another, laughing, singing, chatting at the top of their lungs—all of which unleashed the merry tumult that Marie had heard. Aside from the inhabitants of the capital, there were men from every corner of the world: Armenians, Jews, Greeks, Tyroleans, officers, soldiers, preachers, Capuchin monks, shepherds, Punchinellos—in short, all kinds of men, jugglers and tumblers, whom you encounter in the world.