The Nutcracker Read online

  Pantaloon had led some brilliant cavalry charges, covering himself with glory, but the mouse artillery pelted Fritz’s hussars with nasty, bad-smelling little pellets that left ugly marks on their scarlet uniforms, so they didn’t want to advance. Pantaloon ordered them to wheel off to the left, and in the heat of this moment of command he took his own cuirassiers and dragoons and wheeled to the left too, that’s to say they all wheeled to the left and went home. That left the battery on the footstool exposed to danger, and it wasn’t long before a dense crowd of very ugly mice stormed it with such force that the footstool fell over, with the cannon and the gunners and all. Nutcracker looked dismayed, and ordered the right wing to fall back. You, my battle-hardened friend Fritz, know that a manoeuvre like that almost amounts to running away, and like me you will grieve for the misfortune that was now about to overwhelm the army of little Nutcracker whom Marie loved so much.

  So turn your eyes away from this sad sight, and look instead at the left wing of Nutcracker’s army, which was standing its ground well, and there were good reasons for the commander and his army to hope for victory. In the heat of battle, reinforcements of mouse cavalry had emerged from under the chest of drawers very, very quietly, to fall furiously and with a terrible loud squealing on the left wing of Nutcracker’s army, but they met with stubborn resistance there!

  Gradually, and as far as the difficulty of the terrain allowed, for they had to get out across the edge of the cupboard, a troop of little sugar figures with mottos inside them had advanced under the command of two Chinese emperors, and had formed a square. These bold and fine if motley troops, numbering among them many gardeners, Tyroleans, Mongolians, barbers, Harlequins, Cupids, lions, tigers, monkeys and apes, fought with composure, courage and endurance. With Spartan bravery, this elite battalion would have snatched victory from the enemy, had not a bold enemy captain forging his way forward simply bitten off the head of one of the Chinese emperors, who brought down two Mongolians and a monkey as he fell. There was now a gap through which the enemy poured, and soon the whole battalion was bitten to pieces. But the enemy derived little advantage from this brutality. As soon as a mouse cavalryman savagely bit one of the bold adversaries in half he got a small printed piece of paper stuck in his throat, from the effects of which he instantly died.

  But did this help Nutcracker’s army which, once on the retreat, withdrew further and further, losing more and more men, so that the unfortunate Nutcracker with a small company stood at bay outside the glass-fronted cupboard? “Come out, you reserve troops! Pantaloon, Scaramouche, Drummer, where are you?” cried Nutcracker, still hoping for reinforcements to emerge from the cupboard. And a few brown honey-cake men and women from Thorn with gilded faces, hats and helmets did come out, but they fought with so little skill that they struck down none of the enemy and had soon swept the cap off the head of their commander Nutcracker himself. Then the enemy chasseurs bit their legs off, so that they fell over, bringing down some of Nutcracker’s companions-in-arms. Now Nutcracker, surrounded by the enemy, was in dire straits. He wanted to jump up and get in over the edge of the cupboard, but his legs were too short. Clara and Trudy had fainted away, and could not help him—hussars and dragoons leapt merrily past him and into the cupboard, and in sheer despair he cried, “A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse!”

  At that moment two of the enemy infantry seized his wooden cape, and up raced the Mouse King, his seven throats squealing triumphantly. Marie could hardly control her grief. “Oh, my poor Nutcracker, my poor Nutcracker!” she cried, sobbing, and without being fully aware of what she was doing she took off her left shoe and threw it with all her might into the thick of the mouse forces and straight at their king. At that moment everything seemed to fly up into the air and away, but Marie still felt a sharp pain in her left arm, and she sank to the floor in a faint.

  MARIE’S SICKNESS

  WHEN MARIE WOKE from from a deep sleep she was lying in her own little bed, and the sparkling sun was shining brightly through the frost flowers on the window and into her room. Beside her sat a man she didn’t know, but she soon realised that he was Doctor Wendelstern the surgeon.

  “Ah, she’s woken up!” he said quietly. Then Marie’s mother came in, and examined her closely with an anxious expression.

  “Oh, dear Mother,” whispered little Marie, “have the hideous mice all gone, and is dear good Nutcracker safe?”

  “Don’t talk such nonsense, Marie dear,” replied her mother. “What do mice have to do with your Nutcracker? We’ve all been so worried about you, you naughty child! That’s what comes of it when self-willed children don’t do as their parents say. You were playing with your dolls yesterday until late at night. Then you felt sleepy, and perhaps a little mouse running out scared you, although we don’t usually have any mice here. Anyway, you broke one of the glass panes in the front of the cupboard with your arm, cutting it so badly that Doctor Wendelstern, who has just been taking all the little splinters of glass out, thinks that if you had cut an artery you’d have been left with a stiff arm for life or might even have bled to death. Thank God I woke up at midnight, realised that you were not in bed yet, got up and went to the sitting room. And there you lay on the floor, close to the glass-fronted cupboard, bleeding heavily. I almost fainted away myself with fright. As you lay there I saw many of Fritz’s lead soldiers scattered around you, along with other dolls, broken sugar figures and gingerbread men. As for Nutcracker, he was lying on your bleeding arm, and your left shoe wasn’t far away.”

  “Oh, Mama, Mama,” said Marie, remembering it all. “Those were the traces left by the great battle between the toys and the mice, and that’s why I was so frightened when the mice tried to capture Nutcracker, who was commanding the toy army. So I threw my shoe at the mice, and then I don’t know what happened next.”

  Doctor Wendelstern made a sign to her mother, who said very gently to Marie, “It’s all right, my dear child. Calm down, the mice have all gone, and little Nutcracker looks well and happy in the glass-fronted cupboard.”

  Now Doctor Stahlbaum came into the room and spoke to Doctor Wendelstern for a long time. Then he felt Marie’s pulse, and she heard them saying that she had a fever as the result of injuring her arm. She had to stay in bed and take medicine, and that went on for several days, although apart from some pain in her arm she did not feel sick or uncomfortable. She knew that Nutcracker had survived the battle, and it sometimes seemed to her that he spoke to her audibly, as if in a dream, saying in his melancholy voice, “Marie, dearest lady, I have much to thank you for, but you can do even more for me yet!” Marie wondered what he could mean, but in vain. Nothing occurred to her.

  Marie couldn’t play, because of her injured arm, and if she tried reading or looking at picture books everything blurred in a strange way before her eyes, and she had to stop. So time hung very heavily on her hands, and she could hardly wait for evening, because then her mother would sit by her bed and read her lovely books or tell her stories. One day her mother had just finished the delightful tale of Princess Facardin when the door opened, and in came Godfather Drosselmeier with the words, “Well now, I really had to come and see how poor sick Marie with her injured arm is doing.”

  As soon as Marie saw Godfather Drosselmeier in his yellow coat, images of the night when Nutcracker lost the battle against the mice came before her eyes, and she instinctively called out to the Councillor, “Oh, Godfather Drosselmeier, you were really horrible! I clearly saw you sitting on the clock, covering it with your wings so that it couldn’t strike loudly and scare the mice away—I heard it all, I heard you calling to the Mouse King! Why didn’t you come to my aid, you horrid Godfather Drosselmeier! Now I’m injured and lying here sick in bed, and it’s all your fault!”

  Her mother looked at her in alarm. “What on earth are you talking about, dear Marie?”

  But Godfather Drosselmeier made some very strange faces, and said in a croaking, monotonous voice, “Pendulums must whirr—pendulum
clocks must purr! Squeak, squeak, where shall we seek? Clocks—clocks—pendulum clocks must growl—pendulum clocks must howl. Have no fear, dollies dear—bells strike loud, loud and long, bells tell the time, ding ding dong!—Hear the bells chime, saying it’s time to chase the Mouse King far away, and here comes the owl winging his way—pick, peck, pack, pock, peck—soon the Mouse King will be a wreck—purr and growl, growl and purr, whirr, whirr, whirr, whirr!”

  Marie stared at Godfather Drosselmeier with her eyes very wide, because he seemed so strange and different, and even uglier than usual, and he was swinging his right arm back and forth as if he were being pulled about like a puppet on wires. She might have been really frightened of her godfather if her mother hadn’t been there, and if Fritz, who had slipped into the room meanwhile, hadn’t interrupted him with a loud laugh. “Oh, Godfather Drosselmeier,” cried Fritz, “you’re so funny today, you’re acting like my jumping jack that I threw away behind the stove.”

  Marie’s mother was very serious and said, “Dear Councillor, what a strange joke this is. What do you mean by it?”

  “Good heavens,” replied Drosselmeier, laughing, “haven’t you heard my pretty little clockmaking song before? I always sing it to patients like Marie.” So saying, he sat down close to Marie’s bed and said, “Now don’t be cross with me for not putting out all the Mouse King’s fourteen eyes at once, but it couldn’t be done. Instead, I’ll give you something you’ll really like.” With these words he put his hand into his pocket, and what he gently, gently took out was … Nutcracker, with the little teeth he had lost firmly back in place, and his dislocated jaw straightened again. Marie shouted for joy, but her mother said, smiling, “There, now do you see how kind Godfather Drosselmeier is to your Nutcracker?”

  “You must admit, Marie,” said the Councillor, interrupting her mother, “you must admit that Nutcracker is not a very fine figure of a man, and his face can’t be called handsome. I will tell you how ugliness like that got into his family and was passed on, if you like. Or would you rather hear the story of Princess Pirlipat, the witch Mistress Mousie and the ingenious Clockmaker?”

  “Listen,” said Fritz, suddenly joining the conversation, “listen, Godfather Drosselmeier, you’ve put Nutcracker’s teeth back, and his jaw isn’t so wobbly now, but why is his sword missing? Why didn’t you put his sword back on him?”

  “Oh, really,” replied the Councillor, sounding displeased, “must you find fault with everything, my boy? What do I care for Nutcracker’s sword? I’ve cured his body, so let him get a sword for himself if he wants one.”

  “And so he can,” cried Fritz. “He’s a fine fellow, he’ll be able to find weapons.”

  “Well, Marie,” the Councillor went on, “tell me, do you know the story of Princess Pirlipat?”

  “No, I don’t,” replied Marie. “Tell it, dear Godfather Drosselmeier, do tell it!”

  “I hope,” said Mrs Stahlbaum, “I do hope, my dear Councillor, that your story will not be as gruesome as most of the tales you tell!”

  “By no means, dearest lady,” replied Drosselmeier. “On the contrary, the story I am about to have the honour of telling is most amusing.”

  “Tell us the story, tell us the story, dear Godfather,” cried the children, and so the Councillor began his story.

  THE TALE OF THE HARD NUT

  “PIRLIPAT’S MOTHER WAS THE WIFE OF A KING, and consequently a queen, and at the very moment when Pirlipat came into the world she was, therefore, a princess born. The King was beside himself with delight at the birth of his beautiful little daughter, now lying in her cradle. He shouted out loud, he danced for joy, he hopped about on one leg crying again and again, ‘Hip hip hooray! Did anyone ever see a prettier sight than my little Pirlipatty?’

  “Then all his ministers, generals, presidents and staff officers hopped about on one leg too like the King, the father of his country, shouting at the tops of their voices, ‘No, never!’

  “And indeed there was no denying that never in the history of the world had a more beautiful baby been born than Princess Pirlipat. Her little face might have been woven of lily-white and rose-red silk, her bright eyes sparkled azure blue, and it was charming to see her hair curling round her face in strands of pure gold. In addition Pirlipatty had come into the world with two rows of pearly little teeth, and she bit the Lord Chancellor’s finger with them two hours after she was born when he was investigating her features more closely, making him exclaim, ‘Oh dear me!’

  “Some claimed that he had really cried ‘Ow! Ouch!’ Opinions are divided about the truth of the matter to this day.

  “But in short, Pirlipat really did bite the Lord Chancellor’s finger, and the whole captivated country now knew that wit, intelligence and a good understanding dwelt in Pirlipat’s angelic little frame.

  “As I was saying, everyone was delighted, but the Queen was anxious and uneasy, no one could say why. It was very noticeable that she made sure Pirlipat’s cradle was carefully watched. There were bodyguards at the doors, and besides the two nursemaids close to the cradle six more had to sit around the room night after night. But what may seem very odd, and what no one could understand, was that each of these six nursemaids must hold a tomcat on her lap and stroke him all night long, so that he would keep purring. It is impossible for you, dear children, to guess why Pirlipat’s mother made all these arrangements, but I know the answer, and I am about to tell you.

  “It so happened that one day a great many excellent kings and very agreeable princes had assembled at the court of Pirlipat’s father. They all had a wonderful time, many tournaments and court balls were held, and there were plays to watch. The King was determined to show that he did not lack for gold and silver, so he drew heavily on his treasury to make all these occasions as grand as he thought they ought to be. So as he had learnt from the Master of the Royal Kitchens that the Court Astronomer had announced the date for the best time to slaughter pigs, he decreed that there should be a great sausage banquet, got into his carriage and himself invited all the kings and princes to what he said would be just a spoonful or so of soup, but that was to make the surprise of the delicacies they would be served all the nicer. ‘For you know, my dear,’ he said to his wife the Queen, in very friendly tones, ‘you know how very much I like to eat sausages!’

  “The Queen knew very well what he meant by that, which was that he wanted her to make the sausages in person, as she had always done before, and a very useful task it was too. The Lord High Treasurer was asked to take the great golden cauldron for boiling sausages to the kitchens, along with the silver casserole dishes. A great fire of sandalwood was lit, the Queen tied her damask apron round her waist, and soon the delicious aroma of the liquid in which the sausages were simmering rose in the steam from the cauldron. That delightful fragrance made its way to the chamber where the Council of State was meeting, and the King, in transports of delight, couldn’t contain himself. ‘By your leave, gentlemen!’ he cried, jumping up and running to the kitchen, where he embraced the Queen, stirred something in the cauldron with his golden sceptre, and returned to the Council of State with his mind set at rest. Now the important moment had come when bacon was to be cut into cubes and grilled on silver griddles. The ladies-in-waiting stepped aside because the Queen wished to perform this task on her own, out of faithful love and respect for her royal husband. But just as the bacon began to sizzle, a very faint little whispering voice was heard. ‘Give me some of that chopped bacon too, sister—I want to feast as well, and I’m a queen like you, so give me some of that chopped bacon!’

  “The Queen knew that the voice was the voice of Mistress Mousie, who had lived in the royal palace for many years. She claimed to be related to the royal family and a queen herself in the land of Mousolia, and she held court with a great many mouse courtiers under the stove. Now the Queen was a good, kind-hearted woman, and although she was not going to recognise Mistress Mousie as a queen and her sister, she was happy to let her join the ba
nqueting on that festive day, so she cried, ‘Come on out, Mistress Mousie, and you can have some of my bacon!’

  “Then Mistress Mousie came scurrying out very fast and briskly, jumped up on the stove, and with her dainty little paws took piece after piece of the bacon that the Queen gave her. But then out came all Mistress Mousie’s cousins and aunts scuttling up after her, and even her seven sons, who were very naughty rascals, and they all fell on the bacon. The frightened Queen couldn’t fend them off. Luckily the Head Court Housekeeper came along just then and drove the unruly guests away, so that there was still some bacon left. On the orders of the Court Mathematician, who was now called in, it was judiciously divided up between all the sausages.

  “Now trumpets and drums were played, all the potentates and princes in their fine clothes came to the sausage banquet, some riding white palfreys, some in crystal coaches. The King welcomed them warmly in the most friendly and gracious way, and then, as ruler of the country, sat down at the head of the table with his crown and sceptre. But as the liver sausage was served the King could be seen turning paler and paler, raising his eyes to heaven—faint sighs escaped his breast—he appeared to be suffering some terrible internal pain. And as the next course of blood sausage was served he sank back in his armchair, sobbing and moaning, covered his face with his hands and wailed and groaned.

  “The whole company jumped up from the table, the royal physician tried in vain to feel the unfortunate King’s pulse, a deep and nameless grief seemed to be rending him apart. At long last, after much consultation and the application of strong remedies for reviving a person in a faint, such as burnt feathers and the like, the King to some extent came back to his senses, and barely audibly he stammered out the words, ‘Not enough bacon!’