The Nutcracker

The Nutcracker

On Christmas Eve, the home of Councillor Stahlbaum was filled with that special kind of excitement that makes even an ordinary door seem like the entrance to a secret.

From early morning, Marie and her brother Fritz tried to guess what was hidden behind the closed doors of the large drawing room.

“I heard something bump in there,” Fritz whispered.

“That was Papa moving a chair,” Marie replied.

“Or perhaps a cannon.”

“Why would we need a cannon in the drawing room?”

“For my soldiers, of course.”

Marie laughed.

The children knew that in the evening the candles on the Christmas tree would be lit and the doors would open. But most of all, they were waiting to see what their godfather, Drosselmeier, had brought them.

Their godfather was an eccentric craftsman. He could repair clocks and make mechanical castles, little birds that nodded their heads, and tiny people who danced by themselves when a key was turned.

At last, a little bell rang.

The doors opened.

In the middle of the room stood a glowing Christmas tree decorated with golden nuts, apples, sweets, and tiny candles. Gifts lay beneath it.

Fritz immediately found a new company of toy soldiers and a wooden horse. Marie received a doll in a festive dress and a set of tiny dishes.

And Godfather Drosselmeier had brought an entire mechanical castle. Inside it, miniature ladies and gentlemen walked through the halls while tiny musicians played the same tune again and again.

Fritz was delighted for about five minutes.

“Can they go outside?” he asked.

“No.”

“Can they fight?”

“No.”

“Can they play something else?”

“No to that as well.”

“Then they’re boring.”

Drosselmeier pretended to be terribly offended, though his eyes were laughing.

A little later, Marie noticed one more toy beneath the Christmas tree.

It was a small wooden man in a bright uniform. His head seemed too large, his jaw was broad, and white hair stuck out from beneath his cap.

“Who is this?” Marie asked.

“A Nutcracker,” her father replied. “He cracks nuts.”

Fritz immediately gave him the largest nut he could find. There was a sharp crack, and one side of the Nutcracker’s wooden jaw sagged.

“Fritz!” Marie cried. “Be careful!”

She took the Nutcracker in her arms, wrapped a white ribbon around his injured jaw, and seated him beside her dolls.

“Don’t be afraid,” she whispered. “I’ll have you repaired.”

Drosselmeier, who was standing nearby, narrowed his eyes strangely.

“Take good care of him, Marie. He may be more important than he looks.”

That evening, the children were sent to bed. But Marie asked to stay with the toys for just one more minute.

She placed the Nutcracker in the glass cabinet, covered him with a tiny handkerchief, and was about to leave when the great clock began to strike twelve.

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

On the twelfth stroke, something rustled in the room.

Marie froze.

A grey mouse face peeped from beneath the cabinet. Then a second. A third. Soon dozens of little mice ran across the floor and arranged themselves in strange rows.

In the middle of them appeared the Mouse King. Seven tiny crowns glittered on his head.

And then the glass cabinet opened by itself.

The Nutcracker straightened.

“Soldiers, to me!” he cried.

Fritz’s toy dragoons came to life. Tin hussars marched after them, followed by dolls and even several gingerbread figures.

A great commotion began. The mice pushed boxes across the floor while the toys built barricades from books. The soldiers held back the attack with little wooden sabers.

At first, Marie was too astonished to move.

Then she saw the Mouse King approaching the Nutcracker.

“Look out!” she shouted.

The Nutcracker stepped backward, tripped over a toy drum, and the seven crowns flashed dangerously close.

Marie grabbed one of her soft house slippers and threw it between them.

The slipper landed directly in front of the Mouse King. He jumped back, the mouse army lost its formation, and the Nutcracker had time to get to his feet.

The next moment, everything whirled into confusion. Marie stepped backward, caught herself on the glass cabinet door, and scratched her arm.

When she opened her eyes, her mother was bending over her.

“You fainted beside the toy cabinet,” she said. “Why were you up in the middle of the night?”

Marie told her about the mice and the Nutcracker.

Fritz burst out laughing.

“My soldiers fought without me?”

“It isn’t funny!”

Godfather Drosselmeier did not laugh. He only looked at the bandaged Nutcracker and said:

“I think it is time you heard a story.”

And he told them about Princess Pirlipat.

Long ago, in a distant kingdom, lived a little princess whom everyone praised so constantly that they often forgot to ask what she herself wanted. Her mother, the queen, quarreled with a powerful Lady Mouserinks, ruler of the mouse clan. Because of that quarrel, a strange spell fell upon the palace, and Pirlipat was changed so greatly that no one could recognize her.

The court physicians argued, and the magicians could only shrug. At last, the astronomer Drosselmeier, an ancestor of Marie’s godfather, found a clue in ancient books.

The spell could be broken only by an extraordinarily hard nut called Krakatuk. It had to be cracked by a young man who had never shaved and had worn boots all his life. After cracking the nut, he had to give the kernel to the princess and then take seven steps backward without stumbling.

The search lasted for many years.

At last, the nut was found, and the young man who met the strange conditions turned out to be Drosselmeier’s own nephew.

He cracked the Krakatuk nut, gave the kernel to Pirlipat, and the spell began to disappear.

The young man took one step backward.

Then a second.

Then a third.

On the seventh step, a mouse suddenly darted in front of him. He stumbled.

The princess’s enchantment vanished completely, but part of its power passed to the young man. He became the Nutcracker.

Pirlipat, restored to her former appearance, was frightened and refused even to listen to the person who had saved her.

So the Nutcracker left the kingdom.

“Can his spell be broken?” Marie asked softly.

“It can,” Drosselmeier replied. “If he defeats the Mouse King and if someone is found who will not turn away from him because of his appearance.”

The following night, the Mouse King came to Marie.

“Give me your sweets,” he hissed, “and I will leave the Nutcracker alone.”

Marie was frightened and left several candies beside the cabinet.

By morning, they were gone.

The next night, the Mouse King demanded her marzipan figures. Then her picture books.

Marie understood that if she kept giving in to fear, his demands would never end.

She told the Nutcracker everything.

“Do not give him anything else,” he said. “All I need is a small sword.”

Fritz had an old toy colonel with a damaged saber. He agreed to lend the weapon.

That night, Marie heard a great noise.

In the morning, the Nutcracker stood beside her bed. In his palm lay seven tiny crowns.

“The Mouse King will not return,” he said. “We made an agreement that his army will leave this house and frighten no one here again.”

“You won?”

“I refused to let him rule through fear.”

The Nutcracker bowed.

“And now, Miss Marie, would you like to see my country?”

He led her to an old wardrobe filled with coats. Where her father’s winter coat usually hung, a small staircase suddenly appeared.

They went down and down until they came out into a meadow where multicolored sugar flowers grew instead of grass.

Ahead flowed the Lemonade River, crossed by a bridge made of almond biscuits. Beyond it stood the Christmas Forest. Silver bells hung from every tree, and golden nuts gleamed beneath the branches.

“This is the Land of Sweet Gardens,” said the Nutcracker.

Farther on, they saw a city with caramel towers, honey-colored houses, and roofs that looked like wafers. The inhabitants came to meet them in the square: dolls, wooden animals, marzipan shepherds, and tiny musicians.

Everyone rejoiced at the Nutcracker’s return.

“Our prince!” they cried.

Marie looked at her friend in surprise.

“You are a prince?”

“I once was. But until the spell is completely broken, I remain the Nutcracker.”

A celebration was held for Marie at the palace. She saw the Lake of Almond Milk, little boats made from nutshells, and a garden where tiny candies grew on bushes instead of berries.

But that was not what she remembered most.

Here, the Nutcracker seemed completely different. He did not look like an awkward wooden toy. He knew every street, remembered the names of the people who lived there, and stopped to listen whenever anyone needed help.

Marie thought, “How strange that at home everyone saw only his large head and teeth.”

Toward morning, she grew tired and sat down on a little sofa.

When she woke, she was lying in her own bed.

“I was in a magical country!” she announced at breakfast.

Fritz rolled his eyes.

Her parents decided that Marie had dreamed the whole thing.

But on the little table beside her bed lay seven tiny crowns.

Several days passed.

One day, Godfather Drosselmeier came to visit with a young man Marie had never seen before.

He was polite, a little shy, and strangely familiar.

“This is my nephew,” Drosselmeier said.

The young man bowed to Marie.

“Thank you for not turning away from me when I wore a wooden uniform.”

Marie gasped.

“Nutcracker!”

The spell was gone.

Not because someone had called him handsome. And not because he had won seven crowns. It vanished because someone had looked at the strange wooden figure and seen a friend, and because she had refused to let fear make her choices for her.

Drosselmeier’s nephew often visited the Stahlbaum family. He told Marie about the Sweet Gardens, and Marie was never quite certain where the ordinary world ended and the magical one began.

The years passed.

Marie grew up. And when she was old enough to choose her own path, she received another invitation to that strange country beyond the wardrobe.

This time, she went not as a little girl being led by the hand, but as an adult making her own choice.

They say that a great celebration was held in the palace beside the Lemonade River and that silver bells rang over the Christmas Forest all night long.

And in the Stahlbaums’ home, the old wooden Nutcracker remained in the glass cabinet for many years.

Fritz insisted that it was only a toy.

Marie never argued with him.

She only smiled whenever the great clock began to strike twelve at midnight.

She only smiled whenever the great clock began to strike twelve at midnight.