“Very well, then you must be beheaded!”

  It was exceedingly fortunate for the wretched Drosselmeier that the king had thoroughly enjoyed his dinner that day, and was consequently in an admirable temper, and disposed to listen to the sensible advice which the queen, who was very sorry for Drosselmeier, did not hesitate to give him. Drosselmeier took heart and represented that he really had fulfilled the conditions, discovered the necessary measures, and gained his life, consequently. The king said this was all bosh and nonsense; but at length, after two or three glasses of liqueurs decreed that Drosselmeier and the astronomer should start off immediately, and not come back without the nut Crackatook in their pockets. The man who was to crack it (by the queen’s suggestion) might be heard of by means of advertisements in the local and foreign newspapers and gazettes.

  Godpapa Drosselmeier interrupted his story at this point, and promised to finish it on the following evening.

  Next evening, as soon as the lights were brought, Godpapa Drosselmeier duly arrived, and went on with his story as follows:—

  Drosselmeier and the court astronomer had been journeying for fifteen long years without finding the slightest trace of the nut Crackatook. I might go on for more than four weeks telling you where all they had been and what extraordinary things they had seen. I shall not do so, however, but merely mention that Drosselmeier in his profound discouragement at last began to feel a most powerful longing to see his dear native town of Nuremberg once again. And he was more powerfully moved by this longing than usual one day, when he happened to be smoking a pipe of kanaster with his friend in the middle of a great forest in Asia, and he cried:

  “Oh, Nuremberg, Nuremberg, dear native town—he who still knows thee not, place of renown—though far he has travelled, and great cities seen—as London, and Paris, and Peterwardein—knoweth not what it is happy to be—still must his longing heart languish for thee—for thee, O Nuremberg, exquisite town—where the houses have windows both upstairs and down!”

  As Drosselmeier lamented dolefully, the astronomer, seized with compassionate sympathy, began to weep and howl so terribly that he was heard throughout the length and breadth of Asia. But he collected himself again, wiped the tears from his eyes, and said:

  “After all, dearest colleague, why should we sit and weep and howl here? Why not go to Nuremberg? Does it matter a brass farthing, after all, where and how we search for this horrible nut Crackatook?”

  “That’s true, too,” answered Drosselmeier, consoled. They both got up immediately, knocked the ashes out of their pipes, started off, and travelled straight on without stopping from that forest right in the centre of Asia till they came to Nuremberg. As soon as they got there, Drosselmeier went straight to his cousin the toymaker and doll-carver, and gilder and varnisher, whom he had not seen for a great many long years. To him he told all the tale of Princess Pirlipat, Dame Mouserink, and the nut Crackatook, so that he clapped his hands repeatedly and cried in amazement:

  “Dear me, cousin, these things are really wonderful—very wonderful, indeed!”

  Drosselmeier told him, further, some of the adventures he had met with on his long journey—how he had spent two years at the court of the King of Dates; how the Prince of Almonds had expelled him with ignominy from his territory; how he had applied in vain to the Natural History Society at Squirreltown—in short, how he had been everywhere utterly unsuccessful in discovering the faintest trace of the nut Crackatook. During this narrative, Christoph Zacharias had kept frequently snapping his fingers, twisting himself round on one foot, smacking with his tongue, etc.; then he cried:

  “Ey—aye—oh!—that really would be the very deuce and all.”

  At last he threw his hat and wig in the air, warmly embraced his cousin, and cried:

  “Cousin, cousin, you’re a made man—a made man you are—for either I am much deceived, or I have the nut Crackatook myself!”

  He immediately produced a little cardboard box, out of which he took a gilded nut of medium size.

  “Look there!” he said, showing this nut to his cousin; “the state of matters as regards this nut is this. Several years ago at Christmas time a stranger came here with a sack of nuts, which he offered for sale. Just in front of my shop he got into a quarrel, and put the sack down the better to defend himself from the nutsellers of the place, who attacked him. Just then a heavily loaded wagon drove over the sack, and all the nuts were smashed but one. The stranger, with an odd smile, offered to sell me this nut for a twenty-kreuzer piece of the year 1796. This struck me as strange. I found just such a coin in my pocket, so I bought the nut, and I gilt it, though I didn’t know why I took the trouble, or should have given so much for it.”

  All question as to its being really the long-sought nut Crackatook was dispelled when the Court Astronomer carefully scraped away the gilding, and found the word “Crackatook” graven on the shell in Chinese characters.

  The joy of the exiles was great, as you may imagine; and the cousin was even happier, for Drosselmeier assured him that he was a made man too, as he was sure of a good pension, and all the gold leaf he would want for the rest of his life for his gilding, free, gratis, for nothing.

  The Arcanist and the Astronomer both had on their nightcaps, and were going to turn into bed, when the astronomer said:

  “I tell you what it is, my dear colleague, one piece of good fortune never comes alone. I feel convinced that we’ve not only found the nut, but the young gentleman who is to crack it, and hand the beauty-restoring kernel to the princess, into the bargain. I mean none other than your cousin’s son here, and I don’t intend to close an eye this night till I’ve drawn that youngster’s horoscope.”

  With which he threw away his nightcap, and at once set to work to consult the stars. The cousin’s son was a nice-looking, well-grown young fellow, had never been shaved, and had never worn boots. True, he had been a Jumping Jack for a Christmas or two in his earlier days, but there was scarcely any trace of this discoverable about him, his appearance had been so altered by his father’s care. He had appeared last Christmas in a beautiful red coat with gold trimmings, a sword by his side, his hat under his arm, and a fine wig with a pigtail. Thus apparelled, he stood in his father’s shop exceedingly lovely to behold, and from his native galanterie he occupied himself in cracking nuts for the young ladies, who called him “the handsome nutcracker.”

  Next morning the Astronomer fell, with much emotion, into the Arcanist’s arms, crying:

  “This is the very man!—we have him!—he is found! Only, dearest colleague, two things we must keep carefully in view. In the first place, we must construct a most substantial pigtail for this precious nephew of yours, which shall be connected with his lower jaw in such sort that it shall be capable of communicating a very powerful pull to it. And next, when we get back to the Residenz, we must carefully conceal the fact that we have brought the young gentleman who is to shiver the nut back with us. He must not make his appearance for a considerable time after us. I read in the horoscope that if two or three others bite at the nut unsuccessfully to begin with, the king will promise the man who breaks it—and as a consequence, restores her good looks to the princess—the princess’s hand and the succession to the crown.”

  The doll-maker cousin was immensely delighted with the idea of his son’s marrying Princess Pirlipat and being a prince and king, so he gave him wholly over to the envoys to do what they liked with him. The pigtail which Drosselmeier attached to him proved to be a very powerful and efficient instrument, as he exemplified by cracking the hardest of peach-stones with the utmost ease.

  Drosselmeier and the Astronomer, having at once sent news to the Residenz of the discovery of the nut Crackatook, the necessary advertisements were at once put in the newspapers, and by the time that our travellers got there, several nice young gentlemen had arrived, among whom there were even princes, who had sufficient confidence in their teeth to try to disenchant the princess. The ambassadors were horrified when they saw poor Pirlipat again. The diminutive body with tiny hands and feet was not big enough to support the great shapeless head. The hideousness of the face was enhanced by a beard like white cotton, which had grown about the mouth and chin. Everything had turned out as the court astronomer had read it in the horoscope. One milksop in shoes after another bit his teeth and his jaws into agonies over the nut without doing the princess the slightest good in the world. And then, when he was carried out on the verge of insensibility by the dentists who were in attendance on purpose, he would sigh:

  “Ah dear, that was a hard nut.”

  Now when the king, in the anguish of his soul, had promised to him who should disenchant the princess his daughter and the kingdom, the charming, gentle young Drosselmeier made his appearance, and begged to be allowed to make an attempt. None of the previous ones had pleased the princess so much. She pressed her little hands to her heart and sighed:

  “Ah, I hope it will be he who will crack the nut and be my husband.”

  When he had politely saluted the king, the queen, and the Princess Pirlipat, he received the nut Crackatook from the hands of the Clerk of the Closet, put it between his teeth, made a strong effort with his head, and—crack—crack—the shell was shattered into a number of pieces. He neatly cleared the kernel from the pieces of husk which were sticking to it, and making a leg presented it courteously to the princess, after which he closed his eyes and began his backward steps. The princess swallowed the kernel, and—oh marvel!—the monstrosity vanished, and in its place there stood a wonderfully beautiful lady with a face which seemed woven of delicate lily-white and rose-red silk, eyes of sparkling azure, and hair all in little curls like threads of gold.

  Trumpets and kettledrums mingled in the loud rejoicings of the populace. The king and all his court danced about on one leg, as they had done at Pirlipat’s birth, and the queen had to be treated with Eau de Cologne, having fallen into a fainting fit from joy and delight. All this tremendous tumult interfered not a little with young Drosselmeier’s self-possession, for he still had to make his seven backward steps. But he collected himself as best he could, and was just stretching out his right foot to make his seventh step, when up came Dame Mouserink through the floor, making a horrible weaking and squeaking, so that Drosselmeier, as he was putting his foot down, trod upon her and stumbled so that he almost fell. Oh misery!—all in an instant he was transmogrified, just as the princess had been before: his body all shrivelled up, and could scarcely support the great shapeless head with enormous projecting eyes and the wide gaping mouth. In the place where his pigtail used to be a scanty wooden cloak hung down, controlling the movements of his nether jaw.

  The clockmaker and the astronomer were wild with terror and consternation, but they saw that Dame Mouserink was wallowing in her gore on the floor. Her wickedness had not escaped punishment, for young Drosselmeier had squashed her so in the throat with the sharp point of his shoe that she was mortally hurt.

  But as Dame Mouserink lay in her death agony she squeaked and cheeped lamentably and cried:

  “Oh, Crackatook, thou nut so hard!—Oh, fate, which none may disregard!—Hee hee, pee pee, woe’s me, I cry!—since I through that hard nut must die.—But, brave young Nutcracker, I see—you soon must follow after me.—My sweet young son, with sevenfold crown—will soon bring Master Cracker down.—His mother’s death he will repay—so, Nutcracker, beware that day!—Oh, life most sweet, I feebly cry—I leave you now, for I must die. Queak!”

  With this cry died Dame Mouserink, and her body was carried out by the Court Stovelighter. Meantime nobody had been troubling himself about young Drosselmeier. But the princess reminded the king of his promise, and he at once directed that the young hero should be conducted to his presence. But when the poor wretch came forward in his transmogrified condition the princess put both her hands to her face, and cried:

  “Oh please take away that horrid Nutcracker!”

  The Lord Chamberlain seized him immediately by his little shoulders, and shied him out at the door. The king, furious at the idea of a nutcracker being brought before him as a son-in-law, laid all the blame upon the clockmaker and the astronomer, and ordered them both to be banished for ever.

  The horoscope which the astronomer had drawn in Nuremberg had said nothing about this; but that didn’t hinder him from taking some fresh observations. And the stars told him that young Drosselmeier would conduct himself so admirably in his new condition that he would still be a prince and a king, in spite of his transmogrification; but also that his deformity would only disappear after the son of Dame Mouserink, the seven-headed king of the mice (whom she had borne after the death of her original seven sons) should perish by his hand, and a lady should fall in love with him notwithstanding his deformity.

  That is the story of the hard nut, children, and now you know why people so often use the expression “that was a hard nut to crack,” and why Nutcrackers are so ugly.

  Thus did Godpapa Drosselmeier finish his tale. Marie thought the Princess Pirlipat was a nasty ungrateful thing. Fritz, on the other hand, was of the opinion that if Nutcracker had been a proper sort of fellow he would soon have settled the Mouse-King’s hash, and got his good looks back again.

  UNCLE AND NEPHEW

  Should any of my respected readers or listeners ever have happened to be cut by glass they will know what an exceedingly nasty thing it is, and how long it takes to heal. Marie was obliged to stay in bed a whole week because she felt so terribly giddy whenever she tried to stand up; but at last she was quite well again, and able to jump about as of old. Things in the glass cupboard looked very fine indeed —everything new and shiny, trees and flowers and houses—toys of every kind. Above all, Marie found her dear Nutcracker again, smiling at her in the second shelf, with his teeth all sound and right.

  As she looked at this pet of hers with much fondness, it suddenly struck her that all Godpapa Drosselmeier’s story had been about Nutcracker, and his family feud with Dame Mouserink and her people. And now she knew that her Nutcracker was none other than young Mr. Drosselmeier, of Nuremberg, Godpapa Drosselmeier’s delightful nephew, unfortunately under the spells of Dame Mouserink. For while the story was being told, Marie couldn’t doubt for a moment that the clever clockmaker at Pirlipat’s father’s court was Godpapa Drosselmeier himself.

  “But why didn’t your uncle help you? Why didn’t he help you?” Marie cried, sorrowfully, as she felt more and more clearly every moment that in the battle which she had witnessed the question in dispute had been no less a matter than Nutcracker’s crown and kingdom. Weren’t all the other toys his subjects? And wasn’t it clear that the astronomer’s prophecy that he was to be rightful King of Toyland had come true?

  While the clever Marie was weighing all these things in her mind, she kept expecting that Nutcracker and his vassals would give some indications of being alive, and make some movements as she looked at them. This, however, was by no means the case. Everything in the cupboard kept quite motionless and still. Marie thought this was the effect of Dame Mouserink’s enchantments, and those of her seven-headed son, which still were keeping up their power.

  “But,” she said, “though you’re not able to move, or to say the least little word to me, dear Mr. Drosselmeier, I know you understand me and see how very well I wish you. Always reckon on my assistance when you require it. At all events, I will ask your uncle to aid you with all his great skill and talents, whenever there may be an opportunity.”

  Nutcracker still kept quiet and motionless. But Marie fancied that a gentle sigh came breathing through the glass cupboard, which made its panes ring in a wonderful, though all but imperceptible, manner—while something like a little bell-toned voice seemed to sing:

  “Marie fine, angel mine! I will be thine, if thou wilt be mine!”

  Although a sort of cold shiver ran through her at this, still it caused her the keenest pleasure.

  Twilight came on. Marie’s father came in with Godpapa Drosselmeier, and presently Louise set out the tea-table, and the family took their places round it, talking in the pleasantest and merriest manner about all sorts of things. Marie had taken her little stool, and sat down at her godpapa’s feet in silence. When everybody happened to cease talking at the same time, Marie looked her godpapa full in the face with her great blue eyes, and said:

  “I know now, godpapa, that my Nutcracker is your nephew, young Mr. Drosselmeier from Nuremberg. The prophecy has come true: he is a king and a prince just as your friend the astronomer said he would be. But you know as well as I do that he is at war with Dame Mouserink’s son—that horrid king of the mice. Why don’t you help him?”

  Marie told the whole story of the battle, as she had witnessed it, and was frequently interrupted by the loud laughter of her mother and sister; but Fritz and Drosselmeier listened quite gravely.

  “Where in the name of goodness has the child got her head filled with all that nonsense?” cried her father.

  “She has such a lively imagination, you see,” said her mother; “she dreamt it all when she was feverish with her arm.”

  “It is all nonsense,” cried Fritz, “and it isn’t true! My red hussars are not such cowards as all that. If they were, do you suppose I should command them?”

  But godpapa smiled strangely, and took little Marie on his knee, speaking more gently to her than ever he had been known to do before.

  “More is given to you, Marie dear,” he said, “than to me, or the others. You are a born princess, like Pirlipat, and reign in a bright beautiful country. But you still have much to suffer, if you mean to befriend poor transformed Nutcracker; for the king of the mice lies in wait for him at every turn. But I cannot help him; you, and you alone, can do that. So be faithful and true.”

  Neither Marie nor any of the others knew what Godpapa Drosselmeier meant by these words. But they struck Dr. Stahlbaum—Marie’s father—as being so strange that he felt Drosselmeier’s pulse, and said:

 

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