The Nutcracker

Part One · Christmas Eve

On Christmas Eve, Marie and her brother Fritz were not allowed into the best parlor all day long. They sat in a corner of the nursery and whispered about what might be going on behind the closed doors. Only one person knew the secret, and that was their godfather, Drosselmeier, a tall, thin man with a patch over one eye and a wig made of spun glass. He was also the cleverest clockmaker in the whole town, and he made marvelous wonders out of wheels and springs.

At last, when the lamps were lit, a silver bell rang and the doors swung open, and there stood a tall fir tree glittering with golden apples, sugar almonds and a hundred little candles. Under its branches lay presents for everyone. Marie found a beautiful new silk dress, and Fritz found a whole regiment of soldiers with a black horse to lead them. Then Godfather Drosselmeier brought out a present of his own, a castle with a hundred tiny clockwork people who walked in and out of its doors.

The children watched the clockwork people for a long time, but the little figures did the same thing over and over again, and soon Fritz began to yawn. Marie, meanwhile, had noticed something else. Standing quietly beside the tree was a small, odd man in a smart purple coat with shiny buttons, who had a great round head, a kind face, a long white beard and a tiny sword at his side. Marie loved him at once. "He is a nutcracker," said her godfather, "and he is here to crack nuts for you all."

Marie fed the little man a nut, and he cracked it easily. Then Fritz snatched him up and shoved in the biggest, hardest nut he could find. Crack! Three teeth flew out, and the poor Nutcracker's jaw hung loose. Marie cried out and pulled him away from her brother, and she tied up his jaw with a white ribbon from her dress. Then she laid him in her doll's bed with a little blanket tucked up to his chin. "Don't worry," she whispered. "I will look after you."

Part Two · The Mouse King

That night, when the whole house was quiet, Marie crept back into the parlor to check on her Nutcracker. The big clock on the wall began to whirr as if something inside it had come loose, and then it struck twelve. From every crack in the floor came a thin, scratchy squeaking, and out slipped the mice, first by ones and twos, then by dozens and hundreds, their eyes glittering in the darkness. Last of all, the floor heaved up, and out popped a Mouse King with seven heads and a golden crown on every one.

The Mouse King puffed out his seven chests and hissed. "Give me your sweets, little girl, or I will chew your Nutcracker into splinters!" Marie was terrified, but she would not let anything happen to her friend, so she gave up her marzipan, and then her sugar figures, one by one. The Mouse King only grinned with all seven mouths. "Next I want your picture books," he said, "and your pretty Christmas dress."

Suddenly a small, brave voice rang out from the doll's bed. "Enough!" The Nutcracker had jumped up, with the ribbon still around his jaw and his tiny sword in his hand, and every toy in the cabinet woke at once. The tin soldiers sprang to their feet, the hussars leapt onto their horses, and the gingerbread men marched out behind a drummer boy. "Forward, my friends!" cried the Nutcracker. "For Marie!" And the mice came pouring across the floor to meet them.

The battle swayed to and fro. The mice were many and the toys were few, and little by little the soldiers were pushed back against the cabinet. Then the Mouse King, with all seven crowns glinting, leapt straight at the Nutcracker. Marie did not stop to think. She pulled off her slipper and threw it as hard as she could, and it hit the Mouse King right on his middle nose. All seven mouths squealed at once, and the mice turned and fled into their holes. Then Marie's elbow knocked against the cabinet glass, and the room went dark.

Part Three · The Hard Nut

When Marie opened her eyes, it was morning. She was lying in her own bed with a bandage on her arm, and her mother was sitting beside her. "The Nutcracker!" Marie cried. "The Mouse King! There was a battle!" Her mother stroked her hair. "You have had a fever, my darling," she said gently, "and mice cannot be kings." Nobody believed her, but Marie knew exactly what she had seen, and for days she lay in bed, worrying about her little friend.

At last Godfather Drosselmeier came to visit, and he had brought the Nutcracker with him, mended by his own clever hands, with a new set of teeth and a jaw that worked as well as ever. Marie hugged him tight. "Godfather," she said, "why does the Mouse King hate my Nutcracker so?" Drosselmeier smiled and sat down. "Ah," he said, "that is a long story, and it is called the tale of the Hard Nut."

"Long ago, a king and queen had a baby daughter named Princess Pirlipat, who was as lovely as a summer morning. But the Queen of the Mice, whose name was Mouserink, was angry with the royal family, and one night she crept up to the cradle and cast a spell. By morning, the baby's sweet face was gone. Her head had grown enormous, and her mouth stretched from ear to ear. The king and queen wept, and they called for the court clockmaker to help them."

"The clockmaker worked out the cure. The princess must eat the kernel of the nut Krakatuk, but that nut was harder than any other nut in the world. Only a young man who had never shaved and had never worn boots could crack it. He must do it with his teeth, hand her the kernel with his eyes shut, and then walk seven steps backward without a stumble. The clockmaker searched the whole world for the nut, and his young nephew went along with him."

"At last they found it. The nephew cracked the nut with a single bite and gave the kernel to the princess with his eyes closed. She ate it, and her beauty came back at once. Then he began to walk backward: one, two, three, four, five, six... At the seventh step, the Queen of the Mice popped up from the floor, and he stepped right on her tail. The spell flew off the princess and landed on him instead. His head swelled, his mouth grew wide, and he became a nutcracker."

"The princess took one look at him and turned away, for she could not love anyone so odd. And the spell has one more part. The young man will be free only when he has beaten the Queen's son, the Mouse King with seven heads, and when someone loves him just as he is." Drosselmeier set his glass wig straight and smiled. Marie sat very still, with the Nutcracker in her lap. "So the Nutcracker is your nephew," she said softly, and her godfather only winked.

Part Four · The Land of Sweets

That night, Marie lay awake listening. At midnight the squeaking began again, louder than ever, and the Mouse King sprang onto her bedcover with all seven heads glaring. "Give up the Nutcracker!" he snarled. "Hand him over, and I will leave you in peace for ever. Refuse, and my mice will gnaw up everything you own." The Nutcracker lay in her arms, stiff and still. Marie held him tight. "Never," she said. "He is not handsome, and he is only made of wood, but he is my friend, and I love him just as he is."

The moment she spoke, a warm golden light filled the room. The Mouse King shrieked, and his seven crowns tumbled off his heads and rolled away, and he and all his mice scurried into the walls and were never seen again. Marie opened her eyes. In her arms there was no wooden doll. A young man knelt beside her bed, tall and handsome, in a purple coat with shiny buttons, and his face was the kind face she knew so well. "Dear Marie," he said, "your faithful heart has broken the spell."

He held out his hand, and the wardrobe door swung open onto a bright meadow where the grass was made of sugar. They crossed a river of lemonade and passed through a gate of almonds and raisins, and ahead stood a castle of pink marzipan, with every toy from the cabinet cheering on its steps. The prince led Marie to the seat of honor, and they feasted on cakes and candies until the stars began to fade, and Marie laughed until her sides ached.

In the morning, Marie woke up in her own bed, and the old wooden Nutcracker sat on her pillow, quiet as any toy. Nobody believed a word of her story, but Marie only smiled. Years later, when she was grown, a golden coach drawn by silver horses came to the door, and out stepped the young prince, who took her away to his land of sweets. They say she is a queen there to this day.