“There seems a good deal of congestion about the head, my dear sir. I’ll write you a little prescription.”

  But Marie’s mother shook her head meditatively, and said:

  “I have a strong idea what Mr. Drosselmeier means, though I can’t exactly put it in words.”

  VICTORY

  It was not very long before Marie was awakened one bright moonlight night by a curious noise which came from one of the corners of her room. There was a sound as of small stones being thrown, and rolled here and there; and intermittently there came a horrid cheeping and squeaking.

  “Oh, dear me! here come these abominable mice again!” cried Marie in terror, and she wanted to awaken her mother. But the noise suddenly ceased; and she could not move a muscle—for she saw the king of the mice working himself out through a hole in the wall. At last he came into the room, ran about in it, and got onto the little table at the head of her bed with a great jump.

  “Hee-hehee!” he cried; “give me your candy! out with your cakes, marzipan and sugar-stick, gingerbread cakes! Don’t pause to argue! If yield them you won’t, I’ll chew up Nutcracker! See if I don’t!”

  As he cried out these terrible words, he gnashed and chattered his teeth most frightfully, and then made off again through the hole in the wall. This frightened Marie so that she was quite pale in the morning, and so upset that she scarcely could utter a word. A hundred times she felt impelled to tell her mother or her sister, or at all events her brother, what had happened. But she thought, “Of course none of them would believe me. They would only laugh at me.”

  But she saw well enough that to succour Nutcracker she would have to sacrifice all her sweet things; so she laid out all she had of them at the bottom of the cupboard next evening.

  “I can’t make out how the mice have got into the sitting-room,” said her mother. “This is something quite new. There never were any there before. See, Marie, they’ve eaten up all your candy.”

  And so it was: the epicure Mouse-King hadn’t found the marzipan altogether to his taste, but had gnawed all round the edges of it, so that what he had left of it had to be thrown into the ash-pit. Marie did not mind about her candy, being delighted to think that she had saved Nutcracker by means of it. But what were her feelings when next night there again came a squeaking close by her ear. Alas! The king of the mice was there again, with his eyes glaring worse than the night before.

  “Give me your sugar toys,” he cried; “give them you must, or else I’ll chew Nutcracker up into dust!”

  Then he was gone again.

  Marie was very sorry. She had as beautiful a collection of sugar-toys as ever a little girl could boast of. Not only had she a charming little shepherd, with his shepherdess, looking after a flock of milk-white sheep, with a nice dog jumping about them, but two postmen with letters in their hands, and four couples of prettily dressed young gentlemen and most beautifully dressed young ladies, swinging in a Russian swing. Then there were two or three dancers, and behind them Farmer Feldkuemmel and the Maid of Orleans. Marie didn’t much care about them; but back in the corner there was a little baby with red cheeks, and this was Marie’s darling. The tears came to her eyes.

  “Ah!” she cried, turning to Nutcracker, “I really will do all I can to help you. But it’s very hard.”

  Nutcracker looked at her so piteously that she determined to sacrifice everything—for she remembered the Mouse-King with all his seven mouths wide open to swallow the poor young fellow; so that night she set down all her sugar figures in front of the cupboard, as she had the candy the night before. She kissed the shepherd, the shepherdess, and the lambs; and at last she brought her best beloved of all, the little red-cheeked baby from its corner, but did put it a little further back than the rest. Farmer Feldkuemmel and the Maid of Orleans had to stand in the front rank.

  “This is really getting too bad,” said Marie’s mother the next morning; “some nasty mouse or other must have made a hole in the glass cupboard, for poor Marie’s sugar figures are all eaten and gnawed.” Marie really could not restrain her tears. But she was soon able to smile again; for she thought, “What does it matter? Nutcracker is safe.”

  In the evening Marie’s mother was telling her father and Godpapa Drosselmeier about the mischief which some mouse was doing in the children’s cupboard, and her father said:

  “It’s a regular nuisance! What a pity that we can’t get rid of it. It’s destroying all the poor child’s things.”

  Fritz intervened, and remarked, “The baker downstairs has a fine grey Councillor-of-Legation; I’ll go and get hold of him, and he’ll soon put a stop to it, and bite the mouse’s head off, even if it’s Dame Mouserink herself, or her son, the king of the mice.”

  “Oh, yes!” said his mother, laughing, “and jump up on to the chairs and tables, knock down the cups and glasses, and do ever so much mischief besides.”

  “No, no!” answered Fritz; “the baker’s Councillor-of-Legation’s a very clever fellow. I wish I could walk about on the edge of the roof, as he does.”

  “Don’t let us have a nasty cat in the house in the night-time,” said Louise, who hated cats.

  “Fritz is quite right though,” said their mother; “unless we set a trap. Haven’t we got such a thing in the house?”

  “Godpapa Drosselmeier’s the man to get us one,” said Fritz; “it was he who invented them, you know.” Everybody laughed. And when their mother said they did not possess such a thing, Drosselmeier said he had plenty; and he actually sent a very fine one round that day. When the cook was browning the fat, Marie—with her head full of the marvels of her godpapa’s tale—called out to her:

  “Ah, take care, Queen! Remember Dame Mouserink and her people.” But Fritz drew his sword, and cried, “Let them come if they dare! I’ll give an account of them.” But everything about the hearth remained quiet and undisturbed. As Drosselmeier was fixing the browned fat on a fine thread, and setting the trap gently down in the glass cupboard, Fritz cried:

  “Now, Godpapa Clockmaker, mind that the Mouse-King doesn’t play you some trick!”

  Ah, how did it fare with Marie that night? Something as cold as ice went tripping about on her arm, and something rough and nasty laid itself on her cheek, and cheeped and squeaked in her ear. The horrible Mouse-King came and sat on her shoulder, foamed a blood-red foam out of all his seven mouths, and chattering and grinding his teeth, he hissed into Marie’s ear:

  “Hiss, hiss!—keep away—don’t go in there—beware of that house—don’t you be caught—death to the mouse—hand out your picture books—none of your scornful looks!—Give me your dresses —also your laces—or, if you don’t, leave you I won’t—Nutcracker I’ll bite—drag him out of your sight—his last hour is near—so tremble for fear!—Fee, fa, fo, fum—his last hour is come!—Hee hee, pee pee—squeak—squeak!”

  Marie was overwhelmed with anguish and sorrow, and was looking quite pale and upset when her mother said to her next morning:

  “This horrid mouse hasn’t been caught. But never mind, dear, we’ll catch the nasty thing yet, never fear. If the traps won’t work, Fritz shall fetch the grey Councillor-of-Legation.”

  As soon as Marie was alone, she went up to the glass cupboard, and said to Nutcracker, in a voice broken by sobs:

  “Ah, my dear, good Mr. Drosselmeier, what can I do for you, poor unfortunate girl that I am! Even if I give that horrid king of the mice all my picture books, and my new dress which the Christ Child gave me at Christmas as well, he’s sure to go on asking for more. Soon I shan’t have anything more left, and he’ll want to eat me! Oh, poor thing that I am! What shall I do? What shall I do?”

  As she was thus crying and lamenting, she noticed that a great spot of blood had been left, since the eventful night of the battle, upon Nutcracker’s neck. Since she had known that he was really young Mr. Drosselmeier, her godpapa’s nephew, she had given up carrying him in her arms, and petting and kissing him; indeed, she felt a delicacy about touching him at all. But now she took him carefully out of his shelf, and began to wipe off this blood spot with her handkerchief. What were her feelings when she found that Nutcracker was growing warmer and warmer in her hand, and beginning to move! She put him back into the cupboard as fast as she could. His mouth began to wobble backwards and forwards, and he began to whisper, with much difficulty:

  “Ah, dearest Miss Stahlbaum—most precious of friends! How deeply I am indebted to you for everything—for everything! But don’t, don’t sacrifice any of your picture books or pretty dresses for me. Get me a sword—a sword is what I want. If you get me that, I’ll manage the rest—though—he may—”

  There Nutcracker’s speech died away, and his eyes, which had been expressing the most sympathetic grief, grew staring and lifeless again.

  Marie felt no fear; she jumped for joy, rather, now that she knew how to help Nutcracker without further painful sacrifices. But where on earth was she to get hold of a sword for him? She resolved to take counsel with Fritz; and that evening when their father and mother had gone out, and they two were sitting beside the glass cupboard, she told him what had passed between her and Nutcracker with the king of the mice, and what it was that was required to rescue Nutcracker.

  The thing which chiefly exercised Fritz’s mind was Marie’s statement as to the unexemplary conduct of his red hussars in the great battle. He asked her once more, most seriously, to assure him that it really was the truth; and when she had repeated her statement on her word of honour, he advanced to the cupboard and made his hussars a most affecting address. As a punishment for their behaviour, he solemnly took their plumes one by one out of their busbies, and prohibited them from sounding the march of the hussars of the guard for the space of a twelvemonth. When he had performed this duty, he turned to Marie and said:

  “As far as the sword is concerned, I have it in my power to assist Nutcracker. I placed an old Colonel of Cuirassiers on retirement on a pension yesterday, so that he has no further occasion for his sabre, which is sharp.”

  This Colonel was settled, on his pension, in the back corner of the third shelf. He was fetched out and his sabre—still a bright and handsome silver weapon—taken off, and girt about Nutcracker.

  Next night Marie could not close an eye for anxiety. About midnight she fancied she heard a strange stirring and noise in the sitting-room—a rustling and a clanging—and suddenly there came a shrill “Queak!”

  “The king of the mice! The king of the mice!” she cried, and jumped out of bed, all terror. Everything was silent; but soon there came a gentle tapping at the door of her room, and a soft voice made itself heard, saying:

  “Please open your door, dearest Miss Stahlbaum! Don’t be in the least degree alarmed; good, happy news!”

  It was Drosselmeier’s voice—young Drosselmeier’s, I mean. She threw on her dressing-gown and opened the door as quickly as possible. There stood Nutcracker, with his sword all covered with blood in his right hand, and a little wax taper in his left. When he saw Marie, he knelt down on one knee, and said:

  “It was you, and you only, dearest lady, who inspired me with knightly valour, and steeled me with strength to do battle with the insolent caitiff who dared to insult you. The treacherous king of the mice lies vanquished and writhing in his gore! Deign, lady, to accept these tokens of victory from the hand of him who is, till death, your true and faithful knight.”

  With this Nutcracker took from his left arm the seven crowns of the Mouse-King, which he had ranged upon it, and handed them to Marie, who received them with the keenest pleasure. Nutcracker rose and continued as follows:

  “ Oh! my best beloved Miss Stahlbaum, if you would only take the trouble to follow me for a few steps, what glorious and beautiful things I could show you, at this supreme moment when I have overcome my hereditary foe! Do—do come with me, dearest lady!”

  TOYLAND

  I feel quite convinced, children, that none of you would have hesitated for a moment to go with good, kind Nutcracker, who had always shown himself to be such a charming person, and Marie was all the more disposed to do as he asked her, because she knew what her just claims on his gratitude were, and was sure that he would keep his word, and show her all sorts of beautiful things. So she said:

  “I will go with you, dear Mr. Drosselmeier; but it mustn’t be very far, and it won’t do to be very long, because, you know, I haven’t had any sleep yet.”

  “Then we will go by the shortest route,” said Nutcracker, “although it is, perhaps, rather the most difficult.”

  He went on in front, followed by Marie, till he stopped before the big old wardrobe. Marie was surprised to see that though it was generally shut, the doors of it were now wide open, so that she could see her father’s travelling cloak of fox-fur hanging in the front. Nutcracker clambered deftly up this cloak, by the edgings and trimmings of it, so as to get hold of the big tassel which was fastened at the back of it by a thick cord. He gave this tassel a tug, and a pretty little ladder of cedarwood let itself quickly down through one of the armholes of the cloak.

  “Now, Miss Stahlbaum, step up that ladder, if you will be so kind,” said Nutcracker. Marie did so. But as soon as she had got up through the armhole, and began to look out at the neck, a dazzling light came streaming on her, and she found herself standing on a lovely, sweet-scented meadow, from which millions of sparks were streaming upward, like the glitter of beautiful gems.

  “This is Candy Mead, where we are now,” said Nutcracker. “But we’ll go in at that gate there.”

  Marie looked up and saw a beautiful gateway on the meadow, only a few steps off. It seemed to be made of white, brown, and raisin-coloured marble; but when she came close to it she saw it was all of baked sugar-almonds and raisins, which—as Nutcracker said when they were going through it—was the reason it was called “Almond and Raisin Gate.” There was a gallery running round the upper part of it, apparently made of barley sugar, and in this gallery six monkeys, dressed in red doublets, were playing on brass instruments in the most delightful manner ever heard. It was all that Marie could do to notice that she was walking along upon a beautiful variegated marble pavement, which, however, was really a mosaic of lozenges of all colours. Presently the sweetest of odours came breathing round her, streaming from a beautiful little wood on both sides of the way. There was such a glittering and sparkling among the dark foliage that one could see all the gold and silver fruits hanging on the many-tinted stems, and these stems and branches were all ornamented and dressed up in ribbons and bunches of flowers like brides and bridegrooms and festive wedding guests. And as the orange perfume came wafted, as if on the wings of gentle zephyrs, there was a soughing among the leaves and branches, and all the gold-leaf and tinsel rustled and tinkled like beautiful music, to which the sparkling lights could not help dancing.

  “Oh, how charming this is!” cried Marie, enraptured.

  “This is Christmas Wood, dearest Miss Stahlbaum,” said Nutcracker.

  “Ah!” said Marie, “if I could only stay here for a little! Oh, it is so lovely!”

  Nutcracker clapped his little hands, and immediately there appeared a number of little shepherds and shepherdesses, and hunters and huntresses, so white and delicate that you would have thought they were made of pure sugar, whom Marie had not noticed before, although they had been walking about in the wood. They brought a beautiful gold reclining chair, laid a white satin cushion in it, and politely invited Marie to take a seat. As soon as she did so, the shepherds and shepherdesses danced a pretty ballet, to which the hunters and huntresses played music on their horns, and then they all disappeared among the thickets.

  “I must really apologize for the poor style in which this dance was executed, dearest Miss Stahlbaum,” said Nutcracker. “These people all belong to our Wire Ballet Troupe, and can only do the same thing over and over again. Had we not better go on a little farther?”

  “Oh, I’m sure it was all most delightful, and I enjoyed it immensely!” said Marie, as she stood up and followed Nutcracker, who was leading the way. They went by the side of a gently rippling brook, which seemed to be what was giving out all the perfume which filled the wood.

  “This is Orange Brook,” said Nutcracker; “but, except for its sweet scent, it is nowhere nearly as fine a water as the River Lemonade, a beautiful broad stream, which falls—as this one does also—into the Almond-milk Sea.”

  And, indeed, Marie soon heard a louder plashing and rushing, and came in sight of the River Lemonade, which went rolling along in swelling waves of a yellowish colour, between banks covered with a herbage and underbrush which shone like green carbuncles. A remarkable freshness and coolness, strengthening heart and breast, exhaled from this fine river. Not far from it a dark yellow stream crept sluggishly along, giving out a most delicious odour; and on its banks sat numbers of pretty children, angling for little fat fishes, which they ate as soon as they caught them. These fish were very much like filberts, Marie saw when she came closer. A short distance farther, on the banks of this stream, stood a nice little village. The houses of this village, and the church, the parsonage, the barns, and so forth, were all dark brown with gilt roofs, and many of the walls looked as if they were plastered over with lemon peel and shelled almonds.

  “That is Gingerthorpe on the Honey River,” said Nutcracker. “It is famed for the good looks of its inhabitants; but they are very short-tempered people, because they suffer so much from toothache. So we won’t go there at present.”

  At this moment Marie caught sight of a little town where the houses were all sorts of colours and quite transparent, exceedingly pretty to look at. Nutcracker went on towards this town, and Marie heard a noise of bustle and merriment, and saw some thousands of nice little folks unloading a number of wagons which were drawn up in the market place. What they were unloading from the wagons looked like packages of coloured paper and tablets of chocolate.