“Now look here, Marie; let there be an end of all this foolish trash and absurd nonsense for once and for all; I’m not going to allow any more of it; and if ever I hear you say again that that idiotic, misshapen Nutcracker is your godpapa’s nephew, I shall throw, not only Nutcracker, but all your other playthings—Miss Clara not excepted—out of the window.”

  Of course poor Marie dared not utter another word concerning that which her whole mind was full of, for you may well suppose that it was impossible for anyone who had seen all that she had seen to forget it. And I regret to say that even Fritz himself at once turned his back on his sister whenever she wanted to talk to him about the wondrous realm in which she had been so happy. Indeed, he is said to have frequently murmured, “Stupid goose!” between his teeth, though I can scarcely think this compatible with his proved kindness of heart. This much, however, is matter of certainty, that as he no longer believed what his sister said, he now at a public parade formally recanted what he had said to his red hussars, and in the place of the plumes he had deprived them of, gave them much taller and finer ones of goose quills and allowed them to sound the march of the hussars of the guard as before.

  Marie did not dare to say anything more of her adventures. But the memories of that fairy realm haunted her with a sweet intoxication, and the music of that delightful, happy country still rang sweetly in her ears. Whenever she allowed her thoughts to dwell on all those glories, she saw them again, and so it came about that, instead of playing as she used to, she sat quiet and meditative, absorbed within herself. Everybody found fault with her for being such a little dreamer.

  It chanced one day that Godpapa Drosselmeier was repairing one of the clocks in the house, and Marie was sitting beside the glass cupboard, sunk in her dreams and gazing at Nutcracker. All at once she said, as if involuntarily:

  “Ah, dear Mr. Drosselmeier, if you really were alive, I shouldn’t be like Princess Pirlipat and despise you because you had had to give up being a nice handsome gentleman for my sake!”

  “Stupid stuff and nonsense!” cried Godpapa Drosselmeier.

  But, as he spoke, there came such a tremendous bang and shock that Marie fell from her chair insensible.

  When she came back to her senses her mother was busied about her and said, “How could you go and tumble off your chair in that way, a big girl like you? Here is Godpapa Drosselmeier’s nephew come from Nuremberg. See how good you can be.”

  Marie looked up. Her godpapa had on his yellow coat and his glass wig, and was smiling in the highest good humour. By the hand he was holding a very small but very handsome young gentleman. His little face was red and white; he had on a beautiful red coat trimmed with gold lace, white silk stockings and shoes, with a lovely bouquet of flowers in his shirt frill. He was beautifully frizzed and powdered, and had a magnificent queue hanging down his back. The little sword at his side seemed to be made entirely of jewels, it sparkled and shone so, and the little hat under his arm was woven of flocks of silk. He gave proof of the fineness of his manners in that he had brought for Marie a quantity of the most delightful toys—above all, the very same figures as those which the Mouse-King had eaten up—as well as a beautiful sabre for Fritz. He cracked nuts at table for the whole party; the very hardest did not withstand him. He placed them in his mouth with his left hand, tugged at his pigtail with his right, and crack! they fell in pieces.

  Marie grew red as a rose at the sight of this charming young gentleman; and she grew redder still when after dinner young Drosselmeier asked her to go with him to the glass cupboard in the sitting-room.

  “Play nicely together, children,” said Godpapa Drosselmeier; “now that my clocks are all nicely in order, I can have no possible objection.”

  But as soon as young Drosselmeier was alone with Marie, he went down on one knee, and spoke as follows:

  “Ah! my most dearly beloved Miss Stahlbaum! see here at your feet the fortunate Drosselmeier, whose life you saved here on this very spot. You were kind enough to say, plainly and unmistakably, in so many words, that you would not have despised me, as Princess Pirlipat did, if I had been turned ugly for your sake. Immediately I ceased to be a contemptible Nutcracker, and resumed my former not altogether ill-looking person and form. Ah! most exquisite lady! bless me with your precious hand; share with me my crown and kingdom, and reign with me in Marzipan Castle, for there I am now king.”

  Marie raised him, and said gently, “Dear Mr. Drosselmeier, you are a kind, nice gentleman; and as you reign over a delightful country of charming, funny, pretty people, I accept your hand.”

  So then they were formally betrothed; and when a year and a day had come and gone, they say he came and fetched her away in a golden coach, drawn by silver horses. At the marriage there danced two-and-twenty thousand of the most beautiful dolls and other figures, all glittering in pearls and diamonds; and Marie is to this day the queen of a realm where all kinds of sparkling Christmas Woods, and transparent Marzipan Castles—in short, the most wonderful and beautiful things of every kind—are to be seen—by those who have the eyes to see them.

  So this is the end of the tale of Nutcracker and the King of the Mice.

 

 

  E. T. A. Hoffmann, The Nutcracker and the Golden Pot

 

 

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