Join us at the campfire for tales from around the world, told by storytellers of all backgrounds and creeds. From the heros and heroines of old, let us relearn and rediscover the wisdom of our ancestors. Shhh..the story begins..
There once lived in Nuremberg a family by the name of Stahlbaum. The children, Marie and Fritz, had the same godfather...a clockmaker of more than mortal skill who could manufacture wonderful things that came to life by enchantment. He could make miniature men who would bow and smile as prettily as any courtier, birds no larger than beans who sang as sweetly as any summer lark, puppets who could dance without the aid of strings, and wooden soldiers who marched in perfect formation, all at the command of the clockmaker. His name was Drosselmeier...a small, gnomelike fellow with white hair and a crooked back, which caused him to hobble when he walked...and he made these things as gifts for Marie and Fritz.
The children's parents said these treasures were marvels of Drosselmeier's art, too fragile to touch except at Christmas time. During the rest of the year, the toys were locked away but Marie and Fritz knew that the tiny creatures their godfather had created were brought to life by his magic, and the nature of the toys was such that only during the heart of Christmas did they live, set free by the hand of the clockmaker.
One Christmas Eve, Drosselmeier brought to the house a very special present in an enormous box. His one good eye...the other covered by a black patch...glinted as he watched the children open his gift. It rose from the floor to half the room's height, a fairy tale castle with many windows and tall towers. From the glass cabinet in the room, the inventions of former years...dolls, toy soldiers and carved animals...stared down upon this wonder that the clockmaker had created.
Marie and Fritz heard bells pealing from the belfries and, as the tiny casement windows flew open, saw the splendid rooms built within the castle. In a long gallery lined with mirrors, diminutive figures wearing colorful silk robes promenaded slowly to and fro, bowing to one another and speaking in tones as high and light as the singing of distant birds.
Through another window could be seen a grand hall, lit by chandeliers in which countless tapers burned. The flames of the candles were no larger than grains of wheat, but nevertheless illuminated the elfin children who danced on the marble floor. At one portal, a man appeared and stared out at Marie and Fritz. He was a bent, elderly creature wearing a white wig and a black eye patch. He was, in fact, the miniature image of Drosselmeier. After a moment, he gave a crooked grin and withdrew into his tower.
Entranced, the children peered more closely at the apparently living dolls residing within the castle and Fritz demanded to know if he could be sent into that small world or if the dolls could be made to venture outside. The clockmaker merely shook his head and answered that the patterns were set and could not be altered.
Fritz, disgruntled and growing tired of the spectacle, stomped off to play with his new toy soldiers and, after a while, Marie also wandered away. She sat beneath the glittering Christmas tree and cradled in her arms another present that Drosselmeier had made for her. It was a doll clothed, like Fritz's soldiers, in a braid-trimmed jacket, pantaloons and the boots of a hussar. Its enormous, slack-jawed, large-toothed head sat oddly on its slender frame and the glass eyes set in the grotesque face stared out at the world with an expression of thoughtful melancholy. It was, in fact, a nutcracker and its great jaw, pushed by a lever concealed in its back, was meant for crushing shells.
Although she considered herself somewhat too old for dolls, Marie played with this one...occasionally feeding it a nut...until she attracted the attention of her little brother. Fritz was overtired and fractious. With an irritating whine, he insisted that he be allowed to hold the nutcracker and, when he had it, thrust an enormous hazelnut into its mouth. Fritz hammered on the lever and, with an appalling crack, the wooden joint separated and the nut rolled onto the floor.
Fritz gaped at the broken device, his mouth pursed and his flushed face wrinkling. He threw the nutcracker down and let out a howl of temper that brought his parents running. Within moments, he was carried off by his mother, still crying.
Marie picked up the nutcracker and turned it around in her hands. Drosselmeier hobbled to her side. "Bind the wound," he said quite kindly, "and all will be well in the morning." At his words, the nutcracker's face seemed to twist into a snarl, but it was merely a trick of the light. Marie wrapped her handkerchief about the creature's head to hold its jaw in place and then placed it in a doll's bed which had been left beside the tree before retiring to her room. Drosselmeier remained in the parlor, muttering over his castle.
An hour later, as the rest of the household slept, Marie slipped into the parlor. The room was still and swathed in shadows; the eyes of the toys in the glass cupboard looked out onto shapes illuminated only by the glow of a single dying candle. Next to the tree, tiny hussars were arranged according to rank and, beside them, the nutcracker lay motionless on its pillow, his bed sheltered by the green boughs.
Marie entered and then paused, listening to the clock on the mantle as it ticked loudly. Abruptly, the timepiece gave a whirring rumble and began to chime the stroke of midnight. As if in answer, from every corner of the room came scratchings and clicks and rustlings. Even the very walls themselves were wakening. The shadows shifted and wriggled as they stretched and then shrivelled. Deep in the silhouettes, tiny lights were scattered which winked brightly.
A sudden movement caught Marie's eye and she turned. Something perched on the clock...a great bird whose wings shrouded the clock's hands. It raised its head and grinned at her, a manic and gleaming sneer. It was Drosselmeier, shrunken small and what the girl had taken for wings were the folds of his cloak. With a horrified cry, Marie leaped away, but she was too late. Every chair, every table, every picture frame swarmed with mice, scuttling and scampering as they twitched their heads this way and that. The mice tumbled across the floor like a furry flood, rolling toward Marie.
The next second, however, the mass of vermin arched skyward and scattered. A shape erupted from the floor...a seven-headed shape that roared. As Marie sprang backward, her arm hit the glass doors of the toy cabinet, which cracked, and the room began to swim before her terrified eyes. When her vision had cleared, she found herself among giants. She had shrunk, or so it seemed. Table legs soared into the air above her head and, higher still, rose the Christmas tree like a distant mountain. All around, the creatures skittered and squealed...no longer vulnerable mice but great, hairy, long-toothed creatures. In their midst loomed their King, screeching for plunder with his seven mouths.
The cry of the Mouse King was answered by a shout from above. On the Christmas table stood the Nutcracker. He was no longer grotesque, but a tall young man, handsome and brave in his gold braid. Marie was captivated. In his hand, he brandished a bright sword as he called out his orders. From the broken glass cabinet, a bugle sounded and a drum stuttered into life. From the floor by the table where the hussars stood came an answering shout. The toy soldiers were no longer toys and they roared in their regiments as they made their way to the battlefield.
Under the command of the seven-headed King, the great mice formed companies to meet the charge of the cavalry. Chaos followed for, while the mice lacked firearms and had no mounts, they matched the gallant horses in weight...their claws long and their white teeth sharp as razors. The wounds they dealt were ghastly. Again and again, the Nutcracker's regiments fell back and regrouped, fighting in ever-smaller companies under his command.
The Nutcracker himself remained in the thick of the battle, wielding a flashing blade and pressing through the throng toward the place where the Mouse King stood. The two leaders met amid a welter of soldiers and horses, of rearing mice and bloodied corpses. It was impossible to see the pair as they fought...only the surge of the crowd indicated where they stood. But, at the end, the ranks parted to show the Nutcracker stabbing and slashing at the Mouse King's throats. As blood spurted, the creature cried out with its multitude of voices and lunged forward.
Marie, cowering at the fringe of the combat, was enchanted by the valor and courage of the hero and, fearing for his life, gave a scream as she crumpled to the floor. The last thing she saw before darkness closed around her was Drosselmeier, perched on the clock like a demon, his mouth open in a laugh that she was unable to hear.
When the girl awoke, her face rested against the rough wool of the carpet and sunlight was refracting through the frosted flowers which starred the parlor windowpane. All around her lay broken toy soldiers, the stiffening carcasses of dead mice, shattered crockery and crumbled cakes and pastries. Amid the rubble were seven small gold crowns. Marie remembered the dreadful heads of the Mouse King and closed her eyes once more.
A thin, reedy voice...that of her godfather...called her name. Further away, Marie could hear her mother. The girl saw the two of them bending over her, attempting to pry from her grasp the item she held in her hand. It was a soldier clothed in the uniform of a hussar. Marie protested weakly as she was carried to her bed and a doctor summoned.
Nobody, it seemed, believed the tale that Marie told. Her mother frowned, insisting it was nothing more than a dream brought about by excitement and too many sweets. The doctor said the story was an imagining, caused by a brain fever that came from her fall against the glass cabinet.
Drosselmeier too scoffed when he was brought into the bedchamber. From the folds of his cloak, he withdrew the Nutcracker. It was a poor wooden thing in a gaudy uniform, topped by a grotesque wooden head. Watching her with his one glinting eye, the clockmaker presented the toy. "Here is your hero," he said. "Nothing but a block of wood, and an ugly one at that!" But Marie took the Nutcracker into her arms. "Nevertheless," she said, "I love him and owe him my life."
Drosselmeier sighed. After a while, with every appearance of regret, he said, "You are right. This creature is a Faerie Prince placed under an enchantment. The terms were that he slay the Mouse King and that a maiden love him while he bore this monstrous form. His world, you see," continued the clockmaker, "is full of dangers you cannot imagine. Will you then join him there?" Marie adamantly agreed that she would.
"You will leave behind forever your people, your home and your family," warned her godfather. Marie was unwavering in her decision. "You have had every chance to refuse," said Drosselmeier with a crooked smile.
Later, that night, the daughter of the Stahlbaum household vanished. No one could ever tell where she had gone and no evidence of her was found by her grieving parents. Some storytellers said that she had joined her prince in a land of milk and honey, where they reigned happily together for many years. But, the clockmaker could have told a very different tale altogether.
He went on about his eccentric business, continued to make wonderful toys and elaborate his enchanting castle. Sometimes, he peered in the windows at its long gallery, observing with satisfaction the dolls he had added to the company that paraded up and down. Among these new additions was a very handsome young man in the uniform of a hussar, whose jacket was swagged with gold braid. He sat at the side of a pretty young woman...hardly more than a girl really and the very image of Marie.