The Nutcracker Launches An Attack

Chapter 3

“Strike the battle march, loyal vassal drummer!” Nutcracker shouted. The drummer beat his drum so furiously that the glass in the cabinet shook and reverberated the sound. A rattle and clatter came from within the cabinet, and Marie saw that the lids of the boxes where Fritz’s army was quartered had popped open. The soldiers were jumping out of their boxes and forming regiments on the bottom shelf.
Nutcracker was running back and forth shouting words to inspire his troops. “I see that dog of a trumpeter isn’t moving himself!” he cried furiously. Then he quickly turned to Pantaloon, who had become quite pale and whose long chin trembled. To Pantaloon he said, “General, I know how courageous and experienced you are. We need a quick eye and a quicker mind, so I’m trusting the cavalry and artillery to you. You don’t need a horse – your legs are so long you can gallop quite well on them. Now, do your job.”
Pantaloon immediately put his long, spindly fingers into his mouth and trumpeted so loud that it may as well have been a hundred trumpets. From within the cabinet, there came a nickering and stamping. Marie looked inside and saw Fritz’s dragoons and cuirassiers, and especially his new hussars dropping down to the floor. With flags flying and music playing, regiment after regiment marched marched across the floor and lined themselves up into neat, wide rows.
With clanks and clinks, Fritz’s cannons were brought to the front. Boom! Boom! Boom! they went. They fired tiny balls of sugar – no bigger than peas – that exploded and covered the mice in powdered sugar upon impact. Although it didn’t really hurt, it was very demoralizing.
Meanwhile, an artillery battery up on Mama’s footstool was doing a considerable amount of damage – they were firing volleys of peppernuts, which took down many of the mice.

Yet the mice continued to advance, even overtaking some of the cannons. And there was now so much noise, smoke, and dust that Marie could barely make out what was going on. But one thing she could tell for sure was that both sides were fighting as hard as they could. Sometimes it seemed that the toys would win, and other times it looked like the mice would take the victory.
Yet the numbers of mice were increasing rather than decreasing, and the small silver pills they shot with great skill had already begun to strike the glass-fronted cabinet. Madame Clarette and Madame Trudie anxiously paced inside and wrung their hands.
“Am I to die in the flower of my youth? I, the most beautiful of dolls?” Clarette asked.
“Was I so well-preserved, just to die here in my own home?” Trudie asked.
Then they fell into each other’s arms and cried so loudly that they could be heard above the commotion outside.
And what a commotion it was! You can hardly begin to imagine the noise! Cannons boomed and clanked, tiny muskets fired, the Mouse King and his mice squeaked, and the Nutcracker shouted orders from amidst the cannons.
Pantaloon, to his credit, had lead some brilliant cavalry charges, but the mouse artillery had pelted Fritz’s hussars with foul-smelling balls that left stains on their red jackets. Because of this, they lost the will to advance. Pantaloon ordered them to turn left. Caught up in the excitement of giving orders, he himself also turned left – and so did his cuirassiers and dragoons. And so they all marched left and went home.
This left the battery on the footstool unprotected, and it wasn’t long before a swarm of very ugly mice came and knocked the whole thing over – stool, guns, and gunners alike.
Nutcracker looked very worried and ordered the right wing to retreat. Those of you who have lead any battles yourself will know that retreating is no different than running away, and I’m quite sure that you feel just as sorry as I do that things turned out so badly for the army of Marie’s beloved Nutcracker.
During the worst of the battle, cavalry mice waiting quietly under the bureau threw themselves upon the left wing of the Nutcracker’s army with horrible squeaks and squeals – but what resistance they found!
Slowly, because of the difficult terrain (that is, the edge of the cabinet), the standard-bearers under the command of two Chinese emperors had moved over and formed a square. These brave, colorful, and splendid troops consisted of gardeners, Tyroleans, Tunguses, barbars, harlequins, lions, tigers, monkeys, apes, all of whom fought with composure, courage, and determination.
With Spartan bravery, this elite battalion would have snatched the victory from the hands of the enemy had not a bold captain of the mouse cavalry daringly bitten off the head of one of the Chinese emperors, who in turn killed two Tunguses and a monkey as he fell. This formed a gap that the enemy could penetrate, and soon the whole battalion had been gnawed through.
But the enemy gained little advantage from this unfortunate turn of events, because every mouse who viciously bit into the middle of his valiant opponent got a printed piece of paper lodged in his throat and he immediately choked to death.
Despite this small gain, things were looking bad for the Nutcracker’s army. Once they had begun to fall back, they found themselves falling back further and further and losing more people until all that remained was a small group backed against the cabinet.
“Bring up the reserves!” Nutcracker ordered. “Pantaloon, Scaramouche, Drummer, where are you?” He was hoping for fresh troops from the glass-fronted cabinet.
Some brown men and women with golden faces, hats, and helmets appeared, but they were so awkward with their swords that they were no help at all. The only thing they managed to knock down was General Nutcracker’s hat. The enemy chasseurs had soon bitten off their legs, and when they fell they crushed and killed several more of the Nutcracker’s men.
The enemy drew closer still, and there was no escape. Nutcracker would have jumped up to the cabinet’s ledge, but his legs were too short. Madame Clarette and Madame Trudie could not help him, for they both laid in a faint. Hussars and dragoons sprang past him into the cabinet. In desperation he called out, “a horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!”
But that that moment, two enemy marksmen took hold of Nutcracker’s wooden cloak and held him fast. Squeaking in triumph from seven throats, the Mouse King sprang forward to take his kill.
Marie could no longer keep what little composure she had, and without really knowing why she removed her left shoe and threw it as hard as she could into the thickest patch of mice she could see – right at their king. At that moment, everything faded from Marie’s vision. She felt a stabbing pain in her arm, and fell fainting to the floor. Marie awoke from a deathlike sleep to find herself in her own bed. The sun was shining through the window, making the frost on the panes sparkle and shimmer.
Sitting near by was a stranger – no, Dr. Wendelstern, the surgeon. “She’s awake now,” he said in a soft voice.
Her mother came over and looked at Marie with frightened, searching eyes.
“Oh Mama, dear, are all the mice gone? Is good Nutcracker safe?”
“Don’t talk about nonsense like that, Marie. What do mice have to do with the Nutcracker? You’ve been a very naughty child and worried us very much. That’s what happens when a child is willful and doesn’t do as her parents tell her. You played with your dolls until you became sleepy, and it may be that a mouse – which I find unlikely – jumped out and frightened you, and you fell back and pushed your arm through the glass. Dr. Wendelstern, who removed the glass from your arm, says if you’d cut an artery you might have been left with a stiff arm – or bled to death. Thank God I woke up after midnight and noticed you weren’t in your bed. I went into the living room and found you passed out in front of the toy cabinet, bleeding heavily. I almost fainted from shock myself, and then I saw Fritz’s soldiers, a lot of other dolls, and broken banners, gingerbread men, and not far away, your left shoe.”
“Oh, Mama, Mama!” Marie interrupted, “don’t you see – that’s what was left of the battle between the dolls and the mice. The mice wanted to take the Nutcracker and I got scared, so I threw my shoe at them – and after that, I don’t know what happened.”
Dr. Wendelstern glanced at Mrs. Stahlbaum, then said to Marie very gently: “There’s no need to worry, my dear child. The mice are all gone and Nutcracker is safe in the toy cabinet.”
Then the physician (that is, Marie’s father) came in and spoke with Dr. Wendelstern for a considerable length of time. He took Marie’s pulse, and she heard mention of wound fever. She had to stay in bed and take some medicine for a few days, though aside from the pain in her arm she didn’t really feel ill or uncomfortable.
She now knew that Nutcracker had escaped the battle safe and sound. Occasionally, she would hear as if in a dream the Nutcracker’s voice, distinct yet weak. “Marie, dear lady, I already owe you so much, but there is more you could do for me!”
Marie tried to think of what it could possibly be, but she could think of nothing.
She could not play with her toys because of the pain in her arm, and the illustrations in the picture books swam before her eyes until she had to give up on them. And so time seemed to draw on forever. She could hardly wait for evening, because then her mother would come and read her all sorts of beautiful stories.

One evening, her mother had just finished the story of Prince Fakardin when the door opened and godfather Drosselmeier stepped into the room. “Now I must see for myself how the sick and injured Marie is doing,” he said.
As soon as Marie saw his yellow coat, the image of the Nutcracker losing the battle against the mice came back into her mind. Automatically she said: “Oh, godfather Drosselmeier, you were so ugly! I saw you up there on the clock, covering it with your wings so it couldn’t strike and scare away the mice. I even heard you call the Mouse King! Why didn’t you help the Nutcracker or me, you ugly godfather Drosselmeier? It’s your fault that I’m hurt and sick and stuck in bed, isn’t it?”
Marie’s mother, shocked, asked, “What is wrong with you, Marie?”
However, godfather Drosselmeier made an odd face and said in a rasping, monotonous voice:
The pendulum had to purr and pick
It could not strike, nor could it tick
But now the bells sound loud and strong
Dong and ding, ding and dong
Doll girl, don’t be afraid
The king of mice has gone away
The owl returns now swift and quick
Pick and peck, peck and pick
Bells ring, dong and ding
Clocks whirr, purr and purr
Pendulums must also purr
Clink and clank, whirr and purr.
Marie stared wide-eyed at godfather Drosselmeier. The judge looked somehow uglier than usual, and his right arm was moving back and forth as if he were manipulating a marionette. Marie would have been very frightened had it not been for her mother’s presence, and for the fact that Fritz (who had quietly crept in) suddenly burst out in loud laughter.
“Oh, godfather Drosselmeier, you’re too funny today,” Fritz said. “You’re just like the jumping jack I threw behind the stove awhile back.”
But their mother had a serious expression on her face and said, “Dear Mr. Drosselmeier, what odd entertainment. What is it all about?”
“Heavens!” the judge responded with laughter. “Don’t you know about my watchmaker’s ditty? I always sing it to patients like Marie.” He quickly sat close beside Marie’s bed and said, “Don’t be angry at me for not putting out all fourteen of the Mouse King’s eyes, but I’ve got something for you that I think will make you really happy.” With those words, he reached into his pocket and swiftly pulled out the Nutcracker. His missing teeth had all been set firmly back in and his wobbly jaw was set straight again.
Marie shouted with joy, and her mother said, “See how well godfather Drosselmeier thinks of Nutcracker?”
“You still have to admit, Marie,” Drosselmeier interrupted, “he’s quite ugly. I’ll tell you how such ugliness came into his family, if you want to listen. Or maybe you already know the story of Princess Pirlipat, the witch Mouserinks, and the clockmaker?”
“Wait a minute,” Fritz said suddenly, “you’ve fixed the Nutcracker’s teeth and jaw, but he’s got no sword – why’s he missing a sword?”
“Oh!” Drosselmeier responded indignantly, “you have to complain about everything, boy! Why should I find him a sword? I’ve fixed his body; it’s up to him to get a sword if he wants one.”
“That’s true,” Fritz said. “If he’s any good, he’ll know where to find his weapons.”
The judge turned again to Marie. “So, Marie, do tell me – do you know the story of Princess Pirlipat?”
“Oh, no,” Marie said. “Do tell, dear godfather – do tell!”
“I hope, dear Mr. Drosselmeier, that your story won’t be as horrible as the ones you usually tell,” her mother said.
“Not at all, dear lady,” Drosselmeier replied. “On the contrary, the story which I have the honor of telling is a fairytale.”
“Tell us the story, dear godfather!” the children begged, and so he began.

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