The Serapion Brethren Volume I Part 28

"'Oh, dear me; what can I tell you except the truth, poor unfortunate girl that I am!'

"At this moment the door opened, and G.o.dpapa Drosselmeier came in, crying:

'"Hullo! hullo! what's all this? My little Marie crying? What's all this? what's all this?'

"Dr. Stahlbaum told him all about it, and showed him the crowns. As soon as he had looked at them, however, he cried out:

"'Stuff and nonsense! stuff and nonsense! These are the crowns I used to wear on my watch-chain. I gave them as a present to Marie on her second birthday. Do you mean to tell me you don't remember?'

"None of them _did_ remember anything of the kind. But Marie, seeing that her father and mother's faces were clear of clouds again, ran up to her G.o.dpapa, crying:

"'You know all about the affair, G.o.dpapa Drosselmeier; tell it to them then. Let them know from your own lips that my Nutcracker is your nephew, young Mr. Drosselmeier from Nurnberg, and that it was he who gave me the crowns.' But Drosselmeier made a very angry face, and muttered, 'Stupid stuff and nonsense!' upon which Marie's father took her in front of him, and said, with much earnestness:

"'Now just look here, Mario; 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 G.o.dpapa's nephew, I shall shy, 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, on 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 do, she sat quiet and meditative, absorbed within herself.

Everybody found fault with her for being this sort of little dreamer.

"It chanced one day that G.o.dpapa Drosselmeier was repairing one of the clocks in the house, and Marie was sitting beside the gla.s.s 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 G.o.dpapa 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 G.o.dpapa Drosselmeier's nephew come from Nurnberg. See how good you can be.'

"Marie looked up. Her G.o.dpapa had got on his yellow coat and his gla.s.s 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 quant.i.ty 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 gla.s.s cupboard in the sitting-room.

"'Play nicely together, children,' said G.o.dpapa 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 spake 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 Marchpane Castle, for there I now am 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 Marchpane 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."

"Tell me, dear Lothair," said Theodore, "how you can call your 'Nutcracker and the King of the Mice' a children's story? It is impossible that children should follow the delicate threads which run through the structure of it, and hold together its apparently heterogeneous parts. The most they could do would be to keep hold of detached fragments, and enjoy those, here and there."

"And is that not enough?" answered Lothair. "I think it is a great mistake to suppose that clever, imaginative children--and it is only they who are in question here--should content themselves with the empty nonsense which is so often set before them under the name of Children's Tales. They want something much better; and it is surprising how much they see and appreciate which escapes a good, honest, well-informed papa. Before I read this story to you, I read it to the only sort of audience whom I look upon as competent critics of it, to wit, my sister's children. Fritz, who is a great soldier, was delighted with his namesake's army, and the battle carried him away altogether. He cried 'prr and poof, and schmetterdeng, and boom booroom,' after me, in a ringing voice; jigged about on his chair, and cast an eye towards his sword, as if he would go to Nutcracker's aid when he got into danger.

He had never read Shakespeare, or the recent newspaper accounts of fighting; so that all the significance of the military strategy and evolutions connected with that greatest of battles escaped him completely, as well as 'A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!' And in the same way dear little Eugenie thoroughly appreciated, in her kind heart, Marie's regard for little Nutcracker, and was moved to tears when she sacrificed her playthings and her picture-books--even her little Christmas dress--to rescue her darling; and doubted not for a moment as to the existence of the glittering Candy Mead on to which Marie stepped from the neck of the mysterious fox-fur cloak in her father's wardrobe. The account of Toyland delighted the children more than I can tell."

"That part of your story," said Ottmar, "keeping in view the circ.u.mstance that the readers or listeners are to be children, I think the most successful. The interpolation of the story of the Hard Nut, although the 'cement' of the whole lies there, I consider to be a fault, because the story is--in appearance at all events--complicated and confused by it, and it rather stretches and broadens the threads.

You have declared that we are incompetent critics, and so reduced us to silence; but I cannot help telling you that, if you bring this tale before the public, many very rational people--particularly those who never have been children themselves (which is the case with many)--will shrug their shoulders and shake their heads, and say the whole affair is a pack of stupid nonsense; or, at all events, that some attack of fever must have suggested your ideas, because n.o.body in his sound and sober senses could have written such a piece of chaotic monstrosity."

"Very good," said Lothair, "to such a head-shaker I should make a profound reverence, lay my hand on my heart, and a.s.sure him that it is little service to an author if all sorts of fancies dawn upon him in a confused dream, unless he can discuss them with himself by the light of sound reason and judgment, and work out the threads of them firmly and soberly. Moreover, I would say that no description of work demands a clear and quiet mind more absolutely than just this; for, although it must have the effect of flashing out in all directions with the most arbitrary disregard of all rules, it must contain a firm kernel within it."

"n.o.body can gainsay you in this," said Cyprian. "Still, it must always be a risky undertaking to bring the utterly fanciful into the domain of everyday life, and clap mad, enchanted caps on to the heads of grave and sober folks--judges, students, and Masters of the Rolls--so that they go gliding about like ghosts in broad daylight up and down the most frequented streets of the most familiar towns, and one does not know what to think of his most respectable neighbours. It is true that this brings with it a certain tone of irony, which acts as a spur to the lazy spirit, or rather entices it, un.o.bservedly, with a plausible face, into this unaccustomed province."

"But the said tone of irony," said Theodore, "is capable of becoming a most dangerous pitfall; for the pleasantness of the plot and execution--which we have a right to demand in all tales of the kind--may very easily trip over it and go tumbling to the bottom."

"But I do not believe it is possible to lay down definite canons for the construction of stories of this kind," said Lothair. "Tieck, the profound and glorious master--the creator of the most delightful works of the 'tale' cla.s.s--has only placed a very few scattered, instructive hints on the subject in the mouths of the characters in his 'Phantasus.' According to them, the conditions are, a quietly progressive tone of the narrative; a certain guilelessness in the relation, which, like gently fantasising music, enters the soul without noise or din. There should be no bitter after-taste left behind by it, but only a sense of enjoyment, echoing on. But is this sufficient to define the only admissible tone for this species of literature?

However, I don't wish to think any more about my 'Nutcracker.' I feel that it is pervaded by what I may call 'overflowing spirits' to too great an extent; and I have thought too much of grown-up people and their ways and doings; for the rest, I have had to promise the little critics in my sister's nursery to get another story ready for them by next Christmas, and I undertake to keep it in a quieter tone. For to-day, I think we ought to be thankful that I have summoned you up out of the dreadful mine-shaft at Falun to the light of day, and restored you to the good humour and good spirits which become Serapion Brethren--particularly at the moment of parting, for I hear the clock striking twelve."

"May Serapion continue to protect and aid us," cried Theodore, rising and elevating his gla.s.s, "and enable us to describe what we have seen with the eye of the spirit, in graphic and apposite words."

The Brethren drank the toast, and parted.

SECTION THIRD.

"There can be no question," said Lothair, when the Serapion Brethren were next a.s.sembled, "that our Cyprian--just as was the case on the St.

Serapion's Day when our Brotherhood was founded--has something strange occupying his mind and thoughts. He is pale and disturbed; listens to our conversation with only half an ear; and seems, though present in the body, to be far away in spirit."

"Then," said Ottmar, "the best thing he can do is to out with the story of the madman whose name-day he is probably celebrating."

"And discharge the contents of his brain in eccentric sparks just as he pleases," added Theodore; "for I know that he will then become humanly-minded again, and come back to our circle, which he will have to content himself with as best he may."

"You are doing me an injustice," said Cyprian; "for instead of my being preoccupied with anything relating to insanity, I bring you a piece of news which ought to delight you all. Our friend Sylvester has come back here to-day from his long stay in the country."

The friends welcomed this announcement with shouts; for they were all much attached to the quiet but brilliant and kindly Sylvester, whose inward poesy shone forth in the mildest and most beauteous radiance.

"No more worthy Serapion Brother than our Sylvester could possibly exist," said Theodore. "He is quiet and thoughtful: it is true it costs some trouble to kindle him up to the point of clear utterance; but probably there never was any one more susceptive of the work of other people. Though he is a man of few words himself, one reads in his face, in the clearest traits, the impression which the words of others produce upon him; and when his kindliness and talent stream forth in his looks and whole being, I feel myself more kind and more clever in his presence--more free and more happy."

"The truth is," said Ottmar, "that Sylvester is a very remarkable man just on that account. The poets of the present day seem all to go storming, of set purpose, up above the level of that unpretending modesty which ought to be considered the most marked and essential quality of the true poet-nature; and even the better-minded among them have need to be careful that, in the mere maintenance of their rights, they should abstain from drawing that sword which the great majority of them never lay out of their hands. But Sylvester goes about weaponless, like a guileless child. We have often accused him of indolence, and told him that, considering the wealth of his intellect, he writes too little. But must people go on writing continually? When Sylvester sits down and fixes some inner image into words, there is sure to be some irresistible impulse constraining him to do so. He never writes anything that he has not most vividly felt, and seen; and therefore he must come amongst us as a perfect Serapion Brother."

"I have a dislike to all odd numbers," said Lothair, "except the mystic and pleasant number seven; and I think that five Serapion Brethren would never answer, but that six, on the other hand, would sit very comfortably about this round table. Sylvester has arrived to-day; and very shortly that restless, wandering spirit, Vincent, will be casting anchor here too. We all know him; and we are aware that, except for the kindness of heart which he possesses in common with Sylvester, he is the most absolute contrast to him, in all respects, that it would be possible to find. Sylvester is quiet and meditative; whilst Vincent boils over with wit and high spirits. He has an inexhaustible faculty of clothing everything in bizarre imagery--the most everyday matters, as well as the most extraordinary; as, moreover, he says everything in a clear, almost piercing voice, and with the drollest pathos, his talk is often like a set of magic-lantern slides, carrying the attention along in constant, unresting alternation and change, without allowing it to pause and contemplate anything quietly."