The Nutcracker Mice

by Kristin Kladstrup

  “Do you think word will get out?” Esmeralda asked anxiously.

  “It always does — especially when you have mice like Franz spreading rumors.”

  Franz had been a soloist with the Russian Mouse Ballet Company until a mousetrap had snipped off a portion of his tail. The injury had affected his dancing, and he had been knocked down into the corps de ballet. Embittered by this demotion, he was always complaining and gossiping. If he was talking to mice outside the Mariinsky, it couldn’t be good.

  Conrad said, “Even Madame Giselle is worried about the Nutcracker scenario.”

  Esmeralda gave a start. It hadn’t occurred to her that the ballet mistress might be worried. Only last week, Madame Giselle had said, “This is the perfect ballet for you, Esmeralda! I predict that we may have a new prima ballerina after the audience sees you in the role of Clara.”

  The role of Clara was perfect for Esmeralda for one very important reason. But what would that matter if nobody came to see The Nutcracker? Esmeralda said, “There must be something we can do!”

  Conrad licked a last trace of lard from his hand. “Short of performing a completely different ballet, I’d say we’re doomed. But that can’t stop us from practicing. Come on, Esmeralda, or we’ll be late for class.”

  DESPITE THE GLOOMY prospects for The Nutcracker, Esmeralda felt her spirits rise at class that morning. She grasped the barre — a length of twine stretched between the stud nails behind one of the walls of the Mariinsky — and followed the movements of the line of dancers in front of her. Demi-plié, grand plié, tendu, relevé, rond-de-jambe . . . With each movement, Esmeralda reveled in the command her mind held over her body. How easy it was to keep the count for the grand battement en cloche! She raised her left leg, stretching it high: forward on the count of one, backward on the count of two, forward and backward again, like the clapper on a bell.

  Madame Giselle always held her morning class at the same time as the humans held theirs. Small holes in the wall, carefully hidden around the full-length mirrors in the human rehearsal room on the other side, ensured that the mice had light for their practice. They also had music. Just now the human rehearsal pianist was playing a rather tinny-sounding march, more militant than lyrical; all the same, it was easy for Esmeralda to imagine that she was on stage, dancing to the uplifting music from The Sleeping Beauty. She held her head erect, letting her arm trail through the air like a wisp of smoke.

  Meanwhile, Madame Giselle strolled up and down the line of dancers, scrutinizing their movements. Sometimes she praised. More often she criticized. Which was only right: like Monsieur Petipa, Madame Giselle was French and had high standards. She had come to the Mariinsky inside the carpetbag of a visiting Parisian ballerina. Although the ballerina had left soon after arriving, complaining that the Russian winter was unbearably cold, Madame Giselle, inspired by the fiery enthusiasm of the Saint Petersburg balletomanes, had decided to stay on as ballet mistress of the Russian Mouse Ballet Company. “We must reward the audience with our very best performance,” she was always declaring.

  Now Esmeralda sensed that Madame Giselle was watching her. Surely it was impossible to improve her extension. Still, Esmeralda made every effort to do so, stretching her leg high in what she hoped was a perfect développé à la seconde.

  She was rewarded. “Très bien, Esmeralda! The training ribbon is helping you maintain the correct position of your tail.”

  Though Esmeralda felt pleased, she did wish that the ballet mistress would not draw attention to the lavender-colored ribbon looped about her tail and tied around her waist. The ribbon kept her tail in the proper ballet position: wrapped tightly around her body. Keeping one’s tail in position without the use of a training ribbon was not easy; it tended to hinder one’s movement and make one feel rather stiff. It was common for children in Madame Giselle’s ballet school to wear training ribbons. The problem was that Esmeralda was not a child. Nor was she a beginning dancer. She was a member of the Russian Mouse Ballet Company. None of the other dancers in the company needed to use a training ribbon, and it was a source of enormous frustration to Esmeralda that she did.

  It was a source of frustration for Madame Giselle as well. “I do not understand why you have such trouble with your tail, Esmeralda. You come from a long line of truly great dancers.”

  This was true. Esmeralda’s grandfather had founded the Russian Mouse Ballet Company, serving as its first ballet master. Esmeralda’s grandmother had been its first prima ballerina, making her name dancing the difficult lead roles in Giselle and Coppélia. Esmeralda’s parents had both been soloists, and now her cousin was the company’s most popular principal dancer. The only thing that Esmeralda could think was that her tail must somehow be constructed differently from the tails of everyone else in her family!

  “You bring such a lovely emotional quality to your dancing,” Madame Giselle had told her. “Your technique is always excellent. The only thing that keeps you from becoming prima ballerina is your tail. But you will succeed, my dear. Of this I am certain. In the meantime, we are fortunate that our next ballet is The Nutcracker. The role of Clara is perfect for you.”

  The role of Clara was perfect because Clara was a child.

  Madame Giselle had chosen twenty young students from the ballet school to play children in the first act of The Nutcracker. These little mice would all wear training ribbons. And, as Madame Giselle had pointed out, it would be awkward if Clara, who was also supposed to be a child, did not also wear a ribbon. According to the ballet mistress, The Nutcracker would be the perfect opportunity to showcase Esmeralda’s talents. “You can wear the training ribbon, and nobody will care,” Madame Giselle had observed.

  The ballet mistress had adjusted Clara’s choreography so that the dances Esmeralda would perform would be much more difficult than those performed by the student dancer who would play Clara in the human ballet. The dances were so difficult, in fact, that Esmeralda felt compelled to practice them day and night. She practiced them at rehearsals with the other dancers, and she practiced them when she was alone.

  Only a few days ago, she had been practicing in the costume department. Late in the day, Esmeralda had been working on her piqué turns, spinning across the floor beneath one of the cupboards. She had lost herself in the moment, imagining herself whirling across the stage on opening night, and she had danced right out from under the cupboard, coming to rest in a perfect arabesque, her arms outstretched and her body turned slightly toward an imaginary audience.

  Except that the audience hadn’t been imaginary. Much to Esmeralda’s horror, a human girl had been watching her. The girl had stared at Esmeralda, her blue eyes wide with wonder.

  The girl had stared . . . and smiled. And then a voice had called out, “Irina! Irinushka! Where are you?”

  “I’m here, Papa!” the girl had answered, breaking the spell. Esmeralda had run back under the cupboard, and the girl — Irina — had run out of the room.

  But Esmeralda still thought about Irina. From the girl’s smile, Esmeralda had been able to guess what she had been feeling: delight at seeing something wonderful. Thinking of Irina’s smile gave Esmeralda hope that the mice of Saint Petersburg might feel that same delight.

  The music on the other side of the wall stopped for a moment, then started again.

  “Line up, everyone! We will practice our piqué turns,” said Madame Giselle.

  Eager to show what she could do, Esmeralda placed herself first in line. She made one, two, three, four turns down the narrow space between the walls before her tail broke free from the ribbon.

  She heard a snickering from some of the dancers still in line, and then Madame Giselle’s firm voice saying, “Try again, my dear!”

  Esmeralda knew who had laughed. Fleur de Lys was standing in line with Franz; it was no surprise that these two mice — both of them known for their unpleasant personalities — were friends. Now, as Esmeralda walked past Fleur, she heard the prima ballerina murmur, “It ne
ver ceases to amaze me that someone who comes from one of the theater’s great dancing families has to wear a training ribbon!”

  Fleur did not come from one of the theater’s great dancing families. She was an outsider who had petitioned to attend Madame Giselle’s ballet school. She had superb technique and had advanced quickly because of it. Yet, for all her success, Fleur’s dancing lacked the emotional quality that Madame Giselle praised in Conrad’s dancing — and in Esmeralda’s. “Never mind Fleur — she’s jealous of you,” Conrad was always telling Esmeralda. Whether that was true, Esmeralda couldn’t say, but she couldn’t help minding Fleur’s spiteful comments. And, as she placed herself in line again and tied up her tail, she resolved to practice harder than ever — with the training ribbon and without.

  IRINA HAD NOT TOLD anyone about the dancing mouse. Not her friends at school, who would have laughed at her. Not Mama, who would have scoffed and told her not to be silly. Not even Papa, who would only have pretended to believe her. But she had seen a mouse — a silvery-gray one — wearing a lavender-colored ribbon and dancing across the floor of the costume department. The mouse had performed a tiny arabesque. It had looked right at her! In that moment, Irina had somehow known it was a girl mouse.

  Then, too, there were the mice she had seen watching The Sleeping Beauty from the tsar’s box. She was sure they had been enjoying the dancing. She liked Papa’s suggestion that the mice might have their own ballet company.

  At home, Irina sometimes pretended that the bookshelf in her room was a stage and that her doll, Lyudmila, was a ballerina. Where, she wondered, did the mice hold their performances? Did they have a mouse-size stage under the big stage? Once, during a rehearsal, Papa had shown Irina what it was like down there. It was dark, with only a small amount of light coming from the orchestra pit. Moreover, the noise of toe shoes striking the floor of the stage above was loud and distracting. That the mice should have to perform in such conditions bothered Irina.

  One night in late October, the boiler in the furnace room at Irina’s school burst. The students were to have an unexpected vacation while it was being repaired, and Papa and Mama, unable to leave Irina at home alone, had to bring her to the theater with them.

  On Irina’s first morning at the theater, she helped Mama sew hems on the party dresses that would be worn by the children in the first act of The Nutcracker. Mama’s supervisor, Madame Federova, rewarded Irina by giving her some scraps of cloth and ribbon to use for making doll dresses. The greater reward came near the end of the day, when Papa asked if Irina would like to watch the students from the ballet school rehearse on stage.

  Now Irina settled herself into one of the theater seats. She glanced up at the tsar’s box. No mice today. Then, from the pocket of her pinafore, she pulled out Lyudmila. Papa had carved the tiny doll from bits of wood, painting a serene, artistic expression on her face, and fitting her together in such a way that her arms and legs could bend. Irina set Lyudmila on the arm of the theater seat so that she could see the stage.

  The assistant ballet master, Monsieur Ivanov, was sitting a few rows in front of her. His head turned back and forth as he watched the students dancing to the lively music being played by the rehearsal pianist. Irina kept her eyes on the girl dancing the role of Clara. Even now, Mama was upstairs working on Clara’s costume. It would be white with ruffles and a sash of crimson satin. Irina was already planning to make a similar dress for Lyudmila.

  Suddenly, Monsieur Ivanov leaped to his feet. “No, no, no!” he shouted, and the music came to a halt.

  The assistant ballet master strode down the aisle and up onto the stage. “Now then, children! You must form two circles when you dance: two precise circles, one inside the other. When the music changes, you must open up, regroup, and form a figure eight. As for you, Clara — what’s your name again?”

  The student bobbed in a curtsy. “Stanislava, Monsieur Ivanov.”

  “I am aware that you are talented, Stanislava, but I don’t want you outshining the other dancers. It’s too much of a distraction. Three simple châiné turns are all that is required; no piqué turns!”

  Irina didn’t agree. Stanislava was clearly capable of performing the piqué turns. Just think how lovely they would look when she was wearing her ruffled costume!

  “Yes, Monsieur. I am sorry. I will do it right this time,” said Stanislava.

  The music started up again. The children danced. Monsieur Ivanov returned to his seat. “Remember to smile, Clara!” he shouted above the piano.

  Yes, thought Irina, this was supposed to be a happy scene. Later on, however, Clara would not be smiling. Not when dancers dressed as mice invaded the stage. Then Clara would have to look frightened.

  Irina thought of the real mice, trying to perform The Nutcracker on their tiny stage. Wouldn’t it be silly for the mouse Clara to be afraid of mice?

  Just then she felt something tickle her neck. Startled, she looked up to see Papa holding a feather duster. He used it to point toward the rear of the theater.

  She slipped Lyudmila into her pocket and followed him out to the lobby.

  “It’s time to go home, Irina. Will you go fetch Mama from the costume department?”

  “Yes, Papa.”

  “And listen — I’ve got a treat for you. Today was Yuri Petrovich’s birthday — you remember him, don’t you?”

  She nodded. Yuri Petrovich was one of the custodians — the nicest custodian after Papa.

  “His wife baked cookies, and he brought some to work for us to enjoy. I saved one for you.”

  It was a spice cookie, smelling of honey and nutmeg and anise, and covered with snowy-white icing. Irina’s mouth watered as she took it from Papa. “May I eat it now?”

  He laughed. “I think you’d better before I decide to eat it myself. Hurry, now! Go tell Mama that I’ll meet both of you in the cloakroom.”

  Irina headed upstairs. But she didn’t eat the spice cookie.

  Not because she wasn’t hungry, nor because she didn’t love spice cookies. Rather, because it occurred to her that she knew someone else who might like them too.

  ALMOST AS SOON AS a mousetrap at the Mariinsky was baited, somebody was sure to steal the food. Nevertheless, Esmeralda always held out hope that she might find something to eat in the mousetrap under the cupboard in the costume department. The trap was an easy stop on her way home from rehearsal, so she always checked it.

  One evening she arrived later than usual, rehearsal for The Nutcracker having dragged on after hours. Monsieur Ivanov had been working with the students from the ballet school, making sure they knew the choreography for the children’s dances in the first act. Correspondingly, Madame Giselle had worked all afternoon with Esmeralda and the children from the mouse ballet school, making sure they knew the choreography. Esmeralda’s tail had popped free of the training ribbon several times, and she was worn out and disappointed by her performance. Worse, her day was not over, for tonight she was scheduled to go out on her first scrounge patrol. If she didn’t hurry, she would be late.

  Oh, but she was hungry! Would there be something to eat in the trap?

  No! Once again, another mouse had come before her — a careless mouse who had forgotten to retrieve the kopek. The mouse had left the coin in plain sight, where a human could find it easily. Just suppose the custodians were to figure out how the mice were springing the traps! Just suppose they decided to set new traps that were even harder to outsmart than these!

  Sighing, Esmeralda picked up the kopek. She found a crack in the floorboards nearby and nestled the coin inside, where she knew she could find it the next time she checked the mousetrap.

  As she turned to head home, however, she saw something on the floor not far away. She went over to investigate, but she smelled what it was even before she reached the big, round cookie. Esmeralda breathed in an aroma of nutmeg and honey and anise. She nibbled at the icing and closed her eyes with pleasure.

  A whole cookie! Somebody must have dr
opped it. What a lucky day!

  But it was so big. Could she carry it to the attic? Maybe she could try rolling it, or —

  Just then, Esmeralda heard a noise. She darted into the shadows.

  A moment later a man peered under the cupboard. Esmeralda recognized him and edged back farther into the darkness. Konstantin Grigorovich Gurkin was the first assistant custodian at the theater. None of the mice liked him. Gurkin was always calling them vermin, an ugly word that his supervisor, chief custodian Mikhail Danilovich Chernov, never used.

  Gurkin’s searching gaze alighted on the mousetrap. Seeing that it was sprung, he gave a dissatisfied grunt. He poked a broom under the cupboard, sweeping its bristles in an arc that barely missed Esmeralda but pulled the trap — and the cookie and a great quantity of dust — out from under the cupboard.

  “Waste of lard,” the custodian muttered as he baited the mousetrap. “Waste of time setting traps in the first place, when people are so careless with food. Why not just invite the vermin to tea?”

  Gurkin slid the trap back under the cupboard. He swept up the dust and the spice cookie. Esmeralda heard a clatter as he emptied his dustpan into the wastebasket.

  Only when the custodian had clumped out of the room did she dare retrieve the kopek. She tossed it at the trap. Snap! She put the coin back in its hiding place and scooped up the lard. It wasn’t nearly as appetizing as the lost treat, but it was food and she was hungry. Her brother and Conrad would be hungry, too. She wouldn’t even tell them about the cookie, Esmeralda decided as she hurried off to the attic.

  GRINGOIRE NOT ONLY loved to read, but he also loved to write. He dabbled in poetry and had aspirations of becoming a playwright. He also kept a diary, using a pencil that had been sharpened to a stub to record his experiences on cigarette papers stolen from the theater director’s office.