The Nutcracker Mice

by Kristin Kladstrup

  Now, in his best master-of-ceremonies voice, Gringoire began. “Welcome, my friends, to the most exciting night ever for the Russian Mouse Ballet Company! As I am sure you are aware, this evening’s performance marks the premiere of a new ballet with music composed by none other than Pyotr Ilich Tchaikovsky. Those of us who loved The Sleeping Beauty are thrilled that Russia’s renowned composer has provided yet another fantastic score.”

  There was a smattering of applause.

  Gringoire continued. “Tonight, the Russian Mouse Ballet Company is proud to present its own production. The ballet that you will see tonight, Clara and the Mouse King, is a story written by mice, about mice, and for mice!”

  The applause was louder this time, and Conrad squeezed Esmeralda’s hand. “This is it!” he murmured. “This is what we’ve been waiting for!”

  Yes, this was the night they had worked for! Esmeralda could hear the pride in Gringoire’s voice as he went on with his speech: “As you can already see from the scenery behind me, this performance marks the first time ever that the Russian Mouse Ballet Company will have stage sets. And I know that many of you have heard rumors — and I am here to confirm them — that tonight, our dancers will be wearing costumes.”

  Esmeralda smoothed the skirt of the pink dress with crystal beads. She could scarcely believe that she was wearing the costume that Fleur would have worn. In fact, Fleur had insisted upon it. “I just want to make sure that Clara and the Mouse King is a success,” she had told Esmeralda, adding, “I want to make sure there’s a ballet company for me to come back to when I can dance again.” Fleur would be watching tonight from the front row, with Madame Giselle sitting beside her.

  Gringoire continued. “As for tonight’s performers, I know you will be pleased that the role of the mouse king will be filled by the inimitable Conrad . . .”

  Esmeralda’s brother had to wait for the applause to subside.

  “And I know that you will be saddened to hear that our own Fleur de Lys is unable to dance tonight because of an injury . . .”

  Quite a few mice applauded this announcement. Esmeralda knew that Fleur wouldn’t be happy about that.

  “But we are delighted to introduce the Russian Mouse Ballet Company’s rising new star, Esmeralda, in the role of Clara.”

  She jumped to hear her name shouted out. She jumped again to hear the applause her name generated. She was grateful to Conrad, who squeezed her hand again. “You’ll be great,” he told her, even as there came a much louder burst of applause.

  It came from the human audience in the large theater. The orchestra conductor, Monsieur Drigo, had come out to the podium. The Nutcracker was about to begin.

  “And so we present to you Clara and the Mouse King!” shouted Gringoire.

  Madame Giselle had spoken at length about the importance of the first scene. “From the moment Clara appears, I want everyone to know that she is the star of this ballet. The audience must fall in love with Clara even before the mouse king does.”

  Did the audience love her? Esmeralda couldn’t be sure. She was so nervous when she entered the stage that she nearly missed a step. But her hours of practice paid off, and she didn’t lose her equilibrium. Her confidence increased as she realized she was dancing at least as well as she had at the dress rehearsal.

  Trumpets heralded the entrance of the mouse king. His Majesty and his entourage paraded grandly around the stage, and Esmeralda concentrated on becoming Clara — on being aware that the mouse king had noticed her, and that he wanted to dance with her.

  And, of course, that she wanted to dance with him.

  Soon all the party guests were dancing. The couples traded partners as they promenaded about the stage. The mouse king and Clara touched hands, then parted — their gazes lingering on each other. When the children in their colorful ribbon sashes took over and the adults drew back to watch them dance, Esmeralda stole a look at the audience. She couldn’t see far beyond the candle footlights, but she thought she saw Igor in the first row.

  Oh, dear! Was her friend yawning?

  The music grew sinister, and Esmeralda snapped back to attention. Drosselmouse, wearing a black ribbon sash and an eye patch, had arrived at the party. Madame Giselle’s choreography called for Clara to escape Drosselmouse’s unwanted advances by dancing from one group of party guests to another. She was looking for the king. Unfortunately, His Majesty had been pulled away by one of his courtiers. When Drosselmouse presented Clara’s little brother, Fritz, with a Christmas present of some life-size and very dangerous-looking toy soldiers (mice dressed in black military sashes), Clara tried to warn her parents. And when the leering Drosselmouse presented Clara with a life-size leering nutcracker, she drew back in alarm.

  Seeing her distress, the mouse king came to her rescue. Swords were drawn, and Drosselmouse was ousted from the party.

  The mouse king comforted Clara and gave her his present: a bouquet of life-size dancing violets played by several of Esmeralda’s friends from the corps de ballet.

  The dance of the violets was charming, but to Esmeralda’s ears, the applause that followed it seemed unenthusiastic. She stole another look at the audience. Igor was shifting in his seat. He wasn’t even looking at the stage! His eyes were closed!

  Esmeralda now thought of something else Madame Giselle had said: “The audience must feel Clara’s fear of Drosselmouse and his gift. They must feel relief when the mouse king rescues her.”

  Had the audience felt Clara’s fear? Did they feel relieved? It alarmed Esmeralda that she couldn’t tell. She was so used to having the crowd at the Balalaika Café respond to her performances. Once, when dancing to a particularly sad song, she had brought Nadya to tears! Another time, when dancing a comical dance, she had made Dmitri and Igor laugh out loud!

  It was time for Clara’s first pas de deux with the mouse king. There would be a longer pas de deux in the second act, but that did not mean that this dance could not be just as romantic. Esmeralda took Conrad’s hand and concentrated again on becoming Clara — on listening to the music and dancing perfectly.

  Conrad lifted her into the air. He set her down, and Esmeralda took a few steps forward. Conrad lifted her again, and together they moved across the stage. Every part of the dance was designed to build the feeling that Clara and the mouse king were meant to be together. And yet, as their pas de deux came to an end, Esmeralda knew that she and Conrad had failed. The applause was polite, but nothing more.

  Her heart sank. Was it her dancing? How could it be? She had kept her tail in position the entire time. She had danced flawlessly. She had danced with emotion . . .

  Or had she?

  Had she truly felt the music in the same way she did when she danced at the Balalaika Café?

  Esmeralda knew that she had not.

  She was distracted tonight — more concerned about the reaction of the audience than about what she was feeling. She had been so concerned about dancing flawlessly, so worried about keeping up with the music, that she had forgotten how to let it flow through her. And as for playing a role — she had felt less like Clara and more like Esmeralda trying to feel like Clara. She was no better than Fleur if that was all she could do!

  It was altogether the wrong time to have such a realization. She was in the middle of a performance. The party guests were leaving. The mouse king was leaving, and she was about to be alone on the stage. It would be up to her to entertain an audience that might very well be bored enough to leave at intermission.

  The music became soft and quiet. It was nighttime, and the Silvermouse family had gone to bed.

  All except Clara, who lingered behind. She purposefully ignored Drosselmouse’s gifts — the hideous nutcracker and the army of toy soldiers. Instead, Clara tiptoed across the stage toward the mouse king’s gift. The violets began to dance, and Clara danced with them.

  The clock struck midnight.

  The flowers wilted and fell to the floor, dead.

  The nutcracker jerked hi
s limbs and came to life. He pulled a magic wand from his sash and pointed it right at Clara.

  A sorcerer! The audience let out a collective gasp. Was it because they were frightened for Clara? Or was it because, as she shrank back from the nutcracker sorcerer, Esmeralda let her tail unwind? It wasn’t by accident, though Esmeralda knew that Madame Giselle would think that it was. Madame Giselle would think she had committed the worst possible error.

  Maybe she had. But what other choice was there?

  The nutcracker sorcerer dragged Clara across the stage. Clara’s tail whipped back and forth — as Esmeralda’s tail had done when she had tried to escape from Sasha.

  A ballerina must not make noise, but she could call for help with her dancing. Clara now began calling for help, reaching out with her arms. Help me! she implored.

  A moment later, the mouse king and his army leaped onto the stage. The nutcracker sorcerer threw Clara aside, lifted his wand, and cast a spell. In an instant, the toy soldiers sprang to life.

  The two armies fell into battle. Clara joined in, dodging back and forth, dancing around the soldiers. With her tail unfurled, she could turn faster and leap higher than anyone else. The nutcracker sorcerer’s soldiers had to fall back as she whirled through their midst.

  The nutcracker sorcerer raised his wand, ready to strengthen his spell.

  Clara pulled off an imaginary slipper and hurled it at him.

  She missed!

  The nutcracker sorcerer picked up the imaginary slipper and threw it back. It knocked Clara in the head, and she stumbled and fell. “Oh, no!” cried a voice from the audience.

  Lying on the floor, pretending to be unconscious, Esmeralda felt a mix of satisfaction and hope. She had made somebody care about the story.

  But what would Madame Giselle think? The ballet mistress’s choreography had called for Clara to look frightened during the battle, to watch from the side until the moment she threw her slipper at the nutcracker sorcerer. Clara was not supposed to join in the fight.

  But Clara would fight, Esmeralda told herself. She would want to protect the mouse king.

  Now the music grew somber. The mouse king had been defeated; his soldiers were carrying their wounded leader off the stage. Murmurs of concern rippled through the audience even as the magical notes of a harp brushed the air.

  Clara opened her eyes. She rose to a sitting position. The nutcracker sorcerer stood over her, waving his wand. The audience hissed in unison as he worked his evil enchantment on Clara — making her stand up, manipulating her like a puppet. He waved his wand, and Clara’s head dipped sleepily. Her tail was listless. The nutcracker sorcerer was making her forget the mouse king.

  Behind the sorcerer, the stagehands were changing the scenery. At dress rehearsal, this had been the moment when the backdrop had fallen forward and caught fire. Now, Esmeralda wondered if dancing with her tail out of position might become an even worse disaster.

  But only for a moment: then she was Clara again. The nutcracker sorcerer waved his wand, and she turned slowly around, staring in wonder as snowflakes drifted onto the stage. The nutcracker sorcerer lifted his wand and made Clara dance with them.

  It was cold in the snowy forest, and as Clara danced, she forgot who she was. The nutcracker sorcerer worked his enchantment, and Clara forgot that she loved the mouse king. She was a snowflake spinning through the air.

  The music worked its enchantment, too, and Esmeralda forgot about the audience. She forgot about Madame Giselle. All she wanted was to dance — to feel the melody in her arms and her legs and . . . her tail. She was Clara, lost in a snowstorm.

  Until she danced off the stage.

  Then, suddenly, in the dim light behind the backdrop, in the hush that followed the last note of music, Clara became Esmeralda. The snowflakes surrounding her were the dancers in the corps de ballet — her friends, dressed in white lace gowns.

  They were all staring at her.

  Esmeralda opened her mouth to speak — to explain — to apologize —

  But her words were drowned out by applause.

  ESMERALDA?”

  She turned around.

  Her cousin, his gold-paper crown still askew from the battle, was making his way through the crowd of snowflake-costumed ballerinas.

  “Conrad!” Esmeralda threw her arms around him. “I danced with my tail out of position!”

  “I know!”

  She was close to tears. “I couldn’t think of what else to do! I thought the audience was going to leave!”

  Conrad pulled away. “Where did you learn to dance like that? The way you performed those pirouettes in the ‘Waltz of the Snowflakes’ — I’ve never seen anyone turn so quickly.”

  “Madame Giselle must be furious!” said Esmeralda.

  Conrad didn’t seem to hear her. “And those leaps you performed during the battle!”

  “I know I shouldn’t have joined in the fight. But I felt like I had to fight. Clara wouldn’t have stood by and done nothing —”

  Again, Conrad didn’t seem to hear. “I would swear you made two full turns in the air when you performed that saut de basque!”

  “Three turns,” said Esmeralda. “I know I shouldn’t have done it, but —”

  “Shouldn’t have done it! What are you talking about? The audience loved it! They’re still clapping!”

  “Esmeralda!”

  This time the voice that called her name was sharp and angry. Esmeralda turned around to find herself face-to-face with Madame Giselle.

  “What happened to you?” the ballet mistress demanded. “You danced perfectly all through the first scene. And then — I do not know what you were doing! Did you forget the choreography?”

  “I’m sorry, Madame!”

  “Your tail was waving about like a piece of string!”

  Esmeralda’s stomach dropped. “I know! I’m truly sorry! But I was just so desperate to —”

  “To what?” Madame Giselle interrupted. “To destroy your career? To destroy our company?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!”

  Madame Giselle turned around. Fleur, balancing on her crutch, had come backstage. She glared at the ballet mistress. “Did you see how high Esmeralda leaped? Did you see how fast she turned? Listen to the audience! They loved her performance!”

  The audience was still clapping.

  Fleur went on. “I tell you, Madame Giselle, that once my foot has healed, I want to dance the way Esmeralda did tonight.”

  “But — but it isn’t ballet!” said Madame Giselle.

  “It’s ballet for mice!” said Conrad. “It’s something completely new! Something completely wonderful! We all need to learn how to dance ballet with our tails.”

  Madame Giselle didn’t speak. She was listening to the audience. They were clapping in rhythm, chanting the same thing over and over.

  Conrad nudged Esmeralda. “They’re calling for you. They want you to take a bow.”

  “I can’t!” She was trembling, trying to take in what she was hearing. Had she ruined the ballet or saved it?

  Conrad put his arm around her. “Don’t worry. You don’t need to go out there just yet. But you’ve got to pull yourself together. Intermission will be over soon.”

  “I quite agree,” Madame Giselle said. “You can’t fall apart now, not after you’ve put the audience into such a state. Come, Fleur, let’s reclaim our seats.”

  But Fleur had one more thing to say. “Promise that you’ll teach me how to dance like that, Esmeralda.”

  Dazed, Esmeralda nodded.

  When they were gone, Conrad turned to her. “You know what you’ve got to do, don’t you?” he asked.

  She looked at her cousin with wide, questioning eyes. “I — I don’t know.”

  Conrad grinned. “Give it everything you’ve got in the second act. Tail and all!”

  Esmeralda’s favorite part of the night came near the end of the ballet. Clara was safe at last. The mouse king had come to rescue her from the nutcr
acker sorcerer and his sister, the evil Peppermint Fairy. The citizens of the Kingdom of Sweets, freed from the oppressive rule of the wicked brother and sister, had performed a waltz so beautiful that even the flowers joined in. The mouse king and Clara had danced together. The mouse king had performed a dance for Clara, and now it was her turn to dance for him.

  Slowly, carefully, Esmeralda raised her arms, waiting for the magical bell-like tones of the celesta. Her feet took the first tentative, mincing steps, and she tiptoed across the stage.

  The audience let out a collective sigh of pleasure. Surely this was music composed for a dancing mouse!

  Esmeralda thought of Irina then. She had danced these same steps in Irina’s room. If only Irina were here to see her now!

  She thought of Irina again at the end of the ballet, when the roar of applause was so overwhelming that she nearly forgot how to curtsy.

  Fortunately, Conrad was there to take her hand. Together, they and the rest of the ballet company acknowledged the audience. And Esmeralda received two tributes — a bouquet of tiny white flowers, and a red rosebud that was nearly as large as she was.

  “Oh, Irina!” she murmured. “If only you could see our ballet!”

  The white flowers were from Nadya, Igor, and Dmitri; the rose was from Maksim. “We found them in a bouquet at the house where I live,” Maksim told Esmeralda. “Auntie Nadya says that if you dry the flowers, they’ll keep forever.”

  Maksim had stayed after the performance to celebrate with Esmeralda, Conrad, and Gringoire. They were in the attic, enjoying a feast of sugared almonds and cake. “A bit of the take from the box office,” as Esmeralda’s brother put it.

  “The perfect end to a perfect night!” said Esmeralda.

  Maksim said, “I wish I could have brought some champagne. Next time, maybe!”

  “Next time!” said Esmeralda. “To think that there will be a next time makes me so happy!”

  “Igor, Dmitri, and Auntie Nadya have already told me they plan to see every performance,” said Maksim. “And they aren’t the only mice who want to see Clara and the Mouse King again and again. You can expect more rats in the audience as well, once Modest and Pyotr spread the word.”