The Nutcracker Mice

by Kristin Kladstrup

  “Our troubles are over,” said Gringoire.

  Conrad chuckled. “Unless Esmeralda gets tired of dancing.”

  “Never!” said Esmeralda.

  Of course, who knew what would happen once Fleur’s foot was healed? Fleur was a determined competitor. She would learn to dance with her tail, and she wouldn’t easily give up her role as prima ballerina.

  But Esmeralda was surprised to discover that she didn’t mind. The important thing was that she and Fleur would be able to compete with each other. The important thing was that the Russian Mouse Ballet Company would survive. And for that, she was grateful.

  She thought of Irina again. She said, “We owe so much to her!”

  “To whom?” said Conrad.

  “To Irina! She gave us the costumes! She saved me from Gurkin. And she helped us get rid of the mousetraps.”

  “It’s true,” Gringoire acknowledged. “Irina had as much to do with tonight’s success as any of us.”

  Maksim was studying Esmeralda. “What plan are you hatching, zvezda moya?”

  My star . . . Esmeralda smiled to hear Maksim use this term of endearment. And it pleased her that he knew her well enough to read her excitement. She said, “I was thinking that we could dance for Irina. It would be the perfect way to thank her for being so kind to us.”

  Gringoire said gently, “I don’t see how that’s possible.”

  Conrad added, “Even if our stage weren’t hidden behind a wall, none of the mice in the company would want to perform for a human. They would be too frightened.”

  Esmeralda said, “We wouldn’t dance for her at the theater. What if we take the ballet to Irina’s house?”

  Her brother and cousin stared at her.

  Esmeralda continued in a rush. “We could go at night when her parents are asleep. Just the two of us, Conrad! We could perform the grand pas de deux from the second act. It’s the best part of the ballet, and she would see us wearing the costumes she made, and —”

  “That’s a crazy idea!” said her cousin. “How would we get there? I think you were lucky last time that Mikhail Danilovich didn’t catch you riding inside his coat hem. I think he might notice if there were two of us in there!”

  “Three of us,” said Maksim. “You can bet I’ll come along.”

  Gringoire gave a polite cough. “Even if you did manage to get there safely, what about the family cat?”

  Esmeralda’s heart sank. Why were her plans always so fraught with problems?

  Then she caught Maksim’s eye. He was looking thoughtful. “What did you say the cat’s name was?” he asked.

  “Sasha. Why?”

  He nodded. “If we can find a way to get into Irina’s house, then I’m pretty sure I can take care of Sasha.”

  Esmeralda’s heart lifted again. She looked at her cousin. “Think of everything we’ve done so far, Conrad. The new scenario, the costumes and the stage sets, the peppermint-oil plan . . . We are every bit as clever as Irina’s father says we are. I’m sure we can find a way to sneak into his house and dance for Irina!”

  IRINA OPENED HER EYES. She stared up at the dark rectangle of her bedroom ceiling and felt her dreams slip away. How cozy it was in her bed!

  She yawned and woke up a little more, remembering with pleasure that it was Christmas Eve. Or it might not be Christmas Eve anymore. Perhaps it was already Christmas morning! Papa had been able to buy a Christmas tree after all. If it weren’t so cold outside her bed, she could tiptoe out to the sitting room to look at it — like Clara in The Nutcracker. Papa and Mama had finally taken her to see a matinée performance. Afterward, she had visited Mademoiselle dell’Era in her dressing room, and the ballerina had given her a red rose from one of her bouquets. Mama was drying it so Irina could keep it forever.

  As she lay there, Irina gradually became aware of a soft, lapping noise. She rolled over on her side and looked down. She murmured, “Sasha?”

  The cat was crouched at the edge of a patch of moonlight on the floor near the bed. She was eating something: that was the noise. Irina wrinkled her nose at the sudden strong smell of fish. Then she gasped.

  Sasha was not alone. A charcoal-colored mouse with a scar beneath its eye was standing right next to her, but the cat didn’t seem to notice or care. She just went on eating.

  The mouse looked up at Irina and waved.

  She drew in her breath. Was she dreaming?

  The mouse turned and beckoned. Looking toward the door of her room, Irina saw two small shapes on the floor. More mice! She thought of The Nutcracker — of Clara and the mice in the middle of the night.

  The mice ran toward her bed. When they reached the patch of moonlight, Irina gasped again. One of them was her dancing mouse; she knew it must be, for the mouse was wearing Lyudmila’s pink dress. The other mouse wore a red ribbon sash over its shoulder and around its middle, and a gold crown that shone in the moonlight. They looked up at her; the dancing mouse curtsied, and the mouse wearing the sash took a bow.

  Irina sat up — to prove that she wasn’t dreaming. She glanced at her bookshelf. Lyudmila was sitting up, too — staring straight ahead with the serene expression she always wore. Lyudmila couldn’t help looking perpetually calm, but Irina was sure that she must be amazed nonetheless.

  She looked back at the mice. The charcoal-colored mouse — the one standing next to Sasha, who was still busy eating her fish — grinned at her, then gestured toward the other mice, as if to say, Just watch!

  The mouse wearing the sash took the hand of the mouse wearing the dress. Together, they bowed and curtsied again, just as if they were on the stage at the Mariinsky Theater and acknowledging the applause of their audience.

  “I’m the audience,” Irina whispered softly.

  Joy rose up inside her like a fountain.

  But she didn’t clap her hands. She didn’t want to frighten the mice. Instead, Irina showed her pleasure with a nod, the way Papa said the tsar did sometimes from his box above the Mariinsky stage.

  The mice looked at each other. The mouse wearing the dress gave her own tiny nod, and the mice began to dance.

  There was no music, but Irina soon guessed that she was watching the grand pas de deux from the second act of The Nutcracker. At the matinée performance, Mademoiselle dell’Era and Pavel Gerdt had danced the roles of the Sugar Plum Fairy and her consort. Irina supposed that her own dancing mouse must be the Sugar Plum Fairy. How graceful she was — right to the very tip of her tail, which arced and curled as the dancing mouse leaped and twirled across the floor. From her movements, it was easy for Irina to imagine the music from the ballet.

  And yet, it seemed to her that this tiny pas de deux was different from what she had seen on the Mariinsky stage. Every time the male mouse lifted the dancing mouse into the air, his gaze followed her. Every time he set her down, his touch lingered. And when the dancing mouse danced away from her partner, he followed her with arms outstretched. It was almost as if the mice were telling a different story from the one she had seen at The Nutcracker. The mice were telling a story that was more romantic.

  At the Mariinksy, Irina’s favorite part of the grand pas de deux had been the variation in which the Sugar Plum Fairy danced alone. She had loved watching Mademoiselle dell’Era dance on her toes. But she loved watching the dancing mouse even more. It didn’t matter that there wasn’t any music, because Irina could see the melody in the way the mouse tiptoed and twirled across the floor. It was as if the crystalline tones of the celesta had been translated into movement. And after the variation, when the dancing mouse joined again with her partner, and they danced together and he lifted her up into the air, Irina let out a sigh. “Oh,” she whispered as the mice took their bows. “Oh, that was wonderful!”

  Whether they understood her, she couldn’t tell. The two performers continued to curtsy and bow, even as they backed toward the door of her room. They gave a wave before turning and disappearing into the kitchen. The charcoal-colored mouse gave Irina a salute a
nd hurried after the other two.

  Irina closed her eyes, holding on to the moment. When she opened them again, she looked at Lyudmila. “You saw them, didn’t you?” she whispered.

  The doll’s smile was as serene as ever.

  Irina looked down. To her surprise, Sasha was gone. A fish skeleton lay on the carpet.

  Irina slid out of bed.

  Sasha was not in the kitchen. Irina hurried past the cold stove and into the sitting room. The cat was up on the windowsill, staring intently at the street outside.

  The mice must be safe. Irina sighed with relief. “What do you see, Sasha?” she asked.

  The door to her parents’ bedroom creaked open. Mama emerged, looking sleepy. Papa came out, too. He said, “Merry Christmas, Irinushka. Can’t you sleep?”

  “No! I —”

  Irina reached the window. She pushed aside the lace curtain. But there was nothing to see outside — only shadows on the snow-covered street.

  “Dreaming about mice again, eh?” said Papa.

  “Yes,” said Irina. “Only it wasn’t a dream! Sasha was eating a fish, and I woke up, and there were mice in my room, and they danced, and . . .” Irina looked outside again. She couldn’t see any mice, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. Papa always said that mice could slip in and out of buildings through the tiniest of cracks.

  Her father yawned and stretched his arms. “It’s almost time to get up, I think. What do you say, Mama? Shall we have Christmas morning a bit early this year?”

  Papa lit the candles on the tree. Mama filled Sasha’s saucer. “Cream, not milk, for you on Christmas morning,” she told the cat.

  They opened their presents. Irina had made handkerchiefs for her parents. Mama’s had purple violets embroidered on it. “My favorite flower,” said Mama.

  “What’s this on mine?” Papa wondered aloud.

  “It’s a broom,” said Irina. “To show that you are the world’s best custodian.”

  As for Irina, she had almost as many presents as the children in The Nutcracker. There was a sewing basket all her own, filled with needles and pins and spools of colored thread, scissors, a measuring tape, and ribbons, beads, and scraps of fabric for making doll dresses.

  “Madame Federova helped me put it together,” said Mama.

  There was also a new wooden doll the same size as Lyudmila, only with yellow hair and a slightly mischievous expression. Irina decided to name her Clara. She would be Lyudmila’s sister.

  But the best present of all was a miniature wooden stage. Papa had made it for her, and Mama had sewed curtains out of real velvet and trimmed them with gold braid. “We thought your dolls might like to dance in a ballet,” said Mama.

  Irina drew apart the curtains and peered into the tiny stage. It was just the right size for Lyudmila and her new sister. For that matter, it was just the right size for mice.

  It was then that Irina noticed a tiny scroll of paper lying on the floor of the stage. When she unrolled it, her eyes widened at the sight of a pencil drawing of her very own dancing mouse — wearing Lyudmila’s dress. There were words to read as well:

  “It’s a ballet poster!” Irina murmured. So Papa had been right in guessing that the mice had their own company.

  “E for Esmeralda!” Irina thought of the handkerchief with the embroidered letter E.

  As for Clara and the Mouse King, Irina considered the pas de deux she had just seen — more romantic than the pas de deux in The Nutcracker, yet so clearly danced to the same music she had heard at the Mariinsky. Perhaps she had been right about The Nutcracker; the mice hadn’t liked the story. They had come up with one of their own — a story that mice would like.

  Papa said, “You look happy, Irinushka.”

  She looked up at him. “I am happy.”

  “Because it’s Christmas?”

  “Yes, and . . .” Irina thought of Esmeralda. Maybe the mouse was home already — back at the Mariinsky Theater. What was she doing right now? Getting ready for her next performance? Or maybe . . .

  “Papa,” said Irina, “do you think that mice celebrate Christmas?”

  Mama clucked her tongue. “Mice again!”

  But Papa considered her question. He said, “I can’t say as I know. I take it you mean our friends at the theater.”

  Our friends. Irina liked the sound of that. She nodded.

  “Well,” said Papa, “I guess mice should be allowed to celebrate if they like. But mind you . . .” He grinned. “They had better stay out of sight!”

  ACT I

  The Silvermouse family — father, mother, their daughter, Clara, and her brother, Fritz — are having a Christmas party. The most important guest is the mouse king. Clara greets the king by performing a dance. The two fall in love at first sight and dance together.

  Another guest, a mouse called Drosselmouse, gives Clara’s brother some toy soldiers. His present for Clara is a life-size nutcracker, but she finds Drosselmouse and his gift disturbing. The mouse king comes to her aid, and he and Drosselmouse fight with swords. The mouse king ousts Drosselmouse from the party, then gives Clara his present: some life-size dancing violets.

  After everyone leaves the party, Clara admires her present from the mouse king. At first the flowers dance for her. When the clock strikes midnight, they wilt, and Drosselmouse’s nutcracker comes to life as an evil sorcerer. The nutcracker sorcerer tries to kidnap Clara. Hearing her cries for help, the mouse king and his army come to rescue her. The nutcracker sorcerer uses magic to turn Fritz’s toy soldiers into an army. A battle ensues, and Clara is knocked out cold. The mouse king is wounded, and his army bears him away to safety.

  The nutcracker wakens Clara and enchants her into a state of forgetfulness. He leads her into a snowy pine forest that lies on the border of his kingdom.

  ACT II

  The nutcracker sorcerer takes Clara to the magical Kingdom of Sweets, over which he rules with his sister, the wicked Peppermint Fairy. The nutcracker sorcerer wants to make Clara his bride. He and his sister enthrall Clara by means of magical entertainments, but the mouse king, recovered from his wounds, returns with his army. In a decisive battle, the mouse king triumphs over the nutcracker sorcerer and the Peppermint Fairy. Clara wakes from her spell and remembers that she loves the mouse king. The citizens of the Kingdom of Sweets rejoice that their evil rulers have been defeated. The ballet comes to a happy end as everyone celebrates the marriage of Clara and the mouse king.

  The Nutcracker had its first performance in December 1892 at the Mariinsky Theater in Saint Petersburg, Russia. If you could travel back in time to watch that performance, you would see some of the characters from this book: student ballerina Stanislava Belinskaya performing the role of Clara, Italian ballerina Antonietta dell’Era dancing the role of the Sugar Plum Fairy, and Italian conductor Riccardo Drigo directing musicians playing the score composed by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky.

  That first production was a collaboration between Ivan Alexandrovich Vsevolozhsky, director of the Imperial Theaters of Russia, and the Mariinsky’s ballet master Marius Petipa. They based the scenario very loosely on a French adaptation (by Alexandre Dumas) of The Nutcracker and the Mouse King, a story written in 1816 by German author E. T. A. Hoffmann. Hoffmann’s marvelous tale has a plot full of twists and turns. If you read his story and then watch a modern production of The Nutcracker, you may be astonished at how little of Hoffmann’s creation has made its way into the ballet. Nevertheless, one thing The Nutcracker and The Nutcracker and the Mouse King share in common is mice. Angry mice, led by a mouse king bent on destruction.

  Were there mice living in the Mariinsky Theater in 1892? Who can say for sure? One of the great joys of writing is making things up. In the case of The Nutcracker Mice, my task has been to imagine what a troupe of dancing mice living at the theater would think of a ballet that casts them in a very bad light — to imagine how they might feel, and to figure out what they might do.

  In telling the story of The Nutcracke
r Mice, I have had the help of a number of people to whom I am extremely grateful. First and foremost, thank you to my editor, Kaylan Adair, who always asks the right questions about a manuscript. One of my favorite things in the world is working with her to come up with answers to those questions. Another favorite thing is seeing my words illustrated, and what a delight it has been to see Brett Helquist’s wonderful drawings. Thank you as well to Lisa Rudden, Chris Paul, and Jessica Saint Jean for all the work they have done to make The Nutcracker Mice such a beautiful book, and to copyeditors Kate Schwartz and Maggie Deslaurier for making sure that the language is polished.

  I have never taken a ballet class in my life, so I am grateful to Alexandra Koltun, Alex Lapshin, and their talented students at Koltun Ballet Boston for allowing me to watch a ballet class and some truly amazing performances. Thank you also to ballerina Emily Nguyen (a former Clara in her city’s production of The Nutcracker) for reviewing the ballet passages in The Nutcracker Mice.

  I am grateful to agents Nancy Gallt and Marietta Zacker for their support and to my writing friends Sarah Goodman, Holly Hartman, Jessica Holland, Kitty Martin, Lisa Phillips, Samuel Valentino, Lynne Weiss, Frankie Wright, and Marlena Zapf for providing encouragement, helpful suggestions, and inspiration. And, as always, thank you to my family. My life as a writer is never a lonely one, and for that I am truly thankful.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2017 by Kristin Kladstrup

  Illustrations copyright © 2017 by Brett Helquist

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, taping, and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.