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The Nutcracker Mice

Page 5

by Kristin Kladstrup


  The song ended. The crowd at the restaurant upstairs applauded. The mice on the floor waited to hear what the orchestra would play next.

  When the next song began, the first chords rolled out slowly. The music was full of longing, as if the balalaikas were remembering a happier time.

  Most of the dancers were leaving the floor. “Where is everyone going?” Esmeralda asked.

  “Oh, they like fast music,” said Maksim.

  “I do, too. But this is beautiful!” said Esmeralda.

  “I agree! Shall we dance?”

  This time, Esmeralda led Maksim across the floor. She danced on her toes, adapting the choreography that would open the “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy” in the second act of The Nutcracker. Of course, when Fleur performed the same steps, she would keep her tail wrapped tightly around her body, but it seemed to Esmeralda that she must allow her tail to move with the music. Maksim let go of Esmeralda’s hand and she danced away from him, swaying her upper body and letting the gentle motion travel down to the tip of her tail. She raised her arms and floated across the floor in a wide arc.

  She heard a cheer — and more than a smattering of applause.

  “They like your dancing,” said Maksim, taking her hand again. He and Esmeralda danced together as the balalaikas ran up a scale and hovered on a note. Then, suddenly, the balalaikas ran down the scale. Esmeralda thought of a leaf falling from a tree. The balalaikas picked up a new tempo. The wind caught the leaf and tossed it up again. It was a fast song after all!

  She let go of Maksim’s hand and made one turn after another, snapping her tail to make herself spin faster than she ever had before.

  The mice were clapping along with the music now. She was dancing alone. She could see Maksim watching her — clapping along with the crowd — with the audience. “You’ll see,” Conrad had once told Esmeralda. “When you’re performing for an audience and they love your dancing, it’s the most wonderful thing in the world. You’ll feel just like you have a pair of wings.”

  Esmeralda’s feet were her wings. They swept her across the floor, and she forgot about the audience. The music filled her up and propelled her forward. She leaped high, her tail flying out behind her. She ran and leaped again, this time turning twice in the air, something she had never been able to do when she wore the training ribbon at the Mariinsky.

  The applause when the song ended nearly overwhelmed her. “More! More!” shouted the crowd.

  Esmeralda wouldn’t have thought she could give more. But the balalaikas began to play an exhilarating song that renewed her energy. Modest and Pyotr joined the dancing mice. The rats were strong. Modest lifted Esmeralda into the air. His brother stretched his arms out to the side, and Modest set Esmeralda on Pyotr’s shoulder. The balalaikas slowed, creating a mood of suspense. Esmeralda balanced in an arabesque as Pyotr strode grandly around the floor. As the music grew even more quiet, she pulled her leg up into a développé à la seconde.

  The crowd fell silent. Pyotr stood still. Esmeralda trembled from the effort of maintaining her pose. She held out one arm, and Modest reached up to touch her hand. He steadied her, then let go, and she turned slowly around. A murmur of amazement passed through the crowd. Esmeralda felt a thrill that traveled all the way to the tip of her tail.

  Suddenly, like a crash of thunder, the music picked up again. Esmeralda leaped from Pyotr’s shoulder to Modest’s arms. The rat set her down on the floor, and the crowd went wild as she performed one fouetté after another. Her tail snapped in the air and she could hear the mice counting the turns: one, two, three, four . . . She made it all the way to thirty-two before the music ended.

  The crowd cheered and clapped.

  Esmeralda knelt in a curtsy, just as she would have done at the Mariinsky.

  Maksim ran over and embraced her. “They love your dancing!” he said. “They love you!”

  THE NEXT MORNING, Esmeralda was late for class.

  Very late. The rest of the company was already at floor practice when she arrived.

  “I’m sorry, Madame Giselle. I didn’t wake up on time.”

  The ballet mistress did not look pleased. “See that it doesn’t happen again. Stretch at the barre now so you will be ready for rehearsal this afternoon.”

  “Yes, Madame.”

  Esmeralda had never been late to class before. Nor would she be late again, she vowed as she began her workout.

  All the same, she couldn’t regret her night at the Balalaika Café.

  Maksim had made sure she got back safely to the Mariinsky. They had walked partway — watching the moon glint on the Moyka River and talking. Esmeralda kept reliving the moment when Maksim had taken her hand in his.

  When it had become too cold for walking and holding hands, they had ridden the rest of the way on the back of a carriage. Maksim had put his arm around her, protecting her from the cold, and they had kept right on talking.

  Maksim was so easy to talk to.

  “At the Mariinsky, we always dance ballet,” Esmeralda had told him. “I love ballet, but it’s so exciting to dance the way you do at the café. I loved making everyone happy when I danced.”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” Maksim had said. “When they cheer, you feel like you gave them a present. And I can tell you something else: don’t believe all the things Igor was saying about The Nutcracker. If you dance like you did tonight, everyone will want to come see you, no matter what they’ve heard about the plot of the ballet.”

  Esmeralda wasn’t sure of that. She didn’t like talking about the problems she had with her tail. But somehow she hadn’t minded telling Maksim. “It’s different in ballet,” she had explained. “You’re supposed to keep your tail wrapped tightly around you. That’s always been hard for me. Conrad says it’s just a matter of technique. He says if I work hard enough, I won’t even have to think about my tail anymore. But I’ve worked and worked, and I still have to wear a training ribbon.”

  “I never would have guessed you have such troubles, watching you dance tonight. When you did those fancy turns — so many of them — surely you were controlling your tail then!”

  Esmeralda hadn’t thought about it that way before.

  “And those incredible leaps you made,” Maksim had told her. “So high! You must have been controlling your tail then! The way you made it fly behind you! I tell you, Esmeralda, I have never seen any mouse dance the way you did tonight. I maintain that you were controlling your tail.”

  Perhaps Maksim was right, Esmeralda thought now. Last night, when she had danced, she had made her tail become a part of what she was doing. It wasn’t as if she had forgotten about it; instead, she had controlled it in the same way she controlled her legs and her arms. If she set her mind to it, maybe she could learn to keep her tail in the proper ballet position, after all.

  As it happened, Esmeralda had an unexpected break from dancing at rehearsal that afternoon. Due to a last-minute change in the human practice schedule, the mice would be rehearsing the beginning of the second act. Esmeralda had comparatively little dancing to do; she need only sit and pretend to enjoy the various entertainments put on for Clara in the Kingdom of Sweets.

  Esmeralda watched the three soloists Madame Giselle had chosen to perform the Spanish dance. The music was lively; the dancers were good, though Esmeralda did wish they could be a little more wild in their movements.

  Well, maybe not quite as wild as the dancers at the Balalaika Café. This was ballet, after all.

  Still, the Spanish dancers could be a bit more enthusiastic. Costumes would help them feel the music, to borrow a phrase from Madame Giselle. Esmeralda wondered if Irina’s box of doll clothes contained any brightly colored dresses. On her way home with Maksim, she had expressed doubts about stealing the dresses: what would be the point if mice weren’t going to come see The Nutcracker? But he had convinced her that the costume-stealing expedition would be worthwhile. “It seems to me that you won’t forgive yourself if you don’t at least try
to save your ballet company,” he had told her.

  Then came the Arabian dancers. Soft colors would be good for their costumes, Esmeralda thought.

  Her eyes focused on the bare wall behind the dancers, and she frowned. She knew what should be there — a set showing the marvelous Kingdom of Sweets. She had seen the design for it in Monsieur Vsevolozhsky’s office — a painting full of colors. The human stage was sure to be breathtaking.

  “Esmeralda!”

  Above the music, Madame Giselle’s voice was sharp.

  “Please remember that Clara is supposed to be enjoying these entertainments,” said the ballet mistress. “You might as well be asleep for all the enthusiasm you are showing. A moment ago you were frowning!”

  The remark about falling asleep hit Esmeralda hard, for she thought of Igor falling asleep in The Sleeping Beauty. She said quickly, “I’m sorry, Madame!”

  The Arabian dancers floated across the stage. Esmeralda tried to look entertained, adopting a pretend smile. She listened and thought how unfortunate it was that such beautiful, dreamy music was used to tell such a disappointing story. Igor was right when he said that mice loved romance. If only . . .

  She listened to the music, letting her imagination go where it wanted, and an idea began to take shape in her mind.

  It was an idea that might very well save The Nutcracker, and before long, Esmeralda’s smile was real.

  THAT EVENING, ESMERALDA told Conrad and Gringoire what she had learned from the balletomanes at the Balalaika Café. “I’m sure it’s Franz who’s spreading rumors,” she said. “The Saint Petersburg mice have made up their minds that The Nutcracker is a terrible ballet. They don’t want to watch the human production or the mouse production.”

  Conrad said, “Who can blame them? For once, the rumors are completely true! It isn’t a good ballet.”

  “The music is good!”

  “The story is awful.”

  “I know. The mice are villains, and there’s no romance in it. But I’ve come up with a solution — actually, you came up with a solution,” Esmeralda told Conrad. “You said it yourself: nothing short of a different ballet could save The Nutcracker.”

  Her cousin looked at her blankly.

  Esmeralda continued. “So, what if we turn The Nutcracker into a different ballet? What if we change the scenario and make it a romance?”

  “A romance?” said Gringoire.

  “I thought of it this afternoon during rehearsal. I was watching the Arabian dancers in the second act. I was listening to the music and I was picturing a different dance from the one I was seeing. I was picturing a romantic pas de deux.”

  There was no need to reveal that she had pictured herself dancing with Maksim! Esmeralda hurried on. “The point is, as long as we match up our choreography to the music, we can tell any story we like!”

  Gringoire looked skeptical. But Conrad was playing with his whiskers, something he tended to do when he was thinking. That was encouraging.

  Esmeralda said, “Just think about the party scene in the first act. What if Clara Silberhaus isn’t a child? What if she is a young lady? She could be dancing with someone she’s in love with. . . .” Esmeralda could hear the music in her mind — she could see the scene: Clara, dancing across the stage, only to fall into the arms of . . .

  “So the story wouldn’t have to be completely different,” Gringoire mused. “Just a few changes.”

  Esmeralda shook her head. “I think it should be very different. We need to give the Saint Petersburg mice everything they like to see in a ballet: romance and drama. And I think the mice should be heroes, not villains. I have all sorts of ideas; they only need to be written down.”

  She looked at her brother. It was a custom among the Mariinsky mice to name their children after characters in ballets. She was named after the captivating title character in La Esmeralda. Gringoire was named after a poet in the same ballet. Esmeralda had never felt herself to be particularly captivating, but there was no doubt in her mind that Gringoire had a poet inside him. “If anyone can rewrite the scenario for The Nutcracker, it’s you,” she told her brother. “You have such a way with words!”

  Gringoire looked flattered, but unconvinced. “I may have a way with words, but I’m not so sure about ballets.”

  “We’ll help you,” Conrad said. “Esmeralda and I know the score by heart. We know what the music sounds like and can figure out what we might do differently from a dancing point of view.”

  Esmeralda nodded. “As I said, I think we can still have a party in the first act, only Clara Silberhaus won’t be a girl, but a young lady.”

  “How about a young lady mouse?” said Conrad with a grin. “Clara Silberhaus . . . Clara Silvermouse!”

  Esmeralda laughed. “And Godfather Drosselmayer can be —”

  He finished her sentence. “Godfather Drosselmouse!”

  “Exactly! But rather than being Clara’s godfather, I think he should be one of her many suitors. Only she won’t like him very much. You know how the music is so sinister when he shows up. Well, what if he really is sinister, and she’s repulsed by him?”

  Conrad was nodding in agreement.

  “Then what?” asked Gringoire.

  Esmeralda already knew whose arms Clara must fall into. “I think the mouse king should also be at the party. Only he won’t be bad in our version. He’ll be good, and Clara will fall in love with him.”

  “There’s your romance!” said Gringoire.

  “What about the battle scene?” said Conrad.

  “We’ll still have it, because of the music,” said Esmeralda. “But in our ballet, it’s the nutcracker who will be the villain.”

  Conrad said, “Would you kill him off in the battle?”

  “Of course!” she said.

  But Gringoire said, “I wonder — wouldn’t it be more exciting if the mouse king was defeated in the battle and came back to rescue Clara in the second act? More suspenseful . . .”

  Conrad clearly liked this idea. “Then we could have another battle!”

  Esmeralda clapped her hands. “Yes! There’s that wonderful music for the Russian trepak. The tambourine sounds just like clashing swords.”

  Her brother cleared his throat. “Am I supposed to be writing down this new scenario?”

  “Oh, Gringoire. Would you, please?”

  “I will. But I can’t write as fast as you’re talking. We may be up all night long.”

  They weren’t up all night — not quite. It was nearly morning when Gringoire wrote the last line of the scenario.

  “The audience will love it,” said Conrad.

  “They will indeed. Especially when they see our costumes and sets!” said Esmeralda, and she described her plan for obtaining the costumes.

  Her cousin looked worried. “That sounds dangerous!”

  “It’s worth the risk, Conrad. You know it is!” said Esmeralda. “Besides, Maksim has offered to come with me.” She hoped her brother and cousin wouldn’t notice how excited she was by the prospect of what she was already thinking of as an adventure . . . and a romantic one at that.

  But Gringoire merely said, “I think it’s worth the risk. I, for one, would welcome a bit of pageantry on the stage. But you also mentioned sets, Esmeralda.”

  She nodded. “What about the set designer’s sketches for The Nutcracker? I’ve seen them in the director’s office. They’re paintings on paper — just the right size for mice.”

  “How many paintings are there?” asked Conrad.

  “Three,” said Esmeralda. “There’s the Silberhaus home and the pine forest in the first act, and the Kingdom of Sweets in the second act. Oh, Conrad, just think how beautiful the stage will look if we can have costumes and sets! The audience will love it.”

  “Madame Giselle won’t.”

  “But the dancers will. Madame Giselle can’t object when she sees how the costumes help everyone dance with more emotion.”

  Conrad was playing with his whiskers a
gain. “I guess we’d have to steal the sets. But how would they fit through our tunnels?”

  The Mariinsky mice used an elaborate system of passageways inside the walls and under the floors of the theater. They could gain access to every room by means of hidden entrances, but the tunnels and entrances would be too small for the paintings.

  Gringoire said, “We can steal them at night — carry them through the halls when it’s dark. As for getting them into our theater, I’m sure I can figure something out.”

  Conrad nodded, and then he yawned. “Speaking of nights, this one is nearly over. I’d like to get a few hours of sleep before morning.”

  When Esmeralda at last tumbled into bed, she lay in the dark and thought about how perfect the new ballet would be.

  Costumes and sets and a romance! And not one but two thrilling battle scenes! The mice of Saint Petersburg would be lining up to see their production!

  Conrad would play the mouse king, and she would dance the role of Clara, and . . .

  It was only then that Esmeralda saw the flaw in her plan.

  THE NEXT MORNING, Esmeralda and Conrad came to class early so they could share the new scenario with Madame Giselle. The ballet mistress paged through cigarette papers covered with Gringoire’s handwriting, giving exclamations of pleasure as she went along:

  “Clara and the Mouse King! A much better title than The Nutcracker!”

  And, “Ah, yes! A romance is sure to please the audience.”

  And, “I love how you have worked the ‘Waltz of the Snowflakes’ into the story.”

  But as soon as she finished reading, she looked troubled. She said, “You do know what this means . . .”

 

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