One of the leading figures of German literary Romanticism (and also a composer and an important music critic), E. T. A. Hoffmann wrote his story “Nutcracker and Mouse King” in 1816-17, and published it with his own illustrations. It is a tale of some complexity, one that children may enjoy but only adults can fully appreciate. It tells its story with a subtle irony that was lost in subsequent arrangements.
The Nutcracker reached the ballet stage via a somewhat watered-down literary adaptation by Alexandre Dumas Sr., which in turn was adapted by Ivan Vsevolozhsky, Director of the Imperial Theatres in St. Petersburg, and Marius Petipa, the famous French-born ballet master of the Imperial Opera. Asked to write the music for the new production in 1890, Tchaikovsky was less than enthusiastic at first, and warmed to the project only gradually. He had some misgivings about the libretto; also, his trip to the United States in the spring of 1891 kept him from doing serious work on the ballet until later in the year. The premiere, on December 18, 1892, was far from being an unqualified success. The reviewers deplored the lack of dramatic action. The protagonists of the story, who are children, were played by student dancers whose technical limitations placed restrictions on the choreography. Worst of all, the one adult ballerina with an important role, Antonietta Dell’Era, who danced the Sugar Plum Fairy, was described as “heavy, large, unpretty, and ungraceful,” her only attraction being her foreign name. The only thing critics liked about the piece from the beginning was the music. And that is of course what has ensured The Nutcracker’s place in the repertoire for the last 115 years.
It may be easier today to appreciate the dramatic arc of the piece, which leads from Christmas Eve in a solid German middle-class home straight to the land of dreams. Tchaikovsky associated the real world with march rhythms: the overture is a “Marche miniature,” and soon thereafter, following an animated opening scene, we hear the famous March. The fantastic elements appear gradually and become more and more predominant. Immediately after the March, the toy-maker Drosselmayer enters; the music portrays him as an odd magician. His first toys (a doll, a soldier, two little devils) make for a diverse dance sequence, which concludes with the Grossvatertanz, the traditional closing number of German dance parties, well known from Schumann’s Carnaval.
The real miracles begin after Clara is sent to bed by her parents. Tchaikovsky evokes nightfall through some special effects of orchestration (flute, harp, muted strings). At the stroke of midnight, the evil Mice launch their attack. A major battle scene develops between the mice and the dolls; at the high point of the fighting, Clara throws her slipper at the Mouse King, thereby deciding the final outcome. The battle music vanishes, and a broadly romantic violin melody indicates the transformation that turns the Nutcracker into Prince Charming. The scene changes. We are no longer in Clara’s bedroom but rather in a winter forest where the snowflakes are dancing. (“The falling snowflakes are illuminated by electric light”%u2014wrote Marius Petipa in his scenario.) The waltz is interrupted by a strong gust of wind, suggested by the glissandi of the two harps, going in opposite directions; then a Presto section in duple meter closes the scene and Act I.
In Act II, the grateful Prince takes Clara with him to “Confiturenburg,” the Land of Candy and Sweets and Everything Good. The whole act is a single hymn in celebration of happiness and beauty.
It opens with an evocation of the magic palace where Clara and her Prince are greeted by the Sugar Plum Fairy. The special orchestration effects here include harps, artificial harmonics on solo violins and violas, and a brand-new instrument, the celesta, invented only a few years earlier (1886) by Auguste Mustel in France. Tchaikovsky specified in the score that a piano could be used if a celesta was not available. He also cautioned that “the musician who plays this part must be a good pianist.”
In the next scene, the Prince recounts how Clara saved his life, and the Fairy orders a great dance to entertain the young couple. (The flutes use the technique known as “fluttertonguing,” another novelty.) All the different kinds of candy and sweets (and everything good) begin to dance. The Spanish Dance of the Chocolate comes first; chocolate being of South American origin, its melody, played by the solo trumpet, is accompanied by castanets. The dance of the Coffee is Arabian (based, actually, on a Georgian folk song), that of the Tea Chinese, with a high-pitched flute solo accompanied by plucked strings, and bassoons in their extreme low register.
A lively Russian trepak for full orchestra follows, whose melody is reminiscent of the finale of Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto of 1878. Then we hear a graceful Dance of the Flutes, originally called “Dance of the Mirlitons” (toy flutes or reed pipes). The international divertissement (entertainment) is rounded out by a section based on two well-known French folksongs.
Now the Fairy’s attendants pay tribute to Clara in the popular “Waltz of the Flowers,” which contains some of the most magnificent melodies Tchaikovsky ever wrote. The celebrated pas de deux follows, in which the Prince was originally joined by the Sugar Plum Fairy, since the student who danced the role of Clara was too young and inexperienced to assume this exacting task. The pas de deux is in four sections. The Prince and the Fairy dance the opening section together, then each has a brief solo and finally, the two dancers join for a brilliant coda.
It is now time for the corps de ballet to bring the celebration to its high point with the Final Waltz. The concluding Apotheosis (elevation to a state of divine bliss) is expressed by a solemn recall of the magic-palace music that opened the act. Can one hope for a more perfect musical expression of “happily ever after”?