by Sarah Earlene Shere, ©2024
(Dec. 21, 2024) — Adalbert here! I know, “What does a squirrel have to do with the nutcracker story?” Truth is, you only know what happened after the nutcracker was given to little Marie. I know where the nutcracker came from and how he got his magic. Or, at least, I have a theory on his magic. For generations my family and I have lived in this tree, behind the Stahlbaum house. I watched Master Stahlbaum and Herr Drosselmeyer grow together as school chums. I saw young Stahlbaum bring home his bride. I observed Herr Drosselmeyer courting lovely Brigitta under this tree.
So we come to how the nutcracker came to be. One fine spring day, Brigitta looked on as Drosselmeyer carved their initials into one of the branches of my tree. But, when autumn arrived that year, the two of them stopped coming; then Drosselmeyer came alone with a clouded look over his face. He traced the initials with his fingers before slowly walking away.
The next day, some gardeners approached my tree; I suppose they had determined it needed a pruning before the snow came. The first limb to fall to the ground was the one that had been initialed. Suddenly, something happened I may never be able to explain. Drosselmeyer seemed to appear out of nowhere, staring down the two men with saws and axes in their hands. His silent stance commanded attention and sent an unseasonally cold chill down the spine. Slowly, he made circular motions with his hands; the leaves at his feet began to turn with them. Then, with a swift movement, Drosselmeyer raised his arms and flung his hands forward, propelling a wave of leaves on a gust of wind toward the two men. In fear they fled and refused to ever come near my tree again.
I had always observed Drosselmeyer, the clockmaker’s son, to be an unusual lad, with interests and talents different than his peers. But now it was all cloaked in a mysterious, reclusive demeanor. The only ones he seemed to open up with were children, perhaps because he never fully grew up himself, due to the fact that he was forced to grow up too soon. He was always “playing” with toys and gadgets under the guise of inventing. But his motives were never selfish; he loved to share his creations with others.
That one Christmas Eve, of which you all know, I saw Drosselmeyer arrive to the Stahlbaum party with an entourage bearing elaborate gifts. Just before he made his entrance, he stood beneath the limbs of my tree where he lifted the cloth wrapping of something in his hand: a nutcracker. Gently, he traced his fingers across the figure’s chest. Lifting it to his lips, he whispered where an ear might have been behind the white hair and whispered, “Liebe (Love). Schützen (Protect).” Then a golden glow passed over the doll’s chest, revealing engraved initials. So, the nutcracker was made from love, and the same gave it magic.