Ulbricht Sir Galahad Erzgebirge Nutcracker

Consider, for a moment, the circumference of what you are holding. Sir Galahad, as a literary figure, was introduced to the Arthurian cycle in the early thirteenth century by a French Cistercian — a grail-quest outsider in a Britannic story — and has been reimagined since in English, Welsh, German, American, and at least one Russian opera I had the questionable pleasure of sitting through in 1994. Christian Ulbricht's Seiffen workshop has now added their carving to that lineage, which is the quiet thrill of German Erzgebirge craft: a knight of Camelot, rendered in linden wood, in a village closer to Prague than to Glastonbury.

Observe the helmet. Silver-metallic, with horizontal visor slits rendered just deep enough that you feel watched back. Above it rises the plume — not a single color (which would be easy) but three: white, a red-pink I would call early-dawn coral, and a teal that reminds me of a production of Parsifal I saw in Bayreuth. The small silver ball finial anchors the feathers the way a good dancer anchors a leap. His surcoat is red. His cape is dark green with gilt trim, draped with the kind of weight that makes you trust the carver knew what fabric looks like in motion. The sword rests point-down in both hands — a choice. In the French tradition, the point-down grip signals peace. In the German, it signals readiness.

At the Castle, we seated him beside the Merlin figurine in the east gallery. Drosselmeyer approves. The Mouse King, unusually, has said nothing at all.

— The Cavalier