Music: Immortal Swan

Five years ago last month a slender, waxen-faced woman of 45 lay ill with pleurisy in a hotel room in The Hague. A sedative had been given to spare her pain. Quietly, as if entranced, she spoke to her maid: "Marguerite! My swan costume!" As if she were hearing an unseen orchestra, Anna Pavlova lifted her arms, fluttered her hands. "Play that last measure softly," she murmured. And before the world realized that she was seriously ill the great Russian dancer was dead.

Few who saw Pavlova have been able to forget her...

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