Gladys Malvern - Dancing Star: the Story of Anna Pavlova

Dancing Star:

The Story of ANNA PAVLOVA

GLADYS MALVERN

ILLUSTRATED BY SUSANNE SUBA

Contents

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

First Edition published 1942 by Julian Messner, Inc.

Copyright 1942, 2013 by Glady Malvern estate

ISBN: 978-1-5040-2893-6

Distributed in 2015 by Open Road Distribution
345 Hudson Street
New York, NY 10014
www.openroadmedia.com

TO CORINNE

with love and

gratitude

Part One

CREATION OF AN ARTISTE

1 A DREAM TO CHERISH

N OW , my little Niura, announced Madame Pavlova, you and I are on our way to Fairyland!

Annas dark eyes looked up at her mother excitedly. Fairyland! Where was it?

The sleigh traveled swiftly, noiselessly over the newly fallen snow. Houses stood tall and angular against the midwinter blackness of the sky. The world had suddenly become strange, new. The street lights made little yellow patches upon the untouched snow. People walked quickly; dark, mysterious, huddled against the brisk, biting wind. All at once St. Petersburg had become a different placeeery, beautiful.

Only Mamasha was the same. Dear Mamasha. A bit frightened at what was in store for her, Anna leaned closer to her mother. It seemed odd that just an ordinary sleigh should be carrying them into Fairyland. When one is eight, one still rather believes in fairies, but never believes that one will actually ever go to Fairyland. And now, here they were, she and Mamasha, on their way to see the Sleeping Beauty and the Prince!

Really Fairyland? asked Anna, in a small, awed voice.

MamashaLittle Motherlaughed. Not really. Its a make-believe Fairylandin a theater.

Anna lapsed into silence. Except for the summers, she and Mamasha lived alone in a small, dark apartment in one of St. Petersburgs poorer sections. Every summer they went to a little house in the country. Anna had never been anywhere else.

There was never enough money. Anna knew how Mamasha had to scrimp and economize to eke out the bare necessities for the two of them; but somehow Mamasha always managed to have little fancy colored eggs and toys at Easter, and always at Christmas there would be the little fir tree with its candles, a few toys, and perhaps some extra surprise, some extra treat; but never such a treat as this Christmasthere had never been Fairyland before!

Anna, whose pet name was Niura, knew her fairy stories almost by heart. Her favorite was The Sleeping Beauty . And now, in a little while, the Sleeping Beauty was to step out of the pages of a book and come to life!

A theater. Mamasha had told her it was the Marinsky Theater, but at that time the name meant nothing to her. Annas brow grew thoughtful. A theater, then, was Fairyland? Yes, that was it, a theater was a make-believe kingdom, a place where startling things happened, things different and apart from everyday existence. She had never been to a theater before, and as the sleigh drew nearer, her heart beat faster and faster until she could hear it above the noise of the wind, above the sound of the sleigh bells, above the thud-thud of the horses hoofs.

Here we are, announced Mamasha at last, gaily.

Anna bounded out of the sleigh and stood staring about excitedly. A big, fine building, brightly lighted. Crowds. Gentlemen in high hats and flowing mustaches. Ladies with rich fur capes. What long trains the ladies had! How the jewels sparkled in their hair, on their fingers!

Though dressed in her best, Mamasha looked shabby beside those others. But she didnt seem to mind. Her eyes were as bright and excited as her daughters as, hand in hand, they found their way to the cheaper seats.

Wheres Fairyland? asked the child breathlessly.

Wait. Youll see it, my little one. Down theredown there on the stage. Ssh! Here comes the orchestra. The music is by Tchaikovsky.

Annas eyes fixed themselves upon the curtain. As she watched, the lights in the vast auditorium were dimmed, voices were hushed. Suddenly there was music, music such as she had never heard. Then the curtain rose.

Yes, yes, it was truly Fairyland! There, below her, was a golden palace. There was the Sleeping Beauty!

At first the child sat numbed, tense. Then chills began going up and down her spine. Her hands clenched. She could feel the nails piercing the flesh of her palms, but it didnt matter. Nothing mattered, only thisonly loveliness mattered. She was trembling, troubled, breathlessit was all so beautiful, so thrilling. Sometimes she felt she couldnt stand any more. Now and then a little cry of joy escaped her, and Mamasha said, Ssh!

When the old witch appeared in her rat-drawn chariot, Anna put her face in her hands. Then, almost before she knew it, she peeked out between her fingers, and there was a crowd of young girls, dancing.

When the curtain came down for the intermission, Anna could not applaud. She sat, her wonder-bright eyes riveted upon the stage. Mamashas voice brought her back to her surroundings with a start. Mamasha was laughing.

Would you like to dance like those girls?

Oh no! cried Anna.

Mamasha raised her eyebrows in astonishment. No?

No! Not like them! I want to dance like the Sleeping Beauty! Andand I shall dance like that, Mamasha!

It was as if some magic wand had been waved over Anna Pavlova, changing her from a carefree child into a force, awakening her soul, giving her a new visiona high, almost unbelievable vision. A little voice up in her head kept saying, Dance dance dance. You must dance !

But Mamasha didnt seem to hear the voice. Her eyes were upon her daughters hands. Niura! Tch! Look at your hands! Why, youve cut into your palms with those nails of yours! Tch! Look, your hands are bleeding! Perhaps I shouldnt have brought you. I didnt know youd feel like this about it.

She took the small hands and wiped them tenderly with her handkerchief. Madame Pavlova had the curious feeling that her daughter was not a child any more, not her little Niura, but a stranger, someone foreign and remote. Annas face was paler than usual. Her eyes were fixed upon the stage againimpatient eyes, something tragic in them.

When the ballet was over, she no longer reached for Mamashas hand, sometimes she even forgot that Mamasha was there at all. Not now did she pause to stare at the fine ladies, ablaze with jewels, holding up their long trains as they moved toward their sleighs.

She entered their own shabby rented sleigh gravely, sitting very stiff, unmindful of the streets, the increasing cold, the now-whirling snow. She was seeing herself as the Sleeping Beauty, trying to remember every movement, every mood, every beat of the music.

Arriving home, she went at once to tell the Virgin of this wonderful thing that had happened to her. As in most Russian homes, the Pavlovas had a small icon, a picture of the Virgin, before which always a little lamp burned. As far back as she could remember, Anna had loved the slender, girlish figure in the blue, flowing robes. She confided all her secrets to the Virgin, and always the Virgin was there, waiting to hear them, smiling that serene and tender smile.

I will be a great dancer, Anna explained, and youll help me, wont you? Youll look on while I dance, and youll be glad?