Pavlova Anna - Swan: the life and dance of Anna Pavlova

This book is dedicated to Susan Margaret Gray,
who taught me to dance L. S. For Eleanor J. M. Special thanks to Ilsa Bush
for her generous consultation in the making of this book. Text copyright 2015 by Laurel Snyder.
Illustrations copyright 2015 by Julie Morstad.
All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any
form without written permission from the publisher. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data:
Snyder, Laurel.
Swan : the life and dance of Anna Pavlova / by Laurel Snyder;
illustrated by Julie Morstad.
pages cm
ISBN 978-1-4521-1890-1 (hc)
ISBN 978-1-4521-5364-3 (epib)
ISBN 978-1-4521-3060-6 (epub2)
ISBN 978-1-4521-5363-6 (epub3)
ISBN 978-1-4521-5362-9 (mobi)
1. Pavlova, Anna, 18811931Juvenile literature.
2. BallerinasRussia (Federation)BiographyJuvenile literature. I. Title.

GV1785.P3S69 2015
792.8028092dc23
[B] 2013013706
Design by Kristine Brogno. Typeset in Cabrito.
The illustrations in this book were rendered in ink,
gouache, graphite, pencil, and crayon. Chronicle Books LLC
680 Second Street, San Francisco, California 94107 Chronicle Bookswe see things differently.
Become part of our community at www.chroniclekids.com . The city is big. Anna is small. The snow is everywhere and all around.

But one night... Annas sleigh slips up the street. Her face is cold. The world is dark. Mama smiles. Thenah! The lights.

The lights! Something is happening... Theres a swell of strings, a scurry of skirts. A hiss and a hum and... HUSH! Its all beginning! The story unfolds. A sleeping beauty opens her eyes ... and so does Anna.

Her feet wake up! Her skin prickles. There is a song, suddenly, inside her. Now Anna cannot sleep. Or sit still ever. She can only sway,
dip, and spin.... Now Mama hums into her soup.

Now the snow skitters
just so at the window. Now the squirrels stop to watch. At last Mama nods, and out of her house
Anna goes, into the world of people. Tall people. And oh? Oh. Two years drag,
each sliding slow.

Anna stretches, bides her time. Shirt, shirt, laundry.
Shirt, shirt, laundry. Even the squirrels lose interest. But this time, oh? Oh yes! The work begins. The work? The work! Up and down and back and turn and on and on and to and fro and third position! Again! Again! Again! Until one night
she takes the stage... Anna becomes a glimmer, a grace.

Everyone feels it, and the lamps shine brighter. The room holds its breath. It shouldnt be that she should be this good. Her legs too thin,
her feet all wrong and ooh, those toes! She is only a girl
so smallso frail but see her face, her flutter? Anna was born for this. For five bright years the dancers swirl around Anna. The curtains rise and fall.

Finally, she steps onto the stage alone... and sprouts white wings, a swan. She weaves the notes, the very air into a story. All those sitting see. They stare Anna is a bird in flight,
a whim of wind and water. Quiet feathers in a big loud world.

Anna is the swan. Across the globe she sails. There are furs and riches. Kings and Queens. Pearls to be worn. Toasts to be drunk.

But it is not enough. Anna remembers a small cold room, a lonely girl at a window. Shirt, shirt, laundry.
Shirt, shirt, laundry. Somewhere, there are people who havent heard the music. Anna sails on. Forests and plains, sprawling cities and tiny towns.

The world is a hungry place, and Anna will feed it beauty. Across bullrings and the warped boards of dance halls, she moves everyone. The sick and the poor come to meet her boats and trains, they cheer her, and are cheered. Anna walks in the rain, sleeps on the floor. She isa queen, a ghost, a bit of snow, a dragonfly! And again and again and best of all, the swan. When people throw flowers, Anna tosses them back.

Its enough just to dance. Of course, always the tour ends, the boat docks,
the train returns to the station... and there are
pets and people,
meals and meetings,
hearth and home. But not the home Anna remembers... home is gone. Anna wont return to the snowy city.

There has been a war there, a wall.
Everything is changed. Sleighs no longer jingle
through the streets of Petrograd.