August 23, 1952 … To me it has a haunting sound, for it marks the tenth anniversary of the death of Michael Fokine, the last of those glorious masters of ballet—Noverre, Didelot, Perrot, St. Leon, Petipa—whose works created an era in the art of the dance far beyond the boundaries of the countries of their origin.

It was first as a thrilled spectator and later as an executive with the former Imperial Theaters of Petrograd that I witnessed all of Fokine's productions in the beautiful Maryinsky Theater. And since this brilliant period of the Russian ballet is gradually growing dim and soon may be completely forgotten, it is to this phase of Fokine's career that I dedicate these fragmentary memories, blended with a few excerpts from some of the letters he wrote me, which have no longer merely a personal but a public interest, now that he is gone.