Once upon a time there was a nobleman, the Duke of Corazon. He was considered a man of great taste and refinement, for he had a love of all things beautiful. On his estate there were many fine sculptures, on the walls of his manor were many fine paintings, and there were many fine trinkets in his cupboards. But the thing the Duke loved above all else was the ballet.

You see, the Duke of Corazon believed that the ballet was the highest form of art practiced by Mankind. Yes, he loved poetry and literature and theatre too, but these were static art forms. Only in ballet was there true passion - or so the Duke maintained.

In his youth, the Duke had gone to the capital many times just to see the finest dancers and to take delight in their skill. Now he was old and ill, he could not travel further than the nearest village. So he pined for his ballerinas, dreaming of them leaping and pirouetting across the stage. Being in his dotage, he was content to remember these times - for memory is nearly always better than reality - until he heard of a dancer of great skill and artistry.

Maria Bolovska was indeed a dancer of great repute. On stage she danced with a passion that was unheard of. Women swooned when she performed; men wept. All agreed that she was the finest ballerina that had ever graced the stage.

The Duke of Corazon longed to see Maria perform, but his age and infirmity prevented him. So, he wrote letter after letter to the lady, begging her to favour him with a private performance at his estate. Alas, Maria was also a proud woman, and she did not stoop to respond to the Duke's entreaties. The Duke languished in despair and misery, spurned by that who he desired.

Now, amongst the Duke's household was an artificer of great ingenuity, called Master Cogwheel. Master Cogwheel could build the most intricate clockworks. He had constructed for His Highness the Duke many automata and devices, such as as a goose that honked, waddled and laid eggs; a harpsichord the played melodies it had composed itself; and a clock that on every hour chimed the Duke's anthem. Master Cogwheel, when he heard of the Duke's melancholy, came to speak to him.

"Sire," Cogwheel addressed the Duke, "I cannot bear to see your sorrow, but I have a scheme by which I may lift your mood and ease your troubles."

The Duke groaned. "Cogwheel, I have no need of toys. I wish to see the ballerina Bolovska dance before me but once. If she will not come at my request, how will she come for yours?"

"Perhaps not in the flesh," Cogwheel replied, "but I am skilled in the art of clockwork. I could construct for you a mechanical dancer, perfect in every detail, who would leap and pirouette at your command."

"Could you truly do this?" the Duke asked.

"This is no idle boast."

"Then do so!" the Duke commanded.

And so Master Cogwheel set to work. He laboured for many days and many nights, constructing a clockwork ballerina who would leap and pirouette for as long as her clockwork would last, then dance once more upon being wound again. The Duke of Corazon was eager and every day would ask Master Cogwheel when his new automaton would be ready, but all that Master Cogwheel would reply was, "Patience, my lord."

At last, Master Cogwheel declared that the clockwork ballerina was ready. The craftsman brought it before the Duke's court so all might see it perform. And such a sight they saw! The mechanical dancer had limbs of pearl and silver, a face of porcelain and a body of enamel. Its innards were the made from the finest clockwork, wound and tensioned to perfection. And, when it danced, it moved with a grace and finesse and precision beyond the ability of any mortal. The Duke of Corazon was entranced by its performance and, when the recital was over, applauded most enthusiastically.

"This," said the Duke, "is truly a dancer without peer."

And the court agreed.

The fame of the mechanical ballerina spread across the land, and it was not long before news of it reached the ears of no less a person than Maria Bolovska herself. She could not believe that a mere clockwork doll could dance. But, as more and more tales of the automaton's ability came to her notice, Madame Bolovska could not bear to hear any more. So, she gathered her retinue and travelled to the Duke of Corazon's estate where she demanded to see the clockwork dancer for herself.

His Highness was only too happy to oblige. He commanded that Master Cogwheel demonstrate his device before Maria that very night. The lady and her retinue watched in silence, then Maria spoke. "It has some knowledge of technique," she said. "And it is a good imitation of what a ballerina should be - but it is only an imitation. Let me show you what a true ballerina is like." And, with that, she began to dance.

As the Duke watched Maria dance, he saw how right she was. When she danced, she danced with passion. She danced with all her heart. The Duke wept as he realised that his clockwork ballerina, while it danced with grace and finesse and precision, it did not dance with soul.

The Duke of Corazon bowed to his guest. "You have shown me the truth," he said. "How can I make amends?"

Bolovska pointed at the automaton. "Smash it," she commanded. "Destroy it. Let no trace remain."

Master Cogwheel watched as his creation was reduced to flinders. Then, when everyone else had left, he picked up the remains. The only piece left that was recognisable as having been part of the ballerina was its porcelain mask; and on that, by the corner of one eye, was a single tear.