Seized by Love (39 page)

Notes

. The remark concerning the
Elector of Saxony was, needless to say, not meant literally, for Prince N.
Kuzan had some way to go on that score. Augustus the Strong, Elector of Saxony,
was aptly named, since he had the distinction of siring 354 illegitimate
children, (page 15)

. The art of tracking wild
animals by their footprints was brought to perfection in Russia by a certain
tracker known by the name of Lukash—Big Luke—whose methods were quickly adopted
by others, so that presently all professional trackers came to be known as
Lukash, plural Lukashee. The original Lukash was in the employment of
Polovtseff. (page 37)

. Owing to the frequent
severe attacks of asthma to which Alexander II was subject, he rather dreaded
going to bed at all, and when he was suffering from this chronic complaint, he
would remain at work at his desk all night, keeping himself stimulated,
although this is denied by the people in his immediate entourage, by occasional
sips of champagne; Clicquot being his favorite brand. A shower-bath in the
morning would suffice to freshen him up. (page 44)

- Alexander II became
enamored of Princess Catherine Dolgorouky and made her leave the Smolny
Institute (a fashionable finishing school for patrician young ladies) at the
age of sixteen, before she had completed her studies. She went to live with her
eldest brother, Prince Michael Dolgorouky, to whom Alexander II presented a
very beautiful house on the Quai des Anglais. The ground floor was occupied by
Princess Catherine, who had her own domestics and carriages, (page 68)

. The Amber Room is
encrusted with exceptionally fine amber. Originally the room was arranged by
the architect Schlueter for the Prussian King Frederick I. Peter the Great
admired the room on one of his journeys and Frederick agreed to exchange it for
fifty Russian soldiers over 6'7" for a special guard troop, (page 122)

. Prince Mikhail Kuzan fell
in love with the young Gypsy. The traditions of the tribe are strict. If a girl
has a love affair, even if it be with a Prince, she must set up an
establishment. The ceremony of marriage is not complicated. There is no need of
priest or registrar. Any man who takes a Tzigane must obtain the consent of the
chief of the tribe and declare that he intends to live with her maritally;
further, he must pay a ransom to the chorus, for he deprives it of an artist
bringing in a good profit. Prince Mikhail, after a whirlwind courtship of five
days, submitted to all the demands of the Tzigane regulations and paid the high
ransom, for every rate is doubled for Princes, especially love ransoms, (page
138)

. Cora Pearl, the daughter
of a humble London music master, in spite of her coarse features and vulgar
tongue, and due to her lovely body, rose to the rarefied heights of the highest
paid courtesans in the Empire of Napoleon III. (Sums such as 5,000 francs,
which was equivalent to 200 English pounds or about 1,000 American dollars,
were not unheard of for twelve hours of her company.) Prince Gortchakoff
described Cora Pearl as "the acme of sensual delights." A journalist
of the day wrote of her "almost superhuman knowledge of the art of
love" while M. Kracauer, in his biography of Offenbach, says, "she
was able to keep in the front rank, because of her inordinate talent for
voluptuous eccentricities." (page 151)

. Sterlet was the famous
luxury brought to Petersburg from the Volga, and the Black and Caspian Seas.
Even in winter they were transported alive and shown swimming to the guests as
they passed through the hall at a dinner party; and when they are ready for the
fish (the third course in Russia) they are cooked. In winter they cost from ten
to fifteen dollars apiece (c. 1850), which makes a dinner an expensive affair,
as every guest has a fish, (page 192)

. This is not an original
thought, as you can see, but I find this charming sentiment appealing for its
universality, both encompassing and traversing the ages. The original quote
from Harriette Wilson's Memoirs follows: (Harriette Wilson, by the way, was one
of the high-class courtesans of early Regency England)—Lord Ebrington to H.
Wilson c. 1810:

Nothing can be so
gratifying and delightful to my feelings, as the idea of having inspired a fine
woman with a strong irresistible desire to make me her lover, whenever the
desire is not a general one. I remember having once made the acquaintance of a
woman who was greatly to my taste, and who, as I almost fancied, was disposed
to favour me in return. After much difficulty I obtained her consent to indulge
me with, a private meeting and she agreed to come into
my
chariot,
in which I took her up at the end of a retired lane at
the
back of her
father's house. She was a young widow. We were scarcely seated, when her very
natural frank and flattering exclamation of "Oh how
very
happy I
am, to find myself at last here alone with you," produced such a pleasant
effect on me that I have never forgotten it.
(page 202)

. Although it was not difficult
to obtain a divorce in Russia, witnesses were needed to attest on oath and in
the presence of the priest that either husband or wife was unfaithful. This was
very easy as far as gentlemen were concerned for all of them were unfaithful,
but it was different in regard to ladies.

An example of the Emperor's
favors:

Prince Bariatinsky did not
succeed in obtaining his divorce because his wife, Lydia, had been prudent
enough to remain faithful. But for highly placed nobles, in moments of
insuperable difficulty, there was always recourse to the Emperor.

On the cover of the file
case presented to him, the Emperor, without examining or caring what the
documents contained, wrote as a favor to the Prince, the words "Please
accelerate."

Two days later a gentleman
asked Lydia Bariatinsky whether she had noticed her husband with his wife at
the theater.

"What wife?" the
Princess asked.

"The wife your
ex-husband Prince Bariatinsky has married," he answered.

"How can that be since
I won't give him a divorce?" The next morning Lydia Bariatinsky learned
that her husband had obtained his divorce in 48 hours, thanks to the Emperor's
words, Please accelerate, and that the Prince was already married again, (page
227)

. When Alexander II sent
for his son Vladimir and informed him that a Princess of Mecklenburg-Schwerin
had fallen in love with him and that he, the Emperor, wished his son to marry
and settle down, the handsomest of Alexander IPs sons is reported to have
remarked, "Poor girl!" Upon which the Emperor indignantly inquired
what he meant by that exclamation and received this reply, "What sort of a
husband shall I make, Sire? I am drunk every night, and cure the headache of
the next morning by getting drunk again." (page 236)

About the Author

Susan Johnson,
award-winning author of ten previous novels, lives in the country near North
Branch, Minnesota. A former art historian, she considers the life of a writer
the best of all possible worlds.

Researching her novels
takes her to past and distant places, and bringing characters to life allows
her imagination full rein, while the creative process offers occasional
fascinating glimpses into complicated machinery of the mind.

But perhaps most important…
writing stories is fun.

Don't miss Susan Johnson's
next historical romance

A Touch of Sin

Available Spring 1999 from
Bantam Books

When Andre Duras and his
son Pasha decide the time has come to frighten away the blackguard who has his
eye on Andre's daughter, little do father and son know that it's just the
beginning of a scandalous adventure.

Turn
the page for a
peek at this novel.

When father and son walked
through the opened door of Langelier's apartment, they discovered he'd been
murdered by someone more disgruntled than they. Langelier's beautiful mistress
was standing naked on his bed while his still warm body lay in a spreading pool
of blood.

"A man with an ax did
that—just five minutes ago," she calmly said, brushing aside a
honey-colored curl from her forehead. "And I can't move with all that
blood," she added, apparently less concerned with her nudity or her
lover's demise than wetting her feet. "Would you lift me down?"

Pasha was more than
willing; she was utterly gorgeous.

"Thank you," she
softly said, her lush violet eyes lifted to his and he set her down in the
adjacent room. "I don't know what I'm going to do," she murmured with
a small sigh.

No thought was required, no
hesitation or reflection. "Perhaps I could help," Pasha pleasantly
said.

"I'd be ever so
grateful." Intent on escaping Langelier's apartment with all speed,
Beatrix Grosvenor smiled up at the young man regarding her with interest.

"It might be
advantageous to leave before the authorities arrive," Duras suggested,
returning from a swift survey of the apartment.

"Would you like my
coat?" Pasha inquired, overtly polite, as if there was a sudden chill in
the air.

"I'll dress
quickly." She held up her hand, fingers spread. "Five minutes."
And turning away, she disappeared into Langelier's dressing room.

Pulling out her small
portmanteau, she quickly found the key to the armoire in Langelier's coat
pocket, pulled out her few garments and stuffed them into her valise. After
slipping into a gray silk traveling gown, she swiftly searched the bureau
drawers for any money Langelier might have secreted, although she wasn't unduly
optimistic about finding much. Langelier had been losing heavily at cards.
Softly swearing under her breath, she rummaged through another drawer without
success and decided the young man who had gazed at her so attentively might be
her only source for passage money back to England.

She silently cursed
Langelier's treachery and her own naivete that had allowed him to take
advantage of her. Lesson learned, she hotly reflected, jerking open another
drawer. She'd never be so gullible again. Several drawers later, her face
sweat-sheened, her heart pumping as though she'd run ten miles, she'd
discovered Langelier's entire cache. Five hundred francs. She almost broke into
tears. It was nowhere near enough to see her home.

Could she ask these
strangers for a loan? she briefly wondered, but as quickly decided against
exposing her vulnerability. After her experience with Langelier, who had
virtually kept her prisoner, she viewed all Parisian males with suspicion.
Drawing in a steadying breath, she straightened the folds of her skirt as if it
mattered how one looked when one was alone and destitute, then smiled faintly
at her auto-matic responses. Although actually, she thought with pragmatic
resolve, under these circumstances, perhaps it
did
matter how she looked.

A quick glance in the
mirror assured her she was presentable. She bit her lips to brighten their
color, practiced an artful, ingratiating smile, debated briefly the options
available her—the merits of truth or fiction. And then setting her smile in place,
she picked up her portmanteau and pushed open the dressing-room door.

"Let me help you with
that," Pasha said, reaching for her valise, wondering for a moment if
Langelier had taken up with an out-of-work governess, her gray silk gown so
demode no self-respecting courtesan would be seen in it.

"We'll use the back
staircase," Duras said, indicating the direction with a nod of his head.
"No need to call attention to ourselves."

"Langelier had any
number of enemies," Beatrix offered. "He slept with a loaded pistol
under his pillow so the list of suspects will be long."

"He owed several
people money," Pasha added. "Some of them unsavory."

"The man who killed
him tonight had the look of a thug."

"You're fortunate he
didn't harm you."

"His orders didn't
include a woman, he said after he'd split Langelier's skull with his ax. I was
extremely grateful."

And I as well,
Pasha selfishly
thought.

"I'm surprised
Langelier lived as long as he did," Duras declared, holding the door to
the stairway open, his statement matter-of-fact. After years of fighting
France's wars, he was familiar with the sight of death. "Give the lady
your hand on these stairs," he said to his son. "I'll see that
nothing incriminating is left in the apartment and be right down."

Their carriage was
luxurious, Beatrix noted when they reached the curb, the driver immaculate in
bottle-green livery. They were obviously men of means. Now if she could manage
to acquire a very minute portion of that wealth, she could buy passage to
Calais and then home.

After handing her into the
carriage, Pasha tossed her valise to the driver and then leaned in through the
open door. "I'm sending the carriage around the corner," he
explained, "so it's less conspicuous. Will you be all right alone for a few
minutes?"

"Yes, of course,"
Beatrix replied, her thoughts already racing before he'd closed the door. Might
there be money somewhere in the carriage? Could she be fortunate after months
of misfortune? The moment the carriage began moving, she started searching the
interior.