The Lost Season of Love and Snow

by Jennifer Laam

  When we returned to St. Petersburg, we moved for the last time, to a flat on the banks of the Moyka River.

  I had taken Aunt Katya’s words to heart. I could no longer excuse a flirtation with Georges, no matter how innocent, and would steer him toward Ekaterina. While we were away on the island, she chattered on and on about Georges: the perfection of his dance steps, the humor of his stories, the way his legs looked in tight breeches. Azya confided to me that rumor had it they stole private moments alone together. With Dmitry far away, splitting his time between Moscow and Kaluga, I decided I must speak for our family and ensure Georges’s intentions were honorable.

  I next saw him at a ball honoring the victory over Napoleon in 1812, hosted by the tsar at the Winter Palace. As we dressed that afternoon, I talked Ekaterina into wearing a sea-green hand-me-down gown that flowed bewitchingly. I gave the fabric a longing look as Liza whistled a tune about an American dandy with a feather in his hat and worked on last minute restitching to ensure the dress flattered my sister’s figure. I let my imagination play, fancying that with a flowered wreath made to look like seaweed and glimmering jewelry like fish scales, I could have kept the gown for myself and made a fetching mermaid. Reluctantly, I chose a simple black dress instead, with a modest neckline and a matching lace shawl. I wanted all attention focused on my sisters this evening.

  As we entered the Winter Palace, Alexander and I walked hand in hand and my sisters flanked us on either side, not unlike the tsar’s two guards who stood on either side of the front staircase, I noted with some amusement. The guards wore the uniform of that fateful year of 1812: stiff collars, high-plumed helmets, and bayonets.

  Ekaterina had taken special care to make her cheeks rosy with rouge, and even Azya, normally shy at balls, perked up as we made our way through the room. I squeezed Alexander’s hand before I released it and gave each of my sisters a glance. As we ascended the marble stairs, we withdrew fans from our reticules and fluttered them before our faces in unison. When we acted as though we commanded the room, people treated us with greater deference.

  The tsar stood directly in our path, arms crossed, before a life-size portrait of his late brother, Tsar Alexander. In the painting, his brother looked stiff and grim, back erect, ready to face down the impudent little French dictator who dared to invade Russia. Tsar Nicholas didn’t smile as he usually did when he saw us, but rather looked as glum as his late brother, brow lined. Without thinking, I clutched my shawl tighter around my chest.

  Yet the tsar didn’t have his eye on me, nor my sisters, but my husband. Alexander had worn his official court uniform, even down to the feather in his old-fashioned cocked hat, which he said reminded him of the Yankee Doodle in Liza’s song I knew he loathed. Although his outfit was complete, he’d thrown it together in a hasty fashion, cravat tossed over the short uniform coat. Alexander preferred a careless look for bounding about town during the day, but in the evening he usually took more pride in his appearance. I wondered if he wished to purposely vex the tsar. I had been too preoccupied with making Ekaterina presentable to worry over it before we left.

  Now the tsar approached us straightaway, his guards struggling to keep pace. “Pushkin! My lady!” I curtsied low, but he seemed impatient and beckoned for me to rise. He kissed my hand and nodded approvingly at my sisters. Ekaterina nearly tipped over with excitement, as she always felt particularly full of herself in the presence of the tsar, but he turned his attention at once to Alexander. “I know you are a creative type, bound by whims and such, but this confuses me.” He indicated Alexander’s uniform. “Did these lovely ladies kidnap you off the street, man?”

  To my horror, Alexander looked bored with the tsar’s reproach. “Oh? Were we not to appear in uniform this evening? Your guards are done up to the nines. It seems I never can keep the dress codes for these affairs straight in my mind.”

  The tsar’s lip twitched. Clearly, he had anticipated an apology. “The invitation specified evening dress for guests, and after loaning you a goodly sum, I don’t imagine money is an issue. I only think it proper that our great poet look presentable when appearing in public.”

  I drew in a deep breath, unaware the tsar had loaned us more money. Purplish blotches appeared on Alexander’s cheeks, and his hands closed in and out of fists. The tsar spied on his wife, blocked his work from being published, and left no doubt of his power over him. It was only a matter of time until Alexander’s temper got the better of him. I thought of the young Decembrist officers, lurching and swinging from ropes, forever silent.

  “It is only that my husband adores his new uniform so! I think he cannot bear to part with it…” The tsar frowned. No sweet words would relieve us of his judgment. Alexander turned to me as though to add something cutting to my comment and I gave a quick shake of my head. I leaned in close. “Perhaps you might consider a change of clothes. We’ll be all right.”

  “Yes! They’ll be fine.” The tsar easily changed his tone to sound merry. “I’ll keep my eye on them for you. No mischief, I promise.”

  Hearing that, I wondered if Tsar Nicholas was one of the rumormongers Aunt Katya had warned me about, laughing at my husband behind his back. I was afraid now to look anywhere but the floor and Ekaterina’s tapping foot in a pretty green slipper. I feared Alexander might say something sharp to the tsar and I had made the situation worse.

  Tonight, however, Alexander kept his anger in check. “Take this one.” Gently, he guided Azya to the tsar. “She deserves to enjoy the best company in St. Petersburg.”

  I think the tsar would have preferred myself or even Ekaterina, who could babble about gossipy nonsense with the best of them, but he was nothing if not gallant and offered Azya his hand. “It would be my honor.”

  “I will see you later, lovely wife.” Alexander leaned in to peck my cheek, his side whiskers brushing against my face. Given this convenient excuse for escape, I realized why he had remained calm and knew I wouldn’t see him the rest of the night; he preferred a card table to the stuffiness of the ballroom any night.

  Azya and the tsar strolled off in one direction, toward the crystal punch bowl, and Alexander veered to the opposite door. I watched his back, hoping beyond hope he might turn to look at me one last time. He once had asked me a question no one else ever thought to consider: What do you want from your life? Had I ever answered? Did I even know? I wanted time to read and love my children and perhaps even return to my own writing, but the allure of the balls had been so powerful … I wanted that to be a part of my life as well.

  I felt a sharp jolt in the rib cage as Ekaterina jabbed me with her elbow. “There is Georges. Are you going to dance with him?”

  “Why would I dance with Georges?” Already this evening was shaping up as a disaster, but at least my sister had the decency to wait until my husband was out of earshot. I turned once more to look at Alexander, but he was gone.

  “It is how you have started your time at our previous affairs.” Ekaterina waved her fan before her pink cheeks and took stock of the room. “Why should this one be any different?”

  I bit my lip, assessing Ekaterina’s face and wondering what she knew, what rumors she had heard or even started to spread. Could she be that petty?

  Ekaterina squeezed my hand, her voice now strangely sincere. “Might you get us started? You seem to have an easy rapport with him.”

  Before I could answer, I spotted Georges on the opposite side of the dance floor, the details of his face too far away to be clear without my spectacles. Still, I recognized the gleaming red sash he wore under his evening coat and the sparkle of the golden medallion with the tsar’s face on it that he wore near his heart. His entire form drew to attention when he spotted us. I averted my gaze, suddenly finding a great need to adjust the thin lace shawl over my shoulders.

  “He’s coming our way.” Ekaterina glanced anxiously this way and that, like a coy country milkmaid in a melodrama.

  “Give me a few minutes and then he’s all yours.”r />
  This comment seemed to cheer Ekaterina. She headed toward a long table draped with patriotic imperial banners, where preserved rose leaves were served on a platter alongside figs and honey. I toyed with my fan as Georges approached. I could smell his French cologne before he reached me, the scent earthier than the citrus and sandalwood Alexander favored, somehow tantalizing and off-putting at once.

  “My lady.” Georges swept into a grand bow and kissed my hand, as he always did, but with an extra firm press of his lips against my skin. Now that he was near, I noticed his bright blond hair, golden as the sun, flopping on his forehead as he bent down and the smile that made him appear as Apollo himself. I closed my eyes and then, fearing I would appear a coquette, opened them wide again.

  It may seem strange that such a thing could happen at this particular moment, when I was trying not to think of Georges as anything but a potential brother-in-law, but I swear it was then that I realized exactly what I wanted from this life. Freedom. I wanted space to speak and think and know the path I chose was mine alone, and not limited by what others might think of me. And I wanted to share this exhilarating freedom with Alexander. He was the one who had made it all possible. My heart sank to my stomach as I realized how dangerously close I’d come to losing it all.

  Tonight, I was a woman of business, as I had been when I spoke to Alexander’s publisher, and I arranged my features into an appropriately solemn expression.

  “I must speak with you,” I told him.

  Georges seemed ecstatic at the notion. “Anything, my lady.” He took my elbow and tried to steer me behind a wrought-iron trellis garlanded with climbing wisteria and bougainvillea. I stopped cold before we could get any farther than a footman carrying a tray of crystal goblets.

  “We shall speak here.”

  His brows pinched as he leaned over to fetch a goblet of punch for me. “I thought some measure of privacy—”

  “We do not need privacy. It is unseemly for us to spend further time together alone.”

  He took it as a joke. “Unseemly? Why we are simply enjoying one another’s company.” He waved at the other pairs of dancers. “We take no more pleasure than anyone else.”

  “My flirtation has caused injured feelings. I wish no appearance of impropriety. I wish no further attention drawn to my family.”

  Georges clicked his tongue between his teeth. The sound was most irritating and he suddenly seemed far less handsome. “Your husband has no problems with his own flirtations. Does he not fear a loss of honor? Here, drink this. You’ll feel more at ease and more yourself.”

  I shook my head and refused the punch. “I cannot deal with further distractions.”

  Georges’s sunlit features now paled and his voice grew hoarse. “My lady, I was under the impression you considered me more than a distraction. I thought we had come to an understanding and could take what pleasure we might in one another.”

  A sudden chill passed over my shoulders, but then I grew so warm perspiration beaded my brow. We had done nothing more than share a few sweet compliments. I hadn’t spoken to him a moment too soon. “We are friends. I wish you happiness. That is all.”

  Georges dropped the crystal goblet and it fell to the ballroom floor with a crash, splintering into a thousand pieces. Everyone in the room turned to look. I was glad Alexander had left before he could witness this humiliating scene. Had he heard this poor man declare his love for me, he might have taken Georges down in a brawl in the center of the palace.

  “I am mad for you. I love you. If you wish me to be happy, then tell me you feel the same.”

  He might as well have struck me in the face, for though I knew Georges desired me, he could have any woman and I had not considered our flirtations more than amusement on his part. I certainly had not thought him bold enough to make such a declaration in a public space. I hoped to spare his feelings so my words were ill chosen. “I wish I might tell you the same.”

  “Then why won’t you do so? I have seen it in your eyes often enough.”

  I shook my head. “You have not.” I stumbled over my next words, knowing I needed to speak plainly. “I’m sorry if you’re hurt, but you have misread my intentions. Your love was not the outcome I sought, nor that which my heart demands.”

  “Surely you share my feelings.”

  “I do not love you. I cannot love you. I have a husband.”

  His expression gentled. “So if you were free—”

  “I do not wish to be free, not in that way,” I said. “I wish to be with my husband. I love him.”

  “You are saying only what society expects you to say. You are a good soul who cannot abide hurting your family, but they would recover, darling. We could run away together if you only say the word. People do it all the time.”

  He kept twisting my words. How could he have possibly thought I would even entertain the notion of abandoning my family? “You don’t understand … my sister Ekaterina…”

  Georges sputtered, but when he saw that I was serious, he frowned and released my hand. “I see. You wish me to believe your attention was on behalf of your unmarried sister.”

  This was not exactly the truth, but it seemed like a useful version of our history. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to see the two of you together.”

  “Nothing, Natalie?”

  “I’m sorry,” I told him. “I’m sorry you developed feelings for me. That was not my intention. Now that matters are clear between us, however, I’m sure you will do the right thing. If you give Ekaterina a chance, you will find her company most pleasurable and see the wisdom of what I say.”

  His gaze landed on my sister, still hiding behind her fan. She had caught up with the tsar and now whispered something to Azya.

  “You are a beautiful family,” Georges said softly.

  It was a start. I smiled at him. “Ask her to dance. She will jump at the opportunity.”

  “No doubt.” After the glass shattered, Georges had made an extra effort to look congenial. I was sure the other guests passing by suspected he was apologizing for making a scene, but his tone remained morose.

  “You spend a great deal of time with my sister Ekaterina. I do nothing to dissuade the bond between the two of you…” I wasn’t sure where I was going with the sentence, for it didn’t feel quite true, but I needed to say something to fill the silence as servants swept the shattered glass into dustbins.

  He grabbed hold of my wrist and twisted so hard I cried out. I looked at him, astonished. His eyes were burning, though the rest of his body stayed rigid. No one near us would suspect anything amiss. I knew differently. My wrist throbbed.

  “Clearly you wanted no more than to toy with me for your own amusement. Now I am besotted and you discard me like a frivolous plaything. I love you. Why do you not see it?”

  When Alexander told me he loved me for the first time, he looked at me with anticipation, not expectation. Later, he told me he didn’t know if I would say I loved him back. He merely found it necessary to express the words, to live free of regret. Georges looked like a wild little boy who, experiencing desire but denied the pleasure of possession, has his first tantrum. His gaze came to rest on an empire-style chair in the corner. I wondered if he might take the chair and hurl it at some innocent soul just to make himself feel better.

  I searched desperately for the baron, the only person in the world who I thought could bring Georges to his senses, but his “father” was nowhere to be found. It seemed the baron was as anxious as my Alexander to be free of a formal court ball.

  I needed to defend myself.

  “Release me or I shall make sure that everyone in this ballroom sees you’re hurting me.” It was an empty threat. All eyes had been on us since the moment Georges dropped the glass, but I could think of nothing else to say.

  “They shall see truth and beauty,” Georges declared. “In France we worship these ideals. No one will blame me for acting foolishly for they know I am in love.”

 
“In Russia, we are ruled by an iron tsar who metes out justice as he sees fit, answering only to himself.”

  At that, Georges let go of my arm. It seemed he feared exile in Siberia, the same as any of us. The threat of the tsar’s temper and a random sentence carried out on a whim was enough to dissuade Georges from his abominable pursuit. When he let go, I shook my arm and took stock of the room. I longed for my spectacles, but then they would only confirm what I knew to be true. Backs turned to us, whispers behind fans. They had all overheard our conversation and would report the scene back to Alexander, as snidely and dramatically as possible. Among those who had heard the whole dreadful encounter were men who envied Alexander’s literary successes and women who envied me for having the great poet as a husband.

  “It’s late, Monsieur d’Anthès,” I told him, as loudly as I could manage without shouting. “My husband has taken ill. I am going home to see him.”

  As I flounced past Georges, I saw the tsar. He had been watching us the entire time. Though his features were but a pleasant mask, I could not shake the feeling he knew exactly what had transpired, knew I had invoked his protection, and that this was exactly what he had wanted all along.

  Sixteen

  ST. PETERSBURG

  FALL 1836

  That evening, I covered my bruised flesh with white powder and arranged my nightgown carefully so Alexander would not see the injury. I worried he would go after Georges with his pistol if he knew. How could I have let myself befriend a man who would lay hands on a woman? I felt a fool, and yet anyone present at the ball would assume I had led him to such a scene, that I must have encouraged him in some way. It was just as Aunt Katya said: women are always to blame.

  Alexander was taken with the great Englishman Shakespeare, collecting all of his works and attempting to read them in their original language. I stuck with French translations and had read the tragedy about two adolescents in love. People spoke of it as a grand romance, but hadn’t Romeo been madly in love with Rosaline before falling for Juliet? It confirmed my suspicions. Men are fickle creatures and easily distracted. With any luck, I was a mere distraction to Georges, as Rosaline had been for Romeo, and soon enough he would forget me.