Excerpt of Song Of Miriam by Pearl Wolf

“Where are the Jews?” Prince Potemkin demanded upon his entrance into the Grand Ballroom. His booming voice caused heads to turn.

Fashioned after St. Nicholas Hall at the Winter Palace in St. Petersburg, the immense room was two hundred feet long and sixty–one feet wide. The walls were lined with pale, ivory colored silk and hung with enormous mirrors framed in gold. The floors were inlaid with marble and rare woods in intricate designs. Ornate candle–lit chandeliers cast a lovely glow over the guests and caused their jewelry to glitter and sparkle. Servants who wore elaborate surcoats emblazoned with the royal crest, red shoes and white stockings, stood like statuesque sentinels at every door. Tall lackeys in red turbans and black pantaloons silently opened doors. The Grand Staircase, flanked by huge marble columns and steps, was lined with Cossack Life Guards in scarlet tunics.

Tonight’s Grand Ball celebrated Czarina Catherine’s departure from St. Petersburg. Her Majesty would arrive in Kiev within three weeks and remain until the ice on the Dniepr River melted, at which time she and her entourage would set sail for the southern provinces. The ballroom was filled with Nobles, Caucasians, Hussars and Uhlans, some who had come from as far as the frontiers of China. Fountains overflowed with wine, barrels spouted vodka and champagne corks exploded as guests gorged on caviar and roasted meats.

The tempestuous love affair between Catherine and Potemkin was long over, yet rumors of a secret morganatic marriage persisted. The powerful prince, meticulous in the beribboned uniform of Field Marshall of the Army, waited impatiently for his young guests to be presented.

"Reb Dov Zeklinski and Madame Miriam Zeklinski, Sire,"murmured his aide–de–camp.

"Charming." Potemkin appraised the young woman. She wore a pale ivory gown etched with seed pearls, a fetching contrast to her olive complexion and almond-shaped eyes.

"Arrange to see me, Zeklinski," Potemkin said to Dov, dismissing him with a wave of his hand. "The sooner the better. Shall we dance, Madame?"

Rumors flew through the air like wisps of smoke from a candle. Who was the mysterious woman led by Prince Potemkin? From which part of the empire had this exotic princess emerged? Persia? Byzantium? Her sultry eyes certainly suggested the orient. The ballroom buzzed with speculation, except for the few who knew who she was.

"Potemkin courts the Jews in public," Count Petrov said as he observed the prince’s flagrant display. "He has the czarina's blessings, no doubt." The count was stout, his face bloated from years of excess food and drink. He had all to do to keep from scratching his head for relief from the irritating wig on his head.

"Beware, Petrov. You court treason with such talk."

"Nonsense. He taunts the nobility with this act. Is it not our duty to save Mother Russia from Jewish infidels?"

"But what can we do? Potemkin is powerful."

Petrov ignored the comment. "That blackguard has depleted the royal treasury for this unnecessary journey. He sees to it that the czarina’s eyes will fall only on clean, whitewashed cottages, freshly gilded church spires and well–dressed serfs. Mark me, sirs. The day will come when the czar–killer of Ivan and Peter, and her lover will be called to account."

"Your beauty soothes our weary eyes, Madame Zeklinski."

"You flatter me, Sire," Miriam said. She curtsied as he bowed, and took the hand he offered as they reached the dance floor.

"Can you not see that all eyes are upon you tonight?"

"On the contrary, it is Your Majesty who draws all eyes.”

The prince smiled. "Perhaps. Your French is flawless, you possess wit and you dance with grace. This bespeaks a superior education. Is this so with all Jewish women of your station?”

"My father’s doing, sire. He will be honored to hear that you admire my tutoring since he insists on the finest education for his children."

"Please convey our compliments to your father, Madame. Did you know that the czarina is committed to the education of women? Her Majesty established the first school for Christian girls twenty years ago. There are many such schools now."

"A noble idea, Sire. Perhaps Jewish women might also be allowed to attend Her Majesty's schools one day." He raised an eyebrow, causing Miriam to wonder whether she'd been too bold. When the music ended, she curtsied.

"Our pleasure, Madame." Potemkin gave her hand to the tall officer who had presented her and her husband to the prince. His uniform of dark green jacket and gold–braided cape, white pants and black boots marked him as an officer of the Preobrazhansky Guards, the czarina's battalion. He had fine blonde hair, a beard that barely concealed the scar on his right cheek, and seductive blue eyes that seemed to tease.

"Count Razovsky at your service, Madame.”

“You can serve me best by returning me to my husband, then.”

“At the moment, gentlemen who wish to take advantage of your husband’s financial words of wisdom surround him. May I claim this dance? I prefer to be first before you are besieged by eager admirers."

"What do you mean, sir?"

"No need to pretend coyness, Madame. My meaning is clear. Now that the prince has favored you with the first dance of the evening, you can have any man here, but perhaps you already have a lover."

Miriam reddened. "What right have you to pose such an insolent question?”

His eyes widened in amused surprise. "Have I offended you? I meant only to flatter.”

"You are wide of the mark, sir."

"My apologies, then. Please, Madame. Don't abandon me on such poor terms. My sister and Countess Gorov will be furious with me for having driven you off before an introduction."

She began to turn away, but he placed a restraining hand on her arm and added, “May I present my sister, Countess Anya Razovsky."

Miriam noted the young woman’s handsome Slavic features; hair the color of fine wheat, pale blue eyes, fair skin very like delicate porcelain. The family resemblance was remarkable.

"And this is our dear friend, Countess Gorov," Razovsky continued, indicating the older woman at his sister's side.

"You're the Jewess? Where is your husband?" The older woman’s lined face suggested a lively intelligence in spite of her startling questions.

"He is otherwise engaged at the moment."

"I wish to meet him. There were few Jewish subjects in Russia before the Polish Partition, you see. We must come to know one another better, my dear. Invite me to tea.”

"My pleasure, Countess. Would Wednesday at three be suitable?"

"Of course. Anya shall escort me." The feisty old woman turned to the count. "Dance with me, Alexei, before I grow too old for such pleasures."

The count’s sister smiled. "Take no offense, Madame Zeklinski. Natasha loves to shock, but she means no harm."

"No doubt," Miriam replied, flustered by the dowager, yet oddly not offended.

"Are you visiting our city?”

"No. My husband and I reside in Kiev."

"Forgive my ignorance. My brother and I have been abroad." The countess spoke with the breathless voice of youth, her smile friendly. “A fortunate journey for me since I met my betrothed, Prince Peter Bedorov, in Paris." The young countess liked the look of Miriam, sensing in her a kindred spirit. Perhaps she wants a friend as much as I do, she thought. For her part, Miriam was warmed by the woman's easy manner. She was also struck by the marked contrast to her insolent brother.

A young officer claimed the countess for a promised dance, but Miriam was not alone for long.

Count Razovsky asked, “May I have this dance?” Unable to invent a dignified way to refuse him, Miriam allowed the offensive officer to lead her to the floor.

"You dance well, Madame."

"Does that surprise you?”

"I see that I am not yet forgiven for my faux pas. I am determined that, in due time you shall.” Miriam fled when the music ended, but the count had no time for reflection.

"Who was that mysterious woman you were dancing with, Alexei? Everyone’s dying to know." Hannelore von Hals’ impish green eyes shone like burnished emeralds. Her powdered wig, ringed in curls, was piled on top of her head in the current French fashion.

"She is Madame Zeklinski. Her husband's a financier."

"The Jewish tycoon whose name is on everyone's lips?"

"Yes. It is good to see you, Dunya."

"Dunya is no longer my name darling, an unpleasant reminder of my humble serf origins. I've discarded it for Hannelore."

"I never thought of you as a serf. Hannelore, eh? Suits you well."

"Madame Hannelore von Hals."

"So you married old von Hals. Congratulations, then."

"Offer me your condolences. Hermann died six months ago."

"Oh? Sorry."

"You needn't be. I saw to it that we had a good life together."

"I would not have expected any less of you."

"And how are you faring?"

"Alas, this day is one of the worst of my life."

"Are you in need of a sympathetic ear?"

"Badly.”

"Do tell, then. Why so glum?"

"Potemkin gave me distressing news this morning. To make matters worse, I seem to have offended Madame Zeklinski."

"Whatever did you say to offend her?"

"I said she could have her choice of lovers."

Hannelore laughed. "Poor Alexei! You're unused to women who scorn your advances."

"I only meant to compliment her desirability."

"I wonder why she took such offense. Every woman at court would swoon for your attentions. What of the bad news from Potemkin?"

"I'm not to be allowed to join my regiment and take part in Empress Catherine's journey. My orders are to return to St. Petersburg following the czarina's departure in the spring."

"He hasn't forgiven you for disobeying him and taking your sister abroad, I take it. Are you no longer his aide?"

"I remain in that post, but only because my uncle has influence at court. The dear man has advised me to accept my punishment without further complaint."

"That's wise. Was the grand tour of Europe worth all the trouble it has caused you?"

"Not a question of worth. It was necessary for my sister's sake, with fortuitous results, I might add. Prince Bedorov met Anya in Paris and they fell in love. They plan to be wed next year. Potemkin's displeasure is a small price to pay for having done my duty. She'll marry well, which is what my parents would have wanted for her.” A flicker of pain at the thought of his dead parents crossed his face, and he changed the subject. “What brings you to Kiev?"

"The empress requested that my husband join her for this journey. Hermann built several frigates and battleships for the Royal Navy, you see. The czarina intended to honor him for his services to the empire, but by the time the news reached Berlin, he was dead. I am here to represent him."

"Excellent," he said, admiring her audacity at accepting an invitation meant for her husband. "Will you live here when you return?"

"No. I shall continue to live in Berlin in our palace. I've many friends there.”

"Your husband left you well provided for?"

"Yes. I’m enormously wealthy."

On her hasty retreat from the irritating count, a young officer who begged for the next dance accosted Miriam. The pink–faced cherub seemed barely old enough for the military uniform he wore. His words tumbled out in a rush.

"Lieutenant Petrov at your service, but you would honor me if you would call me Ilya. I must confess that your beauty and your wit have bewitched me. Truth be known, Madame, I am madly in love with you."

"Then you are indeed mad, sir, for you do not know me."

"Don't mock me, Madame. I know my heart well enough to know when I'm in love."

"She suppressed the desire to laugh at the absurdity for she had no wish to offend such a child."Forgive me, then. Apparently you possess a romantic soul, but I am already spoken for."

"Your husband is of little consequence to me."

"He is of great consequence to me, though I am flattered by your attentions."

"Can we at least be friends?"

"Of course, Ilya is it?"

“Then you must dance with me. It will make me the envy of all the men in my company.”

At the end of the evening, Miriam and Dov sped home under the warmth of sable throws. Dov’s blue eyes blazed with the triumph of the evening. He was a handsome man, short of stature, yet comely in spite of it. He longed to share his successful evening with his wife, yet his anger prevented him. They rode in uneasy silence, both still simmering over Borschov, their overseer.

“He steals from us, Dov,” Miriam protested earlier in the day. “Our serfs hate him.”

“All overseers steal. Borschov must deal with four thousand serfs and he turns a profit for us. If you treated him with the dignity his position demands, we wouldn’t be arguing.”

"I manage our estate. Why didn’t you order him to speak to me directly?”

“I’m far too busy with Zeklinski Enterprises to be burdened with petty disputes. Learn to carry out your duties properly.”

“How can you expect me to accomplish that when you interfere?”

“Carry on you must, my dear, but do it without upsetting Borschov’s operations.”

She clenched her fists. “Do not encourage that detestable man to disobey my orders. It’s the least you can do when he disagrees with me.”

“All right, then. Tell Borschov that he is to order supplies from my office henceforth. My clerk Hershl will see to his needs. In return, you are to treat him with respect. Agreed?”

"Agreed.” She heard anger in his voice in spite of his words, but experience had taught her that there was nothing further to be gained.

The Zeklinski mansion, a handsome pillared structure, was three stories tall. It occupied the highest promontory on the estate. On a clear day, smoke from its many chimneys could be seen from as far away as the wharf on the Dniepr River.

The entrance led to a circular marble hall that rose to the height of the second and third floors. A huge crystal chandelier hung from the dome of a sky-blue ceiling decorated with painted cherubs lounging atop swollen white clouds.

The ground floor held a drawing room, dining room, library, Dov's study, Miriam's morning room, a piano conservatory, ballroom, and a synagogue, which had once been a chapel. The circular staircase led to the second story balcony where the master suite and guest rooms opened onto the balustrade.

The servants' quarters were on the third story, reached by a back staircase connecting all three levels. Below stairs were two kitchens, one for meat meals and one for dairy meals, both designed to meet the strict Judaic dietary requirements of kashruth. In addition, there was a fine wine cellar and many storage rooms as well as a specially constructed bath, or mikveh, a religious ritual.

Dov had employed an Italian architect to renovate their new home, for it had fallen into neglect. In spite of falling plaster, fresh paint and dangerous scaffolding, the two were content to be free from the constraints of childhood in their new home. The work was finished by the time they celebrated their first year of marriage.

Miriam broke the silence as they readied for bed. “How was your evening?”

“Very dull. Men of noble birth begged me to tell them how to increase their wealth. And you? What did the prince have to say?”

“He was most flattering. Jealous?”

"Have I reason to be?”

She smiled. “No. He did ask me to be sure to thank you for agreeing to billet the Israelovsky Battalion when they arrive with the czarina.”

“It’s a great honor to host the first Jewish battalion in the history of the Russian army.

“I also met a young lieutenant who vowed his undying love for me. Ilya something or other."

"Shall I challenge him to a duel?"

"A duel? How silly! You've never held a sword in your life."

He laughed. "Nor would I know what to do with a sword. Besides, it would interfere with my audience with Potemkin on Wednesday."

"That is such good news. Wednesday, did you say? I've invited Countess Gorov and Countess Razovsky to tea then." She hesitated. "Actually, Countess Gorov ordered me to do so. Remarkable woman. She apologized in advance for the bigotry we shall have to endure from her ignorant countrymen."

"Were you offended?"

"Not at all." Miriam described her encounter, to Dov's amusement.

"Countess Razovsky must be the wife of Potemkin's aide.”

"No. The countess is his sister."

"Then he's not married?"

"I don't know, but if he is, he's very presumptuous."

"What did he presume?"

"Asked me if I had a lover."

"That was bold, but you do have a lover. Let me show you." Dov took her in his arms and brushed his tongue over her lips, an erotic act that roused a fire within her. In spite of such a promising beginning, Dov’s passion swiftly reached its peak as usual.

"Goodnight, dear," he said, disengaging. He stroked her flushed cheek and in an instant he was asleep.

Miriam lay awake feeling restless, like a mountain climber at the summit unable to descend. She had come to believe that her lustful cravings were a shameful affliction, an aberration of character.

Once she'd asked Dov to hold her in his arms afterward. He fell asleep holding her, only to wake and complain of a stiff arm. Did lovers hold their sweethearts and whisper tender phrases of love only in romantic novels, she wondered? She'd even tried to hint that he might be more adventurous in bed.

"Making love isn't like a business contract," she had said once. Dov reacted with annoyance at the suggestion that he was somehow remiss and she never dared suggest it again.

Seventeen and not yet pregnant, she thought in misery. Miriam’s eyes filled with tears.