Itseems that the Regent Sophia, whom, indeed, some have pronounced to be a wonderful woman for her ability in the management of affairs both great and little—though for my part I give all the credit to Galitsin, who was for ever at her right hand to advise, restrain, and even to speak for her when her Highness lacked words—it seems that Sophia had so far impressed her will upon the Tsar Ivan that he was now willing to be married.
How she performed this magician’s trick I am not able to guess; neither can I say whether any of the ordinary spirit of a man had begun to stir in that poor creature at sight of all the womanly beauty which had been placed before him during those last few days.
It may be that somewhere within him there lurked the unmatured embryo of a man’s nature, which had at this time quickened into a kind of half-life, so that he at last consented to gaze with interest upon those fair maidens, and to acceptthe idea of matrimony without anger and loathing.
I do not doubt that if Vera had not, in her wisdom, turned from him with disgust, but had feigned admiration for him, and even love, as some of the others did, she could have awakened in him a kind of mild love-ardour which would have been a nearer approach to a man’s passion for a woman than any that her sisters awakened in him; yet it is certain that he accepted Vera’s attitude towards him with resignation and turned from her to seek his bride elsewhere without any great show of indignation or of regret.
The morning after Olga’s quarrel with Praskovia Soltikof was practically the deciding hour in the matter of Ivan’s choice of a bride, and doubtless that quarrel had something to do with the result, though for my part I am persuaded that—Vera not being reckoned as available—he would in any case have chosen as he did.
There entered theteremthat morning a little procession of three—the Regent, the Tsar Ivan, and Galitsin.
Maria Apraxin was passed without a glance by the Tsar and by Sophia, but Galitsin stopped and spoke with her. It was his duty to receiveher report, and this day I doubt not she had an interesting one to give.
Meanwhile the Tsar was passing Olga Panief, but Sophia drew him back.
‘Glance at this one,Golúbchick,’ she said; ‘she is one you have never well examined, yet she is as beautiful as any, and has the very appearance of a Tsaritsa.’
Ivan glanced at her. ‘She frightens me,’ he said; ‘she has a cruel eye—I like her not. I would rather she were not here.’
‘Here is the minx, Vera Kurbatof,’ said the Regent, smiling nevertheless kindly upon Vera, and shaking her finger at her; ‘she who shrinks from us, Ivan. Dost know why she has done this? Because she knows that a bride is the more valued the more difficult has been her wooing and her winning. Doubt not she pines for thee,Golúbchick; she longs to be Tsaritsa and to sit beside thee in the highest seat.’
Vera said not a word, but stood with her eyes upon the floor at her feet.
‘Is it so, Vera?’ said the Tsar. ‘Speak truth and fear not. I would rather choose thee than all the rest, but to me it seems that thou art not willing, thou art afraid of me. When I touched thee thy head swam and thy knees failed; was it not so?’
‘It is true, Tsar,’ said Vera; ‘I fear thee.’
‘And why?’
‘God knows! I shall always fear thee, and I can never love thee; believe that I am speaking truth.’
‘I do believe——’ began the Tsar; but Sophia interrupted him.
‘See, Vera,’ she said, ‘it is possible that in knowing the Tsar better and seeing him oftener, this feeling of thine may change for a gentler one. He is kind of heart, believe me, and will make a more indulgent husband than many a man to whom God has given better health and a handsomer face. Ivan loves you the best of all—can you not see it? Come, smile upon him, child, and give him thy hand, and by all the saints of Heaven thou shalt be Tsaritsa in a month, and as fair and as happy a one as ever sat beside a Tsar upon the highest seat.’
‘Madam, do not entreat me,’ said poor Vera. ‘It is the truth that I am afraid of the Tsar; I could not sit beside him. If I were not afraid to death of him I should not have hid myself from him. Do not press me—Tsar, on my knee, I beseech thee. I should be a sorry Tsaritsa that feared the touch and the very sight of thee. Let me go my way; there are those here who long for thee to exalt them to thy side.’
‘Bah!’ said the Regent, tugging at his arm; ‘leave her then,Golúbchick, if she insists upon being a fool. If she truly fears thee she will hate thee if we marry thee to her; let her go, fool and minx that she is.’
The Tsar obeyed. He followed his sister, though he turned and gazed at Vera once more as he went.
Then they came to where Praskovia Soltikof stood and waited for them, all blushes, and her splendid eyes ablaze as they sent a speaking glance at the Tsar before screening themselves beneath her marvellous black lashes, long and arched, and lying now upon her cheeks like two lovely fringes of delicate feathered lacework.
Ivan stopped suddenly as his eyes fell upon this picture. He half turned towards Vera as though he would compare the two; but the figure of Praskovia seemed to have captured his gaze, and his eyes remained fixed upon her.
“Holy Mother! there stands a Tsaritsa indeed!’ exclaimed Galitsin. ‘See, Sophia, such loveliness is surely peerless!’
‘Yes, but——’ began the Regent, and drew Galitsin aside so that Maria Apraxin (from whom Mazeppa received all that has been told of this scene) could not hear what they said. If one may guess, it is probable that Sophia would muchhave preferred Vera for Tsaritsa, partly because the Tsar seemed more attracted by her than by the rest, but chiefly because she fancied that Vera Tsaritsa would be more easily managed than Praskovia Tsaritsa; for the Regent Sophia did not intend to see the power go from her own hands, and the wife of Ivan should be one who would consent to take the second place in the realm.
But Galitsin had ever the ruling word of these two, and doubtless he persuaded the Regent that matters must go forward now as Ivan would, having gone thus far, and that since Vera was obstinately determined against marriage with him, and he seemed to have accepted her refusal with resignation, the better way now was to encourage him in his obvious admiration for Praskovia. Therefore the two soon returned to the spot where Ivan still stood and gazed, speechless, at Praskovia Soltikof, from whose figure he had not once withdrawn his eyes during these moments of waiting.
‘See, her hand is bound up as though it were hurt,’ said the Tsar as they joined him. ‘What ails her, think you, sister?’
‘Ask her,Golúbchick, for yourself. She is not an image of wax, she is warm flesh and blood, made for love and for caresses; ask her, my dove!’
‘What ails thee?’ stammered Ivan, blushing to the roots of his hair.
‘It is nothing, Tsar,’ said Praskovia, glancing at Olga and attempting to hide her hand.
Here Maria Apraxin stepped forward.
‘There is a dog in theteremthat bites, Highness,’ she laughed; ‘poor Praskovia has been bitten.’
‘A dog?’ exclaimed Ivan, recoiling—‘a dog that bites—he may be mad, sister, let us depart!’
‘A dog on two legs was this, Tsar,’ said Maria; ‘one who is called Olga Panief.’
‘What mean you, Maria?’ asked Sophia sternly. ‘Do you say her hand is bitten, and by this Cossack minx?’
‘So it was, Highness. There was a quarrel, which Olga began and ended, began with insult and ended with biting.’
‘Fie, Panief!’ cried the Regent. ‘Go forth, minx, we will have no biters here. Was thy mother a wolf, that thou must tear thy companions with tooth and claw? Shame, wench—go forth, I say!’
‘Drive her away quickly, Galitsin, I am afraid of her,’ said Ivan whimpering. ‘Who can tell? she may turn and bite us all; let her go quickly and return no more!’
Olga left theteremin tears, but she turnedat the door and shook her fist at Praskovia and at Maria, neither of whom took any further notice of her.
Then the Regent raised Praskovia’s wounded hand and looked at it.
‘See the poor wounded hand!’ she said. ‘See, Ivan, where the cruel teeth went in! How shall we cure it for her?’
‘Kiss it with thy lips, Ivan Alexeyevitch!’ cried Galitsin with a laugh. ‘I warrant that will heal the wound better than all the herbs and medicines the leech can give her!’
‘Yes, kiss it,Golúbchik!’ said Sophia.
And the Tsar obediently, though shyly withal, took the wounded hand and kissed it.
‘Oh, Tsar, I am not worthy!’ exclaimed Praskovia, sinking on her knees and catching at the edge of his kaftan to raise it to her lips.
But when the Regent bade Ivan kiss Praskovia’s forehead and tell her she was the most beautiful of all his maidens, the Tsar’s eyes were fixed upon Vera—and this is not to be wondered at, for indeed at this moment she looked so radiantly lovely—in the light, I suppose, of happiness secured—that those who observed her declared they never saw so much beauty in any face as in hers at this moment.
ThoughVera was not actually released from theteremfor two days after this, there was little talk of any Tsaritsa but Praskovia Soltikof.
The Tsar, though in his foolish, weak way he seemed to regret Vera, grew—it is said—hourly fonder of Praskovia, and by degrees he began to show something of the spirit of a man towards her. This circumstance gave the greatest delight to Sophia, who, said Mazeppa, made no secret of it that she had not expected such good fortune.
‘There is the succession to think of,’ she explained; ‘for you will understand that it would please us better if Ivan should provide an heir rather than that we should depend for succession upon such brats as the young scapegrace at Preobrajensky may raise to himself.’
When Vera was at last allowed to go forth from theteremshe went straight back to the Diévitchy monastery, but was not received by the new Superior, who declared that she feared the anger of the Regent; therefore she wasobliged to return to her father’s house, where she incurred the rage of the old Boyar, who, disappointed of his hopes in her, did not receive her with the kindness of a parent, but rather with the fury of a madman.
But Vera cared little for his rage, seeing that she had escaped the great danger she had feared, and which indeed had at one moment threatened to swamp for ever her happiness.
‘And there,’ said Mazeppa, ending his tale, ‘she is now, thanking God daily for her escape; and Praskovia Soltikof is the chosen Tsaritsa, announced to the people and accepted by the Tsar, who—if I mistake not—will sometimes wish that he had chosen as his poor heart first dictated; for if one thing is more certain than another in this world, it is that his fancy—such as it is—went out to Vera rather than to her who is to be his wife!’
When Mazeppa had finished his tale, I took my leave of him, and, going straight to the Uspensky Cathedral, offered a candle at the shrine of the Blessed Mother of the Lord for the mercy vouchsafed to Vera, and, through her, to me. And on that same day I received a visitor whom I certainly did not expect to see: Olga Panief.
This girl, be it remembered, had treated me very badly. Before my absence upon the Azofcampaign she had professed faithful love for me; yet when I returned I found that she had thrown me over for the chance of being chosen by the Tsar Ivan. This I might have forgiven, seeing that for an ambitious girl the Tsar’s choice is not an opportunity to be lightly put aside. But she had made love with Mazeppa during my absence, upon his own showing, and though she had thrown him over no less than myself, this was nevertheless a crime which I was not prepared to forgive.
Therefore, when I learned that Olga Panief was waiting in the ante-room to see me, I quickly made up my mind that if somehow I could become even with her I would do so. She should yet weep for her treatment of me!
Olga greeted me cordially: we conversed, and she described to me, what I knew already, her nearness to being chosen Tsaritsa.
‘If it had not been for the cat Soltikof,’ said Olga, ‘I should have been chosen! Oh, the cringing, lying, deceitful minx that she is! Kill her for me, Chelminsky; let your sword or your dagger bite well, straight into her heart; or still better, kill her slowly and with much suffering, curse her! I might have been Tsaritsa, but for her!’
‘You might also and more certainly havebeen the wife of Chelminsky and saved yourself all this trouble and disappointment,’ said I. ‘From all I hear, Olga Panief, you never had any real chance of being chosen by the Tsar: it rested between Vera Kurbatof and Praskovia Soltikof, but you were never so much as considered by the Tsar—oh! do not look so crossly, for I know what I speak of!’
‘It is a lie; but for Soltikof I should have been chosen. Vera Kurbatof, indeed! Even this fool of a Tsar would not marry so great a fool as Vera!’
‘Well, I admit thou art a splendid woman, Olga. If my heart were of the breaking kind, that would have been a deadly blow when thou didst leave Batourin in my absence for theteremof the Tsar, forgetting thy plighted troth to me!’
‘What, the chance to be Tsaritsa, and abandon it because of a word to thee? Thou must think me a fool indeed, Chelminsky!’
‘And what of certain courting with Mazeppa while the lover was away?’
‘Bah! Mazeppa! to dally with Mazeppa means nothing, for every woman is the same to him; all are toys, to play with and to forget in a day! Now see here, Chelminsky, kill me this detestable Praskovia and I am still yours, only ten times more than before. I swear I will marryyou at once, and we will go where you please; there, I am serious.’
‘And why do you want her killed?’ I asked, with difficulty restraining my laughter.
‘Because I hate her: is that reason enough? If you will have more, because she has been chosen Tsaritsa over my head; and, last reason, she is my enemy—she has insulted me before the Regent. Is that enough for thee? Come, thy answer?’
‘But why should I kill the girl?’ I asked. ‘What harm has she ever done me?’
‘Have I not said that I will marry you for doing me this service? I have asked you to do it because of all men I know I think you are the most to be trusted, and because I believe that you love me well enough to do my will, seeing that the prize offered is one for which any man would surely sell his soul—and that is myself!’
‘And thou wilt give thyself, then, to any man who will rid thee of this enemy?’
‘I did not say that. I offer the prize to thee, and thee only. Come, look at me well, Chelminsky—am not I worth winning?’
‘You may be that—I did not deny or assert anything. I have won thee once and found the prize elusive. Once bitten, I am careful to avoid dogs.’
‘This time I should keep my troth: I tell you the other was an exceptional case. A maiden invited to the bride-choosing of the Tsar is not her own mistress; she must go whether she will or no. Come, Chelminsky, am I less to be loved than before? Are my eyes smaller or dimmer? Am I shorter? Is my figure less shapely? Am I not still the kind of maiden for whom a man would barter his soul?’
She came nearer to me and placed her face close to mine, so that I could feel her breath as she spoke. ‘Come, Chelminsky, look at me well,’ she said; ‘am I less than I was?’
‘I will tell thee what will surprise thee, Olga,’ I said. ‘It was none other than I that brought Praskovia Soltikof to theteremto overshadow thee in the Tsar’s eyes. She is a dear friend of mine, and thou comest to me, of all others, to have her killed!’
‘Stay—does she love thee, Chelminsky; art thou her lover?’
‘I did not say so. It may be and it may not.’
‘Nay, tell me—does she love thee? Oh, if she does, Chelminsky, if she does, I see a better vengeance than her death; she shall live to be jealous. Thou shalt love me again, as before, and marry me. Help me in this, dear Chelminsky.She has robbed me of the Tsar and insulted me. I shall die if I am not quickly avenged. Tell me, truly, does she love thee?’
‘I think it may well be so,’ said I, for this farce amused me and I would see how it should end. ‘For one who marries such a husband as Ivan, it is no very great sin to keep a little affection for a handsome lover from the old days!’
‘Make sure of her, Chelminsky; let her love thee madly, and when she is at her maddest thou shalt marry me before her eyes. I will give thee my very soul to do me this service!’
I promisedOlga to consider this matter, and so prevailed upon her to leave me. When she had gone I gave vent to the laughter which I had with difficulty restrained.
Here was a fury indeed! First she would have her rival killed, then tortured with jealousy, and the prize for either service, herself. Now during the conversation with this woman I had discovered one thing for certain, namely, that I cared not one jot for her fascinations; she no longer had power to move me. The only feeling of which I was conscious in speaking with her was a great desire to give her as sore a heart as she had once given me, could I but devise a way to do so. It was for this reason that I left the decision as it were in doubt, as though I would consider the matter; whereas all I wished was for time to see whether there was any way of turning this new attitude of hers to advantage.
I was not many hours older that day when of a sudden Mazeppa came raging to my lodging, full of a grievance against me.
‘Thou hast played a double game, Chelminsky,’ said he, looking very evilly at me. ‘Explain; for I trusted thee and thou hast played me false!’
‘Explain, rather, thou,’ I replied, laughing, ‘for I know not how I have offended.’
‘It has come to my knowledge,’ said Mazeppa, ‘that Vera Kurbatof was in sanctuary at the Diévitchy monastery; that she was placed there by none other than thyself, and that even when I set thee to find her, trusting thee, her hiding place was all the while known to thee, though thou didst make a show of ignorance. See! Chelminsky, a true friend should not act thus.’
‘Bah!—it is nothing, Mazeppa; you do me injustice. It is true that I placed her in sanctuary—could I have done better on your behalf? As for keeping silence, I was persuaded by Vera to tell no living soul of her hiding place. I had been dogged by some spy, remember, and this—though the rascal came off second best—so alarmed the girl that she bade me behave most cautiously.’
‘But you visited her there, my friend, more than once, and even fought—as I am informed—to protect her——’
‘Dear Heaven, would you not have done thesame, man? They came to carry her to theterem, which was exactly what must at all costs be avoided! I thought to have praise and thanks from you when I should have told my tale, instead of which I am abused as though I had committed a great crime! Truly, Mazeppa, thou art an ungrateful friend, and I am sorry I toiled and bled for thy sake!’
Mazeppa gazed long and fixedly in my face. I knew well what passed in his mind. He was trying to decide whether I was fool or deceiver; whether in reality I had played a double game with Vera, or a simple one as I declared. It was difficult to preserve an even countenance. At length I could bear it no longer, and burst into laughter.
‘What ails thee this day, Mazeppa? Why dost thou gaze at me in this solemn fashion? let us have an understanding. What is in thy mind concerning me?’
‘I will tell thee what I have thought,’ he said. ‘I have greatly feared that throughout this matter thy care for Vera Kurbatof has been more for thy own sake than for mine. If it be so, Chelminsky, and thou desirest this wench for thyself, beware what thou dost, for by the saints I shall win in the end.’
‘To what purpose is all this talking,’ said I, mostinnocently; ‘what do I gain by befriending this wench; what is she to me? If I have done my best to save her from theterem, this has been done at thy own request.’
‘Well, I have long suspected thee. Any man might well desire so fair a creature, and it has seemed to me that she is more to thee than thou wouldst have me think. I am determined that none shall possess this maiden but I. Be sure, my friend, that when Mazeppa is resolved upon any matter, that matter is in the end accomplished.’
‘Dear heart!’ I exclaimed, laughing aloud, ‘have the girl for thy own if thou canst—what is she to me? Only I have done with serving thee in this matter. To be treated thus, and threatened, and what not, after I have toiled and bled in thy cause! This is ingratitude, Mazeppa, and thy thanklessness shall serve thee ill; for be sure thou shalt need a friend to help thee before Vera is thine and safely in thy hands!’
‘Well, if I have truly wronged you, I ask pardon. I am in love with the wench, and a man in love is not his own master; forgive me if I have suspected you foolishly. Continue to be my friend in this, I pray you. You have done excellently, so far; so well, indeed, that it is your very zeal that has caused me to suspect you of working for yourself and not for me. But stay,why shall I need a friend now that she is safely out of theterem? Are there difficulties that I know not of?’
‘There is the old Boyar, her father. Failing her marriage with the Tsar he has, I know, other intentions for her. There is a rich and powerful Boyar, their neighbour in the country, for whom he intends her—an old man.’
‘Good, an old man. Ha! then the wench herself will be on our side; we will devise a plan, Chelminsky, and thou shalt help me to carry her away. By the saints, it seems I have wronged thee most foully! The beauty of the girl is my excuse, for truly I do not even now understand how any man can know her and not love her. Lord! when I think of it, I suspect thee still!’
‘That is for ever the way of a man when he is fully in love; he must needs suspect that all other men are of the same way of thinking as himself! It is a good thing that men differ in their opinion of a woman. This Vera is certainly fair enough, but to my eyes there are others as fair and fairer. I doubt not my old love will come back to me, now that she has failed to outdo Praskovia Soltikof in the regard of the Tsar. I would punish her for her conduct in throwing me over, but, by the saints, one must forgive her somethingfor her good looks: she is as splendid as the day, and that is plain truth.’
‘Olga Panief you speak of? Yes, she is splendid, and I doubt not she would return to thee; but—shall I deal friendly with thee, Chelminsky?’
‘If you will; have I not deserved it?’
‘I fear thy anger; well, I will brave it for thy sake. Be careful with this wench Olga, my friend. Do not trust her too much. I have told thee of her violence within theteremwhen she found that the Tsar would choose Praskovia before her. She is a fiend, no less. She is mad with rage and the desire of vengeance. This very day she has avowed her love for me, or rather she has offered me her love upon conditions——’
‘Avowed her love for you!’ I exclaimed, starting to my feet, as though in fury, though in truth I felt more inclined to laugh than to rage; ‘and you dare to tell me this, Mazeppa?’
‘Stay, I speak as your friend. “Kill this Praskovia for me,” said Olga, “and I am yours,” or words to that effect. I bade her depart from me and not speak as a fool and a mad woman. I tell you this for your advantage, that you should not trust her too much.’
‘Does she love you, think you, Mazeppa?Would she have come to you thus but for the hope of persuading you to avenge her?’
Now, Mazeppa was one who forever believed that every woman must of necessity fall in love with him if he but raised his finger to encourage her, and it is certain that he was generally a successful lover. Even at this moment, when he was very desirous of my friendship and assistance, he could not resist the delight of hinting that he had made a conquest of Olga.
‘If she loves me it matters little, for I vow that she shall have no encouragement from me, my friend, now that I know you still desire her. I doubt not that you will win her, but, as I say, trust her not too much. Now, as to Vera Kurbatof, of whom you have lately seen more than I, have you spoken to her of me; is she inclined, think you, to my suit?’
‘I have scarcely spoken of you. She is aware that you would have befriended her. You have told me the truth as to Olga; shall I be equally frank as to Vera?’
Mazeppa looked astonished, then somewhat angry; but he bade me speak on.
‘I have been so good a friend to her and served her so well,’ said I,‘that it would be wonderful if so gentle a maid were not grateful——’
‘Grateful, well,’ interrupted Mazeppa; ‘but dare not tell me there is more than gratitude. By heaven, Chelminsky, if, after all, you have fooled me and have sought to gain this maiden’s love——’
‘Oh, oh! I have sought nothing; if she is grateful and her gratitude has inclined her to bestow upon me a certain sweet friendly kindness which might, I admit, one day develop into a warmer regard, am I to blame? I speak as a friend. I have not wooed her back; take her and win her, Mazeppa, if thou wilt, and if she will also!’
‘A pretty confession to make indeed!’ cried Mazeppa, striding angrily about the room, too furious to perceive that his own admission had been the very same. ‘By the saints, I know not whether to trust thee or no! I know not whether thou art most fool or knave!’
Truly love had made of Mazeppa himself for the time being more fool than knave! Never was this old fox less of a fox than on this day! Well, he had called me fool before the Tsar Peter, assuring his Highness that I was too great a fool to make a Cossack Hetman. We should see who was the greater fool to-day, he or I; for indeed I had a plan in my mind to make so great a fool of him that he should remember for evermore how he had miscalled me!
Duringthe next two days I matured the plan which should give me the laugh over both of those who had offended me. I am a bad forgiver, and when I have a debt to pay, I like to return to the lender more rather than less than I have received from him. I counted up my grievances against Mazeppa and against Olga Panief. Mazeppa had called me fool before the Tsar Peter, and had tried to set him against me. He had made love to Olga, while I believed her to be true to me, and had allowed her to go to theterem—all this during my absence; he had had me dogged by a spy, and had lied to me; lastly, he would have Vera Kurbatof by fair means or foul—a deadly grievance in my eyes, for none should have her but I.
As for Olga’s sins against me—well, she had flouted me at Batourin; and now—though she had come to offer herself to me, she had gone first to Mazeppa—Lord! there was grievance enough against both; I should have no pity.
Olga Panief came to see me again, and by herfoolishness helped much to carry forward that which I had in my mind.
She desired to know whether I had seen Praskovia Soltikof—the chosen Tsaritsa—whether she had concealed her love for me or revealed it—was I sure of her passion for me, and I know not what foolishness besides. As for me, I thought it no wrong to deceive her. I answered her that there could be little doubt of Praskovia’s love, for, though I had seen her this day in the very presence of the Regent and of the Tsar Ivan, at whom she scarcely glanced, she had not hesitated to send me more than once a splendid flash from her eyes whose import was unmistakable.
This praise of her rival’s eyes infuriated Olga.
‘Fool that I was,’ she cried, ‘I should have poisoned the minx in theteremwhile I had the chance, before she could set the Regent and the Tsar against me. How easily it might have been done—and I never thought of it! Now there is only this way of revenge. You still love me, Chelminsky—come, do you not? I am as fair as I ever was—is it not so?’
‘Oh, as fair, and fairer; that is not to be denied. You are a beautiful woman, Olga; what man could gaze upon you and his pulses not beat the faster?’
‘Well—well, I am yours, if you will. I have always preferred you above the rest, at Batourin or elsewhere, though I have loved to live gaily and to hear the flattery of men; come, you shall have me, you shall marry me here in Moscow, when you will, and then you shall tell Soltikof, or, better still, I shall tell her myself that I have carried off her lover. Does the fool think she shall have the Tsar and thee too?’
‘There is a difficulty, but only one,’ I said, as if perplexed. ‘I was sent for this day by the Regent, not as an honoured guest, but in order to be examined and threatened. Her Highness has discovered in some way that it was I who concealed Vera Kurbatof in order that she might escape the bride-choosing; for this I am in deep disgrace, and under orders to leave Moscow immediately.’
‘Ah, never doubt it, this is not the true reason, this about Vera Kurbatof! The Regent is a fox, and she has seen that Praskovia Soltikof loves thee; this is the cause of thy disgrace. Oh, good, good!’
‘Well, it may be so,’ I said, adopting Olga’s idea, since it fitted well enough into my own fiction. ‘At any rate, I must go or remain in disguise. Therefore, if we marry we must marryin disguise, though, indeed, I see no particular objection to that.’
‘Stay, let me think. No, it matters little. So it shall be. Afterwards I will go to her and will bid her wish me joy of my marriage: she will ask me the name of my lover, and oh! the telling her will atone for much—how she will pale and gasp with rage! Well, then, so be it, dear Chelminsky; fix the hour and the place, and so it shall be!’
So far and so good for my plan, which prospered well. Only let Mazeppa behave as foolishly as Olga, which in his present state he seemed likely to do, and the matter would go smoothly enough.
Mazeppa was sick with love at this time: a sick fox with all his foxiness gone out of him!
When I told Mazeppa of the rich Boyar who was ready to marry Vera Kurbatof if the Tsar should not choose her, I told him the truth as I had heard it from Vera’s own lips. She would no more marry this man than the Tsar, she had said; and I had promised to help her in this as in the other matter. Now I determined this trouble of the Boyar should help me in my present designs. I therefore visited Mazeppa, who had left me yesterday in anger.
‘Mazeppa, I will not quarrel with thee, my friend,’ I said, ‘and to prove my good will, listen to what I have to tell thee. Vera is in trouble about this Boyar. She has asked me for help, but the only way for her out of this quandary is by marrying. This I told her, when I soon perceived that if I would she would be prepared to marry myself rather than stay to be mated with this fat old Boyar. Then it occurred to me that here was an opportunity sent by Providence itself for your convenience. For since I do not desire to marry the wench, while you are sick with love for her, what should be simpler than that you pass for me, and so carry her conveniently away?’
‘Fool! she would know me,’ growled Mazeppa; ‘you speak foolishly for jest.’
‘No, it is no jest, it is a good plan; nevertheless, if you like it not, leave it and the girl also; what is it to me? I am sorry I took the trouble to think out so good a scheme for a lover whose ardour is not equal to the trouble of carrying it out.’
I made a show of departing, but Mazeppa called me back.
‘Stop,’ he said; ‘maybe I spoke hastily. I could, of course, wear disguise——’
‘You must do that in any case, and she also,for safety’s sake,’ said I. ‘She is well known, and might be recognised by the priest.’
‘She will hate me for deceiving her in this way; for, if what you say is true, it is you she desired to wed.’
‘Bah! a woman soon forgives such things, especially when the other—that is I in this case—has deceived her. Moreover, she would not marry me for love, though we are good friends; it is rather the desire to escape this fat Boyar than to gain me. The wench is driven distracted, first by the danger at theterem, now by this. I have left the matter open in case it should please you to do as I suggest, for I shall not do myself as she wishes. If you agree, it is easy for me to return and tell her that I have decided to marry her rather than let the Boyar have her.’
Mazeppa considered awhile.
‘I would rather she married me of her knowledge and free will, which no doubt I should have gained with opportunity; but, as you know, I have determined to possess this woman, and if she is not to be had one way, she must be secured another way.’
‘That is wisdom,’ I said. ‘Do you know a priest who will not ask questions, but will be ready to marry a disguised pair and pocket his fee without desiring to know too much?’
‘I know the very man!’ exclaimed Mazeppa, growing obviously more in love with my plan as it became more familiar to his imagination. ‘I will go forth and settle with him at once, Chelminsky; why should we wait? The girl is in danger. I have no more business in Moscow. By the saints, I will wed her to-morrow and we shall travel together to the Ukraine! After all, my son, you have done well by me!’
Mazeppawas of opinion next day that, since he must be married in disguise, it would be well to have a witness both on his own side and upon the lady’s. ‘And since you, naturally, will not do,’ he laughed, ‘it so happens that young Shedrine the Cossack is in town and will do well for the office.’ Shedrine would do excellently, and since he had come as the envoy of Samoilovitch, the Hetman, bidding Mazeppa return quickly to his duties, the marriage was opportune indeed.
‘As to a witness for Vera,’ said Mazeppa; ‘has she one, or will Olga Panief serve? Olga has not quarrelled with Vera, I believe, but with the Soltikof maiden.’
With difficulty I restrained an exclamation.
‘You have not mentioned the matter to Olga?’ I said anxiously.
‘Not I—there is no soul who has learned of it from me.’
‘Good! I do not think Olga will do; she is not so discreet as some, and might gabble.’
‘Well, find whom you will, and settle your time with her; then I can tell the priest and my witness, and within twenty-four hours we shall be married.’
So I settled with Olga for the evening, telling Mazeppa the time arranged: and so I left my two innocents to their fate.
And since I had no desire to be suddenly fallen upon and perhaps murdered in my sleep by the enraged pair when they should have awakened to the true state of affairs and the pretty jumble they had made of matters, I removed myself into a new lodging, nearer the house of the Boyar Kurbatof; for now that my enemies were out of the way I intended to lay a more definite siege to the heart of my most beautiful Vera.
Nevertheless I lay hid for two days, and when I did go forth I went armed, and almost the first person I met in the street was the young Cossack Shedrine whom Mazeppa had suggested as witness.
I hoped he would pass me by without recognition, but he saw me, and as though involuntarily his hand went to his sword, but it wandered away again.
‘Well, this is a pretty trick you have played,’ he said. ‘What was your object, Chelminsky, may I be bold to inquire?’
‘A matter of high politics which you are tooyoung to understand, Shedrine; therefore I will not explain.’
‘As you will,’ he said, ‘but beware how you meet Mazeppa, and still more be careful of Olga Panief: she is a mad woman, my friend. It was hard upon Mazeppa to marry him to a wild, witless thing like Olga.’
‘Bah! She is sane enough, but she is angry. She is jealous of the Tsaritsa-elect, by whose arts she imagines that she was forestalled. But tell me, did the marriage pass off without interruption?’
‘Assuredly; they were married. I have seen many a quarrelsome pair, but save me from such another married couple as this!’
‘Tell me, tell me, Shedrine!’ I exclaimed. ‘Tell me quickly: I perish to hear all.’
‘Well, the ceremony was performed by the priest, I being witness and bridegroom’s attendant—some old frump sent by you, I believe, was her witness. It seems Mazeppa believed he was marrying one Vera Kurbatof, and Olga thought that her disguised husband was yourself. It appears also that you are the delinquent in this matter from first to last: at any rate, both parties cursed you well, and it is you upon whom they have vowed vengeance.’
‘But stay, Shedrine, you go too fast. Is Mazeppa in Moscow, and is she? Are theytogether as man and wife? Do they recognise the rite performed over them? How and when did they discover the mistake?’
‘Mazeppa is in Moscow, so is Olga: they are not together, nor have been since the first half-hour of marriage. They both deny the marriage, which is nevertheless a marriage, and they discovered the “mistake” as soon as they were out of the church, when Olga threw off her disguise, saying that Chelminsky might wear his if he chose, but for her there was no reason. Then Mazeppa suddenly uttered a great curse, and, tearing his own wraps from his face, glared at her and she back at him. Then Olga, with a yell which may have been intended for spoken words, but was not so understood by me, flew at her newly-won husband and struck at him so fiercely that Mazeppa actually drew his sword.
‘“Do not kill her, Mazeppa,” cried I. “Do you not see that she has been duped as well as you?”
‘“Let the shrieking fool keep her distance then and be quiet,” he said, furious with rage, “or by all the devils I will spit her as she deserves. Are you mad that you have played this trick upon me, you she-devil?” he cried—never was man so furious—“Who bade you put your pestilent self in place of the other wench?”
‘“What other wench?” she shrieked back. “It is you that shall be spitted, you cheat and liar, for playing me this trick: be not deceived, your sword shall not for ever protect you, as now!”
‘Then Mazeppa turned upon me. “What in the devil’s name does this mean, Shedrine?” he said. “How did this she-devil come here? Is it a trick of Chelminsky’s?”
‘“I know nothing,” said I. “I have not seen Chelminsky, and know not what he may have or may not have to do with it.”
‘Then both cursed, and she shrieked, and the horrors of death and judgment were heaped by both upon your head; and Olga Panief grew so mad in her rage that I was obliged with Mazeppa’s help to gag her—no easy matter, be sure: after which Mazeppa procured akibitkaand had her carried away, Heaven knows where. It is not for me to interfere between man and wife, therefore I have not been near him since; and indeed I am not anxious to meet either of them unless they shall have calmed down into reasonable human beings. Olga will certainly kill you if she can, my friend; and as for Mazeppa, you are rash to make an enemy of him, as I thought you should have known!’
‘That is my affair, Shedrine: I am not afraidof Mazeppa. For the rest, I do but pay old scores upon both. Thanks for the warning, however: I shall go with open eyes and ears!’
This I did for several days, but ran into no danger that I knew of, and at the end of the third day I saw her for whose sake I lingered in Moscow, and ran unknown risks for the great desire to catch sight of her face and to hear her voice—Vera.
I saw her come from the house in the charge of her old nurse; and when Vera at the same instant caught sight of me she sent the old woman back within doors upon some pretext, and while she was absent my beloved took the opportunity to walk with me down the street, for, she said, ‘I have much to say.’
Then Vera told me that she was in great trouble both with the old Boyar and with Mazeppa, who, for the last three days, had been constantly in the house proffering his suit against that of the rich Boyar Astashof.
‘Mazeppa!’ I exclaimed, ‘does he dare——’
‘He both dares and, I fear, he progresses well with his suit. He has become very friendly with my father, declaring that as Hetman of the Cossacks—which he vows he will be before many years, or perhaps months, are out—he will rank but little below the kings of the earth; therefore,says Mazeppa, he is not a suitor to be quickly denied.’
‘At any rate, I can prove that Mazeppa, whether Hetman or braggart, is no fitting suitor for thy hand, Vera,’ I said, laughing, ‘for he is married already!’
Then I told her the story of my trick upon these two; and at my manner of paying off old scores Vera could not help laughing, though she expressed herself alarmed on my account.
‘Both are dangerous enemies,’ she said, ‘and of a kind to hesitate at no act of vengeance, however terrible. For the love of Christ, Chelminsky, be careful,’ she ended, ‘how you go and how you meet either.’
‘If you care that I should be watchful, I will watch,’ said I; but Vera did not reply, only dropping for a moment her eyes.
‘Now I understand,’ she continued presently, ‘why Mazeppa has spoken so bitterly of you during these days. You are forbidden the house, you must know. He has informed my father that it was none but you who concealed and befriended me at the Diévitchy; who even fought and bled to prevent my being taken to theterem. For this my father will no longer have your name spoken.’
‘And meanwhile you are in danger onceagain. What can I do, Vera? How shall I help you?’
‘Tell me quickly where I may find you. Here is thenyankareturning; she must not see me with you.’
I told Vera where I lodged, and we parted suddenly, for the old woman came scolding up to meet her. From far down the road my charmer sent me a wave of the hand, and I stood and cursed the old hag who had come too soon between me and heaven!
Vera’snews disquieted me much. To know that Mazeppa was daily at her house poisoning her father’s mind against me was not pleasant knowledge. And I was to be refused admittance! Well, I could scarcely expect the Boyar, her father, to be greatly pleased with me since he had learned of my conduct in taking Vera’s part against his commands.
As I came near my lodgings that evening someone suddenly ran out from the shadow of a house and made a wild swoop at me with a knife. She was muffled to the eyes, but I should have guessed it was Olga Panief even if she had not spoken.
I easily avoided the blow, and, catching her wrist, compelled her to drop the weapon.
‘Now, you fury,’ I said, ‘we are equals for the jilting at Batourin. In future you will think twice before treating an honest love in such fashion: I loved you and meant honestly by you. Will you promise that you will leave me in peace henceforward?’
‘Not I; you are not fit to live, cheat and liar! I shall kill you at sight at the first opportunity.’
‘There may be no opportunity. I have heard you say such things that if I were to report them you should be knouted into your grave before you were many hours older. Have you forgotten bidding me slay the Tsaritsa-elect, your rival, for no better reason than jealousy?’
‘No one would believe such as you,’ she snapped; ‘you have no proofs.’
‘You made the same proposal to Mazeppa. He will be glad to witness you out of the world; as his wife you are a tie to him.’
She struggled furiously at these words, but I would not let her go, and upon her knife I placed my foot for safety.
Then she began to scream like a mad woman, calling me shameful and dreadful names, and vowing that not only I should die, but also the Tsaritsa-elect and Mazeppa, and I know not who else besides.
At the noise a body of Streltsi came up, ten men, to inquire what the noise meant.
Olga was subdued at sight of them, and looked sullenly as they approached; but she stopped her screaming and waited.
The leader asked me what in the fiend’s name was all the noise they had heard.
‘It is my poor sister here,’ I explained, ‘who suffers from paroxysms of madness, of which one has just passed over her.’
‘Then see that she behaves quietly, or she shall find there is authority in Moscow.’
They withdrew laughing and talking among themselves.
‘I will tell them the truth next time, Olga,’ I said; ‘I swear it!—therefore take heed what you do.’
‘Next time I may make a better stroke,’ said Olga sullenly. ‘I am determined that you shall not live; you are not fit, neither is Praskovia Soltikof. We shall see whether they who offend me shall laugh or weep!’
With that she withdrew and disappeared, the poorer by her dagger, which I carried away with me.
Afterwards I wished I had allowed the Streltsi to take the fool, for, though I fear not the open assault of men, it is different to know that there is a mad and furious woman at large who may rush out upon one at any moment. Such knowledge is apt to make a coward of a brave man.
Soon after this a message reached me fromVera Kurbatof. It was written, and I spelled it out with difficulty, being but a moderategramatnyor scholar. The message ran, ‘I am in danger again; come at noon to-morrow.’
This message filled me with joy, for I longed hourly to see the maiden. Never up to this day had woman taken such hold upon my heart; all other loves of my life had been but surface scratches, but this time I was sore wounded. I was in that foolish state when there is no rest except the beloved is at hand.
I went disguised; for, since I was to be denied admittance in my own name, it was useless, I thought, to attempt it or to force it. Therefore I borrowed the dress of aRaznóschick, a fellow who carries a covered tray of cakes for sale. Such dealers are admitted, I knew, into the apartments of the ladies, who buy largely of their wares.
I spoke with the doorkeeper, bidding him obtain for me the permission of the Barishnya to enter the ladies’ quarter with my cakes, since she and her women were old customers of mine.
The man parleyed, and there was talking and arguing, and in the midst a man entered from the street behind me. I took no notice, being intent upon obtaining access to Vera, parleying and quarrelling with the doorkeeper.
Suddenly the new arrival placed his arms tightly round my own from behind, so that—being both held by him and hampered by my cake-tray, I could not move.
‘ARaznóschick’sdress does not conceal Chelminsky’s voice,’ said one, whose tone I recognised in a moment for Mazeppa’s. ‘I have thee, my friend, at last. Go quickly, you porter, and fetch others to help. Shout for them to come!—this is a rascal in disguise, a cut-throat, a robber; be sure he’s come for no good!’
With a cry of horror the doorkeeper flung himself to the end of the hall, where he rang a bell and shouted names. I struggled, but could obtain no purchase for my efforts, which were useless.
Four or five men were quickly upon the scene. Mazeppa addressed them with authority.
‘Take this bad character and carry him to the flog-room. I will see the Boyar and obtain permission for his knouting.’
‘Do not get me knouted, Mazeppa,’ I said; ‘take your sword, rather, and run me through!’ Then I added, recovering dignity, ‘The Boyar will never dare knout a free Cossack, of family as good as his own, and ten times better than yours!’
Mazeppa replied not a word; but he badethe fellows tie me tight, for, said he, ‘He is a desperate character, and the house is not safe with him in it!’
So here was I locked up in the flog-room, and with the prospect of a knouting before me: a terrible and intolerable disgrace for one of my rank, and Vera as far off as ever, if not more hopelessly removed from me than before.
I was bound hands and feet; if they came to knout me I could make no resistance. I know not exactly how long I awaited my fate; the moments crawled maggot-slow. If I were knouted and survived the shame, I told myself, I should never speak to Mazeppa if we met face to face; I should strike out at sight; neither should I take any rest until I had killed him or he me.
I suppose but a few minutes had in reality passed by—though the maggot-footed time seemed to be the beginning of Eternity—when at length steps approached, and my heart stood still to await my doom.
There entered Mazeppa and one other—a burly, middle-aged man, a wealthy Boyar by his furred and jewelled kaftan—Vera’s father, Kurbatof.
‘So this is the fellow that did his best to defeat my wishes by keeping Vera from theterem? Why did you this, sir?’ said the Boyar.
I decided to speak boldly. ‘Because I desired her for myself, Boyar. What manner of a husband would the Tsar be for such as your daughter? She should marry a man, not a plaster figure!’
‘And who in the devil’s name are you, then?’ said old Kurbatof, astonished at my boldness.
‘I own to as good a name as even your own—Chelminsky. It is one of the best of our Cossack names; not like Mazeppa’s there, which he picked up Heaven knows where—no Cossack knows it! I am a better suitor than he, Boyar. He tells you doubtless that he will be Hetman; but it is also possible that I shall be so, and not he; for I have a Tsar behind me, and he a Regent. Moreover,’ I added, suddenly inspired, ‘Mazeppa is already married: this I can prove.’
‘Oh—oh!’ exclaimed the Boyar.
‘It is so,’ I persisted, ‘even though he deny it.’
Mazeppa seemed too startled and astonished to speak. The Boyar looked to him for an explanation.
‘It is a lie, Boyar!’ he stammered at length.
‘Bah!’ said Kurbatof, ‘lying is a sin and forbidden by God; which of you is lying?’
‘At any rate, I can bring witnesses,’ said I. ‘Let me go, Boyar; I am no common fellowto be kept bound in a knout-room; this is an indignity.’
‘Nevertheless, you have wronged this household, and ought to be punished. A man of your rank may not be knouted, but I will consider what should be done. Do you say Mazeppa is already married?’
‘As I can easily prove.’
‘Well, I will question you again. In the meantime you shall remain where you are.’
With which the Boyar left me, beckoning Mazeppa after him, who—I doubt not—flooded him with a torrent of fierce denials in contradiction of my statement, so that I know not whether I should soon have escaped from my prison, but that the door suddenly opened, and who but Vera should appear.
She beckoned me to silence; then she removed my bonds and showed me a way out of the house by a side door. When we stood safely without she explained that she had sent for me because she greatly mistrusted Mazeppa. Her father was inclined to let her marry the rich Russian Boyar rather than the Cossack adventurer, and, said Vera, ‘if he so decides, I do not trust Mazeppa.’
‘What do you fear?’ I asked.
‘He will not take no for an answer. If hecannot have me by fair means, he will secure me by foul.’
Exactly the words Mazeppa himself had once used in speaking of his intention with regard to Vera.
‘Then you would have me keep a watch upon him?’ said I, and Vera begged me with brimming eyes to watch her father’s house as a cat listens at a mouse-hole, closing never an eye.
TheKurbatof mansion lay in a suburb of the city: it was a large wooden house, horse-shoe shaped, like most of the houses of the richer inhabitants in the outskirts of Moscow. There was a gardener’s room or hut at the great gate, and because it would be difficult to watch Vera’s home from the street, since there was no house opposite, and only a road deep in filth, without pavement to stand upon or any place behind in which to shelter oneself, I thought it better to make a friend, if I could, of the gardener or his wife—for the whole family of brats as well as their parents herded in the little hut at the gate, the atmosphere of which, within doors, was terrible to a Cossack nose and lungs, accustomed to the fresh air and much exposure.
I therefore provided myself withprännikifor the children and presented myself at the gate at dusk. The good folks bowed low as to a Barin, and were for opening the great gate to let me in; but I informed them, to their surprise, that I only desired to see the Barishnya Vera when sheshould pass this way upon her morning walk. My mission, I said, was so private that I dare not go to the house to see her. ‘You will find, when the Barishnya sets eyes upon me, that I am a welcome guest!’ I added, smiling. ‘I desire her no harm, nor yet anyone, unless it be her enemies.’
The man scratched his head.
‘Are you known to the Boyar?’ he asked.
‘I am known to the Boyar,’ I replied, ‘and I have, moreover, for those who serve me kindly—this!’
I showed a silver rouble, at which he looked greedily.
‘And who are these enemies the Barin speaks of?’ the man asked cautiously. ‘Can so beautiful, so adorable a Barishnya have enemies?’
‘You will see, if you allow me to abide a while here, that she both has enemies and that if necessary her friends—as myself—should be constantly on the watch at this time, lest they do her an injury.’
‘Do her an injury?’ squealed the gardener’s wife with fury. ‘The rascals! The villains! Would you have her enemies do our Barishnya an injury, Vaiseuk? Let this Barin do as he desires, I say; he will put her upon her guard. Take the rouble and let him come in!’
‘Peace, Masha, fool!’ said Vaiseuk. ‘Well,give me the rouble,’ he continued, holding out his hand. ‘The Barishnya shall see you from a safe distance as she passes out, and we shall soon know if you are friend or enemy!’
Thus I was able to take up the best of positions, and old Vaiseuk was soon justified in his confidence in me; for when Vera passed out and caught sight of me, she gave an exclamation of such joyful surprise that he quickly found I was indeed the friend I had declared myself.
‘You see I am here, Vera, and here shall remain until you tell me I need watch no longer,’ I said. ‘Tell my good friend Vaiseuk to let me be his guest and to keep his mouth shut.’
Vera joyfully did so. ‘This is my best of friends,’ she explained, ‘who has saved me from much misery already, and is now busy in my service.’
‘Dooshinka,’ exclaimed the man’s wife, ‘what enemies can you have? Do not all people love you?’
‘Perhaps some whom she would rather unlove her, Matushka,’ I laughed. ‘Some there are who love her so well that they would carry her from her home!’
‘Oh, oh!’ said the old woman. ‘Save her from such, Barin, and all the saints will bless you!’
Thus I was established in my watch tower, and there for two whole days and nights I lived, and a third day, and during all that time, though many visitors came and went, I never saw Mazeppa.
‘Which means this,’ thought I: ‘he has given up hope of the fair means, and will trust to the foul to effect his purpose, which of course is the stealing of Vera!’ And, sure enough, on the evening of the third day I saw Mazeppa. He came at dusk, and stayed but a few moments at the house; then he returned and departed as stealthily as he had come.
Now I must watch indeed, thought I, for it may well be he came to make his final arrangements, having friends or a friend within who will carry out his designs, whatsoever they may be!
And when night fell, and the gardener and his family snored in concert, I heard the rumble of some kind of lightdorméseor travelling carriage in the road without. The horses pulled up within twenty paces of the great gates and there remained, impatiently pawing the mud, shaking themselves, and making the usual noises of waiting horses.
No man spoke, excepting occasionally to utter a curse or a word when one of the animalsbecame fidgety. This was not Mazeppa’s voice; if he was there he remained silent.
Half an hour passed, and another half, and at last I heard stealthy sounds from the direction of the house. A door was softly opened, and steps came towards the gate. Then in the dim light of the stars I perceived two men carrying a burden; but since neither sound nor movement came from it, this could not be Vera nor any other living being; therefore, I thought, I must be mistaken by a coincidence, for some thief or thieves within the household have chosen this night for carrying away some of the Boyar’s property—a matter which concerns me not at all so long as it be not his daughter.
I crept softly from the hut, keeping in the shadow, and watched the two fellows place their bundle within the carriage that awaited them. In this carriage there was but one man besides the driver: this fellow received their burden from the other two, who then returned to the house. The driver shook his reins and the horses started.
A common piece of night stealing and no more, and I had hoped for Heaven knows what to happen—something by which I might exalt myself and abase Mazeppa, and at the same time add another point to my credit with the fair Vera,with whom I must stand ever higher and higher and Mazeppa lower and lower.
Then this thought suddenly occurred to me: What if the fox Mazeppa should have arranged this matter after some devil’s way of his own devising? If this burden should, after all, be Vera herself, gagged or drugged, or what not—and he, not desiring to run into danger himself, be waiting somewhere to join the party, once the danger is over!
And now that this idea had entered my brain it speedily overmastered every other thought.
Fool that I had been to be so easily gulled, and faithless watchman! Oh! if Mazeppa had bettered me and had indeed carried Vera away!
The rumble of the carriage wheels was still audible, though now at some distance away; at any rate, I might follow and note, at least, which road was taken from the city; then I could run for my horse and pursue.
So off went I down the road at full run, and, going as I was at full speed, I gained upon the horses, as I could tell by the sound.
Suddenly the rumble ceased—they had stopped; they were about, I guessed, to pick up Mazeppa, who waited in safety while others undertook the dangerous portion of his enterprise—the fox! If only I could overtake thecarriage before it recommenced its journey! I made desperate efforts. I rushed into the street called Troitsky just in time to come close to a largedorméseas the wheels began to move and the horses to strain at the traces.
I almost shrieked aloud in Mazeppa’s name to stop, but remembered in time that would be a false move; for assuredly, if he should hear me call to him, he would drive the faster.
But I was in desperate straits, for my breath was almost spent, and, though I followed still, I felt not only that I lost ground, but that I must soon cease to move even as rapidly as now, for I was utterly exhausted.