Oneof the city gates lay in this direction: that which gave upon the road leading to our own home, the Ukraine. I must at least make sure that Mazeppa intended to take this road. That much ascertained I might rest a little while, or even, perhaps, return for my horse.
Meanwhile the rumble of the wheels in front of me grew fainter with distance; if it had not been night time, and this the only sound audible, I should have lost it long since.
Suddenly I did lose it. Either they were already at the gate and had stopped to be allowed to pass out by the sleepy custodian, or I had fallen out of the range of earshot.
I made a last effort, using all my remaining strength to cover a few hundred yards in case they should be delayed at the gate, and presently I was rewarded by hearing the carriage wheels once more, this time much nearer.
But I could run no further. I staggered forward at a walk and reached the gate; the noise of the wheels had passed out of hearing.
A drowsy peasant in a cart drawn by a little horse which walked in its sleep, according to the custom of these little Finnish or Russian ponies, had just passed into the city. This man sulkily informed me that some Barin had just passed out in his travelling carriage. To the gatekeeper he had given his destination as Kief.
Then I stood and thought for a moment, and as the result of my reflections I hastened homewards for my horse, old Boris, who would carry me to the Ukraine at a gallop if I but shook the reins and laid them upon his neck.
But my lodgings were a long way from this part of the city, and it was nearly an hour before I was back again at the gate and after my quarry. That would matter little if I could keep upon their track; but Mazeppa, being a fox, would employ every device to set possible pursuers at their wit’s end. Therefore I concluded that whichsoever of the many branching roads he might have chosen for his flight it would not be the Kiefsky road, since he had given that city as his destination.
Yet even in this Mazeppa showed wheels within wheels of subtlety, for it proved in the end that he had actually done that which anyone knowing him would suppose to be the most unlikely thing of all, having selected the very road which he had named. And it must be confessed that hethus completely outwitted me, for I spent all that first night in galloping desperately down one road and then another, finding no trace of the fugitives anywhere; and when, at morning, it was necessary to give Boris a rest, I was no wiser as to their whereabouts than I had been when I left the gates of Moscow last night.
But Boris and I were used to hard work together, and we rested but a few hours before recommencing our search. Suffice to say that forty-eight priceless hours had been wasted in fruitless ridings forward and backward before I felt sure that we were at last upon the right track.
‘Now for a long and hard gallop, Boris, my friend,’ said I, patting his neck, and away went the good horse upon a scent nearly two days old, and lo! to my surprise and delight, on the third night I ran into the quarry.
It was at midnight that we rode up to a post-house upon the Kiefsky road. I did not expect more than news of the fugitives: they had passed, I should be told, so many hours before; yet when the night groom came forward to take my orders he began by telling me, if I desired thenochliog, or night’s rest, I must sleep in the stable, for wonderful things were happening here.
‘Never mind the wonderful things, fool; tell me quickly how long since there passed adormésecontaining a man and a woman, besides the driver?’
‘It has not passed at all,’ said the fellow, grinning and scratching his head, ‘because it is still here!’
‘Come into the stable quickly!’ I said, fearful lest he should be heard, supposing that this wondrous thing were really true. ‘Now,’ I continued, when we had entered the horse-shed and closed the door, ‘tell me what you were going to say at first.’
‘The man is sleeping in the travelling carriage because the woman has barricaded herself in the post-room; this is the second night: the postmaster argues and scolds all day, but it is useless. “If he tries to come in here,” says the woman, “he shall be killed!” As for the man, he laughs and says, “We shall see what will happen when her stomach craves for food!” “God knows,” says the master, “how it will end!”’
‘That I will soon show you, my friend,’ said I, ‘for I have come to end it!’
I hastened to the post-room. ‘If you don’t wish to be slit in two halves or have your brains set flowing, go not near that mad thing,’ said the groom. ‘Lord! you should hear her cry out at the other!’
Disregarding his warnings, to his great alarmI knocked at the door of the post-room, saying it was I, Chelminsky, come to deliver her.
‘Ah,’ said Vera’s voice from within, ‘it is that devil, assuming Chelminsky’s voice. I am not so easily deceived, Mazeppa!’
‘It is indeed I, Vera,’ said I joyously. ‘I have followed you with difficulty, but I have found you at last.’
‘Oh!’ cried she from within, ‘it sounds like Chelminsky; but dare I open and risk it? Remember, if it is you, Mazeppa, you devil, that if you touch me you die—I swear it again and again.’
‘How shall I prove it to you that I am I?’ said I in despair. ‘I was watching in Vaiseuk’s hut and saw you carried out by night. Is that proof?’
Then Vera opened the door a little and peeped out, and with a cry of joy she threw it open and fell upon me with tears and embraces, which latter I returned with interest, being the first I had given or received from this modest and splendid maiden.
‘Now, shut yourself up once again, for I shall first settle accounts with Mazeppa,’ said I. ‘In case he should better me, you will be worse off than before!’
‘No, I will see this account settled,’ she said;and when I bade her take her sword or her pistol, or whatsoever it was she had had with her in the room—that with which she threatened to take his life if he should have attempted the door—she told me to my surprise that she had nothing!
‘Threats are good weapons against some foes,’ she said, laughing!
Nevertheless I gave Vera my own dagger, for I liked not that she should be unarmed, in case of accident, and bade her keep it in her bosom.
Then we went to find Mazeppa in hisdormése, wherein he slept soundly.
‘Awake, Mazeppa,’ I cried, ‘for I am here!’
He opened his eyes and saw me, saw Vera also; yet he did not become confused or show terror or surprise even in the moment of waking.
‘What, you, Chelminsky,’ he said, ‘and come so far after this baggage? Well, take her, my friend, if you think her worth the having; as for me, I have changed my opinion!’
‘I shall certainly take her,’ said I, ‘and that without your permission; but first you shall fight me——’
‘What, for her sake? Dear man! believe me, she is not worth it: I have spent three days in her company, and it is enough. If you are wise, let the fat Russian Boyar have her. Wewere right to save her from the puling little Tsar! They two would breed devils and idiots to rule Russia withal!’
‘Fie, Mazeppa,’ said I, ‘a Cossack and a coward!’
‘Lord, man, you know better than that! I like you, Chelminsky; we are old friends. I nearly got you knouted the other day, but I was angry; I wanted the wench here, knowing no better. Now it is different. I will not fight on her account—the she-devil! I have scratches upon me from her nails, and kicks from her feet. Another day I will fight, if you will, upon somewhat better pretext.’
‘Get out of thedormése, then,’ I said, ‘for I require it for this lady.’
‘What!’ said he, climbing out nevertheless, ‘you will not be advised? Let her go, man, and come back with me: I know her better than you. I have had some experience with women.’
‘Mazeppa, the married man!’ Vera laughed suddenly.
‘True,’ said he, ‘there is that little affair, too, Chelminsky: some day we may exchange a few passes, but not to-night. It is scarcely worth a man’s while to be wakened—much less to be obliged to draw a sword—upon so trifling a matter as the destination of a scolding woman.Take her, man, or let her go to the devil: as for me, I shall sleep.’
With these words Mazeppa withdrew to the post-house, and we saw no more of him. I ought, perhaps, to have chastised him or forced him to fight; but his attitude surprised and silenced me, and I think I felt some admiration for a man who could accept defeat so excellently.
WhenI restored Vera to her father, which I did, be sure, not without some pomp and posturing, he looked at me in astonishment.
‘Why,’ said he, ‘is not this the youth I was to have knouted? You are the Cossack Chelminsky!’
‘Certainly I am,’ I admitted.
‘One Cossack takes her and the other brings her back! One Cossack prevents her marrying with the Tsar, and the other entreats me for her hand, saying he will be Hetman and the brother and equal of kings. When I do not trust him, and will marry her to a great Russian Boyar, Mazeppa runs away with her and Chelminsky brings her back! What is Mazeppa’s next move?’
‘Oh, you have done with Mazeppa, Boyar, fear not: ask, if you will, what is Chelminsky’s next move; that is different!’
‘Well,’ said the old man, ‘what is it?’
‘Chelminsky says,’ I replied, ‘that he too hasbeen promised the Hetmanate of the Cossacks, and that he would claim this Vera for his own!’
‘A cool request, indeed!’ exclaimed the Boyar, laughing; ‘but I trust no more Cossacks! What, will you both be Hetman of the same province at the same time?’
‘If Mazeppa had the word of a Tsar to back his chance, so had I: there are two Tsars in Russia.’
‘Oh, oh!’ laughed the Boyar, ‘and each Tsar will nominate one Hetman, and the stronger of these shall cut the throat of the other. Is that how the matter shall be? Or shall the greater liar or deceiver prevail over the lesser, both being Cossacks?’
‘Well, I will bring you the Tsar Peter’s word,’ I said angrily, ‘and we shall see whether you dare speak thus of him whom the Tsar has promised to support.’
‘Now this grows interesting,’ said the Boyar. ‘What! are the joint Tsars to unjoin in order that Chelminsky may oust Mazeppa, or Mazeppa Chelminsky, in the headship of a few Cossack thieves? Leave the Tsar alone, Chelminsky, and leave my girl alone also, and return among your Cossacks. The wench shall marry a Russian. She might have called herself Tsaritsa: maybe she still might, if she would! If she willnot marry the Tsar, she shall marry some Russian who lags not so very far behind him in power and in wealth, but neither a Mazeppa nor a Chelminsky.’
I left Kurbatof in wrath, vowing that he should sing a different tune when the Tsar Peter, that young lion, began to roar. Meanwhile I presented myself at Preobrajensky, where I found the ‘Pleasure Regiment’ grown larger than ever, and its drilling busily proceeding; and though the tall young Tsar himself played with the troops as though they were no more realities than so many companies or squadrons of tin soldiers, there were many officers, both young and old, who were much in earnest.
The Tsar was greatly diverted by my story of Vera, and of how Mazeppa had nearly carried her away to the Ukraine and I had brought her back.
‘Is she so fair that she has made fools of two Cossacks?’ he laughed.
‘Ask his Highness Ivan Alexeyevitch whether she is fair,’ I said: ‘this is she who so nearly was Tsaritsa!’
‘Hey, but our little Praskovia was not to be surpassed. What said we, Chelminsky, eh? Who would have thought my poor Vanushka would prove himself a man of such good taste, orwent he solely on the advice I sent him? My mother declared it would be all one to Ivan whether he married this maid or that; but I say he knows one from another, and some, I am told, would have given an eye to marry him!’
The Tsar Peter laughed much over this matter, namely, that Ivan should have shown preference for a maiden and that some should have desired to marry him. ‘Well, then,’ he ended, ‘as to this Vera Kurbatof, what would you do?’
‘I have out-foxed Mazeppa,’ I said, ‘and would have the fruits of my victory. Her father’s head is turned by her almost success at the bride-choosing, and he will not hear of me.’
‘How would it be to tell the fool you may one day be Hetman?’ laughed Peter; but when I declared I had done so, and that Mazeppa had made the same boast, he looked grave.
‘If that be so, and he prefers to believe that the Regent’s word for Mazeppa will prevail over my word for Chelminsky, how shall he be persuaded except he wait to see the matter proved?’
‘Write me a word on paper, Tsar,’ I said; ‘maybe it is my word he disbelieves, not yours.’
‘To be shown by him to the Regent, and she to be put upon her guard? You speak like a fool, Chelminsky, and a dangerous fool! I wish yourtongue had not wagged of this. Will the fool blab to my sister that I have said this and that?
‘Fear not, Tsar, for at present he thinks nothing of the matter, misbelieving all that I have said and all that Mazeppa has said. We are, he says, two Cossack liars, and there is an end of the matter.’
‘And a good end too!’ exclaimed Peter. ‘Well, when I come to town for St. Ivan’s Day, which is early next week, it may be I shall go with you to see this Kurbatof, and if we find that he is a discreet Boyar, and one likely to be of service to me (supposing that certain things presently happen which Boutourlin and some of the others think possible), I will show him that you are my man, and that he might do worse for this wench of his than let you have her.’
And thus, perforce, I was obliged to leave the matter for the present.
I went with Tsar Peter, or rather among those who accompanied his Highness, to the Cathedral within the Kremlin, in Moscow, for the solemn service of St. Ivan’s Day, and waited near him at the great entrance until the Tsar Ivan with the Regent should arrive and be greeted by the crowds who awaited him, for this was his name’s day.
And presently there came driving up thegreat state carriage of her Highness, and in it the Regent herself, the Tsar Ivan, Galitsin, who sat as high as the Tsar, or higher, and—smiling radiantly, most beautiful, the darling of the shouting crowd—Praskovia Soltikof, the Tsaritsa-elect.
Striking was the contrast this day between that lovely maiden and him whom she must presently own for husband and life-mate!
Ivan sat, timid, cowering from the people, angry to have been brought among them, and frightened, but half understanding what passed, hiding as well as he could from the crowd that stared and pointed and bowed and laughed and shouted around.
She, the very flower and queen among women, proud and radiant, loving the applause of the people and drinking it in like strong wine, smiling back upon them, winning all hearts: truly a beautiful picture!
Sophia the Regent smiled also, happy to have brought this bride-choosing to so good an issue and to see that the people applauded the choice of the Tsar. Galitsin sat proud and stiff, neither smiling nor frowning, but having an eye for every face in the crowds near the carriage, anxious to read the thoughts of the people and if possible to hear their opinions, as well as might be in the din and babel of sound about him.
And it was well indeed that there sat one in the carriage whose eyes were wide open this day, and his quick brain alert to perceive all that passed in the crowd, for otherwise it would have gone ill with the Tsar’s beautiful young bride!
I, too, had been in danger without being aware of it until a few moments before the arrival of the Tsar and the Regent.
For as I stood watching the crowd at the great door of the Cathedral, together with the Tsar Peter and a number of his own people, I had suddenly perceived Olga Panief.
She stood below, at the bottom of the steps and among the crowd, shawled and half disguised, looking for me, I doubted not, the poor mad thing, and anxious to do me an injury if she could come close enough. She had not seen me, and I placed myself in such a way that she should not perceive my face, though she could not have reached me even though she had caught sight of me.
Nevertheless I kept a watchful eye upon her, for I would rather have no share in a brawl with a mad woman, in the face of all Moscow.
But I might have been quite at my ease, for—as soon appeared—Olga had another object this day for her murderous ire, and I was forgotten for the moment.
Asthe Regent’s carriage drew near, all eyes being fixed upon it, and principally upon the beautiful young Tsaritsa-elect, I saw Olga push her way so as to be at the very door of it when it should draw up at the steps; and as the wheels stopped she darted forward. Scarcely conscious of what I did, I called aloud, ‘Soltikova, beware!’
I did not suppose that anyone had heard my cry, for a thousand other voices were raised at the time in greeting to the great persons; but Galitsin stood up as Olga was about to strike, and seized the girl’s wrist. In her hand was a Tartar dagger, which, but for Galitsin, would certainly have found its sheath in Praskovia Soltikof’s breast.
Then there was commotion indeed! The Tsar Ivan awoke suddenly from his lethargy and screamed.
‘It is the mad one,’ he cried; ‘take her away, cut her down, Streltsi, kill her—kill her!’
Praskovia Soltikof had grown pale, but shekept her wits. ‘Fear nothing, Ivan,’ she said. ‘This poor maiden would strike me, not thee; she is mad for jealousy. Do not kill her, Streltsi. Bethink thyself, Olga, only one can win; it is the will of God. I have done thee no injury except to gain the prize before thee.’
‘Is not that enough, she-devil?’ shrieked Olga, struggling in the hands of the Streltsi who had seized her. ‘You have gained the prize not by merit but by wicked arts——’
‘I have won because the Tsar has chosen me,’ said Praskovia, and here the Regent interrupted.
‘Listen, people,’ she cried to those who stood near, ‘and judge for yourselves how wisely the Tsar has decided who it is that shall sit with him in the highest place! This other is a rival whom the Tsar has rejected, and for envy she would murder the bride of the Tsar; yet her victim intercedes for her! Such mercy is Christ-like! What shall be done with this mad thing?’
‘Kill her!’ cried the Tsar, and some of the people shouted the same. ‘Spare her and let her go, as the Soltikova has said,’ cried others; and I found myself crying lustily with these. ‘Spare her—she is one of God’s unfortunates—madness is no crime!’ and so forth.
‘It shall be as the bride of the Tsar has said,’ cried Sophia. ‘Take her away, Streltsi, but donot hurt her: we will find a place for her later. The new Tsaritsa has taught us all mercy, people; cry “Oora” for the Tsar’s bride—let her have a place in your hearts!’
Now at first I was surprised at the clemency of the Regent, but when I thought over it I discerned that her motives were not the simple promptings of a Christian charity, but political. This marriage of Ivan’s was the most important matter for her. If Ivan had refused to marry, her regency must end with Peter’s awakening, which could not be delayed for ever. But once Ivan should have set a Tsaritsa at his side who should presently provide heirs to the elder male line, why, let Peter awake or sleep, it was all the same. Sophia would continue in her regency on behalf of Ivan and of the heirs of his body. Moreover, it was most desirable that the wife of Ivan should be well liked by the people; for though between Ivan and Peter, if it came to choice, there could scarcely be room for doubt which would be the accepted of the nation, yet if Ivan’s Tsaritsa were to become very popular the choice might go the other way for her sake and her children’s. Therefore Sophia, for whose headpiece even the wisest of her day were ever ready to show respect, was quick to take advantage of Praskovia’s kindness on this first occasion, byletting the people see and understand what had passed in order that the new Tsaritsa might take good root in their hearts.
As for Praskovia Soltikof, she could afford to be generous and merciful. Moreover, it may be that she also had an eye this day to the people!
And for Olga Panief, she at least had cause to offer up thanks to her saint, for I think there could scarcely have been a score present who did not expect to see her cut in pieces by the swords of the Streltsi when it was discovered how great a crime she would have committed.
Tsar Peter was greatly diverted by this episode. Presently, when the two brothers were together in the portico of the Cathedral, I observed tall Peter smite weakly Ivan upon the shoulder so that the elder youth winced and screwed his face with the pain, though he smiled quickly back upon Peter, from whom he would gladly bear anything, so great was his love and admiration for him.
‘Tell me, brother, how near came that Tartar to being the Tsaritsa?’ the big one asked, laughing.
‘She was one of three,’ said Ivan, not so softly but that I overheard, though I knew not whether Praskovia Soltikof did so. ‘She was one of three—Vera Kurbatof, whom I chose but whowould have none of me; this mad devil, whom Sophia would have chosen for her good presence; and Praskovia here, who chose herself. She brought also a recommendation from thee.’
Ivan would always converse with Peter, though rarely with others.
‘Lord, brother, she would have made a fine Tsaritsa, this mad one,’ laughed Peter. ‘What a choice was thine, Sophia!’
‘She looks a Tsaritsa,’ said Sophia, frowning; ‘how should I know a devil lurked within her? Few wear their dispositions on their sleeves that others may take a warning, though, Lord knows! there are such even in our family!’
‘Which means, in plain words, that there is a devil in me for all to see!’ laughed Peter.
And the saying pleased him so well that he went among his friends telling what her Highness said and what he said, and so forth.
As for Olga Panief, she was sent to the Diévitchy monastery, and a pretty handful—I should say—the new Superior there must have found her; indeed, as I happen to know, Olga soon earned for herself the misery of solitary confinement, as a punishment for wildness and foolishness such as the rest of the nuns could not tolerate.
But I was all afire to make sure of my beautiful Vera Kurbatof, and therefore I gave Tsar Peter no peace until he should have redeemed his promise to set this matter in order, if he could do so, to my advantage.
Now Peter was as yet but in his seventeenth year, though a giant in size, and Kurbatof—that wealthy Boyar—had hitherto scarcely given this Prince a thought; for it was clear to all people that Ivan being the elder, and Sophia being full sister to Ivan and but half-sister to Peter, it was probable she would retain the Regency and Ivan the Tsarship. Peter wasnil; this joint Tsarship, indeed, had been a concession to the strength of the Naryshkin faction, but the day would come when its influence would die out and disappear in the strength of the Regent’s faction.
Therefore Kurbatof was inclined to think little of Tsar Peter, and though he received him with respect, he was determined to let the youth see that he (Kurbatof) would be no man of his.
Now Vera’s suitor, the fat old Boyar of ten thousand souls, or serfs—for the Russians measure their riches by the number of their serfs—was in the house when Tsar Peter came with me to speak to the Boyar, Vera’s father.
‘Who is this?’ asked Peter, before he hadtime to salute Kurbatof. ‘Is this the old Boyar who is thy rival, Chelminsky? Go, sir, for shame! You are too old and too fat to have so fair a bride as this Vera! Go, I say, and leave room for thy youngers and betters!’
The Boyar was proud, being rich and powerful, and the young Tsar’s outspoken manner offended him.
‘I am a suitor for her hand, Highness,’ he said; ‘if her father chooses to——’
Peter strode towards the Boyar; he seized him by the collar and shook him. ‘Wouldst thou feed upon the fairest flower in the garden, fat slug?’ he said. ‘Go—crawl away and hide thyself—or I will crush thee with my heel! She is too good for thee, swine, in spite of all thy money bags!’
The Boyar panted with fear and surprise: he would have spoken, but he gazed upon the Tsar’s face and dared not. Then he took his hat and cloak and went out quickly.
‘Now, Boyar,’ said Peter, ‘show me this wench. I bring you a good suitor for her! This fellow Chelminsky may one day be Hetman of the Cossacks and call me brother; think of it!’
‘Let him come back when he is Hetman,’ growled old Kurbatof.
Whereat the Tsar laughed. ‘Well, Chelminsky,’ said he, ‘let that answer suffice for thee. Maybe thou and the Hetmanate are not very far apart——’ At this moment Vera herself entered the room, and the Tsar ended his speech with a long-drawn ‘Oh!’
Forthe rest of the interview my patron, this Tsar of seventeen, made barefaced love to Vera Kurbatof, ignoring my presence and the motive of his visit, which had been to advance my suit with her father.
Vera—being the senior of the Tsar by nearly two years—received his boyish homage with complacence. Being anxious to secure his goodwill, she was amiable and animated, and the Tsar—as my jealous eyes could perceive—thought well of her beauty and manners.
When we came forth, after a visit of an hour, he made no further mention, either to Kurbatof or to Vera, of my suit: he had forgotten the object of his coming in the delight of Vera’s presence.
‘That is the best wench I have yet seen,’ he said; ‘and if——,’ at this point Peter paused and became thoughtful.
‘Your Highness wished to say,’ I suggested,‘that if theBoyarishnyaVera——’
‘If she were not older than I, she might do for me when it is my turn to marry, next year.’
‘Say, rather, if she were not promised to another,’ said I, flushing. Peter frowned.
‘Another? What other?’ he asked.
‘Your Highness came to arrange my suit,’ I said, angrily enough; ‘not to seek a bride for your own marrying.’
‘Oh—oh! the Tsar must choose first! But, Lord, what a thundercloud is in thy face! Cheer up, man! is thy happiness bound up in this wench?’
‘I did not look to have the Tsar for a rival,’ I blurted. ‘This is not fair dealing, Peter Alexeyevitch!’
‘There is no rivalry yet. Fear not, she is too old for me. My mother will have me take a wife of sixteen; this one is nineteen, or near it, but she is handsome——’
‘Fear not, man,’ he suddenly continued, giving me a mighty slap upon the back: ‘thou shalt be Hetman as soon as I am true Tsar, and then this old fool shall let thee take his girl.’
‘Now the Tsar speaks,’ I said, relieved and gratified. ‘I knew not who spoke in thy voice before.’
‘Oh, it was I, my friend,’ he laughed. ‘Sheis too old for me, or I might yet take her out of thy hands.’
Nevertheless, Vera informed me to my surprise, when next I saw her, that Peter had been each day, and that he had commanded the Boyar, under pain of grievous punishment, to see that his daughter remained unbetrothed for a year.
‘And what means that, Vera?’ I asked gloomily. ‘That he would preserve thee in safety for me to wed when I am Hetman, or that he will think of thee for himself when the time comes for his bride-choosing?’
‘At any rate, it will keep our fat Boyar away,’ she smiled. ‘For the rest, save me from another Tsaritsa-choosing! Sooner let us——’ Vera paused.
‘Let us what, my Vera?’ I insisted. ‘Speak and fear not.’
‘It is most sinful to marry without the consent of the parents,’ she said; ‘and yet I can imagine that such a step might be necessary. My father has been cruel in these matters, though I know well that he seeks my advantage as he sees it.’
The end of this conversation was that we were quite agreed to take matters into our own hands and do as we willed rather than as Tsars and fathers ruled it. But destiny proved too hard for us.
For the Boyar Kurbatof, seeing great hope for his daughter’s advancement in the behaviour of the Tsar Peter, who insisted that Vera should remain unbetrothed for a year, now suddenly altered his attitude towards Vera; and whereas she had hitherto enjoyed more freedom than was usual among Russian maidens at that time, he now instituted the strictestteremfor her in his own house, placing her behind iron bars and silken curtains, and forbidding and effectually preventing all access to her except by her old nurse.
Thus it happened that the interview at which we had arranged to rebel proved to be our last meeting for many a day; and to every application made by me to the Boyar for a sight of his beloved daughter, I received the reply: ‘Come at the end of a year if you are Hetman.’
The Tsar Peter was admitted several times before his return to Preobrajensky, and this added much to my torture, which became so acute that I gladly received, presently, the call to ride with my Cossacks upon Galitsin’s new expedition against the Crimean Tartars, leaving Vera to the care of the Highest and of her own discretion.
When I came to Batourin I saw Mazeppa for the first time since I had taken Vera from him at the post station, and I came prepared for war; for surely, I thought, I should be called to account.
But Mazeppa was inclined to treat the matter lightly.
‘What!’ he said. ‘You bring no wife? Where, then, is the fair, foolish Vera?’
‘I have no wife. The Barishnya Kurbatof remains in Moscow. And why, I pray, is she called foolish?’
‘Oh!’ he laughed, ‘it would not become me to say; but, tell me, has she proved herself so wise that she has sent Chelminsky about his business?’
‘She is and remains wise,’ I replied, ‘since she both escaped Mazeppa and prefers to tarry where she is, safe from false friends and hypocrites.’
‘Come, Chelminsky, take not such matters too seriously: women are toys. If she has played thee false, as she has served me and others also, it is a matter to laugh at, not to weep for. She is not worth a tear, my son, nor a frown—was there ever woman worth crying for?’
‘I will uphold the honour of Vera with my sword; therefore speak well of her or not at all,’ I said angrily; and Mazeppa laughed and shrugged his shoulders, though he looked annoyed. I have since thought all this indifference was assumed to deceive me, and that he had not yet forgotten his love for Vera, whichwas real enough at the beginning, and when he would have stolen her from me.
After this we spoke of military matters, for Mazeppa was at this time the Hetman’s chief minister for all that concerned warfare and the arming and preparing for campaigns, and it was necessary to put fifty thousand lances in the field very quickly to help Galitsin and his Russians against the Tartar Khan in the Crimea.
Now Samoilovitch, the Hetman, took command of our troops, wishing for military glory, and more especially to gain favour with Sophia, Regent of Russia, by personally assisting her dearly-loved Galitsin—from whom and from Sophia herself he had lately received little but coldness, for which, had he but known it, there was none but Mazeppa to thank. Mazeppa, preparing the ground for his own succession as Hetman, which is a life office, or is held until deposal, had traitorously done and said all he could to undermine the position of Samoilovitch, who suspected nothing, but trusted Mazeppa absolutely.
Therefore, when the Crimean expedition failed, and it was necessary to find a scapegoat in order that Galitsin, the favourite, should not suffer blame, the responsibility was shifted from his shoulders upon those of our poorCossacks, and especially upon Samoilovitch, the Hetman.
The result of which treachery was that Samoilovitch was arrested in his tent and sent to Moscow, and thence to Siberia—a deposed, exiled, and ruined man, without being permitted to visit his home before departure.
Now when rumours reached the army in the Crimea that Samoilovitch would be deposed, it occurred to me immediately that Mazeppa must, in some way, have a hand in this matter, and that the whole arrangement was, likely enough, his handiwork, since—unless I could somehow checkmate him—he would certainly be the one to profit by the Hetman’s deposal.
Therefore I awaited the discharge of the troops in a frenzy of impatience, for I knew well that Mazeppa would not waste these precious days and weeks which destiny compelled me to fritter away in idle waiting.
Mazeppahad wasted no time. I gave him credit for the cunning of a fox, but no man could have expected that he would have done so much for himself in so short a while.
When I returned to Batourin I found that the matter of a succession to the Hetmanate was already settled, and the Hetman himself away in Moscow.
‘And the Hetman is Mazeppa?’ I asked, sick and faint with disappointment.
‘Who but he?’ said my informant; ‘there was little talk of any other. It was two weeks ago. The order for deposal of Samoilovitch came from Moscow, and was read out in full assembly by Mazeppa himself, amid groans, for the orders stated that Samoilovitch had made Lord knows what dismal blunders with our poor lances, and had been fooled both this way and that by the Khan. Now Mazeppa had well packed the meeting both with Russians from Moscow and hisown people here, and when, presently, he asked whom the assembly would like to nominate as the new Hetman, subject to the approval of the Russian Tsars and Regent, someone called out “Mazeppa.” Then another called his name, and then a hundred more. A few cried “Chelminsky” and “Panief” and other names, but the Mazeppas had the day by scores to one; and when the Russian delegate announced that this was well, since he had the authority of the Regent to nominate, in her name, this same Mazeppa, he was then and there elected, and set out presently for Moscow to do homage on his promotion.’
In any case, I comforted myself, I should not have succeeded at present, not until Peter should have asserted himself. My hopes must be fixed upon that time: when Peter ousted the Regent, I should do the same by Mazeppa.
Meanwhile, what devilry did he in Moscow? For it had come to this, that I feared to turn my back upon this fox when he chanced to be within reach of any fowl-yard of mine; and though he had ridiculed any further interest in Vera, I was anxious lest he should have lied to me.
Nevertheless, it was necessary to possess myself in patience, for Mazeppa’s absence might prove my opportunity to work out my own destiny at Batourin, and I spent my time in diligentlymaking a party for myself, against the day of my advancement and his fall.
Mazeppa, I found, was not popular. There were hundreds who had grievances against him, and most of these promised that if it should come to another election Chelminsky’s name should be shouted as loud as Mazeppa’s, or louder.
By the time Mazeppa returned I flattered myself that I had done well for my cause. At any rate, I had out-foxed this cunning one who had stolen a march upon me in my absence. He came, suspecting nothing, and meanwhile I had prepared a powder mine beneath his feet, which should one day explode and bring him toppling from the seat upon which I would sit.
Mazeppa was friendly. I was to occupy no less exalted a position under him than I had enjoyed under Samoilovitch—I should find Mazeppa the Hetman, said he, no less my firm friend than Mazeppa the secretary.
‘And a securer friendship that,’ he laughed, ‘be sure, than some of thine in Moscow!’
‘What mean you by that?’ I asked, flushing.
‘Of all friends, beware of one especially,’ he said. ‘One who would have made thee Hetman; who would have saved a certain wench for thee, should other suitors claim her in thy absence; he who would—many folks said—presentlyshow himself the young lion awake, and would lustily roar and go forth to kill for himself.’
‘Go on,’ I said hastily, ‘and explain how and in what has this friendship failed me?’
‘In three ways,’ he laughed. ‘Nay, look not so grim: blame me not, for how am I in fault? Did I believe in this young lion of thine? My faith was in the Regent and her Galitsin; said I not so from the first? And see how well my friends have served me! But this young Peter of thine——’
‘Well,’ I said, ‘this Peter?’
‘Where is thy nomination as Hetman? Where is any power that he has? He is still a cub, and looks not like roaring; he whines for others to bring him his food; he gambols near his parent-nest, and thinks not of going forth to kill.’
‘His day will come,’ I said, ‘though it has not yet dawned. As for the Hetmanate, your friends have gained it for you, and it is yours. Do I deny or dispute it? Keep it, Mazeppa, in the Lord’s name.’
‘That I shall do with all my heart, and my good friends—such as thyself—shall help me so to do. I know whom I may trust, Chelminsky; we are old friends, thou and I.’
‘So let us remain,’ said I, for I would play the fox with this fox, and I did my utmost to seem very sincere in my friendship. ‘The wise man, when he has lost the game, recognises that the luck is against him, and so do I! But what is this you hint as to the Tsar Peter having failed,’ I added, as indifferently as I could, ‘in his promise to protect a certain lady on my behalf?’
‘I dare not tell you,’ said Mazeppa, ‘lest you fly out upon me and swear I lie to you for jealousy.’
‘Bah!’ I said, ‘I am learning to follow your philosophy, that women are unworthy of a sigh.’
‘Oh, if that be so, I wish you joy of your wisdom!’ he said, laughing, ‘and I will tell you all. The Tsar Peter—well, he is young enough to think differently of such things. He will marry before many months, and meanwhile——’
‘Yes, meanwhile he teaches himself the art of love-making in advance,’ I said, finishing his sentence when he paused. ‘What a tattered thing will be the heart of Vera as I shall receive it!’
‘Be not so sure even of a tattered remnant!’ he laughed; ‘young Peter is a more dangerous rival than his brother Ivan!’
‘Does all this mean,’ said I, ‘that Mazeppa has renewed his suit of late, and with no more success than of old?’
‘What, I?’ he exclaimed, flushing nevertheless, in spite of his bravado. ‘No, Chelminsky; I have had sterner work to do in Moscow than love-making, though indeed there was good reason to believe that if I had raised a finger a certain bird would have sung!’
‘What, both for Mazeppa and for Peter?’ cried I, affecting to be vastly amused. ‘By the saints, a pretty warbler is this that I have fed in my bosom, that sings to all comers! Which was the favoured, Mazeppa, thou or Tsar Peter?’
‘I will tell thee truth,’ said Mazeppa: ‘the Tsar Peter being seriously in love, and I, as thou knowest, no more than toying with passion, he desired to have the way clear for himself; therefore I acted the dutiful vassal and left his Highness a straight course.’
‘So that I, for my part, have lost both patron and mistress?’ said I, still affecting indifference, though actually I was near boiling over with rage; ‘for it seems you would have me understand that whether Peter wooed or Mazeppa, at any rate there was no remembrance of me.’
‘Chelminsky, the new-found philosopher, will not weep, I wager, even though so it be!’ he said;‘nor yet will he blame the fair Vera, who takes her wooing where she finds it.’
‘Then, I say,’ cried I, firing up at last, ‘that Mazeppa is a liar, Hetman or no Hetman—as great a liar as Hetman as he has been from the beginning and will be to the end. Shall I beat thee with a stick now, Hetman Mazeppa, or spit thee with a sword presently before witnesses? Thou owest me a drubbing for the wedding I gave thee with Olga, and another for spoiling thy villainy with Vera. Come, I am ready for it now, and at the same time thou shalt answer to me for many lies, and for a certain knouting which I did not get—no thanks to thee!’
‘Oh, if thou must have it so, meet me in the Krasinsky Wood at noon to-morrow,’ he said, keeping cool while I raved. ‘Go cautiously and with thy second only, for understand, as Hetman I must not be seen duelling with my inferior. I meet thee as a favour, Chelminsky.’
‘Well, do not play the coward and stay away,’ I raved, ‘for Hetman or no Hetman, and favour or no favour, I will make thee eat thy lies, fox Mazeppa, and that I swear!’
‘If you will fight, fight you shall,’ he replied, ‘and let the best man win!’
I ought to have felt some suspicion at this saying, for Mazeppa well knew that he was notmy match with the sword or rapier, but all that buzzed in my head at this time—poor fool that I was—was the desire to force his lies down his throat, and to make him suffer for his easy triumph in the matter of the Hetmanate. Why, thought I, if I should kill him to-morrow there must be another Hetman, and that shall surely be I! But the greatest offence of all was the manner of his talk about Vera.
And full of this thought I went among my friends that night, bidding them be prepared for a sudden new election, and one of them, young Stanislaus Bedinsky, I chose to be my second.
Allwho have read thus far in my records must be already impressed by the fact that I have told the varying tale of my destiny wheresoever it crosses that of Mazeppa with strictest impartiality. One day I succeed in having the better of him, another I am worsted by him; and on the whole he out-foxes me, save, perhaps, in one important matter.
On this day of our appointed duel I must admit my utter defeat and discomfiture. I was fooled, and worsted, and out-foxed, as, doubtless, I deserved to be, for if I had acted in cold instead of hot blood I should never have persuaded myself that Mazeppa would fight me.
When we came to the rendezvous in the place appointed, Bedinsky and I, thinking—poor fools—to find our Mazeppa with one other, we found Mazeppa, indeed, but attired as Hetman and attended by an escort of fifty lances.
‘What is this fooling, Mazeppa?’ said I. ‘Send these fellows away, all but one, and let us come to an issue.’
‘We shall come to an issue, Chelminsky, as soon—I doubt not—as will be pleasing to you. Seize and disarm the rebels, officer.’
Then Bedinsky and I were suddenly pounced upon by a dozen men each and overpowered. Our weapons were taken from us and we were bound to two trees.
Then began a trial. An indictment was read: I, Chelminsky, had conspired against the authority of the elected Hetman. I had formed a party of revolution which should take the first opportunity to upset the Government and elect a new Hetman, that Hetman to be Chelminsky.
Three witnesses were produced from Heaven knows where among the trees, and these rascals, men whom I had believed to be on my side, described how both I and Bedinsky and others—still to be arrested—had gone among the people canvassing for supporters, promising reward and favour to all those who would assist in ousting the Hetman last elected and in raising another in his place.
‘Save yourself the trouble, Mazeppa,’ I cried, bitterly scornful, ‘all these things are admitted. I am the culprit: Bedinsky and the others named are but private friends of mine and not responsible for the “revolution”—if so you must call it—which is the child of my own brain.’
‘A fool-child, like its father,’ said Mazeppa. ‘Did I not say from the first you were a fool, Chelminsky? Too great a fool to be Hetman, even as I told Peter the Tsar! He believed me, my friend, and would not have nominated thee in any case.’
‘That is a lie, Mazeppa,’ said I. ‘Maybe I shall yet prove it!’
‘That must be as the court wills,’ he replied. ‘The offence is admitted, gentlemen of the court: the culprit Chelminsky has confessed his crime. Proceed to judgment and sentence.’
The witnesses were put back and the judges—three colonels of Cossack regiments, my equals in rank—deliberated. Their deliberations did not last long—but five minutes at the most—and they presently announced themselves agreed.
‘The prisoners are guilty,’ said the senior colonel, and it will scarcely be believed, but both we and others who were named, but not present, were then and there sentenced to death by beheading.
‘My God, Mazeppa!’ I cried. ‘Do I dream? Am I to be done to death by thee because from first to last we have been rivals in love and politics? Dost thou fear I shall win in the end? Keep thy Hetmanship and let me go!’
Mazeppa held up his hand.
‘Let the sentence be executed,’ he said.
‘Thou devil, Mazeppa!’ I cried. ‘I would to heaven I had allowed the wolves to gnaw thy naked carcass that day in Volhynia thou knowest of!’
Mazeppa flushed red and then grew pale.
‘The Hetman was set riding naked through his own country, brothers,’ said I, ‘for disgraceful conduct: he was bound to his horse and would have starved but for me. It was then he bestowed the immeasurable favour of his presence upon the Cossack nation, who have now made him their Hetman. I am Chelminsky, whose father, under Hmelnisky, fought and beat the Poles. I wish I had left this tyrant to the wolves: it is I that should be Hetman—not Mazeppa!’
I must have been beside myself to speak these foolish words: to my shame I record them.
‘Let the sentence go forward,’ said Mazeppa, white with rage; ‘Bedinsky first.’
And then before my eyes they bound poor Bedinsky upon his knees to a tree stump and beheaded him with a sword.
I commended my soul to Christ, praying even more heartily that Mazeppa’s misdeeds might be remembered against him for this crowning sin.
And now came my turn. They came to remove me from the tree to which I was boundin order that I might be re-bound to a stump more convenient for beheading; but Mazeppa bade them pause.
‘Chelminsky, thou has proved once again how great a fool thou art,’ he said. ‘Know that I had made up my mind to forgive in remembrance of our old friendship and of a certain service thou didst me, and which I have not forgotten. But since thou hast lied before all these people, inventing some ridiculous adventure of which I have now heard for the first time, maliciously desiring to injure me in the eyes of my faithful people, I have thought better of my mercy. Thou must die for thy foolishness.’
‘Mercy and Mazeppa!’ I exclaimed bitterly. ‘Mercy is a bastard child if of thy begetting, Mazeppa; no wonder it is strangled at the very birth!’
‘Stay,’ he said; ‘thy invention has given me an idea. I will have thee stripped and set riding; it is a pretty invention. Strip him, men.’
‘Or, stay,’ said Mazeppa, as the fellows began to unbind me in order to divest me of my clothes. ‘My fool of a heart is soft for thee, Chelminsky; thou shalt be given a chance. There is thy own horse; mount him and ride like the devil. Thou shalt be pursued after an hour: thou shalt have neither weapon normoney; there shall be a reward for thy shooting; do you hear, men? Fifty gold pieces for Chelminsky’s head so long as it is taken from his shoulders in Cossack territory.’
‘Good! I accept,’ I cried, ‘and I thank thee, Mazeppa. I will remember this to thy credit!’
‘Well, mount and ride like the devil. Take his sword and his purse. Now go.’
My heart bounded for joy. I could scarce believe that this good fortune had befallen me—me who stood a moment before in the very shadow of death! My horse was ready saddled: it was Shadrach, a splendid stallion of Ukraine blood, somewhat heavily formed, but of spirit unmatched.
As I leaped away I half expected to hear a volley behind me and to be toppled from my saddle in obedience to a signal from Mazeppa; but I did him an injustice, for he intended me to have this chance of life.
I would ride straight for Moscow: Mazeppa and his men would know this and would follow upon my heels without the trouble of finding my tracks; but what cared I? My pursuers must have good horseflesh between their knees if they would catch Shadrach.
I must ride fifty leagues before I should be safe: by then I should be in Russian territory and beyond the reach of my pursuers.
Away we careered, we with our start of an hour, and at first Shadrach went well; but before we had gone many leagues I realised that he was not at his best. He sweated and foamed; his breath laboured, and the exertion, which would have been a trifle to him on another day, distressed him.
I dismounted and examined the beast. I was prepared for the discovery which I now made: he had been tampered with. Some devil, inspired by a worse devil, of course, must have doctored him in his stable this morning.
‘Mazeppa,’ I said to myself, ‘this mercy of thine is a deep-laid scheme. This chance of life, for which I thanked thee, is no chance!’
I sat down by the roadside and thought for my life. Shadrach stood by with heaving flanks and head held low; his eyes dull, his mouth distressed with foam. ‘You shall carry me to yonder wood,’ I said, ‘and then farewell, old friend, for a while!’
The road, half a league further on, became a rutty forest track, dark overhead, and running through dense rows of large trees.
I tied Shadrach to a stump, well off the road, first emptying my saddle-bags. There was a coil of thin rope among other things. I never went without this, in case I should require it, inemergency, for halter, spare bridle, or for a thousand possible purposes. It should do me a good turn this day!
I now took the rope and fastened it across the track at a few inches above the ground, passing it from tree to tree so that the first horse coming this way must inevitably trip and fall.
Then I hid myself behind a bush close at hand, and waited.
Myadvantage of an hour, if it had been honestly accorded me, must have been greatly shortened by poor Shadrach’s malady, for before I had waited half an hour I heard the sound of hoofs, and presently there came in sight Kostigin, one of our Cossacks, mounted upon his splendid horse, which I well knew as one of the few rivals of my Shadrach for speed and endurance. I was sorry to see so fine an animal rushing down to possible injury. If either must be seriously hurt, I would rather it were Kostigin; but there was no help for it, and the beast must run the risk to earn my safety.
Nearer came Kostigin, urging his horse. He rode as though he were riding a great race, sitting firm and square and his eyes fixed upon a distant point as though he hoped to catch sight each moment of my fleeting figure.
Nearer they came, the good horse Ajax breathing audibly, but going strongly. Then of a sudden he reached and tripped over my string-trap,and in an instant Kostigin was flying among the trees and poor Ajax rolling over and over among pine needles.
As for me I was up and upon Kostigin long before he had realised that a calamity had overtaken him. I possessed myself of his sword and stood with it at his throat, and in another moment his career would have ended, for I could not afford to let him go.
‘Do not kill me, Chelminsky,’ he cried, ‘I should not have shot you: there is something, besides, that I can tell you which will be of use to you!’
‘That is an easy lie to invent,’ I replied grimly. ‘You would have shot me, Kostigin, from behind.’
‘I swear I would not,’ he said; ‘the orders are not to shoot but to chase you. You have been a dupe from the beginning. Mazeppa had planned all this—do you think he did not know of your rebellion? There have been many to keep him informed. The provocation leading to your challenge yesterday and the comedy of this morning—all was prepared beforehand.’
‘However that may be, my friend, I must take Ajax, by your kind permission, and indeed I know not how I am to spare your life——’
‘There is another thing: let this buy my lifefor me. You are to be chased as far as the frontier. Then you are to be taken. Arrangements are already made: you will be surrounded and captured, kept for a year, and then escorted to your own home in Volhynia.’
‘Why all this?’ I laughed. ‘Why chased and captured and kept? Why not allowed to go to Moscow?’
‘As to that, only Mazeppa knows Mazeppa’s mind, but so it is. He is jealous maybe, and would rather not have you bargaining with the Tsar Peter against him. More than this I know not any more than yourself.’
The horse Ajax, meanwhile, had recovered his feet and stood shaking himself at intervals, panting, but apparently unhurt. I felt him up and down; there was nothing broken.
‘Well, take your life, Kostigin,’ I said. ‘Ride back and meet the next man; tell him he were wiser to return with you. You will find Shadrach yonder. Mazeppa shall yet hear of me again—tell him so, if you are bold enough. I do not intend to be caught at the frontier. Give me your gun and any money you have—so! Will Mazeppa murder those other fellows, like poor Bedinsky?’
‘I do not think so. One had to die for example, he said; but, saving your dignity, hedoes not regard this rebellion as very serious or dangerous, once you are out of the way.’
‘Well, one day I may return. We shall for ever be rivals, Mazeppa and I; to-day he wins—to-morrow it may be my turn. I think I hear galloping hoofs. I am glad to have spared you, Kostigin, but I shall kill the next that interferes with me. Ride back and tell him so; I do not mean to be spied upon!’
I mounted Ajax, who was now well breathed. He moved a little stiffly at first, but he was unhurt, and carried me well. A mile away I waited, anxious to know whether I was still pursued; but I could hear no sound of galloping hoofs, and presently I rode easily forward, convinced that Kostigin had argued well, and that the pursuit was over.
Then I altered my course, and made through forest and waste until I passed in safety into Russian territory.
But when I was nearing Moscow, riding easily through the forest near Preobrajensky, I met with a very notable adventure, which I must here relate.
It was very early in the morning of a beautiful summer’s day, and as I approached within a league of the Tsar Peter’s house, the same at which I had often visited him a year ago or more(when he had caused Mazeppa to compete with me, and had promised that I should one day be Hetman in virtue of the excellence of my horsemanship), I suddenly heard the commotion of galloping hoofs, and looking out I spied furiously riding towards me at frantic speed a half-naked youth, who seemed mad with alarm, and rode blindly forward, scarcely seeing where he went or what he did.
And to my boundless surprise I recognised this frantic rider for the Tsar Peter himself—for him who is at this day known as Piotr Veleeki, Peter the Great; whose slightest word or frown is feared or hailed by millions of subjects; the conqueror of Charles of Sweden; a second Alexander the Great; the maker of a new Russia; the greatest Russian that God’s sun ever shone upon. Dear saints! when I think of all this and then of that picture of the frightened rider, I console myself with the thought that there are ups and downs for all men, and not only for me!
Yes, it was the Tsar Peter himself, dressed in his night-shirt and nothing more, frantic with terror, galloping he knew not whither.
‘Out of the way, there, or you are a dead man!’ he shrieked. ‘I will run you through: I swear it—clear out of the way!’
I did as the Tsar bade me, but I cried out, ‘Highness, I am a friend—Chelminsky the Cossack. Is there danger? I am on your side!’
He pulled up. ‘Yes, it is Chelminsky,’ he said, staring at me with wild eyes; ‘but how know I that you are not for my accursed sister?’
‘I was always for thee, Tsar; my name is in the book at Preobrajensky. I am a soldier of the Pleasure Army!’
‘True—I remember. Ride with me and I will tell you all. Are you only arriving from Batourin? Then you know nothing. My sister, whom may the devil claim for his own, has plotted against me. Last night the Kremlin was full of villains assembled and paid by her to murder me. Two good fellows deserted and warned me: by now the rest are skulking around the house at Preobrajensky, unless my fellows have caught them. I should have been murdered but for the warning, thanks and praise be to God the Saviour!’ The Tsar crossed himself devoutly. It was a remarkable sight—this panic-stricken young giant frightened into prayer, sitting bare-legged upon his horse, in mid-forest.
I argued with him. I would go forward while he concealed himself. I would fetch clothes for him—that was the first need, and bring backword of what happened at the house, which, though fortified and garrisoned very strongly, was not, said the Tsar, prepared for sudden assault.
At first the Tsar would not tarry until I returned; but presently, finding a portion of the forest which was so dense that he might safely hide therein without fear of discovery, he consented to wait. Then I rode quickly forward and reached Preobrajensky.
The garrison was in a tumult of preparation in case of attack: every hand was busy, every face haggard and anxious; but the most anxious of all was that of the Tsar’s mother, that good and gentle Tsaritsa Nathalia, who was in distress because of her son’s disappearance.
‘He will go to the monastery at Troitsa,’ she said, ‘and there I shall join him; but who shall protect him upon the way?’ Then I told the Tsaritsa how I had seen the Tsar and had returned for clothes and for news; but she informed me that the Tsar’s clothes had already followed him, though probably the messenger had been so frightened that he had turned aside from the road rather than meet me. ‘Go quickly, good Chelminsky!’ she said, ‘and ride with him. Take others with you—I am in dread for my poor boy!’
But when I sought the Tsar in the place where I had left him he was not to be found, so great a coward had sudden terror made of this young lion—he who should presently learn to roar so loudly that all the world would be terrified at his voice!