‘When I am older you shall come up to Moscow and teach me,’ he said: ‘I shall learn all these tricks of riding. What are the qualities necessary for one who will excel?’
‘First, patience in practice, Highness,’ said I; ‘then suppleness of body, and, chief of all, courage or nerve, and the determination to laugh when you tumble and not to be deterred by a little pain or even a broken bone.’
‘Well, you shall show me one day,’ said the Prince, ‘and afterwards I will decide whether it is worth while to learn.’
Mazeppa was very friendly with both Sophia and her favourite friend and counsellor, Galitsin, one of the ablest men that Russia has yet produced, though a poor general, as we shall soon learn. Between these three there were held many secret councils, and I have little doubt that Mazeppa at this time arranged many things both to his own satisfaction and to theirs with regard to the future politics of our tribes. He learned his lesson well, indeed, for I know that he was never afterwards in doubt when any point arose for discussion as to the wishes of our suzerain power—Russia.
Mazeppa had resigned his ambitious matrimonial project without, as it seemed, a pang of regret. But, as though to console himself for the sacrifice, he bestowed much time to the society of one who could scarcely have been more different in every respect from the Regent Sophia, a little maiden—daughter of a well-to-do Boyar, one Kurbatof, by a French wife—Vera Kurbatof, who by virtue of her semi-foreign birth was not condemned to the seclusion of the terem, or ‘woman’s department,’ in which most maidens of her day were obliged to pass their existence.
Vera was very young and very beautiful, and there is no doubt that Mazeppa soon lost his heart to her, delighting in her society and spending all the time that he could spare in the endeavour to make himself agreeable to her. Vera, it seemed to me, was less fascinated by Mazeppa than he by her, a circumstance which I was glad to perceive, for throughout our long friendship it has been my habit to pity any lady upon whom Mazeppa is disposed to bestow the illusory boon of his affections. Mazeppa’s heart was ever soft and susceptible, and ever inconstant. Woe to every maiden who should listen to the voice of this most fickle of wooers, for his love was a hostage for many tears.
It were wasted time indeed to dwell upon the tale of this as of any other of Mazeppa’s excursions in love, but that in this particular matter there is much to be told that concerns others besides himself, for this Vera is to occupy a large space in these records.
And the first intimation I had that there might be more in this than in others of the countless love affairs in which I have seen my friend involved was that one day—shortly before we left Moscow to return to the Ukraine—the Princess Sophia bade me, with a laugh, ‘look whereto converge the eyes of thy friend and of another.’
I followed the gaze of the Princess: she was looking at Vera Kurbatof and glanced at Mazeppa. ‘That is one pair,’ she said; ‘now seek for thyself the other.’
I looked round at the roomful of courtiers and others, for there were many present—taking the oath of allegiance some, and others spectators and officials—but I could see none who seemed to stare, like Mazeppa, at this fair young girl.