I was sent in command of my thousand of Cossacks upon an expedition, half scouting and half punitive, in connection with the Tartars of Azof, an expedition which, though its results were meagre, occupied half a year. Now, though I have said little about such matters in connection with myself, preferring to regard Mazeppa as the hero of my history and to dwell upon that which concerns him rather than my own affairs, I will now state that there was a maiden at the Court of the Hetman towards whose charms I was not indifferent. I had had many affairs of the heart: we Cossacks never lack for friends of the fair sex, and I may say without boasting that my success in such matters had for ever been satisfactory, and quite on a par with that of Mazeppa himself, who prided himself upon being irresistible.
Now this lady, Olga Panief, was young and proud, and pre-eminent among Cossack maidens for comeliness. There was scarcely one of us who lived within the shadow of the Hetmanate who had not, at one time or another, laid siege to her heart, which, however, had never until quite recently capitulated.
Even when, as all supposed, I had at length caused the beleaguered one to lower her flag and permit the entrance of Love the Conqueror, I was not at all so sure of my conquest as others supposed, and when I went with my Cossacks among the Tartars I rode with an unquiet heart, for I knew for certain two things—the first, that Mazeppa would profit by my absence in order to re-invest the citadel which should be mine by right of conquest; and the second, that my hold upon the fair Olga was not so secure but that she might even now lend a willing ear to so artful a singer as Mazeppa.
For what actually happened I was by no means prepared.
My first visit on my return was to the house of Panief, the father of fair Olga, and one of the seniors among the Cossack colonels.
But, to my astonishment, the Panief mansion was closed, and the family, evidently, were out of town.
Then I went to Mazeppa, for my thoughts and suspicions turned as naturally to him as a man would look up at the clouds when rain fell.
On the way to Mazeppa’s house I met Sotsky, of whom I inquired what had become of the Paniefs.
‘Oh, that is a little bit of our friend Mazeppa’s handiwork,’ he laughed. ‘Mazeppa took advantage of the absence of someone to lay violent siege in a certain quarter. He had no success, and this is the result.’
‘What do you mean?’ I said. ‘Where are the Paniefs? What can Mazeppa have to do with their disappearance?’