‘Why so? And what do you mean?’ said Mazeppa.
‘I mean Vera Kurbatof!’ I laughed. ‘You might have left my Olga at Batourin for all the chance she has here. As it is, you have lost her a moderate lover in me, and found her no better!’
‘Fear not for her, my friend,’ he laughed; ‘there are as good birds in the nest at Batourin as have flown out of it. Olga will not lack for lovers, even though Chelminsky should sulk! But I am not yet assured that Tsar Ivan will not after all look beyond Vera for a bride. They say he has forgotten her. Let not Vera be too sure of her advancement.’
‘Her advancement!’ I exclaimed. ‘Have you then forgotten that you yourself are pledged to protect her rather than allow that very advancement to take place?’
‘I have not forgotten, of course,’ he said; ‘but it would be a better and a safer way if he should reject Vera by his own free will and prefer another. Heaven knows there are some here that might tempt the very saints themselves. There is Olga Panief, for one; then there is a mysterious beauty whom none seem to know—Kozlof they call her, from Novgorod; lastly, one whom to see is to love—Praskovia Soltikof, whose father is the Governor of Siberia, which is as far away as heaven. Do not let yourself behold her, my friend, for to see her is to lose your heart.’
‘Then, what of your own, since you have gazed upon her already?’ I laughed.
‘My heart is proof,’ he replied, laughing also, though not quite at his ease. ‘I have already found food for my love to feast upon. Do not question me now; the time comes when you shall know all, and maybe you shall help me in a certain matter.’
This reply of Mazeppa’s caused me to reflect, and I now began to realise that my friend intended to play a deeper game than I had guessed.
But I must return to the matter of the Tsar Ivan and his bride-choosing, which indeed was somewhat pressing, for it was impossible to retain so large an assemblage of maidens to wait upon Ivan’s conversion. For who could tell how long this backward lover’s masculine spirit would require ere it would take root and develop and mature—even so much spirit as would suffice to lift his bashful eyes and see for himself the wonderful sight presented for his delectation, and then to say, ‘This one is best, or that, or another.’
Therefore, to the delight of many agitated, sanguine maiden hearts, it was decided that the first choosing or weeding out of the maidens should be done by others and not by Ivan himself, in the hope that, if no more than a score, or perhaps even a smaller number, were left to choose from, he might show himself less averse to inspect them; or at any rate he might be induced to look upon them one at a time.