One would suppose that with so comprehensive an order published throughout Russia, namely, that the fairest maidens from every part should be despatched to the city for the convenience of the Tsar in his choice of a bride, the whole of Moscow would be full of young women. And so, doubtless, would it have been but that a wise discretion had been left in the hands of those agents in each district to whom had been entrusted the duty of selecting and despatching the maidens. Not all who would fain have come were permitted to make the journey. Many were first weeded out as unfit before the final few, the very cream and perfection of Russian maidenhood, were despatched to the capital.

Indeed, there were no more than two hundred, in all, that now awaited in the terem of the palace in the Kremlin the verdict of the Tsar or of those who would choose for him.

I spoke with many of those who, like Mazeppa, had been entrusted with the duty of selection. Of these some made very merry over their commission.

‘One would suppose that every maiden in my district,’ said one, ‘was of the age of seventeen, and beautiful, and virtuous, and healthy. I had crowds to deal with and none would take “no” for an answer. Believe me if you will, of the thousand or more that offered themselves from Novgorod, I am here at last with five maidens. I know not how I shall dare return to my home, for I have now nearly one thousand inveterate enemies, ready, I doubt not, to tear me to pieces!’

‘How is a man to say this one is beautiful or that one?’ said another. ‘As for me, I brought all who offered themselves, which was luckily only eight girls, my district being a narrow one. How should I say whom the Grand Duchess might think handsome, and whom plain? It is her affair, not mine; her eyes are the judges.’

‘What! is the Tsar to have no word in the choice?’ I asked, laughing.

‘Lord—as if he could say yea or nay for himself! He would weep and ask to be taken back to his play-room. “I desire none of them,” he would say. “Why should I marry any of these strangers?”’

All present laughed at this, but one said:

‘It is of the maidens I think. Were I one of them I should pray to God from this moment until the last hour of the choice that the Tsar might choose any one of the maidens rather than myself. Imagine, my brothers, the being mated with such a thing! A Tsar that dribbles at the mouth and chatters to himself, but will speak to no other if he can avoid it. A Tsar that falls in a fit if startled or loudly spoken to; a creature that—if he were not a Tsar—must be laughed at, or wept over; a thing to be hidden from the eyes of his fellows! Yet here is this frolic of nature paraded as though he were a man like another, in order that he may condemn one of God’s fairest creatures to the unspeakable horror of marrying him!’

‘That is foolish talk, Katkof,’ said another. ‘These young women come to marry the crown, or the throne, or the sceptre—what you will. What matter who it is that sits arrayed as king? Moreover, what signifies a marriage with such as Ivan? It is to be another nurse, another attendant, and there is the end; only that she will be called Tsaritsa, and will sit higher than every other woman in the land!’

I suppose that both opinions were right and both wrong. Some maidens there be, the majority I doubt not, who would accept all things if only they might have the title and position of Tsaritsa. A few would pray to God with tears night and day that the Tsar, in making choice, would pass them over. They would grimace, or develop a weary look by keeping awake at nights, or they would cry their noses red and their eyes swollen! Anything to escape so hateful a destiny as to be chosen Tsaritsa to such a Tsar!

Vera Kurbatof was not among those who were obliged to live during the days of selection within the terem of the palace. This did not mean that she was exempt from competition: on the contrary, it was told me that she stood at the present moment first in order of probability. That is, the Tsar was supposed to regard her already with favour; and this final assemblage of maidens had been brought about merely in deference to old customs, and in order that it might be seen, before a final decision were made, whether this Vera were really supreme among her peers, or whether there might not possibly come one whose superiority was so marked that even Ivan must observe it.

For the Tsar must have the very best; that was the central idea.

By a lucky chance I happened to meet Vera Kurbatof on the very day after our arrival in Moscow. She was walking with the old nurse who was ever her companion out of doors, and she was strictly veiled, in the fashion of the time; for until the Tsar Peter afterwards changed this and many other things after his own drastic, autocratic fashion, women in Russia were, like their sisters in Eastern countries, discouraged from showing their faces in public.

I recognised her by her voice, which was a peculiarly sweet one, and as we met I spoke to her, making my profoundest reverence in order to atone for the boldness of addressing her without permission.

‘I think you are the Barishnya Vera Kurbatof,’ I said. ‘If I am right, let your voice bear the blame of betraying your incognito.’

She started. ‘Yes, I am she!’ she said, ‘and you—yes—I remember, you are the friend of the Cossack Mazeppa.’

‘May I not stand on my own feet as the Cossack Chelminsky?’ I said, making a show of laughing, though I felt somewhat aggrieved that she, of all others, should have remembered me not for myself, but in virtue of my connection with Mazeppa.

‘Forgive me, sir,’ she said, ‘I do, indeed, remember both you and your name, but it happened that I was thinking of Mazeppa. I have thought more than once lately of your friend, for—for a reason.’

‘Worse and worse!’ I said. ‘Now I am jealous, indeed! May I know why Mazeppa is so fortunate as to have been the subject of your thoughts?’

‘Forgive me, I am distracted at present; I scarcely know what I am saying. I desire very much to see your friend. I have longed day and night to see him, because—I cannot tell you why, excepting that I am in great trouble and danger and I need his assistance, which he once placed at my disposal.’

‘May I not be upon an equality with him by doing the same? All my wit and all my power are at your service. I am sure that I am as ready to serve you as he.’

‘I do not doubt it, and—and if it were ordinary service I should accept your offer most gladly, but that which Mazeppa suggested was a particular service and must not be spoken of, excepting to himself.’

‘What then would you wish me to do?’ I asked, feeling much mortified.

‘I would have you tell him that the time has nearly come when he must redeem his promise, if it is ever to be redeemed,’ she said. ‘Soon it will be too late; the danger I feared, or rather the danger which I refused to recognise, has proved a real one. It was he that pointed it out, half in jest and half in earnest, but it has come true.’

‘I will tell you that the secret is no secret for me!’ I laughed. ‘The danger you are in is this, that the Tsar Ivan desires to make a Tsaritsa of you and you desire it not. Am I right?’

‘Did Mazeppa tell you this?’ she asked. ‘Oh! did he send any message—that he would come to help me—to do that which he promised in case of imminent danger?’

‘Mazeppa gave me no message. As for the Tsar, it was I that showed Mazeppa which way the wind blew, not Mazeppa me. I saw how Ivan gazed at you, and bade Mazeppa look also. He feigned to think nothing of the matter; but I perceive that he thought badly enough of it to warn you and to promise assistance.’

‘Alas! what am I to do? Supposing that among these maidens there is none that happens to please his fancy—then I am lost!’

‘Think whether I cannot help you as well as Mazeppa, whom, as you told me, you fear or dislike.’

‘Hush! do not say that! It was thoughtful and kind of him to foresee danger and to suggest a remedy. I should be ungracious if I accepted your offer while his own still holds. Is he in Moscow?’

‘He is in Moscow,’ I said grimly. ‘I will tell him that you expect certain services from him which he promised in case of danger.’

‘Yes, tell him that. Do not think me ungrateful, my friend. I am under promise to apply for help to Mazeppa in case of need; I am none the less grateful to you for your offer.’

‘Will not your father take your side in this matter?’

‘Alas! he regards it from a different standpoint. For him, the crown is the crown, the man nothing. He thinks of the glory that would be mine and his if I were to become Tsaritsa. He glories in the prospect already, for, indeed, many say that the Tsar’s mind is made up, and that he will marry me or none. Now you understand how imminent is my need of escape. I would die a hundred times rather than mate with that loathsome thing.’

‘Well, I will tell Mazeppa,’ I said, feeling strangely mortified and somewhat heavy at heart besides. Vera Kurbatof had drawn me within the hall of her father’s house, and we sat before the stove and conversed. The old nurse sat with us, muttering occasionally, and crossing herself.

The old woman followed me as I rose to depart.

‘Do nothing she asks you!’ she whispered, taking me aside. ‘To be Tsaritsa elect, and to desire to escape! Who ever heard such things! Say nothing to Mazeppa of this. Do you know what he has promised her? I will tell you. He will carry her off to the Ukraine and hide her there so that none shall find her again. He is a devil, this Mazeppa; I can see it in his eyes. He would bring her to no good. He is not to be trusted.’

‘Maybe you are right, Matushka,’ I said. ‘I will keep your warning in mind.’

I told Mazeppa, nevertheless, as in duty bound, what Vera had said.

‘Aha!’ cried Mazeppa, visibly delighted. ‘So she remembers, and would have my assistance! Well, she shall have it, tell her. Let her be patient for a few days while we watch how matters go. She shall not be deserted, but I will not go near her at present, lest I should be suspected afterwards!’