The Mazeppa of Poushkin's masterpiece does not resemble the imaginary hero of Byron's romantic poem. He is dramatically, but realistically, depicted as the wily and ambitious soldier of fortune; a brave leader, at times an impassioned lover, and an inexorable foe. Tchaikovsky has not given a very powerful musical presentment of this daring and passionate Cossack, who defied even Peter the Great. But the characterisation of the heroine's father Kochubey, the tool and victim of Mazeppa's ambition, is altogether admirable. The monologue in the fortress of Bielotserkov, where Kochubey is kept a prisoner after Mazeppa has treacherously laid upon him the blame of his own conspiracy, is one of Tchaikovsky's finest pieces of declamation. Most of his critics are agreed that this number, with Tatiana's famous Letter Scene in the second act of _Eugene Oniegin_, are the gems of his operatic works, and display his powers of psychological analysis at their highest. The character of Maria, the unfortunate heroine of this opera, is also finely conceived. Tchaikovsky is almost always stronger in the delineation of female than of male characters. "In this respect," says Cheshikin, in his volume on Russian Opera, "he is the Tourgeniev of music." Maria has been separated from her first love by the passion with which the fascinating Hetman of Cossacks succeeds in inspiring her. She only awakens from her infatuation when she discovers all his cruelty and treachery towards her father. After the execution of the latter, and the confiscation of his property, the unhappy girl becomes crazed. She wanders--a kind of Russian Ophelia--back to the old homestead, and arrives just in time to witness an encounter between Mazeppa and her first lover, Andrew. Mazeppa wounds Andrew fatally, and, having now attained his selfish ends, abandons the poor mad girl to her fate. Then follows the most pathetic scene in the opera. Maria does not completely recognise her old lover, nor does she realise that he is dying. Taking the young Cossack in her arms, she speaks to him as to a child, and unconsciously lulls him into the sleep of death with a graceful, innocent slumber song. This melody, so remote from the tragedy of the situation, produces an effect more poignant than any dirge. _Mazeppa_, partly because of the unrelieved gloom of the subject, has never enjoyed the popularity of _Eugene Oniegin_. Yet it holds its place in the repertory of Russian opera, and deservedly, since it contains some of Tchaikovsky's finest inspirations.