“I shall,” said Peter.
Patkul looked earnestly at the Czar, as if to discover if he spoke in jest or earnest.
“Well,” added Peter, with narrowed eyes and signs of a rising temper. “Do you not think I shall yet utterly crush the Swede? I have had my lesson, Patkul.”
He seized a knife and stabbed moodily at the carpenter’s bench before him.
“Your Majesty has the genius to profit by it,” said Patkul gravely.
“All my battles are not going to be like Narva,” continued the Czar. “I have learnt something of war. The King of Poland is a fool. Why did he not train my Muscovites?”
“He told me, sire, that he had no officers, and complained that the Russians were out of hand and ravaging Lithuania.”
“I hope they may lay it waste from end to end,” said Peter. “At the same time, if any ever return to Russia, I will have them knouted for disobedience.”
He frowned as he thought of Augustus, a character that intensely irritated him; the elegant splendid Elector and the savage Czar had been only able to tolerate each other when both had been intoxicated; only in debauchery had they anything in common.
“He is a fool,” repeated the Czar. “If he had kept to the treaty of Birsen, Karl would have been ruined by now.”