Then his thoughts turned to Augustus, and he flashed from brooding into wrath.
“How was the Elector received at Altranstadt?” he demanded.
“The Swede met him privately, they say, and treated him with a cold civility. Their talk was of trifles, mainly of the boots Karl wore, which he had never been without, he said, for ten years, save to sleep, and then Stanislaus Leczinski came, and Augustus had to salute him as King of Poland.”
“Is it possible there lives a prince so spiritless!” exclaimed Peter.
“He must have suffered,” said Mentchikoff with satisfaction. “After Kalisz Sweden’s terms became harder. Augustus had to send the archives and State jewels to Stanislaus, cause his name as King of Poland to be effaced from all documents and monuments, and write a letter of congratulation to Stanislaus.”
“And that is the mercy he obtained by throwing himself on the compassion of Karl!” cried the Russian, “and I was allied with such a prince! What does he mean to do now?”
“Karl is supposed to retire from Saxony and leave him in peace,” said Mentchikoff dryly. “As for the Palatine of Posnania, he has a poor gift in the throne of Poland—the factious nobles, such as the Sapieha, have laid waste what the Swedes and your Muscovites have spared. The country is a smoking ruin.”
“And that is what the King of Sweden has achieved by his conquest,” said Peter grimly. “Why does he so favor Stanislaus Leczinski?”
“No one knows—perhaps because he knows how to flatter him.”
Peter gave his favorite an ugly look.