The King received him in a small room without hangings or carpets, and with no furniture save a few chairs and a table of bare wood; he had with him Count Piper, who looked ill and vexed; the minister was prejudiced against the Englishman because he had applied to Görtz instead of to himself for this audience.
The Duke of Marlborough entered with a light step the poorest royal chamber he had ever seen, and saluted Karl with a courtier’s bow; these two remarkable captains faced each other with a flash of curiosity that for a second obscured all other matters.
The Duke was then nearly sixty years of age, but still of an unusual handsomeness and an infinite grace in his person; he was attired in the extreme of the fashion, black velvet brocade, white satin waistcoat flourished in colored silks, a rich Mechlin cravat and ruffles, a black satin cravat and a diamond buckle, a long curling peruke framing his worn, charming, and vivacious face.
He was both perfumed and powdered, and carried an elegant little sword with brilliants in the hilt.
The interest died from Karl’s blue eyes and a look of cold disgust took its place; the Englishman was not the Swede’s idea of a warrior. Nor was Karl in his old jackboots, worn blue great-coat with the rubbed leather buttons, his black taffeta stock and soiled leather gloves, his stiff air and ungracious look, the Englishman’s idea of a King.
Karl wore a light peruke and a three-cornered hat; his face was impassive and cold, and he gave a bare salute in return for the Duke’s greeting.
Marlborough was not in the least disconcerted. He had the perfect ease of manner born of long acquaintance with princes and rulers, and was an adept in dealing with all manner of men.
He was as ready with his opening compliment as if he had met with a gracious reception.
“Sire,” he said in French, “I should be happy if I could learn under your orders what I do not know of the art of war.”
Karl received this in a freezing silence; it was the type of flattery that he most disliked, and he had taken a complete aversion to the elegance of the great Englishman’s appearance and to his courtier-like manners.