It was possible that Karl might endeavor to inflame Turkey into a revival of her old quarrel with him; but he had the remembrance of Azov to render him confident of mastering the Turks.
Not that it was in his nature to think and act other than prudently.
He had not begun this war for glory nor fought any battle for display, but always with the idea of some solid advantage, of taking some step towards the attainment of his final objective—the raising of Russia to a great place among the nations of the world.
The building of St. Petersburg and Kronstadt had already shown his intention of making his empire not Eastern but Western, and he had now demonstrated that he had mastered the art of war sufficiently to defeat utterly the greatest captain of the age.
He was not unduly elated at this success which was so much more than he had dared to hope for.
At first he had thought the Poltava battle lost; he had been in the thick of the fight and twice a ball had pierced his hat; perhaps Karl himself was no more surprised than Peter at the final issue of the combat.
The Czar’s manner of celebrating his victory was at once generous and savage.
He treated the Swedish generals with courtesy and consideration, drinking their health as “My masters in the art of war,” but the Cossacks and Kalmucks were broken on the wheel and the Swedish soldiers sent as slaves to Siberia.
He would have liked to have taken Karl, not from pride, but because he wished to know personally so remarkable a man, and he wished to capture the old hetman of the Cossacks that he might impale him alive.
“I wonder Sweden tolerates such a villain near him,” he exclaimed. “It must have been by his advice he came into the Ukraine.”