“I think that you are right, sire; there is no end to what Karl will attempt—perhaps no end to what he will achieve. I think his Saxon Majesty can hardly conceive the type, hard, cold, justly cruel and justly generous—a man without mercy for himself or others, austere, awkward, without grace or charm, yet underneath half-mad with pride, with obstinacy, with the old Viking blood lust, the old Berserker fury against those who oppose him.”
Patkul spoke with a feeling that pleased Peter, always intensely interested in anything to do with his rival.
“He is reputed virtuous,” said the Czar.
“Virtuous!” exclaimed Patkul, with a flush in his blond face. “Yes—he has prayers twice a day in his camp, and his soldiers do not take a slice of bread that they do not pay for; he lives the life of a Spartan and a monk, for it is his vanity to be considered above the weaknesses of mankind, but he would see Sweden go to perdition sooner than forgo one of his mad schemes or sacrifice one leaf from the laurels of his barren victories!”
“You speak from your knowledge of his father,” said Augustus.
“From my knowledge of the race, sir. Karl XI thought something of the good of his people, and embarked on no useless conquests, but the type was the same—a man of granite. He killed his Queen with his hardness. I think that he never said a kind word, all his days, to anyone.”
“And no woman was ever found to soften him?” asked Augustus, who was trained in the traditions of Versailles.
“Never. They say that this man is the same,” replied Patkul. “He prefers to govern his passions rather than to risk female domination and has resolved never to look on a fair face.”
“I will send him Marpha,” said Peter gravely. “She would twine round the heart of a saint.”
At the thought of such an ambassadress being sent to bewitch the haughty young conqueror with her crude charms, and the spectacle of the Czar’s entire belief in the illiterate camp follower with her rude speech and neglected person who so offended the fastidious taste of the Saxon, Augustus could not repress a smile of contempt.