“A lunatic!” exclaimed the Russian, contemptuously. “Do you remember the ‘Gottorp Fury,’ when he and his cousin Frederick, the Duke of Holstein-Gottorp, rode through Stockholm in their shirts, and spent a day striking off the heads of sheep in the palace, until the floors and staircases ran with blood, while they threw the bleeding heads out of the windows? Such men are fools.”
“The Duke of Holstein-Gottorp is the casus belli between Sweden and Denmark,” I remarked dryly.
Dolgoruky shrugged his shoulders. “Compare these men with his imperial Majesty,” he said, “and you will find them but indifferent pictures of royalty. Charles is at best but a mad king and a mad soldier, while the czar has all the attributes of greatness, and only the one weakness of trusting too implicitly in the judgment of those who have won his regard.”
I knew that he referred to Mentchikof, and was amused.
“A weakness that is not unusual,” I remarked; “a sovereign is often betrayed through his confidence!”
“Too often,” Dolgoruky said with feeling, “and once a favorite is established, he will stop at nothing to gain complete control of his master’s affairs; when a woman is added to the complication, it passes an honest man’s patience.”
“Monsieur,” I said, smiling, “the Court of France has been swayed by many fair women since Gabrielle d’Estrées quarrelled with Sully, and before her day too. A courtier must learn to win the good graces of the queen of the hour; it is only a plain soldier, like myself, who can afford to carve his fortune with his sword.”
“I would rather carve mine with my sword,” he exclaimed, “than sue for favor from—” He checked himself in time, catching the amusement in my eye.
We had left the Kremlin and were walking through the Kitai-gorod; a few rods more would bring us to the spot where our paths would naturally separate.
“Be warned, prince,” I said kindly. “I have seen many changes, many shifts of fortune. Let the court intrigues have a smooth road; seek only the service of the state.”