Just as the Czar, rescued from his dangerous position, was drawing off with drums beating and colours flying, the King of Sweden, eager to fight, and to see the enemy in his hands, came up; he had ridden post haste about fifty leagues from Bender to Jazy, and alighting at Count Poniatowski’s tent, the Count came up to him sadly and told him how he had lost a chance which would perhaps never recur.
The King, beside himself with rage, went straight to the tent of the Grand Vizir, and with flushed face reproached him for the treaty he had just made.
“I have authority,” said the Grand Vizir, calmly, “to make peace and to wage war.”
“But,” answered the King, “had you not the whole Russian army in your power?”
“Our law,” said the Vizir solemnly, “commands us to grant peace to our enemies when they implore our mercy.”
“Ah,” replied the King, in a rage, “does it order you to make a bad treaty, when you can impose the terms you please? Was it not your duty to take the Czar prisoner to Constantinople?”
The Turk, thus nonplussed, answered slyly, “And who would govern his empire in his absence? It is not fitting that all kings should be away from home.”
Charles replied with an indignant smile, and then threw himself down on a cushion, and, looking at the Vizir with resentment mingled with contempt, he stretched out his leg towards him, and, entangling his spur with his robe, tore it; then jumped up, mounted, and rode to Bender full of despair.
Poniatowski stayed some time longer with the Grand Vizir, to see if he could prevail on him by gentler means to make some better terms with the Czar, but it was prayer-time, and the Turk, without one word in answer, went to wash and attend to his devotions.