One thing I know that never dies—
The verdict passed upon the dead.
“The history of Sweden is the history of her kings,” and of those kings the most striking is undoubtedly Charles XII, the Lion of the North. One of the few heroic figures in a prosaic age, he seems to belong rather to the times of Alfred the Great and Charlemagne than to those of Richelieu and Louis XIII. He has well been called “the last of the Vikings,” for the extraordinary nature of his adventures no less than his dauntlessness and endurance make him a kind of Saga-hero. The stories told of his childhood show the beginnings of those Spartan powers of enduring hardship which made him the idol of his “brave blue boys” in later life.
It is said that at the age of six he almost killed himself by leaving his bed in a Swedish mid-winter to “harden himself” by sleeping on the bare boards. The obstinacy which was the most marked characteristic of his boyhood developed in after years into the resolution with which as a mere youth he faced the treachery of his neighbours. “I am resolved,” he said in his first speech to his Parliament, “never to begin an unrighteous war, but I am also resolved never to finish a righteous war until I have completely humbled my enemies.”
In all matters of convention he was “in his simplicity sublime.” He cared nothing for the pomp of sovereignty, and always wore a soldier’s plain buff coat; he took his meals standing, spreading the bread and butter, which was his usual fare, with his thumbs. His letters to his sister (whom he addresses as “mon cœur”) are full of real affection, and a glance at them dispels the popular illusion that he was cold and heartless, just because he could resist the blandishments of Anna von Königsmarck!
Apart from occasional lapses into the fatalism characteristic of his race, he seems to have been devout. Shortly after his accession he ordered the titles “Our Most Gracious Majesty” to be removed from the liturgy, on the ground that “Almighty God is not appeased by high-sounding titles but by the prayers of humble and faithful hearts.”
He was the last to lose heart in adversity; he lost his Empire with as good a grace as he won it. “It is only requisite,” he wrote after Pultawa, where all was lost but honour, “not to lose courage, or let go the conduct of affairs.”
His early death was a disaster not only for Sweden but for the whole of Europe, for he was the first to realize and check the growing power of Russia.