CHAPTER III

If the splendor of Karl’s achievements dazzled even Peter, to the rest of the world it was indeed overwhelming.

This monarch, still in the first flower of his youth, found himself in a position unique in the history of the modern world.

Louis XIV had begun his reign by conquests perhaps as considerable, but his victories had been won by proxy; his cause was not so fine nor his behavior so remarkable, and his vanity had taken a form more ordinary, his pride had assumed the proportions to which men are most accustomed.

But both the achievements and the character of Karl were extraordinary; his victories were owing to his personal genius, the discipline of his army to his own efforts, the austere behavior of his men, so rare in the soldiers of a conquering army, to his own example.

There was no danger or hardship that he had not shared with his meanest soldier, and if they did not cherish that warm devotion for him that men have felt for leaders more human in their weaknesses, at least they accorded him an awed respect that did not permit them to murmur at his most severe regulations.

They had come, too, to believe that while under his leadership they were invincible, the one reverse they had received having taken place while he was absent; they told each other that Mentchikoff would never have beaten the Swedes at Kalisz had they been commanded by Karl; in his heart Peter had thought the same.

The summer was waning, and still Karl remained at Altranstadt; Count Piper, now become a feeble and sickly man through the effect of a sudden illness, watched with a dull, half-cynical eye the glory of his master, and his place was largely taken by Baron Görtz, the grand-marshal of the Bishop of Lubeck, whose daring spirit and military enthusiasms entirely suited the peculiar temperament of the King.

Stanislaus now reigned in Poland with as much security as was possible to one who owed his elevation to a whim of fortune, and who ruled a country so torn and exhausted by war; he had been recognized by the leading courts of Europe, including that of Dresden, and in this direction at least the ambition of Karl was satisfied.

Among those who came to Altranstadt to endeavor to discover the policy or gain the alliance of the redoubtable conqueror who had just humbled the Empire was a man whose fame as a captain had rivaled that of Karl, though in all save military genius he was different from the Swede.

This was the English general, John, Duke of Marlborough, sent by the English Government to sound Karl on the likelihood of his joining the war of the Spanish Succession, either for or against the allies.

This the Duke, as able a diplomat as he was a soldier, hoped to discover by proposing Karl as a mediator between the allies of France, a design that he thought would flatter the King into disclosing his real intentions.

Karl, who had treated with a cold indifference the other ambassadors and plenipotentiaries who had waited on him, showed some eagerness to meet this man who had never fought a battle that he had not won, nor besieged a town he had not taken, and whose brilliant genius had broken the mighty power of France.

The Duke himself had applied to the Baron Görtz for an audience, and by him and the English minister was taken to Karl’s plain and severe quarters at Leipzig, where he then was.

The King received him in a small room without hangings or carpets, and with no furniture save a few chairs and a table of bare wood; he had with him Count Piper, who looked ill and vexed; the minister was prejudiced against the Englishman because he had applied to Görtz instead of to himself for this audience.

The Duke of Marlborough entered with a light step the poorest royal chamber he had ever seen, and saluted Karl with a courtier’s bow; these two remarkable captains faced each other with a flash of curiosity that for a second obscured all other matters.

The Duke was then nearly sixty years of age, but still of an unusual handsomeness and an infinite grace in his person; he was attired in the extreme of the fashion, black velvet brocade, white satin waistcoat flourished in colored silks, a rich Mechlin cravat and ruffles, a black satin cravat and a diamond buckle, a long curling peruke framing his worn, charming, and vivacious face.

He was both perfumed and powdered, and carried an elegant little sword with brilliants in the hilt.

The interest died from Karl’s blue eyes and a look of cold disgust took its place; the Englishman was not the Swede’s idea of a warrior. Nor was Karl in his old jackboots, worn blue great-coat with the rubbed leather buttons, his black taffeta stock and soiled leather gloves, his stiff air and ungracious look, the Englishman’s idea of a King.

Karl wore a light peruke and a three-cornered hat; his face was impassive and cold, and he gave a bare salute in return for the Duke’s greeting.

Marlborough was not in the least disconcerted. He had the perfect ease of manner born of long acquaintance with princes and rulers, and was an adept in dealing with all manner of men.

He was as ready with his opening compliment as if he had met with a gracious reception.

“Sire,” he said in French, “I should be happy if I could learn under your orders what I do not know of the art of war.”

Karl received this in a freezing silence; it was the type of flattery that he most disliked, and he had taken a complete aversion to the elegance of the great Englishman’s appearance and to his courtier-like manners.

Marlborough, in no way discomposed, entered agreeably into further compliments, since it seemed that it was he who must make the conversation.

He spoke in French, and Karl, who knew this language but would never use it, replied in Swedish, of which tongue the Duke was wholly ignorant.

The English minister interpreted, and the conversation on general topics became slow and fatiguing. The English envoy was not in any way thrown out by this.

He wished to discover if Karl was likely to interfere in the war between France and the allies; he was dangerously near and had severely treated the Emperor, the most doubtful member of the league against Louis XII.

This object the Duke believed he could attain by merely watching the King of Sweden.

Karl, who knew his design, and disdained all those whom he thought were wanting his favor or alliance, broached the subject with a cold bluntness.

“I wonder your grace takes the trouble to concern yourself in this affair. I gave my word seven years ago not to meddle in this war.”

Marlborough bowed gravely; he did not believe that anyone would sacrifice power and interest to their word; he was too well used to the ways of princes to be greatly impressed by what Karl said.

Perfectly at his ease and with a charming smile he studied this imperious boy who had put Northern Europe under his foot.

With that graceful composure so natural to him he began to talk of the war with France, naming some of the victories of the allies.

Karl could not listen without interest to any matter connected with military affairs, and he had a natural prejudice against the French, so he remained silent, resting his hands on the hilt of his great plain heavy sword that he held in front of him, and followed with attention what the Duke was saying.

But he was as impervious to the charm of Marlborough as he had been to that of Aurora von Königsmarck.

Marlborough, who was used to swaying men and exercising a strong personal influence, soon perceived this.

“Sire,” he said suddenly, his fine eyes keen, alert, and slightly amused, “why do I speak of these things to one who has accomplished so many greater ones? Your Majesty, who has already dethroned one King, and will another----”

Karl’s eyes suddenly lit.

“Whom do you think I shall dethrone, my lord?” he asked, and signed to M. Robinson, the English minister, to quickly interpret his question.

“So you are human,” thought Marlborough.

“Sire,” he said aloud, “I was meaning the Czar of Muscovy.”

Now there was no mistaking the fire that leapt into the cold eyes of Karl; he would not answer, but Marlborough read him plainly.

There was a little map of Muscovy, in colored paints, lying on a table by the window, and the Duke glanced at it as he spoke again.

“There can be no doubt,” he continued, “that your Majesty’s task will be as glorious as it will be tremendous.”

When this was translated to Karl he turned imperiously to M. Robinson.

“Tell the Duke,” he said, “that my designs are not disclosed even to my intimates.”

This was a little softened in the translation, but Marlborough was fine enough to catch the full meaning of the words.

He was quite indifferent to this rude rebuff; he had discovered all he wished to know and continued to discuss indifferent matters, soon taking his leave, nor did Karl seek to detain him, but most coldly accepted his adieux.

As the two Englishmen went away in Baron Görtz’s carriage, Marlborough whispered to the other:

“We need not trouble at all about that young mad-man--his one design is to dethrone the Czar--God help him!” he added, taking a pinch of snuff.

“Your grace thinks he will not succeed?” asked the English minister, who was secretly impressed by Karl’s immense success and inclined to believe him invincible.

“My dear Robinson,” replied the Duke suavely, “these heroes who feed on military glory are bound to die of hunger some day.”

With which remark Marlborough, who was quite satisfied now that Karl would never trouble Western Europe, dismissed the famous captain from his thoughts.

Meanwhile Count Piper, left alone with the King, for Baron Görtz had retired with the Englishmen, turned to Karl and asked his opinion of the great Duke.

The King seemed to have forgotten his presence, for he had not spoken during the interview, and turned to him with something of a start, as if absorbed in dreams.

“What do I think of my Lord Marlborough?” he repeated; then he dismissed the Englishman with nearly as few words as the Englishman had dismissed him. “I do not think that he has the air of a warrior.”

“He is very pleasant,” remarked Count Piper, in a quiet tone that might have been sarcastic, “and so is Baron Görtz.”

“Ah!” exclaimed the King, with a sharp look. “You do not like him.”

With that Karl paused; he was just enough to know that Piper had no cause to like the younger man who was supplanting him and whose views were so opposed to his own.

“Count,” he added, “I have always honored you and always shall. If I have not always taken your advice I have at least respected you for giving it--but I am one who goes his own way. As for Baron Görtz, he is, and will be, what you are not, and will not be, my tool.”

This was a long speech for Karl to make and he was suddenly silent, as if he already repented having said so much and so exposed his feelings.

Count Piper flushed; he knew that by these words the King had paid him the greatest compliment and the greatest kindness that he was capable of, and that he need look for no further recognition from his master.

He had long ceased to care much what Karl did and entirely to cease to hope to influence him; he could smile now at himself for ever supposing that he could have done anything with this young man, or moved him by means of Viktoria Falkenberg.

He felt himself to be a man whose strength and position were both almost lost, and he was, perhaps, a little indifferent now to what had gone to make his life, but, for the last time, he resolved to sound the mind of the King--on two matters that he, Piper, had much at heart.

“Sire,” he said quietly, “all these princes and potentates come here with one object--to discover your Majesty’s future designs.”

“Yes,” answered Karl, “and you know better than any man that I have disclosed these to no one.”

“I do not seek,” replied the minister, “to endeavor to force your Majesty’s confidence.”

“But you want to know something,” remarked the King, with his sudden, ugly smile.

“Yes.”

“Well?”

Count Piper gave the King a straight look.

“I want to know if your Majesty has any thought of returning to Stockholm,” he said, and he could not keep a certain earnestness from his tone.

“That thought is ever uppermost in your mind,” replied Karl, not unpleasantly.

“It is seven years since you left your capital, sire.”

“Well?”

“Sweden needs her ruler.”

“Sweden is well governed.”

“Not by her monarch.”

“I do better things than govern Sweden,” replied the King haughtily.

“Ah, sire--these conquests cannot, will not, benefit Sweden. The scope of the war was attained years ago.”

Karl was silent; he narrowed his cold blue eyes and stared at the grave face and commonplace figure of his minister.

“And now you would risk all in a campaign against Russia.”

“Risk?” exclaimed Karl.

“There is a risk, sire.”

Karl smiled contemptuously.

“And if you lose, it will be disaster for Sweden,” added the Count.

“If I lose?” repeated the King, with rising wrath. “Do you not know that it is impossible for me to lose?”

“Ah, sire!” murmured the minister sadly.

Karl suddenly laughed, throwing back his head and showing his fierce white teeth.

“You think that the Czar of Muscovy can defeat _me_!” he said.

The minister answered:

“Marlborough thinks that you attempt the impossible, sire.”

The King was really angry now.

“What does Marlborough know of my designs?” he demanded.

“It is the common thought that you march on Russia.”

Karl rose with an impatient movement.

“Let be this matter,” he said sharply. “What I do, I do, and am accountable to no one.”

This was what the Count had expected; he bowed gravely.

He felt a sad certainty that the next subject he had to broach would be received with even more displeasure by the King; he resolved that it should not be on his conscience that he had not made the attempt.

“I would presume to ask one other thing,” he said, with a certain effort.

“Ask what you will,” replied the King, who had now regained his icy composure, “but it is useless, Count, to touch on my future designs.”

“I would only speak on a small subject, sire--that of Patkul.”

The King flashed him an ugly glance.

“What of Patkul?” he asked, in a cruel voice.

“Will not your Majesty think again of your orders to the court-martial--that he is to be tried and executed with the utmost severity?”

Karl was silent.

“That means,” continued the Count, “that he will be broken on the wheel and quartered alive.”

“You speak for a rebel?” demanded the King.

“Other rebels have received a death less cruel--might not your Majesty show the same mercy to Patkul?”

“You know in what he has offended me, Count Piper.”

“Therefore I ask your Majesty to be lenient. The man is brave--he has served his own country--he is not a Swede--he was to have been married this autumn. Let him die without torture.”

The King’s face was ugly to look upon.

“It is such a chance for your Majesty,” urged the minister.

“A chance?”

“To show the world that you disdain a vengeance only worthy of the Czar of Muscovy.”

“You are a sick man and I forgive you,” replied Karl, “but speak no more of this affair if you wish ever to come into my presence again.”