CHAPTER IV

Karl, having sufficiently humiliated the Emperor and Augustus, and having firmly established Stanislaus on the uneasy throne of Poland, had no longer any need to prolong his stay in Saxony, and began that autumn of 1707 to make preparations for his departure.

At this moment everything seemed possible to him; no one knew what project he might have in mind or to what enterprise he might be directing his genius.

He had already threatened the Pope, who had interfered with the Emperor’s signing of the treaty in favor of the Silesians, which Karl had wrung from him, and it was considered possible that he might meditate a descent on Italy by way of Persia and Turkey.

All the nations regarded him with terror and admiration, and most trembled as they noticed his preparations for departure from the country where he had completely triumphed over all his enemies.

His spirits rose as the time came for him to leave Saxony where he had been idle a year; even his own generals did not know what his destination was.

“Give me,” he said to one of these, “the route from Leipzig to----”

Here he paused, not wishing to betray his secret, and added with a laugh--“to all the capitals of Europe.”

This was brought him; at the top of the list was _route to Stockholm_ in large letters.

Karl saw the meaning; he knew that the Swedes were longing to return home.

“I see,” he said, “where you would lead me--but we do not return to Sweden so soon.”

A few days after the army was in marching order, and proceeded through Saxony towards Dresden.

The forces of Karl consisted of 43,000 men, 8,500 cavalry, 19,200 foot, and 16,000 dragoons.

All the regiments were complete, and to many of them were attached supernumeraries. These did not complete the resources of Karl; he had an army of 20,000 men in Poland, under Lewenhaupt, 15,000 men in Finland, and new recruits were on their way from Sweden.

Karl had the satisfaction of hearing that on the first rumor of his approach the Muscovites in Lithuania, where the Czar was endeavoring to regain some of the ground Augustus had abandoned, had fled to Grodno, a hundred leagues from Lublin.

As the army approached the capital of Saxony, Karl, who always rode a few paces in front of his guard, galloped off with a few of his officers, giving no one a hint of his design, and throwing the whole army into consternation by his sudden disappearance.

The whim had taken him to visit Augustus, and within an hour of his leaving the army he had presented himself at the private apartments of the Elector, leaving his officers below.

Augustus was then in his bed-chamber, in poor health and melancholy humor, lounging in a white brocade dressing-gown by the wood fire, while Aurora von Königsmarck, who had recovered something of her ancient splendor, but who was also negligently gowned in pink taffetas, frothed the chocolate over a silver lamp.

Count Fleming, the Elector’s minister, had seen the King enter the town, and had rushed to advise his master; but Karl, who had entered the gates under an assumed name, and passed as a member of the King’s guard, was before him, and had entered the chamber of Augustus before that prince knew that he was in the town.

Augustus vested himself in haste, being utterly bewildered and amazed.

“The King of Sweden in my ante-chamber!” he kept saying.

Aurora was deeply angry.

“He comes to exult over you,” she said. “Before he goes on fresh conquests he wishes to satisfy himself with the sight of the King he has discrowned.”

“It will give me an opportunity to speak for Patkul,” said Augustus. “Surely he will not refuse me that favor.”

“He will,” replied the Countess, “but he is in your power.”

“Bah!” said the Elector, annoyed at this womanish point of view, “I am in his.”

Aurora could hardly restrain her impatient scorn; every time, according to her ideas, that Augustus was called upon to show strength, he showed weakness; she had long ceased to feel either affection or respect for the Elector, and in secret scorned herself for the love of comfort and luxury that induced her to stay with him, and accept the tarnished splendor Augustus had secured by the treaty of Altranstadt.

She had felt keenly the failure of her ruse to secure the release of Patkul; day and night she was haunted by the last glimpse she had had of Hélène D’Einsiedel, as, half-crazed by horror and fear, she had set out on her wild journey to the Russian camp.

“You could keep him,” she persisted. “It was one of his madman’s whims to come.”

“He has an army, an invincible army, at the gates,” replied Augustus.

“Ah, you have not the courage,” replied the Countess, who had become sharp-tongued in adversity. “But why do I speak to you? If you had had courage you never would have signed the peace.”

“God save me from your railing!” replied the harassed Elector. “Between you and the King of Sweden I have had a merry life these last seven years!”

Aurora shrugged the fair shoulders that rose out of her ruffled lace gown, and flung herself into a chair.

“At least endeavor to save Patkul,” she said bitterly.

She suddenly turned and looked at him over her shoulder, her beautiful eyes fierce.

“If Patkul dies--_that way_,” she flung out, “I shall never forgive you.”

The Elector did not answer; hastily dressed and red in the face he flung open the folding doors that led into the room where the King of Sweden waited.

Strangely out of place in this chamber of gilt and satin, with the rose-wreath cupids painted on panels and ceiling, the ormolu tables and bric-a-brac of china and silver, looked the stern figure of the Swede.

His worn high boots were covered with road dust; his attire, plain as that of the trooper he had represented himself to be at the gates, set off his tall, robust figure; his hands, in the long elbow gloves, were clasped about the handle of his heavy sword; his light peruke was held back by a black ribbon, and his hat hung on the back of the chair.

He arose as Augustus entered, and gave him a brief salutation.

“I did not think that your Majesty would have thus far honored me,” stammered the Elector, flushing deeper.

“I could not leave your Highness’s country without coming to bid you farewell,” returned Karl calmly.

He showed no trace of triumph over, or sympathy with, the man he had discrowned; his manner was that of one casual acquaintance with another.

“I would like to see your fortifications,” he added, and a flicker of his unpleasant smile crossed his calm face.

Augustus had to make an effort to preserve his equanimity; the humiliations forced on him by Karl were too recent and too bitter even for one of his good nature to endure without fierce resentment.

But he knew that Karl, though seemingly in his power, had an army at the gates that could reduce his capital to submission in a few hours.

Also, all that was best in him longed to redeem the shameful delivery of Patkul into the hands of Karl, and he thought this was an opportunity to ask this one favor that the King of Sweden could scarcely refuse.

The conversation became forced and general; the Elector invited Karl to dine with him and the offer was accepted.

Augustus and Count Fleming sat down to table with Karl and his general, and some sort of conversation, embarrassed on the part of the Saxons, and indifferent on the part of the Swedes, took place.

The Conqueror ate bread and drank water, and Augustus drank heavily of every wine that was offered to him, to give himself courage for the coming interview with Karl, in which he would ask the life of Patkul.

The meal being over the Elector conducted the Swedes round the fortifications, and while the King was a little ahead took occasion to ask General Hord, one of the Swedish officers, if he thought his master would grant him a favor.

“I think,” added Augustus, “that he will not refuse a small request to a man from whom he has taken a crown.”

“What is this small request of your Highness?” asked General Hord dryly.

Augustus flushed; his whole position was one of cruel humiliation, and he liked the Swedish officers little better than he liked their master.

“I want the life of General Patkul,” he replied, with an air as easy as he could manage. “I hardly think,” he added, with a forced smile, “that your master will refuse me.”

“You do not know him,” replied the Swede dryly. “He will certainly refuse you.”

“Why?” demanded the unfortunate Elector, with some sharpness.

“First, because it is you want a boon that he will grant no one.”

The Elector could not refrain from a bitter retort to this brusque statement.

“Is then the King of Sweden so cruel?”

“Sir,” said the Swede, “he is just. Patkul is a traitor.”

“Will not an easier death content your master?” asked Augustus.

“You will find that he will alter nothing,” smiled General Hord.

The Elector, however, could not believe that Karl could be so deaf to all promptings of clemency, chivalry, and courtesy.

“He is my guest,” he urged.

“For that very reason he will refuse you more certainly. The fact that he is nominally in your power will make him scornful of any concession to you. He will also disdain to accord any favor to you that he would not give to anyone else.”

But Augustus was not convinced, and if he had been, possessed sufficient nobleness to persist in his endeavor to save Patkul.

When they returned to the palace he opened the subject, nervously, but with a certain dignity.

“I regard myself as doubly fortunate in this visit, as I have something on my mind and conscience to put before your Majesty.”

Karl gave him one darting glance, then seated himself, resting his gloved hands on the plain hilt of his sword.

He had flung off his hat, and his eyes shone cold and clear beneath the straight fair brows and smooth low forehead, shaded by the curls of his light peruke.

Seen thus, in perfect composure and repose, the face was beautiful, marred only by the slight overfullness of the lips and the little ugly twist of them, half a smile, defects not noticeable in his extreme youth, but now becoming permanent. His complexion, despite his outdoor life, looked fair and clear as a woman’s above the black satin stock, and there was no line or shade of thought or emotion to soften or enlighten those cold and noble features.

Augustus, richly though carelessly dressed, his soft handsome features disturbed and harassed in expression, and worn with anxiety and sickness, his laced and brocade clothes hanging loosely on the powerful figure that had lost so much of its strength, was in piteous contrast to the man who had ruined him so completely and steeped him in such utter humiliation.

“I think we have done with matters of business,” Karl reminded him. “I came as one prince taking farewell of another; would it not be as well for us to leave our meeting at this friendly point?”

This was clearly meant as a warning, but Augustus would not take it; he turned pale, and took a rapid step across the room; his heart swelled and his pleasant eyes darkened with the inner emotion he kept in check.

“It is against my conscience to remain silent on this matter,” he said.

“Your conscience, Highness?” repeated Karl, without changing a muscle of his face or altering a tone of his voice, yet conveying, by the very impassivity of his attitude, unspeakable contempt for the man who had been beaten into signing the peace of Altranstadt.

Augustus flung up his head.

“I wish, I must,” he replied, “speak on a delicate matter--one that I shame to mention, one in which I am at the mercy of your Majesty.”

“Ah!” exclaimed Karl, as if he suddenly saw what was coming.

“I mean to speak of General Patkul,” said the Elector, steadily but hoarsely.

“You will speak in vain,” answered the King of Sweden, with the utmost coldness.

“I cannot think so, sire. I appeal to your chivalry, your clemency, to have mercy on this man--and mercy on me,” added the wretched Elector, clutching his hands in his ruffles. “If Patkul dies I am ashamed before the world.”

“Did you not think of that when you signed the peace?” demanded Karl harshly.

“Sire, is there any need to thus humiliate me?”

“Humiliate _you_?” replied Karl, with the slightest possible stress on the last word.

The blood flamed into the Elector’s thin cheeks. “Sire, we are cousins,” he said passionately.

“Did you remember that our mothers were sisters when you plotted with Patkul to seize my Baltic Provinces?” demanded the King.

He spoke with the utmost calm, and with an air of moderation, but he contrived to emphasize the fact that the relationship to which the Elector had referred was on the female side only.

“I belong to my father’s family,” he added, in a fashion that showed contempt for all women.

Augustus did not know in what way to appeal to this icy character, this stern, harsh demeanor.

“I am at your mercy,” he repeated in desperation, “a fallen and a ruined man. Your vengeance should be satisfied. What would it mean to you to save Patkul? But an added glory. He was to have been married--the lady is of my court, young and delicate and good. To gain some hope for her lover she has fled into the wilderness of Lithuania to appeal to the Czar.”

“I have heard this before,” replied Karl.

“Think how she suffered before she was reduced to this wild journey.”

Karl rose.

“She has appealed to Peter,” he said. “Let Peter answer her.”

“But I,” said Augustus, “appeal to you, sire.”

The two splendid men, each drawn to the full of his great height, stood facing each other in the toy room, amid the frivolous elegances of silk and satin, china and gilt.

“At least,” added the Elector, “accord him a death less cruel.”

He spoke without fear and even with a certain authority, being profoundly moved, and, like many weak, emotional people, being strong enough in the actual face of what inflamed his passions.

Besides, he could not but feel that he was of equal birth with Karl, considerably older, and of wider experience, and that the young conqueror was doing a cruel wrong.

This tone, as of equal to equal, had never been heard by Karl since the day he had forever silenced it in the Queen-Mother, and it inflamed him to complete fury, which he did not betray, but which made his blood tingle and his pulses bound.

“I have nothing to give you but silence,” he said, in a terrible voice. “I will take my leave, Highness.”

Augustus, pallid to the lips with mortification, fell back before this bitter rebuff, and, turning for a second, covered his face with his hands. Karl picked up his hat and would have left without another word, but the folding doors opened and Aurora von Königsmarck entered and stepped straight up to him.

This beautiful woman was in full court dress, white and silver, and adorned with diamonds; she carried a long fan of white feathers which she pointed at Karl with a gesture of supreme disgust.

So full was she of vitality and passion that the King was stayed by her entry and stared at her bright vivid face.

“Patkul may die,” she said, in a loud voice, “but he will be revenged. No man like you can triumph long. In the day of your disaster, sire, remember me--and that there was one person to scorn you and your glory, and know you for the little man you are.”

She flung out this in a breath, then added, panting, “You vain, mad boy!” in a tone of utter contempt.

Karl stared at her, and the color slowly mounted up under his eyes; he gave a harsh, short laugh, turned on his heel, and left the room without a salute.

Augustus caught the Countess by the arm.

“What have you done!” he cried frantically.

She flung him off with a passionate gesture of scorn.

“I have done with you,” she said. “Pray God your son will be a different man.”