Prince Mentchikoff did not know much; this young hero, whose name was now in everyone’s mouth, was a new figure in Europe.
“He is very austere and prides himself on his justice, they say, and his army is so disciplined that they are at prayers twice a day, and they pay for all they take and do not despoil the dead. But this young man must be ambitious--he will lose his head.”
“You know nothing about it, Danilovitch,” replied Peter, “they are brave and cold, the Swedes. And this boy was well-trained and taught,” he added enviously.
“Well,” said the Prince, “he is something to be reckoned with--and I hear from Stockholm that he is angry with the four envoys you have sent. He thinks that when you are at war you should drop the pretense of peace--he is of a rigid honor.”
He glanced up at the toy he had made; it represented an old woman in cap and shawl, the cone being her skirt and the upper part being cunningly fashioned of clay.
“That is what I can do,” he added fiercely.
The Prince swung on his heel with some impatience. “You should be in Moscow,” he declared. “Will you wait till the Swede is over the frontier?”
“The Saxons have left Livonia,” continued Mentchikoff goadingly. “Patkul has proved a poor statesman and the treaty of Préobrapenskoè a failure--you can go on building Cronstadt and St. Petersburg, for this war is over.”
The Czar gave his friend an ugly look; his hands trembled on his knees.
“Do you think that this boy has vanquished me?” he cried.
“I think that he may, Peter Alexievitch.”
“Faithless, insolent, and foolish!” he shrieked, in an instant at the height of passion. “Where did you find the courage to presume on my kindness! Have you forgotten that I am Peter!”
The Prince stood passive, only holding up his hands to protect his face; the Czar grappled with him and flung him down; Mentchikoff prostrated himself at his master’s feet, face downwards on the dirty floor.
Peter was not mollified by this submission; he took off his belt and beat the shoulders of the favorite until the gay brocade was torn to ribbons.
He ceased as suddenly as he had begun, and staggered out into the head of the stairs, dragging his shirt open at the throat.
The Tartar servant was coming up with dishes on a tray; Peter gave one glance at the food then tipped it all out of the man’s hands so that cabbage, soup, and fish rolled down the stairs; then he gave a great cry that seemed like a shout for air and fell backwards; a little foam flecked his lips and his eyes turned in his head.