“May every ill overtake him for it!” exclaimed Peter in a loud voice, and with a suffused face.
“He has even, sire, had the mortification of having to deliver his favorite, General Fleming, to the King of Sweden who claims him as his subject, and only the entreaties of Stanislaus Leczinski stayed Karl from putting him to death.”
Peter was not interested in General Fleming, and was impatient of hearing of what he considered further vileness on the part of the Elector, whom he regarded as one dead and damned--no longer to be taken into account, and only to be remembered to have his memory cursed.
“Tell me how the King of Sweden lives,” he demanded, fixing his soft, dark, bloodshot eyes on the ferret-like face of the spy.
“Sire--as he has always done--he is the worst housed, the worst served and fed in his army. He never touches wine, and his food is plain and scanty, his bed a straw pallet. It is his pleasure to inure himself to every kind of fatigue and hardship. He rides out three times a day, and has no amusements or diversions of any kind.”
Peter looked at Mentchikoff, regardless of the presence of the Pole.
“Think what a man I could be, Danilovitch!” he cried enviously, “could I so control myself!”
“Peter Alexievitch,” replied the Prince hotly, “do you seek to compare yourself with this hard, heartless automaton?”
“It is a wonderful thing,” insisted the Czar, “for a man to be so master of himself.”
“It is their manner in Scandinavia,” said Mentchikoff. “They have few passions and dull appetites. But Karl boasts himself too soon if he would be above humanity--he takes his revenge on Patkul!”
The spy glanced furtively at the two Russians, not himself daring to enter on ground so delicate.
“Where is he better than us wretched mortals in that?” added the hot-hearted Prince.
“Indeed,” said the Pole, “he is quite hard in these things. He has never been known to grant mercy to those who offend him. There was a Livonian officer captured and sent to Sweden, sire, and there in Stockholm judged and condemned to death. The King would not listen to any entreaties, but this soldier persuaded the Swedes that he knew the secret of the philosopher’s stone, and the Queen-Mother sent to the camp to know if she might offer pardon to the man in exchange for his secret. But the King replied that he could not do for interest what he had refused to do for compassion. And the officer was beheaded.”