When General Patkul joined his master at the little house called Marli, he found, to his great disappointment, that Peter exhibited a moody indifference with regard to the war and the astonishing conquests of Karl XII.
He was now often in his carpenter’s shed dressed like a Dutch skipper, and working with his hands.
“Karl could not do this,” he said one day to Patkul, who was surveying his occupation with some dismay.
Peter touched the planes and lathes on the carpenter’s bench.
“This,” he said. “No, he could not turn a table-leg--nor found a city.”
“He can conquer kingdoms,” said Patkul bitterly enough.
Peter leant back against the rough wall of the shed; his short, soft, dusky curls were hanging over his eyes; his expressive charming face was pale and tired; his large dark eyes full of a veiled fire; his blue blouse was open on a fine cambric shirt (he was always very nice in his linen) and his breeches and woolen stockings were covered with sawdust and chips of wood.
“Do you think that what that man does will endure?” he asked.
“Conquests have endured, sire, nations have been enslaved for generations through the exploits of a man like this.”
The Czar was not thinking of the freedom of future generations; he meant to build a great nation, not a free one.
“Sweden can never hold the Baltic Provinces,” he replied.
Patkul looked earnestly at the Czar, as if to discover if he spoke in jest or earnest.
“Well,” added Peter, with narrowed eyes and signs of a rising temper. “Do you not think I shall yet utterly crush the Swede? I have had my lesson, Patkul.”
He seized a knife and stabbed moodily at the carpenter’s bench before him.
“Your Majesty has the genius to profit by it,” said Patkul gravely.
“All my battles are not going to be like Narva,” continued the Czar. “I have learnt something of war. The King of Poland is a fool. Why did he not train my Muscovites?”
“He told me, sire, that he had no officers, and complained that the Russians were out of hand and ravaging Lithuania.”
“I hope they may lay it waste from end to end,” said Peter. “At the same time, if any ever return to Russia, I will have them knouted for disobedience.”
He frowned as he thought of Augustus, a character that intensely irritated him; the elegant splendid Elector and the savage Czar had been only able to tolerate each other when both had been intoxicated; only in debauchery had they anything in common.