But his heart was not as brave as his words; despite himself his continued ill-success had induced in him a conviction of the invincibility of Karl whom he admired for possessing all the qualities he would have wished for in his own character, and whose glory, now at its most dazzling height, a little blinded the eyes of Peter. He alone knew the magnitude of the task that he had undertaken, the chaos of his armies, and the factions in his court and among his people.
Not even Mentchikoff could gauge the difficulties on which Peter labored on that long hard road, unenlivened by any success or encouragement, which he had set himself to travel.
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.