Louis.—­I am forced to acknowledge that it was a great act.  When I thought it a mean one, my judgment was perverted by the prejudices arising from my own education and the ridicule thrown upon it by some of my courtiers, whose minds were too narrow to be able to comprehend the greatness of yours in that situation.

Peter.—­It was an act of more heroism than any ever done by Alexander or Caesar.  Nor would I consent to exchange my glory with theirs.  They both did great things; but they were at the head of great nations, far superior in valour and military skill to those with whom they contended.  I was the king of an ignorant, undisciplined, barbarous people.  My enemies were at first so superior to my subjects that ten thousand of them could beat a hundred thousand Russians.  They had formidable navies; I had not a ship.  The King of Sweden was a prince of the most intrepid courage, assisted by generals of consummate knowledge in war, and served by soldiers so disciplined that they were become the admiration and terror of Europe.  Yet I vanquished these soldiers; I drove that prince to take refuge in Turkey; I won battles at sea as well as land; I new-created my people; I gave them arts, science, policy; I enabled them to keep all the powers of the North in awe and dependence, to give kings to Poland, to check and intimidate the Ottoman emperors, to mix with great weight in the affairs of all Europe.  What other man has ever done such wonders as these?  Read all the records of ancient and modern times, and find, if you can, one fit to be put in comparison with me!

Louis.—­Your glory would indeed have been supreme and unequalled if, in civilising your subjects, you had reformed the brutality of your own manners and the barbarous vices of your nature.  But, alas! the legislator and reformer of the Muscovites was drunken and cruel.

Peter.—­My drunkenness I confess; nor will I plead, to excuse it, the example of Alexander.  It inflamed the tempers of both, which were by nature too fiery, into furious passions of anger, and produced actions of which our reason, when sober, was ashamed.  But the cruelty you upbraid me with may in some degree be excused, as necessary to the work I had to perform.  Fear of punishment was in the hearts of my barbarous subjects the only principle of obedience.  To make them respect the royal authority I was obliged to arm it with all the terrors of rage.  You had a more pliant people to govern—­a people whose minds could be ruled, like a fine-managed horse, with an easy and gentle rein.  The fear of shame did more with them than the fear of the knout could do with the Russians.  The humanity of your character and the ferocity of mine were equally suitable to the nations over which we reigned.  But what excuse can you find for the cruel violence you employed against your Protestant subjects?  They desired nothing but to live under the protection of laws you yourself