Peter was in Moscow when he heard that Charles was moving toward Grodno. Skeptical of the reports, he wrote to Menshikov,
"From whom did you receive this news? And can it be believed? How many reports of this kind have we had in the past?" Nevertheless, he was uneasy and declared that he would set out from Moscow on January 24. He complained of the "indescribable cold" and that his "right cheek was badly swollen," and grumbled further that
I am mightily sorry to leave here because I am occupied with collecting taxes and other necessary things for the operations on the Volga. Therefore I beg you, if there is any change, to send someone to me, so that I may not drag myself along without reason (alas! I can scarcely do it). And if affairs do not change, I should like you to send me news every day, so that I can, if possible, hasten my journey.
The distance from Moscow to Grodno was 450 miles, and Peter had traveled over halfway when he was intercepted near Smolensk by Menshikov with the news that Charles had arrived and that the Tsar could not now reach his army. Worried, Peter wrote a new set of orders for Ogilvie which hinged on the promised arrival of the experienced Saxons. If the Saxons definitely were coming, Peter would permit Ogilvie to remain in Grodno, but if not, or if Ogilvie was unsure, then he was commanded to retreat to the Russian frontier by the shortest and quickest route. "However," Peter added,
I leave all to your judgment, for it is impossible to give an order at the distance at which we are. While we write, your time is passing. What is best for safety and profit, that do with caution. Do not forget the words of my comrade [Menshikov], who on his departure urged you to look more to the safety of the troops than to anything else. Pay no regard to the heavy guns. If it is on account of them that retreat is difficult, burst them or thrown them into the Neman.
Meanwhile, inside the Grodno fortress, the situation was deteriorating. Food and forage were rapidly giving out. Then, the Russians eagerly awaiting the arrival of the Saxons received word of another blow. On February 3, 1706, at Fraustadt on the Silesian border, a Saxon army with Russian and Polish auxiliaries totaling 30,000 men was defeated by Rehnskjold's force of 8,000 Swedes. It was Rehnskjold's most brilliant victory, and Charles, on hearing of it, immediately promoted Rehnskjold to field marshal and created him a count. Peter reported the news to Golovin with anger and dismay:
Herr Admiral: All the Saxon army has been beaten by Rehnskjold and has lost all its artillery. The treachery and cowardice of the 419 Saxons are now plain: 30,000 men beaten by 8,000! The cavalry, without firing a single round, ran away. More than half of the infantry, throwing down their muskets, disappeared, leaving our men alone, not half of whom, I think, are now alive. God knows what grief this news has brought us. By giving money [to Augustus] we have only bought ourselves misfortune. . . . The above-mentioned calamity, as well as the betrayal of the King by his own subjects, you can tell everybody (but put it much more mildly) for it cannot remain a secret. Still, tell in detail very few.
The news of Fraustadt, further underlining the superiority of the Swedish army, sealed Peter's decision to move his own troops away from Grodno as soon as possible. He ordered Ogilvie to retreat at the first opportunity, although, with spring now coming, he recommended that the Field Marshal delay until the ice broke on the river to hinder a Swedish pursuit. On April 4, in obedience to the Tsar's orders, the Russian army pushed over 100 cannon into the Neman and began its retreat in a southeasterly direction toward Kiev around a region of forest and swamp known as the Pripet Marshes.
Charles was elated to discover that the Russians were moving out of the Grodno fortress and ordered his army to pursue immediately. But as soon as the floating bridge which he had prepared was swung across the Neman, it was carried away by blocks of ice riding in the flooded stream. It was a week before the King could cross, and the Russian army was far ahead. Charles tried taking a short-cut through the Pripet Marshes. "It is impossible to describe how men and horses suffered on this march," wrote one eyewitness. "The country was covered with marshes, the spring had thawed the ground, the cavalry could scarcely move, the wagon train got so deep in the mud it was impossible to advance. The King's carriage remained in the mire, while as to provisions, we fared so badly that everyone was happy who in that desolate country could pull a piece of dry bread out of his pocket."
Struggling ahead through the marshes, the Swedes at last reached Pinsk without catching up to the Russian troops. There, Charles climbed to the highest church tower in the town and, gazing to the south and east, saw a watery wasteland stretching to the horizon. Resigning himself to the fact that the Russians had escaped, Charles remained in the vicinity for two months, destroying towns and villages. Finally, in midsummer 1706, uncertain of his rear and unprepared for a further major campaign to the east, the King turned toward Europe.
Peter was overjoyed to learn that his army was safe. He wrote to Menshikov from St. Petersburg on April 29,
It is with indescribable joy that I received the . . . [news] when I was at Kronstadt on the vice-admiral's ship Elephant and immediately, in thanks to God, we had a triple salute from the ships and the fort. God grant to see you and the whole army again. And how glad, and then how noisy we were on account of it. . . . For, although we live in paradise, still we always had a pain in our hearts. Here, praise be to God, all is well, and there is nothing new of any sort. We shall start from here next month. Don't doubt about my coming. If God send no obstacle, I shall certainly start at the end of this month. Earlier than that is impossible, alas! not because I am amusing myself, but the doctors have ordered me to keep still and take medicine for two weeks, after bleeding me, which they began yesterday. Immediately after that I shall come, for you yourself have seen in what state I was when we separated from the army.
The retreat from Grodno was the end for Ogilvie. His quarreling with Menshikov had increased during the retreat. "The general of cavalry [Menshikov] without my knowledge in the name of Your Majesty ordered the whole army to go to Bykhov, and took on himself the air of commander-in-chief," complained the exasperated Ogilvie. "He has about him a guard of infantry and cavalry with waving banners and takes no account of me. . . . Long as I have been at war, nowhere and never have people treated me as badly as here." Pleading ill-health, he asked to be relieved of his command and allowed to leave Russia. Peter agreed, accepting Ogilvie's resignation and paying his salary in full. Ogilvie departed for Saxony, where he entered Augustus' service and served as a field marshal for four years until his death.
When Charles marched west from Pinsk rather than east, Peter knew that the threat of invasion had passed, at least for a while. But the Swedish King's thrust at Grodno had been a warning. From it, Peter understood that his army, his commanders and his country were not yet ready.
Charles followed his swift lunge at Grodno with what was to be the final move of his long Polish war against Augustus. In August 1706, the King informed Rehnskjold that he had finally decided to invade Saxony itself, to strike down Augustus inside his own hereditary dominion. Four years of ricocheting around Poland in pursuit of his enemy had shown him that no decision with Augustus could be reached on Polish soil. Saxony always remained a sanctuary to which the defiant Augustus could retreat to bind up his wounds, raise new armies and await an opportune moment for reappearing in Poland. The main diplomatic obstacle to the invasion, the opposition of the maritime powers, had now been removed by events. Marlborough's great victories at Blenheim in Bavaria and Ramillies in the Netherlands had placed Louis XIV on the defensive, and the maritime powers no longer worried that the entry of Swedish troops into the heart of Germany could tip the scales in their war against France. Charles, for his part, had offered to desist from his planned invasion of Saxony if the maritime powers could persuade Augustus to renounce his claim to the Polish throne. They had tried and failed. Therefore, seeing no other way to compel Augustus, Charles decided to go ahead. On August 22, 1706, the Swedish army crossed the Silesian frontier at Rawicz on its march toward Sa
xony. Charles himself swam the Oder River, which served as a border, at the head of his Guards cavalry.
Five days later, after marching through Silesia with the cheers of the Protestant Silesians ringing in their ears, the Swedish soldiers stood on the frontier of the Electorate of Saxony. There, the arrival of the Swedes produced a feeling akin to terror. Stories of Swedish plundering and ravishment during the Thirty Years' War were vividly retold. Augustus' family fled in various directions: His wife hurried to the protection of her father, the Margrave of Bayreuth; his ten-year-old son went to Denmark; his elderly mother fled to Hamburg. The state treasury and jewels were hidden in a remote castle. Nevertheless, the Saxon Governing Council, empowered to govern in Augustus' absence, had determined not to resist the Swedish invasion and to entrust the safety of the electorate to Charles' mercy. The council had in fact had enough of their Elector's Polish ambitions; Saxony had sacificed 36,000 troops, 800 cannon and eight million livres in the effort to keep its sovereign on the throne of Poland. Now, Saxons were weary of the struggle and determined not to sacrifice the electorate itself on Augustus' behalf.
Accordingly, Charles' regiments marched unopposed into Saxony and occupied the major cities, Leipzig and the capital, Dresden. On September 14, Charles established his headquarters at the castle of Altranstadt near Leipzig, and there he negotiated the terms of a peace treaty with two Saxon ministers. Charles demanded that Augustus give up the Polish crown forever and recognize Stanislaus in his place, as well as break his alliance with Russia and turn over to Charles all Swedish subjects employed by Augustus or fighting with the Saxon army. In return, Augustus would be allowed to keep the courtesy title of king although he could not call himself King of Poland. Finally, the Swedish army was to spend the coming winter in Saxony with all costs of supplies and provisions to be borne by the Saxon government. In
Augustus' absence, the Saxon emissaries accepted these terms, and on October 13, 1706, the Treaty of Altranstadt was signed.
For Augustus, not only the terms but also the timing of the treaty were unfortunate. At exactly the moment when Charles was negotiating Augustus' abdication with the Saxon ministers, Augustus himself was moving through Poland with a large force of Russian cavalry commanded by Menshikov, bent on attacking a smaller Swedish force under Colonel Mardefelt. Augustus complained that he was so poor that he had nothing to eat, and Menshikov gave the needy King 10,000 ducats from his own pocket. The Tsar, who had invested thousands of roubles and thousands of men in propping up this Saxon ally, was disgusted when he heard about it. "You know very well that one always hears from the King, 'Give, give! Money, money!' and you also know how little money we have," he wrote to Menshikov. "However," Peter added resignedly, "if the King is always to be in this evil plight, I think it would be best to give him strong hopes of being satisfied on my arrival, and I shall try to come by the quickest route."
While he was still with the Russian army and had just accepted Menshikov's generosity, Augustus learned privately of the signing of the treaty in Saxony. He managed to keep the news from Menshikov, but still he was in an extremely awkward position. The terms of the treaty called for him to break his alliance with the Tsar and give up the war, and yet here he was, in the company of a Russian army, preparing to attack a Swedish force. Trying to avert a battle, Augustus sent secret messages to Mardefelt, the Swedish commander, informing him of the treaty and begging him to retreat and not fight. Here, Augustus' reputation finally caught up with him. The King was so well known for duplicity and chicanery that Mardefelt assumed the message was only another of Augustus' tricks and ignored it. The result, on October 29, 1706, was the Battle of Kalisz, a three-hour fight in which the Russians, Augustus' former allies, badly defeated the Swedes with whom his ministers had just signed a treaty of peace. For Peter, it was a significant victory. Although the Russians outnumbered the Swedes two to one, Swedish soldiers had always before coped successfully with even larger odds. And it was Menshikov's first significant success as an independent commander. The Tsar was overjoyed.
Augustus, embarrassed by this Russian victory, scrambled desperately to adjust himself to his new position between Peter and Charles. He wrote to Charles apologizing for the battle and offering excuses for his inability to prevent its occurrence. In a more tangible gesture, Augustus persuaded the unwitting Menshikov to give him control of the entire body of 1,800 Swedish prisoners and promptly sent them on parole back to Swedish Pomerania, where they would be free to fight the following spring.
Meanwhile, Augustus tried not to anger Peter. He had a private conversation with Prince Vasily Dolgoruky, the Tsar's representative in Poland, and explained that he had no choice: He could not leave Saxony to be devastated by Charles' troops, and he had seen no way to save his homeland except by stepping down from the Polish throne. He assured Dolgoruky, however, that this was only a temporary subterfuge, and that as soon as the Swedish army left Saxony, he would renounce the treaty, raise a new army and resume his place at Peter's side.
On November 30, Augustus arrived in Saxony and visited Charles at Altranstadt. He apologized personally for what had happened at Kalisz, and Charles accepted his explanation, but insisted that Augustus confirm his abdication by writing Stanislaus to congratulate him on his accession to the throne of Poland. Being completely under Charles' power, Augustus swallowed even this bitter pill. As Charles had written discreetly but serenely in a letter to Stockholm, "For the present, it is I who am Elector of Saxony."
The two Kings, first cousins (their mothers were sister, both having been born Danish princesses), got along well together. Charles wrote to his sister that his cousin was "jolly and amusing. He is not tall, but of compact build; a little corpulent also. He wears his own hair, which is quite dark." Nevertheless, it became obvious through the winter of 1706-07 that Augustus was in no hurry to put the treaty into effect. This was especially true of Clause 11, which had been especially written to apply to the Livonian firebrand Johann Reinhold von Patkul.
The man most affected by the Treaty of Altranstadt was not Augustus but Patkul. The Livonian nobleman whose dedicated anti-Swedish efforts had helped to bring about the Great Northern War was a special object of Charles XII's hatred. Thus, Clause 11 had been written into the Altranstadt treaty demanding that Augustus hand over to Charles all Swedish "traitors" harbored in Saxony. Patkul's name headed the list. In the affair that followed, Augustus' perfidy and Charles' vengefulness were to horrify Europe.
Patkul was a flamboyant, talented and difficult man. When the war began, he served first as a general in Augustus' army. He was wounded and, while recovering, decided to quit the King's service in disapproval "of the way the King has treated his allies." Peter, admiring Patkul's qualities, immediately invited the homeless
Livonian to Moscow and persuaded him to enter Russian service as a privy councilor and lieutenant general. For the next five years, Patkul was indefatigable in Peter's service, but his imperious manner made him many enemies. He quarreled with Matveev in The Hague and Golitsyn in Vienna. Dolgoruky in Warsaw eventually refused even to exchange letters with him, and wrote to Fedor Golovin: "I think you know about Patkul. One must examine carefully not only his words but the letters in them. If he writes when he is in ill humor, he will not even give praise to God himself."
Ironically, the sequence of events which led to Patkul's downfall had its origin in a kindly element of his nature, his sympathy for the pathetic condition of the Russian troops whom Peter had sent to bolster the army of King Augustus. Eleven Russian regiments, numbering 9,000 men, and a force of Cossack cavalry, numbering 3,000 men, under command of Prince Dmitry Golitsyn, had set out from Kiev in the summer of 1704 to join Augustus in Poland. When they arrived, Patkul, as a Russian privy councilor and lieutenant general, superseded Golitsyn and took command. After a brief campaign in the autumn of 1704, Patkul was instructed by Augustus to retreat with his troops into Saxony. There, he found that no one took responsibility for his men. The ministers o
f the Saxon government had no use for Russian troops supplied to Augustus for his wars in Poland and refused to shelter and feed them. The men had not been paid for months; even if they had been paid, Saxon merchants would have refused their Russian money as worthless. With their thin, tattered uniforms and bare feet, the Russian soldiers were such an appalling sight that people came to stare at them. It seemed likely that during the winter ahead many of them would starve. But Patkul worked indefatigably on their behalf. He accused the Saxon ministers of acting contrary to the orders of the King-Elector in not supplying provisions and winter quarters. He wrote to Peter, to Golovih and to Menshikov, saying that the condition of the troops was bringing shame on the Tsar. They replied that the men should return to Russia—plainly impossible because the route through Poland was blocked by Swedish troops. Finally, to keep the men alive, Patkul raised large sums of money on his own personal credit. In the spring, he issued them new uniforms, and by summer their appearance was so altered that the Saxons admitted that they looked superior to German soldiers. Still no money came from Russia, and Patkul's credit was running out.
To ensure their survival, Patkul eventually proposed to rent them for a while to the Austrian government, which would become responsible for their pay and provisions. Golovin replied that the Tsar would give his approval if it was a matter of extreme necessity. In December 1705, with the agreement of the Russian officers under him, Patkul signed the troops over to the service of the imperial government for a period of one year.
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