Frederick the Great and the Rise of Prussia — Themes and Context
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o poor was their new estate that for many generations relaxation would have meant ruin. There was therefore no temptation to depart from that policy of adding field to field which is the natural law of the industrious countryman. Whether from native superiority or from greater need, the Hohenzollerns were usually a little wiser than their neighbours. With the aid of a family statute of 1473, which made primogeniture the rule of succession for Brandenburg, they avoided the consequences of that custom of equal inheritance which has been the bane of Germany. By careful watching of opportunities, by windfalls, by purchase, and by covenants for mutual succession on failure of heirs made with neighbours whose lines died out, the domain of the rulers of Brandenburg was in two centuries increased fourfold. When the Thirty Years’ War broke out and the modern history of Prussia began, the head of the Hohenzollern family, who had long since become one of the seven Electors of the Empire, held sway over an area almost as great as that of Ireland.
Of the territories by which the original Mark of Brandenburg had been augmented, two were of special importance. In 1525 East Prussia had been acquired. This province, which throughout this book will be called by its German name of Ost-Preussen, was richer by far than the Mark, the kernel of the Hohenzollern possessions. It had an important city, Königsberg, for its capital and a coast-line on the Baltic. It constituted the domain of the old Order of Teutonic Knights, permanent crusaders whose task had been to spread the faith and civilisation of their fatherland among the heathen Slavs. But the Baltic lands had all submitted to the Cross, and the Knights became in their turn the objects of a religious mission. Early in the sixteenth century, the doctrines of the Reformation penetrated the minds of their High Master, Albert of Hohenzollern. He turned for counsel to Luther himself. In a celibate Order which had no more heathen to convert, the husband of the nun Catherine Bora could see only a standing defiance of the laws of nature and of God. By his advice Ost-Preussen was “secularised,” that is, taken from the service of religion to form a Hohenzollern estate, and in time (1618), though still submissive to the suzerainty of Poland, it was added to the main body of the Electoral dominions. The Hohenzollerns thus became distinguished from the mass of German princes by ruling territories to which the Empire had never possessed any claim. Ost-Preussen was to them on a small scale what England became in 1688 to the House of Orange, or in 1714 to the House of Hanover. Their policy acquired a new breadth and a new weight. Hitherto provincial, it became more and more cosmopolitan, and commerce with the Baltic lands and England began to hint to the lord of Pillau and Memel that his future lay upon the water.
A makeweight to Ost-Preussen, which would prevent the centre of gravity of the Hohenzollern lands from shifting eastwards, was found in 1609, when the family inherited Cleves, Mark, and Ravensberg in Western Germany. This acquisition, made on the very eve of the Thirty Years’ War, was accompanied in 1613 by the conversion of the Elector, John Sigismund, from the Lutheranism which his grandfather, Joachim II., had established in 1539 to the sterner and more militant creed of Calvin. This meant that at the very moment when all Germany was taking up arms for the greatest religious war of modern times, the court and people of Brandenburg were hopelessly at variance with one another. A Calvinist prince ruled a Lutheran people, and the new Elector, George William (1619–1640), “of Christ-mild memory” but the weakest of his line, proved to be a puppet in the hands of Schwarzenburg, his Romanist prime-minister. Under such guidance did Brandenburg, ill-knit and ill-armed, become the battle-ground between Swede and Hapsburg in their struggle for faith and empire.
Reddaway opens his study with a frank acknowledgment of his debt to Carlyle's Frederick the Great and to the systematic work of Professor Koser, grounding his narrative in both primary sources like Frederick's Œuvres and the Politische Correspondenz. The preface immediately signals a dual focus: the career of Frederick and its relation to the rise of Prussia. Reddaway's voice is that of a Cambridge lecturer—measured, occasionally ironic, and unafraid to judge. He describes the diplomatic fog preceding the Seven Years' War as 'as dense a cloud of diplomacy as ever befogged the path of European history,' a phrase that captures his willingness to cut through complexity with a sharp opinion.
A Biographer's Stance
Reddaway does not hide his interpretive hand. In the excerpt discussing the outbreak of the Third Silesian War, he directly challenges the notion that Frederick was unjustified in striking first. He argues that Austria's hope to 'reverse the verdict of 1742 and 1745' was natural, and that a new coalition was merely 'the Austrian answer to his own riddle, “If I have an advantage, am I to use it or not?”' This rhetorical move—quoting Frederick to frame the debate—shows Reddaway's method: he lets the king's own words serve as evidence, then applies modern standards. He notes that 'for reasons of current politics the Austrian Chancellor, Kaunitz, schemed with success to shape events so as to make Prussia seem the aggressor,' but dismisses such 'subtleties' as transparent to later generations. The tone is confident, even combative, and the reader is never left in doubt where the author stands.
The Texture of Eighteenth-Century Diplomacy
Reddaway paints a vivid picture of an era where alliances were fluid and self-interest reigned. He describes a Europe where 'nations formed countless short-lived comradeships for the pursuit of objects often transient,' making it 'almost impossible to forecast who, if war broke out, would be ranged on one side or the other.' This instability is illustrated with Walpole's boast that 'fifty thousand men slain in Europe this year and not one Englishman'—a quote that underscores England's policy of non-involvement. Reddaway identifies three great antipathies as more reliable than any treaty, though the excerpt cuts off before listing them. The prose moves from broad generalization to specific example, creating a sense of a world in constant flux, where 'few Powers would neglect the chance of profit which war afforded.'
Narrative Pace and Rhetorical Devices
Reddaway varies his pace between dense exposition and pointed commentary. In the diplomatic analysis, sentences are long and clause-heavy, mirroring the complexity of the subject: 'In an age when the true course of states was steered by kings and statesmen of whom some were lazy, some self-seeking, some timid, some honestly mistaken in their designs, it was not to be expected that many should, like Prussia, make straight for a definite goal.' The rhythm shifts when he delivers a verdict, as in the crisp judgment that the war 'was inevitable from the very moment at which Austria and Prussia laid down their arms at Dresden.' He also uses rhetorical questions—'Who would apply such a rule to the problems of the present?'—to engage the reader and draw parallels to contemporary politics. The effect is a narrative that feels both scholarly and urgent.
Readers approaching this volume should expect a biography that is as much about policy as personality. Reddaway's Frederick is a strategist and a provocateur, and the narrative is driven by the logic of power rather than by intimate detail. The book rewards those who enjoy watching an author argue with history, weighing motives and consequences with a clear, sometimes acerbic, voice. For a full picture of Frederick's domestic reforms after 1763, Reddaway directs readers to Koser's later volume—a hint that this study, while comprehensive, is part of a larger scholarly conversation.
I find myself returning to Reddaway’s Frederick not for grand battles, but for the quiet moments of statecraft, the weary letters between campaigns. It reminds me of an old shelf I kept, where the tangled fates of lesser-known princes sat beside a heavier, older chronicle of the Netherlands’ long, stubborn fight—their struggles echoed each other across centuries. History of the United Netherlands, 1588d — Context and Discussion holds that same patient, grey light of endurance.
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