It wasn’t at all clear that Frederick would turn out so great. As a boy and a young man he was not what most would consider alpha male material. He was artsy and effeminate and a bit of a disappointment. He famously attempted to run away from home where, along with the rest of his family, he was practically imprisoned by his troll of a father, Frederick William, Elector of Brandenburg and King of Prussia.
What a father! Frederick William had a policy of kidnapping seven-foot-tall men from all over Europe and forcibly enrolling them in his Regiment of Giants. Not that they were great fighters – they weren’t; he just liked to collect giants. Frederick William also liked beating people with his cane, once nearly killing his son and heir. His chief joy in life seems to have been tormenting his bosom friend Grundling during their nightly drinking bouts, once toppling him out a tower window onto a frozen moat and once setting him on fire for laughs.
Somehow young Frederick survived to adulthood. When his father died and he was made king at age twenty-eight, Frederick went straight to work. The work of an eighteenth-century monarch in central Europe was first and foremost war – which it turns out Frederick had an unexpected gift for. He took advantage of political uncertainties in the Empire to wrest Silesia from Maria Theresa in a shockingly efficient manner. Then, after a brief lull during which he met old J.S. Bach and introduced various land and legal reforms, Frederick was swept up with much of the Western world into what became known as The Seven Years War.
That’s when Frederick really earned his “Great” but it’s also where Nancy Mitford’s biography gets a little dull. While she excels at drawing portraits of eccentric characters and does well with Frederick’s long, tempestuous friendship with Voltaire, she’s no good at describing battles. Still, reading through the long list of engagements and the terrible death counts from all sides, I bristle. Habsburgs, Bourbons, Hanoverians, and Hohenzollerns amounted to something like one big extended family of scheming nobles playing a game of chess over the continent. How preposterous that a million should die so Frederick can keep Silesia and Maria Theresa be humbled.
But they loved him, Old Fritz. His soldiers loved him (those who survived) and so, by Mitford’s account, did his people, though great numbers of them must have lost sons and husbands in his wars. We can hardly blame the monarchs then but must conclude there is some black corner in the heart of man where Death is worshipped under the name of Glory. All it would take for such wars to come stillborn into history is a simple refusal to take part by those who would do the fighting, but it never happens that way. Twenty years after Frederick’s death, Napoleon would doff his hat in homage at the tomb of the great soldier.
3.5 stars