Episode 6- Old Enemies, New Friends

In this episode, we watch Europe's diplomatic world turn upside down. For more than two centuries, the bourbon kings of France and the Hapsburg emperors of Austria had defined themselves inn opposition to one another, fighting over Italy, Germany, the Low Countries, and anything else that came within arm's reach. But by the 1750's the od rivalry was non longer useful. the loss of Silesia had shake Austria to it's core, France found itself stumbling into colonial confrontations with Britain, and Prussia's sudden rise had destabilized the entire continental balance. As the old order cracked, a new one began to take shape.

At the center of the transformation stood Wenzel Anton von Kaunitz, the quiet Austrian statesman whose long-game thinking changed the course of European history. While Maria Theresa rebuilt her monarchy and plotted her revenge against Fredrick the Great, Kaunitz patiently cultivated an alliance that would have been unthinkable a generation ago. Inn Paris, the French court drifted between factions and indecision until Madame de Pompadour- diplomat, taskmaster, and royal confidant- emerged as the unexpected hinge betweennn the two empires. What followed was a slow, deliberate courtship conducted through carefully crafted letters, subtle flattery, and the recognition that Britain, not Austria, had become France's true rival.

As Britain edged closer to Prussia, to protect Hanover, as Russia grew increasingly hostile toward Fredrick, the diplomatic plates shifted in dramatic fashion. Inn may of 1756, Austria and France signed the First Treaty of Versailles, stunning every court inn Europe. The traditional enemies were now allies, the old alliances were dead, and a new more dangerous alignment emerged. Austria, France, and Russia now formed a continent bloc aimed squarely at Prussia, while Britain, panicked and opportunistic found itself tied to Fredrick's fate in a way no one in London fully appreciated.

For fredrick the Great, this wa the nightmare scenario that he had been predicting for years. Encircled, threatened, and running out of options, he made the fateful decision to strike first. In August of 1756, Prussian troops marched into Saxony, lighting the fuse that would ignite the Seven Year's War. The Diplomats Revolution was complete. The old word was gone. And before the continent went up in flames, the first sparks would fly far to the south on a rocky Mediterranean island callled Minorca.

If this kind of history hits your sweet spot, follow the show, share it with a friend, and leave a quick review on Apple Podcasts or Spotify. What moment shocked you most: the Versailles signatures or Frederick’s dash into Saxony?

Chapters

• 0:00 From Colonial Chaos To Europe’s Chessboard
• 2:45 Europe’s Fragile Peace After 1748
• 5:30 Austria’s Loss Of Silesia And Resolve
• 9:40 Frederick’s Anxiety And French Drift
• 13:30 Why Habsburgs And Bourbons Were Rivals
• 18:10 Italian Battlegrounds And Thirty Years’ War
• 22:40 Spanish Succession And Encirclement Fears
• 26:40 Maria Theresa’s Reforms And Limits
• 31:10 Kaunitz’s Vision To Flip The Map
• 36:20 Pompadour, Flattery, And French Factions
• 40:40 Britain’s Hanover Obsession Backfires
• 44:10 Trial Balloons And Quiet Neutralities
• 47:55 Westminster With Prussia, Vienna With Versailles
• 51:20 First Treaty Of Versailles Explained
• 55:30 Shockwaves Across European Courts
• 59:10 Two Blocs Form And War Looms
• 1:03:20 Frederick’s Preemptive Logic
• 1:06:10 Invading Saxony And The Fuse Lit
• 1:09:20 From Continental Flip To Global War
• 1:12:40 Teaser: Minorca And A Call For Reviews

Transcript

SPEAKER_00: 0:12

Hello, and welcome to the History of the Seven Years War, Episode six, Old Enemies, New Friends. And as always, I'm your host, Rob Hill. When we last left our story, the year 1755 had ended badly for almost everyone involved. General Braddock's army was buried somewhere in the Ohio wilderness, along with his grand dreams, half his men, and all his wagons. Governor Shirley's expedition toward Niagara had dissolved in a swamp of paperwork and dysentery. Sir William Johnson had stumbled into a victory at Lake George that even he didn't quite understand, and in Nova Scotia, Robert Mocton had managed to win Britain's only clean victory of the year by deporting thousands of French speaking farmers from their homes. In short, the British Empire's first year of undeclared war had gone about as well as you'd expect for an empire run by committee and led by men who thought mud could be reasoned with. But seventeen fifty six would be different. Not because anyone had learned anything, but because Europe itself was about to catch fire. So let's pull back for the frontier, away from the log palisades, the gunsmoke and the soggy dispatches, and return to the marble corridors of Europe. Because while colonial officials were cutting roads to the Alleghenies, the statesmen of the old world were cutting deals that would decide the fate of the world. If the War of Austrian succession had been a play, critics would have absolutely panned the ending. The actors were exhausted, half the props were broken, nobody could remember why half the fights had started, and the final curtain fell not because the story was resolved, but because everyone refused to go on. Still, the Treaty of Axe La Chapelle insisted, quite optimistically, that peace had returned to Europe in seventeen forty eight. But it was a fragile peace, a performative peace. The kind of peace you get when everyone is too tired to keep fighting, but too angry to admit it. Europe at midcentury was a continent holding its breath. The facade of stability and decorum hid a deeper inner truth. The great powers were nursing fresh wounds, older grudges, deep insecurities, and new ambitions. Behind it all, the balance of power that had guided Europe since the late sixteen hundreds was beginning to warp under the strain. So before we can understand the shock and audacity of the diplomatic revolution, the diplomatic equivalent of turning the chessboard upside down and reshuffling every piece, we need to walk through the state of the continent in seventeen forty eight. We begin with Britain, who had emerged from the war claiming victory, but secretly wondering how it had all gone so wrong. The British had spent the entire conflict juggling two priorities the first defending their emerging global empire, the second protecting Hanover, the king's German homeland. These two objectives frequently were in conflict. Britain needed Austria to keep France occupied on the continent, but Austria needed Britain to help recover Cilicia. Britain, however, had little interest in fighting Prussia, especially once it became clear that Prussia could be useful in keeping France off balance in Germany, and so Britain drifted away from Vienna, driven by the magnetic pull of Hanover. The Hanover Recession will become one of the great running jokes and tragedies of eighteenth century diplomacy. A British foreign policy memo from the era might as well have read one protect Hanover. Of course, the British cabinet couldn't admit this plainly, so they wrapped it in language about continental equilibrium and security of the German possessions, and the necessity of prudent alliances. But everyone who had watched Britain for more than five minutes knew what was going on. Now let's cross the continent to Vienna, where Empress Maria Theresa was holding her monarchy together through sheer force of personality, political talent, and the occasional righteous outburst. The war had been a trauma for Austria. Not only had Maria Theresa nearly lost the Habsburg inheritance, she had also lost Cilicia, arguably the most economically precious territory in the monarchy. This loss was not merely a strategic problem, it was an emotional one. Maria Theresa took Cilicia's loss personally, almost spiritually. She believed the province had been stolen in a moment of weakness, dishonorably, and at a time when her enemy believed a young woman would be easy prey. She was determined, absolutely determined, to get it back. But Austria had faced a serious problem. Its once mighty diplomatic system was breaking down. For two centuries, Austria had relied on alliances with certain German states, with Britain, and occasionally with the Dutch. But now, those German states were being cowed by Prussia. Britain was obsessed with Hanover. And the Dutch, well, the Dutch had politely stepped back from continental politics to focus on not collapsing entirely. Maria Theresa's reforms in administration, taxation, and the military were impressive, even radical. But no amount of domestic improvement could change the fact that Austria was isolated. If Austria wanted Cilicia back, it needed allies. It needed new allies. And this is where the seeds of the diplomatic revolution begin to sprout. Meanwhile, in Berlin, Frederick the Great was basking in his unexpected victory. But basking is a wrong word, because Frederick did not bask. Frederick fretted. Frederick worried. Frederick drank coffee, read reports, suspected plots, and paced around whatever palace he was occupying at the moment. He had won Cilicia, yes, he had humiliated Austria. Yes. But he knew more clearly than almost anyone that his victory had changed everything. Prussia was now a great power, and the moment you become a great power, you require something deeply unpleasant. Great power enemies. Frederick believed Austria wanted revenge, and he was right. He believed Russia wanted to crush a rising Prussia, and he was right. He believed that France was unreliable and vain, and he was well, entirely correct. What Frederick could not quite predict, though, he sensed it instinctively, was that Austria and France, those ancient enemies, might stop fighting each other long enough to focus on him, and if that ever happened, Prussia would be encircled. So Frederick did what Frederick did best. He panicked strategically. France in seventeen forty eight was the great continental power that had everything going for it except direction. It had enormous resources, a vast population, an extraordinarily capable administrative system, and a military tradition second to none. But France also suffered from a unique eighteenth century political problem known as too many brilliant courtiers, not enough strategic thinking. Louis XV was intelligent, but introverted and politically cautious. He disliked confrontation, he disliked factional politics, and he disliked signing off on anything that would require effort. His ministers were divided into cliques, foreign policy hawks, colonial enthusiasts, Habsburg haters, pragmatists, schemers, and men who believed all problems could be solved by throwing more cavalry at them. And into this swirling court slipped one of the most important political figures of her generation Madame de Pompadour. Her influence was vast, her judgment was respected, and, crucially, her personal feud with Frederick the Great would shape French policy in ways no one could have predicted. But we will come back to her story shortly. For now, it is enough to say that France was powerful, wealthy, confused, and dangerously unfocused. It would be a mistake to leave Russia out of this portrait. Under Empress Elizabeth, Russia was slowly emerging as a great military force. Its generals were competent, its nobility increasingly westernized, and its army large and steadily improving. And Russia had one simple political priority Keep Prussia down. Elizabeth loathed Frederick. Frederick loathed Elizabeth. This, at least, was simple. By seventeen forty eight, the puzzle pieces of European diplomacy were unstable, misaligned, and mismatched. Austria needed help. Britain was drifting. France was distracted. Prussia was anxious, and Russia was glaring. The old system, France versus Austria, Britain aligning against France, Prussia as a secondary German power, was still intact, but wobbling like a table with one leg shorter than all the others. The next gust of wind would send it crashing. To get us through the coming storm, allow me to welcome back several familiar faces, each of whom will play a pivotal role in the earthquake we call the diplomatic revolution. Making her regal entrance once again, Madame de Pompadour, patroness of the arts, queen of the salons, unofficial minister of everything that Louis XV didn't want to deal with, and soon to be the diplomatic matchmaker nobody asked for, but everyone would be forced to respect. Stepping out of the stage with the unhurried confidence of a man who already solved the problem and is simply waiting for everyone else to catch up. Wenzel Anton von Clonitz Austria's mastermind, Maria Theresa's right hand, and the only man in Europe capable of looking at two hundred and fifty years of Habsburg Bourbon warfare and thinking Actually, I can work with this. And of course, the Duke of Cumberland, Britain's most enthusiastic general, Hanover's greatest defender, and the eternal reminder that poor decision making is also a form of consistency. Europe in seventeen forty eight was not at peace, it was between wars. The old diplomatic order had not collapsed, but it was cracking, quietly, steadily, like an aging sculpture in the cold. Up next, we will examine the deepest fissure of all, the ancient, unbreakable Bourbon Habsburg rivalry. Because if you want to understand how shocking the diplomatic revolution truly was, you have to understand what it overturned. So we must now leave the neat post seventeen forty eight timeline and plunge backwards, far backwards, into the deep geological layers of European history, because the alliance between Austria and France in the seventeen fifties wasn't merely unusual, it was an act of political sorcery. It went against centuries of instinct, doctrine, self identity, and lived experience. It was like learning that cats and dogs had decided to enter a co parenting or agreement. Confusing, against nature, and probably a sign of the end times. But for us to appreciate just how earth shattering this reversal was, we need to excavate the history, and this history is long. For more than two centuries, the Habsburgs and the Bourbons were locked in a rivalry so all consuming that it became the gravitational field of European politics. Everything orbited around it. Alliances, wars, economic policy, dynastic marriages, the papacy's headaches, the fluctuating fortunes of Italian duchies, you name it. This rivalry wasn't incidental, it wasn't a matter of temporary convenience or discrete border disputes. It was a geopolitical feud built into the continent itself. So let's take a look at it piece by piece. If the Habsburgs had a superpower, it wasn't military might. It was marriage. Their family motto might as well have been let others wage war. You, fortunate Austria, marry well. And oh did they ever by marrying into the thrones of Hungary, Bohemia, Burgundy, Spain, Naples, and Milan, the Habsburgs assembled something approaching a pan European empire. Their method wasn't conquest, it was inheritance. They built an empire the way some people collect coins, slowly, obsessively, and occasionally by accident. For France, this was a nightmare. Every time a Habsburg marriage contract was signed, France's strategic position grew more and more dangerous. By the early fifteen hundreds, the Habsburg possessions surrounded France like a medieval noose, Spain to the south, the Spanish Netherlands to the north, Milan and Naples to the east, Austria proper and the Holy Roman Empire looming further east. France looked at Habsburg Europe and concluded, correctly, that if the Habsburgs ever coordinated their full resources, France would be squeezed into political oblivion. Thus was born the central French strategic priority for the next two hundred and fifty years. Break the Habsburg encirclement every time, in every war, under every king. From the perspective of the Bourbons, the Habsburgs weren't just expanding, they were expanding specifically to contain France. Every new Habsburg marriage felt like another brick in that wall. This encirclement fear shaped French policy as deeply as the fear of a land invasion shaped English policy. It was the fixed star in the French strategic sky, which meant that every French king, from Francis I to Louis XIV, adopted the same basic foreign policy. Whatever the Habsburgs want, we want the opposite. Even if the opposite didn't make sense, even if it meant France would be the lone Catholic state supporting Protestants in the Thirty Years War, even if it meant fighting the same wars again and again in Italy. And that brings us to the Italian battlegrounds. Italy in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries was the premier venue for Habsburg Bonn cage matches. Milan, Naples, Savoy, Tuscany, Parma, all of these states became chess pieces in a competition for dominance. The Italian wars, from fourteen ninety four to fifteen fifty nine, were essentially one long attempt by France to break Habsburg power in northern Italy. The Habsburgs won, mostly, and by the mid fifteen hundreds controlled Milan and Naples outright. But France never forgot. Italian battlegrounds became a kind of dynastic trauma, a place where Bourbons bled, lost, and vowed to return, which in the Bourbon fashion, they did, repeatedly, with mixed results. If you want the perfect symbol of the Habsburg Bourbon rivalry, look no further than the Thirty Years War. Here is France, a deeply Catholic kingdom, officially committed to the Catholic cause, happily sponsoring Protestant armies to attack the Catholic Habsburgs. For some fun context here, only twenty years before, the French wars of religion had come to an end, during which the French government had been only too willing to murder any unlucky Protestant who happened to be living in France. They lasted for about thirty six years. That wasn't ideological nuance. That was strategic pettiness. Richelieu, Louis XIII's chief minister, famously argued where the interests of the state are concerned, God absolves all. In other words, yes, they're Protestant. No, we don't care. Austria must lose. This was rivalry distilled, not a clash of religions, not even a clash of personalities, a clash of destiny. After two hundred years of encirclement fears, French foreign policy solidified into a doctrine prevent Habsburg dominance at all costs. This was not a suggestion. This was the law. Diplomatic common sense, political instinct, tradition, identity. If France ever stopped opposing the Habsburgs, well, it simply didn't. For generations of French ministers, the notion was as absurd as suggesting that the Seine flowed uphill. From Austri's perspective, France was the meddlesome neighbor constantly undermining imperial authority in Germany, supporting rebellious princes, and blocking Habsburg influence in Italy. To Vienna, France was chaos, France was interference, France was the reason the Holy Roman Empire couldn't be properly harmonized under Habsburg leadership. So Austria too developed its own doctrine contain France, stabilize Germany, retake Italy, keep the Bourbons out of imperial affairs. The result was two political doctrines moving head on towards each other for centuries. By the eighteenth century, the rivalry had become part of the political DNA of both dynasties. Young Bourbon princes were raised on stories of Habsburg arrogance, scheming, and Habsburg attempts to hem in France. While young Habsburg Archdukes were raised on Bourbon aggression and meddling, and the Bourbon ambitions to dominate Italy and Germany. It wasn't we are fighting the Bourbons because we disagree, it was we are fighting the Bourbons because our ancestors did, and because they're Bourbons. The rivalry was not a policy, it was a worldview. Now no chapter of the feud was Left deeper scars than the War of Spanish Succession from 1701 to 1714. This conflict nearly tore Europe apart. When Charles II of Spain, quite possibly the most inbred man that ever lived, died without an heir, Europe panicked, because whoever inherited Spain would inherit its vast European territories, its massive colonial empire, its economic resources, and its geopolitical weight. And there were only two realistic candidates, a French Bourbon and an Austrian Habsburg. And so both houses moved to claim the prize. The resulting conflict touched nearly every inch of Europe. Armies marched across Spain, Italy, Germany, the Low Countries, and the Atlantic. Armies froze in trenches, they starved in sieges, bled in some of the largest battles of the century. And in the end, a Bourbon prince became King Philip V of Spain, but the Austrian Habsburg seized Italian territories and the Spanish Netherlands, while Europe allowed a Bourbon Spain only on the condition that it would never unite with France. Now, here was a twist. Bourbon Spain should have been France's natural ally. But Spain wanted revenge against Austria, yes, but Spain also wanted to rebuild its empire, and Spain feared being dominated by France just as much as by Austria. This made Bourbon Spain a wild card, a semi ally that France couldn't control and Austria couldn't ignore. And its existence ensured that Habsburg Bourbon rivalry would remain alive and complicated well into the eighteenth century. So here's the key point. Without this history, the diplomatic revolution makes no sense. You really can't appreciate why Europe gasped when Austria and France signed an alliance in seventeen fifty six unless you understand the ideological weight of the rivalry, the political traditions behind it, the centuries of blood spilled over it, and the identity built atop opposing each other. It's like imagining the US and the Soviet Union suddenly cooperating in nineteen sixty two. Not just cooperating, but becoming strategic partners. This wasn't just a new alliance. It was the burial of the old world. For two hundred and fifty years, France's default enemy was Austria, Austria's default enemy was France. Wars were fought with this assumption. Treaties were written with this assumption. Diplomats were trained with this assumption. Entire generations of officers served with this assumption. Every major conflict was built around this assumption. And now with the diplomatic revolution, that assumption dies instantly, irrevocably, shockingly. This is why we must understand the feud. This is why we must walk through the centuries of rivalry, because the diplomatic revolution wasn't just a clever realignment. It was a demolition of Europe's political spine. For more than two centuries the Habsburg Bourbon rivalry shaped Europe. It determined wars, alliances, ambitions, doctrines, and identities. It was a fixed access of continental politics. And in the seventeen fifties, that access was about to be shattered by one man's vision, one empress's determination, and one mistress's influence. When we last left Austria, it was licking its wounds after the War of Austrian succession. And these weren't small, symbolic wounds easily hidden with diplomatic makeup. These were deep, bone level injuries that no amount of powdered wigs, imperial dignity, or formal court etiquette could disguise. For all the courage Marie Theresa had shown during the war, and she had shown astonishing courage, her monarchy staggered out of the seventeen forties in a position so vulnerable that one hard shove might have shattered it entirely. And at the center of that vulnerability said one word Cilesia. To modern ears, Cilesia might not sound like something worth tearing Europe apart over, but in the mid eighteenth century, Celestia was gold. It was one of the richest provinces in Central Europe, brimming with textile production, thriving river trade, ironworks and early industrial capacity, strategic border fortresses, and a dense and productive population. Celestia was the engine that powered much of the Habsburg economy and military machine. Losing it wasn't just uncomfortable, it was catastrophic. When Frederick the Great had seized Cilesia in seventeen forty, it was as if he had reached into the Habsburg treasury and walked out with the crown jewels, whistling a tune. Austria lost roughly one third of its annual revenue. It lost immensely valuable manpower, it lost a defensive shield protecting Bohemia, and it watched an upstart enemy become a great power overnight. For Maria Theresa, the loss of Celestia was not merely a matter of borders. It was personal. She had come to the throne at the age of twenty three, facing hostile neighbors who believed a young woman could not possibly defend the Habsburg inheritance. In the early chaos of the succession crisis, Frederick struck quickly and ruthlessly. To Maria Theresa, this was not simply some opportunism. It was betrayal. It was insult, it was an assault on her legitimacy. Throughout her life she kept a portrait of Celestia's map hanging prominently in her chambers, a daily reminder of what she intended to reclaim. Her letters were filled with raw emotion on the topic, pride stung, honor wounded, duty awakened. It became the central mission of her reign, first spiritually, then strategically. Austria had many problems in the mid eighteenth century, but without Celestia, one problem overshadowed all the rest. Austria could no longer compete with Prussia. Without Celestia's revenue and manpower, Austria could not maintain military parity. Its influence to the Holy Roman Empire was challenged, its fiscal system became strained, its internal reforms lost funding, and its enemies, particularly Prussia and France, stopped taking it seriously. A Habsburg Empire without Celestia was like a ship missing its keel, still afloat, still impressive, but fundamentally unstable. And Maria Theresa understood this perfectly. The seventeen forties taught Maria Theresa many painful lessons, but the most important was this Austria must rebuild from the inside before it could reclaim anything outside. So she embarked on one of the most ambitious reform programs of the century. The Austrian army in seventeen forty had been well bad. Not uniformly bad, just strategically bad, organizationally bad, sometimes leadership bad, and often logistics bad. Had brave soldiers, but inconsistent training, had fine officers, but lacked unified doctrine, had had local militias instead of a coherent national force. Maria Theresa changed all that. She streamlined command structures, she professionalized the officer training, she introduced standardized uniforms and weapons, she approved recruitment and discipline, she established new military academies. Under her watch, and with the help of gifted generals like Leopold von Down, the Austrian army began to resemble a modern fighting force rather than a collection of regional contingents loosely cooperating out of habit. By the early seventeen fifties, Austria's army was tougher, better drilled, and significantly more reliable. But even a reformed army needs something Austria no longer had Cilician resources. So Maria Theresa also turned inward to modernize the Habsburg administration. Before her reign, the Habsburg monarchy operated less like United States and more like a patchwork of semi autonomous realms held together by duct tape, dynastic tradition, and Catholicism. Taxes were inconsistent, local elites resisted reforms. Finances were chaotic. So Maria Theresa, and later her son, Joseph II, centralized the government, reorganizing the financial administration, consolidating taxation systems, reducing the noble exemptions, strengthening the imperial bureaucracy, standardizing laws, and improving census and record keeping. It was a slow, grinding, and deeply unpopular process, but it was necessary. For the first time in generations, Austria began to resemble a modern state capable of sustaining prolonged war. The loss of Celestia had destabilized the Imperial Treasury, so Maria Theresa instituted major fiscal reforms, like new taxes on land, improved collection mechanisms for existing taxes, rationalized expenditures, expanded agricultural output, and she promoted internal manufacturing. But even with these reforms, Austria couldn't sustain a war against Prussia alone, not financially, not logistically, and not demographically. And Britain could have been that ally. Britain had money, naval power, and political influence across Europe. Britain had helped Austria in the past. But Britain had one enormous flaw. Hanover. By the seventeen fifties it was clear to Vienna that Britain would never commit wholeheartedly to Austrian interests if doing so jeopardized Hanover's safety. London worried about Prussian threats to Hanover. It worried even more that France might threaten Hanover. And Austria? Austria, in British eyes, was an overly demanding partner, always dragging Britain into expensive continental wars. So from Vienna's perspective, Britain was less an ally and more a good friend who never helps you move. So, even with her reforms, Austria could not match Prussia's military efficiency. Frederick's army was highly disciplined, ruthlessly drilled, fast moving, and commanded by a man who practically lived for battlefield glory. Von Down was competent. Brown was competent, but Frederick was on a different level. If Austria confronted Prussia without outside help, the result would be another defeat, another humiliation, and the permanent loss of Cilicia. Austria had already tried fighting Frederick alone once, the result had been catastrophic. Doing it again without a major ally would be madness. Austria needed an ally who wanted Prussia weakened. Britain needed an ally who would protect Hanover. These were not the same goals. In fact, they often clashed. By the early seventeen fifties, British foreign policy was pivoting towards Prussia, yes, Prussia, precisely because Frederick offered something Austria could not a shield for Hanover. This was the final betrayal in Vienna's eyes. Austria had stood with Britain for generations, and now Britain was drifting towards Austria's greatest enemy. If Austria wanted Cilesia back, the alliance with Britain was no longer useful. And here we finally reached the most shocking realization of the decade. If Austria wanted to defeat Prussia, if it wanted to reclaim Cilesia, if it wanted to restore its position in Europe, then it needed the military power, the diplomatic weight, and the continental position of France. France, the hereditary enemy, France, the traditional rival. France, the dynasty whose name had been invoked like a curse at Habsburg dinner tables for generations. It must have sounded insane the first time Conet said it out loud, but Connetz understood something no one else fully grasped yet. The old feud was no longer useful. The old alliance was no longer made sense. The old world was dead, and everyone just hadn't noticed yet. Europe had changed. Prussia had risen, Russia was active, Britain had drifted, and Austria couldn't survive in the seventeen fifties by clinging to the politics of the sixteen fifties. The only path to victory, the only path to reclaiming Cilesia, ran straight through Versailles. And thus the seeds of the diplomatic revolution were planted, not by idealism, not by peace, not by philosophical rethinking, but by necessity, cold strategic necessity. A century of hatred was suddenly negotiable. Two centuries of rivalry were suddenly reversible. The entire European diplomatic map was suddenly flexible. So next we shift our gaze to France, confused, debt ridden, brilliantly fashionable France, and the political vacuum that would allow Madame de Pompadour of all people to reshape the future of Europe. If the diplomatic revolution had a single mastermind, one person whose fingerprints were on every letter, every charm offensive, every behind the scenes maneuver, that person was Wenzel Anton von Kaunitz. Statesmen in the eighteenth century came in a variety of shapes, brilliant lunatics, bumbling aristocrats, battlefield veterans, salon intellectuals, ecclesiastical schemers, ruthless tacticians, and the occasional competent administrator who wandered in by accident. Kahnitz was none of these. Wenzel Anton von Connetz was something rarer, a cold, methodical, long game strategist, a man whose mind worked like a perfectly balanced clock. He never rushed, he never blustered, he never grandstanded, he simply looked at Europe, addressed it with unnerving clarity, and identified the single path forward that everyone else had overlooked. And as Austria reeled from the loss of Cilesia, confused, wounded, desperate for direction, the timing of his rise could not have been better. Let's break down who Conitz was, what he wanted, what he risked, and how he executed one of the most astonishing diplomatic coups in European history. Conitz's early political education took place in Italy, first in Rome, then in Turin, and finally in Naples. These were not random posts. Italy in the eighteenth century was diplomatic grad school, a place where dozens of minor courts, duchies, bishoprics, and foreign envoys interacted in a ceaseless ballet of protocol, intrigue, rivalry, and negotiation. Connets absorbed all of it. From Rome he learned how to handle ceremonial politics, the choreography of power. From Turin he learned pragmatism and military diplomacy. From Naples, he studied the fine art of managing allies who were technically friendly but fundamentally unreliable. Italy taught him a crucial lesson Empires fall not from military defeat, but from diplomatic miscalculation. Connet's time in Paris was even more important. He served as Austrian ambassador to France from seventeen fifty to seventeen fifty three, a tour that would shape the rest of his career. He observed the fracturing of French political factions, the colonial obsession growing in the French ministries, the rising influence of Madame de Pompadour, the indecision of Louis XV, and the tension between France's anti Habsburg past and its anti British future. Conitz walked through Versailles with the diplomatic equivalent of sonar. He understood where influence rested, he identified weakness, he observed how decisions were made, not in council chambers alone, but in salons, at the opera, in whispered conversations behind gilded doors. He returned to Vienna with a clear conclusion. France was confused, but malleable. Austria could work with this. Conet's genius wasn't raw intelligence, though he had plenty. His genius was patience. He was the anti Frederick. Slow where Frederick was fast, measured where Frederick was impulsive, calculating where Frederick was emotional. Frederick believed the future could be seized by force. Connets believed the future could be shaped by patience. Where Frederick moved armies, Connets moved alliances. Where Frederick gambled, Connets planned, and where Frederick sought glory, Connets sought stability. The difference in temperament is one of these reasons that the Seven Years War became so dramatic is the collision of Frederick's Lightning with Conitz's granite. When Conitz took office as state chancellor, Austria had no coherent strategy. It had pain, anger, humiliation and desperation, but no blueprint for recovery. Connetz provided one. His first insight was simple but revolutionary. The Habsburg Bourbon rivalry was obsolete. This was borderline heresy. It was the diplomatic equivalent of suggesting the Earth revolves around the sun while standing in the middle of a medieval cathedral. For two hundred years Austria had defined itself against France, but Conitz recognized the continuing rivalry served Prussia, not Austria. His second insight was even more audacious. Austria must ally with France. This was not just strange, it was deranged by the standards of his contemporary. The Bourbon dynasty? The family of Louis XV. The house that had sabotaged Haberg's interests for generations. Yes. Exactly. Conitz understood that France's real enemy was no longer Austria, it was Britain, and that France's future lay overseas, where Austria posed no threat. The timing was perfect. Conitz believed that Prussia, Austrian in culture, German in blood, and whole in Zolerin in ambition, was a mortal danger to the Habsburg monarchy. Prussia had taken Cilicia, Prussia had humiliated Austria, Prussia had ridden too quickly, and Frederick was far too talented for Austria's comfort. Unless Prussia was decisively defeated, Austria would never recover. And this was the heart of Conit's plan. France could give Austria the manpower, subsidies, and diplomatic muscle needed to confront Prussia head on. Only with French partnership could Austria hope to win a decisive victory and reclaim Cilesia. Everything, every reform, every alliance, every letter, was aimed at this single strategic prize. Conitz wasn't just building an alliance for a single war, he was reinventing Austria's role in Europe. He envisioned an Austrian allied to France, a rebalanced Holy Roman Empire, a neutral or friendly Italy, a containment strategy for Prussia, a stable partnership with Russia, and a diplomatic order in which Austria would once again be the stabilizer of the continent. It was a sweeping, century level strategy, not a stopgap measure. Connets wanted Austria that was not simply surviving, but shaping Europe once again. Conet's plan was bold, but bold plans carry bold risks. There were entire factions in Vienna whose foreign policy worldview consisted of one principle never trust France. These men were furious at Conetz, they saw him as reckless, delusional, and dangerously willing to throw away centuries of diplomatic wisdom. Many of Austria's senior nobles had built their entire identities around anti French policy. To them, Conitz was dismantling the monarchy's heritage. If Connet's miscalculated, if France rejected the alliance, if Britain retaliated, if Russia hesitated, if Prussia acted too quickly, Austria could become dangerously isolated. The worst case scenario would be catastrophic, Austria abandoned, Prussia emboldened, France hostile, Britain indifferent, Russia unpredictable. Austria might not survive such a diplomatic disaster, and everyone knew of it. Most terrifying of all, if Kant's plan failed, Maria Theresa would bear the consequences. The reforms she had fought so hard to implement, the legitimacy she had struggled to defend, the stability she had worked to maintain, everything would collapse. And Austria, already weakened, might not endure a blow like the loss of Cilicia. Conitz wasn't just gambling with alliances, he was gambling with the Habsburg monarchy itself. So how did Conitz pull it off? How did he take an idea so audacious that most statesmen would have dismissed it as lunacy and turned it into one of the most consequential diplomatic realignments in European history? He did it the way he always did, quietly, methodically, and patiently. Connets understood immediately that the path to Louis XV ran through Madame de Pompador, not through the war minister, not through the foreign secretary, not through the royal council, but through the woman who held the king's trust. Conat's insight was simple. Pompadour wanted respect. Austria would give it to her. So Maria Theresa did something shocking for a monarch of her stature. She wrote warm, flattering letters to Pompadour, not condescending, not political, but respectful. She treated Pompadour as a stateswoman, as a peer, as someone whose voice mattered. And Pompadour responded. For the first time she had a meaningful role in shaping French foreign policy, and she embraced it enthusiastically. Connist didn't stop with Pompadour. He identified which French figures were open to reproachment and which were obstacles. He went over the colonial faction by arguing that an Austrian alliance would free France to focus on Britain, that reform minded ministers by presenting the alliance as a step toward modernizing French diplomacy, and the moderates by emphasizing the existential threat posed by Prussia. He sidelined traditional anti Habsburg voices by flattering them with diplomatic niceties, overwhelming them with practical arguments, using Pompadour's support as leverage, and framing opposition as outdated stubbornness. He never fought a faction head on, he just simply outmaneuvered them. Connet's brilliance was clearest in how he reframed the entire geopolitical narrative. For two centuries France had seen Austria as the rival. Conett's forced Versailles to confront a new question. Is Austria truly the threat? Or is Prussia? He pointed to Frederick's growing military power, and Prussia's unpredictable aggression, its ability to disrupt French influence in Germany, its potential to ally with Britain, France's real enemy, and Frederick's well known disdain for Pompador and Louis XV alike. In short, Austria was the past, Prussia was the future, and if France didn't act now, Prussia would dominate Germany. He turned Frederick into the villain of the story, and had worked flawlessly. By the mid seventeen fifties, Conitz had achieved the impossible. He'd softened Pompadour's stance. He split France's traditionalist factions. He redirected French fear from Austria to Prussia. He identified Britain as France's true rival, and he convinced Maria Theresa to abandon centuries of Habsburg diplomacy. The pieces were in place, the groundwork was laid. The revolution had begun. Next, we watch as Connet's plan goes from vision to reality. Treaties will be drafted, ministers will be shocked, court factions will panic, and the entire diplomatic order of Europe will tilt on its axis. If you ever needed proof that history is shaped not just by generals and kings, but by correspondence and charm, look no further than this chapter. Because, running joke incoming, it turns out Europe's diplomatic revolution hinged on a series of increasingly polite letters from a Habsburg Empress to the most fashionable woman in France. Seems absurd. It is absurd, and yet it happened. The diplomatic revolution did not emerge fully formed, it was coaxed into existence, courted, maneuvered, cleverly seduced. What followed was a diplomatic slow burn so delicately executed that even seasoned observers weren't sure what was happening until it was too late. So let's walk through the four main pillars of this transformation flattery, fractures, shifting treaties, and British bungling. Maria Theresa was not known for doling out flattery. She was famously forthright, famously devout, and famously willing to tell people when they had disappointed her, which they often had. So when she decided to approach Madame de Pompadour personally, it was a diplomatic moment bordering on the surreal. Monarchs of Maria Theresa's stature did not write warm personal letters to royal mistresses, least of all foreign ones. They communicated through ambassadors, formal channels, and the meticulously sterile language of state correspondence. But Maria Theresa had three advantages. First, she was desperate. Second, she was strategic, and third, she understood Conet's point perfectly. Pompador held the key. And so she did something extraordinary. She wrote to Pompador with kindness, admiration, and respect. The tone was warm but dignified, personal without being improper. It treated Pompadour not as a curiosity of court life, but as a political actor whose counsel mattered. Pompador was stunned. These letters were diplomatic masterpieces. Pompador was praised for her wisdom. Her taste was complimented, her influence was acknowledged openly, and she was encouraged to see her role as key to the Franco Austrian peace. Maria Theresa was, in effect, telling Pompadour, you, Madame, can make history. And for Pompadour, who had spent years fighting whispers that she was merely decorative, this was intoxicating. Conitz knew exactly what he was doing. The influence didn't stop with Pompadour. Conits used Austrian diplomats in Paris to host salons, flatter French intellectuals, charm moderate ministers, whisper about the growing British threat, and subtly shift French thinking away from old anti Habsburg instincts. Conett's diplomats did not shout, threaten, or demand. They seduced. And slowly, almost imperceptibly, Versailles began to murmur. Perhaps Austria is not the enemy after all. While the Austrians were polishing their charm offensive in Paris, events elsewhere in Europe were tearing the old alliance map apart. Britain and Austria had been allies for decades, but by the early seventeen fifties their partnership was exhausted. Austria wanted military support and financial subsidies and help confronting Prussia, while Britain wanted security for Hanover, and nothing that might anger Prussia, as well as nothing that might provoke France, nothing that was too expensive, and nothing that was too complicated. This is what you might call irreconcilable expectations. Every British decision was filtered through that one question. Will this endanger Hanover? Austria, increasingly exacerbated, saw this for what it was. Britain cares more about George II's German hometown than about continental security. Even worse, Frederick the Great, Austrian public enemy number one, began courting British support. He knew Britain feared a French attack on Hanover. He knew Britain needed a strong ally in Germany. He knew Austria was drifting towards France. So Frederick made himself useful. He assured Britain he would not threaten Hanover. He presented Prussia as a counterweight to French influence. He positioned himself as the only German power capable of restraining France. And Britain responded with increasing warmth. Prussia being convenient is the beginning of Britain's long disaster in this story. Meanwhile, Frederick continued to behave like well, Frederick. He mocked the French court. He mocked Madame de Pompadour. He mocked Louis XV. He mocked basically everyone not wearing a Prussian uniform. He publicly questioned Maria Teresa's competence. He privately insisted Austria must be crushed. He drilled his troops relentlessly, as if war were always imminent. And all this made Austria's arguments to France all the more convincing. Conitz simply pointed to Frederick and said, Behold, this man will ruin you. And France, to its own surprise, began to believe him. With old alliances breaking down and new alignments forming, Europe began quietly, cautiously, nervously renegotiating its diplomatic future. The first step was subtle. France and Austria did not leap into each other's arms. They tested the waters through neutrality agreements. France hinted it might step back from supporting Prussia. Austria hinted it might stop sabotaging French initiatives in Italy. Both sides quietly signaled they were open to new arrangements. It wasn't friendship yet. It was more like two old enemies agreeing to stop slapping each other in public. Then the talks deepened. Ambassadors met behind closed doors. Connets sent coded messages, pompadour whispered into Louis XV's ear. French envoys communicated cautiously with Vienna. These were not formal negotiations. They were trial balloons. France floated possibilities. What if we and Austria stopped opposing each other? Austria replied, What if we worked together? France answered What if Britain is actually the problem? Austria responded. Funny, we were thinking the exact same thing. Bit by bit, centuries old hostility began to crack. Eventually, a tipping point came. Britain edged closer to Prussia. Russia grew increasingly hostile to Frederick. France grew increasingly hostile to Britain, and Austria saw a moment of opportunity. Conitz moved quickly. He proposed a formal alliance. He assured France Austria posed no threat to its continental ambitions. He promised Maria Theresa would keep Austria focused on Germany and not Italy. He reassured Pompadour that France was essential, essential to restoring the European balance. The stage was set, the old world was collapsing, and the new world was emerging. Now let's be charitable. Europe is complicated. British foreign policy was complicated. But Britain in the early seventeen fifties made several decisions that could kindly be described as spectacularly unwise. The Hanover problem, Britain's Achilles' heel, once again dominated policy. Britain feared France might attack Hanover. Britain feared Austria couldn't defend Hanover. Britain feared Russia wouldn't defend Hanover. Britain feared Prussia could defend Hanover. But it might not. So instead of a coherent strategy, Britain panicked. It sought to secure Hanover at all costs, even if those costs included abandoning Austria. This created what can only be described as diplomatic tunnel vision. Frederick saw Britain's predicament and he pounced. He did not like Britain. He did not trust Britain, but he saw an opportunity. If Britain needed a German ally, if Britain feared for Hanover, if Britain was worried about France, then perhaps Britain could be persuaded to turn against Austria. Frederick's message to London was simple. Sport me, and Hanover will be safe. Britain, blinded by fear and convenience, listened. The British government began courting Prussia with increasing enthusiasm, unaware that doing so was pushing Austria directly into France's arms. The final blunder came when Britain signed the Treaty of Westminster with Prussia in 1756, a treaty of mutual defense that promised British support in Germany. This was the absolute worst moment for Britain to choose Prussia over Austria, because, unknown to London, and partially unknown to even Conitz, the Franco Austrian alliance was already weeks away from becoming reality. Britain thought it was preventing French domination. In reality, it was isolating itself. Britain thought it was securing Hanover. In reality, it was dragging itself into a land war on Frederick's behalf. Britain thought it was saving the balance of power. In reality, it was helping destroy the old balance entirely. And the moment the ink dried on the treaty, Connetz moved. By seventeen fifty six, the diplomatic world of Europe had averted. Austria had charmed France. France had doubted Prussia. Prussia had embraced Britain. Britain had abandoned Austria. Hanovarians everywhere trembled. Pompadour was writing warm letters, and Maria Theresa was rewriting centuries of Habsburg policy, and Conitz was quietly smiling behind the scenes. The diplomatic revolution was no longer an idea. It was happening. Next, we arrived at the moment itself, the treaties, the shockwaves, the new alliance map, and the stunned realization that Europe was now a very different place. After years of letters, subtle overtures, charm offensives, factional maneuvering, and British bungling, the moment had finally arrived. The diplomatic plates of Europe, which had rested in more or less the same formation for two centuries, abruptly shifted. The old world cracked, and the new world emerged. And the name of this new world, the symbolic birth certificate for an entirely rearranged Europe, was the first treaty of Versailles signed in May of 1756. So let's break it down. What it said, what it meant, and why it shocked everyone, and why it remains one of the most significant diplomatic reversals in early modern history. The first treaty of Versailles was, on paper, a fairly mild document. It looked almost boring compared to the thunderous alliances of earlier generations. There were no dramatic commitments to mutual invasions, no bombastic declarations of brotherhood, no promises to carve up contested territories. Instead, the treaty was, superficially, a defensive pact. If one of the signatories was attacked, the other would come to its aid. Now that sounds perfectly normal. Rational. Mature even. The problem, well, the drama, comes from the identity of the signatories France and Austria. France, the Bourbon superpower. Austria, the Habsburg Powerhouse. The two dynasties that had spent the last two hundred and fifty years trying to ruin each other. And now they were promising to defend each other. The sheer oddity was beyond comprehension. Think of what it would feel like if you saw the sun rising in the west and setting in the east. Crazy, right? Well, that's how it probably felt for everyone witnessing these events. The treaties meeting was far more explosive than the text suggested. It meant that France, for the first time in a quarter millennium, was aligning with Austria rather than against it. It meant that Austria, after centuries of resisting Bourbon power, was now willing to trust the court of Versailles. It meant that France had effectively abandoned Prussia. It meant that Austria had effectively abandoned Britain. It meant that Maria Theresa had accepted Connet's argument that France, not Britain, held the key to reclaiming Cilesia. It meant that Madame de Pompadour's influence had reached a diplomatic high point few royal favorites ever achieved, and it meant that Frederick the Great, who had spent the past year watching diplomatic clouds darken on the horizon, now had the confirmation that his nightmares were coming true. There were three main reasons the treaty shocked Europe. Firstly, it defied centuries of assumptions. For two hundred years, the structure of European diplomacy had depended on France and Austria being enemies. It was like discovering that Shakespeare and Cervantes had co-authored a play, that the Pope and the Sultan were exchanging gardening tips. It defied the very logic of the continental system. Secondly, it happened quietly. There was no long prelude, no grand summit, no thunderous announcements. The treaty appeared almost out of nowhere, quietly negotiated, quietly drafted, and quietly signed. Europe woke up, read the diplomatic dispatches, and collectively said, wait, what? Thirdly, it was the opposite of what everyone expected. Everyone thought Austria would drift closer to Britain. Everyone thought France would continue opposing Austria. Everyone thought Prussia's rise would be controlled through the traditional alliances. Everyone thought the diplomatic order was predictable. They were wrong. The diplomatic revolution didn't just adjust European politics, it inverted them. The signing of the treaty sent shockwaves through every court, council, and military headquarters on the continent. So let's take a look at how the major powers reacted. Britain was horrified. Britain received the news like a man discovering his mortgage has been sold to his worst enemy. For decades, Britain had relied on France and Austria being mortal foes. This kept France occupied on the continent and allowed Britain to focus on its navy, colonies, and global trade. Now, suddenly, France's attention could be redirected. Worse still, Britain had just signed an alliance with Prussia, the Treaty of Westminster on january sixteenth, seventeen fifty six. Britain thought it had secured a strong German partner to protect Hanover from France. But now France and Austria were united, and Britain found itself on the wrong side of the continental realignment. British ministers panicked, and in the middle of all this, poor Hanover trembled. Prussia was alarmed. Frederick the Great, who had been nervously watching Connet's diplomatic maneuvering for years, now had the confirmation that Austria and France were indeed plotting against him. He had hoped, desperately hoped, that France's anti Habsburg instincts would override realities. He had hoped Pompador's influence wouldn't matter. He had hoped Britain's support would deter France. Now those hopes were ashes. The Franco Austrian alliance was his nightmare scenario, a two front war with the most powerful land empire and the largest population in Europe. Frederick realized he could not wait for Austria and France to coordinate their actions. If he waited, he would be surrounded and crushed. This moment, this burst of panic, set him on the road to invading Saxony later that year. Russia felt vindicated. Russia had been warning for years that Prussia was a menace waiting to explode. Elizabeth of Russia despised Frederick personally, ideologically and diplomatically. She believed Prussia had to be contained. Now, with Austria and France aligning against Frederick, Russia felt vindicated. The Russians threw their hands up in the air, shouting Finally, you see? We have been saying this all along. You can't trust that guy. Russia swiftly moved to coordinate with Austria, forming the third pillar of the anti Prussian coalition. The German princes were bewildered. The smaller states of the Holy Roman Empire reacted with absolute confusion. For centuries, their diplomatic instincts had been shaped by the assumption that France opposed the Habsburg. French money flowed into German principalities as a tool to weaken Vienna. German princes took it for granted that France was the natural ally of any state resisting Austrian control. Now, suddenly, France was Austria's best friend. The princes were left blinking at the diplomatic landscape like bewildered deer on a busy road. Their political maps were useless. Their alliances were incoherent. Their survival strategies had to be rewritten overnight. Spain was quietly pleased. Spain, ruled by a Bourbon king, but often ambivalent about French policy, viewed the alliance with a mix of curiosity and satisfaction. France embracing Austria meant that the Bourbon family compact could expand. Habsburg pressure in Italy might weaken. Spain's colonial rivalry with Britain might gain some additional support. Spain did not leap into action yet, but quietly positioned itself to align with France if the coming conflict escalated. Let's map it out clearly. First, we have the anti Prussian bloc of Austria, France, and Russia. This was the heart of the diplomatic revolution. Austria brought military tradition, territorial ambition, and strategic urgency. France brought manpower, financial subsidies, and continental clout. Russia brought sheer numbers, a deep hatred for Prussia, and a massive Eastern Front. Together, they formed a coalition capable of overwhelming Frederick from three directions. This alliance was not built to maintain balance, it was built to destroy Prussia. Next, the new pragmatic alignment of Britain and Prussia. On the other side stood a new, unlikely pairing Prussia, a rising military powerhouse, and Britain a global maritime empire. They had nothing in common ideologically. They had no historical tradition of cooperation. They did not particularly trust each other. But they had two urgent needs. Britain needed a defender for Hanover, and Prussia needed money, naval protection, and diplomatic legitimacy. It was a marriage of convenience, cold, strategic, and born of necessity. Everything that had anchored European politics since the seventeenth century was gone. France was no longer the anti Habsburg champion. Austria was no longer the continental stabilizer. Britain was no longer Austria's guarantor. Prussia was no longer a minor German upstart. Russia was no longer peripheral, and small German princes could no longer rely on the old rivalries. The old world had died with the stroke of a pen. The diplomatic revolution was not just a treaty. It was not just a political reversal. It was a total rewriting of the assumptions that had governed European power. And here's why that matters. Firstly, a generational shift. For centuries, statesmen had inherited a mental map of alliances and enmities. France hated Austria, Austria feared France. Britain balanced against France, Russia remained distant, and Prussia stayed small. The diplomatic revolution shattered this entire way of thinking. Young diplomats entering service in seventeen fifty six found themselves in a world their mentors could not explain. The ideological map of Europe had evaporated. Secondly, it was a strategic reorientation. The Franco Austrian alliance did not merely reflect a new political reality, it created one. It shifted French attention away from Germany and towards Britain. It changed Austrian strategy from defensive to offensive. It gave Russia a prominent role in continental affairs. It forced Britain to double down on global empire, and it redefined Prussia as a major power. This was not just a minor adjustment, it was a massive realignment of strategic priorities. The alliances locked Europe into a configuration that could no longer be avoided. With two rigid blocks facing each other, each convinced that it was acting in self defense, war became inevitable. This was the spark that lit the powder cake. Austria wanted Celestia back, Russia wanted Frederick's destruction, France wanted colonial revenge on Britain. Britain wanted to protect Hanover and dominate the seas. Prussia wanted to strike back before being surrounded. No power could back down without losing everything. The Seven Years War was not a surprise. It was the logical conclusion of the diplomatic revolution. The old world was predictable, stable, stagnant even. The new world was dynamic, volatile and explosive. Great powers were aligned in new, untested formations. Old assumptions no longer held. No one knew how the alliances would behave, and each side believed the other intended domination. It was the most dangerous moment Europe had seen since the Thirty Years War. With the first Treaty of Versailles, the diplomatic map of Europe was turned upside down. Austria and France now stood together. Russia was aligned against Prussia, Britain pledged itself to Prussia, Frederick had panicked. Maria Theresa prepared for revenge. Pompadour basked in her political triumph, and Conitz watched his grand vision take shape. The age old rivalry between the Bourbons and the Habsburgs was dead. A new rivalry, Britain versus France, was now ascendant, and Frederick the Great found himself trapped in the middle. The diplomatic revolution was now complete. Treaties had been signed, the alliances redrawn, the rivalries reversed, the old world buried, and the new world, volatile, untested, and perilous, had taken its place. But for one monarch, the diplomatic revolution was not a triumph of diplomacy. It was a ticking time. Frederick the Great of Prussia had spent years watching the diplomatic clouds gather. He had seen the flirtations, the correspondence, the drift. He had read between the lines of every ambassadorial dispatch. He had analyzed every quiet shift in tone from Vienna, Paris, and St. Petersburg. Frederick wasn't blindsided. He was terrified. Frederick was many things, a brilliant general, a sharp political observer, a prolific letter writer, a gifted musician, and a man with the anxious energy of someone convinced the universe had singled him out for destruction. And now, for once, the universe seemed to agree. The Franco Austrian alliance was the nightmare scenario he had warned his ministers about. It was a geopolitical version of prophecy fulfilled, except the prophet was pacing nervously around the palace muttering, I told you so under his breath. He read the news from France. He watched Austria's military reforms, he tracked Russian troop movements, he scrutinized Britain's courtship of Berlin, and he saw with chilling clarity, the three most powerful land forces in Europe were aligning against him. Encirclement was Frederick's greatest fear, and not without reason. To the east, Russia, whose Empress Elizabeth loathed him. To the south, Austria determined to reclaim Cilicia. To the west, France, now united with Austria and eager to strike at Britain's new ally. Even German princes who traditionally leaned on France for protection were now wavering, unsure where to turn. Frederick's margins were shrinking, his allies were limited, his resources, while formidable, were not endless, and his enemies were growing bolder by the weak. Frederick's letters in seventeen fifty six read like carefully composed panic. It wasn't melodrama, it was strategic instinct. Frederick understood something fundamental. Once Austria, France, and Russia coordinated their plans, Prussia would be cornered. He could have no room to maneuver, no space to retreat, no hope of survival. Frederick's paranoia was becoming reality. With the alliance map now clear, Frederick faced a binary choice. Wait for the anti Prussian coalition to finish preparing and then face destruction. Or strike first while the coalition was still forming and hope that speed and surprise would secure an advantage. There was no middle ground, no diplomatic maneuver left, no last minute appeal, no clever treaty to avoid conflict. The walls were closing in. Frederick chose the only option that made strategic sense strike first. This is one of the most important decisions in early modern European history. Frederick was not bloodthirsty, he was not reckless, he was not blindly aggressive. He was cornered, and when cornered, he fought. By late summer seventeen fifty six, Frederick's choice was made. He mobilized his army, he prepared invasion plans. He secured British subsidies to the Treaty of Westminster. He deployed spies. He monitored Austrian and Saxon communications. He studied terrain and logistics with meticulous care. He told his generals we must anticipate our enemies. Action is our only safety. He told his ministers a war now is preferable to a war later, and he told himself quietly and privately, striking first may save Prussia, waiting would destroy it. This was not a gamble, it was a necessity. On august twenty ninth, seventeen fifty six, Frederick made the decision that would ignite the Seven Years War. He invaded Saxony. This was not an impulsive choice, it was a cold calculation. Saxony, a small but strategically placed German state, controlled the route into Bohemia. It was allied with Austria, secretly preparing to join the Anti Prussian coalition. Frederick struck swiftly and decisively. Prussian troops crossed the border, and Saxon forces retreated into the fortress of Pyrna. Frederick seized key towns and supply lines, and he aimed to secure a base for a preemptive campaign into Bohemia. The invasion shocked Europe. Saxony was not officially at war. Saxony was an aggressor. Saxony was, in the eyes of most states, an unfortunate victim of geography. But Frederick did not see geography. He saw opportunity. And he saw something else too. Buying time. Seizing Saxony gave him control of the Elbe River, a buffer zone, access to Saxon coffers and supplies, leverage against Austria, and a central position from which to strike further. Frederick understood the consequences. He understood the moral ambiguity, he understood the diplomatic uproar, he understood the political cost. But he also understood something his enemies underestimated. Prussia could win a war of maneuver. It could not win a war of waiting. If he allowed Austria, France, and Russia to attack on their own terms, Prussia would be wiped off the map. Better a war by choice than a war of desperation. Better an offensive campaign than a defensive collapse. Better a war today than annihilation tomorrow. Frederick's invasion of Saxony was the spark in the powder cake. The fuse had been lit. There was no turning back. By the time Frederick's armies marched into Saxony, the diplomatic revolution was no longer theoretical. It was embodied in iron, gunpowder, and marching boots. Austria stood beside France, France stood beside Austria. Russia prepared its armies, Britain clung to Prussia, and Prussia rolled the dice. The new alliance of map was set, the new world had arrived. The alliances that had shaped the Thirty Years War, the Dutch wars, the War of Spanish Succession, and the War of Austrian Succession were gone, swept away, obsolete, buried beneath the weight of modern strategic necessity. No longer would Europe be defined by the Brabon Habsburg rivalry. Now it would be defined by the Anglo French global struggle, with Prussia and Austria fighting for the soul of Central Europe. This new configuration was not stable, it was combustible. Austria had ambition, Prussia had fear, Russia had hatred. The French had global anxieties, the British had imperial competition, the Saxons had outrage. The peces were in place, the timeline was set, and Europe braced itself for a conflict that would engulf Central Europe, North America, the Caribbean, India, West Africa, and the Philippines. A war so vast that later historians would call it the First World War. The diplomatic revolution was not Just a prelude. It was the hinge. Without it, there is no Seven Years' War as we know it. No Grand Coalition, no Prussian encirclement, no British global ascendancy, no colonial warfare in North America, no British capture of Canada, no French invasion of Minorca, no reshaping of world empires. This is the moment when the world changed. And then the next episode we watch the first spark ignite. The diplomatic revolution had turned Europe upside down. Prussia had invaded Saxony. Austria and France prepared for revenge. Russia marches from the east. Britain clings to its last diplomatic lifeline. War is coming. But it doesn't start where you might think. Before Europe explodes, the match is struck on a small, windswept island in the Mediterranean, a British fortress, a French fleet with something to prove, a cautious admiral who's run out of excuses, a doomed garrison, and the first disaster of a global conflict. Next time, the world catches fire. But before the flames rise in Europe, they ignite on the small Mediterranean island called Minorca. So before we close today, a quick word from your humble narrator, who, unlike the Duke of Newcastle, actually needs your support to keep this whole thing from collapsing. If you've been enjoying the history of the Seven Years' War, if you've laughed at our diplomatic disasters, mourned our generals who should never have been generals, and shaken your head at the British Royal Family's ongoing emotional support relationship with Hanover, please consider leaving a rating or a review on Apple Podcasts or Spotify. I know, I know. Scrolling down to tap a few stars isn't exactly the convention of Westminster, and it won't single-handedly realign the European Alliance system. But it does make the algorithm slightly less like Madame de Pompidore's worst enemy at court, and a little more like her best friend. Your review tells the great algorithmic powers that the show is worth pushing out to more listeners, and unlike the Duke of Cumberland's strategic decisions, that actually has a good chance of working out. If you leave a kind review, I'll assume you're as wise as Conitz, as stylish as Pompadour, and at least slightly more decisive than George II when someone mentions the word Hanover. If you leave a five-star review, I'll assume you also know the correct pronunciation of Celestia, which already puts you ahead of half the 18th century diplomatic court. So, thank you all for listening. Thank you for supporting the show, and thank you for helping keep this grand little narrative supplied with gunpowder, ink, coffee, and the occasional five star volley.