History has been unkind to Augustus the Strong. Not exactly a household name even in historically minded households, the 18th-century elector of Saxony and sovereign of Poland is remembered, if at all, as a minor king of bling.
And it’s true, he was known for living it up. As an impressionable teenager on the Grand Tour, he divided his time between balls, banquets and brothels. Versailles so impressed him that he made it his life’s mission to cosplay as Louis XIV. Accordingly, a cut-price version of the French palace was hastily assembled outside Dresden; these days, Moritzburg Castle is regarded, depending on taste, either as an exemplar of high baroque or a kitschy McMansion. Then there’s the trysting palace of Pillnitz, erected to facilitate his assignations with the countess of Cosel. He once spent a quarter of Saxony’s annual budget on the bejewelled outfit he wore to his son’s wedding bash. Clothes and buildings were one thing, women another. There, he had a less discriminating eye: he was rumoured to have fathered 354 illegitimate children, though his no-nonsense biographer Tim Blanning will allow only eight.
Still, there’s no denying here that his epithet – “the strong” – referred not to martial but physical prowess. Indeed, on the former score, Augustus was positively weak. On the latter, he had something of a local pub bruiser about him. He could break horseshoes with his bare hands. By his own admission, he was not a man of great intellect: he referred to himself as “a lively fellow more devoted to physical exercise than book learning”.
Blanning has some fun describing Augustus’s outre hobbies, many of which wouldn’t be out of place in an Olga Tokarczuk novel. To begin with, there was Fuchsprellen, a cruel entertainment that entailed tossing foxes in the air until they died. Worse, perhaps, was the chasing of deer and bears until the poor things unwittingly fell off a cliff, their deaths met by cheers from crowds gathered below.
But this portrait is overdone, argues Blanning. There’s more to Augustus than being a boisterous bon vivant. Blanning credits him with overseeing the renewal of Poland through the expansion of manufacturing and the construction of ports; being ahead of his time by granting equal rights to Jewish traders; and presiding over a cultural scene of considerable sophistication. By the time of his death in 1733, Dresden was second only to Vienna in terms of artistic achievement.
Despite being cursed with poor source material – including Augustus’s “depressingly mundane” correspondence – Blanning, who is a splendid stylist, has managed to produce a remarkably vivacious biography. There are times when he overstates his case – for instance, in his characterisation of Augustus as one of “the great European rulers” – but for the most part this is a happily level-headed account. He is under no illusions about his subject, who, we are told, “bobbed about helplessly like a plastic duck” on the European stage, periodically smarting from military failures and permanently sandwiched between the two heavyweights of his age: Peter the Great of Russia and Charles XII of Sweden, who happened to be his first cousin.
Augustus’s troubles began in 1696, when he converted to Catholicism as part of his bid to capture the Polish crown. When his confessor reproached him for his infrequent appearances at mass, Augustus replied by hanging his rosary around his dog’s neck. In the end, it was not so much personal piety as his backhanders to the venal Polish nobility that secured his election as king of Poland. Merely a decade later, however, Augustus was turfed out of his new job by Sweden’s invading army, led by an envious and sadistic Charles. The puppet ruler installed by the Swedes proved just as inept at ruling Poland, partly because real power lay with the Polish gentry. For his part, Augustus sought consolation in the fleshpots of Brussels, before returning as king in 1709, with Russian support.
Blanning concludes that while Augustus may have been a “hopeless strategist” abroad, he was a great impresario at home. A long line of sculptors, decorators, jewellers and musicians benefited from his patronage. We have Augustus to thank for giving Johann Sebastian Bach his big break as cantor at St Thomas’s church in Leipzig. And it is because of him that Meissen porcelain became a thriving business, and, in a later age, a shorthand for upper-middle-class pretensions in the Hampstead novel. Such cultural bequests to modernity can be regarded as posthumous revenge on cousin Charles. The king of Sweden may have been better at fighting wars, but it was Augustus who left a lasting legacy.
• Pratinav Anil is a lecturer in history at St Edmund Hall, University of Oxford. Augustus the Strong: A Study in Artistic Greatness and Political Fiasco by Tim Blanning is published by Allen Lane (£30). To support the Guardian and Observer order your copy at guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply.
