Frederic now established his court and cabinet at the camp of Molnitz.  Couriers were ever coming and going.  Envoys from France and Bavaria were in constant secret conference with him.  France, jealous of the power of Austria, was plotting its dismemberment, even while protesting friendship.  Bavaria was willing to unite with Prussia in seizing the empire and in dividing the spoil.  These courts seemed to lay no claim to any higher morality than that of ordinary highwaymen.  The doom of Maria Theresa was apparently sealed.  Austria was to be plundered.  Other parties now began to rush in with their claims, that they might share in the booty.  Philip V. of Spain put in his claim for the Austrian crown as the lineal descendant of the Emperor Charles V. Augustus, King of Poland, urged the right of his wife Maria, eldest daughter of Joseph.  And even Charles Emanuel, King of Sardinia, hunted up an obsolete claim, through the line of the second daughter of Philip II.

At the camp of Molnitz the plan was matured of giving Bohemia and Upper Austria to the Duke of Bavaria.  Frederic of Prussia was to receive Upper Silesia and Glatz.  Augustus of Poland was to annex to his kingdom Moravia and Upper Silesia.  Lombardy was assigned to Spain.  Sardinia was to receive some compensation not yet fully decided upon.  The whole transaction was a piece of as unmitigated villainy as ever transpired.  One can not but feel a little sympathy for Austria which had thus fallen among thieves, and was stripped and bleeding.  Our sympathies are, however, somewhat alleviated by the reflection that Austria was just as eager as any of the other powers for any such piratic expedition, and that, soon after, she united with Russia and Prussia in plundering Poland.  And when Poland was dismembered by a trio of regal robbers, she only incurred the same doom which she was now eager to inflict upon Austria.  When pirates and robbers plunder each other, the victims are not entitled to much sympathy.  To the masses of the people it made but little difference whether their life’s blood was wrung from them by Russian, Prussian or Austrian despots.  Under whatever rule they lived, they were alike doomed to toil as beasts of burden in the field, or to perish amidst the hardships and the carnage of the camp.

These plans were all revealed to Maria Theresa, and with such a combination of foes so powerful, it seemed as if no earthly wisdom could avert her doom.  But her lofty spirit remained unyielding, and she refused all offers of accommodation based upon the surrender of any portion of her territories.  England endeavored to induce Frederic to consent to take the duchy of Glogau alone, suggesting that thus his Prussian majesty had it in his power to conclude an honorable peace, and to show his magnanimity by restoring tranquillity to Europe.

“At the beginning of the war,” Frederic replied, “I might perhaps have been contented with this proposal.  At present I must have four duchies.  But do not,” he exclaimed, impatiently, “talk to me of magnanimity.  A prince must consult his own interests.  I am not averse to peace; but I want four duchies, and I will have them.”