“Indeed!” said the ill-bred, clownish king, contemptuously.  “And how can the queen think of violating her solemn oath which renders every inch of the Low Countries inalienable.  I have no desire to obtain distant territory which will be useless to me; much less do I wish to expend money in new fortification.  Neither the French nor the Dutch have offended me; and I do not wish to offend them, by acquiring territory in the vicinity of their realms.  If I should accept Limburg, what security could I have that I should be permitted to retain it?”

The ambassador replied, “England, Russia and Saxony, will give their guaranty.”

“Guaranties,” rejoined the king, sneeringly.  “Who, in these times, pays any regard to pledges?  Have not both England and France pledged themselves to support the Pragmatic Sanction?  Why do they not keep their promises?  The conduct of these powers is ridiculous.  They only do what is for their own interests.  As for me, I am at the head of an invincible army.  I want Silesia.  I have taken it, and I intend to keep it.  What kind of a reputation should I have if I should abandon the first enterprise of my reign?  No!  I will sooner be crushed with my whole army, than renounce my rights in Silesia.  Let those who want peace grant me my demands.  If they prefer to fight again, they can do so, and again be beaten.”

Mr. Robinson ventured to offer a few soothing words to calm the ferocious brute, and then proposed to give to him Glogau, a small but rich duchy of about six hundred square miles, near the frontiers of Prussia.

Frederic rose in a rage, and with loud voice and threatening gestures, exclaimed,

“If the queen does not, within six weeks, yield to my demands, I will double them.  Return with this answer to Vienna.  They who want peace with me, will not oppose my wishes.  I am sick of ultimatums; I will hear no more of them.  I demand Silesia.  This is my final answer.  I will give no other.”

Then turning upon his heel, with an air of towering indignation, he retired behind the inner curtain of his tent.  Such was the man to whom Providence, in its inscrutable wisdom, had assigned a throne, and a highly disciplined army of seventy-five thousand men.  To northern Europe he proved an awful scourge, inflicting woes, which no tongue can adequately tell.

And now the storm of war seemed to commence in earnest.  The Duke of Bavaria issued a manifesto, declaring his right to the whole Austrian inheritance, and pronouncing Maria Theresa a usurper.  He immediately marched an army into one of the provinces of Austria.  At the same time, two French armies were preparing to cross the Rhine to cooperate with the Bavarian troops.  The King of Prussia was also on the march, extending his conquests.  Still Maria Theresa remained inflexible, refusing to purchase peace with Prussia by the surrender of Silesia.

“The resolution of the queen is taken,” she said.  “If the House of Austria must perish, it is indifferent whether it perishes by an Elector of Bavaria, or by an Elector of Brandenburg.”