She had but recently risen from the bed of confinement and the delicacy of her appearance added to her attractions.  A table was spread for a public entertainment, around which all the dignitaries of the realm were assembled—­dukes who could lead thousands of troops into the field, bold barons, with their bronzed followers, whose iron sinews had been toughened in innumerable wars.  It was a warm summer day, and the cheek of the youthful queen glowed with the warmth and with the excitement of the hour.  Her beautiful hair fell in ringlets upon her shoulders and over her full bosom.  She sat at the head of the table all queenly in loveliness, and imperial in character.  The bold, high-spirited nobles, who surrounded her, could appreciate her position, assailed by half the monarchies of Europe, and left alone to combat them all.  Their chivalrous enthusiasm was thus aroused.

The statesmen of Vienna had endeavored to dissuade the queen from making any appeal to the Hungarians.  When Charles VI. made an effort to secure their assent to the Pragmatic Sanction, the war-worn barons replied haughtily, “We are accustomed to be governed by men, not by women.”  The ministers at Vienna feared, therefore, that the very sight of the queen, youthful, frail and powerless, would stir these barons to immediate insurrection, and that they would scorn such a sovereign to guide them in the fierce wars which her crown involved.  But Maria Theresa better understood human nature.  She believed that the same barons, who would resist the demands of the Emperor Charles VI., would rally with enthusiasm around a defenseless woman, appealing to them for aid.  The cordiality and ever-increasing glow of ardor with which she was greeted at the coronation and at the dinner encouraged her hopes.

She summoned all the nobles to meet her in the great hall of the castle.  The hall was crowded with as brilliant an assemblage of rank and power as Hungary could furnish.  The queen entered, accompanied by her retinue.  She was dressed in deep mourning, in the Hungarian costume, with the crown of St. Stephen upon her brow, and the regal cimiter at her side.  With a majestic step she traversed the apartment, and ascended the platform or tribune from whence the Kings of Hungary were accustomed to address their congregated lords.  All eyes were fixed upon her, and the most solemn silence pervaded the assemblage.

The Latin language was then, in Hungary, the language of diplomacy and of the court.  All the records of the kingdom were preserved in that language, and no one spoke, in the deliberations of the diet, but in the majestic tongue of ancient Rome.  The queen, after a pause of a few moments, during which she carefully scanned the assemblage, addressing them in Latin, said:—­