“I am about to leave you, Maria, not for Naples, but to die.  I must visit the tomb of our ancestors, and I am sure that I shall take the small-pox, and shall soon be buried there.”  Her fears were verified.  The disease, in its most virulent form, seized her, and in a few days her remains were also consigned to the tomb.

In May, 1770, Maria Antoinette, then but fifteen years of age, and marvelously beautiful, was married to the young dauphin of France, subsequently the unhappy Louis XVI.  As she left Vienna, for that throne from which she was to descend to the guillotine, her mother sent by her hand the following letter to her husband: 

“Your bride, dear dauphin, is separated from me.  As she has ever been my delight so will she be your happiness.  For this purpose have I educated her; for I have long been aware that she was to be the companion of your life.  I have enjoined upon her, as among her highest duties, the most tender attachment to your person, the greatest attention to every thing that can please or make you happy.  Above all, I have recommended to her humility towards God, because I am convinced that it is impossible for us to contribute to the happiness of the subjects confided to us, without love to Him who breaks the scepters and crushes the thrones of kings according to His own will.”

In December, 1777, the Duke of Bavaria died without male issue.  Many claimants instantly rose, ambitious of so princely an inheritance.  Maria Theresa could not resist the temptation to put in her claim.  With her accustomed promptness, she immediately ordered her troops in motion, and, descending from Bohemia, entered the electorate.  Maria Theresa had no one to fear but Frederic of Prussia, who vehemently remonstrated against such an accession of power to the empire of Austria.  After an earnest correspondence the queen proposed that Bavaria should be divided between them as they had partitioned Poland.  Still they could not agree, and the question was submitted to the cruel arbitrament of battle.  The young Emperor Joseph was much pleased with this issue, for he was thirsting for military fame, and was proud to contend with so renowned an antagonist.  The death of hundreds of thousands of men in the game of war, was of little more moment to him than the loss of a few pieces in a game of chess.

The Emperor Joseph was soon at the head of one hundred thousand men.  The King of Prussia, with nearly an equal force, marched to meet him.  Both commanders were exceedingly wary, and the whole campaign was passed in maneuvers and marchings, with a few unimportant battles.  The queen was weary of war, and often spoke, with tears in her eyes, of the commencement of hostilities.  Without the knowledge of her son, who rejoiced in the opening strife, she entered into a private correspondence with Frederic, in which she wrote, by her secret messenger, M. Thugut: