“I regret exceedingly that the King of Prussia and myself, in our advanced years, are about to tear the gray hairs from each other’s heads.  My age, and my earnest desire to maintain peace are well known.  My maternal heart is alarmed for the safety of my sons who are in the army.  I take this step without the knowledge of my son the emperor, and I entreat that you will not divulge it.  I conjure you to unite your efforts with mine to reestablish harmony.”

The reply of Frederic was courteous and beautiful.  “Baron Thugut,” he wrote, “has delivered me your majesty’s letter, and no one is, or shall be acquainted with his arrival.  It was worthy of your majesty to give such proofs of moderation, after having so heroically maintained the inheritance of your ancestors.  The tender attachment you display for your son the emperor, and the princes of your blood, deserves the applause of every heart, and augments, if possible, the high consideration I entertain for your majesty.  I have added some articles to the propositions of M. Thugut, most of which have been allowed, and others which, I hope, will meet with little difficulty.  He will immediately depart for Vienna, and will be able to return in five or six days, during which time I will act with such caution that your imperial majesty may have no cause of apprehension for the safety of any part of your family, and particularly of the emperor, whom I love and esteem, although our opinions differ in regard to the affairs of Germany.”

But the Emperor Joseph was bitterly opposed to peace, and thwarted his mother’s benevolent intentions in every possible way.  Still the empress succeeded, and the articles were signed at Teschen, the 13th day of May, 1779.  The queen was overjoyed at the result, and was often heard to say that no act of her administration had given her such heartfelt joy.  When she received the news she exclaimed,

“My happiness is full.  I am not partial to Frederic, but I must do him the justice to confess that he has acted nobly and honorably.  He promised me to make peace on reasonable terms, and he has kept his word.  I am inexpressibly happy to spare the effusion of so much blood.”

The hour was now approaching when Maria Theresa was to die.  She had for some time been failing from a disease of the lungs, and she was now rapidly declining.  Her sufferings, as she took her chamber and her bed, became very severe; but the stoicism of her character remained unshaken.  In one of her seasons of acute agony she exclaimed,

“God grant that these sufferings may soon terminate, for, otherwise, I know not if I can much longer endure them.”

Her son Maximilian stood by her bed-side.  She raised her eyes to him and said,

“I have been enabled thus far to bear these pangs with firmness and constancy.  Pray to God, my son, that I may preserve my tranquillity to the last.”

The dying hour, long sighed for, came.  She partook of the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper, and then, assembling her family around her, addressed to them her last words.