The disastrous situation of our affairs has moved us to lay before our dear and faithful States of Hungary the recent invasion of Austria, the danger now impending over this Kingdom and a proposal for the consideration of a remedy. The very existence of the Kingdom of Hungary, of our own person, of our children and our crown is now at stake. Forsaken by all, we place our sole resource in the fidelity, arms and long-tried valor of the Hungarians; exhorting you, the States and Orders, to deliberate without delay in this extreme danger, on the most effectual measures for the security of our person, of our children and of our crown, and to carry them into immediate execution. In regard to ourself, the faithful States and Orders of Hungary shall experience our hearty coöperation in all things which may promote the pristine happiness of this Kingdom and the honor of the people.[9] The effect of this indirect and impassioned appeal was electrical. The assembled multitude, the _élite_ of Hungary’s nobility, instantly drew their swords and shouted, “_Vitam et sanguinem. Moriamur pro rege nostro Maria Theresa_”[10]--“Our blood and our life. Let us die for our King Maria Theresa.” From this moment the entire nation rallied to the support of their sovereign and her eventual triumph was assured. This dramatic episode is commemorated by an imposing equestrian statue of Maria Theresa in the Coronation Hill Platz which bears the simple but eloquent inscription--_Vitam et sanguinem_. The fact that Maria Theresa and her audience spoke Latin, instead of Hungarian or German, on the memorable occasion referred to is easily explained. For centuries Latin had been in Hungary the language of diplomacy. Lectures in the University were given in Latin and the language of Cicero and Virgil was spoken by the deputies in Parliament. Indeed, until a few decades ago, every man of liberal education was supposed to be able to write and speak Latin with ease and fluency. “When I was a girl,” a Hungarian countess told me, “the language at table in my father’s house was always Latin. All of us, boys and girls, spoke it as well as our mother tongue.” I met many Hungarian priests who spoke Latin in preference to their native Magyar. One of them was an orator of exceptional eloquence and could give an extemporaneous address in Latin without hesitating for a word and always in the purest Latinity. An Englishman who made a journey up the Danube near the middle of the last century tells us that he heard on the steamer a “party of Hungarian priests and a large assemblage of second-class passengers conversing in Latin with as much facility as if it were their native tongue.”[11]