The malady increased, and a premonition of approaching death seized her. She called for the last sacrament, like a good Catholic, and then summoned to her bedside all the members of her family who were in Vienna. “Dear children,” she said, “I have received the holy sacrament and know there is no hope of recovery for me. Remember what care and pains your father, the late Emperor, and I have bestowed upon your education; how we have always loved you and tried to do everything for you that could add to your happiness. All that I have in the world belongs to you,” turning to the Emperor Joseph, “so I need make no disposition of anything. Only my children belong to me, and always will. I commit them to your care. Be a father to them! I shall die content if I have your promise to watch over them truly and faithfully.” To the other children she said, “Henceforth you must look upon the Emperor as your sovereign; obey and honor him as such. Be guided by his counsel; trust and love him with all your hearts, that he may have cause to bestow on you his care, his friendship, and his affection.” Then she quietly and calmly bestowed a maternal blessing upon each of her children, absent as well as present. Deeply moved, they gave way to their grief in sobs and tears, which affected Maria Theresa most painfully, but she controlled herself and said to them firmly: “I think it would be better for you to go into the next room and compose yourselves.” Even at that solemn moment she was still busy with affairs of government, and she signed several state documents with her own hand. She thanked her faithful Kaunitz for his loyal service to her, and also charged the Hungarian chancellor, Esterhazy, to convey her thanks to his people for all their loyalty, devotion, and help in time of need, at the same time bidding the Emperor Joseph ever to bear this in mind. Joseph never left her side. She suffered greatly from distress for breath, and at eight o’clock cried out: “Open the window!” at the same time rising from her chair. The Emperor supported her gently in his arms, and asked, “Where does Your Majesty wish to go?” Looking upward, she cried, “To thee! I come!” and with these last words sank back and expired. Her death occurred November 29, 1780, in the sixty-fourth year of her age. Four days afterward she was laid by the side of her husband in the imperial vault of the Capuchins in Vienna. Her death plunged the whole country into mourning. Few have departed from life so beloved and so honored. Frederick the Great wrote of her: “The death of the Empress has grieved me much; she honored her throne and her sex. I have made war upon her, but I have never been her enemy!” Footnotes