But Maria Theresa was never so great as in the midst of apparently overwhelming adversity. Hungary clung firmly to the young and dauntless queen, and to Hungary she turned for aid. On the 13th of June, 1741, she was crowned Queen of Hungary at Presburg. The coronation was attended with all the national pomp and peculiar ceremonies of that country. The iron crown of St. Stephen was placed upon the head of the dazzlingly beautiful Maria Theresa, then in the height of her fascinating charms. Over her gem-encrusted royal robes was thrown the sacred tattered mantle which was regarded by the Hungarians as a revered insignia of the regal office. Mounted on a superb charger, she then rode gallantly up the Royal Mount, which was a rising hillock near Presburg consecrated to this ceremony; and having reached the summit, Maria Theresa, according to ancient custom, drew forth her glistening sabre, and waved it around her head, signalizing the idea of defiance to all the four quarters of the world. The coronation ceremonies having been completed, Maria Theresa returned to the great hall of the palace, where a magnificent feast had been spread for all the high dignitaries of the realm. The beautiful queen sat in the place of honor; and as the day was warm and the iron crown was heavy, she lifted the ancient diadem from her brow, whereupon her luxuriant hair fell upon her shoulders in picturesque abandon, making her such a vision of beauty with her glowing cheeks, and sparkling eyes, and regal bearing, that the old knights and gallant lords could scarce refrain from shouting their enthusiastic admiration for the lovely woman, and patriotic reverence for their adored queen, in resounding acclamations. Still greater was their enthusiasm when they were assembled in the great hall of the castle, and the stately queen, wearing the Hungarian mourning costume in memory of her late father, entered the spacious apartment, and ascended the platform from whence the kings of Hungary had been accustomed to address their council of lords. Imperial indeed was the graceful Maria Theresa; majesty sat enthroned upon her regal brow, and the sovereign as well as the gracious woman beamed in her magnetic eyes, while the melodious and alluring tones of her pathetic voice seemed to commingle the inspiring resonance of a bugle-call with the melting sweetness of the rich chords swept from harp-strings, as she alternately appealed to their patriotism, and her helpless condition as queen, woman, and mother. Her stirring address to them was made in Latin, and as she impressively committed herself and children to their fidelity, lifting her infant son Joseph in her arms and presenting him to the assembled lords, a thousand warriors drew their sabres from their scabbards and shouted with wild enthusiasm: “_Moriamur pro rege nostro, Mariâ Theresâ_” (We will die for our sovereign, Maria Theresa).