Conjugal Affection.CHAPTERI.Oneof the most remarkable instances of conjugal affection is furnished by the story of Victoria Colonna, which I will relate.The Marquis de Colonna was accused by one of the emissaries of the Inquisition, of heresy and treason; and at the instigation of his uncle, Montalbert, who wished to ruin him, through private hatred, Colonna was seized and thrown into a dungeon, his chateau ransacked, and his wife and child were dispossessed of their inheritance.Colonna had been conveyed to the castle of St. Angelo, and this was all that could be heard respecting him. Whether he had been tried and convicted, could not be learned. He was, in short, as dead to the world and all his family and connections, as if he had suffered the usual lot of mortality; and as such occurrences were by no means uncommon in the Italian states during the reign of papal tyranny, Colonna was speedily forgotten by all except his faithful wife, Victoria.Although interdicted by the cruel laws of the Inquisition, and threatened with the denunciations of the spiritual pater, Victoria traversed nightly the walls of the great citadel; sometimes wading up to her knees in the Tiber, when making the circuit of the towers and bastions, listening in the midnight hour for the slightest sigh, or footfall, that might reveal to her the cell in which her beloved husband was immured. But for several months, all her efforts to discover it were unavailing. Yet, nothing daunted bywant of success, and feeling no love of life but in her husband’s company, the faithful woman still continued in the fond andanxious hope that Heaven would, at its fitting time, listen to her prayers, and that she should again be blessed with a sight of him so dear to her, or that she should at least become acquainted with his fate.Nor were her hopes in the end disappointed; for, early one morning, as she was finishing her accustomed nightly wanderings round the black and desolate pile, her attention was aroused, about the time of dawn, by the clattering of a chip of a tile from the battlements, which fell close to her feet. She immediately looked for the falling object; her quick hopes immediately surmising it to be some signal from the one she sought. Nor was she disappointed; the tile had been scratched upon by a nail, and on it were inscribed the names of Albert and Victoria. In a moment of rapture, she pressed the tablet to her heart, fell on her knees, and offered her thanks to Heaven. She then turned her eyes toward the lofty towers, and again small fragments of stone were made to descend from a small grating about half way towards the top. “Here then,” she ejaculated, “here is the cell of my beloved husband.” She was confirmed in her thoughts, by perceiving the delicate hand of Albert thrust through the narrow aperture of the bars; and the sight of it so affected her that she fell down in a swoon, overcome with hope and love and joy.When she recovered, she made the best of her way to her dwelling in the city, and immediately began to concert measures for her husband’s escape. But when she considered the height and thickness of the walls, the vigilance of the guards, the jealousy of the priesthood, the suspicions of her neighbors, and the espionage of the minions of the Inquisition, she almost despaired. Yet, as she fervently trusted in Heaven for aid, she determined to use every effort to accomplish her object, and sat down at once to consider the best means of doing so.The first difficulty that presented itself was that of establishing communication between herself and the prisoner. This the quickness of her mind immediately overcame; or at least fancied it could. She thought that by raising a small paper kite by the side of the tower, its string might be easily made to pass over the grated aperture of the dungeon. But how was the prisoner to be made acquainted with the operation, which must necessarily be made in darkness, and at a time of night, when people are usually in a deep slumber?Waving all difficulties, however, she determined to make the attempt on the following night. As soon as it was night, she put on the disguise of one of those miserable wretches who search and prowl about on the muddy banks of the river to pick up the refuse of the city. The wind was fortunately fresh, as it was late in the month of October. She had not forgotten to provide herself with the fragile instrument upon which her hopes were built. It was a small paper kite, formed of oil paper, stretched upon two cross pieces of very fine whalebone; and for a string, she employed the strongest silk she could procure. The kite was with some difficulty at lengthraised, and fluttered up at the sides of the tower. With great patience and ingenuity, the indefatigable wife brought it close against the grating from which the tile had been thrown. The wind caused it to beat and flutter against the bars. It aroused the prisoner. He put his hand forth, and succeeded in obtaining the kite.Although all was dark, yet the expectant prisoner had light enough in his own thoughts to see that this was the part of some plan for his deliverance; and he could attribute it to no one but to her whom he knew to be attached to him in life or death. Finding, therefore, the string still held below, he gave it several pulls. This was felt by Victoria, who, overjoyed beyond measure, fastened a note to its extremity, explaining the plan for his escape, and promising on the next night, by the same means, to make another communication; and having so far succeeded, she withdrew.I need not attempt to describe the feverish anxiety of the following day, both to the prisoner and his wife. To Victoria, as well as to Albert, it was an age in length. At length, however, the night did arrive, and at the accustomed hour, Victoria again raised her little kite, and by this means established a communication as before; and through its instrumentality, she supplied the prisoner with paper and pencil to communicate his wishes and his desires.On the next night, Albert prepared an account of what had befallen him since the period of his arrest; that he had been three times examined before the Inquisition, and exhorted to confess; that he expected daily again to be summoned; and that he had been threatened to be put to the torture. He also begged her to make herself well acquainted with the plan of the prison, its avenues, passages, and character of its keepers; and if possible, to obtain an admission within the walls.[To be continued.]Origin of the flower “Forget-me-not.”—Mills, in his work on chivalry, mentions that the beautiful little flower “forget-me-not,” was known in England as early as Edward the Fourth, and in a note gives the following pretty incident: “Two lovers were loitering along the margin of a lake on a fine summer’s evening, when the maiden discovered some flowers growing in the water close to the bank of an island at some distance from the shore. She expressed a desire to possess them, when her knight, in the true spirit of chivalry, plunged into the water, and, swimming to the spot, cropped the wished-for plant; but his strength was unable to fulfil the object of his achievement; and feeling that he could not regain the shore, although very near it, he threw the flowers on the bank, and casting a last affectionate look on his lady-love, said, ‘Forget me not,’ and was buried in the water.”Pigs.—The editor of the New York Sunday Mercury appears to hold young pigs in very high esteem, having dedicated a piece of poetry entirely to juvenile porkers. He intimates, however, that he should like them better, if they didn’tmake hogs of themselveswhen they grew up.
CHAPTERI.
Oneof the most remarkable instances of conjugal affection is furnished by the story of Victoria Colonna, which I will relate.
The Marquis de Colonna was accused by one of the emissaries of the Inquisition, of heresy and treason; and at the instigation of his uncle, Montalbert, who wished to ruin him, through private hatred, Colonna was seized and thrown into a dungeon, his chateau ransacked, and his wife and child were dispossessed of their inheritance.
Colonna had been conveyed to the castle of St. Angelo, and this was all that could be heard respecting him. Whether he had been tried and convicted, could not be learned. He was, in short, as dead to the world and all his family and connections, as if he had suffered the usual lot of mortality; and as such occurrences were by no means uncommon in the Italian states during the reign of papal tyranny, Colonna was speedily forgotten by all except his faithful wife, Victoria.
Although interdicted by the cruel laws of the Inquisition, and threatened with the denunciations of the spiritual pater, Victoria traversed nightly the walls of the great citadel; sometimes wading up to her knees in the Tiber, when making the circuit of the towers and bastions, listening in the midnight hour for the slightest sigh, or footfall, that might reveal to her the cell in which her beloved husband was immured. But for several months, all her efforts to discover it were unavailing. Yet, nothing daunted bywant of success, and feeling no love of life but in her husband’s company, the faithful woman still continued in the fond andanxious hope that Heaven would, at its fitting time, listen to her prayers, and that she should again be blessed with a sight of him so dear to her, or that she should at least become acquainted with his fate.
Nor were her hopes in the end disappointed; for, early one morning, as she was finishing her accustomed nightly wanderings round the black and desolate pile, her attention was aroused, about the time of dawn, by the clattering of a chip of a tile from the battlements, which fell close to her feet. She immediately looked for the falling object; her quick hopes immediately surmising it to be some signal from the one she sought. Nor was she disappointed; the tile had been scratched upon by a nail, and on it were inscribed the names of Albert and Victoria. In a moment of rapture, she pressed the tablet to her heart, fell on her knees, and offered her thanks to Heaven. She then turned her eyes toward the lofty towers, and again small fragments of stone were made to descend from a small grating about half way towards the top. “Here then,” she ejaculated, “here is the cell of my beloved husband.” She was confirmed in her thoughts, by perceiving the delicate hand of Albert thrust through the narrow aperture of the bars; and the sight of it so affected her that she fell down in a swoon, overcome with hope and love and joy.
When she recovered, she made the best of her way to her dwelling in the city, and immediately began to concert measures for her husband’s escape. But when she considered the height and thickness of the walls, the vigilance of the guards, the jealousy of the priesthood, the suspicions of her neighbors, and the espionage of the minions of the Inquisition, she almost despaired. Yet, as she fervently trusted in Heaven for aid, she determined to use every effort to accomplish her object, and sat down at once to consider the best means of doing so.
The first difficulty that presented itself was that of establishing communication between herself and the prisoner. This the quickness of her mind immediately overcame; or at least fancied it could. She thought that by raising a small paper kite by the side of the tower, its string might be easily made to pass over the grated aperture of the dungeon. But how was the prisoner to be made acquainted with the operation, which must necessarily be made in darkness, and at a time of night, when people are usually in a deep slumber?
Waving all difficulties, however, she determined to make the attempt on the following night. As soon as it was night, she put on the disguise of one of those miserable wretches who search and prowl about on the muddy banks of the river to pick up the refuse of the city. The wind was fortunately fresh, as it was late in the month of October. She had not forgotten to provide herself with the fragile instrument upon which her hopes were built. It was a small paper kite, formed of oil paper, stretched upon two cross pieces of very fine whalebone; and for a string, she employed the strongest silk she could procure. The kite was with some difficulty at lengthraised, and fluttered up at the sides of the tower. With great patience and ingenuity, the indefatigable wife brought it close against the grating from which the tile had been thrown. The wind caused it to beat and flutter against the bars. It aroused the prisoner. He put his hand forth, and succeeded in obtaining the kite.
Although all was dark, yet the expectant prisoner had light enough in his own thoughts to see that this was the part of some plan for his deliverance; and he could attribute it to no one but to her whom he knew to be attached to him in life or death. Finding, therefore, the string still held below, he gave it several pulls. This was felt by Victoria, who, overjoyed beyond measure, fastened a note to its extremity, explaining the plan for his escape, and promising on the next night, by the same means, to make another communication; and having so far succeeded, she withdrew.
I need not attempt to describe the feverish anxiety of the following day, both to the prisoner and his wife. To Victoria, as well as to Albert, it was an age in length. At length, however, the night did arrive, and at the accustomed hour, Victoria again raised her little kite, and by this means established a communication as before; and through its instrumentality, she supplied the prisoner with paper and pencil to communicate his wishes and his desires.
On the next night, Albert prepared an account of what had befallen him since the period of his arrest; that he had been three times examined before the Inquisition, and exhorted to confess; that he expected daily again to be summoned; and that he had been threatened to be put to the torture. He also begged her to make herself well acquainted with the plan of the prison, its avenues, passages, and character of its keepers; and if possible, to obtain an admission within the walls.
[To be continued.]
Origin of the flower “Forget-me-not.”—Mills, in his work on chivalry, mentions that the beautiful little flower “forget-me-not,” was known in England as early as Edward the Fourth, and in a note gives the following pretty incident: “Two lovers were loitering along the margin of a lake on a fine summer’s evening, when the maiden discovered some flowers growing in the water close to the bank of an island at some distance from the shore. She expressed a desire to possess them, when her knight, in the true spirit of chivalry, plunged into the water, and, swimming to the spot, cropped the wished-for plant; but his strength was unable to fulfil the object of his achievement; and feeling that he could not regain the shore, although very near it, he threw the flowers on the bank, and casting a last affectionate look on his lady-love, said, ‘Forget me not,’ and was buried in the water.”
Pigs.—The editor of the New York Sunday Mercury appears to hold young pigs in very high esteem, having dedicated a piece of poetry entirely to juvenile porkers. He intimates, however, that he should like them better, if they didn’tmake hogs of themselveswhen they grew up.