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'WE OO WHERE DEMOCRATIC . PRINCIPLES POINT. THE . WAV WHEN THEY CEASE TO LEAD, WE CEASE' TO FOLLOW.'
BY JOHN G. GIVEN.
EBENSBURG, THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 11, 1850.
VOL. 6. NO. 19.
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SCELLANEOUS
MARY OF MANTUA.
A T r u c History
BY O.'P. R. JAMES.
"The noble house of Gonzaga," says
' an Italian writer, in the year 1627,' "had
' declined from its former splendor, and
forgetful of its ancient valor and wisdom,
had given itself up to luxury and intem
perance. Three brothers had success
fully filled the ducal chair, Francisco,
Ferdinando, and Vincenzo, and each had
distinguished himself not by restoring any
. , vigor to a decaying line, but by introdu
cing new modes and forms of vice.
The first of these brothers, Francisco,
had left one child by a neglected and inju
red wife; but that child was a daughter,
in her mere infancy when her father died,
and while the undoubted law bestowed
the Duchy of Mantua on the brother of
the power gave him also the Duchy of
Montferrat, which the lawer3 of Itaiy held
to belong of her own right, to Mary of
Mantua. Under the guardianship of her
uncle Ferdinand, she rose towards wo
manhood,cquiring new graces and new
accomplishments every hour, but rarely
suffered to appear at his court, and kept
carefully from the eyes and tongues of all
who might be captivated by her beauty or
inform her of her rights.
At length, however, in the year 1626,
the consequences of vices and follies car
ried Ferdinand childless to the grave, and
the last male of the race, Vincenzo, bound
his brow with the ducal ' wreath of a Man
tua. Scarcely had he taken possession
of the Dukedom, when Mary received a
summons to appear in his presence, and
hastened to obey. She was at the time
in the Convent of , a few miles
from the city of Mantua, in which she
had been educated, and usually resided.
No stat no display, marked out the Prin
cess from amongst the nuns; and it was
C0July a greater degree of liberty, a differ
ent dress, and the practice of the various
accomplishments which formed the relief
of her solitary life, that distinguished the
fair young Duchess of the Montferrat from
her cloistered companions. Two servants,
indeed were allowed to her; the maid who
had attended upon her from her youth,
and the good man who had been ordinary
ecuyer to her mother. She had mules,
too, to take the fresh air, beyond the lim
its of the convent gardens, so that her life
was easy, if not happy; and feeling no
passions, knowing no joys byond the
simple ones of her condition, she sought
not to change a fate so calm, amidst that
seaof troubles, the distant roaring of whose
$vaves she heard even in her tranquil soli
tude. It was evening when she received the
lummons to attend upon the new Duke,
and her heart beat somewhat quickly, for
many a dark tale had been told within the
convent walls, of the crimes and faults of
Vincenzo, of Gonzaga, the faithless priest,
the married cardinal. It was evening, and
in the autumn, but yet warm and bright,
with glowing skies and rich verdure, and
grapes swinging from tree'to tree, ready
for the basket of the husbandman; and as
Mary stood in the convent garden waiting
for the carriage which was to convey her
to Mantau, as ' fair and beautiful a scene
was spread out before her eyes as the pen
cil ever borrowed from the land of sun
shine, wide extended beneatn ner view,
lay the fair Mantuan plains toward Verona
plains and scenes which never quitted
me memory 01 tne : great iioman poet
. though he abandoned his birth place for
' raoreo southern lands and there bathed
. in purple light with every blue shadow,
mingled with liquid gold, appeared the
gentle ' sweeps and soft lines of trees and
manifold streams, with here and there the
feudal castle crowning an eminence, or
the tower of some village church rising up
- out of the dell. The sonars of the vine
gatherers, for they had already begun,
made the air tuneful; and the sight of
manifold living objects m the distance,
trains of his gay peasantry, the loaded
cart, the quick - driven car, and the silver
gray cattle swimming in Mincio, rendered
the landsbape gay as well as beautiful.
Nor was Mary herself (could any eye
have seen her there) an object worthy of
but slight remark. Exquisitely lovely,
"with an air and expression not exactly
melancholy, but of that calm pensiveness
which her life and situation were so well
adapted to . give, she stood by the wall of
the convent garden, partly leaning upon a
worn stone table which had much the
character of an ancient tomb, partly rest
ing against a high gothic cross which rose
from the low wall of the garden, and
marked out-to the eyes of those who
travelled the road that ran at the bottom
of the deep bank below the abode.of
these who, dedicating themselves to a life
of religious solitude, found peace or dis
1YI Z
content according to the feelings of their
own hearts. Her whole person was full
of loveliness, her whole attitude replete
with grace. Her hands rested crossed on
a nook, which she had taken to while
away the time, her head was slightly bent
forward, and her eyes gazed upon the dis
tant prospect the distant prospect always
more striking, because nioie aided by fan
cy, than that which is near; and the warm
loveliness of her complexion, with the
white drapery in which she was clothed,
contrasted beautifully with the cold gray
some and yellow lichens of the ancient
cross and table of stone.
As she thus stood and gazed, she heard
a voice not far distant say, "Lady!" in a
low and gentle tone. Those were days,
however, in which danger was so fre
quently close to the domestic hearth, that
preparation was ever the part of manly
courage, apprehension a natural part of
womanly weakness.
Mary of Mantua started suddenly back,
and looked round with fear, but the same
voice repeated, "Lady, be not alarmed. It
is a friend who would warn you of a mat
ter touching your safety."
At the same time, from behind the
ruined column of what had once been a
small chapel attached to the walls, came
forth a stranger with a slow step, as if
afraid, by any sudden movement, of sca
ring the fair girl away. The wall was
still between them it is true; but the stran
ger held his giddy footing easily on the
; top of the high bank, and the wall was
there not breast high.
Mary of Mantua drew back; she turned
one timid glance towards the monastery
it was within siht, the people, who were
slowly preparing the carriage, were within
call; the . stranger was alone, too. But
that was not all; there w?s an open can
dor in his look, a nobility in his demeanor
a frank free grace in his countenance, that
struck and wo- upon her. He was in the
prime of youth, with a warm glowing
cheek and bright eye. The full arching
lips, parted in somewhat of a smile at her
apprehensions, and there was a cheerful
glance in his eye that spoke of a bright
free spirit. Above the ordinary height
tall and graceful, though his features were
like some that she had seen before; his
person and complexion were any ihing
but Italian, and had he not spoken the
language without the slightest accent, she
might have taken him for some of the fol
lowers of the house of Austria. The
whole, however, was extremely pleasing,
and though still somewhat alarmed, she
at length ventured to ask what were his
wishes.
"Be not afraid, Lady," he answered in
a low, sweet-toned voice, "I come to save
you from danger, not to place you in it.
Approach a little nearer, for I must speak
low, and must not be seen by any but
you."
She took a step nearer to the place
where he stood, still looking upon him as
a timid fawn looks at those who would
draw it to eat bread out of their hand.
"Listen! ' he said; "listen Mary of
Mantua, for what I have to say imports
you much to know and I have short
time to say it. Your hand is a prize, for
which three Princes now will strive.
First, Vincenzo, Duke of Mantua!"
"Heaven forbid!" exclaimed Mar-, in a
tone of fear; "can you mean ray uncle?"
"Even so!" answered the stranger: but
hear me out, fair maid, for the time is
short. The next is one you know well,
Ferrand, Prince of Guastella."
"I know him not!" cried Mary, with a
look of horror. "Once, only once, have I
seen his dark and lowering face, but I
have heard enough to make me abhor the
ground that bears him."
The strangerj made no comment, but
vent on: "The third is Charles, Duke of
Rhetel."
"An alien to our race, and he son of
my father's enemy!" exclaimed Mary.
The stranger smiled, apparently well
pleased.
"These are three Princes," he said;
"but what say you, Lady, if a simple
gentleman, of noble birth, and of some re
nown against these three Princes, fate,
fortune and all the world to boot were to
enter the lists for that fair hand?"
"He were a bold man!" answered Mary
with a deep blush.
"Thank. God! he is a bold man," re-
plied the stranger "but to my more pres-
sing task. lor 1 see the carnage is nearly
ready. The Prince of Guastella is now
within the territory of Mantau; he knows
that this night you enter the city. If you
go by the ordinary road, you will fall into
his hands, and nothing but a miracle can
save you from his power. When you
come to the viueyard of Periotti, just op
posite the castle of Frederick di Sasso,
order the driver to turn down the left
hand road and follow it to the city. Aid
shall be near at hand, if needful; but it
were better, far better, to avoid than to
encounter evil."
"Oh! better, far better!" echoed Mary;
"but, oh! gentle stranger, do not leave me.
If you have power, give me protection
against that daring man."
"I will not be'far from thee, fairest and
brightest," replied the stranger, 'but have
I not said, that I am without power in the
land. ' What this hand can do shall be
done in your defence, and if it be needful
to pour out the last drop of my heart's
blood, it shall be staked as freely as a
gambler's ducat. A few faithful servants,
too, will not flinch from their poor master
in the hour of need; and if you are saved
from hazard, my guerdon shall be one kiss
of that fair hand. Shall it not be so?"
"Oh, you might claim far better boon
than that!" cried Mary, eagerly.
"Well, then it shall be so," he said;
"one kiss of those sweet lips! But now,
bethink you, lady,, how you will meet
your uncle? If, as sure I am he will, he
offers, contrary to God's law, to make his
brother's child his wife, be wise, and drive
no; his passionate mind to frenzy. He
has a wife still living: but the bonds be
tween them the church is now about to
sever. Be cautious; show no harsh re
pugnance. Tell him that you can hear
no such words so long as he is priest, un
cle, husband, to another; that all those
bonds must be loosened by the church,
ere you can even let his words rest in
your ear. But, lo! they seek you, I mi'"
away! Contrive some short delay, that I
may reach the point of danger first. To
morrow, at this hour, if you have return
ed, I will seek you here."
Thus saying, the stranger turned and
left her, and the servants sought her, say
ing that the carriage was ready. The di
rections of the stranger she followed im
plicitly, trusting with - the confidence of
unchastised, youth. She detained the
carriage for a few minutes, and then or
dered the coachm?n to drive as she had
been instructed. The Italian looked at
her in sulky silenee, and went on as if
intending to t bey; but when the vehicle
reached the turning of the road, he was
evidently abpjt to pursue the way which
had been 'forbidden. Mary of Man
tau, however, stopped the carriage,
and trying to raise her gentle voice into
the sharp tone of displeasure, asked how
he dared to disobey.
The man replied surlily, "because it is
the best road!" and he would certainly
have drove on, had not the old servant
who attended upon her interfered to en
force his mistress' command. Even his
authority the driver was inclined to resist;
but while with true Italian carelessness of
time, loud words and exaggerated gesture,
the two were arguing, there came a sound
of horses and gallopping. It was what
he driver wished and expected, and look
ing up the road, he saw a body of some
ten or twelve mounted men coming at full
speed. Mary saw them too, and terror
and anguish took possession of her heart.
As they came on, however, there sudden
ly appeared other figures in the road be
tween ner and them. From amongst the
trees and vineyards, poured out a little
band on foot and horseback, and at their
nuau, managing nis nery norse witn ease
and grace, he whom she had seen at the
convent not an hour before. Of her now
he took no notice; but standing firm in the
way, formed with his band a barrier be
tween her and the coming horsemen. The
i .-u . . .
uriver sun paused, though she besought
him to go on, and she could behold sword
I "I . i
crosseu ana pisiois nred, and one or two
horsemen fly up the road again. She saw
not well which party had the advantage,
but the driver judged more clearly, and
smacking his whip, drove down the road
he had been ordered to take.
New agitation now fell upon Mary o
Mantua, as she approached the abode of
her uncle; as drawbridge after drawbridge
gate after gate were passed, she prayed
to heaven for strength and prudence to
save herself from the dark horror of his
love.
She had not seen the Duke Vicenzofor
many years, and had long forgotten him.
so mat imagination drew her own sketch
from the rumors and stories of the day.
ii was not iwuight, and she was ushered
up the long flight of marble stairs after
wards destroyed in the cruel sacking of the
cny anu men into a cabinet, where she
remembered having played in the days of
ner cniianooa, when her father was living
I T"V 1 m - O
anu jJUKe oi Jiantua. It now seemed smal
ler and more gloomy, though it was well
lighted, and on the opposite side sat "one
whose appearance at once marked out the
prince. He rose and advanced towards
her as different a being as it was possible
to conceive, from all that she had previ
ously fancied. Tall, "graceful, handsome,
though in his decline, and though sickness
perhaps 'vice had worn all the rosy
lines of youth away, and left nothing but
the shadow of beauty behind, his appear
ance was certainly far more prepossessing
then Mary of Mantua had expected. Nev
crtheless, there was something in the ex
pression of his countenance something
in the fixed and criticising gaze with which
he looked upon the lovely creature before
him, that made an involuntary . shudder
pass over her frame; and when he took her
by the hand, and, as her uncle kissed her
cheek, the barm blood rose up in it, and
she thought of the warning she had receiv
ed, and of him who had given it. "
The Duke was not long ere he spoke
upon that theme which she most dreaded
to hear; but he spoke not in terms which
might have been most painful to her. He
traced it as but a matter of court necessity;
he talked of his marriage with her as a
thing that would. benefit the state. Prin
ces, he said, must be the slaves of their du
ties, and though he doubted not that to one
so young and beautiful as herself, it must
be somewhat painful to unite herself lo
a man in the decline of life, yet he was
sure she would make no opposition to
that which would set at rest forever, all
the contending claims on Mantua 'and
Montferret
So well and wisely had her unknown
counsellor hitherto advised her, that Mary
followed his directions in this also to a
letter. She showed no repugnance, but
bending down her head with the ingenious
blush of modesty upon her cheeks she re
plied as he dictated. The Duke seemed
pleased; perhaps it was more than he ex
pected, and he replied with sanguine ex
pectation that his divorce would not be
long delayed, after which a dispensation
would be easily obtained. There was
but one thing which Mary besought
him earnestly to grant, which was, that
she jnight return on the morrow to the
convent where she passed her early
days.
The Duke consented; but while he spoke
the old attendant, who had ever remained
attached to her, was admitted by a page,
and bending low he related to the Duke
the adventure which had befallen them on
the way, and commented bitterly on the
treachery of their driver. The Duke sent
for his secretary and whispered a word in
his ear; and as he was leading Mary to the
hall where supper waited them, there came
through the windo,.vs the sound of a loud
volley and one shrill piercing cry. The
Duke moved gracefully on by her side
without a change countenance, but Ma
ry turned deadly pale, and on the follow
ing morning another servant drove the
vehicle that contained her, back to the
convent.
It was about noon when she arrived,
and the busy nuns surrounded her like
a swarm of bees. They were all eager
to hear tidings from without, but they
were soon satisfied; and at the same even
ing hour at which on the day bafore she
had watched the. .fair prospect of the
Mantua plains, she again stood by the
table of stone in the convent garden, and
the stranger was by her side. She
thanked him eagerly and ofien, gazed up
on the bright and glowing countenance
that gazed with tender admiration upon her
again.
"Have I not won my reward?" he said.
Mary replied not, but cast down her
eves with a blush. The stranger bent
over her and with the tenderness of love
chastened by respect, he pressed his lips
to hers.
"Mary," he said, "Mary, I will win
thee or die. Three more evenings will I
stand by yon old shrine, in the dear hope
of seeing you again, and then my footsteps
must wander from thee far. Bui I leave
thee not unwatched, unguarded. My spirit
shall hover round ihee though my bodv
be absent; and I promise, I swear in three
months more, even to a day, to stand again
i -
in your presence anu win you lor my
bride or die."
There might have been many in Mary's
state and station who would have thought
the stranger bold to believe she might be
so won by an unknown, and inferior per
son, and talk as if he were born fto con
tend for her hand with princes. But Ma.
ry thought not so; feelings that she had
never known before were busily possess
ing themselves of her heart, and though to
feel them they made her thrill with some
thing like apprehension, yet they were
so sweet she would do nothing to banish
them. She lingered with him long, and
he with her, and for three nights more
they met and passed a happy hour, gil
ded with the dawning brightness of voun
love,
He 'left her on the third night with a
painful and anxious farewell; and Ma
ry now lelt how lonely was her state of
being. '
The hours flew, heavily, the day rolled
on in care and anxiety but she forgot not
the absent; and every, rumor that she heard
of movements at the court of Rome regar
ding her uncle's divorce, made her heart
sick. But Vin cenzo himself seemed to.
press matters but feebly, and' when at
length the appalling news reached her that
le was free, he showed no inclination to
profit by that freedom. She then heard
that he was sick sick even to the gates I
of death, and there were rumors of arming
in Guastalla, and of Austrian forces mov
ing to take possession of Mantua on the
Duke's decease or of France sending ar
mies to' secure it for the house of Nevers.
Then came tidings of messengers hurry
ing to and from between Paris and Man
tua and Rome, and so went by the, time
till the three months had passed over, and
then, though the air was wintery, Mary
eagerly hurried forth and stood by the ta
ble of stone as the sun was sinking to re
pose. She gazed ever the Mantua plain,
but no one was seen; she listened, but
heard not the voice whose memory had
cheerd her solitude. The nun sank, and
all was darkness.
With a heart sad and depressed she was
taking her way back to the convent when
the bell at the gate rung, and an immediate
summons was given her to proceed to
Mantua in one of the Duke's carriages
with all speed, to hear the last injunctions
of her dying uncle. State now surround
ed her, guards weie on each side of the
vehicle, and in the convent parlor waited
a high dame of the court to accompany
her on the way.
The scene she had to go through Mary
felt would be painful; but there was a
greater degree of depression at her heart
than even the anticipation of standing by
the death bed of her uncle could account
for. Gloomy then and desponding disap
pointed and anxious, Mary entered the car
riage, asking herself what was to be her
fate when her uncle should be no more.
The night was dark and stormy; the dull
winds whistled along the road, and for a
bout a mile not a word w as spoken by
either Mary or her companion.
At length however, the lady said, "I
have been commanded to inform your
highness as soon as we were actually on
the way, that it will be necessary for you
to prepare your mind for a great change of
condition. The Duke is, as you know, at
the point of death. The Duke of Nevers
is next heir, lo the coronet of Mantua, and
as it is absolutely necessary that all claims
to this duchy and Montferret should cen
tre in one race, it has been determined
that your highness should give your hand
to the young Duke Rhetel, son of the Duke
of Nevers. The prince destined to be
your husbard has already arrived in Man
tua, and as there is the most urgent neces
sit' that your marriage should take place
before the death of Duke Vicenzo, he has
generously determined, that even in his
mortal illness, he will see the alliance
completed this very night, the proper dis
1 pensations having alreadv arrived from
Rome."
It was with difficulty that Mary of
Mantua prevented herself from sinking off
the seat in terror and agony. The horror
the awful horror of being called upon in
a moment to wed one whom she had never
before beheld, while her heart was but
too surely given to another, overpowered
her for a few moments; but when she rec
ollected all the resolution and courage of
her race, she protested against the cruelty
and injustice of the act which her uncle
proposed to commit, and solemnly declared
that nothing should induce her to yield
her hand in such indecent haste to an utter
stranger. The lady who accompanied
her, heard all with that chilling coldness
which is far more dispiriting than actual
opposition, and merely said "that she fear
ed her highness would find herself forced
to obey."
Mary had recourse to silence and though
her heart was sad and heavy, "jt remained
firm, and she said to herself, "They can
but kill me that thev will not do and if
they do, better to die."
Once more then she passed the manifold
gates and drawbridges, and entered what
she felt to be, one vast dark prison; but
she thought of him she loved and though
she called him cruel in her own heart
for not having come to advise or deliv
er her still she felt that she loved,
and that she could not, dared not, wed an
other.
The gates of the palace were at length
reached, the courts weie filled with sol
diers; cannon guarded the entrance; every
thing told that vast preparations had been
made to secure tranquility among the
people on the death of the reigning Duke.
She saw lights streaming from the hall
above, and, led forward by her companion
she advanced up the wide staircase and
into ihe anti-chamber. There howev-
er, an oincer addressed tier saying, "All
is ready madam; the Duke awaits your
Highness. There is not a moment to
snare
!"
Go forward madam!" said Mary to
the lady who accompanied her, go for
ward, and tell my uncle my unalterable re
solve as I announced it to you,"
The lady paused and looked ' baok
but
she saw that Marv could not escape, and
advancing, she entered the hall beyond!
leaving the door ajar behind her. Mary
could onlv sec the faded form of her uncle I
lying on a splendid couch, and looking as
if death had already achieved the victory.
But she heard first his voice very sharply
"If not by good will, by force I" and then
another, but a sweeter voice, and the
French tongue, "Let me speak with her
for a moment my gracious lord."
An instant after the door opened, and
clothed in princely apparel, a young man
appeared but Mary's heart beat fast-her
knees trembled the color w ent t nl caraa
in her cheeK she stretched forth her
a rms towards him she fell almost fainting
on his bosom.
"Oh! why came you not? why came
you not?" she cried.
"Hark, Miry!" he answered, as the'pal
ace clock struck loud and clear, "hark be
loved, it is our hour of meeting! and I am
here thine own dear cousin, Charles of
Gonzaga will you refuse the Duke of
Rhetal still?"
The warm, warm blood was all over
that bright face; but the smile the timid
yet confiding smile spoke more than
words could have done, and in a moment
more the Duke of Rhetel led on lo the al
tar raised in the hall beyond, a trembling,
a blushing but not unhappy bride. :
Children will Talk-
Wc heard a very amusing story related,
says the Boston Aluseum, a few days
since; of a gentleman being possessed of a
somewhat prominent proboscis being invi
ted out to take tea with a handsome young
widow, having the small, incumbrance of
about forty 'thousand dollars and a beauti
ful and interesting little daughter about
five years of age. The little girl, (vrhom
we shall take the liberty of calling Mary,)
although much beloved by all who
knew her, had the habit of speaking aloud
in company, and commenting upon esch
and every peculiarity that any of her ma
ma's guests might have; and the charm
ing widow knowing this fact, took little
Mary to one side on the afternoon in
question, and gave her a lesson somewhat
in the following manner:
Mary, dear, I have invited a very par
ticular friend of mine to come and take
tea with me this evening, and as he lias
rather a long nose, I wish to warn you
against speaking of it in his presence. He
is the most sensitive on that point upon
all subjects, therefore, if you allude to it
in his pressnce, you shall be most assured
ly severely reprimanded; but on the other
hand, if you will sit up in your little chair
and be a lady, you shall have that be auti
ful frosted cake I purchased from the ba
ker this morning.
Little Mary made the requisite promise,
and was amusing herself with her abun
dant supply of playthings, when the long
nosed gentleman arrived. The compli
ments of the day being exchanged, and the
topics of the day fully discussed, the wid
ow, with one of her blandest smiles, invi
ted Mr. into the adjoining room to
partake of the choicest dainties of the sea
son, with which the table was bountifully
supplied.
As the' were passing out of the room
leaving little Mary- to amuse herself ss
best she could, the little eherub hastily in
tercepted them at the door, and archly
looking up into the sparkling and anima
ted countenance of her mother, exclaim
ed Mother, dear, ain't it most time for mo
to have my nice frosted cake for not ay
iig anything about this gentleman's
lonsr nose?
The widow fainted, and the long nosed
gentleman is still a bachelor.
Amrrircan Tea.
The New York Journal of Commerce
publishes a letter from Dr. Junius Smith,
dated Golden Grove. Greenville, S, C,
Jan. 14, 1S50, in which that gentleman
thus describes the progress he has made
in his experiment of tea culture:
You will be pleased to hear that tea
plant, in strength and uigor, is in bud and
blossom still, and promises to continue
until greeted by the vernal breeze, and
cheered bv solar heat. I have one re
markable plant, a branch of which is so
loaded with seed, now about the size of a
pea, that it bendsunder its weight, and
almost touches the ground. The. tea
plant is a curious sh.rub, and fa ',vatch its
developement is an amusement deeply
interesting. In answer to your enquiries
respecting the probable time of my being
able to dispose of tea plants and seed, I
beg to inform you that it is my intention
to accomodate the public, so far as I can,
with both plants and tea nuts, the ensuing
spring," most likely in March, 'and thus
open "the- way to an extensive cultivation
ii) the United Slates.. ;
GOA gentleman visiting a
deif
and
pu
dumb institution, asked on.
o;
the
pi I,
' What is eternity?""
The answer v:is,
of the Almighty?"
is the llfo-tttui