The Madisonian. [volume] (Washington City [i.e. Washington, D.C.]) 1837-1845, 1839-08-28

!. nanny hour, giIded with the ua""'"t - So
h's IL IN her on the third with painful and
.nr;ous farewell; and Mary now ieh now
lonely was her state Of being. ~
T2e hours flew heavily. the days rolled on
:, care and anxiety--but she forgot not the
ahsen,, and every rumor that she heard OF
noovsmen,s n The Court Of Rome re-
.,srd;ng her uncle,s divorce msde her heart
s;cL But Viacenzo himself seemed TO
nrss. matters bat feebly, and when OF
ienotb the appalling news reached her that
he vas free, he showed no inclination 70 pro-
A. nv that freedom She then heard that he
was sick-sick even to the gates Of death, and
there were rumors Of arming in Gaustslla,
ana OF Austrian forces moving to take posses
sion OF Mantua on the Dukes decease. or OF
France sending to secure il TO the house Of
Movers. Then came tidings Of messengers
hurrying TO and fro between Paris and Man
iua and Rome, and went by the time Till the
three months had passed over, and then,
though the air was wintry, Mary eagerly hur-
ried forth and stood by the table Of stone rs
the sun was sinking TO repose. She gazed
over the Mantua plain, but no one was seen
she listened, but heard not the voice whose
memory had cheered her solitude. The sun
sank and all was darkness.
With heart sad and depressed she was
taking her way back 10 the convent, when
the bell at the gate rung, and an immediate
summons was given her 10 proceed TO Mantua
in one Of the Dukes carriages with all speed,
10 hear the last Injunciions Of her dying uncle.
State now surrounded her, guards were on
each side Of The vehicle, and in the convent
parlor waited a high dame Of the court to ac-
company her on the way.
The scene she had to go through, Mary
felt would be painful; but there was great
er degree of depression al her heart than
even the anticipation Of standing by the death
bed Of her uncle could account for. Gloomy
then and Responding, disappointed, and anx-
ious, Mary entered the carriage, asking her.
self what was to be her fate when her uncle
should be no more. The night was dark and
stormy the dull winds blew and whistled
along the road, and for about mile not
word was spoken by either Mary or her com
panion.
At length, however. the lady said, g 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 Neyers is the next heir to the
coronet of Mantua, and as it is absolutely
necessary that all claims to this duchy and
Monferrat should centre in one race, it has
been determined that your Highness should
give your hand 10 the young Duke OF Rhetel,
son, Of the Duke of Neyers. The Prince
destined to be your husband has already ar
rived at Mantna, aud as there is the most ur-
gent necessity that your marriage should take
place before the death Of Duke Vincenzo,
he has generously determined, that even in
his mortal illness he will see the alliance
completed this very night, the. proper dis
pensaiions having already arrived from Rome.
Il was with difficulty that Mary Of Man,ua
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, oyerpowered her for few moments !;
but then she recoliected 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 de-
clared 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 GOODNESS which is
far more dispiriting than actual opposition.
and said, that she feared her Highness would
find herself forced to obey
Mary had recourse 70 silence, and though
her heart was sad and heavy, it remained
firm, and she said 10 herself, They Gan but
kill me, that they viii not do, better so die
Once more she passed the manifold gates
and bridges, and entered what she felt
to be Tor her, one vast dark prison but she
thought Of him she loved, and though she
censured him in her own heart. for not hav-
ing attempted to deliver her--still she felt
that she ought not, she could not, dared not,
wed another.
The gates of the palace were at length
closed, the courts were filled with soldiers
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 for
ward by her companion, she advanced up the
wide staircase and into the anti.chamber.-
There, however, an officer addressed her.
saying, All is ready, Madam; the Duke
awaits your Highness. There is not mo-
ment to spare 7
go forward, Madam said Mary to the
lady who accompanied her, go forward and
tell my uncle my unalierable resolve, as an
nounced it to you
The lady paused and looked back, but she
saw that Mary could not escape, and advance
ing, she entered the hall beyond, leaving the
dour ajar behind her. Mary could only see
the faded form of her uncle lying on srlen-
dy achieved the victory. But she heard first
his voice very sharply, : II not by good will,
by force and then another, but sweeter