There is a beautiful story of a nobleman who was imprisoned in a dreary fortress because he conspired against the rising power of Napoleon Buonaparte. During his lonely captivity, a little wild-flower grew up between two of the paving-stones in his prison court. As he had nothing else to do or think of, it attracted his attention. He grew more and more interested in watching its growth, and many tender thoughts and memories grew around it. It showed him how many beautiful things he had missed in life which were there ready for him, if he had only known and cared. With touching fondness he called it Picciola, his little pet. He was lying very ill one day when his jailer told him that the object of his interest had put forth a flower. The prisoner immedi¬ately rose from his bed and went to see this surprising thing. He was lost in admiration of its beauty and fragrance; and from that moment a new life came not only to his body but also to his soul. For the wonderful thought sprang up in his mind that God had sent the flower to be a divine teacher to him, and to tell him of the great love that was in the Redeemer's heart even for the guiltiest sinner. Before that he had been a cold, sad-hearted sceptic, who had no God and no hopes beyond this world; but now life acquired a new meaning and purpose to him, and he determined to consecrate it to the glory of God.
The little flower grew thicker and bigger till the chink between the two paving¬ stones became too strait for it, and it was beginning to droop and languish. The prisoner, seeing this, sent a secret petition to the Emperor by the hands of the daughter of the jailer, beseeching to have the paving¬ stones that threatened the life of his pet removed, so that it might have room to expand. The young lady presented the petition to the Empress Josephine, who was so touched by it that she interceded herself for the liberty of the captive, and was success¬ful. The Count, released from prison, married the young lady; and long afterwards, when he died, his widow wore upon her breast a costly brooch, in which were set the faded remains of the little prison-flower that had done so much for the soul and body of her honoured husband. Thus you see how important a little weed springing up from such an unpromising soil had been.
Taken from Hugh Macmillian The Clock of Nature page 45/7
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