sonal fortunes of its professors*; it being his fate to break his neck at Lyons in 1476, at his first interview with Louis XI., owing to his dismounting too precipitately from his horse, in order to salute his new patron. Others, among whom is, we believe, Paulus Jovius, relate that he was seized with a fit of apoplexy at Padua. At the close of his own life, Louis placed all hope in his physician, James Coctier, who received 10,000 crowns by the month for the last five months. See Comines, b. vi. xii. and Mezeray, p. 505. He summoned also from Calabria a holy hermit, whom Comines (b. vi. 8.) calls Friar Robert; but, according to Mezeray, his name was "Francis Martotile, .. founder of the order of Minimes."-" This hermit," says Comines," at the age of twelve years was put in a hole in a rock, where he continued three-and-forty years and upwards, till the king sent for him by the master of his household, in the company of the prince of Tarante, the king of Naples' son. But the said hermit would not stir without leave from his holiness, and from his king, which was great discretion in so inexperienced a man." The king, says Mezeray, "flattered him, implored him, fell on his knees to him ;" and, according to Comines, "adored him, as if he had been Pope himself." "But this good man, in answer, talked to him of God, and exhorted him to think more of the other life than this."-Mezeray, p. 505. We remember to have seen a story, that Louis, suspecting the death of a lady whom he regarded with affection had been occasioned by the prediction of an astrologer, summoned the supposed delinquent into his presence, intending to take very summary vengeance. The wary sage, set upon his guard by the tenour of the first question put by the monarch: "Tell me, thou that art so learned, what shall be thy fate?"-humbly represented, that he foresaw his death would happen three days before his majesty's. The king, it was added, very carefully avoided putting him to death. REDGAUNTLET, vol. i. chap. ii. p. 22. The case before the town-bailies of Cupar-Angus, when Luckie Simpson's cow had drunk up Luckie Jamieson's browst of ale, while it stood in the door to cool, is very fully and facetiously detailed in Franck's " Northern Memoirs," of which a reprint was lately published at Edinburgh, under the reported superintendence of Sir Walter Scott. 66 The Jacobite intrigues which wind up the plot of this novel are best understood by a reference to Dr. King's "Anecdotes of his own Times," p. 36, and 196, et seq. Lond. 1819. *Even Apollo was compelled to exclaim― "Nec prosunt domino, quæ prosunt omnibus, artes!"-Ovid. Met. i. 524. TALES OF THE CRUSADERS. An error in heraldry, in Ivanhoe, where "a fetterlock and shackle-bolt azure" are blazoned upon a sable shield, has been noticed as having a curious and remarkable parallel in Marmion, where a falcon is said to have "Soared sable in an azure field."-Canto I, stanzas vi. and viii.* It may be added, that the unauthorized word, "wroken," which is found Canto II. stanza xxvii. of the "Bridal of Triermain" occurs likewise in Vauda's prophecy in the first of these stories. "How," asked Ulysses, addressing his guardian goddess," shall I be able to recognise Proteus in the swallow that skims round our houses, whom I have been accustomed to behold as a swan of Phoebus, measuring his movements to a celestial music ?"— "In both alike," she replied, " thou canst recognise the godt." * Much absurd criticism has been wasted upon these " errors in Heraldry," because every tyro in the "Art of Blason" has been taught, that to place a colour upon a colour, or a metal upon a metal, is false heraldry. But, though such is undoubtedly one of the canons of Heralds, many ancient coats exhibit a deviation from it; and, hence, Sir Walter Scott's supposed mistakes may be justified by undoubted precedents, of which it is sufficient to cite the following. Perhaps the oldest armorial ensigns known are those of Jerusalem, Argent, a cross potent between four crosses potent, or; and to which Cleveland thus alludes: “Metal on metal is false heraldry; And yet the known Godfrey of Bouloign's coat A Roll of Arms, compiled in the early part of the reign of Edward the Second, circa 1310, presents, among others, the subjoined instance of a colour being placed upon a colour: "Sir Richard de Rokesle, de azure a vj lioncels de argent a une fesse de goules:" and the arms of the present Lord de Tabley contain a similar anomaly, they being azure, a fess gules between three fleur de lis, or. But when the Union Banner itself is a violation of the rules of heraldry, such a fault in a mere novelist, even if it really existed, would scarcely justify so many remarks. It is not, however, our intention to defend that writer from the charge of being very imperfectly acquainted with Heraldry, for he scarcely ever alludes to it without committing himself; but the anachronisms with which Sir Walter's novels abound, with respect to manners, costume, and events, would have been a far more useful object of criticism, since they are so calculated to mislead. +"The Friend," vol. iii. p. 100. ed. Lond. 1818. Wallstein, traduite de l'Allemand par M. Benjamin Constant de Rebecque. 8vo. Paris, 1809. THE recent attention which has been directed to Schiller's tragedies of Wallenstein, naturally leads to research into those popular impressions on which the author calculated when he presented to his countrymen this singular personification of ant extinct species, and vivid picture of an age so peculiarly fit to become the property of romance. Favoured by the haze which two centuries throw over the character of men and events, Schiller might have ventured greater liberties with the truth than he has taken. But he has not affronted the imaginative cast of the Germans by defacing, or essentially altering, their traditions. He has only blended, with what they have heard from their fathers, with what lives in monuments scattered over their land, a few inventions accordant with the spirit of those traditions, and beyond the province of the historian. He has filled up, from the richness of his genius, the outline left on the minds of a romantic people by an æra of thrilling interest and excitement. Wallenstein belonged to the heroic age of the German empire. He was among the last of a race of towering spirits, whose fire and activity raised them nearly on a par with the demi-gods of antiquity, and strongly contrasted them with their sluggish, contemplative descendants. An Iliad might be composed of the men who figured in the thirty-years' war; and, as far as the martial spirit and wild originality of its heroes, it would not fall short of its great original. It would have this ingredient of the sublime, that throughout the land where the German language is spoken the names of the mighty dead of that war are associated with everlasting impressions. Imagination could scarce invest them with deeper lineaments than tradition has done; and if the attributes of terror prevail, it is because the nature of warfare in those days presented its conductors more frequently in the light of scourges of humanity than of defenders of its rights, or avengers of its wrongs. But the poet who could catch and transmit what was truly great and majestic in their character would be reckoned among the benefactors of his country. Whether the writings of Schiller have not tended to graft some portion of the stirring, chivalrous energy of the seventeenth century on the German character of the nineteenth, is an investigation which we may not here pursue; but, certainly, we should infer from his "Wallenstein" that he has made the regeneration as easily as possible, by giving to his warriors of the former period all that metaphysical motive and abstraction so much in vogue among the Germans of the latter times. Körner, at least, was transformed by Schiller's magic, and superinduced the soldier over the poet and profound idealist. What first strikes us in the three tragedies of Wallenstein is the perfect indifference of Schiller to adapt them to the taste of any nation but his own, or even to suit them to the dramatic rules observed in Germany. He seems to have been less solicitous to weave a fable that should please, and act well, by the gradual development of its parts, than to omit none of the traits that might recall the military enthusiasm of a glorious epoch, and connect it with the fascinations of high poetical conception. In one of these tragedies the action is not even commenced; and yet it is in that very one that the grandeur of Wallenstein, as a chieftain, is most strikingly pourtrayed. Every thing in it has reference to him. All the characters talk of him, fear him, feel him present, till the spectator almost partakes of the illusion; and becomes conscious of the might of that man before whom so many and so variously constituted minds bow down. The whole riot and disorder of the camp is ocularly before him; and he hears the terms upon which these ferocious troopers of every creed and country consent to march under Wallenstein, and to know no will but his. Without this preparation we should miss that which gives such immense interest to the "taking off" of this ambitious chief-the assurance that he might have attained his object but for himself alone. In the words of M. Benjamin Constant de Rebecque, "The scenes follow one another without being linked together. But this incoherence is natural: it is a moving picture, where there is no past nor future. The genius of Wallenstein presides over this apparent confusion. The minds of all are full of him-all celebrate his praise, agitate themselves with the rumours of the count's dissatisfaction, and vow never to forsake the general who protects them. We distinguish the symptoms of an insurrection ready to break out if Wallenstein but give the word; and, at the same moment, we unravel the secret motives that modify the attachment of each individual-the fears, the mistrusts, and the private interests that swell the general impulse. We behold an armed people a prey to every popular fermentation; impelled by their enthusiasm, and retarded by their misgivings; striving to reason, and not succeeding from want of practice; spurning allegiance, yet making it a point of honour to obey their chief; trampling upon religion, yet hearkening eagerly to every superstitious tradition; but still a people inveterately proud of their strength, and full of contempt for every profession but that of arms; who know no virtue but courage, and no aim but the pleasures of the day." "It would be impossible to produce upon our stage this singular production of the genius, accuracy, and, I shall add, erudition of the Germans; for it required no little erudition to collect into one body all the points that distinguished the armies of the seventeenth century, and which appertain no longer to any modern army. In our days every thing in the camp, as in the city, is fixed, regular, and subordinate. Discipline has superseded commotion. If partial disorders occur, they are mere exceptions, which are provided for; but in the thirtyyears' war, disorder was the permanent state, and the enjoyment of gross licentiousness the amends for dangers and fatigues." "Armies in those days were not, as in ours, subject to political authority." They were rather a body of partisans of some celebrated leader, who had little or no commission from sovereign powers. He it was who enlisted them, paid them, promoted them. His fame attracted and retained them, and pillage alone enabled him to support them. The generals themselves were, for the most part, men who had emancipated themselves from all authority and institutions. The sword was their only appeal. Some scheme of ambition or revenge incited them to muster a little troop of followers by influence on their paternal estates, or simply by favour of the renown of their juvenile exploits. With these they dashed into the thick of quarrels between sovereign states, and managed either to turn the fortune of an action, or to do some gallant feat, by which they earned a reputation that was thenceforth the gauge of their importance in the struggles of the empire. "It was not princes only, but German and foreign gentlemen, who, with no ascendancy but military genius, levied little armies, and sold themselves to the contending sovereigns; or, sword in hand, attempted to become sovereigns themselves." The state of the times fostered this military enthusiasm. Oppression, insecurity, and habitual turbulence had thrown all ranks out of their natural state of citizenship. The chance of safety, if not of success, was on the side of the soldier rather than the peasant. The more the plains were desolated, the more recruits were driven into the ranks: men plundered of all their effects, and cruelly outraged in their domestic relations, soon became plunderers themselves, and sought a brutal retribution for their wrongs by violating the homes of others. They but looked round for the leader who, by the success of his arms, or the license of his camp, promised most to gratify their ravening appetites: under him they ranged themselves even against the religion they professed; and under him they continued till their propensities were checked, when they immediately deserted in battalions to the standard of the enemy. The pretence of religion but added fuel to the flames: it armed the fanatics of all creeds. But the real motive of the war was less to establish the principles of the Reformation than to secure the independence of the numerous princes of the empire: and though the former object was effected along with the latter, every one who looks into the constitution of the armies that |