essential difference between whom is, that the man of genius is an originator, and the man of talent an imitator.

In 1629 Gustavus had reigned eighteen years, and was already famous by his victories in Denmark, Russia, and Poland. A truce of six years with the latter country had just been effected through the mediation of France and England. Gustavus was able to turn his attention to the internal affairs of his kingdom. The liberality and ability of his administration proved that in more tranquil times he might have been as celebrated as a statesman as he was as a general. But he was not long suffered to rest on his laurels. Wallenstein had marched unresisted across the north of Germany, and was laying siege to Stralsund, a fortress opposite to the island of Rugen, whence it was but a step to the coast of Sweden; he had created himself Admiral of the Baltic, and was forming a fleet whose destination could not be doubted. Gustavus felt that he could no longer stand aloof. A Swedish contingent was despatched, which saved Stralsund; and he assembled a state council to deliberate on the expediency of himself taking the field. Most unwilling were the Swedes to part with their good king. They insisted on the distance, the difficulty, the danger, his slender resources and small army. The great Chancellor Öxenstijerna, who enjoyed the implicit confidence of his master, was against the measure. Afterwards he

spoke of the king's resolve as of a divine impulse; no persuasion could shake it. On the 19th of May 1630, Gustavus bade a solemn farewell to his subjects, and on the 30th left the country which his life and death were to render illustrious, but which he was to see no more.

We have not space to recount here the history of his campaign, the results of which are well known.

The success of Gustavus procured to him at length an open and regular alliance with Richelieu. It was signed on the 23d January 1631. By this treaty France agreed to pay an annual subsidy of 400,000 crowns towards the war, on condition that Gustavus should spare the possessions of the Duke of Bavaria and of the Catholic League. The moral effect produced by this alliance was prodigious. But it was not long before Richelieu, like the ignorant disciple in the fable, was thrown into consternation by the power of the spirit which his own charm had raised.

All that Richelieu could do was, while nominally the ally of Sweden, to encourage the neutrality of the Catholic states, to promise them a support which he could not afford, and, on pretence of protecting Lorraine, to lay hands on it himself.

At length, Wallenstein having resumed the command of the imperialist forces, Gustavus suffered a severe check before Nu

remberg. A reaction in public opinion is one of the few things which may always be safely predicted. The world was tired of admiring the virtues and wondering at the deeds of Gustavus. Because on this one occasion he was not victorious, he was of course vanquished for ever.

So thought Gaston, duke of Orleans,-Monsieur, as he was generally called,-who, since the exile of the queen-mother, had been brooding over past follies, and hatching new disturbances in the Low Countries.

He was a specimen of a clever fool; he was devoid both of moral sense and common sense. He was a craven both in mind and body; his conduct was always either weak or wicked, or both. Under Louis XIII., as under the regency, he was ever in revolt and conspiring with the enemies of his country, often without a chance of success, and still more often defeating his own plots by his clumsy irresolution. He generally escaped punishment by betraying his accomplices; for, like Louis XIII., though never without a favourite, he never had a friend. Though so deficient in judgment, his talents were above the average. He was an admirable speaker, his memory was excellent, and he was a proficient in several branches of science.

Imagining the power of Richelieu to be indissolubly bound up with that of his great ally, Gaston resolved upon a decisive blow. He was sure of the assistance of Spain and Lorraine; and he despatched emissaries into France to secure that of the nobles. He was especially desirous to gain Henri, duc de Montmorency, the governor of Languedoc.

Till now the loyalty of this nobleman had been unblemished. Godson and favourite of Henri IV., devoted to his sovereign, for whom he had gained several battles, the fate that could least have been expected for him was to die as a traitor.

After many misgivings, Montmorency consented to join Gas

ton's cause.

We must pass over Gaston's ignominious failure, and the capture and condemnation of Montmorency. Petitions poured in from every quarter for Montmorency's pardon. Foreign powers interceded. It was all in vain. "With the head of Montmorency," said the cardinal to Louis XIII., "his party will fall." The king had perhaps another motive besides the interest of the state. The beauty and misfortunes of Anne of Austria had touched the heart of Montmorency. He styled himself" Chevalier de la Reine;" and when taken prisoner, her picture was found bound upon his arm. Montmorency's accomplished wife, Marie des Ursins, was first cousin to Louis XIII. Her affection for her husband, which neither trial nor time could shake, was well known. She made every possible effort to save

him; so did his sister, the Princesse de Condé. But Louis XIII. would neither see them himself, nor permit them to penetrate to the prisoner.

Gaston saved himself by signing a treaty containing these words: "That he would not interpose in favour of those who had joined with him on this occasion for their own purposes, and that he would not complain when the king obliged them to suffer the penalty which they deserved."

Louis XIII. and Richelieu proceeded to Toulouse. Montmorency was removed thither on the 27th October. His trial began on the next day. He pleaded guilty, was condemned on the 29th, and beheaded in the court of the Capitol on the 30th. The statue of Henri IV., which stood in the centre, was sprinkled by his blood.

He died like a saint, forgiving all his enemies. In his will he left a valuable picture to the cardinal. On the night before his execution the whole town was in commotion. The streets

swarmed with people demanding his pardon, with loud cries, under the windows of the palace, where Louis XIII., sombre, taciturn, and resolved, sat playing at chess,-his own the only dry eyes in the chamber.

"Many of Montmorency's friends," continues M. Michelet, "the principal members of his household, were punished for having followed hima novelty which excited scandal, even indignation. It broke through the old connection between vassal and lord, client and patron, servant and master. No master henceforth but the king and the state. It was a terrible but a necessary severity. It was the commencement of the reign of law; and, considering the manners and opinions of the time, there was both danger and grandeur in daring to strike the blow. The desired effect was obtained. For a long time the party remained without a head; civil war was impossible; and Spain had lost her lever. Conspiracies were reduced to the chances of assassination. But there was a base cruelty in the mode of punishment, which excited mortal enmity against Richelieu. The execution of the noble followers of Montmorency might have been forgiven, but not their being sent to the galleys to row on the same bench with plebeian convicts. Even the daring act of Montmorency's death was done in a cowardly manner. Without doubt, it was the cardinal's wish, but he had not dared to advise it. He had shown the courage of a priest; not striking himself, but presenting the knife. He felt terribly alone."

It is extraordinary that Richelieu chose this very moment, his hands red with the blood of her chevalier, to pay court to Anne of Austria. We compress the picturesque language of M. Michelet. Found out in her perpetual plots with Spain, suspected of collusion with Gaston, the queen's position was humiliating. She had been forced to accompany this southern

expedition as a hostage whom it was not safe to leave behind. The king attended her circle every evening, but spoke only to Mdlle. de Hautefort. Immediately after the closing scene at Toulouse he returned to Paris, leaving her in the hands of the cardinal, who had carte blanche to treat her as he pleased. Richelieu made an accommodation with Spain the pretext for his sudden change of conduct. It is true he was not young and handsome, but he was successful and all-powerful. Essential to Sweden, desired by Spain, aggrandised by the victories of Gustavus, the abasement of Lorraine, and the discomfiture of Monsieur, Richelieu seemed to hold in his hand the fate of Europe. Richelieu led the terrified court and the trembling queen in triumph down the Garonne into the Gironde. At Bordeaux he expected to enjoy the mortification of the governor, the Duc d'Epernon. This old man was near eighty, and perhaps the shock would kill him. What a satisfaction it would have been to the cardinal to bury him as he passed through!

Vain hope! At Bordeaux the scene changes.

Richelieu falls dangerously ill; and the old governor, surrounded by armed retainers, walks every morning into the cardinal's bedroom to ask him how he does, and frighten him almost to death. The queen and court start without him, and proceed to enjoy the magnificent fêtes which his presence would have spoiled. At La Rochelle there were all sorts of rejoicings,— triumphal arches, tournaments, naval reviews, concerts, and balls. The queen was dancing when news arrived which turned all this feasting into mourning. Richelieu was out of danger, and Gustavus was dead. He fell on the plain of Lützen on the 6th of November 1632.

"All that romance writes," says M. Michelet, " of the fate of heroes was accomplished literally in him: To save the world, to die young, and by a traitor's hand." He goes on to say, "In the terrible battle of Lützen, Gustavus overpowers Wallenstein; beats, wounds, cripples, and overthrows him; kills his famous generals, even him who was the very incarnation of war-Pappenheim, who at his birth was marked with two bloody swords on the forehead. Gustavus was returning, tranquil and pacific and trusting, as usual, from the dreadful execution. His only companion was a petty German prince, who had frequently changed sides. A shot is fired, and Gustavus falls. The companion flies, and goes straight to Vienna."

We are happy to be able to disbelieve that Gustavus died by treason. It would have been, like the death of Cordelia, too sad for the justice either of truth or of poetry. But our author, trusting to the inspirations of genius, did not think it worth while to study the facts. Gustavus was killed in the beginning of the battle. Pappenheim did not come up till near its close;

otherwise there would have been no battle at all. Gustavus would never have attacked a force numerically so superior to his Gustavus had already made one successful charge at the head of his gallant Swedes, and already made sure of victory. He led them on again; the foe proved too numerous, and the Swedes retreated, not perceiving, in the thick fog, that they had left their king in the hands of the enemy. A pistol-ball shattered his arm, and, feeling faint, he requested the Duke of Saxe-Lauenburg (the homme suspect of M. Michelet) to lead him out of the battle. An imperial cuirassier then shot him in the back; and he is reported to have said to the duke, "Take care of yourself, brother; I have had enough." He fell from his horse; and a party of the enemy coming up, asked who he was. "I was the King of Sweden," said Gustavus, and expired. His white charger was seen galloping riderless over the field, its housings covered with blood. The Swedes knew that their king was dead. Bernhard of Saxe-Weimar assumed the command of an army as eager as he was to avenge their common loss. Wallenstein's troops were completely routed. In vain did Pappenheim's arrival turn the scale for a moment in favour of the imperialists. They were overpowered by the furious onslaught of the Swedes; and Pappenheim fell covered with wounds, willing to die since the mortal enemy of his faith was slain.

So ended the memorable battle of Lützen, in which perished perhaps the greatest hero whom the world has ever seen. If the Reformed Church had her saints as well as her elder sister of Rome, we should see many a stately cathedral and decorated altar dedicated to the memory of Gustavus Adolphus. Yet he had none of the bitter exclusiveness which sometimes adheres to sanctity. He was gay and genial, and so sure of his own faith, that he was willing to allow perfect liberty to those of a different persuasion. We read of no persecution sanctioned by him. All Europe, foes as well as friends, mourned for him. For himself, however, his early death was perhaps not to be regretted. Scarcely a cloud had dimmed the splendour of his career. Years might have brought their cares, and ambition and power their temptations, and in time they might have obscured the radiance of a character whose perfection, as it now stands, is an everlasting glory to human nature.

It is a satisfaction to reflect that our own countrymen contributed to the success of this great general. In his third campaign Gustavus was served by fifty-seven British officers and 10,000 men.

With him, in spite of the skill and the bravery of his successors, the unity and the progress of the Protestants was at an