and persons of exalted rank,-had to disguise themselves as grooms, as an audience could only be obtained of him in his magnificent stables. But even here it was dangerous to approach the eccentric violent sovereign. Eva, the daughter of George Popel of Lobkowitz, who in 1594 had fallen into disgrace, had, by means of a bribe, been admitted to that singular audience-hall, to entreat for the life and liberty of her father; when fortunately an honest groom kept her back, telling her that she would not be the first lady applying to his Majesty on affairs of importance, and falling there in the stable a victim to the lust of the royal madman.

That terrible war of religion, known as the Thirty Years' War, began with Matthias, the successor of Rodolph II. in the Imperial dignity. He was a debilitated, gouty, dissipated prince. Superstitions were still rife with Romanist Germany. Matthias expired, as prophesied by Keppler, by seven Ms, drawn for the year 1619: Magnus Monarcha Mundi Medio Mense Martio Morietur. Inauspicious omens also happened at the coronation of Ferdinand. The tower where the crown of St. Stephen of Hungary was kept having been struck by lightning, a link of the diadem got loose at the coronation, and the belt of the royal sword broke.

The rulers of the first Habsburg dynasty, from Maximilian I. down to Matthias-not even excepting Maximilian II., the best of the old linehad been given to all the excesses of illegitimate amours. With the new Styrian dynasty that came in with Ferdinand II., debauchery having debilitated the stock, its usual consequence, devoteeism, made itself manifest. Ferdinand was surrounded exclusively with ecclesiastics and women, who held sole possession of his ear and heart! Once he went out against the Turks, but the mere approach of a troop of Spahis caused him to beat a hasty retreat. The war forced upon the Imperial devotee by the Papist "chain of nobles" against the Protestant "chain of nobles," and which was ultimately decided by Wallenstein and Tilly crushing, arms in hand, the sympathies which Germany had shown for the cause of the Austrians and Bohemians, began under Ferdinand II., and lasted during the whole of the eighteen years of his reign.

The battle of the White Mountain was followed by what Vehse calls "the bloody day of judgment in the Altstadt Ring of Prague," the terrible 21st of June, 1621. Twenty-four lords were beheaded, and three hanged. The property of 728 nobles was confiscated; whilst 185 noble houses, besides many thousand families of commoners and citizens, left their country for ever.

A new condottiere now arose, after the pattern of Mansfeld, who not only offered to carry on war on a grand scale, and to make it selfsupporting, but also to establish the absolute sovereignty of the Emperor. This was no other than Wallenstein. He became in the second period of the war what Tilly had been in the first.

From early childhood the lofty and grasping spirit, as well as the harshness and stubbornness of Wallenstein's character, manifested themselves. One day when his mother chastised him, a boy of not more than seven years, he called out, "I wish I were a prince, that I might not be flogged!" At that tender age already, whilst playing at soldiers with other children of his age, he always chose for himself the part of general, and was fond of being waited upon like a grand lord. When his uncle, Adam von Waldstein, once rebuked him for it, remarking, "Well, cousin, you give yourself the airs of a prince!" the boy gave

the ready answer, "That which is not may one day be." There were many anecdotes current about Wallenstein's haughty, ambitious spirit. Thus, it was said, that at the school of Goldberg he had once dreamed that teachers and pupils, and even the trees had made obeisance to him; for which his preceptor Fechner had ridiculed him. At the University of Altdorf, he had been once condemned to the black-hole; and as that place, newly-built, was to be named after its first inmate, Wallenstein had pushed his poodle in before him, on which the black-hole had ever after been called Poodle. And another time, when he was a page at the court of the Margrave of Burgau, the son of Ferdinand of Tyrol and the beautiful Philippina Welser, he had once in his ambitious daydreams fallen from a window in the third story of the castle of Innsbruck, and escaped as by a miracle.

Wallenstein was born to be " a prince in war." He displayed the greatest splendour and magnificence. He connived at all the excesses of his soldiers, under the sole condition of having the strictest discipline kept up on service. His camp was the most joyous and gay that a soldier could have wished. He allowed a train of servants, campfollowers, and waggoners, as also women, of whom there are said to have been fifteen thousand in the camp of Nuremberg; but he allowed no priest. On the other hand, the severity of his punishments was as excessive as the liberality of his rewards. Cowardice was inexorably punished by death; at the least breach of discipline, the general, whose word was in lieu of a sentence of a court-martial, briefly gave the order, "Let the brute be hanged!"

Even the appearance of the general struck the beholder with reverence and awe. A tall, thin, proud figure, with sallow countenance and stern features; a lofty, commanding forehead, with short bristling black hair; small, black, fiery and piercing eyes; dark, mistrustful looks; his chin and lips covered with a pointed beard and thick moustachios, the ends of which stood stiffly out;such was the man, as we may still see him in his portraits. His usual dress consisted of a buff jerkin and a white doublet, scarlet mantle and hose, a broad Spanish ruff, boots of Cordova leather, lined with fur on account of his gout; on his hat he wore, like Tilly, a long waving red plume.

Whilst in the camp the most riotous gaiety reigned paramount, the most profound stillness was enforced in his own immediate neighbourhood. He is said to have once caused a valet of his to be hanged, for having awakened him without express orders; and an officer to be privately put to death, for having startled him by the jingling of his spurs. He was always plunged in thought, occupied only with himself and his own plans and projects. He was indefatigable in mental exertion and practical labour; but in thought and deed alike, he drew only from the resources of his own mind and his own will, in proud independence of every foreign influence. He even disliked being looked at whilst receiving reports or giving orders; and the soldiers were directed, when he walked through the rows of their tents, not to appear to take any notice of him. The men were struck with a strange awe when Wallenstein's tall thin figure glided along like a ghost; there was about all his being something mysterious, solemn, and unearthly. The soldiers were fully convinced that their general had a bond with the powers of darkness; that he read the future in the stars; that he could not bear to hear the barking of the dog nor the crowing of the cock; that he was proof against bullet as well as against cut and stab; and, above all, that he had charmed Fortune to stand by his colours. Fortune, indeed, which was his deity, became that of the whole of his army.

Wallenstein was a man of the most fiery temper, but outwardly he always showed himself cool and collected. His orders were brief and terse. He was very chary with his words; but, although he spoke little, what he spoke was

full of energy and to the purpose. Least of all he spoke about himself; yet the most ardent ambition burnt quietly and silently within him. To that passion he in cold blood sacrificed everything and everybody. George Zriny, Ban of Croatia, one day brought to him the head of a Turk of high station which he had cut off himself. As the ban, in producing the ghastly trophy, made the remark, "This is the way in which one ought to pursue the Emperor's enemies," Wallenstein answered with icy coldness, "I have seen some heads cut off before, but I never cut off one myself;" and soon after, he treated the ban at a dinner to a poisoned radish, of which Zriny died. This happened in 1626.

This last story may be placed in the same category as those previously alluded to, of the effect of wine on the fair Philippina Welser, and of poison on Don John of Austria.

The Ghibelline plans of Wallenstein aroused the jealousy of the Pope and the Jesuits, and they succeeded in obtaining his dismissal, and in getting Ferdinand, as Vehse says, to cut off his own right hand. When Gustavus Adolphus, the "Snow Majesty," as he was derisively called by the nobles at Vienna, who had not the least foreboding of the hot work in store for them from that "ice-king,"-led his Goths across the Baltic to the rescue of their German brethren in faith, the battle of Leipzig and the death of Tilly left the Emperor no alternative but to call Wallenstein once more to the command of the army. Nothing can be more characteristic of the man than the picture given of his retirement.

Wallenstein had in the mean time lived in proud retirement, partly at Prague, and partly at Gitschin, the little capital of his duchy of Friedland. At Prague, he lived with almost royal pomp; but, as far as he himself was concerned, just as formerly at the camp, in the strictest seclusion. For the great palace which he built in the Bohemian capital, one hundred houses had to be pulled down. All the streets which led to it were barred with chains; the entrance was by six gateways. In the court-yard, a body-guard of fifty gorgeously-dressed halberdiers kept watch. His household comprised nearly 1000 persons. At the head of his court, as lord chamberlain, stood Count Paul Lichtenstein; who, besides a monthly salary of 200 florins, had board for himself and forty-eight dependents, with forage for as many horses. His first steward was a Count Harrach; his chief equerry a Count Hardegg. The duke himself was waited upon by twentyfour chamberlains, who, like those of the Emperor, wore golden keys; and by sixty pages of honour of the first houses, all of them dressed in sky-blue velvet, laced and embroidered with gold. Many of the former officers of Wallenstein were living at his court, drawing pensions and receiving free board at his table, which was never served with less than a hundred dishes. His stables contained upwards of 1000 saddle and carriage horses, which fed out of marble mangers. When he travelled, there were never less than fifty carriages, drawn by six horses, and fifty drawn by four. In a lofty vaulted banqueting-hall of his palace at Prague, he was depicted in a triumphal car, drawn by four horses of the sun, with a star over his laurel-crowned head. The long suites of rooms of this palace were filled with astrological, allegorical, and mythological figures. A secret staircase led from a small round saloon into a grotto of artificial stalactites, where there was a bath. Adjoining this grotto was a spacious portico; from which one entered the gardens, adorned with fountains, and with canals abounding with fish.

Wallenstein's fortune was colossal, even according to the standard of our own times. His yearly revenue was estimated at 6,000,000 florins (600,0007.), derived partly from the large capitals which he had placed in the banks of Amsterdam and Venice; and partly from his estates in Moravia and Bohemia, especially the duchy of Friedland and the principality of Sagan. Although no

longer in the possession of the duchy of Mecklenburg, he continued until 1631 to coin ducats with the legend of his name, as Duke of Mecklenburg.

Wallenstein only consented to reassume command of the army with the condition of absolute power, and that neither the Emperor himself nor his son should have anything to do with the army. The fatal battle of Lützen—so fatal, yet so glorious, to the Swedes-is well told.

The whole field was covered by a dense fog, which completely intercepted the view. The King of Sweden likewise mounted his white charger, and addressed the Swedes, Finlanders, and Germans, each separately. He then caused to be sung, to the sound of trumpets and kettle-drums, Luther's hymn, "A strong fortress is our God," and his own favourite hymn, known as his "Field Song," composed by his chaplain Dr. Fabricius:

"Do not despair, thou little band,

E'en though the foe is near at hand,

To bring thee to destruction."

As a war-cry he too gave that of Breitenfeld, "God with us." He had not yet broken his fast; and again only wore his buff jerkin, with a coat of broadcloth over it, without any cuirass, as an old wound and his corpulency made it inconvenient for him to wear armour. On the morning of the battle he expressly declined it, saying, "God is my cuirass."

It was now nine o'clock; the king had approached Wallenstein's order of battle within range of cannon-shot. The artillery began to play, the cavalry to throw out skirmishers; but, as the thick fog made it impossible to see anything, all was soon quiet again. After ten o'clock only, the fog began to disperse, and there was a little gleam of sunshine. The king was just staying with Duke Bernard opposite the windmills, in front of the right wing of Wallenstein; and he called out with a loud voice, "Now let us be at it! The Lord be with us! Lord Jesus, help! We fight to-day for the honour and glory of Thy holy name!" Then, drawing his sword, he charged with the word of command, "Forward!” against the ditches of the high road, which were kept by Wallenstein's artillery and musketeers. It was his principal object to take the battery near the windmills, which was the key of Wallenstein's position. Behind the ditches he was received by a murderous fire; and only after three hours' hard fighting, three of the enemy's squares were broken by the Swedish infantry under Brahe. The king now descried the cuirassiers of Wallenstein's second line of battle, in their black cuirasses, and at their head, in glittering armour, their colonel, Ottavio Piccolomini, the same who afterwards betrayed Wallenstein. Gustavus called out to Colonel Stalhantsch, who commanded the Finland regiment of horse, "Attack those black fellows!" But being at this moment apprised that the Imperial cavalry in the centre had again driven back his previously successful infantry, he put himself at the head of the Smaland regiment, commanded by the wounded Colonel Steenbock, to hasten to the support of his own centre. Whilst he was thus riding on at full speed, few only could follow him. These were Duke Francis Albert of Saxe Lauenburg; the equerry of the latter, Luchau; the lord of the bedchamber, Von Truchsess; the page Augustus von Leubelfing, the son of a Nuremberg patrician house, a lad of only eighteen years; and, besides these gentlemen, two grooms. At once the king found himself in the midst of the enemy's horsemen, those "black fellows." His horse was wounded in the neck by a pistol-shot; after which he himself had his left arm shattered by another ball. His first words were, "It is nothing, follow me;" but the wound was so severe that the bones protruded through the sleeve. He now begged the Duke of Lauenburg to remove him from the fray, and turned round; but in the same moment, he received from the Imperialist Lieutenant-colonel Maurice von Falkenberg, the brother of that Swedish commandant who had been killed at the taking of Magdeburg, another pistol-shot in the back. Exclaiming with a sigh, "My God, my God!" he sank from the

saddle; but his foot being fast in the stirrup, he was dragged on by his horse. The equerry Luchau now engaged Falkenberg; the duke fled, and the page alone remained with the king. He was still alive, and the boy, who refused to tell that it was the king, was himself mortally wounded. The king, after being robbed of his golden chain and stripped, at last called out, "I am the King of Sweden!" Upon which the black cuirassiers tried to carry him off with them; but at this moment Steenbock's regiment came up; the black cuirassiers took to flight, and, being unable to take the king with them, they shot him through the head, and stabbed him in several places through the body; after which they dropped him. The Swedish squadrons then rode over his corpse. This happened at two o'clock in the afternoon.

The king's wounded and blood-stained white charger, racing along the Swedish lines, was the first harbinger of the sad news. Duke Bernard undertook to revenge his death. Pappenheim was slain, and Wallenstein's luck waned before the rising star of Bernard of Weimar.

On the following morning, the Swedes sought, among the many corpses which strewed the field, for the dead body of their king. It was found stripped naked, scarcely to be recognised,-so disfigured was it with blood and bruises from the hoofs of the horses, and covered with nine wounds; not far from the large stone which to this day is called the Swede's stone (Schwedenstein), near the little town of Lützen, a few yards off the high road leading from Leipzig to Naumburg. Duke Bernard caused the body to be taken to Weissenfels; where Queen Eleanora received it, and from thence conveyed the beloved remains herself by way of Berlin to Stockholm. The army swore to Duke Bernard over the corpse of the king, that they would follow him to the end of the world.

The unexpected death of the King of Sweden, who had not yet completed his thirty-eighth year, caused the greatest sensation throughout Europe among Papists as well as Protestants. The Emperor had a Te Deum sung in all the churches as if he had gained the most glorious victory; but he wept at the sight of the blood-stained buff jerkin of Gustavus Adolphus, with the holes made by the balls in the sleeve and in the back. At Madrid, there were great rejoicings, and the death of the king was represented at the playhouse for the gra tification of the faithful. The Pope, who in his heart had been not a little pleased that some one had risen to oppose the overwhelming supremacy of the Emperor, caused a low mass to be read for the soul of the fallen champion of the heretics. On the Protestants, on the other hand, the sudden disaster fell like a thunderbolt. The banished King of Bohemia was actually seized with paralysis on receiving the news at Mayence.

The Jesuit party, which had long sworn the ruin of Wallenstein, once more procured his dismissal. His death, however, it was left for strangers to accomplish. The three chief instruments of the vindictive plans hatched by the Italians and Spaniards, were Butler, an Irish Papist, and Gordon and Leslie, Scotch Calvinists, who afterwards turned Papists.

It was a dark, boisterous night; the wind roared, and a drizzling rain pattered against the windows. Captain Walter Devereux, of Butler's regiment, with twelve of his men, now set out on his bloody errand to the duke. The sentinels, supposing he was coming to make a report, allowed him to pass. Wallenstein had taken a bath, and was going to lie down. In the ante-room Devereux met the valet, who had just carried in to his master his usual evening cup, a tankard of beer on a golden salver. The man requested Devereux not to make a noise, as the duke had retired to rest. A few minutes before, his astrologer Giovanni Battista Seni had left him, who is said to have warned him by the stars even in the last moment.

According to Khevenhüller, they could not agree in their calculations, the