My Lord, understanding of his comming, commaunded he should be brought to his bedde's side; and he being there, shewed him the King's pleasure was, that he should incontinently goe with the other Cardinall to the Queene, whoe was then in Bridewell, in her chamber there, to perswade with her by their wisdomes, and to advise her to surrender the whole matter unto the King's handes by her owne consent and will; which should be muche better to her honor, than to stande to the triall of lawe, and thereby to be condemned, which would seem much to her dishonour. To fulfill the King's pleasure, my Lord saide he was ready, and would prepare him to goe thither out of hande, but quoth he farther to my Lord of Wiltshire, 'Ye and other my Lordes of the counsell, are not a little mis-advised, to put any such fantasy into the King's head, whereby you doe trouble all the realme; and at length you shall get small thankes for your laboures, both of God and the world,' with many other vehement wordes and reasons, which caused my Lord of Wiltshire to weepe, kneeling by my Lorde's bedde side, and in conclusion departed. And then my Lord arose, and made him ready, taking his barge, and went streight to Bathe Place to Cardinall Campeigne; and so they went together to Bridewell, directly to the Queene's lodging."

Then follows the interesting scene with the queen, which we have in Shakspeare.

At length, on the day when judgment was anxiously expected from the Cardinals, and the king himself was stationed at a door of the court in the gallery, where he might hear the judgment given, and the king's counsel were calling loud for the sentence, Cardinal Campeggio, to the surprise of all, suddenly adjourned the court to Rome, in an impressive speech, very remarkable at such a time for its freedom and independence. He thus concludes.

"I come not to speake for favor, mede, or dread of any person alive, be he king or otherwise. I have no such respect to the person that I will offend my conscience. I will not for the favor or displeasure of any highe estate doe that thing that should be against the will of God. I am an ould man, bothe weake and sickly, that loketh daily for deathe. What should it availe me to put my soul in daunger of God's displeasure, to my utter damnation, for the favor of any prince or high estate in this world? My being here is only to see justice ministred according to my conscience, which thing myself doe also most desyer. And forasmuch as I doe understande, having perceivance by the allegations in the matter, the case is very doubtful, and also the party defendaunt will make no aunswer here, but doth rather appeale from us, supposing that we be not indifferent, considering the king's high dignity and authority within his owne realme which he hath over his subjects; and we being his subjects she thinketh that we cannot doe justice for feare of displeasure. Therefore to avoide all these ambiguities and doubts, I will not damne my soule for any prince or potentate alive. Therefore, I intend not to wade any farther in this matter, unles I have the just opinion and assent of the pope, and such other of more auncient experience, or as be sene better in such doubtful laws, than I am. Wherefore I will adjourne this courte, for this time, according to the order of the courte of Rome, from whence semblably our jurisdiction is derived. And if we should goe further than our commission doeth warrant us, it were great folly and much to our blames; and we may be breakers of the order of the high courte from which (as I said) our authorities be derived. And with that the courte was dissolved, and no more done."

The rage of the bluff king may be easily imagined; but he did not think it befitting his royal dignity, to make any observation, but pushed forward his friend and brother-in-law as his spokesman.

"Then stept forthe the duke of Suffolke from the king, by his commaundement, and spake with an hault countenaunce these wordes, 'It was never merry in England,' quoth he, while we had any cardinalls amongst us:' which wordes were set forthe both with countenaunce and vehemency, that all men marvailed what he intended; to whome no man made aunswer. Then the duke spake againe in great

despight. To the which my lord cardinal, perceiving his vehemency, soberly made aunswer, and saide, Sir, of all men within this realme, ye have least cause to dispraise cardinalls: for, if I, poor cardinall, had not bine, you should have had at this present no head upon your shoulders, wherewith you might make any such bragge, in despight of us, who intend you no manner of damage; neither have we given you any cause, to be with such despight offended. I would you knew it, my lord, and my brother here intend the king and this realme, as much honor, wealthe, and quietness, as you or any other, of what degree soever he be, within this realme; and would as gladly accomplish his lawful desire. Sir, I pray you my lord, show me what you would doe in case you were the king's commissioner in a forraine country, having a very weighty matter to treat on: and upon the doubtful conclusion thereof, would you not advertise the king's majesty or ere ye went through with the same? Yes, I doubt not. Therefore put your hasty malice and despight away, and consider that we be but commissioners for a time, and cannot, ne may not, by virtue of our commission procede to judgement, without the knowledge and consent of the head of our authority, and licence of him obtained; which is the pope. Therefore we doe neither more nor lesse than our warrant will beare us; and if any man will be offended with us therefore, he is an unwise man. Therefore hold your peace, my lord, and pacify yourselfe, and speake like a man of honor and wisdome, and speak not so quickly or reproachfully to your friends; for you know best what friendship I have showed you, which I never yet revealed to any person alive before nowe, neither to my glory, nor to your dishonour.' And therewith the duke gave over the matter, without any further wordes or aunswer, and went his way."

(To be continued.)

FROM BLACKWOOD'S EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.

VALPERGA.*

WE opened the packet, which we knew to contain this book, with great expectations. Frankenstein, at the time of its appearance, we certainly did not suspect to be the work of a female hand; the name of Shelley was whispered, and we did not hesitate to attribute the book to Mr. Shelley. Soon, however, we were set right. We learned that Frankenstein was written by Mrs. Shelley; and then we most undoubtedly said to ourselves, "For a man it was excellent, but for a woman it is wonderful." What we chiefly admired, in that wild production, was vigour of imagination and strength of language; these were unquestionable attributes, and they redeemed the defects of an absurd ground-work and an incoherent fable; and, moreover, they tempted us, and every body else, to forgive the many long passages of feeble conception and feeble execution, with which the vigorous scenes were interwoven. The history of Castruccio Castracani, on the other hand, had been long familiar to us in the glowing and energetic sketch of Machiavelli. Perhaps, on the whole, we should have been more rejoiced in the prospect of meeting Mrs. Shelly again on the same dark territory, where she had first displayed so many striking powers; but the story of Castruccio we were willing to consider as not unlikely to furnish, in such hands, the basis and materials of

Valperga; ; or, the Life and Adventures of Castruccio, Prince of Lucca. By the author of Frankenstein." In three volumes. London: Printed for G. and W. B. Whittaker, Ave-Maria-Lane, 1823.

VOL. III. No. 14.-Museum.

Q

a most romantic fiction. The bitter sarcasm that peeped out here and there in Frankenstein, will be displayed, said we, with the utmost advantage; for here the authoress has chosen for her hero, one who was not only the first soldier of his time, but the first satirist also. The marvellous rise of such a man to sovereign and tyrannic power, his preservation of all his original manners in that high estate, his deep ambition, his fiery valour, his sportive wit, his searing ironies, his untimely death, and the calm mockeries with which he prepared to meet it—here, said we, are noble materials, such as might well engage the fancy of the most gifted author. We must confess, that in much of what we looked for, we have been disappointed; but yet, even here at the outset, we do not hesitate to say, that if we have not met with what we expected, we have met with other things almost as good.

Our chief objection, indeed, may be summed up in one wordMrs. Shelly has not done justice to the character of Castruccio. The life of him, by Machiavel, does not cover more than twenty or thirty duodecimo pages; yet, one rises from that brief sketch with a much more lively and perfect notion of the man, than from the perusal of the three closely printed volumes now on our table. There is not one spark of wit in all this book, and yet the keen Italian wit of Castruccio was one of the most striking features in his real character, and ought to have been among the most prominent in a work representing him throughout, in action and conversation. Machiavel, in two or three pages, tells stories enough to have suggested the true "Castruccio vein." Who does not remember that famous one of his rebuking a young man, whom he met coming out of a house of ill fame, and who blushed on being recognised? "It was when you went in that you should have coloured," said Castruccio, "not when you come out." Who does not remember his behaviour in the storm at sea? Castruccio expressing some alarm, was rebuked by a stupid fool, who said, that for him he did not value his own life a farthing. "Every body," quoth Castruccio, "makes the best estimate of his own wares. When a thick-skulled wine-bibber boasted that he could drink such and such quantities without being the worse of it-it was Castruccio who answered, "Aye, and your ox could drink still more if he had a mind." It was the sagacious Castruccio, who, when some sage friend abused him for the extravagances he had been guilty of at a debauch, made answer, "He that is held for a wise man by day, will hardly be taken for a fool at night." It was he that dumb-founded an orator, who concluded a long speech, by a wordy apology for his wordiness, with these consolitary words, "Pain not thyself, my dear sir, I was attending to my spaniel."It was he, who, when he saw a certain envious one smiling to himself, asked, "Is it that some good hath befallen thee, or that some evil hath befallen another?" It was Castruccio, finally, who, when they came to his bedside, during his last illness, and asked his di

rections about his funeral, said, "Lay me on my face in the coffin --for every thing will be reversed ere long after my departure."

Of all this sort of thing we have no trace in Mrs. Shelley's book; and yet she appears to have contemplated a very full development of Castruccio's character. She gives us his infancy, his boyhood, his manhood, all in complete detail. The attempt, whether successful or not, certainly is made to depict the slow and gradual formation of a crafty and bloody Italian tyrant of the middle ages, out of an innocent, open-hearted and deeply-feeling youth. We suspect, that in the whole of this portraiture, far too much reliance has been laid on thoughts and feelings, not only modern, but modern and feminine at once. Perhaps we might say more; nay, perhaps we should not be saying too much, if we plainly expressed the opinion, that a very great part of Mrs. Shelley's book has no inspiration, but that of a certain school, which is certainly a very modern, as well as a very mischievous one, and which ought never, of all things, to have numbered ladies among its disciples. But, in spite even of this, we have closed the book with no feelings but those of perfect kindness-and we shall say no more of matters that will, perhaps, suggest themselves to our readers quite strongly enough, without our giving ourselves any trouble.

Laying out of view Antelminelli's real life and character, we can have no hesitation in saying, that Mrs. Shelley has given us a clever and amusing romance. Not doubting, that she will in due time make more attempts in the same way, we would fain point out, to so clever a person, faults which she might easily avoid in future, and which here, even more, perhaps, than in Frankenstein, neutralize much of her power. But, on further reflection, we believe the best way will be to leave all this to the working of experience. A very little consideration must be enough to show such a writer the absurdity of introducing so many pure episodes. The framer of an historical romance should not be reminding us at every turn, that his principal object is to show off his own knowledge of strange manners, or power of fine writing. If quaint manners are to be quaintly and strongly represented, the incidents, with which these are connected, ought to have a strict connexion with, and influence over, the progress of the fable, or at least the development of the principal characters of the fable. We cannot stand the stepping aside for ten pages, merely for the purpose of letting us see, that the writer knows the way in which the Mysteries of the middle ages were represented, either on, or off the Arno-we cannot spare four days of the life of Castruccio Castracani to singers and tale-tellers, and so forth, with whom he and his story have nothing to do-we abhor all unnecessary prosing about religious sects, and we are mortally sick of "orange-tinted skies," "dirges," and "Dante."

Another thing we are very sick of, is this perpetual drumming at poor Buonaparte. That singular character is already the hero

of fifty romances. Wherever one turns, he is sure to be met by the same sort of lame, impotent, and abortive attempts to shadow out Napoleon under the guise and semblance of some greater or smaller usurper of ancient days. On one hand we have that shallow "gentleman of the press," M. Jouy, labouring to bring him out en Sylla. On the other, there is an, if possible, still greater and more frothy goose, "M. le Vicompte d'Arlincourt," hammering away at Charles Martel and his RENEGADE. Here we find Mrs. Shelley flinging over the grey surtout and cocked hat of the great captain of France, the blazoned mantle of a fierce Condottiere of Lucca.-Anon, no question, we shall have this same crambe recocta served up à la Cromwell, à la Cæsar, à la Tamerlane! Will nothing persuade all these rhapsodists to let a great man's ashes repose, at least until they have had time to cool in the urn? As for Jouy and the Viscount d'Arlincourt, they are apparently two perfect ninnies, so let them rave away about any thing they please, even though the Quarterly, descending from its usual high character, should puff their vile crudities and passionless rant, no human being blessed with half an eye will waste three minutes' thought upon them-But Mrs. Shelley has talents which cannot be perverted with so much impunity. She is capable, and she is worthy of other things; and were it but that she is the daughter of Godwin, we should be sorry to find her persisting in the chase of such claptraps. For heaven's sake, leave all this nonsense to the "grande pensée" of little Jouy, the "Imagination haute et sublime" of the noble Viscount, and the "legs and impudence" of "Le Docteur O'Meara,"—and for heaven's sake, let us have no more puffs of such stuff from any quarter more reputable than Sir Pythagoras.

But enough of preliminaries. We have ventured throwing a thousand defects out of view, to recommend Valperga, as, on the whole, a clever novel. It must now be our business to justify ourselves and our opinion, by a few extracts from the book. And, following a plan which we would always wish to adhere to, in reviewing novels, we shall endeavour to do what is necessary for our own purposes, without interfering to any considerable extent with the pleasure which our readers may hereafter seek for in the pages of VALPERGA itself. That is to say, we shall keep to one particular part of the story, leaving all the wide stream of Mrs. Shelley's narrative pure and untouched, for the refreshment of those whose thirst it ought to be our business to excite, not to assuage.

In order to make our extracts in some degree intelligible, Valperga is the name of a castle and small independent territory not far from Lucca. Euthanasia, Countess of Valperga, is.in her own person a sovereign princess, but a warm lover of freedom, and much attached, by family connexions, to Florence, the capital of the Guelphic cause in Italy. She had been the companion of Castruccio's boyhood-she meets him while his manhood is opening in glory, and she loves him because she believes he is, and is to be,