noblest and most unfortunate of pretenders; on the other, a warrior terrible even to ferocity, but not less convinced of the legitimacy of his cause, one of the greatest princes, and, beyond contradiction, the greatest captain of his time.” M. de St Priest proceeds to attribute the chief merit of the victory to his hero. “In this bloody game at bars, full of snares, traps, surprises, where we see these terrible condottieri, covered with blood, running after each other like schoolboys at play, success was due less to the odd stratagem of Valéry than to the rapid march, the four days’ race in the mountains, from Lucera to Aquila. If Charles showed himself a great general, it was less when in ambuscade behind the hill of Capello, than when, like a bird of prey hovering above the wild Abruzzi, he fell with a swoop upon the imprudent band, who deemed him astray in the defiles, lost in the ravines, or fallen amongst precipices.” Meanwhile Conradin, his army destroyed, his hopes shattered, was a fugitive, with scarcely a follower. One or two days he abode in Rome, protected by the Ghibellines; then, driven forth by the return of the Guelfs, consequent on the ruin of his cause, he fled with Frederick of Austria and a few Italian nobles, to the sea-coast, near the castle of Astura, a fortress of the Frangipani family. Hiring a boat, they set sail for Pisa, but were pursued and overtaken by a fast galley, whose commander summoned them to bring to, and ordered the passengers to repair to his quarter-deck. Conradin asked in astonishment who this man was, and heard in reply that it was Giovanni Frangipani, master of the neighbouring castle. At this name Conradin was overjoyed. “Giovanni is a Roman,” he said; “his family have always been devoted to the house of Swabia; they have been loaded with benefits by the Emperor Frederick; a Frangipani will assuredly defend and befriend me.” Full of confidence, he went on board the galley. “I am King Conrad V.,” was his hasty speech to the lord of Astura, “and I have sought to reconquer the kingdom of my ancestors.” Frangipani made no reply: the prince was astonished at his silence, asked him to assist his flight, descended at last to entreaties, offered, it is said, to marry his daughter; but the stern pirate remained mute, and on reaching land, threw the prince and his companions into a dungeon. Delivered up to Charles, they were led to Rome on foot and in chains. “Oh, my mother!” cried Conradin, with bitter tears, “you foretold this, and I was deaf to your words. Oh, my mother! what grief for your old age!” He did nothing but sob the whole of the road, Saba Malaspina tells us, and seemed half dead, and as if out of his senses. But this weakness, which, in such misfortune and in a mere child, was not unnatural, soon gave way to tranquil fortitude and Christian resignation.