The king's ring

by Zacharias Topelius

THE KING'S RING.

CHAPTER I.
THE BATTLE OF BREITENFELD.

Through the histories of Germany and Sweden the fame of mighty names has resounded for centuries; at their mention the Swede raises his head aloft, and the free German uncovers his with admiration. These are Leipzig, Breitenfeld, and the 7th of September, 1631.

King Gustaf Adolf, with his army of Swedes and Finns, stood on German soil to protect the holiest and highest things in life—Liberty and Faith.

Tilly, the terrible old corporal, had invaded Saxony, and the king pursued him. Twice had they met; the tiger had challenged the lion to the combat, but the latter would not move. Now for the third time they faced each other; the crushing blow must fall, and the fate of Germany trembled in the balance.

At dawn the Swedes and Saxons crossed the Loder, and placed themselves in battle array at the village of Breitenfeld.

The king rode along the lines, and inspected everything. His eye beamed with delight on these brave men; the left wing was composed of Gustave Horn's cavalry, Teuffel was in the centre, and Torstensson with his leathern cannon in front. The Livonians and Hepburn's Scots were both in the second line.

The king commanded the right wing, composed of several regiments of cavalry and the Finns.

"Stälhandske," said he, checking his large steed at the last Finnish division, "I suppose you understand why you are here. Pappenheim is opposite, and longs to make your acquaintance," he added smiling, "and I expect a vigorous attack from that quarter. I rely upon you Finns to receive him right royally."

The king then raised his voice and said,

"Boys, do not blunt your swords upon those iron-clad fellows, but first tackle the horses, and then you will have light work with the riders."

The Finns were proud of their danger and the honour of their position. The king inspired all with courage and self-reliance. But these short, sturdy fellows on their small horses seemed unequal to the onset of the big Wallachians upon their strong and heavy chargers. Tilly held the same opinion.

"Ride them down," he said, "and horse and man will fall powerless under the heels of your steeds." But Tilly did not know his foes. The outer bearing of the Finns was deceptive. Their iron muscles and calm courage, with the hardihood of their horses, gave them a decided advantage over their enemies.

"Well, Bertila," said Stälhandske, turning to a young man who in the first rank rode a handsome black horse, and was noticeable from his height and bearing, "do you feel inclined to win the knight's spur to-day?"

The one addressed seemed astonished, and coloured up to the brim of his helmet.

"I have never dared to aspire so high," he answered. "I—a peasant's son!" he added with hesitation.

"Thunder and lightning, the boy blushes like a bride at the altar! A peasant's son? What the devil, then, have we all come from in the beginning? Did you not provide four fully equipped horsemen? Has not our Lord placed a heart in your breast, and the king a weapon in your hand? That is in itself a coat of arms; you must attend to the rest."

A multitude of thoughts passed quickly through the young man's mind. He thought of the days of his childhood in far-off Finland. He remembered his old father, whose name was also Bertila, and who during the peasant war was one of Duke Carl's best men. When the latter became King Carl the Ninth, he gave his follower four large farms; each of these had to provide a man and horse for military service. Owing to this, old Bertila became one of the richest peasants in the country. He thought of the time when his father first sent him to Stockholm, in the hope that he would some day attain honour and distinction by the king's side; then of his own ambition which had induced him to neglect study and take private lessons in riding and fencing. At last his father gave him permission to join the king's Finnish cavalry. Now he, a peasant's son, was about to strive to raise himself to the level of the haughty nobility. It was this thought that made him blush, and under its influence he felt he could face any danger.

Moreover, he was about to fight under the king's eye, for his faith and the honour of his country. The whole army was animated by the same high principles, which rendered them invincible, and made them realise the victory before the battle had begun.

Before the young horseman had time to reply to his generous leader, the king's high voice was heard in the distance calling to prayer. The hero took off his helmet and lowered the point of his sword, and all the troops did the same. The king prayed:

"Thou all-merciful God, Who bearest victory and defeat in Thy hand, turn Thy beneficent countenance to us, Thy servants. From distant lands and peaceful homes have we come, to fight for freedom, and Thy Gospel. Give us victory for Thy Holy Name's sake. Amen."

A deep trust at these words filled every heart.

At noon the attacking Swedish army came within range of the Imperial cannon. The Swedish artillery answered, and the conflict began. As the sun shone right in the assailants' eyes, the king made his army wheel to the right, so as to get the wind and sun on the side. Pappenheim tried to prevent this. He rushed forward with the speed of lightning, and took the Swedish right in flank. At once the king threw the Rhine Count's regiment and Baner's cavalry upon him. The shock was terrific; horses and riders fell over each other in utter confusion. Pappenheim drew back, but only to throw himself the next instant on the Finns. But the furious charge of the Wallachians was in vain; they met a wall of steel; their front rank was crushed, and the next turned back. The second attack was no better, and Pappenheim raged; for the third time he rushed to the assault; the Livonians and Courlanders now assisted the Finns. The latter received the enemy with calm courage; nothing could break through that living wall.

The heat of the conflict had gradually excited the Finns, and it was now scarcely possible to hold them in. Stälhandske's mighty voice sounded high above the roar and din of the conflict; and once more the foe was thrown back. Now the Finnish lines broke, but only to enclose the enemy. Then it became a hand-to-hand struggle. Twice more the Wallachians charged and were repulsed. The seventh time Pappenheim was followed only by a few of the most determined of his followers, and when this last desperate effort failed all was over. The remaining Wallachians scattered themselves in the wildest flight toward Breitenfeld.

Covered with blood and dust the Finns took breath. But as soon as the smoke cleared off, they saw other foes in front. These were the Holsteiners, who had supported Pappenheim. The Finns could not be checked. With the East Goths they surrounded the Holsteiners and annihilated them; these brave fellows died in their ranks to a man.

Whilst this happened on the right, the left was in great danger. Furstenberg's Croats had made the Saxons give ground, and Tilly then advanced his powerful centre. Torstensson's cannon played havoc in the ranks; Tilly moved aside and charged the Saxons. The ranks of the latter were immediately broken, and they fled in the greatest disorder. Tilly now turned his victorious troops against the Swedish left wing. The latter were slowly pressed back. The king then hastened up and ordered Callenbach's reserve to the rescue. Almost immediately both Callenbach and Teuffel fell. Then Hepburn's Scots and the Smälanders came up; the Croats fell upon them, but the Scots opened their ranks, and several masked batteries played with terrible effect on the former. Under the fire of the Scots whole ranks were shattered, and amidst the dense smoke and dust the combatants were mingled together in utter confusion.

Victory still hung in the balance.

But now a diversion occurred which decided the battle. The king with his cavalry and the Finns had captured the Imperial artillery on the heights, and now turned it against the latter. In vain Pappenheim tried to recapture the guns; he was repulsed in disorder. Then the king, with his invincible right wing, charged the enemy in flank; the Imperialists were lost. Tilly wept with rage: Pappenheim, who had hewed down fourteen men with his own hand, was mad with fury. No one, however, could rally the Imperial troops, and Tilly, whose horse was shot under him, barely escaped being taken prisoner. The king's victory was decisive.

But a terrible sequel remained. Four regiments of Tilly's veteran infantry had reformed, and now sought to check the pursuit. The king charged them with Tott's cavalry, the Smälanders, and Finns. It was a terrific combat; the Wallachians fought with the fury of despair; no quarter was asked or given. At last darkness saved the remnant of these brave men, who retreated on Leipzig.

The battle was over.

Great results followed this victory; and in the evening the king rode from rank to rank, to thank his brave troops.

"Stälhandske," said he, when he came to the Finns, "you and your men have fought like heroes, as I expected. I thank you, my children! I am proud of you."

The troops responded with a joyous cheer.

"But," continued the king, "there was one among you who sprang from his horse, and first of all scaled the heights to seize the Imperial guns. Where is he?"

A young horseman rode from the ranks.

"Pardon, your Majesty!" he stammered. "I did it without orders, and therefore merit death."

The king smiled. "Your name?"

"Bertila."

"From East Bothnia?"

"Yes, your Majesty."

"Good. To-morrow morning, at seven o'clock, you may present yourself, to hear your doom."

The king rode on, and the horseman returned to the ranks.

Night broke over the awful field, covered with 9,000 dead. The Finnish cavalry encamped on the heights, where Tilly's guns were captured. The dead were taken away, and fires of broken gun-carriages and musket-stocks spread their light in the September night; through a clear sky the eternal stars looked down upon the battlefield.

The cavalry gave their horses fodder, and watered them at the muddy Loder. Then they bivouacked, each in his division, around the fires, armed and ready to jump at the first call The ground was damp with dew, and slippery with blood, but many were so fatigued that they fell asleep as they sat around the fires. Others kept themselves in good spirits by passing round cups of ale, of which they had a good stock. They drank in jesting fashion to the health of the Imperialists.

"And that they to-night may die of thirst
Or drink to their own funeral
Eläköön kuningas!"

At this moment a woeful voice was heard quite near, earnestly calling for help. The soldiers, accustomed to such things, knew by the accent that the man was a foreigner, and did not trouble. But the cries continued without ceasing.

"Pekka, go and give the Austrian dog a final thrust," cried some of the men, who were irritated by these wailing sounds.

Pekka, one of Bertila's four dragoons, short, but strong as a lion, went unwillingly to silence the offender's voice. Superstitious, like all these soldiers, he was not at home amidst the dead on a dark night. Bertila, absorbed in thinking of the next morning, did not hear it.

In a few minutes Pekka returned, dragging after him a dark body, which, to everyone's surprise, was found to be a monk, easily recognised by his tonsure. Around his common gown he wore a hempen rope, and to this hung the scabbard of a sword.

"A monk! A Jesuit!" exclaimed the soldiers.

"Yes, but what could I do," said Pekka, "he parried my thrust with a crucifix."

"Kill him! It is one of the devil's allies who prowl around to murder kings and burn faithful Christians at the stake.

"Away with him! When we carried the heights, this same man stood with his crucifix among the Imperialists and fired off a cannon."

"Let's find out if the precious object is of silver," said one of the men, and pulling aside the monk's gown he drew forth, in spite of his struggles, a crucifix of silver, richly gilded.

"Just as I thought, the devil has plenty of gold."

"Let me see it," said an old veteran. "I know something about monks' tricks."

As he pressed a little spring in the image's breast, a keen dagger sprang from it. As if bitten by an adder, he threw the crucifix from him. Rage and horror seized the bystanders.

"Hang the serpent by his own rope," shouted the men.

"There is no tree," said one, "and no one is allowed to leave the lines."

"Drown him!"

"There is no water."

"Stab him!"

No one was willing, from aversion, to touch the monk.

"What shall we do with him?"

"Misericordia! Gnade!" said the prisoner, who now began to recover his speech and strength.

"Give him a kick and let him go," said one. "We are Christians, and fear no devilry."

"At least I will mark you first, so that we may know you if we meet again," cried one of the soldiers named Vitikka, renowned for his strength and brutality. He flourished his sword several times round the monk's head, and then with two dexterous strokes cut off both the prisoner's ears, before he could be prevented by his comrades. It was most skilfully accomplished.

"St. Peter could not have done it better," said Vitikka laughing.

Those who were standing around turned away. Although they were accustomed to the cruelties of war, this was too savage even for them.

Bleeding, the Jesuit crawled away on his hands and feet. But long afterwards his voice was heard from the darkness:

"Accursed Finns! May the eternal fires consume you!"

"Our Father, which art in Heaven," a voice exclaimed from the group of soldiers. And all uttered the prayer with devotion.

CHAPTER II.
THE NOBLEMAN WITHOUT A NAME.

At dawn on the 8th of September, the Swedish army was exercised. They felt sure of complete victory. From all parts news arrived that the enemy's army was almost destroyed. The king left one division of his troops to follow the Imperialists; whilst the rest received the agreeable order to loot Tilly's camp: the spoil was divided into lots. The treasures were enormous, and many a man was enriched for life. The whole army wore a joyous look; the dead were quickly buried, and the wounded forgot their pains. In the bright September morning, the battlefield was covered with groups of delighted soldiers, and here, if ever, Beskow's words could be used, "The air was cooled with the waving of the flags gained in the victory."

The king had passed the night in a carriage. After he had read the army prayers, and given orders for the first part of the day, he called for those who had most distinguished themselves in the battle. And now many a brave deed was recognised with honours and promotion. But higher than any other reward, was the inner satisfaction, and the praise they received from this hero, whom the whole of Europe had now learnt to admire.

Amongst those who were specially called was a young man, who plays a great part in this history. Gustaf Bertila was only twenty years old, and his heart was beating at this time more rapidly than it had ever done in the most terrible moments of the conflict. He knew well that the noble king would not take any account of his crime, which was that he had disobeyed orders in battle; he blushed and grew pale by turns, as he thought of what the king might mean by this special summons, which was in itself a great honour.

The king had erected his tent under one of the great elms, at Gross Wetteritz, because all the buildings in the neighbourhood were burnt or destroyed by friends or enemies.

After waiting for half an hour, Bertila was introduced into the royal presence. Gustaf Adolf was sitting on a low chair, and his arm was resting on a table, covered with maps and papers. The king was tall and portly, and his tight-fitting buff coat made him look still more corpulent.

When Bertila entered, the king lifted up his mild and beautiful blue eyes; he had just signed an order, and looked sharply at the young man.

Gustaf Adolf was short sighted, and therefore had a difficulty in recognising persons, and when he met individuals only slightly known to him, it gave his look a peculiar sharpness, which, however, disappeared immediately.

"Your name is Bertila," said the king, as if he wished to assure himself that he had heard it correctly the day before.

"Yes, your Majesty."

"Aged twenty years," said the king, watching him closely with a strange look.

"Yes, your Majesty."

"His son did you say?"

The young man bowed his head and blushed.

"How strange!" the king muttered this to himself, and seemed for a moment to be in deep thought. He then said,

"Why have you not announced yourself to me before? Your father has done my father and the country great service. He is then still alive."

"He is alive, and thankful for your Majesty's goodness."

"Really so."

The king said this more as if a secret thought had escaped him, than as a remark to the listener. The young man felt the colour mount to his cheeks, and the king noticed it.

"Your father and I once had a quarrel," continued the king, and he smiled, but a cloud was seen on his brow. "But this was all forgotten long ago, and I am glad that such a good man has such a brave son. You were amongst the seventy Finns at Demmin."

"Yes, your Majesty."

"And no one has mentioned you for promotion?"

"My colonel has promised to remember me."

"Your king never forgets a real service. Gustaf Bertila, I have just signed your commission as sub-lieutenant. Take it, and continue to serve with honour."

"Your Majesty," said the young man.

"I have something more to say to you. Your action yesterday was against orders."

"Yes, your Majesty."

"I want my soldiers to obey implicitly. I have been told that you dismounted at the foot of the steepest hill, so that you could get up quicker."

"It is true your Majesty."

"And that you reached the top of the hill first, whilst the others had to ride round; and that you killed two of the enemy, and took the first cannon."

"Yes, your Majesty."

"It is good, sub-lieutenant Bertila; I forgive you, and promote you to the rank of lieutenant in my Finnish cavalry."

The young man could not speak. The king himself laboured under considerable emotion.

"Come nearer, young man," said the king. "You ought to know that once, in my youth, I did your father a considerable injury. Heaven knows that I repent, and has at last given me an opportunity to repair to the son the injustice done to the father.

"Lieutenant Bertila, you are brave and noble, and you have received a military education. You have also brought into my service four soldiers. In your position as officer in my army you are already considered a nobleman. That none of my officers shall look down upon you as a peasant's son, I will give you a name, and the knight's spur."

"Go, young man. Go, my son," repeated the king with great emotion, "and show that you are worth the king's favour."

"Until death." And the young man bent his knee to the king. The latter stood up. The emotion which had for a moment passed over his fine face now disappeared, and he was again the royal leader.

The young Bertila understood that the time had come to retire. But he still remained in his kneeling position, and gave the king a letter, which he, until this day, had carried sewed in his coat.

"May I ask your Majesty to read this letter. When I said farewell to my old father he gave me this letter, and said, 'My son, go and try to win your king's favour, through your faithfulness and valour. And if some day you can obtain it for your own sake, and not only for the sake of your father's name, then give him this letter, and tell him that it is my last will. His great heart will understand what I mean.'"

The king opened the letter and read it, and on his face was seen that deep flush, which in his later years was the only sign of the struggles of a soul, able to control itself. It came as a light cloud on the king's forehead, deepened for a moment, and then passed away without leaving any trace. When he had finished reading, his eyes rested for a moment on the handsome youth who was still kneeling at his feet.

"Stand up," said the king at last.

Bertila obeyed.

"Do you know what this letter contains?"

"No, your Majesty."

The king watched him closely, but was satisfied with the honest and truthful expression of his face.

"Your father is a strange man. He hates all noblemen since the days of the Peasants' War. He fought many tough battles as their leader; and Fleming's troops took possession of his farm. He forbids you ever to bear a noble name, if you wish to avoid his curse."

Bertila did not reply. A thunder-bolt from a clear sky had come down upon his happiness, and all his dreams of a noble and knightly name had been destroyed at one blow.

"A father's will must be obeyed," continued the king with great seriousness.

"The noble name which I had intended for you, you cannot accept. Do not feel sad, my young friend, you shall keep your sword and your lieutenant's commission; with them, and your brave arm, the path to honour will always be open to you."

The king now dismissed him, and the young man left the tent with mixed feelings.

CHAPTER III.
LADY REGINA.

In the beginning of October, 1631, it was a dull autumn day, about three or four weeks after the battle of Breitenfeld, and in one of the rooms of the tower of the castle of Würzburg the beautiful Regina von Emmeritz was sitting with several of her attendants; they were all working on a banner of white silk with the image of the Holy Virgin on it. It was intended for a standard of victory to stimulate the troops defending the castle. The young maidens indulged in an animated conversation, for the terror of the castle, the old, selfish bishop, had just started off, as he alleged, on a journey through the diocese, but in reality to escape Gustaf Adolf's approaching warriors. Trembling for his treasures, he had previously entrusted the defence of the town and castle to the valiant and trustworthy captain of horse, Keller, with fifteen hundred men; and this commander, relying upon the impregnable position of the fortress on the banks of the Main, had assured his reverence that the heretic king should crush his head against the walls, before any of his godless host obtained an entrance.

The lovely Regina was scarcely sixteen, and her curls were dark as the night, cheeks rosy as the dawn, and black eyes shining like two stars which at midnight mirror themselves in a mountain lake. She was the pet and idol of the aged bishop; he had therefore unwillingly left her with his other treasures in the castle, depending, however, upon Keller's assurance that the thick walls well mounted with heavy guns, were, in such uncertain times, the best harbour for beauty and gold; and Keller was a commander of fidelity and honour; with such a precious trust he would sooner bury himself underneath the ruins of the fortress than surrender.

Lady Regina raised her brilliant eyes from the embroidery and glanced through the little turret window over the river, where at that moment a carriage, escorted by some troopers, was crossing the bridge from the town to the castle.

"Who is this traveller?" she said, with the concentrated gaze which rarely fixed itself upon any object except the large and beautiful marble image of the Madonna in her sanctuary.

"Ah!" exclaimed Ketchen, the youngest and most talkative of the maidens, "ah, Holy Virgin, how charming it is to live in such times as these! Every day, new faces, stately cavaliers, brave young knights, and now and then a little feast in town. It is quite a different thing from sitting shut up in a cloister, and hearing the monks chant De Profundis from morn till eve. Yes," continued she saucily, "may his grace, the bishop, only stay away a good long time!"

"Ketchen," admonished Regina, "take care not to speak ill of the services and masses of the monks! Remember that our confessor, Father Hieronymus, is a member of the Holy Inquisition, and that the castle dungeons are deep and dark."

Ketchen remained silent for a moment. But directly afterwards she boldly said,

"If I were in your place, lady, I would rather think of the handsome Count of Lichtenstein, than of that terrible Father Hieronymus. He is a valiant knight; God grant that he may return victorious from the war against the heretics!"

"May they all be exterminated by fire and sword!" interjected one of the girls in a devout manner.

"Poor heretics!" said Ketchen smiling.

"Beware!" repeated Lady Regina, with naïve earnestness. "A heretic deserves no mercy. Anyone who kills a heretic has pardon for seven sins; Father Hieronymus has often thus instructed me. To hate the heretics is the eighth sacrament, and to love a single one of them is to consign your soul to eternal torment."

Regina's black eyes emitted fire with these words. One could easily see that the worthy father's teachings had taken deep root in her soul.

Still Ketchen did not refrain.

"It is said that their king is good and noble, and that he shelters all the weak, and does not allow his soldiers to plunder and outrage their enemies."

"Satan often assumes the disguise of an angel."

"They also say that his men are brave and humane. I myself heard an old Italian soldier tell the knights in the armoury how seventy men belonging to a heretic people called Finns, defended their king for more than an hour against fifteen hundred Neapolitans. And when most of these Finns had fallen, the rest were succoured and finally triumphed; afterwards they bound up the wounds of their enemies as well as their own."

Lady Regina rose, and was about to return a quick answer to this unpalatable speech, but at that moment a servant appeared at the door, and announced that the Count of Lichtenstein, sick and wounded, had arrived at the castle, and craved shelter. The young lady, who, as the niece of the old bishop, took the part of hostess of the castle in his absence, immediately hastened down to welcome the new arrival, who was a distant relative of the family.

The maidens now exchanged significant glances, as if they considered this event especially opportune. It had long been gossiped amongst them that the old bishop had chosen the count as the future husband of the young lady. But in vain had they endeavoured to discover any signs of emotion on the part of their young mistress at the intelligence of his arrival. If Lady Regina entertained any tender passion, she well knew how to conceal it.

"Is it true," asked one of the girls, "that the king of the heretics has won a great victory over the soldiers of the true faith, and is now approaching this castle with his godless army?"

"So it is said," answered another. "But he is unable to come here. Our people have erected the image of the Swedish saint, Brigitta, in his path, in Thüringer forest, and she will stop his progress."

In the meanwhile, Lady Regina had ordered one of the bishop's own apartments to be put in order for the guest, and provided in every way for his comfort. The young Count of Lichtenstein was a proud and stately youth, dark as a Spaniard, and with eyes almost as bright as Regina's. He approached the beautiful hostess with faltering steps, and with an ardent glance, before which Regina cast down her eyes.

"How grateful I should be to heaven," he said, "for these wounds, which have procured me the happiness of having such a beautiful hostess!"

The count's wounds were numerous, but not dangerous. Taken captive at Breitenfeld, he had shortly afterwards, still weak from his wounds, been exchanged, and immediately hastened here, to regain health and strength in the neighbourhood of his heart's mistress.

"But," he added, "I heard with great alarm that the enemy, seeking whom they may devour, were on their march hither to the rich vales of Franconia. Then I hurried, quickly as I could, to share with you, beautiful Regina, all these dangers and terrors. Be calm! Königshofen will make a stand against them, and Father Hieronymus, who, also wounded, escaped from the disastrous field of Breitenfeld, is busy inciting the country people to resistance all along the enemy's advance.

"And so you think," anxiously asked Regina, "that these terrible heretics will venture as far as this place?"

"The protection of the saints will be with beauty and faith," answered the count evasively. "Besides, we shall soon receive more reliable news."

As he spoke, Regina looked out of the window, and perceived a troop of horsemen, who were hurrying at full speed towards the fortress.

"I cannot be mistaken," she exclaimed; "it is Father Hieronymus himself who returns here."

"A bad omen," muttered the count between his teeth.

Lady Regina was right; it was Father Hieronymus who at that moment rode over the drawbridge. In appearance, the father was a little insignificant man, thin and pallid, with sharp features, and deeply sunk, hollow eyes, whose quick glance fled inquiringly from one object to another. He still wore the long sword suspended from the rope round his waist. But the bald spot no longer shone on the crown of his head; wounded at that place, he wore over it a sort of skull-cap or calotte of leather, the black colour of which made a ghastly contrast with his cadaverous-looking face. Never had the dreaded Jesuit showed himself in so forbidding a form. The men-at-arms stood at attention, and all the servants in the castle hastened to receive his commands. A secret anxiety took possession of all the bystanders. It looked as if terror and death had ridden in his train through the gates of Würzburg Castle.

The monk hastily surveyed the garrison drawn up in the courtyard, and then greeted Lady Regina with a smile, which was probably intended to make him look more agreeable, but which had exactly the opposite effect.

"St. Petrus and all the saints protect you, gracious lady! The times are very awful, very bad. The Holy Virgin has allowed the vile heretics to penetrate to our very gates—on account of our sins!" he added, crossing himself devoutly.

"And Königshofen?" inquired Count Fritz, who anticipated the answer.

"The treacherous commander has capitulated."

"But did not the peasants oppose the enemy's march through the forest?"

"All scattered like chaff—on account of our sins."

"And the holy Brigitta's image?"

"The vile heretics have placed it as a scarecrow in a wheat-field. But," continued the Jesuit, his voice acquiring suddenly a commanding tone, "what is this I see, my daughter? Why are you still here, and the castle filled with women and children, while the enemy may arrive at any moment at your gates?"

"Lady Regina shall never need a protector as long as I am alive," exclaimed Count Fritz.

"The castle is provisioned for a whole year," said Regina timidly. "But, worthy father, you are fatigued, you are wounded, and need rest. Allow me to dress your wounds; you are hurt in the head."

"It is nothing, my daughter. Do not think of me. You must fly instantly to the impregnable fortress of Aschaffenburg."

"Ha! I fear it is too late," exclaimed Count Fritz, who was looking out upon the river and town.

"Holy Virgin, are they already here?"

The Jesuit and Lady Regina rushed to the window. The afternoon sun was shedding its rays over Würzburg and the surrounding country. Horsemen could be seen riding at full gallop through the streets, and a whole host of panic-stricken people were rapidly moving towards the castle—monks and nuns, women and children, dragging after them a number of hand-carts containing the best of their household effects. Beyond the town, in the direction of Schweinfurter, on the east bank of the river, appeared a troop of cavalry, from whose threatening but cautious advance one could easily recognise the vanguard of the Swedish army.

"Accursed devils!" burst out the Jesuit, with an indescribable expression of hatred on his pallid face. "These heretics can fly. May the earth open and devour them!" And he ran out with frantic zeal to place himself at the head of the garrison.

The bishop's castle, also called Marienburg, raises its old walls high above the right bank of the Main. On the river side of the town the rock is high and precipitous, but on the other side sloping and easily ascended. A rampart in the shape of a half moon formed a formidable outwork before the gates; and if the enemy surmounted this obstacle, a deep moat, cut in the solid rock, awaited him on the other side; and even if he crossed this successfully, the inner and higher castle wall blocked his way, lined with steel-clad defenders, prepared to receive him with a devastating fire, and crush him with the large stones collected on the walls. The only passage over the river was a narrow bridge, and the forty-eight guns of the fortress commanded and swept the whole town and neighbourhood. From this it will be seen that Keller at the head of 1,500 valiant troops, and well provided with all necessaries, had good reason in bidding the departing bishop to be of good heart.

But Gustaf Adolf had an overwhelming reason for becoming master of this castle, cost what it would. Tilly had now drawn to himself large reinforcements, and stood, a few weeks after the battle of Breitenfeld, fully equipped and eager for revenge, with 30,000 men on the march from Hessen, to assist Würzburg.

The king summoned the town, and forced his way into the suburbs, but it was already late in the day, and the attack had to be postponed. The next morning the town surrendered. But Keller had profited by the darkness of the night to transfer his whole force, a large number of fugitives, and the portable property of the town, to the castle, after which he blew up two arches of the bridge, and thus blockaded the enemy's way.

But to return to the fortress.

That night none but the little children could sleep in the bishop's castle. Crowds of soldiers, monks, and women, were constantly arriving; one baggage-wagon after the other rattled in through the castle gates; the vaults echoed with the cries of the watch, the orders of the officers, and the children's crying, and above all this noise and confusion one could plainly hear the masses of the monks, who were invoking in the chapel the protection of the Holy Virgin and all the saints, on behalf of the threatened fortress, the strongest castle of the Catholics in all Franconia.

In order to provide for this human host, Lady Regina had not only opened the bishop's private rooms, but also the two spacious drawing-rooms set aside for her own use in the interior of the castle, and with her maids moved up to the small chambers in the east turret. In vain it was represented to her that this point was exposed to the fire of the enemy. She here had the best and most extensive prospect in the whole fortress, and was not willing to forego it. "Do not interfere with me," she said to the cautious Jesuit; "I wish to see the heretics mown down by our guns. It will be a fine spectacle."

"Amen," answered Father Hieronymus. "You remember, my daughter, that this castle is protected by two miraculous images of the Virgin, one of pure gold, the other of gilded wood. I will hang up the latter in your apartment; it will avert the enemy's shot like so many puff-balls from your turret."

At daybreak, Lady Regina was on the look-out at her little turret window. It was a glorious sight, when the sun rose over the autumn hills with their still verdant vineyards, through which the River Main wound like a glittering serpent of gold and silver in the morning light. In the town all was activity; four Swedish regiments marched in with flags flying and drums beating, their armour shining in the bright sunlight, and the plumes of their officers waving in the wind. At this sight, fear and curiosity came into conflict in the minds of the maidens.

"Do you see," said Lady Regina to Ketchen, "the two cavaliers in their yellow waistcoats, who ride at the head of the heretics?"

"How handsome they are! Now they turn round the street corner—there they are again. Just see how everyone makes way for them!"

"Send for Count Fritz. He was in the Swedish camp for more than a fortnight, and knows their leaders."

The count, who was prevented by his wounds from taking part in the defence of the castle, immediately obeyed the Lady Regina's summons.

In the meantime the Swedes had taken full possession of the town, and began to show themselves in scattered groups on the river banks. At that moment the castle guns opened fire, and here and there a ball fell among the Swedes, who immediately sought shelter behind the houses by the river.

"Holy Mary, a man was struck over there and does not move again!" cried Ketchen, who could not conceal her sympathy.

"St. Francis be praised, there is one heretic less in the world!" rejoined old Dorthe, Lady Regina's duenna, who had been appointed by Father Hieronymus to guard all her steps.

"But it is terrible to shoot a man."

Count Fritz smiled.

"Fräulein Ketchen, you should have been on the field of Breitenfeld. Nine thousand corpses!"

"It is horrible!"

"Count, can you inform me who those horsemen are, who, in spite of the storm of cannon-shot, keep on the river bank and seem to be closely examining the defences of our castle?"

"Pardon me, charming cousin, the smoke blocks my sight. Those cavaliers—upon my honour, it is the king himself, and Count Pehr Brahe. I would not be in their shoes if Father Hieronymus sees them. He would undoubtedly bring all the guns of the fortress to bear upon them."

At these words old Dorthe crept silently from the room.

"My cousin, why do you thus regard the heretic leader?"

"Beautiful Regina, why do your eyes flash fire at the thought. You are, yourself, so generous and noble, can you not understand my sympathy for a brave and chivalrous foe? The king of Sweden is a hero, well worthy of our supreme admiration, as well as of our great enmity."

"I fail to comprehend you. A heretic!"

"God preserve you from some day seeing him within these walls; you will then understand me much better. Ha! they are now preparing to assault the bridge; they are throwing planks over the destroyed arches. By Heaven, that is courageous!"

"Now, four fell at once!" exclaimed the excited Ketchen.

"I know them well," said Count Fritz, growing more and more agitated by the sounds of the battle and the loud thunder of the cannonade, which made the fortress walls shake. "They are the Scots. There are no finer soldiers in the whole Swedish army; the Scots and Finns are always in the front of the battle."

"Ah! see there, my cousin, the Scots recoil; they dare not try to leap the abyss. That truly requires superhuman courage. Twenty-four feet underneath the planks rushes the flood."

"Two young officers dash out on the planks."

"They are the youthful brothers Ramsay. I recognise them by their blue scarves. They love the same lady, and both sport her colours, without loving each other any the less."

"Oh God, guard them! Ah, Holy Virgin, this is fearful!" and Ketchen hid her face in her apron.

Before the brave and intrepid Scots could reach the centre of the planks, they lost their balance, reeled, and then fell headlong into the river. For a short time they struggled with the flood, but wounded by bullets from the castle, their strength soon failed them, and their heavy armour made them sink in the waters; another moment, and these gallant youths sank to rise no more.

"You rejoiced at war not long ago," said Lady Regina to Ketchen, assuming a calmness which she did not feel in her agitated heart.

"Oh, yes, at the handsome young knights; the feasts and music, but not at this!" exclaimed the crying Ketchen.

"The Scots retreat!" exclaimed another of the girls.

"Yes," replied the reflecting count, "but the Swedes have begun to cross the river in boats."

"The Scots are returning to the attack."

"Just as I imagined," said the count calmly.

"God preserve us! they have succeeded; they are now on this side. Our troops attack them."

"Lady Regina, do not expose yourself so much at the window. The Swedes may aim their cannon at the turret."

"Count, do you fear?" Regina smiled as she said this.

Lichtenstein coloured up.

"I have satisfied myself that I have courage enough," he answered. "Hearken, and you will every now and then distinguish a peculiar whizzing, and a rattling like the fall of stones; you do not know what this is. I will tell you. These are cannon-shot, Lady Regina; you would know this better if the noise outside was not so deafening. For some time the balls have been shattering the walls of the turret, and almost always at the same place. Fair cousin, these are no sugar-plums. The Swedes must have been taught to shoot by the Wild Huntsman."

"Do you really think——"

"That the enemy intend to destroy this turret, and will fill the castle moat with the debris? Yes, cousin, and I believe they will do it very soon. You are in danger here, every moment, and must go somewhere else."

"Immediately, good count, at once! Come, lady!" cried Ketchen, trying with friendly violence to take her young mistress away with her. But Regina was in an exalted mood. In the habit of ruling, and perhaps from the defiant nature of her character, full of strange contrasts, joined to the burning fanaticism which the Jesuit had implanted in her mind from childhood ... she stepped backwards, grasped the gilded image of the Virgin, which Father Hieronymus had sent to guard her, and placed it in front of herself on the window-sill.

"Go," she exclaimed; "you are weak in the faith; you doubt the protection of the holy saints. I shall remain, and the efforts of the heretics will avail nothing against——"

Lady Regina's speech was not finished, when a ball struck the turret at an oblique angle, knocking away a piece of the facing. A shower of stone fragments hurtled through the window, demolishing the image of the Holy Virgin, and enveloping Lady Regina in dust and dirt.

"You must away! Now you see for yourself!" cried the count.

"Let us go!" exclaimed all the girls nearly paralyzed with fear.

But Regina, nearly overwhelmed for a moment, recovered her self-confidence, and stooped down to pick up the image, saying with faith,

"They cannot triumph over the Holy Mother."

She was deceived. The wooden virgin had broken into several fragments. A sceptical smile played around the count's lips, and he now led without any opposition his terror-stricken relative from the turret.

While this was happening, Keller, with the quickness and perception of a thorough soldier, had made every arrangement for a vigorous defence. He was unable to stop the Swedes from crossing the river, but the nearer they came, the more destructive was the fire of his artillery. The enemy's ranks were decimated by his shot; and the whole day they could do nothing.

Father Hieronymus and his monks ran around the walls, deluging the guns with holy water, and making the sign of the cross over every touch-hole.

Old Dorthe had whispered in his ear, and the Jesuit's gaze was directed towards the place where someone had just seen the Swedish king and his companion. The worthy priest now wished to aim, himself, one of the heavy guns towards the spot; but before firing he fell on his knees and repeated four pater nosters and ave Marias. Then followed the shot; but in vain did the anxious Jesuit look for the effect. Unhurt, as before, the forms of the two horsemen were seen through the vanishing smoke. The monk now thought that four paters and four aves were too little, and accordingly repeated eight of each sort, and then fired again. Disgusting! The balls would not touch the selected objects. Providence had not yet rung the death-knell of Gustaf Adolf, and Pehr Brahe it wished to spare for the sake of Finland. Who can estimate what would have succeeded Sweden's victories, and Finland's learning, if the Jesuit's shots had reached their mark?

Father Hieronymus fumed. Once more he resolved to try with twelve paters and twelve aves, when someone touched him on the back; he turned round and saw an old soldier, who had been exchanged with Count Lichtenstein.

"Cease your efforts," said the veteran in a firm tone, "it is a needless waste of powder; you are trying to kill a man with a charmed life; he is invulnerable."

The superstitious Jesuit muttered something with a low breath.

"I should have divined as much. But how do you know this, my son?" he added.

"I was told of it in the Swedish camp. On the forefinger of his right hand the king wears a little copper ring, inscribed all over with magical signs. This was given to him in his youth by a Finnish witch, and as long as he wears this ring, neither fire, water, iron, or lead can injure him."

"Nothing affects him, you believe? Oh, maledicti Fennones, why do you follow me everywhere?"

"No iron or lead," whispered the veteran, "but I can tell you of something else."

"Say on, my son; you are absolved beforehand."

"But, good father, it is a sinful method."

"All means are justified for the benefit of our Holy Faith. Speak, my son."

"Gold from a holy image."

"Never, my son, no; we dare not do that. Had it been a dagger of glass, or an occult poison, it would do; but gold from a saint's image, no, my son, let us forget the unholy idea."

Meanwhile the cloak of night had descended, and death's work for the time was finished. The worn-out soldiers refreshed themselves with food and drink, and Keller passed around some fine liquors to sustain their courage.

Lady Regina had moved down to one of the inner apartments; Count Fritz had gone to bed. Soon all was silent, except the call of the sentinels, the songs of drunken soldiers, and the murmur of the feast which Keller gave to his officers in the armoury. But in the fine chapel, where stood the pure golden statues of Christ and the Virgin Mary, the midnight mass was over, and all the monks except one had gone to rest, or—the wine-cup. This lonely figure was still kneeling before the altar, and the perpetually burning lamp shed its dim rays over the praying pallid Jesuit.

"Holy Virgin," prayed he, "forgive thy humble servant for daring to take from thee a small piece of thy golden robe. Thou knowest, oh sanctissima, that it is for a holy and sacred end, in order to kill the sworn enemy of the holy church, the heretic king, whom the heathen Finns with their devilish arts have rendered invulnerable to the steel and lead of the true believers. Grant that the gold, which I, in thy honour, take from thy glorious mantle, may pierce the wicked heart of the godless king, and I promise thee, holy mother, to replace what thou hast lost by a costly robe of velvet and pearls. Three gilded candles will I cause to burn also, night and day, before thy image. Amen."

When Father Hieronymus had finished his devotions, he looked up, and it appeared to him as if the image in the light of the eternal lamp smiled its approval to the fanatical petition.

CHAPTER IV.
LADY REGINA'S OATH.

The next day was one of hot and furious battle. The Swedes bombarded the castle with a heavy fire, and drew near to the walls under the cover of earthworks. The Imperial troops fought well. Time was precious for both sides; in a few days Tilly would be in the rear of Gustaf Adolf; a possible thunder-bolt to the Swedes; a certain relief for the garrison.

Lady Regina and her attendants were now shut up in the inner rooms, and could no longer view the extraordinary spectacle of the siege. But there was much to do within. Large numbers of wounded had to be nursed; the young lady moved like a spirit of light from couch to couch in the armoury, where the wounded had been placed; her healing hands poured balm on their wounds; her compassionate voice poured consolation into their hearts. She spoke of the Holy Faith for which they suffered; promised honours and rewards to those who recovered, and eternal salvation to the dying.

The heavy artillery thunder made the walls tremble. Lady Regina suddenly remembered that she had left her rosary up in the little turret, and it was now needed for the prayers of the dying. She had already reached the threshold of the armoury, when a terrific crash shook the castle to its very base. Pale with fear, she hesitated, and at the same moment the Count of Lichtenstein rushed in.

"What has happened?" exclaimed the young lady.

"Thank the saints, my fair cousin, that you took my advice yesterday. The turret has fallen."

"Then we are lost."

"Not yet. The Swedes thought it would fall into the moat, but it has fallen inside. The enemy will soon try an assault. Come to this window which overlooks the walls. Can you see? Father Hieronymus is on his knees by the large gun. I will wager that he sees the Swedish king."

The count was right. The Jesuit's keen glance was fixed on one spot, and his lips hastily muttered prayer after prayer. He had discovered Gustaf Adolf on horseback with Pehr Brahe. The two kept near the outworks, sheltered somewhat by a heap of debris. Father Hieronymus relied upon the heavy shot, into which, with prayers and fasting, he had run the gold from the Holy Mother's mantle. He stooped to direct the cannon, and the pupils of his eyes contracted, his nostrils expanded, while Latin prayers continued to flow from his lips. Then he rose quickly, and after swinging the lighted match in the form of a cross, fired.

The gun belched forth flame and smoke. Oh, hate and fury! When the smoke cleared off, the two horsemen still rode unharmed side by side. But this time Gustaf Adolf had a narrow escape, for the ball had struck the debris, and covered both with dust.

Tired, weary, and quite exasperated, the Jesuit left the ramparts.

"Wait, ruler of Belial, until I succeed in taking your ring from you, and then you shalt be destroyed!"

The king now commanded an assault on the outworks. Axel Lilje, Jacob Ramsay, and Hamilton, pressed on with their men. Frightful difficulties were here encountered. They were obliged to climb up the steep rocks under a heavy fire, and then cross the moat and scale the walls. The irresistible Scots and Finns led the way. Those who fell were immediately replaced by others, with their swords between their teeth. The king himself rode as near as possible in order to encourage his troops. A bullet tore away a piece of his glove, without wounding him. It was now a common belief that Gustaf Adolf was invulnerable.

At last, after two hours desperate conflict, the Scots and the Finns triumphed. The outworks were captured, and the defenders driven back into the castle. It was then four in the afternoon.

A few hours rest ensued. At a council of war it was resolved to storm the castle at daybreak, and the Finns were to lead the forlorn hope.

The position of the garrison was far from hopeless. They could still concentrate 1,000 men at any threatened point. But they had lost their moral courage. In vain did Keller try to restore their spirits; in vain did the monks carry the golden image of the Virgin around the ramparts. At nightfall disorder reigned; the troops refused to obey orders, and some wished to escape in the darkness.

At midnight, Lady Regina was praying before the altar in the chapel to the mother of God.

"Holy Mary," she whispered, "guard this castle against the heretics. But if it be thy will that the fortress shall fall, then also bury in its ruins all thy enemies: the godless king, and his heathen Finns who have fought the most to-day against thy Holy Cause."

"Amen!" said the voice of Father Hieronymus behind her. A dark smile played over his pale countenance.

"Do you realise what you are asking for, my daughter?"

"Victory for the Catholic faith. Death to the heretics."

"The youthful mind is subject to change. Have you sufficient devotion to hate the enemies of the faith, even if ever, as a woman, you felt tempted to love one of them?"

"I have, my father; yes, I declare it!"

"You are my penitent, and I would save your soul from eternal damnation. Have you courage to sacrifice yourself for the holy faith, and thereby secure the eternal crown of a martyr?"

"Yes, my father!"

"Very well; then know that the fortress will be taken in a short time. You will be a prisoner; you are young and beautiful, and may easily win the king's favour. When you can approach his person, and the Holy Virgin grants an opportunity, you must——"

The Jesuit now took out a crucifix of silver, and when he pressed a spring in the breast of the image, a keen dagger flew out.

"Grace, my father; this task is terrible.

"No respite. The Holy Church demands a blind obedience. Perinde ac cadaver. As a corpse which has no will of its own. Do you love the Holy Virgin?"

"You know that I do."

"Look at her golden robe. She has lost a part of it during the night. It is a bad omen, and indicates her anger. Do you love me also, my daughter?"

"I revere you more than anyone else, my father."

"Then look at this mutilated head."

The Jesuit removed his black leather cap, and exposed the horrible stumps of two severed ears.

"Thus have the blasphemous king's Finns treated your confessor and friend. Do you still hesitate to avenge the mother of God and myself?"

"What must I do, my father?"

"Listen! The heretic king wears on his right forefinger a ring of copper; this is a talisman against death and injury. You must gain possession of this ring by some artifice, and then if your arm is too weak to deal the blow, call upon me. We will reach his heart, even if it was guarded by a dragon's scales."

"If it is the will of the saints ... so be it."

"Place two fingers on this crucifix, and repeat this oath. I swear by this cross, and by all the saints, to accomplish what I now vow before the image of the Holy Virgin. If I ever break this oath, may a curse rest upon me and my posterity to the seventh generation.

"Thy will be done on earth, as it is done in Heaven. Amen!"

Lady Regina faithfully repeated these words after the monk.

The night's silence sealed this terrible oath, which, with iron fetters, chained the coming generations to the hesitating decision of a girl of sixteen.

While this passed, the troops of stormers assembled in the outworks. A number of volunteers had obtained permission to join them. All relied upon victory.

Among the volunteers appeared Lieutenant Bertel.

"Thunder and lightning! is that you, Bertel?" exclaimed Lieutenant Larsson.

"As you see," said the youth, shaking his hand cordially.

"Well, I declare, the good boy wishes to sport his new commission. There's not a single drop left in my flask. But say, why have you changed your name, Bertel? What sort of a mixture is it? neither Swedish or Finnish."

"It was done at Breitenfeld," said Bertel, slightly blushing. "The comrades have long called me so, and—it is shorter."

"Well, I hope you are not too proud to bear a peasant's name, now you are an officer?"

"Have the lots already been drawn?" said Bertel.

"No. You are just in time to try your luck."

As all the younger officers desired the honour of leading the forlorn hope, the difficulty was settled by drawing lots. After these were shaken up in a helmet, Bertel was the successful competitor.

"Look out for yourself, my boy!" cried little Larsson. "Thunder and lightning, remember that the castle is full of Jesuits. Trap-doors everywhere, a dagger in every crucifix, and at the moment of victory the castle will be blown up."

It was half an hour to the dawn. Bertel with seven men was ordered to closely reconnoitre the fortress. The rest of the troops were held in readiness.

The night was pitch dark. Bertel's men approached the drawbridge without being challenged: To their complete astonishment they found it down.*

* Some authors say that the drawbridge could not be drawn up on account of the weight of the many dead who were left there after the strife.

Bertel stopped for an instant, remembering Larsson's warnings. Was this a trap? All was silent. Then Bertel and his men stepped softly over the bridge.

"Who goes there?" thundered a German sentinel through the darkness.

"Swede!" cried Bertel, cleaving his head. "Comrades, the castle is ours!"

And the seven pushed on resolutely after him.

Inside the drawbridge stood two hundred Imperialists on guard. These became panic-stricken and thought the whole Swedish army was upon them. They tried to regain the sally-port, but the bold lieutenant and his seven men opposed them. The darkness in the arched gateway was impenetrable; friend could not be distinguished from foe. The press soon became so great that no sword could be used, and the rash assailants were in danger of being crushed to death by the rushing host of mailed warriors.

But those in the outworks had heard Bertel's cry, and the whole Swedish force now rushed against the castle; the rest of the garrison seized their weapons and hastened to defend the entrance. But the Finns had obtained a footing, and in a short time stood inside the castle yard. Keller and his men fought desperately, and many Swedes and Finns fell here, at the very moment of victory. Their fall excited their countrymen to revenge. They began to cry, "Magdeburger pardon," and this shout meant death without quarter to all the Imperialists. The carnage became awful. Many monks threw themselves into the mêlée, some with torches, some sword in hand. Most were cut down, others cast themselves on the ground feigning death. Day had broken over the sanguinary scene.

Then Lennart Torstensson started forward, seized the madly struggling Keller round the waist, and took him prisoner. The remainder of the Imperialists laid down their arms, and all was over.

CHAPTER V.
JUDITH AND HOLOFERNES.

When the first rays of the sun glittered in the waves of the River Main, the castle of Marienburg was in the hands of the Swedes. The king rode up to the courtyard, which was covered with killed and wounded enemies, and amongst these were more than a score of monks. Some of these appeared to the king to be shamming death.

"Stand up," he said to them, "and no evil shall befall you."

Immediately many of those who were pretending to be dead stood on their feet sound and well, and bowed low, full of joy and gratitude to the king.

The castle had been taken by storm, and the soldiers were allowed to plunder. The quantity of silver, and gold, and weapons, and other valuable things was enormous. The king reserved the armoury, with its complete equipments for 7,000 infantry and 4,000 cavalry, 48 guns and 4 mortars, the stables with fine and valuable horses, and the wine cellar filled with the very best wines. The library was sent to Upsala, and donated to the university. The sacred statues of gold and silver found their way to the Treasury. Although many of the inhabitants of the town were allowed to take away their property, the booty was so great that when the soldiers divided it, the money was measured in helmets. At last Keller had to lead the way to the concealed treasure vault. This was deep down in the rock underneath the cellar of the castle; here the bishop kept his treasures. Fryxell relates, that when the soldiers carried up the heavy chests, the bottom fell out of one of them, and the gold rolled over the courtyard. The soldiers hurried to pick it up. Some they gave to the king, but most of it went into their own pockets. Gustaf Adolf saw this, and said, laughing, "Never mind, boys; now that it has once come into your hands, you may as well keep it." The spoil was so great that after that day there was scarcely a soldier in the whole army who did not have a new suit of clothes. In the camp a cow was sold for a riks thaler, a sheep for a few stivers, and the learned Salvius writes, "Our Finnish boys, who are now accustomed to the winelands down here, are not likely to wish to return to Savolax. In the Livonian war they often had to put up with water and mouldy bread, now the Finns can concoct a beverage in their helmets with wine and spices."

Amongst the prisoners was the Count of Lichtenstein and Lady Regina. The king ordered that they should both be treated with the greatest respect. He offered the young lady a safe conduct to go to the bishop, her uncle. Lady Regina rejected this on account of the insecurity of the times, and asked as a favour to be allowed to remain under the king's protection for the present. Gustaf Adolf agreed to this.

"I do this unwillingly," said the king, smiling, to the Margrave of Baden Durlach, who was riding by his side. "Young ladies are a luxury in the camp, and they turn the heads of my attendants; but she may come with me to Frankfurt, as a hostage; it will bind the hands of the bishop."

"Your Majesty knows how to attract everybody through your generosity," replied the Margrave with the politeness of a courtier.

"Lieutenant Bertel," said the king, turning to the officer close to him, who had the command of a troop of Finnish cavalry, "I give Lady Regina von Emmeritz into your charge. She has my permission to bring with her an elderly lady, a young girl, and her father confessor. See to it, that you are not smitten, lieutenant, and above all give close heed to the monk; that set is not to be relied upon."

Bertel saluted with his sword, and remained silent.

"One thing more," continued the king. "I have not forgotten that you were the first one who entered the sally-port. When you have brought the young lady to safety, you must appear on duty in my life-guards. Have you understood me?"

"Yes, your Majesty."

"Good." And the king then said to the Margrave with a smile, "Believe me, it would have been serious to leave this beautiful dark-eyed girl in the charge of one of my susceptible Swedes. This boy is a Finn; they are the most phlegmatic people I know of. They are poor gallants; they need a year to catch fire. A girl can drive twenty of them out of a ball-room; but if it comes to a battle with Pappenheim, then your grace knows what they can do."

Gustaf Adolf gained victory after victory in the late autumn. Tilly, who had come too late to save Würzburg, did not dare to attack him, and irritated by his bad luck and constant defeats, drew back to the Bavarian frontier. Gustaf Adolf marched down the Main, entered Aschaffenburg, and compelled the cautious Frankfurters to open their gates. On December the 6th the king forced a march over the Rhine near Oppenheim, and entered Mainz on the 9th, which the Spaniard de Sylva had so proudly thought that he could defend against three Swedish kings. The victorious Swedish army was now spread over the north and west part of Germany, and the conqueror had chosen his winter quarters in Frankfurt-on-the-Main. A splendid court here assembled around the hero; it was here that flattery had previously adorned his head with the crown of the German Empire. It was here that Maria Elenora came flying on longing wings to embrace her husband; in Henau, where he had come to meet her, she clasped him in her arms and said,

"At last the great Gustaf Adolf is captured."

One day at the end of December, 1631, the king gave a splendid banquet in Frankfurt on account of the queen's arrival. Great crowds of people filled the place outside the castle, the high Gothic windows at night shone bright as day. Ale and wines flowed constantly from big casks for the people's entertainment; around the tap-holes workmen and soldiers jostled each other, holding out tankards and goblets, which were quickly filled and as suddenly empty again. The good citizens of Frankfurt were beside themselves with admiration for the great king. From man to man, the famous tales of his justice and mildness circulated: now he had ordered a soldier to be hanged because he had taken with force a burgher's hen; now he had stopped in the streets and spoken familiarly with those whom he met. They imagined that they saw his shadow reflected by the small window-panes and wondered whether the German crown would not be placed upon that mighty head that very evening.

In the saloon of the castle a royal magnificence prevailed. Gustaf Adolf knew his consort's weakness for display, and probably wished to produce an effect on the assembled German nobility. The floor was covered with rich Flemish carpets, and over the windows were draperies of crimson velvet with tassels of gold; costly chandeliers, heavy with a thousand wax-lights, hung from the ceiling, which was adorned with arabesques.

They had just finished one of those measured and stately Spanish dances, which were at that time in vogue, and the heavy-footed Northmen had tried in vain to compete with the German and French aristocracy.

The king had offered his arm to the queen, and they made a promenade through the magnificent saloons. His tall and corpulent figure, and simple dignity of manner, which at once inspired reverence and love, seemed still more majestic by the side of the slender and delicate queen, who with sincere devotion leaned on his arm. Maria Elenora was then thirty-two years of age, and had retained a great portion of her beauty, which had gained her so many admirers in her youth. On her black hair, which was arranged in small curls about her snow-white temples, flashed a diadem of fabulous value, which was a recent gift from the king; her expressive blue eyes rested with indescribable affection upon her royal spouse; she seemed to forget herself, absorbed in the admiration which the king excited.

In the wake of the royal couple followed a crowd of all the illustrious personages of whom Protestant Germany could boast at that time.

One saw here the deposed King Frederick of Bohemia, the Duke of Weimar and Würtemberg, the Landgrave of Hesse, the Margrave of Baden Durlach, the Count of Wetterau, as well as other distinguished chevaliers; not less than twelve ambassadors from foreign courts had assembled here round the hero feared by all Europe. Of the king's own, Tott, Baner, and Gustaf Horn were occupied in other directions with affairs of war; but here at Gustaf Adolf's side, great as himself, even in outer form, was the gifted Oxenstjerna, and behind him the man with the pale, unpretending aspect, the calm, penetrating, and commanding look, Lennart Torstensson, as well as the proud Finn, Wittenberg, then colonel. Many of the Swedish generals, and almost all the Finns, Stälhandske, Ruuth, Forbus, and others, did not thrive well amidst the ceremonial of the royal saloon and amongst this haughty nobility whose court etiquette appeared to the stern warriors unbearably tedious, and had therefore withdrawn in good time to one of the smaller saloons, where pages in gold-embroidered velvet suits profusely poured the choicest Rhine wines into silver goblets.

Among this brilliant assemblage ought to be included the members of the common council of the city of Frankfurt, and many of its most prominent citizens, with their wives and daughters, as well as a large number of ladies, from the high-born duchess down to the scarcely less proud councillor's wife. Yes, and one saw here even a small number of Catholic prelates, easily recognisable by their bald heads; for the king wished to proclaim religious freedom by word and deed; the prelates, although in their hearts cursing the paltry rôle they played here, once invited, did not dare to stay away.

This scene was doubly gorgeous from the splendour of the attire. The king, however, wore a tight-fitting suit of black velvet stitched with silver, a Spanish cape of white satin, embroidered by the queen's hands, short yellow leather top-boots, and the broad lace collar which one sees in all his portraits, with the short hair and long goatee. The luxury-loving queen wore a richly jewelled dress of silver brocade with a short waist and half-bare arms; even the little white satin slippers glittered with brilliants.

The ladies of the aristocracy and the rich burghers' wives vied with each other in display; silver and gold fabrics, velvet, satin, and costly Brabant laces; also ribbons of all sorts of colours, buckles, rosettes, and long sashes, which, fluttering in the air, gave a picturesque effect. Princes and knights, some in wide German, others in close-fitting Spanish costumes, with their plumed hats under their arms, and attendant pages in silver and velvet, completed this bright scene in a time when uniforms were unknown. Flattery and admiration followed the king.

"Sire," said the artful king of Bohemia to him, "your Majesty can only be compared to Alexander of Macedon."

"My cousin," answered Gustaf Adolf, smiling, "you do not mean to liken the good city of Frankfurt to Babylon?"

"No, sire," joined in the French ambassador, Breze, who walked by their side; "his Bohemian Majesty only wishes to liken the Rhine to Granicus, and hopes that the new Alexander's Hyphasis may lie beyond the frontiers of Bohemia."

"You must confess, Count Breze," said the king, changing the conversation, "that our Northern beauties and your French beauties have been conquered to-day by a German."

"Sire, I am of your opinion, that her Majesty the Queen does not need the enviable position by your side to be truly victorious," replied the courteous Frenchman.

"My consort will be grateful for your politeness, minister, but she resigns to Lady von Emmentz the preference that belongs to youth."

"Your Majesty flatters to a great extent our national German pride," said the Duke of Würtemberg bowing.

"Beauty is cosmopolitan, your grace. It was truly a great booty my soldiers took at Würzburg."

The king then approached Lady Regina. Her radiant beauty was still more charming through the tight-fitting black velvet dress strewed with silver stars in which she was robed.

"My lady," he said courteously. "I should be happy if the mourning you wear covered a heart that could forget all sad memories and only live in the hope of a brighter future, when war and battles no longer frighten the colour away from your beautiful cheeks. Believe me, lady, the time will come, and I am wishing for it with all my heart as much as you are, and let this hope bring joy to these lips where it always ought to remain."

"By your Majesty's side one forgets everything," replied Lady Regina, and rose respectfully from her high crimson-covered chair. But her cheeks grew still paler while she spoke, which showed that she could not forget the past and her present captivity.

"Are you not well, lady?"

"Very well, your Majesty."

"Perhaps you have something to complain of? Have confidence in me—as a friend!"

"Your Majesty is very kind——"

Regina struggled with herself. At last she said, with her eyes on the floor,

"Your Majesty's goodness leaves nothing to wish for."

"We shall meet again."

The king continued his walk through the saloon.

Lady Regina withdrew to a deep window recess in one of the other rooms and wept.

"Holy Virgin," she prayed, "forgive me, that my heart does not belong to you alone. You who can see into my inmost being, you know that I have not enough strength to hate this heretic king as you demand of me. He is so great, so noble. Woe unto me, I shudder to think of the holy charge you have given me!"

"Courage, my daughter," whispered a voice close by, and Lady Regina's evil spirit, the pale Jesuit, stood behind her.

"The hour is approaching," he said in a low tone. "The godless king has been taken by your beauty; rejoice, my child. The Holy Virgin has decided his destruction. This night he shall die."

"Oh, my father, my father, what do you demand of me?"

"Listen to me, my daughter. When Holofernes, the King of Assyria, besieged Bethulia, there was a widow, Judith, the daughter of Merari, beautiful as you, my child, devoted as you. She fasted three times, and then she walked out and gained the favour of the enemy of her faith and people. The saints gave his life into her hands, she drew his sword and cut off his head, and delivered her people."

"Mercy, my father!"

"It was counted unto her great honour and ever-lasting salvation, and her name was mentioned among the greatest in Israel. You will some day be mentioned like that, my daughter, amongst the saints of the Holy Catholic Church. Last night the Holy Franciscus was visible by my bedside. He said, the time has come, go to Judith, tell her that I will give Holofernes' head into her hands."

"What shall I do, my father?"

"Mark closely how you ought to deport yourself. This very evening you must request a private audience of the king."

"Impossible!"

"You shall reveal to him a fictitious plot against his life. He will listen to you. You shall entice the ring from him. Once in possession of it, I will be ready to assist you. But if he refuses you the ring, then take this paper, it contains a deadly poison; St. Franciscus has given it himself to me. You shall mix it in the beverage which the king drinks at night."

Lady Regina took the paper, and leaned her curly head against the window-frame, and she hardly seemed to have taken any notice of the Jesuits terrible injunction. An entirely new thought had seized this ardent soul, and was working itself to clearness. The Jesuit misunderstood her; he supposed that her silence proceeded from submission to his despotism, from fanatic ecstasy over the martyr-crown he had held up to her.

"Have you understood me, my daughter?" asked he.

"Yes, my father."

"You will, then, this evening, ask the king for a private audience? You will..."

"Yes, my father."

"Benedicta, ten benedicta, thou thrice-blessed instrument, go to thy heavenly glory!" And the Jesuit disappeared in the throng.

The large clock in the coronation chamber pointed to midnight. Through an ingenious mechanism, invented by a Nuremberger, two immense tables, set with elegant silver service, rolled out from an adjoining room at the twelfth stroke, and stood at once, as if risen from the floor, in the centre of the saloon. Upon a given sign from the master of the ceremonies, the king and queen placed themselves before two crimson chairs at the middle of the upper table, and all the guests in rows, according to rank and dignity, around the festive boards. One of the prelates present said grace in a loud voice, after which the king himself recited a short psalm, and the rest with practised voices joined in. They now seated themselves with considerable bustle, and once arrived so far, they did not allow themselves to be too much incommoded by ceremony. The courses were both many and savoury. Richelieu had sent Gustaf Adolf a French cook; but the king, far from spoiled by good living, only employed the fine Frenchman for ornamental dishes on occasions like this; perhaps he did not rely fully upon the cardinal's gift, for it was said that Richelieu's dinners were scarcely less dangerous than those of the former Borgias. And besides, the Netherland and German cooking was at that time more praised than the French. The tables' greatest ornaments at this banquet were a wild boar roasted whole, decorated with flowers and laurel leaves, and a piece of pastry, presented by a baker of Frankfurt, and representing the triumphant march of a Roman Emperor. Everyone believed that they recognised in this small hero, Gustaf Adolf's features, and many jesting words were exchanged, when each found a resemblance between the attending Romans and his neighbour. The queen, whose delicate hand was destined to break this masterpiece of culinary art, with a smile put one of the last slaves in the triumphal march on her silver plate; but Gustaf Adolf, generally endowed with a good appetite, seized the great pastry hero rather ungently with his warrior hand, and placed a considerable portion of his person upon his plate.

In the meantime the goblets were filled with the best Rhenish and Spanish wines, and the king drank the queen's health in a plain simple manner, and all the other guests followed his example. At the top of the table stood the royal pages in glittering uniforms, one behind each chair, and at the lower end one stood behind every other chair. They refilled the goblets, and the king then drank to Frankfurt's welfare; immediately afterwards he rose from the table and left the room with the queen on his arm, and they retired to their own apartments. Gustaf Adolf always lived as a plain soldier ought to do, and was generally quick at his meals, but under favourable circumstances would stay an hour at the table. The king, however, did not ask the others to follow his example, and left in his place as host a high officer of the court.

This time it was the old Scotchman, Patrick Ruthwen, who was a good boon companion, and he filled his post with great credit. Oxenstjerna left the room with the king. The ladies also left the hall, but the gentlemen remained behind enjoying themselves over their wine and the nuts which had been handed round on silver dishes; amongst the latter were artificial ones made of stone, which looked so natural that they were constantly mistaken for real From this joke came the saying, "it is a hard nut to crack." The heroes of the Thirty Years' War were nearly all great topers; to empty at a draught one of the large beakers of Rhenish wine was a small matter to them. But on this occasion they had to restrain themselves, because they all knew the high moral principles of the king, and hence did not dare to turn their goblets upside down too often. They did not break up until a late hour, and some of the commanders treated each other to a rare product just imported from the Low Countries, and it was passed from hand to hand in small boxes; each man bit off a piece, and some with frightful grimaces spat it out again, whilst others kept it in their mouths with evident enjoyment. Doubtless, the reader has already guessed, this was tobacco.

While this feasting was going on in the hall, the queen had gone to rest with her ladies in waiting, but the king was still talking to Axel Oxenstjerna. What these two great men were conversing about is easier to guess than to tell. Perhaps it was about Sweden's poverty, or the Emperor's power, or the power of God, which is still greater, or the victory of the Light, or the crown of the Roman kingdom, or a German Protestant empire in the future. No one knows this for certain; for after the king's death all his secrets followed Oxenstjerna to the grave.

It was very late, and Oxenstjerna was about to leave, when Bertel, the officer on duty, announced that a closely veiled lady requested an audience of the king. It was a strange favour to ask at this time of the night, and both Gustaf Adolf and his minister were greatly surprised; but that there must be an important reason for such a secret visit was obvious to them both, and the king ordered Bertel to bring the lady in, and told Oxenstjerna to remain.

Bertel left the room, and returned in a few moments with a tall lady thickly veiled, and dressed in black. She seemed greatly agitated and surprised not to find the king alone; she was unable to utter a word.

"Madam," said the king in a somewhat irritable tone—he did not like such a visit at this late hour; for if it was known it would tend to excite gossip amongst the courtiers, and perhaps awaken the jealousy of his sensitive wife—"a visit at this hour of the night must have some important object in order to justify it. I should first of all like to know who you are."

The lady was still silent.

The king thought he could guess the cause of her silence, and continued, pointing to his companion:

"This is minister Oxenstjerna, my friend, and I have no secrets from him."

The lady dressed in black then threw herself at the king's feet and drew back her veil. The king retreated several paces when he recognised Lady Regina von Emmeritz; her dark eyes flashed with an enthusiastic fire, but her face was as pale as that of a marble statue.

"Stand up, lady," said Gustaf Adolf in a kind tone, and stretched out his hand to lift her up. "What now leads you to seek an audience with me? Speak, I beg of you; tell me without fear what troubles you have in your heart; will you not comply with my wish?"

Lady Regina sighed deeply, and began to speak in a low voice almost impossible to hear, but she gradually assumed a louder tone, supported by her enthusiasm.

"Your Majesty, I have come to you because you asked me to come. I come to you because I have hated you, sire; for a long time I have prayed daily to the Holy Virgin, that she would destroy you, and your whole army. Your Majesty, I am only a weak girl, but an honest Catholic; you have pursued our Church with war, and plundered our convents; driven away our holy fathers, and melted down our holy golden images; you have slain our soldiers, and dealt our cause deadly blows that can never be repaired. Therefore I have taken a Holy Oath to bring about your destruction, and relying upon the Holy Virgin's help I have followed your steps from Würzburg in order to kill you."

The king and Oxenstjerna looked at each other as if they doubted the young girl's sanity. Lady Regina saw this, and continued to speak with more vehemence than before.

"Sire, you think me mad, because I speak thus to the conqueror of Germany. But listen to me further. When I saw you for the first time in the castle of Würzburg, and how kindly and generously you sheltered the weak, and spared those who had been captured, I then said to myself, 'This conduct seems to be inspired from Heaven, but nevertheless it must come from hell.' But when I followed you here, and saw your greatness as a man combined with your heroic qualities, sire, I hesitated to carry out my vow, and my hatred became a burden to me. I struggled with myself, and your kindness to-night has conquered my resolve. Sire, now I love you as much as I have hated you before. I admire you, and am devoted to you——"

The beautiful girl let her eyes sink to the floor.

"Well," said the king, hesitating with great emotion.

"Your Majesty, I have made this confession because you are great and noble enough not to misunderstand me. But I have not come to you at this late hour only to confess an unhappy girl's feelings. I have come here to save you, sire."

"Explain yourself."

"Hear me, your Majesty. I am disarmed, but others much more dangerous remain. Some of our body, men without mercy, have sworn to kill you. Oh! you do not know what these men are capable of doing. They have drawn lots in order to decide who shall kill you, and the most dangerous of them is near you in disguise daily. Your Majesty cannot escape from them. To-day or to-morrow, perhaps, you may be assassinated or poisoned. Your death is sure."

"My life is in the hand of God, and not at the mercy of a murderous fanatic," said Gustaf Adolf in a very calm voice. "The evil have not as much power as Will. Be assured, Lady von Emmeritz, I do not fear them."

"No, sire, the saints have decided your death. I know that you rely upon this ring"—and Regina grasped the king's hand—"but it will not help you. Sire, I say to you that your death is certain, and I have not come here to save your life and thus betray the cause of our Holy Church."

"Then why, lady, did you come here now?"

Lady Regina again threw herself at the king's feet with almost adoration.

"Sire, I have come to save your soul. I cannot bear to think that a hero like yourself, so noble, so great, should be lost for ever. Hear me, I beg, I implore you by your eternal salvation, with certain death staring you in the face, do not continue in your heretical faith, whose fruit is eternal damnation. I pray you, abjure these evil doctrines while there is still time, and come back to the only way of redemption, the Holy Catholic Church; give up your faith and go to the Holy Father in Rome; confess your sins to him, and use your victorious sword in the service of the true Church, instead of using it for her destruction. She will receive you with open arms, and whether your Majesty lives or dies, your Majesty can always depend upon being placed among the chosen saints in Heaven."

The king for the second time raised the young girl from the ground, and looked straight into her burning eyes, and said in an impressive voice:

"When I was as young as you are, Lady von Emmeritz, my teacher, old Skytte, brought me up with the same enthusiastic devotion to the Protestant faith that you have for the Catholic. At that time I hated the Pope with all my soul, as you now hate Luther, and I prayed to God that the time might come when I could destroy Antichrist and convert all those that believed in him to the true light. Since then I have not altered my principles, but I have learned through experience that the paths are many, although the goal is One. I stand steadily by my faith, and am prepared to die for it, if God so decides. But I respect the faith of a Christian, even if it is quite different from my own, and I know that God's mercy can bring a soul to salvation, even if its way is obscured by dark mists and illusions. Go, Lady von Emmeritz, I forgive you; although deluded by the fanatical teachings of the monks, you have tried to draw me from the battle for the Light. Go, poor child, and let the Word of God, and the lessons of Life, teach you not to rely upon saints, who are no better than we are, or images, or rings, as they cannot alter the highest law. I thank you because your intentions are good, although you are inexperienced. Be without fear for my life, which is in the hand of Him who knows how to use it."

King Gustaf Adolf was truly great when he spoke these words.

Lady Regina stood there, at the same time crushed and uplifted by the king's magnanimous spirit. Perhaps she remembered his answer to the burghers of Frankfurt, when they asked him to be allowed to remain neutral; "neutrality is a word which I cannot bear to hear, least of all amidst the battle between light and darkness, betwixt liberty and slavery." Brought up to hate the Protestant faith, she could not understand how it was possible for the sword which had destroyed the worldly power of the church to be laid aside in the presence of its spiritual power over the hearts and minds of men.

The fanatical young girl raised her tear-stained eyes towards the king. Her cheeks turned pale, on which had before burned the fire of enthusiasm, and her eyes were fixed with terror on the scarlet-coloured hangings which surrounded the king's bed.

Oxenstjerna, who was more suspicious than Gustaf Adolf, had closely watched the young lady the whole time, and at once noticed her agitation.

"Your Majesty," said he in Swedish to the king, "be on your guard, there are owls in the marshes."

Then without waiting for an answer he drew his sword and walked steadily towards the magnificent bed, which was a gift from the burghers of Frankfurt; the royal hero had exchanged the eider-down pillows for a simple mattress, and a coarse blanket of Saxon wool, the same as his soldiers used in their winter camps.

"Stop!" cried Regina with evident reluctance. But it was too late. Oxenstjerna had with a sudden movement pulled back the hangings, and revealed a pale face with dark burning eyes, surmounted by a black leather skull-cap. The hangings were still further drawn back, and the whole features of the monk became visible; his hands were clasped round a crucifix of silver.

"Step forward, devoted father," said Oxenstjerna in a satirical tone. "A man of your merits should not remain in concealment. Your reverence has chosen a peculiar place for your evening devotions. With his Majesty's permission I will furnish you with a larger audience."

At the sound of the bell, Lieutenant Bertel with two men from the life-guards entered, and placed themselves on both sides of the exit with their long halberts.

The king looked at Lady Regina, but more sadness than anger was to be seen in his eyes. It pained him that so young and beautiful a girl could take part in such a detestable plot.

"Mercy, your Majesty! mercy for my father confessor! He is innocent!" cried the unhappy girl.

"Will your Majesty allow me to ask a few questions in your place?" said Oxenstjerna.

"Do as you think best, minister," said the king.

"Very well. What did your reverence come here for?"

"To bring back a great sinner to the true fold," said the monk hypocritically, with his eyes turned upwards.

"Really, one must say that you are very zealous. And for such a holy purpose you carry with you the image of the crucified Saviour?"

The monk bowed whilst devoutly making the sign of the cross.

"Your reverence is very humble. Give me the crucifix, that I may admire this work of art."

The monk unwillingly handed it to him.

"A beautiful object. It required a clever artist to design this holy image."

The minister passed his hands over all parts of the crucifix. At last, when he touched the breast of the image, a sharp dagger sprang forth.

"See, your reverence carries a very innocent-looking toy. A keen dagger, just suitable to thrust through a noble king's heart! Miserable monk," said Oxenstjerna in a terrible voice, "do you know that your horrible crime becomes a hundred times more detestable through the blasphemous method you wish to employ?"

Like all the kings of the Vasa line, Gustaf Adolf had a hasty temper in his youth, which more than once brought him into trouble. But the experience of manhood had cooled his blood; still one could sometimes see the quick Vasa disposition get beyond control. This now happened. He was quite great enough, however, to look calmly upon this treacherous attempt against his life, although the preservation of Germany depended upon it, and he looked down with great disgust upon the discovered traitor, who now stood trembling before his indignant judge. But the horrible misuse of the Saviour's holy image as a weapon against his life—he who was prepared to sacrifice himself for the pure teachings of Jesus Christ—appeared to him to be such a terrible blasphemy against all in life that he considered holy and right, that his calmness was instantly changed to the most terrible anger.

Noble and great as a lion in his wrath, he stood in front of the cringing Jesuit, who was unable to bear the glance of his eyes.

"On your knees," said the king in a thunderous voice, stamping violently with his foot on the floor.

The Jesuit fell down as if struck by lightning, and crawled in mortal terror to the king's feet, like a poisonous reptile, spell-bound by the king's look: powerless at the conqueror's feet.

"Ye serpent's brood," continued the king beside himself with anger, "how long do ye think that the Almighty will endure your iniquities? By God! I have seen much; I have seen your Antichrist and Romish rule cover the world with all the deeds of darkness; I have seen ye, monks and Jesuits, poison frightened consciences with your devil's teachings about murder and crimes committed for the glory of Heaven; but a deed so black as this, a blasphemy against everything that is holy in Heaven and upon earth, I have never before dreamed of. I have forgiven ye all; ye have plotted against my life at Demmin and other places; I have not taken revenge; ye have acted worse than Turks and barbarians towards the innocent Lutherans; wherever ye have had the power ye have destroyed their churches, and burned them at the stake, driven them away from house and home; and what is worse, ye have tried to draw them from their faith with arguments and force to your idolatrous religion, which worships deeds and miserable images instead of the living God and His only Son. For all this, I have not retaliated upon your cloisters and churches and consciences; ye have gone free in your faith, and no one has touched a hair of your heads. But now I know you, servants of the devil; the Almighty God has delivered ye into my hand; I shall scatter ye like chaff; I shall punish you, ye desecrators of the temple; I shall follow you to the end of the world, as long as this arm is able to wield the Lord's sword. Ye have hitherto seen me mild and merciful, ye will now see me hard and terrible; I will destroy you and your accursed faith on earth; it will be such a judgment as the world has not seen since the destruction of Rome."

The king walked up and down the room with hasty steps, without deigning to bestow a glance on the prostrate Jesuit or the trembling Regina, who was standing by the window covering her face with her hands. Oxenstjerna, always calm and collected, was alarmed at the king's anger, and feared that he would go too far, and now tried to modify it.

"Will your Majesty deign to order Lieutenant Bertel to take the monk into safe custody, and let a court-martial make a terrible example of him?"

"Mercy, your Majesty!" cried Regina, who was blindly devoted to her father confessor. "Mercy! I am the guilty one. I have advised him to take this terrible step. I alone deserve to be punished for it."

At this noble self-sacrifice a faint ray of hope illumined the Jesuit's pale features, but he did not dare to rise up. The king took no notice of this appeal. Instead, he turned all his wrath upon the guard.

"Lieutenant Bertel," he said sharply, "you have commanded my life-guard to-night; through your neglect this wretch has slipped into the room. Take him at once to prison, and you shall answer for his safety with your head. Then you can go and take your place in the ranks. From this moment you are degraded to the position of a private soldier."

Bertel saluted, but did not speak. What pained him more than the loss of his commission was the sacrifice of the king's favour, especially as he knew that he had kept a ceaseless watch. It was a complete mystery to him how the Jesuit had got in. The latter had now grasped the king's knees and prayed for mercy. But in vain. The king pushed him backwards, and he was taken away gnashing his teeth and his heart full of revenge.

Gustaf Adolf then turned to the trembling girl at the window, took her hand and looked straight into her eyes.

"Lady," he said with asperity, "it is said that when the king of the darkness wishes to do a terrible evil deed on earth, he sends his instruments dressed as angels of light. What do you wish me to think of you?"

Lady Regina had courage enough to lift up her eyes once more to the great king.

"I have nothing more to say. Kill me, sire, but save my father confessor!" she said with fanatical resolution.

The king, still looking angrily into her eyes, could not yet control himself.

"If your father, lady, had been an honest man, he would have taught his daughter to fear God, honour the king, and speak the truth to every man. You wished to convert me; I will instead educate you, you seem to be in great want of it. Go, you remain my prisoner until you have learned to speak the truth. Oxenstjerna, is the severe old Lady Marta at Korsholm still alive?"

"Yes, your Majesty."

"She will have a pupil to educate. At the first opportunity this girl is to be sent to Finland."

Lady Regina, proud and silent, left the room.

"Your Majesty!" said Oxenstjerna reproachfully.

CHAPTER VI.
THE FINNS AT LECH.

Before our story proceeds further, it is necessary to bestow one more look on Frankfurt.

Lady Regina was closely guarded after her midnight visit to the king; and later in the spring, when the waters were released from their icy fetters, she was sent to Finland, where we may find her again. No religious hatred, still less revenge, prompted the anger of the usually generous Gustaf Adolf towards the young girl; abused confidence deeply stabs a noble heart, and Regina said nothing to remove the idea of her guilt from the king's mind; in fact, she strengthened it more and more by her fanaticism, and hatred still possessed her young heart, which ought to have been given to love alone.

An extraordinary incident increased the king's resentment. On the night that the Jesuit was taken to prison, to be executed next day, the terrible monk escaped; no one knew how. These fearful men had allies and secret emissaries and passages everywhere; that very night a hitherto concealed door was discovered in the king's bed-chamber. Bertel's innocence came to light through this, but the mysterious escape of the monk again excited the king's wrath, and the late lieutenant had still to remain a private soldier.

By the middle of February, 1632, the king was ready for departure; he then took the stronghold at Kreutznach in March, after a short siege, and left the queen, as well as Axel Oxenstjerna, in Mayence. But Tilly had in the meantime surprised Gustaf Horn at Bamberg, and done great mischief. The king pursued him down the Danube, and wished to invade Bavaria by crossing the Lech. In vain did his generals object that the river was too deep and rapid, and that the Elector, with Tilly, Altringer, and 22,000 men, stood on the opposite side. The king spoke like Alexander at the passage of the Granicus.

"Shall we, who have crossed the Elbe, Oder, and Rhine, nay, even the Baltic, stop alarmed at the River Lech?"

The passage was decided upon.

The king tried for some time to find a suitable crossing. At last he discovered it near a bend in the stream; a dragoon disguised as a peasant heard that the Lech was twenty-two feet deep. Trestles were made of timber torn from cabins; four batteries of seventy cannon in all, were erected on the bank, and breastworks thrown up for the skirmishers, while fires of damp straw and green wood enveloped the neighbourhood in thick smoke. Still, Tilly was old and experienced; he soon occupied the wood on the other side with his force; dug trenches and made fortifications, from which he directed a heavy fire. On the 3rd of April the Swedish cannon replied with terrific effect. On April 5th the trestles for a bridge were laid in spite of the fire of the enemy; planks were then thrown across, and, as usual, the Finns led the attack. Three hundred infantry, headed by little Larsson, and the brave Savolaxen Paavo Lyydikain, were ordered to cross the planks, and defend the bridge on the opposite shore; each was promised a reward of ten riks thalers. In a few moments the fate of Bavaria would be decided.

The Finns carried spades and trenching tools, and cheering as they advanced, rushed at the double over the bridge. Immediately a tremendous cross-fire from all Tilly's batteries was directed upon them; every moment balls dropped splashing into the foaming waters, or flew over the charging Finns, and now and then fell amongst them, scattering death on every side. Those who got over worked vigorously at throwing up earthworks, which soon protected their front, although their flanks were still exposed to the enemy's fire.

Tilly realised the importance of this position, and his fire redoubled. The Swedes riddled the opposite wood with a storm of shot, which struck the stones and tree-tops, scattering fragments and branches far and wide upon the Bavarians, who stood underneath awaiting the order to charge. The king, in order to encourage his men, hastened to the front, and himself fired sixty shots. The cannon thunder was heard for miles.

More than half of the Finns had now been killed, wounded, or drowned, but the entrenchments were completed. And at that instant the king ordered the afterwards celebrated Count Carl Gustaf Wrangel to go to their assistance. The Finns, exalted with pride by their countrymen's success, and also anxious for the safety of their comrades, begged eagerly to be led into the midst of the fight, and in a moment Wrangel was surrounded by 300 Finnish volunteers, with whom he heroically charged across the shaking planks. The gallant Duke Bernhard, who, like the king, had a certain partiality for the Finns, received permission to make a diversion in their favour. Followed by a troop of Finnish cavalry, he found and passed over a ford, and fell upon the enemy's right flank. The surprised Bavarians fell into disorder, and in spite of their numerical superiority, gave ground before the attack. Duke Bernhard's troop played havoc with the enemy, and soon cut their way through to their comrades at the end of the bridge. Through this daring exploit the Finns obtained the dreaded name, "Hackapeliter," from the words "hakkaa päälle!" Go Ahead! which they shouted as they charged.

Stimulated by the Finns' success, the Swedish and German infantry now began to cross the bridge. Tilly, avoiding exposing his troops to the murderous Swedish fire till the last moment, now sent Altringer's infantry to take the fortifications, and drive the enemy into the river. The Bavarians advanced at the double, and although decimated by the hail of bullets, threw themselves furiously on the earthworks.

Wrangel's men stood firm. Almost enveloped by the enemy's massive column, the Finns gave them a hot reception. Pouring in a deadly volley at fifty yards, every bullet told. The Bavarians wavered for a moment; most of them were new recruits; they faltered. The Finns got time to reload; another volley; and the assailants fled in disorder along the bank. Altringer rallied them with great difficulty, and again led them to the onset; at that moment a cannon-shot whizzed so close to his head that he fell senseless to the ground. Again the Bavarians gave way. Tilly saw this, and sent his favourite Wallachians to their assistance. But even these veterans had to retreat, so terrific was the fire. Then Tilly seized a banner, and led the attack in person. Before, however, he had taken many steps, he fell, struck down by a falconet ball, which had smashed one leg. The old general was carried from the field, and died a fortnight afterwards at Ingolstadt.

The Bavarian army now became utterly demoralised. The Elector retreated under cover of the darkness, leaving 2,000 dead on the field, and the way open to the heart of Bavaria.

Next day the entire Swedish army crossed the Lech. The king with a liberal hand distributed rewards to his brave troops. Amongst these was a horseman who had accompanied Duke Bernhard, who praised him in the highest terms. This was Bertel; three slight wounds attested the duke's account. Bertel regained his rank, but not the king's confidence, which he valued above everything. But he resolved to win this back at all costs.

Gustaf Adolf then marched to Augsburg, which took the oath of allegiance, and gave brilliant festivals in his honour. Here report, which joined the names Gustafva Augusta, whispered that the king had abandoned himself, like another Hannibal in Capua, to effeminacy and pleasure. Rumour was wrong. Gustaf Adolf was merely resting, and revolving still more daring enterprises in his mind. But from this time the king's pathway began to darken. The death angel went before him with drawn sword, and aimed now here, now there, a blow at his life, as if to cry constantly in his ear, "Mortal, thou art not a god."

One could almost think that the powers of darkness had obtained more power over him; now ambition began to gain ground in his mind, and he was no longer solely animated by the sacred cause of Liberty and Faith. A secret and terrible enemy seemed everywhere in his path, dealing deadly blows which could not as yet reach their mark. At the bold but unsuccessful attack on Ingolstadt there was, relates Fryxell, a cannon on the ramparts called a "Fikonet," and celebrated for shooting both far and true. The gunner on the ramparts saw out on the field a man with a waving plume riding a fine charger, and surrounded by attentive followers. "There," he said, "rides a great lord, but this will stop his career;" then he aimed and fired the "Fikonet." The ball brought down horse and rider, and the others hastened to the place in great dread; but the king, for it was he, raised himself up, covered with blood and dust, but unharmed, from underneath the dead horse, exclaiming,

"The apple is not yet ripe."

The citizens of Ingolstadt buried the horse, and stuffed his skin as a remembrance. Shortly afterwards the king was riding at the side of the young Margrave of Baden Durlach, who had just before been one of the most brilliant figures at the Augsburg balls. A cannon-shot passed very near the king, and as he looked round, a headless horseman rode by his side and then sank to the ground.

CHAPTER VII.
NEW ADVENTURES.

From Ingolstadt the king turned to Landshut, in the centre of Bavaria. The farther he advanced into this country, where they had never seen an army of heretics before, the people became more fanatical, wild, and bloodthirsty. Large bands of peasants assembled, commanded by the monks, lying in ambush everywhere for the Swedes, and cutting off every straggler; they also tortured their prisoners in the most horrible manner. The king's army on their side, inebriated by their successes, were infuriated by this cruel guerilla warfare, and began to burn and destroy all the places they passed through. Hitherto the Swedish army had been remarkable for its good conduct in the field, but now they left in their rear a broad track of murder and crime; and woe to those troops who in insufficient numbers wandered far from the main body.

The king had now marched far into the country, and wished to send some new important orders to Baner, who followed slowly in his steps from Ingolstadt. On account of the lawless state of the country this was attended with great risk, and the king would not order a large body to go. A young officer, a Finn, volunteered to try, accompanied by two horsemen. The king agreed to this, and the three horsemen set out one evening in May on this dangerous journey.

The young officer was no other than our friend Bertel, and his companions were Pekka from East Bothnia, and Vitikka from Tavastland. The night was dark and gloomy, and the three horsemen rode carefully in the middle of the road, much afraid of missing their way in this strange country, and dreading an ambush from their enemies. It began to rain, which made the roads still worse; these had already been much damaged by the passage of the heavy baggage-wagons, and at every step they risked an accident.

"Here," said Vitikka ironically to his companion, "you are a northern Finn, and ought to be able to practise witchcraft."

"I should not be worth much if I could not do it," responded Pekka in the same bantering tone.

"Try, then, and take us in a minute to Hattelmala mountain and let us see the light shining from Hämeenlinna's castle. There is a little gipsy girl whom I once loved, and I would rather be by her side to-night, than here in the ruts of this damned forest."

"That will be easy for me to do," said Pekka; "see, you can already see the lights shining from Hämeenlinna."

His comrade looked sharply around, uncertain if Pekka was joking or in earnest; he thought the latter quite as likely as the former. And truly, in the brushwood underneath, a light appeared, but he soon understood that he was still hundreds of miles away from his home. Suddenly their horses stopped, and would not move. A barrier of tree trunks was stretched across the road.

"Hush!" whispered Bertel, "I hear a noise in the wood."

The horsemen leaned forward and listened attentively. On the opposite side of the wood they heard footsteps and the breaking of branches.

"They must be here in a quarter of an hour," said a voice in the well-known Bavarian dialect.

"How many of them are there?"

"Thirty horsemen, and ten or twelve baggage animals. They left Geisenfeld at dusk, and they have a young girl with them as a prisoner."

"How many are we?"

"About fifty musketeers, and seventy or eighty armed with pitchforks and axes."

"Good. No firing is allowed until they are within three paces."

At this moment Bertel's horse neighed, whose name was Lapp; he was small but strong and active.

"Who is there?" sounded from the road.

"Swedes!" cried Bertel boldly, just as he did at the Würzburg sally-port, and fired off a pistol in the direction of the voice, and saw by the flash a large band of peasants, who had encamped by the barricade. He then turned his horse, and, calling upon his companions to follow him, rode at full gallop on the road back to Landshut.

But the peasants had by the flash also seen the three horsemen, and now hurried to cut off their retreat. Bertel's horse easily distanced the pursuers, but Vitikka's fell over the stump of a tree, and Pekka's clumsy animal was hurt by the thrust of a pitchfork in his neck as he tried to get out of the marsh. Bertel saw his followers' danger, and would not leave them; he turned back and killed the nearest peasants, and caught Pekka's horse by the bridle and tried to pull him up, calling also to Vitikka to leave his horse and jump on the back of Lapp. This brave effort was successful, and the three were on their way to safety, when suddenly a whizzing noise was heard, and a lasso settled upon Bertel's shoulders, tightened, and jerked him from his saddle. Vitikka fell at the same moment, and Lapp, thus delivered from his heavy burden, galloped off, and Pekka followed with or without his will. Bertel and Vitikka were taken prisoners and bound with their hands behind their backs.

"Hang the dogs before the others arrive!" cried one.

"Hang them by the heels!" suggested another.

"With a little fire underneath!" said a third.

"No fire! no noise!" ordered a fourth, who appeared to be in command. "Listen, comrades," whispered he Ito the prisoners lying on the ground, "was it Finnish you spoke?"

"Go to the devil!" said Vitikka in a rage.

"Maledicti, maledicti Fennones!" said the former speaker in the darkness. "You are mine!"

"Now they are coming!" cried one of the band, and the trampling of horses was heard on the road to Ingolstadt. The peasants remained still, and for greater safety gagged the prisoners. The approaching troop were provided with torches, and seemed to be Germans, who were returning from a marauding expedition. They were riding so quickly that they did not notice the barricade until they were close upon it; at the same moment a murderous fire opened upon them from behind this obstruction. Ten or twelve of the foremost fell to the ground, and their riderless horses reared and dragged them along by the stirrups; the greatest confusion prevailed amongst them, some turned back, riding over their comrades and the pack-horses; others fired off their pistols towards the enemy behind the barricade. The peasants rushed from their ambush and furiously attacked those that remained, and pulled them off their horses with lassos. In vain the horsemen endeavoured to defend themselves; in less than ten minutes the whole troop was scattered; eight or ten had escaped, fifteen were lying wounded on the road, and six or seven were made prisoners. Only four of the peasants had fallen. The revenge of the Bavarians was inhuman. They fired blank charges in the prisoners' faces, which burnt them black, and partially buried some of them in the ground and stoned them slowly to death.

When this terrible work was finished, they carried away the booty to a place of safety. Bertel and his companion were thrown across one of the horses, and they marched deep into the forest. After some time they stopped at a lonely farm, and the prisoners were dragged in and thrown on the floor in a separate room, while the peasants in the next room rejoiced over their victory, and drank captured wine. A deathly pale monk now entered the room, carrying a sword by his side with a rope. He held up a torch to the prisoners' faces, took away their gags, and looked at them in silence.

"Am I right," said he at last, sarcastically; "this is Lieutenant Bertel, of the king's life-guards."

Bertel looked up and recognised the Jesuit Hieronymus.

"You are welcome to me, lieutenant, and thank you for our last meeting. Such an important guest must be well entertained. I fancy I have seen this comrade before, also," he said, pointing to Vitikka.

The wild Finn looked him straight in the eyes and opened his mouth with an obstinate grin.

"What have you done with your ears, monk?" he said tauntingly. "Take away your skull-cap, foul thief, and let us see if you have grown any ass's ears in their place."

At this daring remark about the incident at Breitenfeld a dark frown contracted the Jesuit's eyebrows, and a blush arose on his pale features; he bit his lips with rage.

"Think of your own ears, comrade," said he. "Anathema maranatha! They will soon have heard enough in this world."

With these words the Jesuit clapped his hands twice, and a blacksmith with his leather apron entered, carrying a pair of red-hot pincers.

"Well, comrade, do your ears begin to burn?" said the monk cruelly.

Vitikka replied stubbornly, "Now you think you are clever, but you are only a fumbler in comparison with the devil. Your lord and master does not need any pincers, he uses his claws."

"The right ear," said the Jesuit. The smith approached the Finn and put the pincers to his head. Vitikka smiled disdainfully. A sudden blush coloured his brown cheeks, but only for a moment. He had now only one ear.

"Will you now abjure your faith, and believe in the Holy Father and damn Luther, and you shall keep your other ear?"

"Niggard!" cried the Finn. "Your lord and master generally offers countries and kingdoms, and you only offer me a wretched ear!"

"The left ear," continued the Jesuit coldly. The smith carried out the order. The mutilated soldier smiled.

"Monk, it is shameful!" said Bertel, who was lying close by. "Kill us, if you like, but do it quickly!"

"Who has said that I intend to kill you?" replied the Jesuit, smirking. "Never; it entirely depends upon yourself whether you regain your freedom this very night."

"What do you ask of me?"

"You are a brave young man, Lieutenant Bertel! I am sorry that the king so shamefully and unjustly deprived you of your rank, which you had gained with your blood."

"Are you really sorry? And what then?"

"If I was in your place I should take revenge."

"Take revenge? Oh yes, I have thought of it."

"You belong to Gustaf Adolf's life-guards. Do you know, young friend, what the Catholic princes would give to anyone who brought the king, dead or alive, into their power?"

"How could I know that, holy father?"

"A kingdom if he was a nobleman; 50,000 ducats if he was a man of the people."

"Holy father, it is a small reward for such a great service."

"You have your choice between death and a royal reward!"

"This is the point you were trying to reach, holy father?"

"Do as you please; think it over, and we will talk about it again. This time you can buy your life and freedom for a less price; yes, a very small service."

"What would that be, holy father?"

"Listen to me. I wish you to swear that you will do me a very small favour. King Gustaf Adolf wears on the forefinger of his right hand a small copper ring. It is of no value to him, but it is of great importance to me, young friend; as I am an antiquary, I should like to have a remembrance of a king, whom I must hate as an enemy, but admire as a man."

"And the ring?"

"The ring; you must swear to deliver it into my hands before the next new moon. Do this, and you are free!"

"Oh, only a small sin against the seventh commandment? And you have the absolution ready before-hand; is it not so? Go, miserable thief, and thank your stars that my arm is bound; or by Heaven, it would teach you to have respect for a Christian's honour!"

"Be still, young man, remember that your life is in my hands. When I have finished with your comrade I shall begin with you."

Bertel looked at him with contempt.

"Smith, go on with your work!" said the Jesuit.

And the smith again took the pincers from the fire.

At the same instant a great confusion and noise arose in the next room. They shouted:

"To arms! The Swedes are upon us!"

The door flew open. Some of the peasants seized their guns, others were lying in a drunken sleep on the floor. Outside one could plainly hear the Swedish officer's commands.

"Set the house on fire, boys, we have them all in a trap!"

At these words the Jesuit jumped out of the window.

A hot but short skirmish began by the door. The peasants were overpowered in a few moments and begged for mercy. In reply to this appeal, the foremost were killed, and the rest taken prisoners and bound; the house and booty were taken, and Bertel and his mutilated comrade were released.

"Is it you, Larsson?" cried Bertel.

"Thunder and lightning, is it you, Bertel? Is it here you intend to leave the king's orders?"

"And yourself?"

"Yes, damn it, you know that I am always a lucky child! I was sent to guard a convoy, and met on the road some rascally marauders, who told me that there was an ambush in the forest. I hurried after them, and delivered a brave boy and a beautiful girl. Look at her: cheeks like a poppy, and eyes to buy fish with!"

Bertel turned round, and by his side stood a trembling girl, paralyzed with fear.

"This is Ketchen, Lady Regina's maid!" cried Bertel, who had often seen the bright girl in the company of her dull mistress.

"Save me, lieutenant, save me!" cried the girl, and caught hold of his arm. "They have taken me by force from my aunt's house."

"Larsson, I beg you to give me the girl!"

"What the devil are you thinking of? Do you want to take the girl from me?"

"Let her go free, I beg of you!"

"Later on, perhaps, yes. Let her go, I say, or..."

The hot-tempered Finn drew his sword again, with which he had just before killed a peasant.

"The cottage is on fire!" was heard from all directions, and a thick smoke proved that it was true. Bertel rushed out with the girl, and Larsson followed, and the heat of his temper gave way before the heat of the fire. When Bertel got outside and saw the flames, he remembered that the cottage was filled with people; about thirty peasants were bound inside.

"Come, hurry, let us save the unfortunate prisoners!" he cried.

"Are you mad?" said Larsson, laughing; "it is only a few of the rascals who have killed so many of our brave comrades. Let it burn, boys!"

It was now too late to help. The unfortunate Bavarians were sacrificed to the barbarities with which wars were then carried on; too often one terrible deed was followed by another.

We turn with disgust from these wild scenes, which essentially belong to the times in which they occurred, and hasten to the grand picture of the Swedish lion's last struggle.

CHAPTER VIII.
NÜRNBERG AND LÜTZEN.

The incidents of the campaign followed each other quickly, like wave after wave on a stormy sea, and history compressed into a narrow frame is obliged to pursue the same course. Hence we must hurry over these marvellous occurrences and into a still more extraordinary period, to find the thread of our story, "The King's Ring," which passes through ages and the destinies of great characters.

The terrible Wallenstein had become reconciled to the emperor, and gathering a formidable army, turned like a dark cloud upon the rich city of Nürnberg. Gustaf Adolf cut short his victorious career in Bavaria, and hurried to meet him; and here the two armies remained in entrenched camps facing each other for eleven weeks—the panther and the lion, ready to spring, sharply watched each other's movements. The surrounding country was stripped bare to provide for the wants of the two hosts, and foraging parties were constantly dispatched to more remote places to get supplies. Among the Imperialists those mostly employed in this task were Isolani's Croats; the Swedes generally sent Taupadel's dragoons and Stälhandske's Finnish cavalry.

Famine, heat, and plague, and the plundering German soldiers, spread want and misery everywhere. Gustaf Adolf, having united himself with Oxenstjerna's and Baner's forces, could now muster 50,000 men. On the 24th of August, 1632, he marched against Wallenstein, who stood behind impregnable entrenchments. Long before daylight the thunder of Torstensson's guns was heard against Alte Veste. In the darkness of the night 500 musketeers of the white brigade were climbing up the steep redoubts, and reached the tops under a terrible fire. For a moment victory seemed to reward their strenuous efforts; confusion reigned amongst the half-awakened enemy; the cries of the women, and the fire from the Swedes, added to the disorder, and made the attack easy. But Wallenstein, calm and unmoved, sent away the women, and directed a murderous fire on the assailants. The brave brigade was driven back with heavy losses. The king, however, would not give way; once more the white brigade renewed the attack; but in vain. Gustaf Adolf then called his Finns, for, as Schiller relates, "the courage of the Northmen puts the Germans to shame." It was the East Bothnians in the ranks of the Swedish brigade. Death stared them in the face in the form of hundreds of guns; with unsurpassed courage and determination they climbed up the entrenchments, slippery with rain and blood. But against these strong works and the deadly fire, nothing could prevail; in the midst of death and destruction they tried again to reach the top of the redoubts, but in vain; those who escaped the shot and pikes were hurled back; for the first time one saw Gustaf Adolf's Finns retreat; and the attempts made by the other troops were also in vain. The Imperialists hastened out in pursuit, but were driven back; again they sallied forth with the same result. With heavy losses on both sides the battle continued all day, and many of the bravest commanders were killed. The angel of death again sent a bullet towards the king, but it only touched the sole of his boot.

The Imperial cavalry fought with the Swedish on the left flank. Cronenberg, with his cuirassiers, clad in iron mail from head to feet, who were called "the invincibles," overthrew the Hessians. The Landgrave of Hessen remarked with anger that the king by the sacrifice of the German troops tried to save his own.

"Very well," said Gustaf Adolf, "I will send my Finns, and hope that the change of troops will bring a change of fortune."

Stälhandske, with the Finns, was now sent against Cronenberg and his invincibles. A grand contest, which will never be forgotten, then started between these two powerful forces; on the shore of the River Regnitz, which was covered with bushes, these troops met in conflict, man to man, horse to horse; swords were blunted on helmets, long pistols flashed, and many a brave horseman was driven into the river. The Finns' horses were hardier than the beautiful Hungarian chargers, and thus they shared in the victory. The brave Cronenberg fell, and his invincibles then fled from the Finns. In his place, Fugger appeared with a great force, and drew the Finns in continuous battle slowly towards the enemy in the forest. But here the Imperialists were met with the fire from the Swedish infantry. Fugger fell, and his horsemen were again routed by the exhausted Finns.

At the close of the day more than three thousand killed covered the hills and the fields. "In the battle at Alte Veste, Gustaf Adolf was considered worsted, because the attack failed," says Schiller. The following day he altered his position, and on the 8th of September he marched away to Bavaria. Forty-four thousand men, both friends and foes, had been destroyed by plague and war during these terrible weeks in and around Nürnberg.

* * * * *

The darkness of the autumn increased, and its fogs covered the blood-stained fields of Germany, and still the battles did not cease. Here it was ordained that only one great spirit should find everlasting rest, after many storms, and pass from life's dark night to eternal light. The angel of death came closer over Gustaf Adolf's noble head, and threw over him a gleam of light from a higher world, which is sometimes seen shining around the great souls of the earth in their last moments. The bystanders do not understand it, but the departing ones know what it means. Two days before his death, Gustaf Adolf received the homage of a god from the people of Naumburg, but through his soul fled the shadow of the coming change, and he said to the royal chaplain, Fabricius:

"Perhaps God will soon punish them for their foolishness, and myself also, the object of it; and show that I am only a weak mortal."

The king had marched into Saxony to follow the traces of the destructive Wallenstein. At Arnstadt he bade farewell to Axel Oxenstjerna; in Erfurt he said good-bye to the queen. There, and in Naumburg, one could see by his arrangements that he was prepared for what would come. Wallenstein, who thought he had gone into winter quarters, sent Pappenheim away to Halle with 12,000 men; he himself stood at Lützen with 28,000, and the king was in Naumburg with 20,000 men.

But on the 4th of November, when Gustaf Adolf heard of Pappenheim's departure, he broke up his camp and hurried to surprise his weakened enemy, in which he would have succeeded if he had made his attack on the 5th. But Providence had thrown in the way of his victorious career a small obstacle, the brook Rippach, which with many newly ploughed fields delayed his march. It was late in the evening on the 5th of November when the king approached Lützen; thus Wallenstein had time, and he knew how to make use of it. Along the broad road to Leipzig he deepened the ditches, and made redoubts on both sides, which he filled with his best sharpshooters, and it was decided that with their cross-fire they could destroy the attacking Swedes.

The king's war council advised him not to make the attack; Duke Bernhard was the only one who advised him to the contrary, and the king shared his opinion, "because," he said, "it is necessary to wash one's self perfectly clean once you are in the bath."

The night was dull and dark. The king spent it in an old carriage with Kniephausen and Duke Bernhard. His restless soul had time to think of everything, and then history says, he drew from the forefinger of his right hand a small copper ring, and gave it to Duke Bernhard, and asked him to give it to a young officer in his Finnish cavalry, in case anything should happen to himself.

Early in the morning Gustaf Adolf rode out to inspect the positions of his troops. He was dressed in a buff waistcoat made of elk's skin, and wore a grey great coat over it; when he was told to wear harness on a day like this, he replied:

"God is my armour."

A heavy mist delayed the attack. At dawn the whole army sang a hymn. The fog continued, and the king began another hymn, which he had written himself just before. He then rode along the lines, calling out:

"To-day, boys, we shall put an end to all our trouble;" and his horse stumbled twice as he said this.

The fog did not clear off till eleven o'clock through a strong breeze. The Swedish army at once advanced to the attack; under the king in the right wing was Stälhandske and the Finns, next came the Swedish troops; in the centre were the Swedish yellow and green brigades, commanded by Nils Brahe; on the left wing the German cavalry, under Duke Bernhard. Against the duke was Colloredo, with his strong cavalry, while in the centre was Wallenstein, with four heavy columns of infantry and seven cannon in front; against Stälhandske stood Isolani, with his wild but brave Croats. The war-cries on both sides were the same as at Breitenfeld. When the king ordered the attack he clasped his hands, and cried out:

"Jesus, help me to-day to fight for the glory of Thy Holy Name!"

The Imperialists started firing, and the Swedish army advanced and suffered heavy losses from the beginning. At last the Swedish centre passed the redoubts, took the seven guns, and routed the two first brigades of the enemy. The third was preparing for flight when Wallenstein rallied them. The Swedish left wing was attacked by the cavalry, and the Finns, who had sent the Croats and the Polacks flying, had not yet reached the redoubts. The king then rushed to the front with the troops from Smaländ; but only a few were well-mounted enough to follow him. It is said that an Imperial musketeer fired at him with a silver bullet; it is true that the king's left arm was smashed, and that he tried to conceal his wound; but soon he became so weak from loss of blood, that he asked the Duke of Lauenburg, who was riding by his side, to bring him unseen out of the battle.

In the midst of the conflict Gotz's cuirassiers rushed forward, and at the head of them was Moritz von Falkenberg, who recognised the king and fired point-blank at him, crying out:

"I have long sought for you!"

Soon afterwards Falkenberg himself fell from a bullet. The king was shot underneath the heart, and reeled in his saddle; he told the duke to save his own life; the latter had placed his arm around the king's waist to support him, but the next moment the rush of the enemy had separated them. The duke's hair was singed by the close discharge of a pistol, and the king's horse was wounded in the throat and staggered. The king sunk from the saddle, and was dragged a short distance along the ground; his foot caught in the stirrup. The young page, Leubelfingen, from Nürnberg, offered him his horse, but could not raise him up. Some of the Imperialists now came to the spot, and inquired who the wounded man was, and when Leubelfingen would not reply, one of them ran him through with a sword-thrust, while another shot the king through the head; others then shot at them, and both remained on the field. But Leubelfingen lived for a few days afterwards, to relate for the benefit of future generations the never-to-be-forgotten sad death of the great hero, Gustaf Adolf.

In the meantime the Swedish centre was driven back, the battlefield was covered with thousands of mutilated corpses, and they had not yet gained a foot of ground. Both the armies occupied nearly the same positions as before the battle. The king's wounded horse was then seen galloping between the lines, with an empty saddle, covered with blood.

"The king has fallen!"

As Schiller has so beautifully put it, "Life was not worth anything, when the most holy of all lives had ceased to exist; death no longer had any terror for the lowliest, since it had not spared this royal head."

Duke Bernhard flew from line to line, saying, "Swedes, Finns, and Germans, yours, ours, and Freedom's protector has fallen. Well then, those who love the king will rush forward to avenge his death."

The first to obey this order was Stälhandske, with the Finns; with great difficulty they crossed the ditches and drove the enemy in front of them; before their terrific onslaught all fell or fled. Isolani turned back and attacked the baggage train, but was again routed. The centre of the Swedish army advanced under Brahe, and Duke Bernhard, disregarding his wounded arm, took one of the enemy's batteries. The whole of the Imperial army was broken by this terrible attack; its ammunition wagons exploded; Wallenstein's orders, and brave Piccolomini's efforts, could not stay the rout. Just then a joyful cry arose from the battlefield: "Pappenheim is here!" and this leader, the bravest of the brave, appeared with his horsemen; his first question was, "Where is the King of Sweden?" Someone pointed to the Finns, and Pappenheim rushed to the spot. Here began a terrible battle. The Imperialists, filled with new courage, turned back and attacked on three sides at once. Not a man of the Swedes gave ground. Brahe died with the yellow brigade, who fell nearly to the last man; Winckel with the blue, died in the same order, man for man, as they stood in the ranks. The rest of the Swedish infantry slowly retreated, and victory seemed to smile on the destructive Pappenheim.

But he, the Ajax of his time, the man of a hundred scars, did not live to see success. In the first attack on the Finns, a falconet bullet smashed his hip; and two musket balls pierced his chest; it was also said that Stälhandske wounded him with his own hand. He fell, but still in death rejoiced over Gustaf Adolf's fall, and the news of his loss spread consternation amongst the Imperialists.

"Pappenheim is dead; everything is lost!"

Once more the Swedes advanced; Duke Bernhard, Kniephausen, and Stälhandske, performed prodigies of valour. But Piccolomini, with six wounds, mounted his seventh horse, and fought with more than mortal valour; the Imperialist centre held its ground, and only the darkness stopped the battle. Wallenstein retired, and the exhausted Swedish army encamped on the battlefield. Nine thousand slain covered the field of Lützen.

The result of this battle was disastrous to the Imperialists. They had lost all their artillery; Pappenheim and Wallenstein had lost their invincible names. The latter raged with anger; he executed the cowards with the same facility as he bestowed gold on the brave. Ill and disheartened he retired with the rest of his army to Bohemia, where the stars were his nightly companions, and treacherous plans his only solace; and his death from Buttler's hand was the end of his glorious life.

A thrill of joy passed over the whole Catholic world, because the faith of Luther and the Swedes had lost a great deal more than their enemies.

The arm was paralyzed which had so powerfully wielded the victorious sword of light and freedom; the grief of the Protestants was deep and universal, mixed with fear for the future. It was not for nothing that the Te Deum was sung in the churches of Vienna, Brussels, and Madrid; twelve days' bull-fighting gratified Madrid on account of the dreaded hero's fall. But it is said that the Emperor Ferdinand, who was greater than the men of his time, shed bitter tears at the sight of his slain enemy's bloody buff waistcoat.

Many stories circulated about the great Gustaf Adolf's death. Duke Franz Albert of Lauenburg, Richelieu, and Duke Bernhard, were all said to have had a share in his fall; but none of these surmises have been verified by history. A later German author tells the following popular story:

"Gustaf Adolf, King of Sweden, received in his youth, from a young woman whom he loved, a ring of iron, which he ever afterwards wore. The ring was composed of seven circles, which formed the letters Gustaf Adolf. Seven days before his death he missed the ring."

The reader knows that the threads of this story are tied to the same ring, but we have several reasons for saying that this ring was made of copper.

On the evening after the battle, Duke Bernhard sent his soldiers with torches to find the king's body; and they found it plundered and hardly recognisable under heaps of slain. It was taken to the village of Meuchen, and there embalmed. The soldiers were all allowed to see the dead body of their king and leader. Bitter tears were here shed, but tears full of pride, for even the lowest considered it an honour to have fought by the side of such a hero.

"See," said one of Stälhandske's old Finns, loudly sniffing, "they have stolen his golden chain and his copper ring; I still see the white mark on his forefinger."

"Why should they care about a copper ring?" asked a Scotchman, who had lately joined the army, and had not heard the stories which passed from man to man.

"His ring!" said a Pomeranian. "Be sure that the Jesuits knew what is was good for. The ring was charmed by a Finnish witch, and as long as the king wore it, he could not be hurt by steel or lead."

"But see to-day he has lost it, and therefore—you understand."

"What is that fruit-eating Pomeranian saying?" said the Finn angrily. "The power of the Almighty, and nothing else, has protected our great king, but the ring was given to him long ago by a young Finnish girl, whom he loved in his youth; I know more about this than you do."

Duke Bernhard, who, sad and sorrowful, was watching the king's pale features, turned round at these words; he put his sound hand underneath his open buff waistcoat, and said to the Finn:

"Comrade, do you know one of Stälhandske's officers named Bertel?"

"Yes, your grace."

"Is he alive?"

"No, your grace."

The duke turned to another and gave several orders abstractedly. A few moments later, when he again looked at the king, he seemed to remember something.

"Was he a brave man?" he asked.

"He was one of Stälhandske's horsemen!" said the Finn with great pride.

"When did he fall, and where?"

"In the last struggle with the Pappenheimers."

"Go and search for him."

The duke's order was promptly obeyed by these exhausted soldiers, who had reason to wonder why one of the youngest officers should be searched for this night, when Nils Brahe, Winckel, and many other old leaders were lying uncared for in their blood on the battlefield. It was nearly morning when the searchers returned and reported that Bertel's dead body could not be found anywhere.

"Hum!" said the duke discontentedly; "great men have sometimes funny ideas. What shall I now do with the king's ring?"

The November sun rose blood-red over the field of Lützen. A new time had come; the Master had left, and the disciples had now to carry out his work alone.