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.