From the 9th to the 17th July.
The fate of the inhabitants of the small town of Perchtoldsdorf
forms a sad episode in the annals of the Turkish invasion. So early
as the 9th July the Tartar horse had appeared in its neighbourhood.
The inhabitants, after the example of their forefathers of 1529,
converted the church tower and the churchyard with its surrounding
wall into a fortress, and repulsed without difficulty the first attack
of the marauders. The attack was repeated on the following day, but
with the same result; the garrison was increased in numbers by many
fugitives from other places, and the inhabitants, after some days
of repose, began to believe that, as in 1529, the crisis would pass
over without serious consequences. The bailiff of the market was one
Adam Streninger; the other authorities were the parish priest and his
coadjutor. On the 14th, when the investment of Vienna had been brought
to bear by the main army of the Turks, their next care was to secure
the strong places within a certain distance of the city. With this
view a strong detachment was directed at sunrise of the 14th upon
Perchtoldsdorf, which began to throw incendiary missiles into the
place, and speedily set fire to it in various quarters. Some citizens
ventured upon a daring sally, but the small body, not more than thirty
in number, were cut down to a man. The overwhelming superiority of the
enemy’s numbers and the failure of their own ammunition compelled the
inhabitants entirely to abandon the town and to betake themselves to
their fortified church and its precincts. The town was given to the
flames, which raged from 2 P. M. through the following night, which
was passed by the little garrison in the contemplation of this dismal
scene, and in the expectation of an attack at sunrise, which they had
no hope of being able to repel. The Turks, however, preferred craft
and perfidy to force, and contented themselves with a blockade of
the stronghold, which was moreover rendered scarcely tenable by the
heat and smoke of the burning houses adjacent. This state of things
lasted till the afternoon, when a horseman rode up the main street,
dressed in the doublet of a German Reiter, but otherwise in Turkish
attire, and bearing a flag of truce, which he waved towards the church,
and in the Hungarian language summoned the citizens to surrender,
distinctly promising them security of life and property on condition
of an immediate submission. Such terms, under the circumstances, were
far too favourable to be refused. A man and a woman who spoke Hungarian
made known their acceptance to the envoy, and a white flag was hung
out from the tower in token of surrender. On the morning of the 17th
a Pacha with a strong attendance arrived from the camp, and seating
himself on a red carpet near the house of the bailiff, opposite the
church, announced through an interpreter the following conditions to
the besieged. First, two citizens were to come out to the Turks, and
two of the latter to be admitted into the fortress; secondly, as a
symbol that the place had not before been yielded to an enemy, the
keys were to be delivered to the Pacha by a maiden with loosened hair
and a garland on her head; thirdly, a contribution of 6000 florins
was to be levied on the inhabitants. This latter demand appears to
have protracted the negotiation for some hours, but finally half the
sum demanded was paid into the Pacha’s hands, and the remainder was
promised for the 29th August, the day of St. John the Baptist. These
terms arranged, the citizens left their stronghold, the daughter of the
bailiff, a girl of seventeen years, at their head, arrayed according
to the fanciful conditions above stated. She bore the keys of the
place on a cushion, and presented them trembling to the Pacha, who now
required that the whole body of men capable of bearing arms should be
drawn up in the market-place, for the purpose, as he pretended, of
judging what number of troops might be required for the preservation of
order in the town. This requisition excited some misgiving among the
townsmen, but there was no retreat, and they prepared to carry it into
effect. As they issued from their stronghold bodies of Turkish troops
closed about them and took from them their weapons, observing that men
who had surrendered had no longer use for such. Some who hesitated
to deliver them were deprived of them by force, and others who, from
apprehension, paused in the gateway, were dragged out by the hair. The
Turks loaded some carriages in attendance with the arms, and conveyed
them away. The men, some 2000 in number, were drawn up in ranks in
the place opposite the priest’s house, and surrounded with cavalry.
At a signal from the Pacha, a troop of the latter dismounted and
commenced a diligent search of the persons of the prisoners for money
or concealed weapons. The entrance gate was at the same time strongly
guarded. Some of the townsmen taking alarm at these proceedings, with
the bailiff at their head, endeavoured to regain the church. The Turks
pursued them with drawn sabres, and the bailiff was cut down on the
threshold. The Pacha now rose, flung down the table before him, and
gave the signal for a general massacre, setting the example with his
own hand by cutting down the trembling girl at his side. The slaughter
raged for two hours without intermission: 3500 persons were put to the
sword in the strictest sense of the word, and in a space so confined
that the expression, “torrents of blood,” so often a figure of speech,
was fully applicable to this case. The women and children, who still
remained in the asylum of the church, together with the priest and his
coadjutor, were dragged into slavery and never heard of more. A local
tradition avers that one solitary individual returned after a lapse
of fifteen years, but as from maltreatment he had lost speech and
hearing, he was unable to communicate the story of his escape. Another
prevalent report, that two townsmen escaped by concealment in the roof
of the church, is less probable, because the Turks immediately set
fire to that building. It is certain, however, that three persons did
escape, but in a different manner. One of them, Hans Schimmer by name,
a tailor’s apprentice and an ancestor of the writer of this narrative,
wisely fled before the catastrophe to Maria Zell; another, Jacob
Holzer, is supposed to have escaped in the first confusion; the third,
Balthasar Frank, it is said, hid himself till nightfall in the well of
the tower, and then found means to abscond. This last story, however,
is less well authenticated than the two former. From the number of the
slaughtered, it is evident that many of the inhabitants of the places
adjacent had taken refuge in this devoted town, for the ordinary male
population never reached that number, and those who were carried off
as slaves are also to be counted. It is probable that among the victims
were people of condition, for in the course of some excavations which
lately took place in the mound of their sepulture, some rings of value,
enamelled, and even set with precious stones, were discovered.