VIENNA.
"The Turks, the Turks! The Tartars are coming! The Duke of Lorraine
has been defeated! We are lost!"
Such were the cries in Vienna, on the morning of the 8th of July,
1683. A courier from the Duke of Lorraine had brought news of the
unfortunate skirmish near Petronelle, and had warned the emperor of
the approach of the enemy. Leopold had acted upon the information at
once, and preparations were making by the royal family to evacuate
Vienna.
This fact was no sooner known throughout the city, than thousands of
its inhabitants prepared to follow. If the emperor deserted his
capital, it was because he knew that it must fall; and those who
loved their lives were determined to fly. From palace to hut there
was but one common feeling--a frenzied desire to go elsewhere--
anywhere rather than remain to be butchered by the infidel.
Whosoever possessed a carriage, a wagon, a cart, was an object of
greater envy than he who counted his treasures by millions.
Incredible prices were offered and received for the roughest of
conveyances. Before every house stood vehicles of every kind,
crowded with fugitives, upon whom the poorer classes gazed with
longing eyes; many of them, by dint of tears and prayers, obtaining
liberty to hang on the wagons as they drove away.
And now amid the throng arose a cry. "The emperor! the emperor!"
Yes--he sat in his imperial carriage, pale, mournful, silent. And at
his side, sorrowful as he, was the Empress Eleanor. Behind them, in
another carriage, came the aja, with the crown prince of Austria in
her arms. Alas! not even for that innocent babe was there safety to
be found in the doomed city.
The people, like madmen, rushed through the streets behind the
imperial cortege. Whither their sovereign went, they determined to
follow; for with him, they fancied, they would find refuge from the
terrible Turk.
The retinue of the emperor took the way toward the Danube, and the
long train of carriages thundered over its wide bridge. At intervals
the people shouted:
"Follow his imperial majesty! Whither our sovereign travels, we must
go for safety!" And for six hours the bridge was thronged with
passengers; some in vehicles, some clinging to vehicles; ladies and
lackeys together in rumbles, or together hanging to the carriage-
doors. Never in his life had such a cortege followed the Emperor of
Austria; and certainly a procession more mournful had never
accompanied a sovereign before. Leopold's destination was Linz; but
the way was tedious, the roads sandy, and the sun's rays scorching.
Poor horses! they were white with sweat; but still the drivers urged
them on, for relays there were none. Terror had almost depopulated
the country. Toward nightfall the fugitives were compelled to halt,
for their tired animals were too stiff to travel farther, and
themselves were weary and hungry.
They had reached a small village, where Leopold gave orders to have
beds and supper prepared for his pale and worn-out empress.
"Ah, yes!" sighed she, "I am hungry and sleepy."
But from some mismanagement, the wagons containing the beds and
provisions of the imperial family had either stopped on the way, or
had never left Vienna.
The poor empress folded her hands and began to pray. The emperor
bowed his head. "My house is sorely in need," said he, sadly, "but
we are all in the hands of Almighty God. Whithersoever it be His
will to exile us, I am ready to go; and may His holy will be done!"
The imperial pair then left their carriage, and, a bed being made of
the cloaks of the pages, they laid them down to sleep under the
dark-blue vault of the spangled heavens. But, at the dawn of day,
they resumed their journey. The horses had rested, and the gentlemen
of the imperial household had procured some homely refreshments for
the famished monarch and his family. It consisted of eggs, milk, and
black bread; but hunger lent it savor, and their majesties ate with
more relish, perhaps, than they had ever done before.
They set out again. Their way now lay over cornfields, where the
farmers, with their maids and men, were gathering the wheat, and
binding it into sheaves. They, too, were in terror of the Turks;
but, when they saw the imperial cortege slowly plodding its way
through the sandy road, they stopped their work, and, coming up to
the portieres, intruded their coarse, brutal faces into the very
carriages themselves. They stared at the empress and jeered at the
emperor; inquired how he liked his crown, and why he did not wear it
on his head. They added that it was a fine thing to be on a throne,
to be sure; but emperors had a right to their share of trouble in
this world, quite as much as other people; perhaps they deserved a
little more than others.
When the officers and pages around heard this insolent scoffing,
they drew their swords, and would have made short work of the boors;
but Leopold forbade the use of violence. "Let them alone," said he,
mildly. "They are quite right. It is easy to be a monarch while the
sun shines, and the empire prospers; let me hope to prove to my
subjects that I can bear my reverses with humility and fortitude.
Let these people alone; for all trials come from above, and in His
own good time God will help us, and end our tribulations."
The peasants, ashamed, slunk back into their fields, and the
imperial retinue went on to Linz, while for those that had remained
in Vienna there ensued a period of danger, hardships, and terrible
endurance.
Count Rudiger von Starhemberg, who had been chosen to defend Vienna,
entered upon his perilous responsibilities with enthusiasm and
energy. Rich and poor, great and small, were called upon to
contribute to the general welfare. Nobles of high degree worked on
the defences; ladies brought baskets of provisions to the laborers;
and the mayor of Vienna, by way of setting the example to his
inferiors, carried sand all day in a wheelbarrow to the
fortifications. But bravely as they worked, each day augmented their
danger. The sentinels on St. Stephen's towers could see, by the
reddened heavens, that the Turk was approaching. On the 12th of July
the summit of the Kahlenberg was seen to be in flames; and the
besieged had no need to be told that a monastery had been destroyed,
and its occupants perchance put to the sword. Kara Mustapha invested
Vienna, and sent to demand the surrender of the city. It was
refused, and the siege was begun.
The Turks pitched their tents at the distance of several miles, and
began to mine. Meanwhile a terrible fire broke out in Vienna which
threatened destruction to its inhabitants. Driven onward by a high
wind, it consumed street after street, and at length approached the
arsenal, within whose precincts were a shot-tower and the powder-
magazine. Thousands of citizens were at the engines, making
despairing efforts to arrest the conflagration; but the licking
flames came fast and faster toward the shot-tower. The wretched
Viennese had given up every hope of salvation, when Count Guido von
Starhemberg, the nephew of the commanding general, rescued Vienna at
the risk of his own life. Accompanied by a few soldiers, he entered
the tower, and deluged the powder-barrels with water. Animated by
the noble devotion of the young count, others followed him with new
supplies. The windows of the powder-magazine were then walled up,
and the fire extinguished.
Scarcely had the Viennese recovered from this threatened catastrophe
before danger assailed them from another quarter. The Turkish lines
grew closer around the city, and the Duke of Lorraine, who, in the
interim, had arrived, and had encamped on an island in the Danube,
was forced back to Moravia, there to await the long-promised succor
of the King of Poland, and the long-procrastinated re-enforcements
of the Elector of Bavaria.
Within the gates their foes were sickness, discouragement, hunger,
and mutiny. With these intestine enemies Count von Starhemberg
battled manfully. His own spirit and courage were the weapons he
used to keep down discontent. Day and night he was in the trenches;
and when, by skilful countermining, his men had succeeded in taking
the lives of a few hundred Turks, Count von Starhemberg embraced the
miners, and took the earliest opportunity of rewarding them.
Undaunted by the Turkish bullets, he visited the ramparts three
times daily, until finally he was struck by one of the balls that
were constantly aimed at him, and severely wounded in the head. He
was picked up insensible, and carried home; but Rudiger Ton
Starhemberg had no time to be sick: so three days after he rose from
his bed, and, with his head bound up, mounted his horse, and
returned to his post.
His short absence had been productive of much evil in Vienna. It had
dispirited the timid and emboldened the insubordinate. But Count
Rudiger had an iron will, and no sympathy for weakness that
endangered the state. An officer having neglected his watch, and
permitted the Turks to intrench themselves in front of a bastion
whereof he had the guard, Count von Starhemberg gave him his choice
between the gallows and a sortie wherein he should meet the death of
a soldier. The officer chose the latter alternative, and died after
performing prodigies of valor.
Two soldiers had resisted the commands of their captain. Both were
arrested, and one of them accused the other of having instigated him
to insubordination. In presence of their regiment they were made to
throw for their lives, and he who threw the lowest number was taken
out and shot.
From the fulfilment of their duty to the country, Count von
Starhemberg would exempt neither age nor sex. Two boys of less than
twelve years of age were accused of having secret understanding with
the enemy, by which, for a rich reward, they were to open the gates
at night, and deliver the city into Kara Mustapha's hands. Count von
Starhemberg investigated the matter thoroughly, and, the fact having
been proved upon the boys, they were executed.
But hunger and disease were fast decreasing the ranks of the
besieged. The hospitals were so crowded with patients, that no more
could obtain admittance; and the commander, who seemed to have an
expedient for every disaster, appealed to the women of Vienna to
receive the sufferers in their houses. They responded, as woman
does, to the claims of humanity, and, carrying their devotion
further than was required, they visited the hospitals, and brought
food to the men on the ramparts, to refresh and invigorate them as
they worked.
But unhappily, the day came when substantial food was no longer to
be gotten. The city was invested, and no supplies could come from
without. The Duke of Lorraine had promised re-enforcements toward
the end of the month; and yet the 30th day of August had dawned, and
no help was vouchsafed.
But there was yet another night to pass before they would despair of
his coming. Crowds of men assembled on the towers of St. Stephen's,
that they might hear from the lips of the sentinels the first
tidings of joy; in the churches women and children were on their
knees imploring Heaven to send them succor; while without the Turks,
who had just begun a fresh assault, were thinning the ranks of their
defenders, and adding to the mournful numbers of the widows and
orphans of Vienna.
By morning the Turks had mined a passage to the stronghold of
Ravelin. Thither rushed the men with pikes, sabres, and clubs; and
behind them came their wives and daughters with boiling pitch and
oil, with sacks of sand and ashes, to throw upon the invaders as
they emerged from their subterranean passage. The expedient was
successful; the enemy was repulsed with loss, and the fall of Vienna
averted for another day.
A messenger from the emperor had managed to pass the Turkish lines,
promising help to the brave besieged, could they but hold out till
the middle of September; but, after ten weeks of struggle, patient
waiting, and hope deferred, two weeks seemed an eternity.
Nevertheless the indomitable Starhemberg reanimated their courage,
not only by words, but by his noble and unselfish endurance of
hardship, his fearless defiance of danger. They had resisted fifteen
assaults of the enemy, and had made twenty-one sallies outside of
the defences. He knew that, if they chose, their valiant souls would
sustain them for two weeks longer, and his burning words prevailed.
Once more they rallied, and defended themselves with desperation.
Though shells were bursting over their houses and at their feet,
though sickness was raging in their hospitals, and hunger was
wasting away their kindred, they swore to resist for two weeks
longer. So they could but save Vienna, their fatherland, and their
emperor, they were willing to endure their sufferings to the bitter
end. The Turks pressed closer, but every foot of ground cost them
thousands of men; and their advance was disputed by heroes whose
bodies were weakened with fasting and sickness. Not a morsel of
bread or of fresh meat was to be seen; for a while a cat was
esteemed a great delicacy; and, finally, when the rats were
exhausted, the poor, famished Viennese were glad to eat mice.
Meanwhile Kara Mustapha went about in his litter, calling upon his
men to exterminate these obstinate starvelings, bestowing rewards
upon those who had distinguished themselves, and beheading with his
own cimeter such as displeased or offended him. After each one of
these visits of the commander to his trenches, the Turks made a
fresh assault on the city. Had they made a general attack, the
besieged were lost; for there were within the walls of Vienna but
four thousand men capable of bearing arms, and these were so
exhausted by hunger, that they might easily have been overpowered.
No amount of heroism could supply the want of bodily strength; and
at last Count von Starhemberg himself was forced to acknowledge that
they must ere long capitulate.
Every night from the towers of St. Stephen's signal-rockets
proclaimed to heaven and earth the distress and despair of the
people of Vienna; while the burning eyes of the brave commander were
strained to see a responsive light, and his ears intent to listen
for the answering boom of the cannon that was to have announced
approaching succor. One week of the two had painfully ebbed away; in
eight days more Vienna would be sacked, and the Crescent would
replace the Cross!