CHAPTER VII.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:

—Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected.

—This work is divided into three volumes, all of them available on PG;

index is on third volume. It has been splitted replacing every item in

the volume where they belong. A full version of index has been

mantained at the end of third volume.

HISTORICAL

PARALLELS.

IN THREE VOLUMES.

VOL. II.

LONDON:

CHARLES KNIGHT & Co., LUDGATE STREET.

1846.

LONDON: WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET

CONTENTS.

Page

CHAPTER VII.

Marathon—Battle of Tours—Poema del Cid—Siege of Vienna by the

Turks in 1683—Battle of Morgarten—Battle of Sempach 5

CHAPTER VIII.

Thermopylæ—Battle of St. Jacques, near Basle—Siege of Malta in

1565—Destruction of the “Sacred Band” in the Greek

Revolution—Roncesvalles 55

CHAPTER IX.

Salamis—Siege of Leyden—Spanish Armada 86

CHAPTER X.

Sequel of the Life of Miltiades—of Aristides—of Themistocles 127

CHAPTER XI.

Prosecution of the Persian war—Rise of Athens to maritime

empire and consequent undermining of the aristocratical

interest—Administration of Cimon—of Pericles—Education of the

Athenians—Commencement of the Peloponnesian war 141

CHAPTER XII.

Historians of the Plague—Sketch of the four chief pestilences

recorded—Origin of the disease—Plague of Athens—Of

Constantinople—Of Florence—Of Milan—State of medical

knowledge—Plague of London 164

INDEX 232

HISTORICAL PARALLELS.

CHAPTER VII.

[Illustration]

Marathon—Battle of Tours—Poëma del Cid—Siege of Vienna by the Turks in

1683—Battle of Morgarten—Battle of Sempach.

Upon the expulsion of Hippias the direction of Athenian politics

passed into the hands of Cleisthenes, son of Megacles, the head of

the Alemæonidæ. He soon found a rival in Isagoras, a man of noble

extraction, whose popularity with the rich and noble preponderated

over his own; and being in consequence driven to advocate the popular

cause, and thus recovering the ascendant, he introduced several changes

tending to make the constitution more democratical. Isagoras sought to

regain his advantage by foreign aid; and at his suggestion Cleomenes,

one of the kings of Sparta, required the expulsion of the Alemæonidæ,

as an atonement for the sacrilegious murder of Cylon’s partisans, in

which they had been the chief actors. Offensive as such an interference

appears, the religious feelings of Greece gave weight to the

requisition, which was besides backed by the whole power of Sparta: and

in obedience to it, Cleisthenes and his chief supporters withdrew. Not

content with this, the Spartan king went with a small force to Athens,

and proceeded to banish seven hundred families as concerned in the

sacrilege, to change the forms of the constitution, and place all power

in the hands of Isagoras and his friends. But he miscalculated the

forbearance of the Athenians. Fearful as they were of a rupture with

their powerful rival, they flew to arms, and besieged Cleomenes in the

citadel. On the third day he and his troops surrendered on condition

that they should be allowed to depart, and Cleisthenes, returning,

reassumed the direction of affairs.

His first object was to find some assistance in the war which appeared

inevitable; and as the Persian empire was now at its height, he sent

ambassadors to Sardis, where the satrap or governor of Lydia resided,

to request admission to the Persian alliance. The satrap inquired who

the Athenians were, and where they lived, and then scornfully answered,

that if they would give earth and water to King Darius, in token of

subjection, their request should be granted; otherwise they must

depart. The ambassadors complied, but on returning to Athens they were

strongly censured. This was the first public transaction between Greece

and Persia.

As was expected, the Lacedæmonians invaded Attica, but the Corinthians

refused to support them, and this attempt to procure the restoration

of Hippias failed. Thus baffled, they summoned a meeting of their

allies, at which the banished chief was invited to be present; but here

again their views were frustrated by the agency of the Corinthians.

Hippias returning to Sigeum went thence to Sardis, with the view of

persuading the satrap Artaphernes to reduce Athens, and replace him in

the monarchy, under vassalage to the Persian monarch. The Athenians on

receiving these tidings sent to request Artaphernes not to listen to

their banished subjects; but they were met by a peremptory command to

receive back Hippias as they wished to be safe. From this time they

considered themselves openly at war with Persia.

Under these circumstances, when an insurrection broke out among the

Asiatic Greeks of Ionia and Æolis, the Athenians readily gave their

assistance to the revolters. Twenty ships of theirs, with five of the

Eretrians, joined the Ionian fleet; the collective force disembarked

at Ephesus, marched sixty miles into the interior, took Sardis by

surprise, and burnt it. Returning, they were entirely defeated under

the walls of Ephesus, and the Athenians then withdrew their ships, and

took no further part in the war. These events took place B.C.

499.

After the Ionians were subdued, Darius bent himself to revenge the

destruction of Sardis upon the Athenians and Eretrians. In the year 492

Mardonius led an army against them through Macedonia, but it suffered

such severe losses by land and sea, that he returned to winter in

Asia, without having reached even the borders of Greece. The following

year heralds were sent into Greece to demand of every city earth and

water in token of submission. Many obeyed, but Lacedæmon and Athens

refused, and cruelly threw the heralds at the one place into a pit,

at the other into a well, bidding them take from thence earth and

water. In 490 Darius sent a second armament under command of Datis and

Artaphernes. They crossed the Ægean Sea, to avoid the tedious march

through Macedonia, landed in Eubœa, reduced and enslaved the Eretrians,

and thence under the guidance of Hippias sailed to Marathon, on the

north–east coast of Attica.

Athens was fortunate in numbering among her citizens, at this critical

period, men able, in the proud boast of Themistocles, to make a great

city of a small one. In the time of Pisistratus, the Dolonci, a tribe

of Thracians who lived in the Thracian Chersonese, being pressed in

war by the Apsinthii, sent to the Delphic oracle to request advice.

They were directed to invite him who should first admit them to his

hospitality, to become the founder of a colony in their country.

Departing, they passed through Phocis and Bœotia without being offered

entertainment by any person; then entering Attica, they passed the

house of Miltiades, son of Cypselus, an Athenian of the noblest

extraction, being descended from the heroes Æacus and the Salaminian

Ajax, whose son Philæus became an Athenian citizen, and founded the

family of which we speak. Miltiades was sitting in his porch, and

observing persons in a foreign dress pass by, bearing lances in their

hands, a practice long disused by the Athenians, he called to them,

and offered them refreshment and rest. Upon this they explained the

object of their mission, and entreated him to comply with the god’s

directions. Miltiades, discontented with the superiority assumed by

Pisistratus, was well inclined to accede to their request. He went

immediately to Delphi to obtain further directions from the oracle, and

was determined by the answer he received to remove to the Chersonese,

whither he conducted as many of his fellow–citizens as chose to follow

him, and on his arrival was made tyrant of the Chersonese by the

Thracians.[1]

Miltiades died childless, and was succeeded by his nephew Stesagoras,

son of Cimon, who also died childless, being murdered after a short

residence in the country; and on this Hippias and Hipparchus, who then

bore rule in Athens, and whose policy was to encourage monarchical, or

as the Greeks would have called it, _tyrannical_ government in every

country connected with Attica, sent out Miltiades, son of Cimon, and

brother to the deceased, to assume his authority. Upon his arrival

Miltiades confined himself to the house, as if to show respect for his

brother’s memory; the chief men of the country collected from all the

towns of the Chersonese to honour him by sharing in his mourning, and

were thrown into prison. He married Hegesipyle, daughter of Olorus,

king of Thrace, probably to strengthen himself by an alliance with that

powerful neighbour, and took 500 mercenaries into pay. Thus, at Athens,

in the Chersonese, and at Florence, that authority which originally

was the free gift of the people, was changed in the second or third

generation into an arbitrary government maintained by force; and hence

all elective governments may draw a warning, not to suffer two members

of the same family to be placed in succession at the head of the state,

however great their merits.

Miltiades assumed the sovereignty B.C. 515. Darius invaded

Scythia B.C. 507 or 508, and he, like many other Greeks,

followed in that monarch’s train by compulsion. In revenge for that

invasion, according to Herodotus, and perhaps in consequence of the

anger expressed by them against the Ionians for not breaking the bridge

over the Ister, the Scythians overran the Chersonese, and obliged

Miltiades to fly; but he was recalled by his Thracian subjects, a

circumstance creditable to his conduct as a ruler, however questionable

the means by which he obtained his authority. Meanwhile, between the

years 500 and 493, the Asiatic Greeks, supported by the islanders,

had rebelled from Darius and had been subdued, and the Persian fleet,

after reducing the islands Chios, Lesbos, and Tenedos, sailed for the

Hellespont, and laid waste the Grecian cities on the European shore.

Miltiades, whether he had been concerned in the revolt, or feared that

the king might owe him no gratitude for having advised the destruction

of the bridge over the Ister, waited no longer than till the Persian

fleet reached Tenedos, and then filled five triremes with his effects,

and returned to Athens. He was closely pursued, and one of the ships,

on board of which his son had embarked, was taken: the youth was taken

as a valuable prize to Darius, who treated him with great humanity

and gave him an estate and wife. Miltiades and the others reached

Athens, and found there a new danger. He was prosecuted for the very

indefinite crime of “tyrannising in the Chersonese,” but obtained an

acquittal, and rose into favour with the people, for he was elected

one of the strategi, or board of generals. Aristides was among his

colleagues.

When the Athenians heard that the Persians were come, they marched to

Marathon; but before quitting the city they sent to Sparta a citizen

named Phidippides, who was a running messenger by trade. And he on

his return related that as he crossed the Parthenian mountain, which

is above Tegea, the god Pan called to him by name, and bade him tell

the Athenians, that in neglecting his worship they neglected a deity

well disposed towards them, who had often done them service, and would

again. After the victory the Athenians, believing this to be true,

dedicated to Pan a temple in the Acropolis, and instituted yearly

sacrifices in his honour.

The many marvellous stories related by Herodotus have thrown

considerable discredit both upon his veracity and his judgment: of

late his value has been very generally recognised. There can be no

doubt but that in giving this relation he strictly discharged his

duty as an historian. The fact of a temple being dedicated proves

the tale to have been generally credited, and not of his making. It

was his business not to pass it over in silence; and even if he had

been sceptical, his object in writing was not to amend the national

religion. We must suppose it therefore to have been devised either by

Phidippides himself, or, which is more likely, by the Athenian leaders,

to encourage the people to their unequal contest. Several similar

stories of preternatural assistance promised and bestowed, are current

in Spanish history. “Now it came to pass, that while King Don Ferrando

lay before Coimbra there came a pilgrim from the land of Greece on

pilgrimage to Santiago: his name was Estiano, and he was a bishop. And

as he was praying in the church he heard certain of the townsmen and

of the pilgrims saying that Santiago was wont to appear in battle like

a knight, in aid of the Christians. And when he heard this it nothing

pleased him, and he said unto them, ‘Friends, call him not a knight,

but rather a fisherman.’ Upon this it pleased God that he should fall

asleep, and in his sleep Santiago appeared to him with a good and

cheerful countenance, holding in his hand a bunch of keys, and said

unto him, ‘Thou thinkest it a fable that they should call me a knight,

and sayest that I am not so: for this reason am I come unto thee, that

thou mayest never more doubt my knighthood: for a knight of Jesus

Christ I am, and a helper of the Christians against the Moors.’ While

he was thus saying, a horse was brought him, the which was exceeding

white, and the Apostle Santiago mounted upon it, being well clad in

bright and fair armour, after the manner of a knight. And he said to

Estiano, ‘I go to help King Don Ferrando, who has lain these seven

months before Coimbra, and to–morrow, with these keys which thou seest,

I will open the gates of the city unto him at the hour of tierce, and

deliver it into his hand.’ Having said this, he departed. And the

bishop, when he awoke in the morning, called together the clergy and

people of Compostella, and told them what he had seen and heard. And as

he said, even so did it come to pass; for tidings came on that day, and

on the hour of tierce the gates of the city had been opened.”[2]

Patron saints soon succeeded to patron deities. It is said that the

statue of Jupiter, which of old presided in the Capitol over the Roman

world, is now doing duty as St. Peter in the metropolitan church of

Rome. If this be true, it is a cutting satire on the facility with

which the passions, the superstitions, and even the rites of Paganism

were carried into Christianity by imperfect converts, and confirmed by

a corrupted and avaricious priesthood.

While the Athenians were stationed near Marathon, the Platæans

marched to their aid with the whole force of their state. The connexion

of Platæa with Athens lasted so long, and was maintained with such

consistency and good faith, no very common distinction in the politics

of Greece, that it is worth while to trace its origin and progress.

Platæa, a small state of Bœotia, was originally a member of a federal

union formed by the independent cities of that province, over which

Thebes, the largest and most powerful of them, presided. The Thebans,

however, in every part of their history, seem to have been unsatisfied

with influence, and to have endeavoured to exert direct authority

over the weaker members of the confederacy. On some such occasion,

Cleomenes, the king of Sparta, of whom we have already made mention,

happened to be on the spot; and as Lacedæmon was then confessedly

the first power of Greece, the Platæans naturally applied to him for

assistance, and offered, as Herodotus expresses it, “to give themselves

to the Lacedæmonians:” that is to say, to contract that close connexion

with Sparta, and own that sort of allegiance to it, by which the weaker

states of Greece generally connected themselves with some one of the

principal powers. In later times this was generally determined by

the interests of the predominant party in the smaller state. If the

democratical party was uppermost, it probably connected itself with

Athens; if the aristocratical, with Sparta. At the earlier period in

question, however, the pre–eminence of Sparta was pretty generally

acknowledged, and would, perhaps, have been sufficient to determine

the Platæans to seek its protection rather than that of any other

state, even independently of the accidental presence of Cleomenes. The

Lacedæmonians, however, refused to admit them into the connexion which

they wished for. “We live,” he said, “at a great distance from you, and

ours would be but a cold sort of assistance, for you might be reduced

to slavery over and over again before any of us even heard of it. We

advise you, therefore, to give yourselves to the Athenians, who are

your neighbours, and besides that are no bad helpmates.” The advice was

not bad, and may appear not unfriendly. Herodotus, however, gives it a

different construction, and one well warranted by the general course

of Lacedæmonian policy. “This was the advice of the Lacedæmonians;

not so much from any good will to the Platæans, as from the wish to

bring the Athenians into trouble by placing them in collision with the

Bœotians.” The Platæans, however, took the advice, whatever were the

motives from which it proceeded. They sent an embassy to Athens at the

time that the Athenians were celebrating one of their great public

festivals, who took their seats as suppliants at the altar, and “gave”

their state to the Athenians. The Thebans immediately marched against

Platæa, and the Athenians to its relief. The Corinthians, however,

interfered, and, by the consent of both parties, acted as arbitrators

between them. In this capacity they traced a boundary between the

conflicting states, and decreed that the Thebans were not to interfere

with any people situated in Bœotia who did not choose to be members

of the Bœotian confederacy. After delivering this just judgment the

Corinthians went away, and the Athenians, whose work seemed to be done,

marched homewards. On their march, however, the Bœotians set upon them,

and were very rightly served in being defeated in the battle which

ensued. The Athenians considered themselves entitled to profit by their

victory, and established a boundary–line more favourable to Platæa than

that decreed by the Corinthians. These transactions happened in the

year 519 B.C., twenty–nine years before the period of which

we are treating. The connexion which had thus begun by an important

service rendered by Athens to Platæa, appears to have been strengthened

by other acts of assistance; for Herodotus tells us that the Athenians

had already undergone repeated toils for them. Whatever these had been,

the Platæans nobly performed their part of the obligation. On the

present occasion they marched to the aid of Athens with their whole

force; we shall find them, in the next great war with Persia, serving,

though an inland people, with their whole force on board the Athenian

navy: and in all the contests which continually ravaged Greece, Platæa,

as long as it continued a state, faithfully adhered to its ancient

protector. At the commencement of the Peloponnesian war, the Athenians,

unable effectually to protect so insulated a dependency, removed all

its inhabitants, excepting a sufficient garrison, to Athens. The

loyalty of the Platæans to their allegiance was their destruction. In

the third year of the war the town was taken by the Lacedæmonians,

those who remained in it put to death, the buildings, all except the

temples, levelled with the ground, and its lands confiscated by the

Theban state.

The Platæan force at Marathon is said to have been 1000 men;

but there is no certain account of the armies. No writer rates the

Persians at fewer than 100,000 men: the Greeks do not seem to have

had more than 15,000[3] heavy–armed troops, and, according to the

usual proportion, at least as many light–armed troops, principally

slaves, in attendance on the heavy–armed citizens. Herodotus gives

no calculation of the numbers on either side; some writers rate the

Persian force very much above, the Athenian very much below those

already mentioned; but according to every estimate the Persians had a

very alarming superiority in number, and a no less formidable advantage

in the general terror which the wide career of their conquests had

produced, to such a degree, that, in the forcible expression of Plato,

“the minds of all men were enslaved.” It is not, therefore, to be

wondered that the ten generals were divided in opinion, and that while

some, Miltiades was one of them, were for battle, others objected to

it, on the ground that their force was too small. The decision finally

rested with the polemarch, Callimachus,[4] and Miltiades succeeded in

convincing him of the necessity of fighting, and of fighting at once.

It was the Athenian practice when a council of generals, as in the

present instance, was appointed, that each should command for a day in

turn. A more inconvenient arrangement could not well be devised, and it

furnishes some proof of the simplicity of the military operations of

those times, that it was found at all practicable.[5] On the present

occasion, however, its inconvenience was much diminished by the conduct

of the generals themselves; for when the concurrence of the polemarch

in the opinion of Miltiades had determined its adoption, all the

generals who had voted for battle gave up their days of command to

Miltiades. According to Plutarch, Aristides was the first to do so, and

the account agrees well with his disinterested patriotism: its credit,

however, is impaired by the additional statement that all the generals

followed his example, for Herodotus, a much better authority, confines

the sacrifice to those who had originally wished for an engagement.

Miltiades, however, although he accepted the power yielded to him,

waited till his regular turn of command came round before he gave the

signal for battle.

The scene of action was a narrow plain, bounded by the sea eastward

and the hills westward, and closed at the northern side by a marsh,

on the southern by mountains sweeping down to the sea. The Athenians

were ranged in the order of their tribes, beginning from the right

wing, where Callimachus, the polemarch, was stationed, a post of honour

which he held by virtue of his office.[6] At the opposite extremity,

at the very end of the left wing, were placed the Platæans, and they

did such faithful service that it became the usage of the Athenians at

the great feast and assembly which they held every five years, that a

herald should make a solemn prayer “for all good both to the Athenians

and Platæans.” The great strength of the army was collected in the two

wings. They were necessarily distant from each other, that the Persians

might not outflank them; and the consequence was that the centre of the

line, where Themistocles and Aristides, according to Plutarch, were

stationed, was thinly manned, and weaker than any other part of it.

Every great undertaking was preceded, among the Greeks, by sacrifice,

less from a feeling of religious obligation than for the auguries to

be deduced from the inspection of the victims. These were pronounced

favourable, and the Athenians were immediately let loose, and charged

the enemy running. The distance between the two armies was not less

than eight stadii (about a mile). The Persians therefore prepared to

receive the attack, and expected an easy victory; “for they thought it

madness in them, and madness of the most deadly kind, thus to charge,

few as they were, and those few without cavalry or archery;” two

descriptions of force in which they were themselves strongest, and to

which, after their long course of success, they naturally attributed

peculiar importance. “But when the Athenians came to close quarters

with the barbarians, they fought right worthily of notice. For they

were the first of all the Greeks, as far as we know, who ran to charge

the enemy, and they were the first who stood firm when they saw the

Median dress, and the men who wore it; for until then it was a terror

to the Greeks even to hear the name of the Medians.” The battle lasted

long, and with various fortune. The best troops of the enemy, the

Persians themselves, and the Sacæ,[7] were opposed to the weak centre

of the Athenians, which they broke, and pursued the fliers into the

inland country. On each wing, however, the Athenians and Platæans

were victorious: and instead of pursuing the enemies to whom they had

been opposed, they united, set upon the body who, having broken their

centre, were now separated from the rest of the Persian army, and

routed them. They then pursued the defeated forces with great slaughter

to the sea, where they took to their ships. The conquerors rushed to

seize them, and captured seven after a severe struggle, in which was

slain Cynægeirus, brother of the poet Æschylus, and of Ameinias, whom

we shall find acquiring high distinction at the battle of Salamis. His

right hand was severed by the blow of a battle–axe as he grasped the

upper part of a vessel’s stern,[8] and endeavoured to detain it; a

mode of capture which may furnish some notion of the kind of shipping

in use at that time. The anecdote is not striking enough for Justin

and other compilers, who add, that when his right hand was struck off,

he renewed the grasp with his left, and losing that also, seized the

ship with his teeth, and hung upon it to his last breath. The whole

Athenian loss is said to have been 192 killed, but among these were

Callimachus the polemarch, Stesileos one of the generals, and many

other men of name. Of the Persians there fell about six thousand four

hundred.[9] The remainder got on board their vessels, and endeavoured

to surprise Athens by sailing round Cape Sunium. The vigilance of the

Athenians, however, prevented them: they returned to their capital

by a forced march, and when the barbarians were in the offing, they

found the victorious army encamped and ready to receive them. This was

not the purpose of their expedition; and, after a little hesitation,

they set sail and returned to Asia. The dead were buried on the field

of battle: a vast tumulus was raised over the Athenian citizens, and

other monuments were erected to the Platæans and the slaves, who on

this emergency were allowed, contrary to Grecian usage, to serve in

the heavy–armed foot. The people of Marathon worshipped the slain as

heroes. Around their tombs, says Pausanias, is to be heard throughout

the night the neighing of horses and the noise of combatants. They

have never indeed manifested themselves to those who have gone there

purposely to see them, but such as have passed casually, and in

ignorance, have met with no token of the anger of the gods.[10]

Warfare is so well calculated to develop all the energies, and among

them some of the virtues of mankind, that its details frequently excite

intense interest, even when we see and reprobate most distinctly the

thousand evils consequent on an appeal to arms. There is something

spirit–stirring in the narrative of personal hardihood, which carries

us along in despite of our sober judgment, and enlists our sympathy,

often in opposition to the dictates of reason and morality. Few men

exist whose blood will not beat higher at a well–devised tale of

gallant adventure: much more when the fictions, the extravagances of

romance are realized in history. “It is fearful, it is magnificent, to

see how the arm and heart of one man may triumph over many.” But we

can seldom enjoy this pleasure unrestrained by some apprehension that

we are indulging the imagination at the expense of the judgment. It is

only in cases of clear and unjustifiable oppression, where power has

been exerted to the utmost to crush right, where men careless of death

in comparison of oppression, weak in numbers, and confident only in

the strength of their arms and the goodness of their cause, have met

and overthrown the numerous forces of their enemy, that we can fully

sympathize with the victor’s triumph. These conditions were fulfilled

at Marathon. The Persian was the aggressor: he had interfered with the

domestic government of the Athenians by endeavouring to force upon them

a prince whom they had rejected; he followed up his mandate to restore

Hippias by sending into their territory an apparently overwhelming

force. A short–sighted policy would have counselled submission: but, it

never was the interest of a small state to yield tamely to a powerful

enemy. Resistance, even if unsuccessful, will cause it to be feared: a

prompt submission delivers it over to be trampled upon. The Athenians

met their enemy fearlessly, and beat him thoroughly, and they were

rewarded for it by obtaining an eminence in war, in literature, in art,

and in glory, unequalled and incomparable, considering their population

and extent of land. Those more especially who fought and fell in this

battle, have their reward in the deathless fame which waits upon their

victory. It would be needless and endless to dwell on the testimonies

to their deserving which later ages have produced. We shall therefore

merely refer to the period of Athenian grandeur to observe, that it

was from the Persian wars, and especially from Marathon, the battle

which first showed the Persians not invincible, that the vain but

high–spirited Athenians drew their most cherished recollections, their

orators the themes of panegyric most grateful to the national pride of

the assembled people.

In time of war it was customary to solemnize, every winter, a public

funeral at Athens, in honour of those who had fallen in the preceding

campaign. The manner of the ceremony was this:—”Having set up a

tent, they put into it the bones of the dead three days before the

funeral, and every one bringeth whatsoever offerings he thinks good,

in honour of his own relations. When the day comes of carrying them

to their burial, certain cypress coffins are carried along in carts,

for every tribe one, in which are the bones of the men of every tribe

by themselves. There is likewise borne an empty hearse covered over,

for such as appear not, nor were found among the rest, when they were

taken up. The funeral is accompanied by any that will, whether citizen

or stranger; and the women of their kindred are also by at the burial,

lamenting and mourning. They then put them into a public monument,

which standeth in the fairest suburb of the city (in which place they

have ever interred all that died in the wars, except those that were

slain in the fields of Marathon, who, because their virtue was thought

extraordinary, were therefore buried on the spot), and when the earth

is thrown over them, some one, thought to exceed the rest in virtue,

wisdom, and dignity, chosen by the city, maketh an oration, wherein

he giveth them such praises as are fit; which done, the company

depart.”[11] Two specimens of this style of oratory, by two of the

first names in Grecian literature, remain: the celebrated speech,

written by Thucydides, in the name of Pericles, and one ascribed to

Socrates by Plato. The reader will not be displeased to see in what

terms the Athenian philosopher speaks of his countrymen’s deeds in the

Persian war.

“Our fathers, and the fathers of these men deceased, and they

themselves, being honourably born, and nurtured in all freedom, have

individually and as a people done many noble deeds in sight of all men,

conceiving that in the cause of freedom it was their duty to fight with

Greeks in behalf of Greeks, and with barbarians in behalf of the whole

Grecian race. The time would fail me to relate as the subject merits,

how they repelled Eumolpus, and the Amazons, and other invaders earlier

than those, and how they supported the Argives against the Thebans, and

the Heraclidæ against the Argives; and the poets who have hymned their

valour in verse, have already made it known to all men. Were I then to

attempt to set forth the same things in prose, I should but prove my

own inferiority. I will therefore pass these matters, for they already

have their due. Those deeds on which, worthy as they are, no poet has

yet founded a worthy name, those yet uncelebrated are the theme on

which it befits me to dwell, praising them myself, and wooing others

to weave them into songs and other poetry, in a manner honourable to

the men who acted them. First then of the things which I refer to, the

children of this land, our ancestors, checked the Persian, when, at

the head of Asia, he was in the act of enslaving Europe; wherefore it

is just and fit that we should call them first to mind, and celebrate

their valour. He, however, who would praise it fitly, must carry back

his mind to that time when all Asia bowed before the third of the

Persian kings: the first of whom, Cyrus, having liberated the Persians,

his countrymen, by his own high spirit, enslaved their masters, the

Medes, and ruled the rest of Asia as far as Egypt. His son, Cambyses,

reduced such parts of Egypt and of Libya as were accessible; and the

third, Darius, by land extended the boundary of his empire to Scythia,

and with his fleet commanded both the sea and the islands, so that no

man deemed himself equal to contend with him. The very minds of all

men were enslaved, so many, so great, and so warlike nations had the

Persian empire subdued.

“Darius accusing us and the Eretrians of the attack on Sardis, on that

pretext sent five hundred thousand men in long ships and transports,

and three hundred long ships, and ordered Datis, their general, as he

would save his head, to bring the Athenians and Eretrians back with

him. Datis sailed to Eretria, against men reputed then among the most

warlike of the Greeks, not few in number, and overcame them in three

days, and carefully searched their whole land, that none should escape.

His soldiers marched to the boundary of the country; they formed a

line along it from sea to sea; they joined hands, and thus passed

over the whole of it, that they might tell the king that none had

escaped.[12] With the same design they sailed from Eretria to Marathon,

as to a ready prey, thinking to carry off the Athenians enyoked with

the Eretrians in the same fated evils. These things then being in

part accomplished, and the rest in progress, no Greek succoured the

Eretrians, none but the Lacedæmonians marched to Athens, and they

arrived not till the day after the battle. The rest, stupified with

alarm, remained at home, content with present safety. By this a man may

appreciate the courage of those who met the power of the barbarians at

Marathon, and chastised the insolent presumption of all Asia, and there

first erected trophies over the barbarians; becoming thus examples and

masters to prove the might of Persia not invincible, and show that all

multitude and riches yield to valour. I say then that those men were

the fathers not only of our bodies, but of our freedom, and the freedom

of all on this mainland; for, by looking to that action, the Greeks

took courage to venture other battles for safety, becoming pupils of

the men of Marathon. The first prize of valour, then, we must bestow on

them: the second on those who fought at Artemisium, and round the Isle

of Salamis.”[13]

The battle of Marathon marks an important crisis in the history of

Greece, and of the civilized world. The later contests of the Persian

war at Thermopylæ and Salamis and Platæa, important as they were,

were not played for so deep a stake; for the chief of the Grecian

nations were then pledged to the war, and were besides encouraged by

knowing the Persian power not insuperable. The panegyric of Plato is

not overcharged. We have given the frank confession of Herodotus,

that up to that time the very name of the Medes was a terror to the

Greeks; and if the Athenians had yielded to this panic, or had been

defeated, European as well as Asiatic Greece would probably have become

a province of the Persian empire. The contest, therefore, was that of

liberty against despotism; of mental activity against the unimproving

and unreflecting apathy in which the greatest part of Asia has slept,

from the commencement of history; and a more important object has never

been at hazard, unless where the cause of religion has depended on an

appeal to arms.

Christianity is now so closely connected with the idea of superiority

in knowledge, wealth, and war, that many readers may be surprised to

hear of its having been seriously endangered by an external enemy since

its first triumph and establishment. To our ancestors, however, the

unparalleled rapidity and success with which the followers of Mahomet

extended their religion and their empire, was a subject of serious

and just alarm. Within fifty years of the prophet’s expulsion from

Mecca, Constantinople itself, the metropolis of the Christian world,

was besieged by the Caliph, the successor to his temporal authority:

within a hundred years the Saracenic empire extended from the confines

of India to the Pyrenees. In the year 714, scarcely three years from

the first invasion of Spain, Musa, the victorious lieutenant of the

Caliph, prepared to pass that mountain barrier, to extinguish the

kingdoms of the Franks and Lombards, and to preach the doctrines of

Mahomet in the church of the Vatican. He proposed to conquer the

barbarians of Germany, to follow the Danube to the Euxine Sea, to

overthrow the Constantinopolitan empire, and thus unite the eastern and

western dominions of the Saracens. His ambitious progress was checked

and himself recalled by the jealousy of his master; but in the year

731 Abderahman resumed the bold projects of his predecessor. Gascony

and Languedoc were already subject to the sovereign of Damascus, when,

in 732, that enterprising soldier led a vast army to complete the

subjection of France. He had already advanced unchecked to the banks

of the Loire, when Charles Martel, the mayor of the palace, in name a

household officer, but in authority the sovereign of France, collected

his forces, and advanced to the deliverance of Europe. For six days the

armies confronted each other, making trial of each other’s strength in

skirmishes: on the seventh, one Saturday in the month of October, 732,

the final battle, that of Tours,[14] took place which was to decide

whether Europe should remain Christian, or the Cross sink under the

Crescent. The light and active Saracens, whose defensive armour was

merely a quilted jacket, and their weapons arrows and javelins, rushed

fiercely to the attack; but they made little impression on the solid

battalions of the Franks, bristling with spear–points, and protected

by their close–locked shields. The latter were no match for their

assailants in agility of manœuvring, but the weighty arm and steady

foot made up for this deficiency. The Saracen cavalry charged up to

their ranks in vain; they were compelled to rein their horses round,

and when wearied and broken by their fruitless efforts, the Christians

advanced and routed them with great slaughter. In the heat of the

battle, Eudes, Duke of Aquitaine, led his troops round upon the enemy’s

camp, overthrowing all before him, and contributed greatly to the

victory by the tumult and confusion thus produced. “Then was Charles

first called by the name of Martel (_a sort of battle–axe_); for as the

martel crushes iron, steel, and all other metals, even so he broke and

pounded his enemies and all other nations. Great wonder was it that, of

all his host, he lost in this battle only 1500 persons.”[15] Abderahman

sought in vain to rally his troops, and fell while fighting valiantly.

Night separated the armies, and the Infidels profited by it to retreat,

leaving their camp, their furniture, and their booty at the disposal of

the victor. Charles did not pursue them, from which we may infer that

his own loss was severe. This disaster terminated the course of Arab

conquest.

Contemporary authors have preserved scarcely any particulars of this

battle; it is not till the close of the century that Paulus Diaconus,

the Lombard historian, informs us that 375,000 Saracens were left dead

on the field, their whole number being estimated by later authors at

about 80,000. It is singular that, of the Frankish annalists, almost

all content themselves with the bare statement that, in 732, a great

battle was fought between the Saracens and Charles Martel: none pretend

to give any circumstantial account of an occurrence so gratifying to

national pride. Were our information fuller, the method of warfare

adopted by the French in that age, and the difference between the

European and Asiatic arms and tactics, would form interesting subjects

for illustration. One thing we learn—that the French fought chiefly

on foot, and were inexpert in the mounted service, and trusted

little to their cavalry; from which it is evident that the usages of

knighthood had made little progress at this period. In the want of this

information we give a passage, in which the features of Christian and

Moorish warfare, in a later age, are described with much spirit and

minuteness by a contemporary author. Though not very closely connected

with the subject, it is worth attention for its poetical merits, and is

besides somewhat of a literary curiosity, being taken from the oldest

narrative poem, as we believe, preserved in any living language. We

speak of the “Poëma del Cid,” the history of the celebrated Ruy Diaz of

Bivar, generally known by the name given to him by the Moors of Cid, or

Lord; which is thus spoken of by Mr. Southey: “Sanchez is of opinion

that it was composed about the middle of the twelfth century, some

fifty years after the death of the Cid; there are some passages which

induce me to believe it the work of a contemporary. Be that as it may,

it is unquestionably the oldest poem in the Spanish language. In my

judgment it is as decidedly, and beyond comparison, the finest.”[16]

The translation here given is placed, without the name of the author,

in the Appendix to the Chronicle of the Cid. “I have never,” says the

same high authority, “seen any other translation which so perfectly

represented the manner, character, and spirit, of the original.” The

subject of the passage is briefly this: the Cid being driven into

banishment by the intrigues of his enemies, is accompanied by several

of his friends and followers, for whom he undertakes to provide by

carrying on a predatory warfare against the Moors. In the course of

their adventures they surprise the castle of Alcoar, but are soon after

surrounded and besieged by a superior army. After some difference of

opinion, the Cid yields to the wishes of his followers, and determines

on a sally, which is successful.

“They fain would sally forth, but he, the noble Cid,

Accounted it as rashness, and constantly forbid.

The fourth week was beginning, the third already past,

The Cid and his companions they are now agreed at last.

‘The water is cut off, the bread is well nigh spent;

To allow us to depart by night the Moors will not consent.

To combat with them in the field our numbers are but few,

Gentlemen, tell me your minds, what do you think to do?’

Minaya Alvar Fanez answered him again:

‘We are come here from fair Castile to live like banished men;

There are here six hundred of us, besides some nine or ten;

It is by fighting with the Moors that we have earned our bread;

In the name of God, that made us, let nothing more be said.

Let us sally forth upon them by the dawn of day.’

The Cid replied, ‘Minaya, I approve of what you say;

You have spoken for the best, and had done so without doubt.’

The Moors that were within the town they took and turned them out,

That none should know their secret: they laboured all that night;

They were ready for the combat with the morning light.

The Cid was in his armour, mounted at their head—

He spoke aloud among them—you shall hear the words he said:

‘We all must sally forth! There can not a man be spared.

Two footmen only at the gates to close them and keep guard;

If we are slain in battle, they will bury us here in peace—

If we survive and conquer, our riches will increase.

And you, Pero Bermuez, the standard you must bear—

Advance it like a valiant man, comely and fair;

But do not venture forward before I give command.’

Bermuez took the standard; he went and kissed his hand.

The gates were then thrown open, and forth at once they rushed;

The outposts of the Moorish host back to the camp were pushed;

The camp was all in tumult, and there was such a thunder

Of cymbals and of drums, as if earth would cleave in sunder.

There you might see the Moors arming themselves in haste,

And the two main battles how they were forming fast;

Horsemen and footmen mixed, a countless troop and vast.

The Moors are moving forward—the battle soon must join:

‘My men, stand here in order, ranged upon a line:

Let not a man stir from his rank before I give the sign!’

Pero Bermuez heard the word, but he could not refrain,

He held the banner in his hand, he gave his horse the rein;

‘You see yon foremost squadron there, the thickest of the foes,

Noble Cid, God be your aid, for there your banner goes!

Let him that serves and honours it, show the duty that he owes.’

Earnestly the Cid called out, ‘For heaven’s sake be still!’

Bermuez cried, ‘I cannot hold;’ so eager was his will.

He spurred his horse and drove him on amid the Moorish rout,

They strove to win the banner, and compassed him about:

Had not his armour been so true, he had lost either life or limb.

The Cid cried out again, ‘For heaven’s sake succour him!’

“Their shields before their breasts, forth at once they go,

Their lances in the rest, levelled fair and low;

Their banners and their crests waving in a row,

Their heads all stooping down toward the saddle bow.

The Cid was in the midst, his shout was heard afar,

‘I am Ruy Diaz, the champion of Bivar;

Strike among them, gentlemen, for sweet mercies’ sake!’

There where Bermuez fought, amidst the foe they break;

Three hundred bannered knights, it was a gallant show:

Three hundred Moors they killed, a man with every blow.

When they wheeled and turned, as many more lay slain,

You might see them raise their lances, and level them again,

There you might see the breast–plates, how they were cleft in twain,

And many a Moorish shield lie shattered on the plain,

The pennons that were white marked with a crimson stain,

The horses running wild whose riders had been slain.

The Christians call upon St. James, the Moors upon Mahound.

There were thirteen hundred of them slain on a little spot of ground.

Minaya Alvar Fanez smote with all his might,

He went as he was wont, and was foremost in the fight.

There was Galin Garcia, of courage firm and clear,

Felez Munioz, the Cid’s own cousin dear;

Antolinez of Burgos, a hardy knight and keen,

Munio Gustioz, his pupil that had been.

The Cid on his gilded saddle above them all was seen.

There was Martin Munioz, that ruled in Montmayor,

There were Alvar Ferez and Alvar Salvador:

These were the followers of the Cid, with many others more,

In rescue of Bermuez, and the standard that he bore.

Minaya is dismounted, his courser has been slain.

He fights upon his feet, and smites with might and main.

The Cid came in all haste to help him to horse again;

He saw a Moor well mounted, thereof he was full fain,

Through the girdle at a stroke he cast him to the plain:

He called to Minaya Fanez, and reached him out the rein,

‘Mount and ride, Minaya, you are my right hand,

We shall have need of you to–day, these Moors will not disband.’

Minaya leapt upon the horse, his sword was in his hand,

Nothing that came near him could resist him or withstand;

All that falls within his reach he dispatches as he goes.

The Cid rode to King Fariz, and struck at him three blows;

The third was far the best, it forced the blood to flow,

The stream ran from his side, and stained his arms below;

The King caught round the rein, and turned his back to go,

The Cid has won the battle with that single blow.”

The battle of Tours delivered Europe from the dread of Mahometan

invasion from the West, and a few Spaniards sheltered in the mountains

of Asturias succeeded ere long in erecting an independent kingdom, and

ultimately in wresting the whole Peninsula from the Moors. But the

recovery of what had been lost in two campaigns occupied near seven

centuries of the most inveterate and destructive warfare, in which

the international hatred displayed of old between Greek and barbarian

was revived, and further embittered by religious hatred. “And what a

warfare! it was to burn the standing corn, to root up the vine and the

olive, to hang the heads of their enemies from the saddle bow, and

drive mothers and children before them with the lance; to massacre the

men of a town in the fury of assault; to select the chiefs that they

might be murdered in cold blood; to reserve the women for violation

and the children for slavery; and this warfare year after year, till

they rested from mere exhaustion. The soldiers of Ferran Gonzalez

complained that they led a life like devils: ‘Our Lord,’ said they,

‘is like Satan, and we are like his servants, whose whole delight is

in separating soul from body.’”[17] Meanwhile the struggle between the

Cross and the Crescent was proceeding in the East with very different

success, and before the surrender of Granada, the end of Moorish

independence in Spain, the Ottoman empire was established in the south

of Europe, and the city of Constantine acknowledged the divine mission

of Mahomet. The Crescent has long been waning, never again, as far as

human foresight can extend, to refill its horns; and in the present

impotence of all Mahometan courts, and the apathy of their subjects,

we seek in vain the resemblance of the mighty princes, and the fiery

soldiery, whose enthusiasm operated the most sudden and extensive

changes related in history. Tribe after tribe have swept each other

from the plains of Asia, and with various success have carried their

arms and their religion into Europe; and now the empire founded by

the last of them in its decrepitude depends for its existence upon

its Christian allies. Yet it is not a century and a half since the

frontier of Germany was the scene of continual warfare; and since the

utmost exertions of the warlike inhabitants of Poland and Hungary

could scarcely restrain the Turks from forcing their way into the

heart of Europe, or preserve the capital of the Western from the fate

experienced by the capital of the Eastern Empire. Vienna has been

twice besieged by a Turkish army, and even so recently as the year

1683 owed her deliverance, when abandoned by her sovereign and in the

extremity of distress, to the military talents of Sobieski, King of

Poland, and the bravery of his subjects. The celebrated battle fought

under the very walls of that capital is memorable as having finally

delivered Europe from all fear of the Mahometan powers. Austria, since

that period, has but ill discharged the debt of gratitude which she

contracted under the walls of Vienna!

Encouraged and assisted by a revolt in Hungary, Kara Mustapha, the

Grand Vizir of Turkey, burst into that kingdom at the head of 200,000

men, drove back such troops as the imperial general, the Duke of

Lorraine, was able to collect, and, crossing the Danube, forced his

way to Vienna, then sufficiently ill fortified, and ill prepared for

a siege. Leopold, the reigning emperor of Germany, anticipating this

storm, had obtained a promise of succours from the Diet of the empire,

and concluded a subsidiary treaty with Sobieski for an army of 46,000

men. But the Germans were slow, and before they could be assembled

Vienna was besieged. Leopold quitted his capital, and absented himself

from the struggle to be made in defence of his hereditary dominions.

Tuln, situated on the Danube, about five leagues above Vienna, was

appointed as the place of meeting for the armies. Sobieski, pressed to

hasten by the imperial general, executed a forced march, accompanied

only by a body of cavalry, and on his arrival had the mortification to

find the imperial forces not yet arrived. The armies were at length

united, but not before Vienna was reduced to extremity, and, indeed,

nothing could have preserved it but the stupid security of the Turkish

Vizir, who, with his vast numbers, suffered a very inferior force to

construct a bridge over the Danube within five leagues of his camp, and

delayed to assault a breached, half–garrisoned, and defenceless town,

in hope that it would surrender by capitulation, and that its riches

would thus be preserved entire for the general instead of being placed

at the disposal of the soldiery. These errors led doubly to his ruin,

by at once enraging and dispiriting his own soldiers, and by granting

opportunity and a precious delay to the enemy. Still the allied troops

were separated from Vienna by five leagues of mountain road, and though

their junction was completed on the 7th of September, it was not until

the 11th that the difficulties of the march were overcome, though it

was pressed so eagerly that the Germans abandoned their cannon, and the

Poles alone brought artillery into the field of battle.

On the 11th they reached the last mountain on their route, named the

Calembourg. There was yet time for the Vizir to repair his blunders,

by merely taking possession of this height and occupying the passes,

which must have stopped the Christian army at least long enough to give

time for a final and successful assault. He neglected this, and the

janissaries, out of patience at these repeated proofs of incapacity,

exclaimed, “Come on, infidels, the very sight of your hats will make us

fly.”

“On reaching this eminence, so fortunately unoccupied, an hour before

night–fall, the Christians saw one of the noblest and most terrific

exhibitions of human power; a vast plain and the islands in the Danube

covered with tents, whose splendour suggested the idea of a festive

encampment rather than the severity of war; a countless multitude

of horses, camels, and buffalos; two hundred thousand combatants in

movement; swarms of Tartars who hovered round the foot of the mountain

in their usual disorder; the dreadful fire of the besiegers, to which

the besieged replied as warmly as they could; and a mighty city, of

which the steeple tops alone were distinguishable across the fire and

smoke which overhung it.

“The besieged were apprised by signal of the coming succour. Men must

have suffered all the extremities of a long siege, must have seen

themselves and their families destined to perish by the sword, or live

in slavery in a heathen land, to appreciate the joy which Vienna felt,

a joy soon checked by returning fear. Kara Mustapha with such an army

might still expect success which he did not deserve. Sobieski, on

viewing his dispositions, observed to the German generals, ‘This man is

ill encamped, we shall beat him.’ The next day, Sept. 12, 1683, was to

determine whether Vienna, under Mahomet IV., should experience the fate

of Constantinople under Mahomet II., and whether the empire of the West

would be re–united to the empire of the East; perhaps, even, whether

Europe should continue Christian or not.

“Two hours before dawn the King of Poland and most of the generals

received the sacrament, the Turks meanwhile performing their devotions,

with cries of ‘Allah, Allah!’ shouts which were redoubled at sunrise,

when the Christian army descended in close array, with slow and even

steps, the cannon in front, and stopping every thirty or forty paces to

fire and recharge. Their front was widened as they had room to enlarge

it, while the Turks, in much confusion, viewed their enemy. It was then

the Khan of the Tartars pointed out to the Vizir the pennoned lances of

the Polish household cavalry, observing, ‘The king is at their head,’

words which much troubled him.

“Immediately after ordering the Tartars to put to death all their

prisoners, 30,000 in number, a butchery worthy such a chief, he gave

command to march toward the mountain, and at the same time make a

general attack upon the city. The latter order came too late: the

besieged had recovered courage, and the irritated janissaries had lost

theirs.

“Meanwhile the Christians continued to descend, and the Turks

advanced towards them. The battle began. The first line of the

Christians, entirely composed of infantry, charged with such

impetuosity, that it cleared the way for a line of cavalry which took

its station in the intervals between the battalions. The king, the

princes and generals advanced to the front, now fighting with the

infantry, now with the cavalry; while the artillery fired langridge at

very small distance. The scene of the first encounter was broken by

vineyards, elevations, and small hollows, at the entrance of which the

enemy had left his own guns, and he suffered severely from those of

the Christians. The combatants spread over this uneven ground, fought

obstinately till noon; when the Comte de Maligni, brother to the King

of Poland, established himself on a hill which commanded the Turkish

flank; and they, driven from height to height, retreated into the

plain, keeping along their entrenchments.[18]

“The whole army, and especially the left wing, highly inspirited, and

shouting victory, wished to press on the retreating enemy without

intermission: but the king checked this ardour, which he considered

dangerous. The German cavalry was heavily mounted, and their horses

would soon have been blown in the extent of plain which was to be

crossed. Another and a stronger reason was, that the great inequalities

of ground had entirely broken the order of battle. Some time was

allowed to re–establish it; and the plain then became the theatre of

a triumph which posterity will scarcely believe. Seventy thousand men

rushed to encounter two hundred thousand. In the Turkish army, the

Pacha of Diarbekir commanded the right, the Pacha of Buda the left

wing; the Vizir was in the centre, with the Aga of the Janissaries, and

the general of the Spahis.

“The armies remained motionless for a while; the Christians in silence,

the Turks redoubling their cries to the clang of trumpets. At that

awful moment, a red flag rose in the centre of the infidels, and beside

it the great standard of Mahomet, hallowed by the Mussulman creed. This

charm, which at other times has given as much courage to those who

fought under it, as the truth of their cause to the Christians, did not

play its part now: the Vizir had deprived it of its efficacy.

“Sobieski gave the word to charge: the Polish cavalry sword in hand

bore right upon the Vizir, whose station was pointed out by the

standard. They dashed in the enemy’s foremost ranks, and penetrated

to the numerous squadrons which surrounded him. None but the Spahis

disputed the victory; the rest, Walachians, Transylvanians, Moldavians,

Tartars, even the Janissaries, showed no good will to the cause, the

result of that hatred and contempt of their general which all felt.

He would have re–established their confidence by showing kindness and

courage; it was then too late. He addressed the Pacha of Buda, and

other chiefs; they kept silence in despair. ‘And you,’ he said to the

Tartarian chief, ‘will not you help me?’ The Khan replied that he

knew the King of Poland, and that there was no safety with him but in

flight, of which he immediately set the example. The Spahis were now

in extremity. The Poles broke and overthrew them, the grand standard

disappeared, and the Vizir ran away and communicated his own fears to

all. The dismay spread rapidly to the wings, which were assailed at

once by the various nations of the Christian army, the king animating

all by his example and his orders. Terror took away all thought and

power from this multitude of Turks, who, in so large a plain, ought

under an able leader to have surrounded and smothered up their enemies;

and but for night, the rout would have been complete; as it was, the

result was only a precipitate retreat.

“Sobieski turned rapidly against the janissaries who remained in the

works of the besiegers. They had disappeared, however, and Vienna was

free. The conquering soldiery wished to rush into the Turkish camp, in

which vast treasures had been abandoned,—a dangerous temptation while

there remained a chance of the enemy’s rallying and returning under

cover of the darkness: and to prevent this hazard the troops were

ordered to remain under arms all night on pain of death. The Duke of

Lorraine wished for an immediate pursuit, but the king declined it; a

step which the length of the previous march, the fatigue of the battle,

and the want of baggage, which had all been left behind, and would not

arrive for three days, may justify. His enemies, however, have not

hesitated to assert that the choice of the plunder had some influence

on his calculations.

“At six o’clock in the morning the Turkish camp was thrown open, but

the avidity of the soldiers was checked by a dreadful sight: women

every where lay slaughtered on the ground, some with their infants yet

clinging to them. These were of a class very different from the camp

followers of a Christian army. The Turks had slain their wives rather

than suffer them to fall into the hands of the enemy. The children they

had spared, and five or six hundred were collected and brought up in

the Christian faith by the Bishop of Neustadt. A vast booty rewarded

the victors, for the Turks, economical in peace, were magnificent in

war, and rich armour, valuable dresses and furniture, and splendid

tents were found in abundance; and a crowd of merchants were there

who had converted the camp into a mart for all the luxury of Asia. A

golden stirrup which the Vizir had lost was brought to Sobieski. ‘Carry

it to the queen,’ he said, ‘and tell her, that he to whom it belonged

is vanquished.’ One striking circumstance occurred amid the general

misbehaviour of the Turks. Twenty–three janissaries were left in charge

of the Vizir’s magazines, which were lodged in a villa belonging to the

Emperor. They fled not with the rest, and were found there on the 14th,

two days after the battle, when they slew those who first attempted to

force the place, and only surrendered to the king in person, retaining

their arms and baggage.”[19]

There is extant an original letter from Sobieski to his queen, on the

evening after the battle, which cannot but be interesting.

“From the Vizir’s Tent, Midnight, Sept. 13.

“Only joy of my soul, charming and well–beloved Mariette!

“God be for ever praised! He has given our nation the victory—a

triumph such as past ages have never beheld. All the artillery, the

whole camp of the Mussulmans, with infinite riches, are become our

prey. The approaches toward the city, the fields around us, are covered

with the dead infidels, and the survivors flee in consternation. Every

moment our men bring in camels, mules, and sheep, which belonged to the

enemy, besides a multitude of prisoners. We have also a great number of

deserters, mostly renegades, well equipped and mounted. The victory has

been so sudden and extraordinary, that both in the city and our camp the

alarm did not all at once subside; every instant the enemy’s return was

dreaded. In powder and ammunition he has left us the value of a million

florins.

“This very night I have witnessed a spectacle which I had long desired

to see. Our baggage–train set fire to the powder in several places;

the explosion resembled the judgment day, but no one was hurt. On this

occasion I remarked how clouds are formed in the atmosphere. But, after

all, it is a bad job; there is above half a million lost.

“The Vizir in his flight has abandoned every thing, all but his horse

and the dress he wore. I am his heir; the greater portion of his riches

has become mine.

“As I advanced with the first line, driving the Vizir before me, I

met one of his domestics, who conducted me to his private tents; they

occupy a space equal in extent to Warsaw or Leopol. I have obtained all

the ensigns and decorations usually borne before him. As to the great

standard of Mahomet, which his sovereign had confided to him, I have

sent it to the Holy Father by Talenti. We have also rich tents, superb

equipages, and a thousand fanciful things, equally fine and valuable. I

have not yet seen every thing, but what I have seen is beyond comparison

superior to what we found at Kotzim. Here are four or five quivers,

mounted with rubies and sapphires, which alone are worth many thousands

of ducats. So, my life, you cannot say to me what Tartar women say to

their husbands who return without booty, ‘Thou art no warrior, for thou

hast brought me nothing; none but the foremost in battle ever gain

anything.’”

After speaking of other trophies, he continues:

“To–day I have visited the capital; it could not have held out more

than five days longer. The imperial palace is full of holes made by the

balls; these immense bastions, full of crevices and half fallen in, look

frightful.

“All the imperial troops have done their duty well; they ascribe the

victory to God and us. The moment the enemy gave way (and the chief

struggle was where I stationed myself opposite the Vizir), all the

cavalry of their army rode up to me at the right wing, the centre and

left having little to do; among them were the Elector of Bavaria, the

Prince of Waldeck, &c. They embraced me, kissed my cheek; the generals

saluted my hands and feet; soldiers and officers, on foot and horseback,

exclaimed, ‘Ah, unser brave könig;’ (_Ah, our brave king.!_) All obeyed

me even better than my own soldiers.... The name of Saviour, as well

as embraces, has been given me. I have been in two churches where the

people kissed my hands, feet, clothes; others at a greater distance

cried out, ‘Let us kiss your victorious hands.’

“To–day we follow up the pursuit into Hungary; the Electors say they

will accompany me.”[20]

“The day after the battle the Comte de Stahrenberg, the governor of

Vienna, came to salute its deliverer. The hero thought he might enjoy

his triumph without offending the Emperor, and entered by the breaches

amid cries of joy. His horse could scarcely pierce the crowd which

contended to kiss his feet, to address him as their father, their

preserver, and the greatest of princes. Vienna at that moment forgot

that she had a jealous master. The gratitude of these unfortunates,

and the pleasure of having delivered them, melted Sobieski to tears;

and he declared that a throne had nothing equally flattering. Shouts

of delight brought him to the cathedral, where he wished to pay his

thanks to the God of battles. He perceived on the building a monument

of infamy: it was the Crescent, which Soliman the Great had caused to

be placed there, as the condition on which he raised a former siege,

which it was inconvenient to prosecute; this he caused to be thrown

down, and it was trodden under foot by the people. The Te Deum was then

chanted, the King himself leading the choir. No magistrate, and few

of the leading men of the city, assisted at this ceremony; the people

only were free enough from political restraint to join in the praise

of God, and in thanking the victor. The preacher chose for his text

these words, ‘There was a man sent by God, whose name was John.’ The

application had already been made by Pope Pius V. after the battle of

Lepanto, in which Don John of Austria defeated the Sultan Selim. There

was however a vast difference between the two battles, for Christianity

derived little advantage from that of Lepanto, while that of Vienna

saved the German empire, and perhaps the Christian religion. Vienna

converted into a Mahometan city, it is impossible to say where the

progress of the Crescent would have stopped.

“The Emperor was much hurt at the demonstrations of gratitude

offered to the King of Poland, all of which seemed tacit reproaches

to himself for abandoning his own city to the protection of another.

He endeavoured to conceal his disgust and ingratitude under the veil

of etiquette; and an important question was raised, as to the manner

in which an Emperor of Germany should receive one of his Electors.

The brave Duke of Lorraine said, ‘With open arms, if he has saved the

empire;’ but the Emperor was in no humour for such cordiality. It was

arranged ultimately that the sovereigns should meet on horseback in the

open country. Sobieski was at the head of his troops, magnificently

armed; the Emperor came plainly dressed and attended by his court, and

commenced the interview by haranguing upon the services which the Poles

had in all times received from the friendship and protection of the

Emperors. At last he let fall some slight expression of gratitude for

the deliverance of Vienna. The King said, as he turned his horse away,

‘My brother, I am very glad to have done you this little service,’[21]

and concluded the conversation by causing his army to defile before the

Emperor.”[22]

Leopold’s ingratitude was not confined to words. The promises and

pledges which had been lavished to induce Sobieski to march to the

relief of Vienna, were broken and neglected after the service had been

rendered; and even worse than this, the Emperor refused to supply the

Poles with provisions and beasts of burthen when proceeding to fight

his own battles in Hungary. Sobieski recovered that kingdom which had

been promised to him if he expelled the infidels, but he recovered it

not for himself, but the Emperor. On October 12, a second victory,

which he characterized as greater than that of Vienna, delivered it

finally from the Ottoman yoke. The rejoicing of the Christian world was

universal when the result of the campaign was known; for all, Catholic

and Protestant, had been alike alarmed at the rapid and overpowering

advance of the Turkish force. At Rome the rejoicings continued for a

month, and the standard of the Prophet was borne in triumph from church

to church, and from convent to convent, as the most glorious signal of

the defeat and humiliation of the false religion.

It is melancholy to reflect that the close of this great man’s life

was embittered by a factious nobility, an intriguing wife, and domestic

discords. “Sick of the court, he fled into the forests, or wandered

from one castle to another, or pitched his tent wherever a beautiful

valley, picturesque landscapes, the mountain torrent, or any natural

object attracted his attention. Sick, too, of the world, he sought for

consolation in religion and philosophy. There might be something of

pedantry in his manners, but he was sincerely attached to letters. He

not only cultivated them with assiduity himself, but recommended the

study of them to others, and patronized all who excelled in them.

“At length the end of this great man approached. The immediate cause

of his death is wrapped in mystery. He had been recommended to take a

strong dose of mercury (his infirmities for some time had been neither

few nor light): was it too strong for his constitution to support? so

at least some thought; so even he appeared to suspect.”[23] He died on

the double anniversary of his birth and his accession to the throne,

twenty–three years after the latter event, in 1697, in the 68th year of

his age; and by a singular coincidence, his birth and death were each

signalized by a tempest of uncommon and fearful violence.

One might suppose that the spirit of Leopold had descended on all

Austrian statesmen. Within a century of the triumphal entry of

Sobieski into Vienna, Poland ceased to be an independent kingdom, and

the co–operation of Austria was rewarded with a third of her spoils.

It seems vain to expect gratitude in international dealings; yet we

might almost have supposed that the recollection of the deliverance

of Vienna would have deterred Austria from sharing in so unprovoked

and profligate an injustice. The situation and the policy of Europe

have altered strangely since the period of which we speak. Poland has

fallen before the arms of Russia, and Turkey preserves a precarious

independence only by the policy of Christian powers, the supine

witnesses or interested sharers in the spoliation of a Christian

kingdom, which, having been the bulwark of Europe against Turkey as

long as Turkey was formidable, would have formed an equally effectual

barrier against the encroachments of Russia.

There is another class of battles, from which the reader will expect

some to be selected for comparison with the great events of the Persian

war; those memorable struggles in which a disparity of force which

seemed to make resistance hopeless, has not deterred an invaded people

from asserting its independence, nor secured the invader from total

defeat. Among them the long series of battles by which the freedom

of Switzerland was ascertained and secured claims a foremost place;

and we are led to take our examples thence, rather than from other

history, by a resemblance, perhaps not more than superficial, between

the circumstances of the Cantons and of the Greek republics. In either

case it was the same class who fought: the Swiss, like the Grecian

armies, were composed not of mercenary men at arms, nor vassals bound

to follow their lord in public or in private quarrel; but of citizens

trained to the use of arms, and habituated to consider military service

as a privilege. Among them none pleaded birth or wealth as excuses for

not serving in the ranks, or disdained to fight except as the commander

of others. We may also notice, that since the time of Charlemagne the

infantry service had generally fallen into disrepute and neglect,[24]

and the strength of armies was estimated by their heavy–armed cavalry,

the only capacity in which a knight or noble would condescend to

serve. As the Athenians were the first Greeks who endured the sight

of the Median dress, and the men who wore it, so the Swiss were the

first infantry who dared unsupported to abide the furious charge of

the high–born and high–spirited nobility. Here the nature of their

country was a valuable auxiliary; and the brilliant successes which

they wrought, partly by advantage of ground, but chiefly by their

courage, strength, and constancy, aided by a real though not apparent

superiority in arms and discipline, led, in conjunction with the

invention of gunpowder, to a revolution in war, and re–established the

infantry service in its due superiority.

From a number of battles almost equally worthy of our attention, we

select two—those fought at Morgarten and Sempach. That of Morgarten

claims our notice as the first of the series, and as that in which

the disproportion of the combatants is most striking. We take our

account from a contemporary chronicler, whose father was a soldier in

the Austrian army. The writer’s prejudices are obvious; still he is

honest enough to let it appear that the Swiss had done all that was

consistent with honour and independence to avoid a war. The parties

were, on the one side, the whole power of Austria, on the other the

three Waldstetten, or Forest Cantons (with which Lucern was afterwards

associated as a fourth), Schwitz, Uri, and Underwalden. The pretended

ground of invasion was a quarrel between these mountaineers and the

wealthy and powerful Abbey of Einsiedlen, which solicited the Duke of

Austria’s assistance: the real ground is to be found in that prince’s

jealousy of the principles of liberty asserted by the Swiss, and

recently acted on by Tell and his confederates.

“In the year of our Lord 1315, a rural tribe of certain valleys begirt

with high mountains, called Schwitz, revolted from its allegiance,

trusting in those mountains as its firmest bulwark, and withheld the

tribute and service due to Duke Leopold; who being much angered,

collected an army of 20,000 men, select soldiers, most skilful and bold

in battle, to overcome, spoil, and subdue those rebel mountaineers.

Therefore these soldiers met, as of one accord, to tame and humble

the rustics, and, making very sure of the victory, and of the spoil

and plunder of the land, they took ropes and halters to lead them

away bound among their flocks and herds. The Schwitzers, hearing all

this, were in much dread, and fortified the weaker passes into their

country with walls and trenches, and commended themselves to God with

prayers, fasting, and processions. Moreover they gave charge to various

persons to go to the mountain paths, by which there was a way into

their land, and there keep watch in the narrow straits. And all was

done as had been ordered, and the whole people cried to God with much

earnestness, and humbled their souls in fasting, men and women, and

besought God with one voice that their herds might not be given as a

prey, nor their wives as a booty, nor their homes be made a desolation,

nor their honour and virtue a pollution. Therefore they prayed the Lord

with their whole heart, that he would visit his people, saying, ‘Lord

God of heaven and earth, behold these men’s pride, and have regard to

our lowliness, and show that thou desertest not those who trust in

thee, and humblest whosoever trusteth in himself, and boasteth his own

valour.’ Then, repenting of their contumacy, they sought peace through

the mediation of the Count of Toggenburg; but Duke Leopold was too much

angered to receive their submission, and would hear of nothing but

treading them under foot, and scattering them and their goods. So the

Schwitzers took arms, and posted themselves in the narrow passes, and

watched there day and night.”

Owing to the necessity of guarding the whole frontier, which was

threatened on three points, only 1300 men could be collected to oppose

the numerous and well–appointed army of Austria, of whom 600 belonged

to Schwitz, 400 to Uri, and 300 to Underwalden. By the advice of

Rudolph Reding, an aged veteran, whose judgment in such matters was

considered decisive, they posted themselves near Morgarten, where a

defile, bounded on one side by Lake Egeri, and on the other by Mount

Sattel, presented a favourable situation for a small body of men to

resist the attack of a far larger force.

“And on the day of St. Othmar (Oct. 25) Duke Leopold, endeavouring

to pass into their country by a way between a mountain and lake,

named Egrer Seu, was much hindered by the height and steepness of

the mountain. For the knights on horseback, boiling with the desire

of action, and crowding into the front ranks, entirely prevented the

infantry from ascending, seeing that there was scarce room to fix or to

preserve the footing. But the Schwitzers, knowing from the above–named

Count of Toggenburg that the attack would be made there, and perceiving

how much their enemy would be hampered by the difficulty of the way,

went down against them from their lurking–places, animated and in

high heart, and attacked them like a fish in a net, and slew them

without resistance. For they wore, according to custom, certain iron

instruments[25] in their shoes, with which they could walk easily upon

mountains, though never so steep, where the enemy and their horses

could not so much as plant their feet. And they carried certain deadly

weapons, called helnbarts in the vulgar tongue, very terrible, with

which they cut asunder the best armed men as with a razor. That was no

battle, but rather a slaughter of Duke Leopold’s people, as of a flock

led to sacrifice. They spared no one, and cared to take no prisoners,

but smote all persons indifferently, even to the death. Such as were

not slain by them were drowned in the lake, endeavouring to escape by

swimming; some, even of the infantry, hearing that their best soldiers

were so cruelly struck down by the Schwitzers, leapt into the lake from

mere fear, choosing rather to sink under its depths than to fall into

the hands of so dreadful a foe. Fifteen hundred men are said to have

fallen by the edge of the sword, besides those who were drowned: and

by reason of the number of knights who were lost there, knighthood was

scarce in the surrounding country for a long time, for few perished

save knights and other nobles, trained to arms from childhood. I

myself, being then a school–boy, going out with others to meet my

father with no small joy, saw Duke Leopold returning, like one half

dead with sorrow. Well might he appear downcast and moody, for he there

lost almost all the valour and strength of his army.”[26]

Fifty men, who had been banished from Schwitz in a period of

civil discord, hearing of their country’s imminent danger, came to

the frontier, and requested permission to serve in the army. The

magistrates, whose uncalculating and resolute adherence to law,

uninfluenced by expediency, has something noble in it, refused to

sanction their appearance within the confines, and the exiles, equally

determined in their patriotism, took post an an eminence beyond

the frontier of the canton[27]. In this situation they contributed

materially to the success of the day. They commenced the attack by

rolling down rocks upon the Austrians as soon as they were entangled in

the difficulties of the valley; and their countrymen, posted further

on upon the mountain side, seized promptly on the favourable moment,

and by the novel and unexpected manner of their attack, and the vigour

with which they wielded their long and massive halberts, favoured by

the difficulties of the ground, improved a temporary disorder into a

total defeat. The disinterested bravery of the exiles was recompensed

by restoration to their civil rights.

Two other attacks at other points of their frontier were defeated

by these gallant mountaineers on the same day, which was ever after

commemorated by the Forest Cantons as a festival, and the names of

those who fell at Morgarten were recited annually by the Schwitzers in

the field of Rutli, the venerated spot in which the overthrow of the

Austrian tyranny was planned.

When the French invaded the Forest Cantons in 1798, Morgarten was

the scene of a second struggle as brave, but less successful. They

attacked simultaneously in three quarters. “On the north side Aloys

Reding met them on the same ground where his ancestor, Rudolph Reding,

had defeated the Austrians five hundred years before, and the narrow

field of Morgarten was twice drenched with the blood of patriots and

their oppressors. The women of Schwitz were employed during the whole

night of the 1st of May in dragging cannon over rocks and precipices,

and carrying fascines for entrenchments; many of them worked with young

children on their left arm. Fires were burning on the tops of all the

mountains. During the 1st and 2nd of May there was incessant firing

both at Morgarten and about Arth; a militia composed of peasants and

shepherds made head on this extended line against repeated attacks

of regular troops four times their number without giving way, broke

them several times with the bayonet, and remained masters of the field

everywhere. The loss of the invaders was tenfold their own, but the

latter was irreparable; a few such victories and they were annihilated;

many of the men had no rest for three or four days and nights, and

scarcely any food; some of the posts were only guarded by women.

They were offered the free exercise of their religion, provided they

adopted the Helvetic constitution, in which case the army was to leave

the country immediately. Many were for fighting on; others, moved at

the sight of their wives and children, wished to treat before it came

to the worst. The general assembly, held on the 4th, was extremely

agitated, and on the point of ending in bloodshed. At last a great

majority decided in favour of the terms offered, and peace was signed

on the 5th. The French loss was 2754 dead, exclusive of wounded; the

people of Schwitz, 431 men and women.”[28]

Aloys Reding, a worthy descendant of a race of patriots, survived

this battle some few years. Near the outlet of the Lake of Thun is a

monument raised by private regard, with the single inscription, “To the

memory of my friend, Aloys Reding,” which has given occasion to the

following beautiful lines:

Around a wild and woody hill,

A gravelled pathway treading,

We reached a votive stone, that bears

The name of Aloys Reding.

Well judged the friend who placed it there

For silence and protection;

And haply with a finer care

Of dutiful affection.

The sun regards it from the west

Sinking in summer glory;

And while he sinks, affords a type

Of that pathetic story.

And oft he tempts the patriot Swiss

Amid the groves to linger,

Till all is dim, save this bright stone,

Touched by his golden finger[29].

The league of the three Cantons was successively joined by Lucern,

Berne, and the rest of the Helvetic body, not without exciting the

deep ill–will and jealousy of Austria and all the surrounding nobles,

of whom some claimed feudal rights over the revolted districts, others

dreaded lest the spirit should spread to their own vassals, and work,

as in effect it did, the destruction of their hereditary power and

privileges. Hostilities were constantly recurring between neighbours

so ill–mated; and the battles of Laupen, Tafwyl, Sempach, Næfels,

Morat, and others of less note, bear testimony to the steadiness of

purpose with which the feudal chiefs strove to crush a rising power

diametrically opposed to their own interests and prejudices, and to

the skill, courage, and constancy with which the Swiss maintained a

contest apparently most unequal. The most remarkable perhaps is that

of Sempach, in which another Leopold of Austria advanced with no less

confidence against the audacious burghers of the Alps than had his

predecessor seventy–one years before. His standard was followed by 167

lords spiritual and temporal, and a numerous and well–appointed army.

The four Forest Cantons, with Zuric, Zug, and Glaris, were opposed to

this force. Berne, the most powerful of the confederates, being herself

at peace with Austria, declined to take any part in their defence.

The Duke directed his main attack on Sempach, a small town, which,

in anticipation of the contest, had revolted from him and joined the

Swiss. At the same time a division of his army, under the Baron de

Bonstetten, threatened Zuric. In addition to the burghers of the city,

1600 men of the Forest Cantons, Zug and Glaris, were collected there;

but the enemy’s plan of operations rendered it necessary to divide

their force: and leaving the men of Zug and Zuric to defend their own

territory from invasion, the rest of the Swiss, about 1400 in number,

marched to meet the Austrian prince.

“Sempach, a small town about nine miles from Lucern, lies at the head

of a lake nearly six miles in length, the country round it rising into

meadows, thence into corn–fields, and lastly into extensive woods which

crowned the hills. The Confederates occupied these woods.

“Early on the 9th of July they reconnoitered the enemy’s army; they

saw a numerous well–appointed host, each band led on by an illustrious

baron, an avoyer, or one of the duke’s substitutes, whose pride or

avarice had occasioned this war. A large body of cavalry, consisting

entirely of nobles, who were emulous to achieve the reduction of

the Swiss peasants without the aid of the infantry, bore the most

formidable aspect. Among all the chiefs none was more conspicuous

than Duke Leopold, at that time five–and–thirty years of age; manly,

high–minded, full of martial ardour, elate with former victories,

revengeful, and eager for the combat. It was harvest–time; his people

reaped the corn: the nobles approached the walls of Sempach, and

upbraided the citizens: one of them held up a halter, and said, ‘This

is for your avoyer:’ others demanded that breakfast should be sent out

to the reapers; these were answered, ‘The Swiss are bringing it.’ The

duke seeing the Confederates on the eminences, forgot, or perhaps never

knew, that cavalry attack with far greater advantage on an ascent than

on a declivity; he unadvisedly ordered the nobles, whom their heavy

armour rendered very unfit for the evolutions of infantry, to dismount,

and sent their horses to a distance in the rear. He formed them in such

close array that the long spears of the rear ranks reached the front of

the line, and formed a thorny fence that was deemed impenetrable. John,

Lord of Ochsenstein, commanded this formidable phalanx. The vanguard,

consisting of fourteen hundred foot, headed by Frederick, Count of

Zollern, was sent into the rear. If the duke actually meant to wait for

the attack, he erroneously adopted the plan that becomes a commander

who opposes a small to a superior force. To this he may have been

induced by the romantic gallantry of his nobles, who scorned advantages

gained by stratagem, or a manifest superiority of numbers, and deemed

that a victory thus gained would leave the palm of valour undecided;

and the bright qualities of Leopold fitted him much more for high feats

of chivalry than for the command of an army.

“John, Baron de Hassenberg, an experienced veteran, after examining

the position and appearance of the enemy, intimated to the nobles

that presumptuous hardiness often proves fatal, and recommended that

the Baron de Bonstetten might be sent for without delay; but they

reprobated his caution: and thus also, when the duke was admonished

that in all engagements unforeseen accidents do happen; that the

province of a chief is to conduct the army, and of the army to defend

its chief; and that the loss of a commander is often more ruinous

than that of half his force, he at first answered with a smile of

indifference; but being urged with still greater solicitude he replied

with warmth, ‘Shall Leopold look on from afar and see how his brave

knights combat and die for him? No; I will conquer here on this land,

which of right is mine, or perish with you for the advantage of my

subjects.’

“The Confederates drew up on the eminence under cover of the wood. As

long as the knights were mounted, they thought it scarce possible to

stand the brunt of their attack in the plain and open country, and

deemed it safer to abide their approach in their present position. No

sooner, however, did they see the nobles dismount, than, suspecting a

stratagem which they might not be able to guard against in the wood,

they advanced towards the plain. Their contracted line consisted of

four hundred men from Lucern, nine hundred from the other Forest

Cantons, and about one hundred from Glaris, Zug, Gersau, Entlibuch, and

Rotenburg. Each band, under its proper banner, was commanded by the

landamman of its valley, and the Lucerners by their avoyer: they were

armed with short weapons; some held the halberts which their fathers

had wielded at Morgarten; several instead of shields had small boards

tied round their left arms. According to ancient custom they knelt and

implored a blessing from on high. The nobles closed their helmets; the

Duke created knights; the sun stood high; the day was sultry.

“The Swiss, after their devotion, ran full speed, and with loud

clamour, across the plain, seeking an opening where they might break

the line and spread havoc on each side of them; but they were opposed

by a solid range of shields as by a wall, and by the numberless points

of spears as by a thick fence of iron thorns. The men of Lucern, more

exasperated than the rest at the unexpected impediments, made many

fierce attempts to break the line, but all of them ineffectual. The

knights moving with hideous rattle, attempted to bend their line into a

crescent, meaning to outflank and surround the assailants. The banner

of Lucern was now for a time in imminent danger, the avoyer having been

severely wounded, and several of the principal leaders slain. Anthony

du Port, a Milanese, who had settled in the valley of Uri, cried out,

‘Strike the poles of the spears, they are hollow:’ this was effected;

but the broken spears were immediately replaced by fresh ones, and Du

Port himself perished in the conflict. The knights, partly owing to

their unskilfulness, and more to the unwieldiness of their armour,

found it impracticable to form the intended crescent; but they stood

firm and unshaken. The Confederates, who had now lost sixty men, became

apprehensive of a movement of the vanguard from the rear, and did not

think themselves altogether secure against a surprise from Bonstetten.

“This anxious suspense was at length decided by one heroic deed.

Arnold Struthan de Winkelried, a knight of Underwalden, burst

suddenly from the ranks. ‘I will open a passage,’ he cried, ‘into

the enemy’s line. Provide for my wife and children, dear countrymen

and confederates; honour my race!’ He threw himself instantly on the

enemy’s pikes, grasped as many of them as he could reach, buried them

in his bosom, and being tall and large of limb, bore them to the

ground as he fell. His companions rushed over his body; the whole

army of confederates followed, and their close files penetrated with

irresistible force. The enemy, struck with amazement, fell one over

another in endeavouring to avoid their shock; and the pressure, heat,

and confusion thus produced proved fatal to many knights, who died

without a wound, stifled by the weight of their armour. Others of

the Swiss meanwhile had mustered in the woods, and now hastened to

reinforce the conquerors.

“One of the first who fell in the Austrian army was Frederick, the

bastard of Brandis, a bold and strong man, who alone inspired as much

fear as twenty others; and near him was killed Frietzhend, called the

Long, who boasted that he alone would resist the Confederates. The

servants of the nobles, who had been left with the baggage, seeing the

fortune of the day, saved themselves upon their masters’ horses. The

banner of Austria dropped from the hands of Henri d’Escheloh. Ulrich

d’Ortenburg fell upon the flag of the Tyrol. Ulrich d’Aarburg rushed to

preserve the former. He held it aloft, and endeavoured to restore the

day, but without success. He fell mortally wounded; and collected his

remaining strength to exclaim, ‘Save it, Austria, save it!’ The Duke

broke through the press, and received the banner from his dying hand.

It soon re–appeared above the combatants, steeped in blood, and borne

by Leopold himself. A crowd of gentlemen collected for his defence, and

fell around him. At length he exclaimed, ‘Since so many lords are dead

by my side, I also, like them, will die with honour.’ He sprang forth

from among his friends, rushed into the thickest of the enemy, and

there met his doom: he fell, and while weighed down by his ponderous

armour and struggling in vain to raise himself, he was approached

by a common man from Schwitz, who levelled a blow at him. Leopold

called out, ‘I am the Duke of Austria;’ but the man either heard him

not, believed him not, or thought that in a day of battle the highest

rank conferred no privilege: the Duke received a mortal wound. Martin

Malterer, the banneret of Friburg in Brisgau, saw the disaster: he

stood appalled: the banner dropped from his hand: he threw himself upon

the corpse of his slaughtered sovereign to preserve it from insult, and

there met his own fate.

“The Austrian infantry now, looking round in vain for their Duke,

betook themselves to flight. The nobles called loudly for their horses;

but the dust they saw rising at a distance marked the road by which

their faithless servants had long since led them away. Oppressed by

their heavy armour, by heat, thirst, and fatigue, they still resolved

to avenge their sovereign; and if they could not preserve their lives,

at least not to fall easy victims to the resistless fury of their

triumphant foes.

“Among the leaders of the Confederates fell Conrad, landamman of

Uri; Sigrist, landamman of Underwalden above the Forest; and Peterman

de Gundoldingen, the avoyer of Lucern. While the latter was bleeding

to death, one of his townsmen approached him to learn his dying

requests: he, unmindful of all private concerns, answered, ‘Tell our

fellow–citizens never to continue an avoyer longer than one year in

office; tell them that this is the last advice of Gundoldingen, who

dies contented, wishing them repeated victories, and a long series

of prosperous years;’ thus saying, he breathed his last. The banner

of Hohenzollern was taken by a shepherd of Gersan. The services of

the burghers of Bremgarten, who withdrew from the field covered with

the blood of slaughtered foes, were so greatly prized by the Austrian

princes, that they immortalized their valour by a change in the colours

of their town livery. Nicholas Gutt, avoyer of Zoffingen, fell,

together with twelve of his townsmen. Regardless of every concern but

that of preventing his banner from falling into the hands of the enemy,

he tore it into small pieces, and was found among the dead with the

staff fast locked between his teeth. His successors in office have ever

after been made to swear that they would maintain the banner ‘even as

Nicholas Gutt had maintained it.’ Six hundred and fifty–six counts,

lords, and knights, whose presence was wont to grace the court of

Austria, were found among the slain; and it became proverbial among the

Confederates, ‘that God had on this day sat in judgment on the wanton

arrogance of the nobles.’”[30]