defended the city with a skill and obstinacy that baffled every effort
of his foes. The Turks, determined on victory, thundered upon the walls
till they were in many parts reduced to heaps of ruins. With incessant
labor they undermined them, blew up the strongest bastions, and laid
their plans to rush into the devoted city, from which they hoped to gain
a glorious booty. But active as they were the besieged were no less so.
The damage done by day was repaired by night, and still Vienna turned a
heroic face to its thronging enemies.
Furious assaults were made, multitudes of the Turks rushing with savage
cries to the breaches, only to be hurled back by the obstinate valor of
the besieged. Every foot of ground was fiercely contested, the struggle
at each point being desperate and determined. It was particularly so
around the Löbel bastion, where scarcely an inch of ground was left
unstained by the blood of the struggling foes.
Count Rüdiger, although severely wounded, did not let his hurt reduce
his vigilance. Daily he had himself carried round the circle of the
works, directing and cheering his men. Bishop Kolonitsch attended the
wounded, and with such active and useful zeal that the grand vizier sent
him a threat that he would have his head for his meddling. Despite this
fulmination of fury, the worthy bishop continued to use his threatened
head in the service of mercy and sympathy.
But the numbers of the garrison grew rapidly less, and their incessant
duty wore them out with fatigue. The commandant was forced to threaten
death to any sentinel found asleep upon his post. A fire broke out
which was only suppressed with the greatest exertion. Famine also began
to invade the city, and the condition of the besieged grew daily more
desperate. Their only hope lay in relief from without, and this did not
come.
Two months passed slowly by. The Turks had made a desert of the
surrounding country, and held many thousands of its inhabitants as
prisoners in their camp. Step by step they gained upon the defenders. By
the end of August they possessed the moat around the city walls. On the
4th of September a mine was sprung under the Burg bastion, with such
force that it shook half the city like an earthquake. The bastion was
rent and shattered for a width of more than thirty feet, portions of its
walls being hurled far and wide.
Into the great breach made the assailants poured in an eager multitude.
But the defenders were equally alert, and drove them back with loss. On
the following day they charged again, and were again repulsed by the
brave Viennese, the ruined bastion becoming a very gulf of death.
The Turks, finding their efforts useless, resumed the work of mining,
directing their efforts against the same bastion. On the 10th of
September the new mine was sprung, and this time with such effect that a
breach was made through which a whole Turkish battalion was able to
force its way.
This city now was in the last extremity of danger; unless immediate
relief came all would soon be lost. The garrison had been much reduced
by sickness and wounds, while those remaining were so completely
exhausted as to be almost incapable of defence. Rüdiger had sent courier
after courier to the Duke of Lorraine in vain. In vain the lookouts
swept the surrounding country with their eyes in search of some trace of
coming aid. All seemed at an end. During the night a circle of rockets
was fired from the tower of St. Stephen's as a signal of distress. This
done the wretched Viennese waited for the coming day, almost hopeless of
repelling the hosts which threatened to engulf them. At the utmost a few
days must end the siege. A single day might do it.
That dreadful night of suspense passed away. With the dawn the wearied
garrison was alert, prepared to strike a last blow for safety and
defence, and to guard the yawning breach unto death. They waited with
the courage of despair for an assault which did not come. Hurried and
excited movements were visible in the enemy's camp. Could succor be at
hand? Yes, from the summit of the Kahlen Hill came the distant report of
three cannon, a signal that filled the souls of the garrison with joy.
Quickly afterwards the lookouts discerned the glitter of weapons and the
waving of Christian banners on the hill. The rescuers were at hand, and
barely in time to save the city from its almost triumphant foes.
During the siege the Christian people outside had not been idle.
Bavaria, Saxony, and the lesser provinces of the empire mustered their
forces in all haste, and sent them to the reinforcement of Charles of
Lorraine. To their aid came Sobieski, the chivalrous King of Poland,
with eighteen thousand picked men at his back. He himself was looked
upon as a more valuable reinforcement than his whole army. He had
already distinguished himself against the Turks, who feared and hated
him, while all Europe looked to him as its savior from the infidel foe.
There were in all about seventy-seven thousand men in the army whose
vanguard ascended the Kahlen Hill on that critical 11th of September,
and announced its coming to the beleaguered citizens by its three signal
shots. The Turks, too confident in their strength, had thoughtlessly
failed to occupy the heights, and by this carelessness gave their foes a
position of vantage. In truth, the vizier, proud in his numbers, viewed
the coming foe with disdain, and continued to pour a shower of bombs and
balls upon the city while despatching what he deemed would be a
sufficient force to repel the enemy.
On the morning of September 12, Sobieski led his troops down the hill to
encounter the dense masses of the Moslems in the plain below. This
celebrated chief headed his men with his head partly shaved, in the
Polish fashion, and plainly dressed, though he was attended by a
brilliant retinue. In front went an attendant bearing the king's arms
emblazoned. Beside him was another who carried a plume on the point of
his lance. On his left rode his son James, on his right Charles of
Lorraine. Before the battle he knighted his son and made a stirring
address to his troops, in which he told them that they fought not for
Vienna alone, but for all Christendom; not for an earthly sovereign, but
for the King of kings.
Early in the day the left wing of the army had attacked and carried the
village of Nussdorf, on the Danube, driving out its Turkish defenders
after an obstinate resistance. It was about mid-day when the King of
Poland led the right wing into the plain against the dense battalions of
Turkish horsemen which there awaited his assault.
The ringing shouts of his men told the enemy that it was the dreaded
Sobieski whom they had to meet, their triumphant foe on many a
well-fought field. At the head of his cavalry he dashed upon their
crowded ranks with such impetuosity as to penetrate to their very
centre, carrying before him confusion and dismay. So daring was his
assault that he soon found himself in imminent danger, having ridden
considerably in advance of his men. Only a few companions were with him,
while around him crowded the dense columns of the foe. In a few minutes
more he would have been overpowered and destroyed, had not the German
cavalry perceived his peril and come at full gallop to his rescue,
scattering with the vigor of their charge the turbaned assailants, and
snatching him from the very hands of death.
So sudden and fierce was the assault, so poorly led the Turkish
horsemen, and so alarming to them the war-cry of Sobieski's men, that in
a short time they were completely overthrown, and were soon in flight
in all directions. This, however, was but a partial success. The main
body of the Turkish army had taken no part. Their immense camp, with its
thousands of tents, maintained its position, and the batteries continued
to bombard the city as if in disdain of the paltry efforts of their
foes.
Yet it seems to have been rather rage and alarm than disdain that
animated the vizier. He is said to have, in a paroxysm of fury, turned
the scimitars of his followers upon the prisoners in his camp,
slaughtering thirty thousand of these unfortunates, while bidding his
cannoneers to keep up their assault upon the city.
These evidences of indecision and alarm in their leader filled the Turks
with dread. They saw their cavalry battalions flying in confusion, heard
the triumphant trumpets of their foes, learned that the dreaded Polish
king was at the head of the irresistible charging columns, and yet
beheld their commander pressing the siege as if no foe were in the
field. It was evident that the vizier had lost his head through fright.
A sudden terror filled their souls. They broke and fled. While Sobieski
and the other leaders were in council to decide whether the battle
should be continued that evening or left till the next morning, word was
brought them that the enemy was in full flight, running away in every
direction.
They hastened out. The tidings proved true. A panic had seized the
Turks, and, abandoning tents, cannon, baggage, everything, they were
flying in wild haste from the beleaguered walls. The alarm quickly
spread through their ranks. Those who had been firing on the city left
their guns and joined in the flight. From rank to rank, from division to
division, it extended, until the whole army had decamped and was
hastening in panic terror over the plain, hotly pursued by the
death-dealing columns of the Christian cavalry, and thinking only of
Constantinople and safety.
The booty found in the camp was immense. The tent of the grand vizier
alone was valued at nearly half a million dollars, and the whole spoil
was estimated as worth fifteen million dollars. The king wrote to his
wife as follows:
"The whole of the enemy's camp, together with their artillery and an
incalculable amount of property, has fallen into our hands. The camels
and mules, together with the captive Turks, are driven away in herds,
while I myself am become the heir of the grand vizier. The banner which
was usually borne before him, together with the standard of Mohammed,
with which the sultan had honored him in this campaign, and the tents,
wagons, and baggage, are all fallen to my share; even some of the
quivers captured among the rest are alone worth several thousand
dollars. It would take too long to describe all the other objects of
luxury found in his tents, as, for instance, his baths, fountains,
gardens, and a variety of rare animals. This morning I was in the city,
and found that it could hardly have held out more than five days. Never
before did the eye of man see a work of equal magnitude despatched with
a vigor like that with which they blew up, and shattered to pieces, huge
masses of stone and rocks."
Sobieski, on entering Vienna, was greeted with the warmest gratitude and
enthusiasm by crowds of people, who looked upon him as their deliverer.
The governor, Count Rüdiger, grasped his hand with affection, the
populace followed him in his every movement, while cries of "Long live
the king!" everywhere resounded. Never had been a more signal delivery,
and the citizens were beside themselves with joy.
In this siege the Turks had lost forty-eight thousand men. Twenty
thousand more fell on the day of battle, and an equal number during the
retreat. It is said that in the tent of the grand vizier were found
letters from Louis XIV. containing the full plan of the siege, and to
the many crimes of ambition of this monarch seems to be added that of
bringing this frightful peril upon Europe for his own selfish ends. As
for the unlucky vizier, he was put to death by strangling, by order of
the angry sultan, on his reaching Belgrade. It is said that his head,
found on the taking of Belgrade by Eugene, years afterwards, was sent to
Bishop Kolonitsch, whose own head the vizier had threatened to take in
revenge for his labors among the wounded of Vienna.
The war with the Turks continued, with some few intermissions, for
fifteen years afterwards. It ended to the great advantage of the
Christian armies. One after another the fortresses of Hungary were
wrested from their hands, and in the year 1687 they were totally
defeated at Mohacz by the Duke of Lorraine and Prince Eugene, and the
whole of Hungary torn from their grasp.
In 1697 another great victory over them was won by Eugene, at Zenta, by
which the power of the Turks was completely broken. Belgrade, which they
had long held, fell into his hands, and a peace was signed which
confirmed Austria in the possession of all Hungary. From that time
forward the terror which the Turkish name had so long inspired vanished,
and the siege of Vienna may be looked upon as the concluding act in the
long array of invasions of Europe by the Mongolian hordes of Asia. It
was to be followed by the gradual recovery, now almost consummated, of
their European dominions from their hands.
_THE YOUTH OF FREDERICK THE GREAT._
An extraordinarily rude, coarse, and fierce old despot was Frederick
William, first King of Prussia, son of the great Elector and father of
Frederick the Great. He hated France and the French language and
culture, then so much in vogue in Europe; he despised learning and
science; ostentation was to him a thing unknown; and he had but two
passions, one being to possess the tallest soldiers in Europe, the other
to have his own fierce will in all things on which he set his mind.
About all that we can say in his favor is that he paid much attention to
the promotion of education in his realm, many schools being opened and
compulsory attendance enforced.
Of the fear with which he inspired many of his subjects, and the methods
he took to overcome it, there is no better example than that told in
relation to a Jew, whom the king saw as he was riding one day through
Berlin. The poor Israelite was slinking away in dread, when the king
rode up, seized him, and asked in harsh tones what ailed him.
"Sire, I was afraid of you," said the trembling captive.
"Fear me! fear me, do you?" exclaimed the king in a rage, lashing his
riding-whip across the man's shoulders with every word. "You dog! I'll
teach you to love me!"
[Illustration: STATUE OF FREDERICK THE GREAT, UNTER DEN LINDEN,
BERLIN.]
It was in some such fashion that he sought to make his son love him, and
with much the same result. In fact, he seemed to entertain a bitter
dislike for the beautiful and delicate boy whom fortune had sent him as
an heir, and treated him with such brutal severity that the unhappy
child grew timid and fearful of his presence. This the harsh old despot
ascribed to cowardice, and became more violent accordingly.
On one occasion when young Frederick entered his room, something having
happened to excite his rage against him, he seized him by the hair,
flung him violently to the floor, and caned him until he had exhausted
the strength of his arm on the poor boy's body. His fury growing with
the exercise of it, he now dragged the unresisting victim to the
windows, seized the curtain cord, and twisted it tightly around his
neck. Frederick had barely strength enough to grasp his father's hand
and scream for help. The old brute would probably have strangled him had
not a chamberlain rushed in and saved him from the madman's hands.
The boy, as he grew towards man's estate, developed tastes which added
to his father's severity. The French language and literature which he
hated were the youth's delight, and he took every opportunity to read
the works of French authors, and particularly those of Voltaire, who was
his favorite among writers. This predilection was not likely to
overcome the fierce temper of the king, who discovered his pursuits and
flogged him unmercifully, thinking to cane all love for such enervating
literature, as he deemed it, out of the boy's mind. In this he failed.
Germany in that day had little that deserved the name of literature, and
the expanding intellect of the active-minded youth turned irresistibly
towards the tabooed works of the French.
In truth, he needed some solace for his expanding tastes, for his
father's house and habits were far from satisfactory to one with any
refinement of nature. The palace of Frederick William was little more
attractive than the houses of the humbler citizens of Berlin. The floors
were carpetless, the rooms were furnished with common bare tables and
wooden chairs, art was conspicuously absent, luxury wanting, comfort
barely considered, even the table was very parsimoniously served.
The old king's favorite apartment in all his places of residence was his
smoking-room, which was furnished with a deal table covered with green
baize and surrounded by hard chairs. This was his audience-chamber, his
hall of state, the room in which the affairs of the kingdom were decided
in a cloud of smoke and amid the fumes of beer. Here sat generals in
uniform, ministers of state wearing their orders, ambassadors and noble
guests from foreign realms, all smoking short Dutch pipes and breathing
the vapors of tobacco. Before each was placed a great mug of beer, and
the beer-casks were kept freely on tap, for the old despot insisted that
all should drink or smoke whether or not they liked beer and tobacco,
and he was never more delighted than when he could make a guest drunk or
sicken him with smoke. For food, when they were in need of it, bread and
cheese and similar viands might be had.
A strange picture of palatial grandeur this. Fortune had missed
Frederick William's true vocation in not making him an inn-keeper in a
German village instead of a king. Around this smoke-shrouded table the
most important affairs of state were discussed. Around it the rudest
practical jokes were perpetrated. Gundling, a beer-bibbing author, whom
the king made at once his historian and his butt, was the principal
sufferer from these frolics, which displayed abundantly that absence of
wit and presence of brutality which is the characteristic of the
practical joke. As if in scorn of rank and official dignity, Frederick
gave this sot and fool the title of baron and created him chancellor and
chamberlain of the palace, forcing him always to wear an absurdly
gorgeous gala dress, while to show his disdain of learned pursuits he
made him president of his Academy of Sciences, an institution which, in
its condition at that time, was suited to the presidency of a Gundling.
For these dignities he made the poor butt suffer. On one occasion the
kingly joker had a brace of bear cubs laid in Gundling's bed, and the
drunken historian tossed in between them, with little heed of the danger
to which he exposed the poor victim of his sport. On another occasion,
when Gundling grew sullen and refused to leave his room, the king and
his boon companions besieged him with rockets and crackers, which they
flung in at the open window. A third and more elaborate trick was the
following. The king had the door of Gundling's room walled up, so that
the drunken dupe wandered the palace halls the whole night long, vainly
seeking his vanished door, getting into wrong rooms, disturbing sleepers
to ask whither his room had flown, and making the palace almost as
uncomfortable for its other inmates as for himself. He ended his journey
in the bear's den, where he got a severe hug for his pains.
Such were the ideas of royal dignity, of art, science, and learning, and
of wit and humor, entertained by the first King of Prussia, the
coarse-mannered and brutal-minded progenitor of one of the greatest of
modern monarchs. His ideas of military power were no wiser or more
elevated. His whole soul was set on having a play army, a brigade of
tall recruits, whose only merit lay in their inches above the ordinary
height of humanity. Much of the revenues of the kingdom were spent upon
these giants, whom he had brought from all parts of Europe, by strategy
and force where cash and persuasion did not avail. His agents were
everywhere on the lookout for men beyond the usual stature, and on more
than one occasion blood was shed in the effort to kidnap recruits, while
some of his crimps were arrested and executed. More than once Prussia
was threatened with war for the practices of its king, yet so eager was
he to add to the number of his giants that he let no such difficulties
stand in his way.
His tall recruits were handsomely paid and loaded with favors. To one
Irishman of extraordinary stature he paid one thousand pounds, while the
expense of watching and guarding him while bringing him from Ireland was
two hundred pounds more. It is said that in all twelve million dollars
left the country in payment for these showy and costly giants.
By his various processes of force, fraud, and stratagem he collected
three battalions of tall show soldiers, comprising at one time several
thousand men. Not content with the unaided work of nature in providing
giants, he attempted to raise a gigantic race in his own dominions,
marrying his grenadiers to the tallest women he could find. There is
nothing to show that the result of his efforts was successful.
The king's giants found life by no means a burden. They enjoyed the
highest consideration in Berlin, were loaded with favors, and presented
with houses, lands, and other evidences of royal grace, while their only
duties were show drills and ostentatious parades. They were too costly
and precious to expose to the dangers of actual war. When Frederick
William's son came to the throne the military career of the giants
suddenly ended. They were disbanded, pensioned off, or sent to invalid
institutions, with secret instructions to the officers that if any of
them tried to run away no hinderance should be placed in their path to
freedom.
It is, however, with Frederick William's treatment of his son that we
are principally concerned. As the boy grew older his predilection for
the culture and literature of France increased, and under the influence
of his favorite associates, two young men named Katte and Keith, a
degree of licentiousness was developed in his habits. To please his
father he accepted a position in the army, but took every opportunity to
throw aside the hated uniform, dress in luxurious garments, solace
himself with the flute, bury himself among his books, and enjoy the
society of the women he admired and the friends he loved. He was
frequently forced to attend the king's smoking-parties, where he seems
to have avoided smoking and drinking as much as possible, escaping from
the scene before it degenerated into an orgy of excess, in which it was
apt to terminate.
These tastes and tendencies were not calculated to increase the love of
the brutal old monarch for his son, and the life of the boy became
harder to bear as he grew older. His sister Wilhelmina was equally
detested by the harsh old king, who treated them both with shameful
brutality, knocking them down and using his cane upon them on the
slightest provocation, confining them and sending them food unfit to
eat, omitting to serve them at table, and using disgusting means to
render their food unpalatable.
"The king almost starved my brother and me," says the princess. "He
performed the office of carver, and helped everybody excepting us two,
and when there happened to be something left in a dish, he would spit
upon it to prevent us from eating it. On the other hand, I was treated
with abundance of abuse and invectives, being called all day long by all
sorts of names, no matter who was present. The king's anger was
sometimes so violent that he drove my brother and me away, and forbade
us to appear in his presence except at meal-times."
This represented the state of affairs when they were almost grown up,
and is a remarkable picture of court habits and manners in Germany in
the early part of the eighteenth century. The scene we have already
described, in which the king attempted to strangle his son with the
curtain cord, occurred when Frederick was in his nineteenth year, and
was one of the acts which gave rise to his resolution to run away, the
source of so many sorrows.