HISTORICAL PARALLELS.
CHAPTER VII.
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.