Historical Parallels, vol. 2 of 3)

by Arthur Thomas Malkin

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.