Amurath IV. had twice besieged Bagdad,—in 1625 and 1634; twice his generals had been compelled disgracefully to raise the siege, when the sultan, in 1638, determined to punish a city which had so roused his anger. During thirty days his artillery thundered against its ramparts. Cannon, steel, and fire spread desolation within the walls; assault upon assault was given. The grand seignor appeared, scimitar in hand, striking down such of his own men as even advanced slowly. He killed the vizier Mahommed, who appeared to him not sufficiently eager to court danger. At length the city was carried. Thirty thousand unarmed Persians were slaughtered before the eyes of the cruel conqueror. This savage prince was about to exterminate all the inhabitants of Bagdad, when a musician threw himself at his feet, and spoke as follows: “Sublime emperor! will you permit so divine an art as that of music to perish this day with me, with Schah-Culi, your slave? Ah! preserve, by preserving me, a divine art of which I have not yet discovered all the beauties.” This speech made the sultan laugh, and casting a favourable look upon the artist, he permitted him to prove his talents. Schah-Culi immediately took up a scheydor, a kind of six-stringed harp, and adapting his voice to the sounds of that instrument, he sang the tragic capture of Bagdad and the triumph of Amurath. The sultan at first appeared astonished; fury was depicted in his countenance: he fancied himself amidst his warriors, animating the combatants, and leading them to victory. All at once the artist touched another chord: by plaintive and affecting sounds he subdued the heart of the implacable conqueror: the haughty sultan melted into tears; his stern heart was, for the first time, accessible to pity: he shudders at the barbarous orders he had given to immolate so many thousand victims; he revokes them, and puts a stop to the carnage. Overcome by the charms of music, he restored liberty to the compatriots of Schah-Culi, attached the musician to his personal service, and loaded him with benefits.
CASSEL.
A.D. 1528.
Philip of Valois, scarcely seated on his own throne, turned his arms towards Flanders, to assist the count in subduing his rebellious subjects. His noble army consisted of thirty thousand men, among whom were fourteen thousand gendarmes. Philip marched straight towards the city of Cassel, and laid siege to it. The rebel army, much less numerous than the French, was composed entirely of infantry: they were fishermen, peasants, and artisans. A small dealer in fish, named Colin Zannequin, was at their head, a bold, daring man, in whom audacity and cunning made up for deficiency in military experience. Such was the singular champion opposed to the king of France; such were the troops destined to contend with the proudest nobility of Europe: and this ignoble assemblage was very near destroying the haughty battalions which held them in rather too much contempt. Never was any army more determined or more insolent in its bearing than these newly-made soldiers, encamped and intrenched within sight of Cassel, upon an eminence very difficult of access. They had the audacity to hoist upon one of the towers of the city a kind of standard, upon which was painted a cock, with this inscription:—
“Quand ce coq chanté aura,
Le roi Cassel conquérera.”
[When this cock shall have crowed, the king shall conquer Cassel.]
Zannequin conceived a project which might, if successful, have proved of great importance. In his character of a dealer in fish, he went every day, with reckless confidence, to exercise his trade in the royal camp. He sold his fish at a moderate price, in order to get a footing, and afford him an opportunity of seeing what was going on. He found that they sat a long time at table, that they gambled a great deal, that they danced, and they slept in the afternoon. In short, such negligent guard appeared to be kept, that the audacious Fleming conceived the design of carrying off the king and all his quarter. On the 23rd of August, 1528, about two o’clock in the afternoon, at the time when he knew the French were taking their daily nap, he divided his troops into three bodies, ordered one to march quietly to the quarter of the king of Bohemia, the second to advance in silence against the battle commanded by the count of Hainault, whilst he placed himself at the head of the third. He entered the camp without shouting the war-cry, which was at that time always done before commencing a battle, and penetrated nearly to the king’s tent, where too good a watch was not kept. When they appeared, they were supposed to be a reinforcement just arrived, and Renaud Delor, a noble cavalier, came towards them with a smile, saying it was not polite to disturb their friends’ slumbers. He was answered by a javelin through his heart. This proved the signal for fight. The Flemings drew their swords and slaughtered all they met. The alarm was soon spread through the French camp; loud cries announced the danger, and all flew to arms. The king was roused by a Dominican, his confessor. He laughed at the worthy father, telling him that fear disturbed his imagination; but Miles de Noyer, who bore the oriflamme, soon rushed in, confirming the news, and entreating the king to arm. But there was neither squire nor knight to assist his majesty, and the duty was performed by the clerks of his chapel. He sprang upon his war-horse, and marched straight against the assailants. Miles de Noyer stopped him, advising him to wait till his troops should be sufficiently increased to turn the Flemings, and afterwards take them in flank. This brave and prudent knight then raised the royal standard on a point from which it could be seen at a great distance. At this signal, the cavalry drew up around their prince. The Flemings were surrounded, broken, and then cut to pieces. Of sixteen thousand men, who composed this army, not one gave ground, but not one escaped. The French lost but few in the action: armour was then very complete, and the ill-protected Flemings had but little chance against the French chivalry. The other rebel battalions dispersed immediately. Cassel was taken, razed to the ground, and reduced to ashes. After having restored peace, Philip returned to his own dominions, saying to the count of Flanders: “Be more prudent and more humane, and you will have fewer rebels.” This was certainly a well-merited reproof; but it came very ill from such a man as Philip of Valois.