The German armies were now in complete possession of Transylvania, the Turks were everywhere driven back and trampled down, the hereditary Prince of Bavaria took Belgrade by storm and put twelve thousand Janissaries to the edge of the sword. Thus the gate of the Turkish Empire was broken open, and the victoriously advancing host, under the Prince of Baden, crushed the remains of the Turkish army at Nish. Then Bulgaria and Albania were subjugated, the sea shore was reached, and only the HÆmus Mountains stood between the invaders and Stambul.

The deluge left nothing untouched, even little Wallachia, whose fortunate situation, wild mountains, and villainous roads had hitherto saved it from invasion, saw the approach of the conquering banners.

Old S—— was still the Prince, and he now gave a brilliant example of the dexterity of Wallachian diplomacy, which at the same time illustrates the simplicity of his character.

The armies invading Wallachia were entrusted to the care of General Heissler, who consequently wrote to Prince S—— informing him that he was advancing on Bucharest through the Transylvanian Alps with ten thousand men, therefore he was to provide winter quarters and provisions for his army, as he intended to winter there.

At exactly the same time the Tartar Khan gave the Prince to understand that he intended to invade Moldavia in order that he might follow the movements of the Transylvanian army close at hand.

The Prince liked the one proposition as little as the other, so he sent the Tartar Khan's letter to General Heissler bidding him beware, as a great force was coming against him, and he sent Heissler's letter to the Tartar Khan advising him in a friendly sort of way not to move too far as Heissler was now advancing in his rear.

Consequently both armies turned aside from the Principality, and Wallachia had to support neither the Germans nor the Tartars.

This is the diplomacy of little states.

Amidst the wildly romantic hills of Lebanon is a pleasant valley for which Nature herself has a peculiar preference. Amidst the gigantic mountains which encircle a vast hollow on every side of it, rises a roundish mound. On level ground it would be accounted a hill, but in the midst of such a range of snowy giants it emerges only like a tiny heap of earth, and to this day nothing grows on it but the cedar—the finest, darkest, most widely spreading specimens of that noble and fragrant tree are here to be found. A foaming mountain stream gurgles down it on both sides, a little wooden bridge connects the opposing banks, and in the midst of the bridge a rock projecting from the water clings to the mountain side. Far away among the blue forests shine forth the white roofless little houses of the city of Edena, which, built against the mountain side, peer forth like some card-built castle, and still farther away through gaps in the hills the Syrian sea is visible.

Here in former days on the heights stood the romantic and poetical kiosk of Feriz Beg.

The youth, with dogged persistence, continued to live for years in this sublime solitude with the din of battle all around him. The prophecy which he had once pronounced in the DivÁn was whispered abroad among the people, ran through the army, and as every one of his sayings was severally fulfilled, the more widely there spread in the hearts of the soldiers the superstitious belief that till he seized his sword they would everywhere be defeated, but when he should again appear on the battlefield the fortune of war would turn and become favourable once more to the Ottoman arms.

Long ago the DivÁn had wished to profit by this blind belief, and countless embassies had been sent to the youthful hermit in his solitude announcing the fall of generals, the loss of battles, the pressure of peril.

Nothing could move Feriz. To all these tidings he replied:

"Thus it must come to pass! Doves do not spring from serpents' eggs. Your rulers are those who took it upon them to wipe out a sacred oath from the patient pages, who tore up and burnt and scattered to the winds the vow that was made before God, and now ye likewise shall be wiped from the page of history and your memory shall be laden with reproaches. Learn ye, therefore, that it is dangerous to play with the name of Allah, and though many of you grow so high that his head touches the Heavens—yet he is but a man, and the earth moves beneath his feet, and presently he shall fall and perish."

The men perceived that these words were not so bad as they seemed to be at first sight, and after every fresh defeat, more and more of his old acquaintances came to see him and begged and prayed him to seize his sword once more and let himself be chosen leader of the host.

He sternly rejected every offer. No allurement was capable of making him change his resolution.

"When the time comes for me to draw my sword," he said, "I will come without asking. That time will come none the quicker for anyone's beseeching, but come it will one day and not tarry."And, indeed, the advent of that time had become a matter of necessity for the Ottoman Empire. The banners of the German Empire were waving in the very heart of Turkey; the Poles had recovered Podolia, the Venetians were on the Turkish islands, and at last Transylvania also broke with the Porte and opened her fortresses to the enemies of the Padishah.

The new Sultan collected fresh armies, military enthusiasm was stimulated by great rewards, fresh alliances were formed, and among the new allies the one who enjoyed the greatest confidence was Emeric TÖkÖly, who was proclaimed Prince of Transylvania, and orders were given to the Tartar Khan and the Prince of Moldavia to support him with their forces.

TÖkÖly, always avid of fame and glory, threw himself heart and soul into this new enterprise, but it was only when he saw the army with which he was to conquer Transylvania that he had misgivings. His soldiers were good for robbing and burning, they had been used to that for a long time, but when it came to fighting there was no power on earth capable of keeping them together. What could he make of soldiers whose sole knowledge of the art of warfare consisted in running backwards and forwards, whose most sensible weapon was the dart, and who, whenever they heard a gun go off, stuffed up their ears and bolted like so many mice? And with these ragamuffins he was expected to fight regular, highly-disciplined troops.

Suddenly an idea occurred to him. He sat down and wrote a letter and delivered it to a swift courier, enjoining him not to rest or tarry till he had placed it in the proper hands.

This letter was addressed to Feriz Beg. In it TÖkÖly informed him of the course of events in Transylvania, and it concluded thus:

"Behold, what you prophesied has come to pass, those who began the war along with us now continue the war against us. Remember that you held out the promise of joining us when such a time came; fulfil your promise."

Feriz Beg got this letter early in the morning, and the moment after he had read it he ordered his stableman instantly to saddle his war-charger, he chose from among his swords those which smote the heaviest, exchanged his grey mantle for a splendid and costly costume, gave a great banquet to all his retainers, and bade them make merry, for in an hour's time, he would be off to the wars.

The imperial army was making itself quite at home in Albania. Beautiful scenery and beautiful women smiled upon the victors; there was money also and to spare. And soon came the rumour that a gigantic Tartar host was approaching the Albanian mountains, in number exceeding sixty thousand. The imperial army was no more than nine thousand; but they only laughed at the rumour, they had seen far larger armies fly before them. The pick of the Turkish host, the Spahis, the Janissaries, had cast down their arms before them in thousands; while it was the talk of the bazaars that all that the Tartars were good for was to devastate conquered territory. Besides, reinforcements were expected from Hungary, where the Prince of Baden was encamped beneath NÁndor-FehÉrvÁr with a numerous army.

The leader of the Albanian forces was the Prince of Hanover.

He was a pupil of the lately deceased Piccolomini, and though he inherited his valour he was scarcely his equal in wisdom.

On hearing of the approach of the Tartar army he assembled his captains and held a council of war. The enemy was assumed to be the old mob which used to turn tail at the first cannon-shot, and could not be overtaken because of the superior swiftness of its horses. And indeed it was the old mob, but a new spirit now inspired it; it followed a new leader whom the enemy had never put to flight or beaten, and that leader was Feriz Beg.

TÖkÖly's letter had speedily brought the young hero all the way from Syria to Stambul to offer his sword and his genius to the new Sultan, and the Sultan had charged him to lead the Tartar hordes against the imperial army.

When Feriz, from the top of a hill, saw the forces of the Prince of Hanover all wedged together in a compact mass on the plain before him like a huge living machine only awaiting a propelling hand to set it in motion, he quickly sent the Tartars who were with him back into the fir-woods that they might well cover their darts with the tar and turpentine exuding from the trees, and this done, he sent them to gallop round the Prince's camp and take up their position well within range.

The Prince observed the movement but left them alone; oftentimes had the Turks attempted a simple assault upon the German camp; oftentimes had their threefold superior forces surrounded the small, well-ordered camp and assaulted it from every side, and the Germans used always politely to allow them to come within range of their guns and then discharge all their artillery at once—and generally that was the end of the whole affair.

Feriz, however, made no assault upon them, but got his Tartars to surround them, commanding them to set their darts on fire and discharge them into the air so that they might fall down into the German camp. According to this plan they could fire at the enemy at a much greater distance off than the enemy could fire upon them, for the dart, flying in a curve could reach further than the straight-going musket balls of those days, and wherever it fell its sharp point inflicted a wound, whereas the bullet was often spent before it reached its mark.

Suddenly a flaming flood of darts darkened the air and the burning resinous bolts fell from all sides into the crowded ranks of the imperial army; the points of the darts fastened in the backs of the horses, the burning drops fell upon the faces and garments of the warriors, burning through the texture and inflicting grievous wounds; the horses began to rear violently at this unexpected attack; the gunners, cursing and swearing, began to discharge their guns anyhow at the enemy; nobody paid any attention to the orders of the general, discipline was quite at an end; the burning darts were destructive of all military tactics, for there was no refuge from them, and every dart struck its man.

Then Feriz Beg blew with the trumpets, and suddenly the imperial troops were attacked from all sides. They were unable to repel the attack in the regular way, but intermingled with their assailants, fought man to man. The picked German troopers quitted themselves like men, not one of them departed without taking another with him to the next world, but the Turks outnumbered them, and just when the Prince's army was exhausted by the attacks of the Tartars, Feriz brought forward his well-rested reserves, who burned with the desire to wash out the shame of former defeats. The Prince of Hanover fell on the battle-field with the rest of his army. Not one escaped to tell the tale.

This was the first victory which turned the fortunes of war once more in favour of the Turks after so many defeats.