Frederic, the emperor, a man of but little
energy, was at his country residence at Lintz, apparently more anxious,
writes a contemporary, "to shield his plants from frost, than to defend
his domains against these barbarians."
The bold barons of Carniola, however, rallied their vassals, raised an
army of twenty thousand men, and drove the Turks back to the Bosphorus.
But the invaders, during their unimpeded march, had slain six thousand
Christians, and they carried back with them eight thousand captives.
Again, a few years after, the Turks, with a still larger army, rushed
through the defiles of the Illyrian mountains, upon the plains of
Carinthia. Their march was like the flow of volcanic fire. They left
behind them utter desolation, smouldering hearth-stones and fields
crimsoned with blood. At length they retired of their own accord,
dragging after them twenty thousand captives. During a period of
twenty-seven years, under the imbecile reign of Frederic, the very heart
of Europe was twelve times scourged by the inroads of these savages. No
tongue can tell the woes which were inflicted upon humanity. Existence,
to the masses of the people, in that day, must indeed have been a curse.
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