CHAPTER II.

THE RELIEF.

March of the Poles—Junction with the Imperialists—Ascent of the Kahlenberg—A day of suspense—Scene from the heights—The morning of the battle—Descent into the plain—Advance of Sobieski—Rout of the Turks—Sobieski’s entry into Vienna—Charity of Kollonitsch—Behaviour of the emperor—Joy of Europe—Thanksgiving of the Church—End of Kara Mustapha.

Sobieski and his army were on the borders of Silesia within a week from their departure from Cracow. His eldest son, Prince James Louis, the youth of many a hope and many a bitter disappointment, marched by the side of his heroic father. His queen accompanied him to the frontier, where they were obliged to separate; and the letters which passed between them during the remainder of the campaign form a singular and most valuable portion of the documentary history of the day. His march revived the hopes of Europe, and the malice of the “grand monarque;” and whilst the intelligence of the approaching crisis was received in Rome by solemn prayers for the success of the Christian arms, by exposition of the Blessed Sacrament in all the churches, and by processions in all the streets, Louis XIV. could see in it nothing but an opportunity for surprising the Austrian provinces of the Low Country by a _coup-de-main_: and Brussels saw a French army at its gates without even a declaration of war. Such are the tactics of that state-policy which the French writers of the succeeding century deplore as so deficient in the enterprise of Sobieski. We leave our readers to draw their own comparison between the conduct of the Christian hero and that of the “Most Christian king.”

The events of the march followed one another in rapid succession. It lay through a rough and mountainous country, beset with wandering tribes of Tartars and Hungarians. As they drew near the head-quarters of the Imperialists the ardour of Sobieski would not allow him to delay; but setting forward with a few cavalry, he pushed on in advance of his army, “that he might the sooner taste the waters of the Danube and hear the cannon of Vienna:” these are his own words in his letter to his wife. Lorraine hastened to meet them. Destiny had hitherto matched them as rivals, both in love and in war; but each was too great to remember past jealousies at such a moment. By the 5th of September the junction of the two armies at Tuln was completely effected; and the supreme command was unanimously made over to the Polish king. There was still a doubt about the practicability of crossing the river; but Sobieski had a way of his own for settling such questions. He went down to inspect the bridge, which the Imperialists were still engaged in constructing in the very face of the Ottoman batteries: “The man who suffered this bridge to be built under his very beard is but a contemptible general, and cannot fail to be beaten,” he said. “The affair is settled; the army will cross to-morrow.” And even as he spoke, a messenger from Stahremberg, dripping with water,—for he had swum across the river,—was ushered into the presence of the generals. He bore a despatch of few words, yet they told all the agony of suspense which was then reigning in the city: “No time to be lost!—no time to be lost!” The affair was therefore settled as Sobieski had said, and none ventured a remonstrance.

The next day was that memorable 6th of September of which we have spoken. Whilst the besieged, still ignorant of the near presence of their deliverers, were making that gallant and despairing stand against the assault of their opponents, the Christian host were passing over the Danube and making their rapid advance upon the Kahlenberg. The Polish cavalry marched first, their costume mingling something of oriental magnificence with the European character of their arms; the infantry followed, less brilliantly equipped; one regiment, indeed, and that one of the bravest of the whole force, showed so ragged and dilapidated an exterior, that Sobieski’s pride was hurt. He turned to Lorraine, as the ranks defiled before them, saying, “Look at these fellows; they are invincible rascals, who have sworn never to clothe themselves except out of the enemy’s spoils.” It was a glorious and inspiriting sight; and never had Sobieski found himself at the head of so numerous or powerful an army. He who had beaten the Turks over and over again at the head of a handful of armed peasants, felt it pusillanimous to doubt of victory with a force like the present, and the favour of heaven on his side: 70,000 men were passing in brilliant order before his eyes. There were the troops of Saxony, with their elector at their head; and those of the Bavarians, just arrived in time to join the main body, with their young and gallant Elector Maximilian, burning with military ardour, and destined to celebrity, as well in his achievements as in his misfortunes, who now intrusted the command of his people to abler hands, and served himself in the ranks as a volunteer. There was a crowd of illustrious names in the battle-roll of that army; and the “little Abbé of Savoy” was not missing among them. The river crossed, there yet remained the Kahlenberg to be scaled and secured. They did not yet know if the summit were still unoccupied; and the dangerous task of reconnoitring was undertaken by Sobieski himself. Let us place the scene before us, to estimate the difficulty of the task. The Kahlenberg mountain, which now stretched like a huge curtain between the hosts of the infidels and the advancing bands of the allies, was a wild range of rocky hills and precipices, covered on one side by a vast forest, whilst the other descended abruptly to the waters of the Danube. Its crest was crowned with a fortress and a little chapel; and these were still untouched. Kara Mustapha, in his gilded pavilion, lay buried in profound and luxurious security in the plain below, all unconscious that on the other side of those rugged peaks, struggling among the rocks and in the mazes of the tangled forest, wearily dragging their guns over the rough roads, and casting away baggage and accoutrements in their eagerness to press on to the longed-for goal, were the scattered forces of his enemies, whom a handful of determined men might have annihilated whilst they were in the perils of that terrible ascent. But a blindness had come over the judgment of the Turks. Some of their wandering Tartar bands even encountered the outposts of the enemy, and, with singular simplicity, are said to have inquired what all this bustle meant. “It means that the King of Poland is behind,” replied the soldiers. “The King of Poland!” answered the Tartar, with a sneering laugh: “we know very well that he is far away from here.” And this scrambling weary march lasted three days. They climbed the rocks like cats, and threw themselves down the crags, clinging to the bushes. A few must have reached the summit, by means of incredible exertions, the very evening of the passage of the river, as we have already seen that signal-rockets from the top of the mountain gave warning to the citizens of their approach so early as the night of the 6th; but it was not until the 10th that the main body succeeded in taking up a position on the heights.

The ascent of the Kahlenberg must be reckoned amongst the most brilliant achievements of the Polish king. Its difficulties were such as could be surmounted only by determined courage and a surpassing genius. The imperial troops were fearful and discouraged; and when the cry of “Allah!” from some of the outposts of the infidels first broke on their ear, they were all but taking to flight, in the extremity of their terror. The heavy pieces of artillery were obliged to be left below; for there were no means of transporting them through the savage passes they had to cross. Neither chiefs nor soldiers had encumbered themselves with provisions, and during their three days’ march their food was oak-leaves. A few who gained the summit before the others, terrified by the first prospect of the infidels, came back, leaping over the rocks in wild confusion, spreading fear and disorder wherever they appeared. Sobieski’s own voice, and the might of his heroic presence, his gay and cheerful words, and the memory of his past victories, which seemed to surround him as with a glory, were necessary to restore the courage of his men. The soldiers of his own guard showed symptoms of discontent. He advanced to them, and proposed that they should return to the baggage-waggons; and, at those few words, they cast themselves at his feet, and exclaimed, with tears, “We will live and die with our king, Sobieski!” And all this time, amidst the incessant anxieties and fatigues of his post, he could find leisure to write an incredible number of letters to his wife, in which the hearty expressions of generous affection, and the thoughtful simple tenderness with which he tells her “to be sure not to rise too early in the morning,” would fill us with feelings of more unmixed pleasure as we read them, could we forget the unworthy and vexatious character of the woman on whom he lavished so devoted an attachment.

It was on the morning of the 10th that the Turks, perceiving at length the importance of the Kahlenberg position, made a hasty movement of their troops to occupy it. But it was too late to repair their error. A few Saxon squadrons were forced forwards into line, and three guns brought to the summit. The Turks instantly retired; and the roar of those three pieces of artillery proclaimed to the ears of the distant citizens that their deliverance was at hand. The echo of that sound drew them to the walls; and the sight that met their eye on that distant ridge revived all their hopes. The morning sun sparkled on a bristling forest of lances and the pennons of the Polish hussars. Every moment the armed battalions might be seen gathering in greater numbers, as they climbed the last ascent, and formed in array of battle. There was a stir, too, in the camp of the Ottomans; and the vast masses of the Turkish troops swayed to and fro, then broke into three divisions. One seemed to prepare for conflict with the Polish force, and faced towards the mountains; another, composed of the camp-followers and other irregular combatants, might be seen securing their baggage, and moving off, with camels and horses, in the direction of the Hungarian frontier; whilst the third advanced to renew the assault on the city. It was a day of agonising suspense. The final struggle had not, indeed, as yet begun, but it was evidently close at hand; and whilst Kollonitsch called the women and the infirm to the churches, Stahremberg once more led the remains of his dauntless forces to the breach and the ramparts. By eleven o’clock on the morning of the 11th the main body of the army was formed into line on the ridge of the Kahlenberg, occupying the old castle and the little chapel before mentioned. Below them lay the vast plain of Austria, where stretched the enormous crescent of the Ottoman camp, sparkling with its gilded tents, and intrenched with lines of fortifications; whilst, close at the foot of the hill, and under cover of the forest and ravines, was drawn up a considerable portion of the hostile army. No movement was, however, made by either side; and both parties spent the remaining hours of the day in councils of war, and arrangements for the morrow. And so, whilst the rocket-signals of distress continued to rise from the city-walls, and were answered by blazing fires from the mountain, the eve of the great day closed in. Sobieski spent it in the saddle, and before night had ridden along and inspected the entire position of his forces.

The dawn of the autumn morning was breaking in the horizon. A thin mist rested on the crest of the Kahlenberg, and gathered in dense masses on the plain and river below. The eye of the Polish sentinels could catch the spire of St Stephen’s rising above that silvery cloud, whilst the darker masses of the city-walls were still veiled within its folds; and still unceasingly from that tapering tower there rose those fiery signals, which seemed to repeat, hour after hour, the words of Stahremberg’s last despatch: “No time to be lost.” It was a Sunday morning, as on the day of Lepanto,—an association not forgotten by the Christian host; and as the sun rose higher, and raised the curtain of mist that hung over the scene, life seemed to wake in the Turkish camp, and again the roar of their artillery was heard pouring its destructive fire upon the city, whilst their cavalry and the squadrons of the Tartars faced towards the mountain. The vizier was thus preparing for battle on either side of his encampment. But before we endeavour to follow the course of the conflict, let us pause on the heights of the Kahlenberg, and watch the scene that meets our eye among the forces of the Christian allies. Falling sweetly and gently through the morning air, there comes the echo of a bell from the chapel of the Margrave: its little steeple rises above the masses of forest-foliage, rich with autumn tints; and as the sound reaches the lines of the Polish troops, the clang of their arms, and the long reveille of their trumpets, are hushed in silence. Before the chapel-door is planted the Christian standard,—a red flag bearing a white cross; and as the symbol of their faith, and of the holy cause for which they are in arms, is displayed, a shout of enthusiasm bursts from the ranks, and is caught up again and again from every quarter of the mountain. But silence is restored, and all eyes turn in the direction of the old castle; and as its gates are suddenly flung open, you may see a procession of the princes of the empire, and of many a gallant and noble soldier from every nation of Christendom, moving forward to commend the cause of their arms to the God of battles. At the head of that column walks neither king nor prince, but the form of one with the brown habit, shaven crown, and sandalled feet, of a Capuchin friar. The soldiers cross themselves as he passes, and kneel to receive the blessing which he gives with outstretched hands. It is Marco Aviano, the confessor to the emperor, and one on whom there rests the character of a saint, and the reputation of prophetic gifts. He has been with the army in all its hours of difficulty and distress; he is with them now, to bless their arms, and to remind them of the cause for which they are about to fight. And close following him in the gorgeous procession, are three figures, that rivet you as you gaze. The first is one whose look instantly commands respect. He is past the prime of life, and there is something too much of portliness in his manly form; and yet the majesty of his bearing tells you at a glance that he is a hero and a king: that broad and noble forehead, that quick yet gentle eye, and the open look that mingles such simplicity with its command,—all bespeak no common man: it is the conqueror of Choczim and Podacksi. On his left is the young prince James, the father afterwards of the princess Clementina, whose marriage with the Chevalier of St. George mingled the blood of Sobieski with that of our own exiled Stuarts. His after-career was sad and inglorious; but now he marches by his father’s side, a gallant youth of sixteen, armed with helmet and breastplate, the pride and darling of the hero’s heart. On the right of the king is the form of Charles of Lorraine, plain and negligent in his attire; and yet, in spite of negligence, and even a slouching and unmilitary gait, you may tell, to use Sobieski’s words, “that he is no shopkeeper, but a man of note and distinction.” Then follow the sovereign princes of Germany. We will not weary our reader with a list of names. As our eye wanders over the royal and noble ranks, glittering with the insignia of their rank and military command, it rests on a slender youth of middle stature, whose eye has in it the promise of a future career of glory. Yes, you have guessed aright: the prince, his eldest brother, has already fallen in the cause; but Eugene of Savoy has escaped to draw his maiden sword in the defence of the faith, and to learn under Sobieski his first lessons of that science in which he was hereafter to share the battle-fields and renown of our own Marlborough. They enter the chapel: Aviano celebrates the Mass, which is served by Sobieski himself; and during the pauses in which he is not engaged at the altar, he is kneeling on the steps, his head bowed down, his arms extended in the form of a cross, and his whole soul absorbed in prayer. It is a spectacle which revives to your imagination the days of Dominic and de Montfort, and the consecration of the crusaders’ swords before the fight of Muret, as you see every individual in that princely and martial assembly kneeling in turn to receive the Bread of Life, whilst the thunder of the Turkish guns is even now sounding in their ears: they will soon be in the field, and, ere the sun is down, some of them will be lying there cold and dead. But they have fitted themselves for death; and at this moment, as you gaze on them, they seem full of that antique spirit of the elder chivalry, which has stamped its likeness on those tombs and sculptured effigies, making you doubt whether they who lie beneath were men of war or prayer.

The Mass is over. Aviano, in his priestly vestments, is standing at the chapel-door, with the crucifix in his hand. Raising it on high, he gives his solemn benediction to the troops, saying these words: “Soldiers, I announce to you, on the part of the Holy See, that if you have confidence in God, the victory is yours;” and then the last act of the religious ceremony is completed by a touching and beautiful incident. Prince James is led to the feet of his heroic father to receive the still honourable and sacred dignity of Christian knighthood. When this was done, the ardour of Sobieski became impatient of further delay. He sprang into his saddle, and riding forward to the front of the line, spoke to his followers in their own language: “Warriors and friends,” he said, “our enemies are yonder in the plain, in greater numbers than at Choczim, when we trampled them under our feet. We fight them on a foreign soil, but we fight for our country; and under the walls of Vienna we are defending those of Cracow and Warsaw. We have to save this day, not a single city, but Christendom itself: the war is therefore holy. There is a blessing on our arms, and a crown of glory for him who falls. You are not fighting for any earthly sovereign, but for the King of kings. It is He who has led you up these heights, and placed the victory in your hands. I have but one command to give: Follow me. The time is come for the young to win their spurs.” A tremendous shout from the ranks was the answer to this harangue; replied to from the distant enemy by cries of “Allah! Allah!” Then, pressing his horse to the mountain edge, Sobieski pointed to the plain below, to the rocks and precipices of the descent, and the moving masses of the enemy. “March on in confidence,” he cried: “God and His Blessed Mother are with us!” And as he spoke, five cannon-shots gave the signal for the advance. The ranks immediately commenced the descent; and Aviano turned back into the chapel to pray.

It was the original plan of the king to content himself this day with the descent of the Kahlenberg, and the secure establishment of the troops in position for battle on the morrow. Even his quick and ardent genius had proposed no such gigantic undertaking as the routing of the whole Turkish host, and the deliverance of the city, in the course of a few hours. The event of the day was scarcely so much the result of his own calculations as of the unforeseen circumstances by which the left wing of the army, under Lorraine, became engaged in a premature and desperate struggle with the right of the Turkish force, and thus brought on the necessity for a general action. The imperial troops descended the wooded ravines, driving their opponents before them, slowly but surely; for though the Turks obstinately defended every foot of ground, they were no match for their adversaries. The Christian army was arranged in order of battle in five distinct columns, which came down the mountain-side “like so many irresistible torrents, yet in admirable order,” stopping every hundred paces to enable those behind to come up to them, and preserve their ranks. Each ravine was found guarded and fortified, and was the scene of a separate conflict. The rocks, and groups of trees, and the thick tangle of the vineyards,—all formed so many covers for defence to the retreating Ottomans; but still, spite of all resistance on their parts, nothing could check the downward progress of those five mountain-torrents, which rolled on steadily and victoriously, sweeping all before them. The descent had commenced at eight o’clock, and by ten the left wing of the army was in the plain. Lorraine halted, by command of Sobieski, to enable the Polish troops to come up; and as each squadron issued from the mountain-defiles, it took up its position in the order of battle prescribed by the king, and planted its standard in the field. By this time, the hope of pushing the struggle to a decisive issue that day had suggested itself to the imperial commanders; and Field-Marshal Geltz, perceiving the progress of the Bavarians and Poles on the right and centre, observed to the Duke, that it would be his own fault if he did not that night sleep in Vienna. It was eleven o’clock: the burning sun had scattered all the mist of the morning, and the whole scene glittered in the noonday blaze. The heat was oppressive; and there was a pause in the movements of the imperial troops. Suddenly a cry ran along the line, caught up from regiment to regiment, “Live Sobieski!” Out from the wooded defiles of the Wienerberg flashed the gilded cuirasses of the Polish cavalry; and the bay horse and sky-blue doublet of the rider at their head announced the presence of the king. Before him went an attendant, bearing a shield emblazoned with his arms. Another rode near him, bearing the plumed lance of Poland: this, as it streamed above the heads of the combatants, always showed Sobieski’s place in the battle; and round it the fight always gathered the thickest; while his soldiers were accustomed to look to that white and waving signal as to the star of victory.

The rocks and broken ground in which they stood formed a vast and beautiful amphitheatre, carpeted with turf and dotted with noble trees. Under one of these Sobieski alighted; and, ordering his men to do the same, they took a hasty repast. It occupied but a few minutes; and then, the semicircular battle-line of the Christian columns forming in admirable order, the king rode round the whole body, speaking to each in their own language; for there were few European tongues of which he was not perfect master. The order was given for the whole line to advance. The Turks, profiting by the halt of their enemies, had brought up large reinforcements, commanded by the vizier in person. They were met by a furious charge from the Polish lancers, who at first drove all before them; but, led on by their impetuosity, and surrounded by the masses of the infidels, they were for a moment nearly overwhelmed. Their officers fell thick and fast. Waldech and his Bavarians came up to their rescue; but the struggle was still doubtful, when the second line and the imperial dragoons, with Sobieski at their head, came down on the squadrons of the Turks with a tremendous shock. Every thing gave way before them: on they went, through ravines and villages, and still, as they dashed on, they swept their foes from one outpost to another, nor drew their reins till they touched the glacis of the camp, and the gilded peaks of the Ottoman tents rose close before their eyes. Here the whole Turkish force was drawn up to receive them. The front of their line bristled with artillery; the flanks were strongly protected by fortifications hastily but skilfully raised.

It was five o’clock. “Sobieski,” says Salvandy, “had reckoned on sleeping on the field of battle, and deferring until next day the completion of the drama; for that which remained to be done scarcely seemed possible to be completed in a few hours, and with tired troops. Nevertheless the allies, in spite of the oppressiveness of the weather, were reanimated rather than exhausted by their march; whereas it was evident that consternation reigned in the Ottoman ranks. Far away were to be seen the long lines of the camels, hastily pressing forward on the road to Hungary: they might be tracked by the cloud of dust which darkened the horizon for miles.” The vizier alone showed confidence, as dangerous and unreasonable as was the panic of his followers. He counted on an easy triumph; and having, as a first step, ordered the slaughter of all his captives, including women and children, to the number of 30,000 souls, he appeared on the field mounted on a charger, whose accoutrements, glittering with gold, rendered the animal equally unserviceable for battle or for flight. But flight was the last idea that suggested itself to the mind of Kara Mustapha. Dismounted from his overloaded horse, he might have been seen seated in a damask tent, luxuriously drinking coffee with his two sons, as if he had but to look on at his ease, and watch the dispersion of his enemies. The sight stirred the choler of Sobieski. So rapid had been his advance, that he had no heavy artillery with him, save two or three light pieces, which Kouski had dragged on by the strong arm of his artillerymen. These the king ordered to be pointed at the brilliant tent, from which the vizier was now giving his orders; but the ammunition soon failed, and a French officer ingeniously rammed home the last cartridge with his wig, gloves, and a bundle of newspapers. We are not told the effect of this original discharge; but at that moment the infantry came up under Maligni, the king’s brother-in-law, and were instantly despatched to a height which commanded the position of the vizier. A vigorous attack soon carried them beyond the outposts, and planted them on the redoubts. Then a wavering hesitation was observed in the crowded ranks of the Mussulmans, which caught the quick eye of Sobieski, and decided the fate of the day. “They are lost men,” he cried; “let the whole line advance.” And as he led them in person right for the vizier’s tent, his terrible presence was recognised by the infidels. “By Allah, the king is with them!” exclaimed the Khan of the Crimea; and every eye was turned in terror towards the spot where the dancing feathers of that snow-white plume carried victory wherever they appeared. Sobieski had sent word to Lorraine to attack the centre, and leave him to finish the disordered masses in his front. Then, surrounded by his hussars, and preceded by his emblazoned shield and the plume-bearing lance which distinguished his place in the battle, he brandished his sword in the foremost rank, calling aloud, in the words of the royal prophet, “Not unto us, not unto us, O Lord God of hosts, but to Thy name give the glory!” The enthusiasm of his presence excited his troops to prodigies of valour; his name rang through the plain; and, as the infidels quailed and gave way before the charges of his cavalry, led on by their glorious chief, a bloody token appeared in the evening sky, which struck a supernatural dread into their hearts. It was an eclipse of the moon, and the heavens themselves seemed fighting against the host of the Ottomans. “God defend Poland!” the national cry, now sounded from the advancing columns of a fresh body of troopers. They came on at full gallop, the other squadrons joining in their desperate charge. Palatines, senators, and nobles, they fell with headlong impetuosity on the masses of their foes; and such was the fury of their attack, that as man and horse went down before their lances, the huge body of the Ottomans was cleft in twain, and a road, as it were, cut in their centre, formed by the passage of the Christian troops. The shock was so terrible, that nearly every lance of the Polish squadrons was snapped asunder; those lances of which one of their nobles once said, that should the heavens fall, they would bear them up upon their points.

The Turks could offer no further resistance, and there was but one thought among their ranks, and that was flight: their very numbers, instead of strengthening, only embarrassed them. The vizier, but an hour before so proud and confident, was borne along in the panic-stricken crowd, weeping and cursing by turns. In the mêlée he came across the Khan of the Crimea, himself among the foremost of the fugitives. “You, too,” he said bitterly, “can you do nothing to help me?” “The King of Poland is behind,” was his reply; “there is but one thing left for us. Look at the sky, too, and see if God be not against us;” and he pointed to the bloody moon, which, close to the horizon, presented a ghastly spectacle to the eyes of the terror-stricken infidel. And so the tide of flight and of pursuit swept on: conquered, terrified, and not daring to raise their eyes from the earth, the Mussulman army no longer existed. The cause of Europe, of Christendom, and of civilisation, had triumphed; the floods of the Ottoman power were checked, and rolled backwards, never to rise again.

An hour only had passed since the fight began; and when it closed, Sobieski was standing within the vizier’s tent. The charger, with its golden caparisons, was led to him by a slave, who held its bridle, before the door of the pavilion. Taking one of its golden stirrups, the king gave it in charge to a courier to bear to the queen, as a token of the defeat and flight of its owner.[70] Then his standards were planted in the camp, and a wild and stormy night closed over the field of battle.

Meanwhile there had been an action as desperate, and as successful in its result to the Christian arms, on the breach of Vienna. The storming party was repulsed by the determined valour of Stahremberg and his shattered yet heroic followers. And when the Turks gave way, and Louis of Baden pushed on towards the Scottish Gate, the garrison, sallying from the walls, and mingling with his dragoons, fell on the main body of the Janizaries occupying the trenches of the enemy, and cut them all to pieces.

The king passed the night under a tree; and after fourteen hours spent in the saddle, his sleep was sound and heavy. The sunrise broke over a scene of strange and melancholy confusion. The Ottoman camp, so lately glittering in all its oriental splendour, was now deserted by its occupants, and bore in every direction the traces of their ferocious cruelty. As the Poles marched through it, they trod over the bodies of the Christian captives murdered in cold blood. Every woman attached to the camp had suffered a similar fate. Nor was this all; for camels and horses were found slaughtered in great numbers, lest they should fall alive into the hands of the victors; nay, it is said, the vizier had beheaded an ostrich with his own scimitar, that it might never own a Christian for its master. The camp, with its silken pavilion, and all its riches, was one vast charnel-house. The horrors of the scene were heightened by the signs of luxury that every where met the eye. The baths and fountains, the tissues and gay carpetings, the jewelled arms and ornaments, with which the ground was strewn, contrasted strangely with the heaps of ghastly corpses that lay piled around.

But we will pass over the lists of the slain, and the details of a booty almost fabulous in value, to bring our readers to the walls of Vienna, where the agony of a long suspense had been exchanged for the joy of a deliverance at once so sudden and so complete. Sobieski entered the city through the breach made by the guns of the infidels, and through which, but for his speedy succour, they would themselves have passed as victors. As he rode along by the side of Stahremberg, accompanied by the Duke of Lorraine and the Elector of Saxony, the streets resounded with the acclamations of the people who crowded about his horse. They kissed his hand, his feet, his very dress; and some were heard to exclaim, as they involuntarily compared the hero who had delivered them with the sovereign who had deserted them, “Why is he not our master?” It was evident that these demonstrations of feeling were already exciting the jealousy and displeasure of the Austrian authorities; and even in his triumphal entrance, the king was made to taste something of that ingratitude and cold neglect that was afterwards exhibited in so extraordinary and disgraceful a manner by Leopold himself. Nevertheless the people were not to be restrained by the marked discouragement of their civic rulers; they followed Sobieski in crowds to the church of the Augustines, where, finding the clergy unprepared, or hesitating, perhaps, to offer the usual service of thanksgiving, he himself, filled with impatient enthusiasm, stepped before the high altar, and commenced intoning the _Te Deum_, which was instantly taken up by his own Poles and the clergy of the church. The sudden stillness caused by the cessation of the firing, which had been distinctly heard, not only at Neustadt, but far over the Styrian Alps, struck terror into the surrounding population, who thought that the ancient city of the Christian Cæsars had fallen into the hands of the enemies of the faith. A welcome sound, therefore, to them was the boom of the three hundred cannons, the thunder of which accompanied the thanksgiving at the church of the Augustines. Ashamed of their neglect, the magistrates caused the ceremony to be repeated with something more of pomp and splendour in the cathedral of St. Stephen’s; and as the echoes of the chant rolled through its glorious aisles, Sobieski knelt, as his biographer relates, “prostrate, with his face upon the ground.” There was a sermon too; and if the text were a plagiarism from the lips of St. Pius, on the day of Lepanto, it was at least an appropriate one: “There was a man sent from God, whose name was John.”

Where was Kollonitsch? for his name has not appeared in the list of those who are rejoicing in the streets, or preaching in the churches. You must look for him in the camp, where, unappalled by the terrors of the scene, he is searching among the bloody corpses for any in whom life may not yet be quite extinct; and his patient noble charity has its reward; for, hiding among the tents, or even under the bodies of their mothers, he has found more than six hundred infants, and has claimed these children as his own. Nor is this all: many of the Turkish women and Christian slaves are but half murdered; and Kollonitsch has ordered carriages from the city to transport them, at his own expense, to the hospitals. As to the children, his care of them will end but with his life. “Like another St. Vincent de Paul,” says Salvandy, “he became the father of them all.”[71] He provided them with both maintenance and education, and thought himself well paid for all his sacrifices by having gained them to the Christian faith. The Pope, however, not so unmindful either of his personal merits, or of the eminent services he had rendered to religion in the hour of need, bestowed upon him the highest dignity which it was in his power to confer, by exalting him to the cardinalate.

Of Aviano we find only an allusion to his joy at the victory, and that during the whole of that eventful day, as he watched the conflict from the chapel of the Margrave, he thought he beheld, as he prayed, a white dove hovering over the Christian host. After the return of Leopold to Vienna, “disgusted with the intrigues of the court and the license of the camp,” he refused to retain the office he held in the imperial family, and returned to Italy.

Sobieski himself soon left the city to return to the camp, and prepare for the following up of this victory by a march into Hungary. Indeed, anyhow he was unwilling to remain in Vienna; for, strange to say, Leopold would not enter his capital until the man who had saved it from destruction was at a distance from its walls. And what do our readers suppose was the pretext for so ungracious a proceeding? A scruple of ceremony; a piece of court-etiquette! _How_ should the emperor receive him? Were he an hereditary monarch, courtesy would place him on the imperial right hand; but to one who was but an elective king, how could so high a dignity be accorded? When the question, how such a one should be received, was proposed to Charles of Lorraine, the Duke magnanimously replied: “With open arms, if he has saved the empire!” But the generosity of this sentiment found but little response in hearts which a narrow jealousy and pride had closed to every noble impulse. The simple straightforwardness of Sobieski at last solved the difficult problem. Finding himself put off from day to day by clumsily invented excuses, he bluntly asked one of the imperial courtiers whether the right hand were the obstacle to the interview so long delayed; and on being answered as simply in the affirmative, he ingeniously suggested that the meeting should be one of face to face, each on horseback, the emperor, accompanied by his suite, and himself, at the head of the Polish troops. And thus it actually took place, as described in the king’s own words: “We saluted each other civilly enough. I made him my compliments in Latin, and in few words. He answered in the same language, in a studied style. As we stood thus, face to face, I presented to him my son, who came forward and saluted him. The emperor did not even put his hand to his hat. I was wholly taken by surprise. However, to avoid scandal and public remarks, I addressed a few more words to the emperor, and then turned my horse round. We again saluted each other, and I returned to my own camp.[72] The Palatine of Russia, at the emperor’s desire, passed our army in review before him. But our men have felt greatly affronted, and have complained loudly that the emperor did not condescend to thank them, even with a bow, for all they had done and suffered. Since this parting, a sudden change has come over every thing: they take not the slightest notice of us; they supply us with neither forage nor provisions. The Holy Father had sent money for these to the Abbé Buonvisi, but he has stopped short at Lintz.”

The conclusion of the memorable campaign to which we have adverted forms no part of our present subject. It is enough for us to remember, that in spite of every insult offered him; the ingratitude shown him by the emperor, nay, the cruel insolence which denied hospitals to his sick and burial to his dead, and which formally refused all redress when the Poles were robbed of their baggage and their horses by the followers of Leopold himself; the artillerymen pillaged of their effects while on guard over the very guns they had taken from the enemy;—in spite of all this, and of the marked personal affronts which (as just related) the emperor put upon his gallant deliverer on the plain of Ebersdorf, Sobieski did not desert him; or rather, he would not desert the cause of Christendom, to which his solemn oath, as a Christian king, bound him by an obligation which he felt to be inviolable. His letters to his queen abound with the expressions of this loyalty to his plighted word: “I know there are many,” he says, “who wish me to return to Poland; but for me, I have devoted my life to the glory of God and His holy cause, and in that I shall persist. I too cling to life,” he adds; “I cling to it for the service of Christendom, and of my country, for you, my children, and my friends; but my honour is yet dearer to me. Have no fear: we shall reconcile all these things if God give His help.”

If gratitude and joy were wanting where they seemed most due, Europe took the burden on itself, and paid the debt of Vienna. The news of the great event, which fixed the destinies of the West, flew from country to country, and every where roused the enthusiasm of the people. Protestant and Catholic states united in decreeing public thanksgiving to be offered in the churches for the great victory obtained; and every where it was celebrated with rejoicings at court and in the houses of the nobility. Even in England, severed as she was from Catholic unity, the pulpits rang with the triumphs of the Polish king. At Rome, the feast of thanksgiving lasted an entire month. When the news of the victory reached the ears of Innocent XI., he cast himself at the foot of the crucifix, and melted into tears. The night saw the magical dome of St. Peter’s blazing with its fiery illumination; and within that dome, a few days later, the great banner of the vizier, which had been despatched to the Pontiff in the first moment of victory, was solemnly suspended side by side with the captured standards of Choczim.

But it was not to Sobieski’s name alone that the glory and honour of Her great deliverance was ascribed by the voice of Christendom. _Non nobis, Domine, non nobis_, had been his battle-cry in the front of the Turkish lines; and it was taken up and re-echoed by the Church. Europe, in its gratitude, gave thanks to the interceding love of Her whose image, on the shattered and crumbling walls of Vienna, had remained untouched by all the batteries of the infidels; and by order of Innocent, the Sunday within the octave of our Lady’s Nativity, on which day the memorable action was fought, was thenceforward kept as a solemn festival of thanksgiving for this and all the other mercies bestowed on the Church through her gracious intercession, and has received the title of the Feast of the Name of Mary.

THE END.

BURNS AND OATES, PRINTERS, LONDON.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] The reader will not need to be reminded of the striking summary given by Dr. Newman, in his _Lectures on the Turks_ (pp. 131-133), of the successive measures, spiritual and otherwise, taken by the Popes, from the eleventh to the eighteenth century, to rouse Christendom to a common crusade against the Ottomans, and to mark each victory obtained over them as a _fait accompli_ in the commemorations of the Church.

[2] St. John the Baptist, the patron of the Order.

[3] Roger of Wendover, in his _Flowers of History_, relates a similar instance of admirable courage on the part of the nuns of Coldingham in Berwickshire, when the country was invaded by the merciless Danes in the year 870. Assembling all the sisters, the holy abbess addressed them, and having obtained from them a promise of implicit obedience to her maternal commands, she “took a razor, and with it cut off her nose, together with her upper lip unto the teeth, presenting herself a horrible spectacle to those who stood by. Filled with admiration at this heroic deed, the whole community followed her example, and each did the like to themselves. With the morrow’s dawn came those most cruel tyrants, to disgrace the holy women dedicated to God, and to pillage and burn the monastery; but on beholding the abbess and all the sisters so frightfully mutilated and stained with their own blood from the sole of their foot unto their head, they retreated in haste from the spot, thinking a moment too long for tarrying there. But as they were retiring, the leaders ordered their wicked followers to set fire and burn the monastery, with all its buildings and its holy inmates. Which being done, the holy abbess and all the holy virgins with her attained the glory of martyrdom.”

[4] The legend is as follows: “A huge serpent, or crocodile,—for it is described as an amphibious animal,—had taken up its abode in a cavern on the brink of a marsh situated at the base of Mount St. Stephen, about two miles from the city, from whence it sallied forth frequently in search of prey. Not only cattle, but even men, became its victims; and the whole island trembled at its voracity. Knight after knight, ambitious of the renown of slaying such a monster, stole singly and secretly to its haunt, and never returned. The creature was covered with scales, which were proof against the keenest arrows and darts: and at length the grand master held it his duty to forbid the knights from courting so unequal an encounter. Deodato de Gozon, a knight of Provence, alone failed to respect this prohibition, and resolved to deliver the island from the monster, or perish. Having often reconnoitered the beast from a distance, he constructed a model of it of wood or pasteboard, and habituated two young bull-dogs to throw themselves under its belly on a certain cry being given, while he himself, mounted and clad in armour, assailed it with his lance. Having perfected his arrangements, he bestrode his charger, and rode down privately into the marsh, leaving several confidential attendants stationed in a spot from whence they could behold the combat. The monster no sooner beheld him approach, than it ran, with open mouth and eyes darting fire, to devour him. Gozon charged it with his lance; but the impenetrable scales turned aside the weapon; and his steed, terrified at the fierce hissing and abominable effluvium of the creature, became so ungovernable that he had to dismount and trust to his good sword and his dogs. But the scales of the monster were as proof against his falchion as his lance. With a slap of its tail it dashed him to the earth, and was just opening its voracious jaws to devour him, helmet, hauberk, spurs and all, when his faithful dogs gripped it tightly with their teeth in a vulnerable part of the belly. On this the knight quickly sprang to his feet, and thrust his sword up to the hilt in a place which had no scales to defend it. The monster, rearing itself in agony, fell with a tremendous hiss on the knight, and again prostrated him in the dust; and though it instantly gasped its last, so prodigious was its size that Gozon would have been squeezed to death, had not his attendants, seeing the object of their terror deprived of life, made haste to his assistance. They found their master in a swoon; but after they had with great difficulty drawn him from under the serpent, he began to breathe again, and speedily recovered. The fame of this achievement being bruited in the city, a multitude of people hurried forth to meet him. He was conducted in triumph to the grand master’s palace; but that dignitary, heedless of popular acclamation, sternly demanded wherefore he had violated his orders, and commanded him to be carried to prison. At a subsequent meeting of the council he proposed that the culprit should atone for his disobedience with his life; but this severe sentence was mitigated to a deprivation of the habit of the order. To this degradation he was forced to submit; but in a little time the grand master relented, and not only restored him to his former rank, but loaded him with favours.” Sutherland’s _Knights of Malta_ vol. i. pp. 275-277.

[5] “In his bull, he bewails the sins of Christendom, which had brought upon them the scourge which is the occasion of his invitation. He speaks of the massacres, the tortures and slavery which had been inflicted on multitudes of the faithful. ‘The mind is horrified,’ he says, ‘at the very mention of these miseries; but it crowns our anguish to reflect, that the whole of Christendom, which if in concord might put an end to these and even greater evils, is either in open war, country with country, or if in apparent peace, is secretly wasted by mutual jealousies and animosities.’” Newman’s _Lectures on the History of the Turks_, pp. 177-8.

[6] The loss of this battle seems mainly attributable to the rash and arrogant confidence of the French chevaliers. The general conduct of the crusaders likewise was not such as to warrant any expectation of God’s blessing on their enterprise. Not only did they, at the siege of Raco, refuse quarter to such as laid down their arms, but immediately before the first onset at Nicopolis they massacred a number of Turkish prisoners who had surrendered under promise that their lives should be spared. (Creasy’s _History of the Ottoman Turks_, vol. i. pp. 58-60.) This act of cruelty, however, has been attributed not to the veteran knights, but to some headstrong and intemperate men among their juniors who took the matter into their own hands. Sutherland, vol. i. p. 309.

[7] Commonly called Tamerlane, from Timourlenk, _i. e._ Timour the Lame,—the name given him by his countrymen on account of the effects of a wound received in early life. His massacres were of a wholesale description. At Ispahan he had a tower constructed of 70,000 human heads; and when Bagdad revolted, he exacted no less than 90,000 for the same purpose. On his march to Delhi, the future capital of his empire, he ordered a general slaughter of his prisoners, 100,000 in number; compelling each of his captains and soldiers to kill his captives with his own hands, under penalty of being themselves put to death, and their property and wives given up to the informer. But Von Hammer relates an instance of his cruelty still more horrible. At the taking of Sebaste, 4,000 Armenian Christians had capitulated, on the condition that, though they were to be sent into slavery, their lives were to be spared. No sooner, however, had they surrendered than the tyrant, faithless to his oath, ordered them to be buried alive with circumstances of the most atrocious barbarity. They were thrown ten together into deep pits with their heads tied between their knees; planks were then laid across, and earth heaped upon them; and there they were left, in their living graves, to die a death of slow and lingering torture.

[8] Here also Timour reared a tower of human heads; but as neither garrison nor town afforded a sufficient number to raise the structure to the accustomed height, he was compelled to have a layer of mud placed between each row of heads.

[9] “Unless the Lord keep the city, he who keepeth it watcheth in vain.”

[10] Vertot.

[11] The Janizaries (Yeni tscheri, or “new troops”) were composed entirely of the children of Christians, who had been forced, usually at a tender age, to adopt Mahometanism. They were torn from their parents, and trained to renounce the faith in which they were born and baptised, and to profess the creed of Mahomet. They were then carefully educated for a soldier’s life; the discipline to which they were subjected being peculiar, and in some respects severe. They were taught to pay the most implicit obedience, and to bear without repining fatigue, pain, and hunger. At first they were made to share with the peasants the labours of the field, after which they were drafted into the companies of the Janizaries, but only to commence a second noviciate. Sometimes they were employed in the menial duties of the palace; sometimes in the public works, the dockyards, or the imperial gardens. But liberal honours and prompt promotion were the sure rewards of docility and courage. Some attained to the highest dignities in the state; and one of them married the sister of the sultan. Cut off from all ties of country, kith, and kin, but with high pay and privileges, with ample opportunities for military advancement and for the gratification of the violent, the sensual, and the sordid passions of their animal natures amid the customary atrocities of successful warfare, this military brotherhood grew up to be the strongest and fiercest instrument of imperial ambition which remorseless fanaticism, prompted by the most subtle state-craft, ever devised upon earth. As the Turkish power extended itself in Europe, care was taken to recruit the chosen corps from children who were natives of that continent rather than among the Asiatics. This terrible body of infantry, so long the scourge of Christendom and the terror of their own sovereigns, was during three centuries (the conquering period of the Ottoman power) recruited by an annual enrolment of 1000 Christian children; so that no less than 300,000 baptised souls were thus made the polluted and sanguinary ministers and agents of Mahometan crime and dominion. From the year 1648, in the reign of Mahomet IV., the recruits were taken from among the children of Janizaries and native Turks; and finally the whole corps, 20,000 in number, was annihilated in our own day by means of a barbarous massacre. Creasy, vol. i. pp. 20-24, 161. Newman’s _Lectures_, pp. 137, 267-8.

[12] Gulielmus Caoursinus.

[13] Such is Vertot’s description. Von Hammer’s account differs; but the subject is involved in some confusion.

[14] Now called _Sunbullu_, _i. e._ “covered with hyacinths.” (Von Hammer.)

[15] Von Hammer questions this fact, as resting on no authority; but, however this may be, it is remarkable how many of the ablest leaders of the Ottoman forces, and of course the most inveterate foes of the Christian name, were apostates. Their malice seemed insatiable; and many of the worst atrocities recorded in Turkish warfare were perpetrated by them. It was at the instigation of three renegades from the order that Mahomet undertook this very expedition against Rhodes; and the reader of history will not fail to notice, that in almost every renewed enterprise against Christendom, an apostate from the faith was its contriver or its conductor. “If we look,” says Professor Creasy, “to the period when the Turkish power was at its height,—the period of the reign of Solyman I. and Selim II.,—we shall find that out of ten viziers of this epoch eight were renegades. Of the other high dignitaries of the Porte during the same period, we shall find that at least twelve of her best generals, and four of her most renowned admirals, were supplied to her by Christian countries.”

[16] D’Aubusson, in his despatch, omits all personal mention of himself, and merely says, “We of the relief party ascended from Jew street,” &c.

[17] Written also Zain or Zizim.

[18] Von Hammer considers this letter apocryphal.

[19] This is Taaffe’s defence of D’Aubusson and of the order against the charge of “making money” by Djem’s captivity, as is asserted by Ottoman historians. That prince’s expenditure, he says, was very great, owing to the state in which he lived, and the constant coming and going of ambassadors to and from Constantinople and other courts. The knights also maintained at their own cost Djem’s only son Amurath, who became a Christian, and his family.

[20] Taaffe gives the letter at length. D’Aubusson’s accusers of course deny its genuineness.

[21] Subsequently appointed by Solyman grand admiral of the Turkish fleet.

[22] “Such was the esteem with which the valour of the knights had inspired the Turks, that they refrained from defacing their armorial bearings and inscriptions on the buildings. For more than 300 years the Ottomans have treated the memory of their brave foemen with the same respect; and the escutcheons of the Knights of St. John, who fought against Sultan Solyman for Rhodes, still decorate the long-captured city.” “The street of the knights is uninjured,” writes Marshal Marmont, “and the door of each house is still ornamented with the escutcheon of the last inhabitant. The buildings have been spared, but are unoccupied; and we could almost fancy ourselves surrounded by the shades of departed heroes. The arms of France, the noble _fleurs-de-lis_, are seen in all directions. I observed those of the Clermont Tennerres, and of other ancient and illustrious families.” (Creasy, vol. i. p. 263.) “The Turks,” says Taaffe, “never destroyed so much of Rhodes as the French during their first days at Malta, pulling down all the statues of renowned heroes, and chiselling out the coats-of-arms every where, even over the palace.” Vol. iv. p. 217.

[23] Fontanus, cited by Taaffe.

[24] In the end there seem to have been 200,000 Turks, including pioneers, collected in Rhodes.

[25] Some of these enormous balls are still found from time to time in front of the walls and within the fortress; proof positive of the truth of the assertion made by historians. The Turks also used shells for the first time in this siege. (Von Hammer.)

[26] “Le grand maistre repoussa l’ennemi _en personne_, la toste baissée, et la pique en main.” (Goussancourt.)

[27] Mustapha was recalled the next year at the earnest representations of his wife, the sultan’s sister, and restored to the imperial favour. The end of Achmet was, that, being deprived of his office of grand vizier and sent to Egypt, he excited the Mamelukes to revolt, and was defeated and killed. He had even entered into correspondence with L’Isle Adam, and made proposals for restoring Rhodes to the order.

[28] Fontanus declares that the sultan gave the grand master his right hand, and even raised the imperial diadem a little from his head in saluting him; a ceremony never used by Ottoman sovereigns even towards Mahometan kings. “It is but justice to say,” adds Boisgelin, “that his troops, belonging to a nation of all others most adverse to the arts, would have thought the splendour of their victory tarnished had they possessed themselves of the arms and escutcheons of the knights, which (as was mentioned in a previous note) they permitted to remain uninjured.” The archives and the relics were also faithfully preserved, and given up to the Knights, who carried with them at the same time their beloved image of our Lady of Philermos.

[29] He had hoped to escape from the island in disguise, in the company of the Knights; but had been detected by the sultan’s spies.

[30] “In adversity our only hope.”

[31] “Les Chevaliers, selon leur ancienne instruction, pansoient et servoient les malades, mesme le grand maistre: ce qui fit admirer toute la ville de Messine, et les autres villes où les Chevaliers ont demeurés.” (Goussancourt.)

[32] Lord Carlisle, in his _Diary in Turkish and Greek Waters_, speaking of the present relative condition of Rhodes and Malta, says, “I have qualified myself for adjudging that, in most respects, the tables are now turned between the two islands; and they certainly afford a very decisive criterion of the results of Turkish and Christian dominion.”

[33] A few weeks before their removal, in the spring of 1527, the Imperialists, who were marching to the sack of Rome under the Constable Bourbon, spared Viterbo, out of respect, it is said, for the grand master; although they plundered the neighbouring town, ill treated the inhabitants, burned down the churches, and committed excesses rivalling in atrocity those of the Turks themselves.

[34] Some account of these English martyrs may not be here out of place. The first knight who suffered death in England for the faith was Adrian Fortescue, beheaded on the 8th of July 1539. After him followed two others, Ingley and Adrian Forrest, “who,” says Goussancourt, “being called on to recognise the king as head of the Church and to approve of his ordinances, chose, rather, courageously to suffer death than to live in delicacy, having made shipwreck of the faith. Thus they gave their lives as gloriously at home as they could ever have done in combat.” Henry offered Sir William Weston, Lord Prior of England (the priors sat in parliament on an equality with the first barons of the realm), a pension of 1000_l_. a-year; but that knight was so overwhelmed with grief at the suppression of his order that he never received a penny, but soon after died, and was buried in the chancel of the old church of St. James, Clerkenwell. Marmaduke Bohun, whom Goussancourt calls “the blessed,” was beheaded under Queen Elizabeth in 1585. Many others died in prison, in the same reign, from the horrible sufferings endured in their confinement; among whom we find the names of Sir Thomas Mytton and Sir Edward Waldegrave.

[35] “Here lies Virtue victorious over Fortune.”

[36] It was arranged by a secret treaty between Ferdinand and Zapolya that the latter should retain the crown till his death, when the whole of the kingdom should revert to Austria, Zapolya’s son retaining only his hereditary dignity of countship of Zips. But at Zapolya’s death his widow asserted the rights of her son as king of Hungary, and called in the sultan to her aid. Solyman turned the country into a Turkish province, professing all the time to be merely holding it until the child had attained his majority. War with Austria continued for many years, until, in 1547, a truce for five years was concluded, which left the sultan in possession of nearly the whole of Hungary and Transylvania, and which bound Ferdinand to the humiliating condition of paying a tribute of 30,000 ducats a-year. Hostilities were resumed on the very day the armistice expired.

[37] Von Hammer, as cited in _Two Sieges of Vienna_ (Murray).

[38] Khaireddin, better known in Europe by his surname of Barbarossa, was a native of Mitylene, and with his brothers practised piracy in the reigns of Bajazet and Selim, the latter of whom he formally recognised as his sovereign. He seized the strong city of Algiers, desolated the coasts of Naples, and captured Tunis. Solyman took him into his service, and conferred upon him the highest naval dignity, making him his admiral, or kapitan pasha. In the great battle off Previsa, September 28th, 1538, he defeated the combined fleets of the Pope (Paul III.), the emperor, and the republic of Venice.

[39] At the taking of Tunis (July 21st, 1535) the Imperialists and liberated slaves committed such frightful excesses that Vertot says, it seemed as if Christians tried to rival and even to surpass the worst barbarians in cruelty and licentiousness. The details he gives are of the most revolting description. Tunis was retaken by the corsair Ouloudj Ali, in 1570, with the exception of the citadel, which was still held by the Spaniards. Don John of Austria retook it; but at the end of eighteen months it again fell into the power of the Turks, in whose possession it has since remained.

[40] European historians (_e. g._ Vertot) have confounded this place with the town of Africa, or Afrikiya. (Von Hammer.)

[41] Taaffe puts the number at 474 knights and 67 servants-at-arms, giving Bosio as his authority; but it does not appear that Bosio considered his list to be complete. His division according to countries is as follows:

Knights. Servants-at-arms. Provence 61 15 Auvergne 25 14 France 57 24 Italy 164 5 England 1 0 Germany 13 1 Castile 68 6 Arragon 85 2 --- -- 474 67

Prescott says that “the whole force which La Valette could muster in defence of the island amounted to about 9000 men. This included 700 knights, of whom about 600 had already arrived. The remainder were on their way, and joined him at a later period of the siege. Between 3000 and 4000 were Maltese, irregularly trained, but who had already gained some experience of war in their contests with the Barbary coasts. The rest of the army, with the exception of 500 galley-slaves and the personal followers of the knights, was made up of levies from Spain and Italy.” _History of the Reign of Philip II._, book iv. chap. 3.

These volumes, which have appeared since the present sketch was written, contain a detailed and very animated description of this memorable siege.

[42] This Turkish corsair (commonly called Ochiali) made himself famous in the succeeding reign. We shall meet with him again in the battle of Lepanto.

[43] Piali was by birth a Croatian. On the 14th of May 1560 he had defeated and almost annihilated the combined Christian fleet commanded by the Genoese Doria, the favourite admiral of Charles V. The battle took place off the island of Djerbé.

[44] Goussancourt gives the names of thirteen as having been found still alive by the Turks. One—Lawrence de Bonlieu—before being fastened to the cross, was first _flayed_!

[45] Prescott says that the number of Christians who fell amounted to about 1500, of whom 123 were members of the order. The loss of the infidels he estimates at 8000.

[46] Von Hammer says that both Turks and Christians declared that at the last assault they suddenly beheld upon the ramparts a lady and two men whom they had never seen before; that the Christians devoutly believed that it was the Blessed Virgin herself, accompanied by St. Paul and St. John Baptist, the patron of the order, and were animated in consequence to perform prodigies of valour; while the infidels, on the other hand, were seized with consternation.

[47] The last knight who fell was Giovanni Malespina, and his death happened under curious circumstances. He was standing at the bastion of Castile, from whence he watched the embarkation of the Turks, and, full of joy and thankfulness, sang aloud the _Te Deum_. Whilst doing so, a chance shot struck him to the ground, but without interrupting his devotions; and he expired as he pronounced the words, “_In te, Domine, speravi_.”

[48] Taaffe. It was, however, the custom at that time to give every city an _epithet_ as well as a name. That chosen by the grand master was intended to express the modesty of an order whose only pride was to be in the Cross of Christ: it was “_Humilissima_.”

[49] At the dispersion of the Knights, upon the occupation of Malta by the French, some took refuge in Russia; where, in the year 1801, a council met to deliberate on the election of a grand master. It was resolved that, as the elements of a general chapter could not be assembled at St. Petersburg, the different grand priors should be invited to convene their chapters for the purpose of forming lists of such knights as were worthy of succeeding to the sovereign dignity. These lists the council proposed afterwards to submit to the Pope, for him to choose a grand master out of them. Accordingly (Feb. 9, 1805) his Holiness Pius VII. nominated Tommasi, an Italian knight, grand master. In 1814 the French knights taking heart at the humiliation of their arch-enemy Napoleon, assembled at Paris in a general chapter, under the presidency of the prince Camille de Rohan, grand prior of Aquitaine, for the election of a permanent capitulary commission. Under the direction of this commission a formal but fruitless application was made to the congress of Vienna for a grant of some sovereign independency, in lieu of that of which the order had been so wrongfully despoiled. In 1823, when the Greek cause began to wear a prosperous aspect, the same chapter entered into a treaty with the Greeks for the cession of Sapienza and Cabressa, two islets on the western shore of the Morea, as a preliminary step to the re-conquest of Rhodes; to facilitate which arrangement an endeavour was made to raise a loan of 640,000_l._ in England, but the attempt failed. The council of the order is now established at Rome, and presided over by the Venerable Balio di Colloredo, lieutenant of the grand-mastership. A novitiate and hospital of the order are about to be erected at Jerusalem, under the sanction of the Holy See. His Holiness Pius IX. has approved a plan for the extension of the order, and for a more strict observance of its rule. The English _langue_, or language of the order, no longer exists, though there are several English knights. The crowns of Spain, Russia, and Prussia give the cross of St. John as a decoration; but those knights are not members of the order, which is sovereign, and not subject to any temporal prince, and is accordingly styled the Sovereign, Military, and Religious Order of St. John of Jerusalem. The eight-cornered cross represents the eight beatitudes; and it is not a mere decoration, but the badge of a Catholic religious order.

[50] Known in history as “Selim the Sot.” It is said he was instigated to the conquest of the island by a Jew, his boon companion, who represented to him how easily he could make himself master of the soil on which grew the grapes which produced his favourite wine.

[51] For a short but spirited account of this heroic defence and its fatal catastrophe the reader is referred to _The Four Martyrs_, by M. Rio.

[52] On one of the last days of the siege he was struck by a ball and killed, while praying in the garden of his palace.

[53] “Lord, into Thy hands I commend my spirit.”

[54] “Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.”

[55] It was afterwards stolen by a Christian slave and taken to Venice, where it was deposited in an urn in the church of St. John and St. Paul; the martyr’s bones were also carefully collected, and buried in the church of St. Gregory.

[56] Dr. Newman thus describes the effects of Turkish domination: “As to Cyprus, from holding a million of inhabitants, it now has only 30,000. Its climate was that of a perpetual spring, now it is unwholesome and unpleasant; its cities and towns nearly touched each other, now they are simply ruins. Corn, wine, oil, sugar, and the metals are among its productions; the soil is still exceedingly rich; but now, according to Dr. Clarke, ‘in that paradise of the Levant, agriculture is neglected, the inhabitants are oppressed, population is destroyed.’” _The Turks_, p. 149.

[57] Nephew of the great admiral of the emperor Charles V.

[58] In 1587, when the armada was in preparation, Queen Elizabeth tried to draw Sultan Amurath III. into an alliance with her against Philip and the Pope. Von Hammer gives the letters written on the occasion. With characteristic astuteness she appealed to the religious sympathies of the Turk, making common cause with him as the “destroyer of idolatry,” and declaring that together they could “strike down the proud Spaniard and the lying Pope with all their adherents.” Such were the representations made by the English envoy as to the religious belief of his queen and nation, that one of the Turkish ministers remarked to the Austrian ambassador, that “nothing more was wanted to turn the English into good Mussulmans than that they should lift a finger and recite the Eshdad” (or creed of Mahomet).

[59] Von Hammer makes the Turkish fleet consist of 240 galleys and 60 vessels of smaller size, just 300 in all. His account of the Christian fleet is as follows: 70 Spanish galleys, 6 Maltese, 3 Savoy, 12 Papal, 108 Venetian; in all 199 galleys, to which he adds 6 huge galeasses contributed by Venice; making the sum-total 205 vessels.

[60] Vertot. Von Hammer, as has been said, mentions six.

[61] Von Hammer says that Ouloudj Ali struck off Giustiniani’s head with his own hand. Contarini, on the contrary, writes that he was “so badly wounded that he was all but killed.”

[62] _All_ the members of the order did not live in community; some were scattered about, and were liable to be called in, in case of emergencies—_e. g._ we find several Knights of St. John among the early governors and settlers of Canada.

[63] “A trifling price to pay (he says in the Preface to the second part of _Don Quixote_) for the honour of partaking in the first great action in which the naval supremacy of the Ottoman was successfully disputed by Christian arms.”

[64] Von Hammer says fifteen; and that the Turks lost 224 vessels, of which 94 were burnt or shattered on the coast; the rest were divided among the allies. But this calculation leaves 36 vessels unaccounted for, after reckoning the 40 which Ouloudj Ali succeeded in saving. The number of prisoners he estimates at 3468.

[65] Sutherland, vol. ii. p. 244.

[66] Cervantes calls it “that day so fortunate to Christendom, when all nations were undeceived of their error in believing the Turks to be invincible at sea.” _Don Quixote._

[67] It was calculated by contemporary writers of credit that, in this very expedition, the Turks carried off into slavery from Austria 6000 men, 11,000 women, 19,000 girls—of whom 200 were of noble extraction—and 56,000 children.

[68] Two Sieges of Vienna, pp. 95-98.

[69] Kolschitzki was rewarded for his extraordinary services during the siege by a permission to set up the first coffee-house in Vienna; and “to this day,” says the authority from whom we have taken the above, “the head of the corporation of coffee-providers is bound to have in his house a portrait of this patriarch of his profession.” It was in consequence of the enormous stores of coffee found in the abandoned camp of the Turks, after the raising of the siege, that it became from that day the favourite drink of the Viennese.

[70] The fate of Kara Mustapha, the leader of the Ottoman forces, although one of common occurrence in the history of oriental despotism, has enough of singularity in it to demand a notice. When tidings first reached the sultan that all was not advancing as prosperously before the walls of Vienna as his proud confidence had decreed, his fury was such, that he was hardly restrained from ordering a general massacre of all the Christians in his dominions; but to this succeeded a fit of sullen gloom, from which he was not roused even by the news of the vizier’s defeat and flight. He seemed, however, to accept the interpretation which the commander’s despatches put upon his conduct, sent him the usual marks of honour, and, to all appearance, regarded him with his wonted favour. But his rage did not so much slumber as coil and gather itself up, to spring with the more fatal suddenness on its prey. After the unsuccessful issue of the Hungarian campaign, with the silence and celerity which not inaptly represent the dread resistless force of that fate to which the haughtiest follower of the false prophet bows without a murmur, an officer of the court is sent to fetch the vizier’s head. The affair is conducted with all due solemnity; not a point of ceremonious etiquette is omitted. The messengers reverently announce their mission, and present their credentials, which are as formally acknowledged. The carpet is spread; the vizier gravely says his prayers; then yields with calm dignity his neck to the bowstring; and in a few moments the commander of 200,000 men lies a hideous trunk on the floor of his pavilion. His head is taken to Adrianople, and thence is sent by the sultan to Belgrade, to be deposited in a mosque; but its fortunes ended not there. Ere long the latter place is captured (1688) by the Christians; the mosque once more becomes a Christian Church, and is given to the Jesuit fathers: and the unholy relic is despatched by them to the good bishop Kollonitsch. Strange reversal of the vow which the proud infidel had made, when he swore that he would send the head of the brave prelate on a lance’s point to the sultan his master, for daring to stay even the ravages of the plague, that was playing the part of an ally to the besieging Moslem! The skull of the vizier was presented by the bishop to the arsenal of Vienna, where, for aught we know, it still remains.

[71] Kollonitsch, who, at the siege of Crete, had so valorously defended the Christian faith, at that of Vienna showed himself the benefactor of mankind, a second Vincent de Paul. _Von Hammer._

[72] The king, it has been observed, does not mention in this letter the reply he made to the emperor’s cold and formal thanks: “I am glad, sire, to have done you this little service.”

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE

The page numbering has two gaps; page numbers 196 and 197 are absent; and page numbers 236, 237 and 238 are absent. No text is missing, but those page numbers have been skipped by the printer.

Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within the text and consultation of external sources.

Some hyphens in words have been silently removed, some added, when a predominant preference was found in the original book.

Except for those changes noted below, all misspellings in the text, and inconsistent or archaic usage, have been retained.

Pg 14: ‘and deefnded by’ replaced by ‘and defended by’. Pg 14: ‘orders o the sultan’ replaced by ‘orders of the sultan’. Pg 28: ‘neighbouring inslands’ replaced by ‘neighbouring islands’. Pg 61: ‘the beseigers made’ replaced by ‘the besiegers made’. Pg 76: ‘wide deep tch’ replaced by ‘wide deep ditch’. Pg 76: ‘could e made’ replaced by ‘could be made’. Pg 76: ‘unwelcome visito into’ replaced by ‘unwelcome visitors into’. Pg 77: ‘an: the knights’ replaced by ‘and the knights’. Pg 83: ‘Geneose nobles’ replaced by ‘Genoese nobles’. Pg 83: ‘flight o steps’ replaced by ‘flight of steps’. Pg 83: ‘cimeter in hand’ replaced by ‘scimitar in hand’. Pg 83: ‘severe his head’ replaced by ‘severed his head’. Pg 96: ‘his successo was’ replaced by ‘his successor was’. Pg 130: ‘and most magnificient’ replaced by ‘and most magnificent’. Pg 192: ‘was laid a the’ replaced by ‘was laid at the’. Pg 214: ‘various squadrous’ replaced by ‘various squadrons’. Pg 227: ‘unabated co rage’ replaced by ‘unabated courage’. Pg 227: ‘a third cha ge’ replaced by ‘a third charge’. Pg 231: ‘witnessed heir’ replaced by ‘witnessed their’. Pg 246: ‘on the threshhold’ replaced by ‘on the threshold’. Pg 257: ‘Turkish scymitar is’ replaced by ‘Turkish scimitar is’. Pg 277: ‘his own scymetar’ replaced by ‘his own scimitar’.

Footnote 6: ‘seige of Raco’ replaced by ‘siege of Raco’. Footnote 15: ‘of er best’ replaced by ‘of her best’. Footnote 15: ‘were pplied to’ replaced by ‘were supplied to’. Footnote 47: ‘thankfulness, [unclear]’ replaced by ‘thankfulness, sang’.