September 13.
At sunrise of the 13th the Viennese rushed forth in crowds to taste the
first sweets of their liberation from a two months’ imprisonment. The
only gate yet open, the Stuben, was soon clogged with the multitude,
and the greater number clambered over the rubbish of the breaches,
eager to gratify in the Turkish camp their curiosity, or their
rapacity, or both. With respect to the more transportable articles of
value, the Pole had been before them; but in the article of provisions
there was yet much for hungry men to glean. Prices rapidly fell, and
superfluity succeeded to starvation.
Among those who sought the camp with other purposes than plunder
or curiosity, was the good Bishop Kollonitsch. His inexhaustible
benevolence found employment there in collecting and saving some 500
infants, whose mothers, many of them, as is supposed, Turkish women,
had perished by the swords of their ruthless masters. The King mentions
one instance of a beautiful child whom he saw lying with its skull
cloven; but in general even Turkish inhumanity had shrunk from the
task of child-murder. These, with many half-murdered mothers and some
Christian adult survivors of the massacre, the Bishop transported to
the city in carriages, at his own cost, and took measures for the
future support and education of the infants thus rescued. Popes may
spare themselves the trouble of the forms, the ceremonies, and the
intrigues necessary for adding such names as that of Kollonitsch to the
list of saints in the Romish calendar: the recital of these actions
puts the Devil’s advocate out of court, and the simple record, though
traced by a Protestant pen, is their best canonization. Another worthy
member of the church, the Father Aviano, had recently performed a
service for which the Duke of Lorraine and the army had doubtless
reason to thank him. As confessor to the Emperor he had used his
influence to prevent the latter from embarrassing the army with his
presence at Crems, and distracting men and officers from their duty by
the etiquettes and ceremonies which that presence would have inflicted,
and the intrigues which it would have fostered. On the news, however,
of the victory, the Emperor had dropped down the river as far as
Durrenstein, and thither the Duke of Lorraine despatched the Count
Auersperg with the details of the late occurrences. At ten A. M. of
the 13th, the Commandant Stahremberg issued forth from the walls he
had so stoutly defended to visit the camp and exchange congratulations
with the leaders of the liberating army. On this morning, too, the Duke
of Lorraine and the Elector of Saxony met with the King of Poland for
the first time since the mass of the Kahlenberg. The meeting between
all these worthies had every appearance, in the first instance, of
cordiality. They perambulated the camp and the approaches together amid
the acclamations of the troops; but when they entered the town, the
King had the shrewdness soon to perceive that, though the gratitude of
the people was as warm as the cordial and kindly nature of the Viennese
could make it, its full expression was checked by authority. In two
churches which he entered the people pressed to kiss his hand; but when
a few voices uttered the _vivat_, which had evidently been forbidden by
the police, he recognised at once in the clouded mien of the Austrian
authorities that jealousy and ingratitude which proved afterwards the
only guerdon of his vast services. At an angle of the wall between the
Burg and Scottish gates, the King, wearied by the heat of the day,
rested for awhile; a stone, with his name inscribed, marked the spot
till the year 1809, when the French engineers blew up the rampart.
In one of the above-mentioned churches, that of the Augustines, a
grand _Te Deum_ was sung. The Abbé Coyer remarks that the magistracy
were absent from this ceremony, which perhaps explains a passage in
a letter of the King, in which he says:—“I perceive that Stahremberg
is not on a good understanding with the magistrates of the city.” The
sermon was preached from the famous text—“There was a man sent from
God, and his name was John”—a happy plagiarism from the quotation of
Scripture by Pope Pius V. on the occasion of the victory of Lepanto.
The service concluded, 300 cannon shots from the ramparts spread wide
the intelligence of the relief of the city—no superfluous announcement;
for in Wiener Neustadt and other places the trembling inhabitants had
drawn a contrary conclusion from the sudden cessation of the firing,
and thought the city lost. The King, after dining with the commandant,
only delayed his departure to hold a long discourse with a man of much
accomplishment, the court interpreter, Meninski, whose conversation had
probably more charms for him than that of the dull notabilities by whom
he was surrounded. He was himself a good linguist, and a proficient in
the Turkish language. This over, he hastened to quit the scene of cold
civilities for the camp. He was escorted to the gates by the populace.
It may be mentioned that during the dinner an alarm was raised that the
Turks had rallied, and were advancing. The King desired his officers
present to leave the feast and mount, and was doubtless preparing to
follow, when they returned with assurance of the falsehood of the
report. This circumstance is mentioned in a very simple and detailed
diary of the siege by the Doctor of Laws, Nicholas Hocke, one of the
most curious of the many contemporary publications. The electors of
Saxony and Bavaria appear to have been exempt from any share of the
feeling of jealousy manifested by Austria. Both in the first hour of
enthusiasm offered to accompany the King to the end of the world. The
former indeed soon found his appetite for a Hungarian campaign subside,
and shortly withdrew with his army to his electoral dominions. The
younger Bavarian thought fit to pass a longer apprenticeship under
so great a master in the art of war. The Duke of Lorraine had little
exercise of his own discretion; he knew too well by what tenure the
command of the army of Austria was held to do otherwise than reflect
the livid colour of the spirit in which the hereditary sovereign of the
House of Hapsburg contemplated the elective King of Poland. The King’s
letters are full of complaints of the unworthy treatment which he daily
received from the Duke and his subordinates; but we may charitably
ascribe such mean conduct on the part of so great a commander to
influence from above. In an early letter the King describes him by
report as speaking little, and timidly, from the constant dread of
infringing on the instructions of the court. Some jealous feeling was
doubtless excited, and might be excused by the fact that the chances
of battle had given the Polish sovereign and his army prior and
exclusive possession of the spoils.
The King, immediately on his return to his quarters, directed a removal
of them in advance. Some of his cavalry indeed were already on the
track of the enemy, killing and taking prisoners in great numbers.
There were cogent reasons, both political as well as military, for his
removing himself as soon as possible from the immediate neighbourhood
of Vienna. The heat of the autumnal season had made the camp and
its environs one vast charnel, swarming with flies and vermin. This
circumstance had caused the Duke of Lorraine to transfer his quarters
from Ebersdorf to Mansdorf, and would alone have induced the King
to follow such example. He was however also aware that his presence
at Vienna was an obstacle to the expected entrance of the Emperor,
who shrunk from any public acknowledgment of the services which had
saved his crown from danger and his capital from destruction, at
the expense of the most trifling infringement of etiquette, or the
momentary concession of a point of which he was peculiarly tenacious.
The practice, as regarded the reception of crowned heads in general,
offered no difficulty. It was not derogatory to the Imperial dignity in
French phraseology to give them the right; but the claim of an elective
monarch to this distinction had always been disputed by Austria. “Je
suis fort aise,” writes the King, “d’éviter toutes ces cérémonies.”
He moved to the neighbourhood of Schwechat in the first instance.
He writes on the 17th from Schonau, some fifteen miles from Vienna,
on the road to Presburg, describing the interview which, after the
removal of difficulties, did take place with the Emperor. The latter,
having ascertained the departure of the King, landed at Nussdorf on
the 19th, where he was received by the princes and other commanders
of the German troops. After inspecting the camp and defences, he
attended a solemn thanksgiving in the cathedral, at which the bishop
Kollonitsch presided, and reviewed and thanked the burgher guard and
free companies, &c. who lined the streets. On the 15th he reviewed the
Bavarian forces near St. Marx, and afterwards took heart of grace and
accomplished the dreaded interview with the King at Schwechat. That
it ever took place at all was due, however, to the straightforward
proceeding of the King, who, finding himself put off with excuses of
the clumsiest manufacture, asked the courtier Schafgotsch the plain
question whether the ceremonial of the right hand was or was not the
cause of the delay. He extorted for once the plain answer, Yes, and
gravely proposed an expedient for obviating the difficulty, which was,
that the two sovereigns should meet face to face on horseback, and
remain in that position, at the head the one of his army, the other of
his suite; the one attended by his son, the other, as the head of the
Empire, by the Electors. This happy expedient was accepted, and the
interview took place.
The King’s own account of this singular interview is doubtless more
to be depended upon than the numerous Austrian relations, which extol
the condescension and cordiality of the Emperor. “Of the Electors,
the Emperor was only accompanied by the Bavarian. Saxony had already
quitted him. He had in his suite some fifty horsemen, employés, and
ministers of his court. He was preceded by trumpets, and followed by
body guards and ten foot attendants. I will not draw you a portrait
of the Emperor, for he is well known. He was mounted on a Spanish bay
horse. He wore an embroidered _juste au corps_, a French hat, with an
agrafe and red and white plumes; a belt mounted with sapphires and
diamonds; a sword the same. I made him my compliments in Latin, and in
few words.[17] He answered in prepared phrases in the same language.
Being thus facing each other, I presented to him my son, who advanced
and saluted him. The Emperor did not even put his hand to his hat.
I remained like one terrified. He used the same behaviour towards
the senators and Hetmans, and even towards his connexion the prince
palatine of Belz.[18] To avoid scandal and public remarks, I addressed
a few more words to the Emperor, after which I turned my horse round;
we saluted, and I retook the route for my camp. The Palatine of
Russia[19] showed my army to the Emperor, at his desire; but our people
have been much provoked, and complain loudly that the Emperor did
not deign to thank them, even with his hat, for all their pains and
privations. Since this separation, every thing has suddenly changed;
it is as if they knew us no longer. They give us neither forage nor
provisions. The Pope had sent money for these to the Abbé Buonvisi, but
he is stopped at Lintz.”
The King does not mention the words of his reply to the Emperor’s
harangue, “I am glad, Sire, to have rendered you this small service.”
The Emperor is said two days afterwards to have sent, with a present of
a sword for Prince James, a clumsy apology for the silence and coldness
of his demeanour.
We cannot certainly judge of passages like these by the standard
of our present modes of European thought and action. There may be
circumstances under which these apparent air-bubbles become ponderable
realities. In dealing, for instance, with the Emperor of China, the
slightest abandonment of a point of etiquette might involve the most
serious consequences, and the concession of a diplomatist could perhaps
only be retrieved by the guns of an admiral. At the worst we might
smile at the pedantic tenacity of the courts of Vienna or Versailles
of the seventeenth century on points of ceremonial and precedence, but
no such considerations can temper the indignation which the perusal
of Sobieski’s letters excites, at the practical and substantial
ingratitude and neglect he experienced at the hands of Austria from the
moment that his services ceased to be indispensable. That some quarrels
and jealousies should arise from the juxtaposition of the Sclavonic
and Teutonic elements was perhaps inevitable. To be cheated, starved,
and neglected, is usually the lot of armies serving in the territory
of an ally whom they cannot openly coerce and pillage; but the Polish
sovereign had to endure more than this. His sick were denied boats to
remove them down the river from the pestilential atmosphere of the
camp; his dead, even the officers, were denied burial in the public
cemeteries. The starving soldier who approached the town in search
of provisions was threatened to be fired upon. The baggage, including
that of the King, was pillaged—the horses of stragglers on their road
to rejoin the army carried off by force—men on guard over the guns they
had taken, robbed of their effects; and every complaint treated with
cold neglect and every requisition dismissed almost without an answer.
The royal tents, which before the battle, though, as the King observes,
spacious enough, could not contain the throng of distinguished
visitors, were now deserted, and the demeanour of the Duke of Lorraine
himself and every other Austrian authority, showed that this treatment
was deliberate and systematic. It may have been some satisfaction to
Sobieski, it almost becomes one to his admirers now, to find that the
Austrian government was impartial in its ingratitude, and exercised
on others, besides the Poles, its singular talent for disgusting and
offending those who had done it service. The Elector of Saxony, as we
have seen, lost no time in withdrawing his person and his troops. The
father Aviano departed for Italy, disgusted with the intrigues of the
court and the licence of the camp. The Duke of Saxe Lauenburg retired,
offended by the only instance in which the Emperor appears to have
shown a creditable sense of his obligations. The hero of the defence,
Count Stahremberg, was justly rewarded with 100,000 crowns, the golden
fleece, and the rank of field-marshal. The Duke of Saxe Lauenburg, who
had held high command in the late action, considered himself ill-used
by this promotion over his head of an officer inferior to himself, as
also to Caprara and to Leslie, in length of service. Lastly, the Duke
of Lorraine himself had as little reason as any one to be satisfied.
The King writes of him later, more in pity than in anger, “the poor
devil has neither any of the spoils of war, nor any gratification
from the Emperor.” We have indeed met with no instance but that of
Stahremberg in which any signal mark of favour or munificence was
bestowed on any party conspicuous in the late transactions. Gold
medals and nominations to the dignity of state counsellor were indeed
awarded to many of the city officials. The young volunteer, Eugene,
was attached to the service for which he had quitted that of France by
his nomination to the Colonelcy of a regiment of dragoons which still
bears his name; but this promotion only took place in December, and was
rather a retaining fee to a young man of high rank and promise than a
reward for positive service. Kollonitsch received a cardinal’s hat from
the Pope; and Daun, Sereni, and other distinguished officers, obtained
from the liberality of the city rewards in plate and money, more
commensurate with the exhausted state of the municipal exchequer than
with the value of their services; the sums varying from 400 rix-dollars
to 100 florins.
The state of affairs above described affords some reason for surprise,
that the King should have persevered any further in his co-operation
with the Imperial troops. He was as free to depart as the Emperor of
Saxony. The Abbé Coyer supposes that he still entertained hopes of
procuring a bride for his son in the person of an Austrian Archduchess,
and, as a consequence of such a connexion, the establishment of his
descendants on an hereditary throne in Poland. The treatment, however,
which he experienced at the hands of Austria could have left him little
reliance on such expectations, and his letters to the Queen indicate a
higher motive for his perseverance, in a sense of the obligation of the
oath by which he had bound himself to the assistance of the Emperor.
This, and his appetite for military success, are sufficient to account
for his endurance. The Emperor, on the other hand, if we may trust the
Abbé, would have heard of his departure for Warsaw with pleasure, being
advised of some Hungarian intrigues for raising up a rival to Tekeli
in the person of the young Prince James, and placing him on the throne
of Hungary. There is no evidence to show that Sobieski was influenced
by any ambition but that of serving the common cause of Christianity,
and adding to the military laurels which, in his case, almost hid
the crown. One satisfaction Sobieski allowed himself in writing an
autograph letter to the King of France, to whom, as the writer well
knew, the tidings it contained would be gall and wormwood. The King
also made over to the Elector of Bavaria some choice articles of the
Turkish plunder, in the hope that, through him, they might find their
way to the Dauphiness of France, and to the Tuileries. The following
Pasquinade of the time is neat and bitter enough to deserve insertion
here:—
TRIA MIRANDA!
Omnes Christiani arma sumunt contra Turcam,
Præter Christianissimum.
Omnes filii Ecclesiæ bellum contra Turcam parant,
Præter Primogenitum.
Omnia animalia laudant Deum ob partam de Turcis victoriam,
Præter Gallum.
The endeavours which Louis XIV. had made to detach, at all risks
to Christendom, the King of Poland from the Austrian alliance, and
the satisfaction with which he had viewed the critical position of
the Austrian capital, were no secret. It is true that, to preserve
appearances, he had raised the siege of Luxemburg and forborne an
invasion of the Spanish Netherlands on pretence of setting free
the King of Spain to assist his Austrian relations. These devices,
however, deceived no one, and it was generally believed that it was
his intention, after the humiliation of Austria should have been
accomplished, to come forward at the head of the large force he was
collecting on the Rhine as the saviour of Christendom.
A sovereign more deeply concerned in the issue than Louis, the
Sultan, was perhaps the better prepared of the two for the reception
of the unwelcome tidings of the relief of Vienna. The report of the
confidential emissary despatched by him to the camp had been so
unfavourable as to dissipate at once the expectation of success which
no one down to that period had dared to represent as doubtful. Every
preparation indeed had been made at Constantinople for a general
illumination, and effigies of the Pope and of the principal Christian
sovereigns had been prepared as materials for a bonfire. The report in
question raised the Sultan to such a pitch of fury, that it required
the influence of the Mufti to restrain him from directing a general
massacre of all the Christians in his dominions. It had, however, the
further effect of preparing him for the news of failure, and before it
reached Constantinople, his rage had subsided into a deep melancholy.
No sudden order for the destitution or death of Kara Mustapha betrayed
his indignation, and the Vizier continued for a while to exercise and
to abuse the powers with which he had been intrusted.
FOOTNOTES:
[17] The King was practised in this language, which he always used
in his addresses to the Polish diets. When the young Charles XII. of
Sweden opposed the usual resistance of boyhood to his Latin preceptor,
he was informed of this fact; and the example of the great soldier
proved an efficient substitute for flogging. Sobieski learned Spanish
at the age of fifty.
[18] Constantine Wisnowiecki, allied to the Imperial family by the
marriage of the king Michael with the Archduchess Eleanor.
[19] The appellation of Russia was at this period applied to the
province of Gallicia. The territories of the Tzar, which have since
assumed it, came under the general designation of Muscovy.