cries, exclaiming that it was all over with him, he was as good as
dead, and all his bones were broken.
De Sandé, when he heard the story, was both vexed and amused. He
was unaffected by the doctor’s exclamations, thinking he was more
frightened than hurt. But he was tormented by a terrible anxiety,
fearing that he would be recalled to Constantinople, and could not
be persuaded that there was not some treachery at the bottom of the
affair. The Pashas, he thought, had sought an opportunity of pretending
to do me a favour, and would soon show their real intentions, and find
an excuse for dragging him back to Constantinople, where he must lie
rotting in a filthy jail to the end of his days. He was therefore much
vexed at the behaviour of my servant, who, instead of expressing any
sorrow at the severe wound he had inflicted on the Janissary, swore
that he was exceedingly sorry to hear he was still alive. Accordingly,
he addressed him as follows, ‘My good Henry (for that was his name),
I beg you to control your anger. This is no place for displaying your
courage or avenging your wrongs; in our present situation it is no mark
of cowardice to pocket an affront. Whether we will or no, we are in
their power. Pray, remember how much mischief this ill-timed passion
of yours may bring on us; we may in consequence be all brought back to
Constantinople, and everything that has been done may be undone, or
at any rate, unsettled, the result of which will be fresh worries and
endless trouble. I beg you another time, if you have no regard for your
own safety, for my sake at any rate, to control yourself more.’
But his remonstrances fell on deaf ears. Henry was a man of obstinate
disposition, and when angered, most unreasonable. ‘What would it have
mattered to me,’ he answered, ‘even if I had killed him? Had he not
resolved to murder me? if but one of all the blows he aimed at my
head had reached me, he had butchered me like a sheep. The idea of my
being guilty for slaying a man, who was endeavouring to kill me! I am
desperately sorry for one thing, and that is, that I do not feel quite
sure that he will not recover from my blow.’ Then he swore he would
spare no Turk, who wanted to wound him, but would, at all hazards, do
his best to kill him. De Sandé did not approve of these sentiments.
The Janissary, having received the wound I mentioned, made it out to
be worse than it was. Two Jews, who were acquainted with the Spanish
tongue, came to me, saying that the Janissary was in great danger; I
must give him some compensation, or else I should hear more of it; much
trouble was in store for me on this account. I replied as I thought
politic.
But as I knew the Turkish habit of bringing false accusations, I
considered it better to be beforehand with them. I immediately asked
Ibrahim, through a servant, to lend me one of his suite, to escort one
of my men to Constantinople, saying that the case was urgent. Ibrahim
wondered what the reason could be, and came to me at once. I said that
I must ask Ali Pasha to have more trustworthy precautions taken for my
safety on the journey, otherwise I could not feel confident of reaching
the borders of my country uninjured, as two of my suite had been
within an inch of being murdered. I then told him what had happened.
Ibrahim understood how closely the affair concerned himself, and
asked me to have the patience to wait a few moments, and immediately
went across the road to the Janissary, whom he found in bed. He rated
him soundly for behaving in such a way to my people; saying ‘we were
returning, after peace had been concluded, in high favour with Solyman
and all the Pashas. None of my requests had been denied me, and many
concessions had been made unasked; he himself had been attached to me
as my companion on the journey to take care that proper respect was
paid to me everywhere. The Janissary had been the first person found
to do us any injury, and that I wished to send to Constantinople to
complain about it. If this were done, the Janissary well knew what the
consequences would be.’
By this speech not only was the Janissary’s comb cut, but it was now
his turn to be frightened.
On the following day we pursued our journey towards Buda, the doctor
being as nimble as before in spite of his terrible bruises. When we
were just in sight of Buda, by order of the Pasha some of his household
came to meet us, along with several cavasses; a crowd of young men on
horseback formed the most remarkable part of our escort on account of
the strangeness of their attire, which was as follows. They had cut
a long line in the skin of their bare heads, which were for the most
part shaved, and inserted in the wound an assortment of feathers;
though dripping with blood they concealed the pain and assumed a gay
and cheerful bearing, as if they felt it not. Close before me were some
of them on foot, one of whom walked with his bare arms a-kimbo, both
of which he had pierced above the elbow with a Prague knife. Another,
who went naked to the waist, had stuck a bludgeon in two slits he had
made in his skin above and below his loins, whence it hung as if from
a girdle. A third had fixed a horse’s hoof with several nails on the
top of his head. But that was old, as the nails had so grown into the
flesh, that they were quite immovable.
With this escort we entered Buda, and were conducted to the Pasha, who
conversed with me for some time about the observance of the truce,
with de Sandé standing by. The company of young men, who showed such
strange proofs of their indifference to pain, took up a position
inside the threshold of the court-yard, and when I happened to look in
that direction, the Pasha asked me what I thought of them. ‘Capital
fellows,’ I replied, ‘save that they treat their skin in a way that I
should not like to treat my clothes!’ The Pasha laughed and dismissed
us.
On the next day we came to Gran, and proceeded from there to Komorn,
which is the first fortress of his Imperial Majesty, and stands on the
river Waag. On either bank of the river the garrison of the place with
the naval auxiliaries, who are there called Nassadistas, was awaiting
us. Before I crossed, de Sandé embraced me and thanked me once more for
the recovery of his freedom, disclosing at the same time the anxiety he
had so long kept a secret. He told me frankly, that up to this time he
had been under the belief that the Turks could not be acting in good
faith in the business, and therefore had been in perpetual fear that he
would have to go back to Constantinople, and end his days in a dungeon.
Now at last he felt that he was not to be cheated of the liberty he
owed me, for which he would be under the deepest obligations to me to
his last breath.[266]
A few days afterwards we reached Vienna. At that time the Emperor
Ferdinand was at the Diet of the Empire with his son Maximilian, whose
election as King of the Romans was then proceeding. I informed the
Emperor of my return and of Ibrahim’s arrival, asking his pleasure
concerning him, for he was anxious to be conducted to Frankfort.
The Emperor at first replied, that he thought it more advisable that
the Turks should await his return at Vienna, deeming it impolitic that
men of so hostile a nation should be conducted all the way from Vienna
to Frankfort through the heart of the Empire.
But it was tedious to wait, and might have given the Turks many
grounds for suspicion, and there was no cause for alarm, if Ibrahim
with his suite should travel through the most flourishing part of the
Empire; on the contrary, it was desirable that he should thereby form a
just estimate of its strength and greatness, and, most of all, that he
should see at Frankfort how unanimous the chief princes of the Empire
were in electing Maximilian as his father’s successor.
When I had laid these arguments before the Emperor, he gave his consent
to Ibrahim and his attendants being conducted to Frankfort. So we set
out on our journey thither by Prague, Bamberg, and Wurzburg.
Ibrahim was unwilling to pass through Bohemia without paying his court
to the Archduke Ferdinand; but the Archduke did not think fit to give
him an audience, except incognito.
When I was only a few days’ journey from Frankfort, I decided to
precede the Turks by one or two days, that I might, before they
arrived, inform the Emperor about certain matters connected with my
embassy. I therefore took post, and arrived at Frankfort the eve of the
day, on which seven years before I had commenced my second journey from
Vienna to Constantinople. I was received by my most gracious Emperor
with a warmth and indulgence which was due not to my own poor merits,
but to the natural kindness of his character. You may imagine how much
I enjoyed, after so many years, seeing my Master not only alive and
well, but also in the utmost prosperity. He treated me in a manner
betokening his high satisfaction at the way in which I had discharged
the duties of the embassy, thanked me for my long services, expressed
his complete approval of the result of my negotiations, loaded me with
tokens of his esteem, and, in short, bestowed on me every possible mark
of favour.
On the day before the coronation (November 29, N.S.), Ibrahim arrived
at Frankfort very late in the evening, after the gates of the town had
been shut, which according to ancient custom are not allowed to be
opened the whole of the following day. But his Imperial Majesty gave
express orders that the gates should be opened for the Turks the next
day. A place was assigned them from which they could see the Emperor
elect passing, with the whole of the show and procession. It appeared
to them a grand and magnificent spectacle, as indeed it was. There
were pointed out, among the others who accompanied the Emperor to do
him honour, three Dukes, those of Saxony, Bavaria, and Juliers,[267]
each of whom could, from his own resources, put a regular army in the
field; and many other things were explained to them about the strength,
dignity, and grandeur of the Empire.
A few days afterwards Ibrahim had an audience of the Emperor, related
the reasons of his coming, and presented to him such gifts as are
considered the most honourable among the Turks. After the peace had
been ratified, the Emperor honoured him with magnificent presents, and
sent him back to Solyman.
I am still detained here by my private affairs, though longing to fly
from the court and return home. For, indeed, the life of a court is by
no means to my liking. Full well do I know its cares. Beneath its gaudy
show lurk endless miseries. In it deceit abounds, and sincerity is
rare. There is no court which is not haunted by envy, in which it is
not vain to seek for friendship that can be trusted, and in which there
is not cause to fear a change of favour and a sudden fall. For even
monarchs themselves are human. I have seen a man, who had entered the
palace escorted by a hundred friends, return home with hardly a single
companion, on account of the Sovereign’s displeasure. A court does not
recognise real merit till too late, but is guided by mere shadows, such
as rumour, outward appearances, intrigues and popular mistakes, so that
I should not hesitate to call those fortunate, who have been granted a
speedy and happy release from its annoyances. To be able to live for
oneself and literature, and to grow old in some quiet country nook,
with a few honest friends, is indeed an enviable lot. If there is any
true life to be found in this earthly pilgrimage, surely it must be
this. Far too often in a court is a buffoon of rank valued more highly
than a man of merit; indeed a picture of an ass among monkeys gives an
excellent notion of the position of an honest man among courtiers.
It is of ordinary courts that I speak. For I freely admit that many
courts, and especially this one, derive lustre from the presence of
men of distinction in every walk of life, who shed around them a
glorious light. Be this as it may, I prefer a peaceful retired life,
with plenty of time for reading, to the throng and tumult of a court.
But, though I long to depart, I am afraid my most gracious Sovereign
may detain me, or at any rate summon me back, when I have reached my
retirement at home. He has consented to my departure, it is true, but
only on condition of my returning if recalled. But if this occurs (for
who could refuse the courteous request of a Sovereign who is able to
command, and to whom one owes so much?) then one consolation will
be left me, namely, that it will be granted me to gaze upon the most
Sacred Person of my Emperor, or, to express it better, upon the living
image of real virtue.
For I assure you my master is the noblest prince on whom the sun ever
shone. His character and his virtues give him a claim to empire such as
few have ever possessed. Supreme power must everywhere command respect,
even when held by unworthy hands, but to deserve supreme power and to
be fit to wield it, is, in my judgment, a far more glorious thing.
I speak not therefore of his birth, nor of his illustrious ancestors;
his greatness requires no extraneous support, but can stand on its own
merits; it is his personal virtues and his personal fitness for his
high station that strike me most forcibly.
There have been many bad Emperors, who did not deserve to be elevated
to such a pinnacle of power; but, of all the Emperors that ever lived,
not one has merited that dignity more than my master.
Again, how many originally upright and faultless characters when raised
to power, have been quickly corrupted by their freedom from restraint
and by the temptations of a court, and have plunged headlong into every
form of vice. They forgot they were mortal, and conceiving arrogant
thoughts beyond the limits of human ambition, they claimed to be
elevated to heaven, and ranked among the gods, while all the time they
were unworthy to be reckoned among men.
But few men’s necks can bear the load of an exalted lot; many sink
beneath it, and when placed in a high position forget themselves. It is
a hard trial to have unlimited power, and yet to curb one’s desires.
There is none whose eyes have been less dazzled than my master’s by
the splendour of high position, and no one has kept a firmer hold on
virtue, or guarded more diligently against his naturally upright
disposition being corrupted by the temptations to which royalty is
exposed. He has always felt, that those who shine before men in the
glory of exalted rank ought to influence their minds to good by the
purity of their lives.
He is most zealous for religion, and piously serves and worships God,
always living as if he were in His immediate presence, measuring all
his actions by His law, and thereby governing his whole life. Whether
in prosperity or adversity, he recognises the Hand which gives and
takes away. In short, while still on earth he leads a life such as
saints in heaven may lead.
He feels intensely the seriousness of his position. All his words and
actions have the common weal for their object, and he ever makes his
personal interests subordinate to his subjects’ welfare. So much is
this the case that some people accuse him of sacrificing the legitimate
claims of his household and his children to the welfare of the state.
To those about him he shows every possible kindness, and treats us
all as if he were responsible for our welfare, and, in fact, were the
father of every member of his vast household. Who is there who has
implored his protection in vain, when he needed assistance, or has
not had proof of his generosity? He thinks every day lost in which
he has not benefited some one; and, while he welcomes every one with
the greatest affection, towards the members of his household he is
especially gracious. Among them there is no one who can complain of
being neglected or passed over; he knows by heart the life, habits,
merits, and even the name, of everyone, however low his rank may
be. Mighty prince as he is, when he sees them leading careless and
unbecoming lives, he does not hesitate, at a fitting opportunity, to
remind them of their duty and rebuke them; and, if they reform, to
praise and reward them. Therefore, when they leave his presence, they
declare that they find the Emperor not a master, but a father.
It is also his constant practice, when he has punished their errors by
his displeasure for some days, after he has pardoned them, to restore
them to exactly their former position, blotting out from his memory all
recollection of their fault.
He lays down the law most uprightly, and as strictly for himself as for
others. For he does not think he has the right of disregarding himself
the rules he prescribes for others, or of allowing himself a license
which he punishes in them.
He keeps his passions under control, and confines them within the
limits of reason. Hatred, anger, and harsh language are strangers to
him. No man alive has heard him disparage another; not even those whom
he knows to be unjust to himself. He has never said a harsh word of any
one, nor does he ever speak ill of people behind their backs.
Beneath his protection goodness is secure; malice, violence, deceit,
dishonesty, all vices in a word, fly from his presence, and crimes and
outrages receive the punishment they deserve.
The Romans had their censors appointed to regulate morals, and to keep
the nation firm in the path of duty and the customs of their sires, but
among us no censor is required, as the life of our Sovereign supplies
his place. His bright example shows us what to follow and what to avoid.
He is extremely kind towards men of worth and learning, who are trained
in the pursuits which do the State good service. In dealing with men of
this description he lays aside his royalty and treats them, not as a
master, but as an intimate friend on a footing of perfect equality, as
one who would be their companion and rival in striving after what is
right, making no distinction between those who owe their high position
to the credit they derive from the glory of their ancestors, and those
who have been elevated by their own merits and have proved their worth.
With them he enjoys passing the time he has to spare from business,
which, however, is but little. These are the men he values, holding, as
he does, that it is of great public importance that merit should occupy
the position which is its due.
He is naturally eager for information, and desirous of knowing
everything worthy of a human being’s attention, and therefore always
has some subject about which he wishes to hear the opinion of men
of learning, from time to time interposing some shrewd and pointed
observation of his own, to the great admiration of his hearers. Thus
he has acquired no mean store of useful information, so that it is
impossible to ask him a question on any subject with which he is wholly
unacquainted.
He knows several languages. Spanish, as his mother tongue, takes the
first place, then come French, German, Latin, and Italian. Although he
can express anything he means in Latin, yet he has not learnt it so
accurately as not to infringe, at times, the rules of grammar, a fault
to be blamed in a man of letters, but not, in my humble judgment, to be
hardly criticised in an Emperor.[268]
No one will deny that what I have said so far is true, but perchance
some will regret that he has not paid more attention to warlike
enterprises, and won his laurels on the battle-field. The Turks, such
an one will say, have now for many years past been playing the tyrant
in Hungary, and wasting the land far and wide, while we do not give
any assistance worthy of our name. Long ago ought we to have marched
against them, and allowed fortune by one pitched battle to decide
which was to be master. Such persons, I grant, speak boldly, but I
question if they speak prudently. Let us go a little deeper into the
matter. My opinion is that we should judge of the talents of generals
or commanders rather from their plans than from results. Moreover,
in their plans they ought to take into account the times, their own
resources, and the nature and power of the enemy. If an enemy of an
ordinary kind, with no great prestige, should attack our territories,
I frankly confess it would be cowardly not to march against him, and
check him by a pitched battle, always supposing that we could bring
into the field a force equal to his. But if the enemy in question
should be a scourge sent by the wrath of God (as was Attila of yore,
Tamerlane in the memory of our grandfathers, and the Ottoman Sultans in
our own times), against whom nothing can stand, and who levels to the
ground every obstacle in his way; to oppose oneself to such a foe with
but scanty and irregular troops would, I fear, be an act so rash as to
deserve the name of madness.
Against us stands Solyman, that foe whom his own and his ancestors’
exploits have made so terrible; he tramples the soil of Hungary with
200,000 horse, he is at the very gates of Austria, threatens the rest
of Germany, and brings in his train all the nations that extend from
our borders to those of Persia. The army he leads is equipped with the
wealth of many kingdoms. Of the three regions, into which the world is
divided, there is not one that does not contribute its share towards
our destruction. Like a thunderbolt he strikes, shivers, and destroys
everything in his way. The troops he leads are trained veterans,
accustomed to his command; he fills the world with the terror of his
name. Like a raging lion he is always roaring around our borders,
trying to break in, now in this place, now in that. On account of
much less danger many nations, attacked by superior forces, have left
their native lands and sought new habitations. When the peril is
small, composure deserves but little praise, but not to be terrified
at the onset of such an enemy, while the world re-echoes with the
crash of kingdoms falling in ruins all around, seems to me to betoken
a courage worthy of Hercules himself.[269] Nevertheless, the heroic
Ferdinand with undaunted courage keeps his stand on the same spot,
does not desert his post, and stirs not an inch from the position he
has taken up. He would desire to have such strength that he could,
without being charged with madness and only at his own personal risk,
stake everything on the chance of a battle; but his generous impulses
are moderated by prudence. He sees what ruin to his own most faithful
subjects and, indeed, to the whole of Christendom would attend any
failure in so important an enterprise, and thinks it wrong to gratify
his private inclination at the price of a disaster ruinous to the
state. He reflects what an unequal contest it would be, if 25,000 or
30,000 infantry with the addition of a small body of cavalry should
be pitted against 200,000 cavalry supported by veteran infantry. The
result to be expected from such a contest is shown him only too plainly
by the examples of former times, the routs of Nicopolis and Varna,
and the plains of Mohacz, still white with the bones of slaughtered
Christians.[270]
A general must be a novice indeed, who rushes into battle without
reckoning up his own strength or that of the enemy. And then what
follows when too late? Why, simply that excuse, unpardonable
in a general, which is ushered in by the words, ‘But I never
thought’[271]....
It makes an enormous difference what enemy we have to encounter; I
should not ask you to accept this assertion if it were not supported
by the evidence of the greatest generals. Cæsar, indeed, the greatest
master of the art of war that ever existed, has abundantly demonstrated
how much depends on this, and has ascribed to the good fortune of
Lucullus and Pompey that they met with such cowardly enemies, and
on this account won their laurels at a cheap and easy rate. On the
only occasion that he met with such a foe in Pharnaces, speaking as
if in jest of an exploit, which had cost him no pains, and therefore
deserved no praise, he showed the easiness of his victory by his
despatch, ‘Veni, vidi, vici.’ He would not say the same thing if he
were now-a-days to wage war with those nations; in his time they were
enervated and made effeminate by luxury, but now they lead a frugal
and hardy life, are enured to hunger, heat, and cold, and are trained
by continual toil and a rigorous system of discipline to endure every
hardship and to welcome every danger.