My son related to me his history, and made me the depository of his
feelings and reflections. The name of St. Leon indeed never passed
his lips; I felt that he had consigned that to inviolable oblivion.
The appellation he bore in the army was the chevalier de Damville.
Soon after he abandoned me at Dresden, he had entered as a volunteer
in the imperial army. Charles the Fifth was at that time assembling
forces to encounter the confederates of the league of Smalcalde. In
this situation my son was eminently fortunate. He was distinguished for
uncommon enterprise and courage in some of the first actions of the
war, and early attracted the notice of Gian-Battista Castaldo, count
of Piadena, who held an eminent command under the emperor. In this
army my son was a party to the decisive battle of Muhlberg, in April,
1547. Four years afterwards, Castaldo was appointed commander in chief
against the Turks in Hungary, and the French chevalier accompanied
his patron to this new scene of military enterprise. Charles had felt
dissatisfied with the grounds and motives of war between the Catholics
and Protestants of Germany, men worshipping the same Saviour, and
appealing to the same authorities, but many of them at least, from the
most upright and ingenuous scruples, differing in their interpretation
of those authorities. But, in their contentions between the crescent
and the cross, he entered with unbounded enthusiasm into all the
feelings that constitute a champion or a martyr. He conceived that
whatever was dear to the human race in this world or the next hung
on the issue; he regarded the grandeur of the cause as purifying his
efforts and consecrating his name; and, when he lifted his sword in
vindication of an expiring God, he felt himself steeled with more than
mortal energy.
My son dwelt on the merits of his patron with a degree of veneration
and love that knew no bounds. Castaldo was ranked by the consenting
voice of mankind with the most accomplished generals of the age in
which he lived. “I knew him,” said Charles, “in his most private
hours, and stood next to and observed him in the greatest and most
critical occasions of his life. It was the least of his merits that
he distinguished me, that he took me up friendless and an orphan,
that under every circumstance he was more than a father to me; that
he corrected my faults, that he guided me with his advice, that he
instructed me with his wisdom, and supported me by his countenance.
Castaldo was the most persevering and indefatigable of mankind; no
difficulties could undermine his apparent serenity; no accumulation
of dangers could appal or perplex him. Victory never robbed him of
his caution; misfortune and defeat never destroyed the grandeur and
elasticity of his soul. I firmly believe that no general had ever a
more discouraging variety of counteractions to struggle with. The
enemy was barbarous and sanguinary, yet firm and undismayed, in the
full vigour of their political health, under the rule of the ablest of
their sovereigns. The nobles of the country Castaldo had to defend had
almost all of them been alienated, one after another, by the tricking
and ill-judged politics of the house of Austria. The nation was ruined,
houseless and starving. Many of the officers who served under my
general were the basest of poltroons; but they were imposed upon him
by his court; he was compelled to place them in important trusts; and,
even when in the most dastardly way they betrayed those trusts, they
were by some pitiful intrigue sheltered from his discipline and his
justice. The forces of Castaldo were mutinous and ungovernable; and he
was almost constantly denied the funds requisite for their pay.
“For two years the count of Piadena struggled with these complicated
difficulties. When he had obtained a hard-earned advantage at
one extremity of the kingdom, he found it rendered useless by
some treachery or incapacity in the other extremity, which it was
instantly necessary he should hasten to repair. He quelled four
alarming mutinies by his firmness, his resources, and the prudent
combination of his calmness and severity. In the midst of one of his
most arduous situations he suddenly received intelligence that the
states of Hungary, which were at that time assembled, were debating
whether they should enter into a treaty with Solyman for the purpose
of placing their country under the Turkish sceptre. He immediately
flew to the place of council; the decision in favour of Solyman was
drawn up and ready to be adopted; but Castaldo, by his presence, his
authority, and his eloquence, recalled the states to their duty, and
prevented them from eternally staining the Christian name. Surrounded
with these difficulties, opposed to an enemy many times more numerous
than the forces he could bring against them, and whose wants were all
plentifully supplied, Castaldo by his single abilities kept the balance
even, or rather caused it to incline in favour of the Christian scale.
But what,” added Charles, “avails the most consummate merit! How may
the most incessant and undaunted exertions be shadowed by the veil of
obscurity! The world judges by events; success is necessary to procure
the palm of fame. After two years of such labours as I witnessed and
glory to describe, a mutiny broke out among the mercenary troops,
more formidable than any that preceded; it was no longer even in the
abilities of Castaldo to quell. ‘We honour and respect you,’ said the
mutineers, ‘but we will no more serve without pay: we have been baffled
two years; we will march to the gates of Vienna, and demand from
Ferdinand, our sovereign, why we are thus denied the arrears that are
due to us.’ They chose leaders for this expedition among themselves.
The great Castaldo, whose peculiar talent it is to accommodate himself
to events, and never by any misfortune to be deprived of his invention
and resources, saw what it was that became him. Having in vain tried
every method for retaining his troops in Hungary, he offered himself to
lead them to Vienna. Then was seen the true ascendancy of a noble mind.
Goaded with want and distress, they had been deaf to the remonstrances
of their general when he sought to direct them against the enemy. But,
when they saw him submitting himself to their rage and impatience, and
fearlessly intrusting his safety to those who had before refused even
to listen to him, and who had reason to fear his retribution as their
accuser and judge, they were awed and speechless. They almost repented
of their frenzy, and were half determined to return to their duty.
Their remorse indeed was imperfect and ineffectual; but Castaldo led
this band of mutineers through the heart of the kingdom, with as many
symptoms of regularity, modesty, and order, as if they had been the
best paid, the promptest and most loyal army in the world.”
My son spoke in terms of the warmest enthusiasm of the defence of
Erlau, in the period of Castaldo’s last and most arduous campaign
against the Turks. In respect of fortifications the town was scarcely
competent to resist the feeblest enemy; but its deficiency in this
point was supplied by the constancy and valour of its garrison and
inhabitants. The very women displayed an enterprise, that the more
vigorous sex have seldom exhibited. In one instance, a heroine of this
sort was seen fighting in the presence of her mother and her husband.
Her husband fell dead by her side. “Let us, my daughter,” said the
mother, “remove the body, and devote the rest of our care to its
honourable funeral.”--“May God,” returned the impassioned widow, “never
suffer the earth to cover my husband’s corse, till his death has been
amply revenged; this is the hour of battle, not a time for funeral
and for tears!” So speaking, and seizing the sword and shield of the
breathless champion, she rushed upon the enemy; nor did she quit the
breach till, by the slaughter of three Turks who were ascending the
scaling ladders, she had appeased the fury in her breast, and the ghost
of her departed husband. Then raising the corpse, and pressing it to
her bosom, she drew it to the great church of the city, and paid to it
the last honours with all possible magnificence.[9] Many other examples
of a heroism not inferior to this were displayed on the same occasion.
“And shall I,” added Charles, in a sally of glorious enthusiasm, “ever
desert a cause which has been thus honoured? Shall I betray a soil
which has been immortalised by such illustrious actions? Shall I join
myself to the renegado Bethlem Gabor, and the execrable Chatillon? No:
such virtue as I have described never could have been conceived, but in
the bosom of truth! Great as is the pious devotion I feel for that God
who died on the cross for the salvation of mankind, I own my weakness,
if it be a weakness, his cause is scarcely less endeared to me by the
sublime exertions of his heroic followers, than by his own adorable
condescension and mercy.
“When the glorious Castaldo departed with his rebellious army for the
metropolis of Germany, there was nothing I more earnestly desired than
to accompany his march. For seven years he had conferred on me the
benefits, and shown towards me the affection, of a father; and I could
not think of being separated from him without the extremest anguish.
Beside, I regarded it as little less than sacrilege, to quit his side
at a time that he was exposed to the furious suggestions of a host of
robbers and banditti. But he would not allow me to abandon my post.
‘Some time,’ said he, ‘we must separate, and you must stand alone.
I have been long enough your instructor; and, if my lessons or my
example can produce improvement in you, they must have performed that
office already.’ He treated with disdain the thought of the danger to
which he might be exposed, and his need of a faithful guard; a thought
which he had detected in the midst of my anxieties, but which I had
not the courage to mention. ‘This,’ said he, ‘is your genuine sphere.
You are a young man, burning with the zeal of truth and religion. You
are inspired with the enthusiasm of a champion and a martyr. Heaven
knows how willingly I would have spent my blood for the overthrow of
Mahomet and his blasphemous impieties. To me this is not permitted; to
you it is. I shall be engaged in the painful scenes of civil contention
between Christian and Christian, misguided and inflamed by the human
inventions of Luther and of Calvin. You have before you a clearer and a
brighter field; and, I confidently persuade myself, you will be found
worthy of your happier destiny.’--The count of Piadena bestowed me, so
he was pleased to express himself, upon Nadasti, the great palatine of
the realm, as the most precious pledge of his friendship that it was in
his power to confer.
“Since the retreat of Castaldo, the Christian standard has obtained
little more either of attention or aid from our lawful sovereign, now
the possessor of the imperial throne. Ferdinand for a great part of
this time has had his negotiators at Constantinople, whom the insulting
Turk has condescended neither sincerely to treat with, nor to dismiss.
The Christian army in Hungary has been left to its own resources; but
zeal has supplied the place of magazines, and religious ardour has
taught us to omit no occasion of annoying and distressing the enemy.
The most considerable occurrence of this period, has been the siege
of Ziget about four years ago. Solyman, taking advantage of certain
factious broils among our hereditary nobility, appointed at that time
one of his eunuchs bashaw of Buda; and, having placed a numerous army
under his command, dismissed him from the foot of his throne with
this arrogant injunction, not to enter the capital of his province,
till he had first sent the keys of Ziget as an offering to his royal
master. Horvati, the Christian governor of this fortification, is one
of the most accomplished and the bravest of our native commanders;
and, Nadasti having sent him a reinforcement the better to enable him
to support the threatened siege, I was in the number of the soldiers
appointed on this service. The trenches were opened early in June,
and the siege continued for the space of seven weeks. The bashaw,
though an eunuch, in person stunted, and of monstrous deformity, was
distinguished for an uncommon degree of audacity and perseverance.
Four times he filled the dikes of the fortification with wood and
earth; and as often, by means of a furious sally of the besieged, the
materials, which had thus with vast expense of industry and labour
been accumulated, were set fire to and consumed. On the twelfth day
of the siege he gained possession of the town, and drove us back into
the citadel; but on the day following we recovered the ground we had
lost, and from that time the town was his no more. The actions of these
days were the severest of the whole siege; we fought the enemy street
by street, and inch by inch; the great fountain in the market-place
ran with blood; we ascended hills of the dead, which the infidels
opposed as a barrier to our further progress; I seized two Turkish
standards; and, though wounded, pursued the enemy through the eastern
gate, and returned in triumph. Nadasti in the sixth week of the siege
marched to our relief; but he was met and worsted by the bashaw, who
returned victorious to the foot of the walls. During the whole of the
siege mutual animosity was cherished by every species of contrivance,
and the heads of the distinguished dead were exhibited on both sides
as spectacles of abhorrence and terror. The inflamed passions of the
combatants several times found a vent in listed duels: Horvati, the
governor, killed in one of these encounters a gigantic Turk, who had
sent a proud defiance to our host. I procured myself honour upon a
similar occasion; and the scarf which I now wear, composed the turban
of the infidel I slew. At length the disappointed bashaw was obliged
to raise the siege; and he soon after died of grief and mortification
in his palace at Buda. I confess I recollect the Christian exploits
in the defence of Ziget, in which I also had a share, with rapture and
delight; they will serve to awaken in me new animation, when hereafter
the coldness of ordinary life might strike palsy to my soul. I shall
never think I have lived in vain, after having contributed, in however
humble a place, to arrest the career of insolence and impiety which,
under the standard of the crescent, threatened to over-run the whole
Christian world.”
Such were the adventures and such the sentiments of the gallant
chevalier de Damville. I had been a warrior in my youth, and
the discourse he held was sufficiently congenial to my earliest
propensities. I saw indeed that he had gained, in the zeal of a soldier
of the cross, a source of martial heroism, to which my military history
had been a stranger. But, though I could not entirely enter into
this sentiment of his, and indeed regarded it as an infatuation and
delusion, I did not the less admire the grandeur of soul with which
this heroic fable inspired him. There was no present propensity in my
heart that led me to delight in deeds of blood and war; I saw them
in their genuine colours without varnish or disguise; I hated and
loathed them from my very inmost soul; but, notwithstanding this, I was
sensible to the lustre which military zeal cast round the character of
my son. Nor is this incredible or absurd; the qualities of a generous
and enterprising champion are truly admirable, though the direction
they have received should be worthy of eternal regret.
Charles de Damville was my friend; and, when I say this, I cannot help
stopping a moment for the indulgence of reflecting on the contrast
between my present intercourse with my son, and my late connection
with Bethlem Gabor. I had sought the friendship of the Hungarian
partisan, partly because I wanted a protector and an ally, but partly
also because in my soul I looked up to and admired the man. I called
Bethlem Gabor my friend; I persuaded myself that I had cogent reasons
for calling him so. But there was little sympathy between us; he was
wrapped up in his own contemplations; he was withered by his own
calamities; our souls scarcely touched in a single point. No, no; this
is not friendship.
Friendship is a necessity of our nature, the stimulating and restless
want of every susceptible heart. How wretched an imposture in this
point of view does human life for the most part appear! With boyish
eyes, full of sanguine spirits and hope, we look round us for a friend;
we sink into the grave, broken down with years and infirmities, and
still have not found the object of our search. We talk to one man, and
he does not understand us; we address ourselves to another, and we find
him the unreal similitude only of what we believed him to be. We ally
ourselves to a man of intellect and of worth; upon further experience
we cannot deny him either of these qualities; but the more we know
each other, the less we find of resemblance; he is cold, where we are
warm; he is harsh, where we are melted into the tenderest sympathy;
what fills us with rapture, is regarded by him with indifference; we
finish with a distant respect, where we looked for a commingling soul:
this is not friendship. We know of other men, we have viewed their
countenances, we have occasionally sat in their society: we believe
it is impossible we should not find in them the object we sought.
But disparity of situation and dissimilitude of connections prove as
effectual a barrier to intimacy, as if we were inhabitants of different
planets.
It is one of the most striking characteristics of the nature of man,
that we are eternally apt to grow dead and insensible to the thing
we have not. Half our faculties become palsied, before we are in the
slightest degree aware that we are not what we were, and what we might
be. There are philosophers who regard this as the peculiar privilege
of man, a wise provision of Providence to render us contented and easy
with our lot in existence. For my part, I do not envy, and I have never
aspired to, the happiness of ignorance and stupidity. But, be it a
blessing or a curse, the phenomenon is undoubted. Present me with some
inestimable benefit, that my nature fitted me to enjoy, but that my
fortune has long denied me to partake, and I instantly rise as from an
oppressive lethargy. Before, it may be, I felt myself uneasy; but I
knew of no remedy, I dreamed it was my nature, I did not put forth a
finger for relief. But now, that I have drawn the unexpected prize, I
grow astonished at my former blindness; I become suddenly sensible of
my powers and my worth; the blood that slept in my heart, circulates,
and distends every vein; I tread on air; I feel a calm, yet ravishing
delight; I know what kind of an endowment life is, to a being in whom
sentiment and affection are awakened to their genuine action.
This was the effect of the mutual attachment produced between me and
Charles. I looked into him, and saw a man; I saw expansive powers of
intellect and true sensibility of heart. To be esteemed and loved
and protected by such a man; to have him to take one by the hand, to
enquire into one’s sorrows, to interest himself in one’s anxieties, to
exult in one’s good fortune and one’s joys; this and this only deserves
the name of existence.
I had however a painful drawback upon my satisfaction. It was my fate
since the visit of the stranger of the lake of Constance, to rejoice
for moments and to lament for years. I could not at first ascend to
that purity and eminence of friendship to forget myself; I could not
but painfully feel the contrast between me and my son. How happy
was Charles, how respectable, how self-approving, how cheerful of
heart: I shall presently have occasion to speak of a still further
addition to his happiness! I looked indeed young, fair, blooming, a
stranger to care: but I had a secret worm gnawing at my vitals. This
very deceitfulness of my countenance was a bitter aggravation to my
remorse. I never saw my features reflected in the polished shield
without feeling myself struck to the core. Charles had walked right
onward in the paths of honour; he feared no detection; he had no secret
consciousness that gave the lie to the voice of applause, partiality,
and friendship. But I was all a lie; I was no youth; I was no man; I
was no member of the great community of my species. The past and the
future were equally a burthen to my thoughts. To the eye that saw me I
was a youth flushed with hope, and panting for existence. In my soul
I knew, and I only knew, that I was a worn out veteran, battered with
the storms of life, having tried every thing and rejected every thing,
and discarded for ever by hope and joy. When I walked forth leaning on
the arm of him who delighted to call me his younger brother, this was
the consciousness that hunted my steps and blasted me with its aspect
whichever way we turned.