Departure from Rhodes—Danger at sea—Rendezvous at
Setia—Deplorable state of the Rhodians—Inspection of his
followers by the grand master—His arrival with the Rhodians
at Missina—Inquiry into the conduct of the Knights, and their
acquittal—They proceed to Cività Vecchia, and are granted
the city of Viterbo—Journeys of L’Isle Adam to the courts of
Europe—Offer of Malta to the order by the emperor—Report of the
commissioners.
It was the Feast of our Lord’s Circumcision, 1523. Fifty vessels,
crowded with a mixed multitude of citizens and soldiers, were
standing out to sea, having among them the grand carrack of the
order of St. John and the scanty remnant of the Knights of Rhodes.
Alas, that title was now lost for ever! they were literally without
a home, beating about on those stormy waters, as Villiers and his
five followers had done 200 years before when flying from the walls
of Acre. L’Isle Adam never showed himself greater than in misfortune.
During the hurry and confusion of embarkation under the eyes of his
enemies, he had maintained the same tranquil dignity he had ever
displayed; remembering every thing and the needs of every one; not
forgetting to send to all the knights of the dependent islands and
fortresses, including St. Peter’s of the Freed, bidding them join him
in Candia.
Few knights, indeed, were to be found on board those fifty vessels;
the exact number that survived the siege is not given, but it
must have been very small. Most of them, sick and wounded, were
received into the carrack, where L’Isle Adam commanded in person;
the remainder of the fleet was chiefly occupied by the Rhodians,
who preferred to abide by the fortunes of an order whose wise and
gentle government had rendered it so dear, rather than trust to the
generosity of the infidels. Yet, though their choice was freely
and promptly made, it was a sad one. Many gazed on the shores
of their darling island till the low dark line sank beneath the
horizon, abandoning themselves to a transport of grief. But the
danger of their present situation served in some degree as a relief,
by calling on them for efforts to preserve the crazy badly-fitted
vessels from shipwreck. The storm continued unabated; and on reaching
Candia several of the galleys were driven on the coast, and many
valuable lives were lost. However, after numerous disasters, the
whole mustered at the rendezvous appointed at the town of Setia; the
knights from the distant stations before named also joined them;
and a general review was made of the whole body, which, including
men, women, and children, amounted to about 5000 in number, of
whom not 1000 were members of the order. But their condition was
truly deplorable; sick and wounded, half-naked, and wholly without
support, these Rhodians, whose loyal devotion caused the grand
master no small embarrassment, gathered about him like helpless
children, and seemed to appeal to his protection and tenderness as
infants to a mother. At Rhodes, six months before, they had been
among the noblest and wealthiest of its population; now they were a
crowd of beggars, dependent on the charity of their sovereign for
a daily alms. Yet their deep and touching affection for his person
showed itself as enthusiastically as ever; and as he appeared among
them, and went through the shivering and weeping ranks, he too,
who had never shown one touch of weakness, even in the anguish of
his last humiliation, could not endure the sight, but burst into a
passionate flood of tears. Yet even the most stoical heart might
well have softened at trials such as these; and the self-control of
L’Isle Adam in the midst of suffering sprang not from stoicism, but
from the firm and chastened temper of one who joined the soldier’s
heroism to the impassible tranquillity of a monk. Nature must needs
assert her claims; and her voice so cried within his heart in that
sad hour, that all his fortitude gave way. He seemed to see again
the bloody ramparts of the city, whereon had fallen comrades and
brothers-in-arms, so long and truly tried; these Rhodian followers
too, so simple and affectionate in their truthfulness, cast utterly
into ruin, and leaning on him for bare support; his order, it might
be, tottering to its fall; the world before him, and not a port or
harbour he could call his own, whither he might guide his people. All
this was knocking at his heart, with the remembrance too of Rhodes
and its glories, and the disgrace and ruin of the Christian cause;
the Cross overthrown, as it seemed, for ever in the East; and the
recovery of Jerusalem, that cherished hope of the children of St.
John, become a faint and airy dream.
Even their position in Candia was of doubtful security; for the
island was the property of the Venetian republic, whose generosity
to a fallen rival was scarcely to be trusted. Happily, however, the
governor at that time was the noble Paul Giustiniani, of a family
whose name alone was ever sufficient security for greatness of soul
and devotion in the Christian cause. He delighted in showing a
singular respect to the grand master in his misfortunes, and came
to meet him with demonstrations of extraordinary honour. Trusting
to his friendship, L’Isle Adam remained in Candia until his vessels
could refit; and meanwhile held a chapter general, and sent word of
his coming to Messina, where the greater part of the knights absent
in Europe had assembled from different quarters, and were preparing
to embark for Rhodes when the news reached them that all was over.
The intelligence was received in Europe like a thunderclap, and,
too late, filled all the sovereigns with shame and self-reproach.
“Nothing has been well lost but Rhodes,” was the exclamation of
Charles V.;—one of those sayings which have become historic, and
which yet was a valueless and empty flattery from the man whose word,
a month before, might have sufficed to save the island. Another
addition to the numbers assembled at Setia soon arrived in the
persons of Leonard Balestein and all the Latin clergy of Rhodes,
who, contrary to treaty, had been summarily turned out by Solyman so
soon as the Knights had departed, with the brief explanation that he
would have no Latins in his states. Solyman’s generosity, in fact,
was of a limited kind; he coveted a name for magnanimity in the eyes
of the European sovereigns, and was ready therefore to purchase his
reputation for “magnificence” by some sacrifices; but it could not
conquer the innate selfishness of the Moslem character, or, as it
would seem, its ferocity; for among the tidings brought by Leonard
was that of the seizure of Amurath,[29] the son of Djem, who, having
embraced Christianity, had lived at Rhodes with the Knights after
his father’s death; but now, falling into the hands of the jealous
despot, was, with his two sons, strangled in the presence of the
whole Turkish army, and his wife and daughters sent to the imperial
harem at Constantinople.
On the first day of Lent the Christian fleet left the hospitable
shores of Candia, directing its course still westward, with the
purpose of taking up its temporary quarters in the harbour of
Messina. The naval skill of England was even then universally
allowed, and the conduct of the fleet was committed to Sir William
Weston, now Turcopolier of the order. The carrack and ships of war
made straight for Sicily: but the grand master did not accompany
them; like a tender father, he had taken as his charge the care of
his poor sick Rhodians, and a long and disastrous voyage he had, not
reaching Messina until the first week in May. Fontanus describes his
landing. He had been long and anxiously expected by his knights,
who hurried to the shore to greet him. It was a sad but touching
spectacle to see the miserable, shattered vessels, without anchors,
rudders, and with torn sails and broken masts. Around their sovereign
stood a ragged and sickly crowd; it was a marvel that they had made
the voyage at all: but you might see where their confidence had
been placed, and who had been their guide; for a flag, torn and
weather-beaten, was floating over the deck, whereon you might discern
the half-effaced figure of the Mother of Sorrows, holding her dead
Son in her arms, with the motto, _Afflictis spes unica rebus_,[30]
and this was the ensign or the fleet. Seven hundred knights stood
on the shore, and with them mingled the nobles of Sicily and the
ambassadors from foreign courts; but at the sight of such distress,
and of their beloved grand master, who had chosen, like a good
shepherd, to abide with the weakest of his flock, there arose from
the illustrious body nothing but a wail of weeping; and this was
the welcome of L’Isle Adam on the soil of Sicily. As he landed, the
viceroy advanced to receive him; and then came the meeting with his
knights—those who had been absent from Rhodes, and now could offer
only their sympathy and their tears. The populace too pressed about
his person, and, kneeling, kissed his feet and dress. Every one was
bare-headed; and perhaps there has rarely been witnessed so touching
a demonstration of honour to fallen greatness.
The first care of the grand master, when lodged in the palace
prepared for him, was to turn it into a hospital for his sick.
True and worthy Hospitaller, he retained unchanged and unsullied
the spirit of his religious vocation, and served as humbly and as
untiringly as though he were a novice in the famous Xenodochia. Nor
were his knights unworthy of so admirable a chief. “It was a moving
spectacle,” says Vertot, “to see these men, so formidable in war, now
animated only with a spirit of charity; devoting themselves to the
meanest services, carrying the broth to the sick, making their beds,
and, as it seemed, concerned with nothing but their consolation and
relief.”[31]
Next came a stern investigation into the conduct of the absent
knights. There was enough strength in the forces assembled at Messina
to have succoured Rhodes; but, after a severe court-martial, the
fact was proved beyond a doubt, that they had done what men could do
to join their comrades, and had failed; many having perished in the
attempt, like the brave old English bailiff Sir Thomas Newport, and
others whose fate was similar. In short, the honour of the order was
declared to be unstained; and when the tribunal returned a verdict
that no man had been found guilty, L’Isle Adam exclaimed, in a burst
of thankful joy, “May God be praised for ever! who in this hour of
misfortune has proved to me that the loss of Rhodes could not be
attributed to the negligence of my order.”
So soon as this affair was completed, the grand master prepared to
set out for Rome, to confer with the Pope as to the steps advisable
to take for the preservation of the order. After being detained a
month on the Neapolitan coast, in consequence of pestilence breaking
out among his followers, he and his colony cast anchor in the port of
Cività Vecchia. At Rome he was received with extraordinary honours;
the cardinals coming forth in their own persons to meet him, together
with a large and brilliant cortège of barons and princes, all the
various dignitaries of the Church and magistrates of the city,
besides the papal guards, and a numerous squadron of cavalry; and so
in grand procession, amidst the shouts of the populace and salvoes
of artillery from the Castle of St. Angelo, he passed through the
streets, and was conducted to the Vatican, where he was hospitably
entertained. Within a few weeks after the arrival of L’Isle Adam,
Pope Adrian VI. expired, and, by a singular chance, was succeeded by
Cardinal Julius de Medicis, nephew to Leo X., and himself a member
of the order of St. John, who had exchanged the military for the
ecclesiastical profession, and now assumed the title of Clement
VII. It was natural, and to be expected, that some advantage should
accrue to the wanderers from the elevation to supreme power of one
of their own brethren; and accordingly one of the first acts of the
new pontiff was to assign the city of Viterbo for their temporary
residence, granting them permission at the same time to keep their
fleet in the arbour of Cività Vecchia until such time as they
should be able to find some more fitting settlement. On the 25th
of January 1524, therefore, L’Isle Adam set out for Viterbo, “the
most delicious city of the Pope’s dominions, and most magnificent
after Rome,” as Fontanus calls it. The knights proceeded first, the
Rhodians next,—for in all the wanderings of this second Æneas, as he
may well be termed, his Rhodians were never forgotten; nor did they
forget their devotion to our Lady of Philermos, but carried her on
their shoulders, and would have carried her to the end of the world,
if their nomadic life had lasted for another century. It was just a
year since the fall of Rhodes; want and suffering had sadly ravaged
the ranks of the little colony; the Rhodians died in great numbers
from the pestilence, and the knights were reduced to such poverty,
that L’Isle Adam was forced to grant them a dispensation to work at
menial crafts in order to support themselves and their unfortunate
dependants. Yet Bosio tells us, that in these trying extremities
there was no instance of any abandoning their rule; and L’Isle Adam,
amidst all his sorrows, at least had the consolation—and there could
be none greater—of ruling over subjects faithful to their plighted
vows.
So soon as he had seen his followers in some degree settled, the
indefatigable chief set out upon fresh journeys to every court
of Europe, to negotiate, if it were possible, for some permanent
and independent residence. His activity and perseverance were
extraordinary. Spain, France, and even England, he visited by turns;
nor was it without necessity; for some of the princes of Europe,
Henry VIII. among the number, after suffering the order to be driven
from Rhodes before their eyes, were now occupying themselves with
the design of seizing upon its possessions, as though it were
extinct. L’Isle Adam, however, very soon made Portugal and England
understand that, fallen as was the order, it was not quite come to
that; and the “defender of the faith” was, it is said, so moved by
the eloquence and heroic bearing of the venerable old man, that,
instead of plundering him at that time, he received him with royal
magnificence, and presented him with a jewelled basin and ewer,
still preserved in Boisgelin’s time in the treasury of the order.
Not to weary the reader with negotiations, which were indeed most
wearisome and vexatious to endure, the chapter general at length,
after many prorogations, met at Viterbo in the month of February
1527, to consider the final answer to be given to the proposals of
the emperor. They were not too generous; Charles, indeed, was not a
man from whom great acts of generosity were to be expected; and on
the present occasion he certainly endeavoured to drive as profitable
a bargain with the order as he could. The islands of Malta and Gozo
were offered to their acceptance,—subject, however, to the emperor,
and with the most unfair and harsh condition of their undertaking to
garrison and defend _for him_ the town of Tripoli on the coast of
Africa—a second Smyrna. Commissioners were appointed to report on
the nature of the territory thus offered; and there is an amusing
_naïveté_ in the account, which Boisgelin, usually so simple and
unpretending in his style, gives us of the result. It was, he says,
to this effect: “That the island of Malta was nothing but a rock of
soft sandstone, about six or seven leagues long and four broad; that
the surface was scarcely covered with three feet of soil—very stony,
and quite unfit for growing corn; that, with the exception of a few
springs, there was no running water, nor even wells; that wood was
so scarce as to be sold by the pound, so that the chief fuel was
dried dung, or wild thistle; that the greater part of the houses
of the capital were uninhabited—the circumference of the town not
being more than 1303 paces; that the miserable walls surrounding it
were open thirty paces in breadth; that the shore was full of rocks;
the port defended by a small and ruinous castle, whose artillery
consisted of one cannon and a few mortars; and that, owing to the
barrenness of the soil and the frequent descents of the corsairs, the
twelve thousand inhabitants were poor and wretched;—in a word, that
a residence in Malta appeared extremely disagreeable, indeed almost
insupportable, particularly in summer.” So much for the island.
As to the fortress of Tripoli, there was but one opinion; without
fortifications, and situated on a foundation of sand, which rendered
their erection impossible—subject to inundations—surrounded by the
territories of the king of Tunis, and with a soil that produced
nothing but dates, the commissioners declared that its occupation
could only expose the knights placed there to certain death.
All this was very different from the glories of Acre and the richness
of beautiful Rhodes;[32] yet there was no choice. Already they had
been forced to leave Viterbo,[33] in consequence of the breaking out
of plague, and to recommence their wanderings, to Corneto first,
where we again find notice of their charity to the sufferers, and
the exact discipline preserved among them; thence to Nice, where a
temporary resting-place was prepared for them by the Duke of Savoy;
so that they who had hitherto offered hospitality to Christendom were
now forced to beg it at the doors of the European princes. There had
been some intention of endeavouring to reconquer Rhodes, and an
attempt had been made to seize on Modon in the Morea; but all these
designs proved abortive; and at length, having agreed to accept the
emperor’s offer, the deed of donation of Malta, Gozo, and Tripoli,
received the imperial signature; the condition of feudal subjection
to himself being withdrawn as interfering with the neutrality which
the order was bound to observe between Christian princes, and the
payment of a falcon yearly to the Sicilian government substituted
in its stead. Tripoli, however, must be garrisoned; on that point
Charles was inexorable, and accordingly two galleys conducted
thither the ill-fated knights chosen for that duty; whilst a timely
present from England of nineteen superb pieces of artillery and 1023
cannon-balls, enabled them to furnish something to its defence.
Nothing now remained to be done but to take possession of the new
territory, which was speedily done (October 26th, 1530); and thus, in
the eighth year after their departure from Rhodes, the knights again
saw themselves established in an independent sovereignty, and, once
more changing their title, became thenceforth known through Europe as
the Knights of Malta.
There was little of exultation in the sentiments with which they
entered on their new dominions. The sterile soil, the burning
climate, and the squalid population, recalled sad thoughts of Rhodes,
with its abundant harvests and odoriferous orange-groves, its fleets
and armaments and prosperous commerce, and the palaces of its wealthy
nobles. But L’Isle Adam had a greatness of soul that rose superior
to circumstances, and at once set about constructing habitations for
his knights and laying the foundation of a hospital—not forgetting,
at the same time, to provide for his poor Rhodians, and to concert
measures for the amelioration of the condition of the inhabitants
themselves.
The last days of L’Isle Adam were, however, clouded with fresh
sorrows; he lived to see the breaking out of that great religious
revolution which was to change the face of Europe. In the
proscriptions and martyrdoms that took place in England, we have
the names of four knights of the order[34] who gave their lives
for the faith, many others perishing in prison; while scarcely a
month passed without bringing fresh refugees to Malta, where the
paternal tenderness of the grand master supplied them with the means
of support. But the extinction of the language of England, and the
gloomy cloud that hung over the Church, laid the last weight on that
burden which had long been pressing down the heroic soul of L’Isle
Adam to the dust. He died in the arms of his knights, on the 21st of
August 1534; and over his tomb they engraved these words:
“Hic jacet Virtus victrix Fortunæ.”[35]
The effects resulting from the expulsion of the knights from Rhodes,
and their temporary suspension from all active operation against
the infidels, were soon felt throughout Europe. Solyman, secure
from their attacks, was free to turn his attention to the northern
frontier of his empire, where the recent fall of Belgrade, and the
distractions of the kingdom of Hungary, seemed to hold out promise of
an easy conquest.
Louis of Hungary, a prince wholly unequal to the government of his
factious and ambitious nobles, rashly gave battle to the superior
forces of the sultan on the fatal field of Mohacs, where he fell,
with the flower of his troops, on the 28th of August 1526. The battle
lasted only two hours, yet in that short space of time there perished
with their young monarch 4000 knights (comprising the greater portion
of the Hungarian nobility), 8 bishops, and 20,000 common soldiers.
In true Tartar fashion, a pyramid of 2000 human heads was raised
before the imperial tent; and, ere he resumed his march, Solyman
the _Magnificent_ had 4000 prisoners massacred in cold blood! As he
advanced he ravaged the whole country with his troops, burning towns
and cities, and slaughtering the inhabitants even on surrender; so
that it is calculated that Hungary lost no less than 200,000 of her
people in this terrible invasion; and when he withdrew his army,
laden with immense booty, he dragged with him into slavery, and to
all the horrors which slavery among the Turks involves, 100,000
captives.
The death of Louis increased the disorder of affairs by raising
the question of a disputed succession. The crown had indeed been
previously settled on the representative of the house of Austria; but
Zapolya, the ambitious wayvode of Transylvania, seized the occasion
to proclaim himself king, on the plea that none but an Hungarian
could reign in Hungary. Finding himself unable, however, to resist
the power of the Archduke Ferdinand and his party among the magnates,
he had recourse to the unworthy policy of calling in the Ottomans to
his aid. The year 1529, accordingly, saw the terrible hordes of the
Turkish invaders again let loose on the frontiers of the kingdom.
Before them marched a wild irregular force of 30,000 men, whom the
Germans denominated “the sackmen,” and whose atrocities, under their
leader Michael Oglou, were of the most appalling character. Hungary
was soon overrun; and within five months from the day when they
crossed its frontier, the vast army of the Turks, amounting to more
than 300,000 men, appeared under the walls of Vienna (September 27th,
1529).
Never had the dreaded standards of the infidels been known to advance
so far into the heart of Christendom since the day when the Moors had
received their decisive overthrow on the field of Tours. But there
seemed little chance of such a triumph to the Christian cause in the
present case; for Vienna, with ruinous and inadequate defences, and
a garrison of no more than 20,000 men, could scarcely look to offer
more than a brief resistance to such an overwhelming force. By the
first prisoners who were taken by his skirmishers Solyman had sent
back a message to the following effect: “That should the city venture
to resist, he would not retreat till he had reduced it; and then he
would spare neither old nor young, nor the child in the mother’s
womb; and would so utterly destroy the city that men should not know
where it stood. He would not rest his head till Vienna and the whole
of Christendom were under his subjection; and it was his settled
purpose within three days, namely, on the feast of St. Michael, to
break his fast in Vienna.” Nor to the terrified inhabitants did this
seem any idle threat; for, as they gazed from the walls, they could
behold nothing but a forest of tents stretching as far as the eye
could reach; and the reports which had been brought in by fugitives
from the country told of horrors which fulfilled to the letter, and
even surpassed in savage atrocity, all that menace could express or
imagination depict. One by one all their communications from without
were cut off, and the mines and batteries of their assailants began
their fatal work.
The siege may be said to have formally opened on the 29th of
September; but in spite of their superior numbers, every effort of
the Turks to render themselves masters of the city was unsuccessful.
On three different days they assaulted the walls, which had been
reduced to ruins by the explosions of their mines, but each time
they were repulsed with loss; and the superstition of the Turkish
troops came in aid of the heroic defence of the garrison to bring
about the abandonment of the enterprise. The law of Islam commanded
three attacks on an enemy, and no more; when, therefore, the third
assault failed, the soldiers, yielding to the fatalism of their
nation, declared their unwillingness to prosecute the attempt any
further. A last desperate assault was indeed made on the 14th of
October, out with the same result that had attended those which had
preceded it; and Solyman, yielding to necessity, gave orders for a
retreat.
An hour before midnight the army began to move, and marked its
departure by one of those frightful deeds of cruelty so frequent
in the annals of Turkish warfare. The Janizaries set fire to the
huts they had constructed, and to all the forage and plunder they
had collected but were unable to carry away. At the same time they
commenced a general massacre of the Christian prisoners, of whom vast
numbers had been brought into the camp by the “runners and burners”
during the three weeks of the siege, reserving only the fairest youth
of both sexes, whom they tied together by ropes and hurried away
into an infamous captivity. The old men and women, and the little
children, they threw into the midst of the burning piles, while such
as were of an age to bear arms they cut to pieces or impaled. The
shrieks of the unhappy beings were heard distinctly by those who
thronged the city-walls; they could even see by the light of the
flames the work of butchery that was going forward, and the writhing
forms of their fellow-countrymen, and thus had terrible and sensible
proof of the despair of the ferocious enemy and of the horrors which
awaited them had that enemy been victorious. The morning showed the
Ottoman army in full retreat; and a general discharge of artillery
announced to the inhabitants of Vienna the realisation of hopes which
they had hardly ventured to entertain. Once more the bells of the
churches gave forth their joyous peals; a _Te Deum_ was sung in St.
Stephen’s, and High Mass celebrated in thanksgiving to the Most Holy
Trinity.
Solyman’s forces retired across the Turkish frontier, and spite of
the rapid success which had attended his march through Hungary,
the expedition failed in its main object; for the establishment of
Zapolya as tributary king of Hungary, or rather of that portion
of the country which he held in occupation (a dignity he retained
till his death in 1540[36]), was but a poor result for the campaign
which had been undertaken with the boastful design of erecting
the victorious trophies of the Crescent on the very banks of the
Rhine. It is amusing to read the arrogant terms in which the sultan
announces to his faithful subjects the results of the campaign,
and with cool effrontery would have them believe that, in his
magnanimity, he had forborne to push his conquests further than
justice or the interests of the empire demanded, and had disdained
to crush the foe he had humbled and chastised. One of his bulletins
thus concludes: “An unbeliever came out from the fortress (Vienna),
and brought intelligence of the submission of the princes and of the
people, on whose behalf he prayed for grace and pardon. The padishah
received his prayer with favour, and granted them pardon. Inasmuch as
the German lands were unconnected with the Ottoman realm, that hence
it was hard to occupy the frontier places and conduct their affairs,
the faithful would not trouble themselves to clear out the fortress,
or purify, improve, and put it into repair; but a reward of 1000
aspers was dealt out to each of the Janizaries, and security being
established, the horses’ heads were turned towards the throne of
Solomon.”[37] But in spite of these endeavours to conceal the truth
even from himself, Solyman never forgot the repulse he had sustained;
and it is said that he imprecated a curse upon any of his successors
who should renew the attempt.
Nevertheless we shall hereafter see the Ottomans encamped for a
second time before the city of Vienna, and shall have to relate
the story of its glorious deliverance, which forms one of the most
striking features in the history of the struggle between the Crescent
and the Cross.