Our present business, however, is rather with the story of the few

who, resisting the infection of terror, remained at their post, and

prepared, as best they could, to offer a determined resistance to

the besiegers. Their numbers were fearfully small. One regiment of

troops only was within the walls, and the citizens capable of bearing

arms were reckoned at no more than 1200 men. Ernest Ruchjer, Count

of Stahremberg, was the heroic governor to whom the defence of the

city was intrusted and if his scanty forces, and the utter want of

all preparation for a warlike emergency, might well have made his

heart sink at the task before him, yet his own gallantry and the

active co-operation of some of his followers and of the burgher

authorities almost supplied for the want of other resources. The

works necessary for the defence of the city were not yet begun; for

even the ordinary engineering tools were wanting. The supplies of

fuel, water, and provisions requisite for sustaining a long siege

were still unprovided; and all this had to be done, and was done,

by the astonishing exertions of a few men within the space of a

single week. The spectacle which their courage and activity presented

formed a striking contrast to that which had been displayed only a

few days previously by the flight of the court and of so many of

their fellow-citizens. Men of all classes, priests, and even women,

were to be seen labouring at the fortifications: the burgomaster,

Von Liebenberg, was foremost with his wheelbarrow among the workmen,

cheering them on by his example and words of encouragement; some

carried loads of wood from the suburbs to the city-stores; whilst the

circle of flames from the burning villages, denoting the advance of

the enemy, drew nearer and nearer, so that by the 12th of July they

were working under the very eyes of the Turks.

Before proceeding to the story of the siege, it may be necessary to

say a few words on the position of the two parties in the struggle

about to commence, so as to give some idea of their relative chances

of success. The hostilities between the Turks and the Empire had

been interrupted only by occasional truces, from the first occupation

of Constantinople by the former two centuries previously. The

present invasion had been brought about mainly through the means of

the Hungarian insurgents; and however much we may be disposed to

allow that the severity of the Austrian government to a conquered

country provoked the assertion of national independence on the part

of its oppressed people, yet we cannot but withhold the title of

“patriots” from those who, in their hatred to Austria, were ready

to sacrifice the very safety of Christendom, and whose notions of

national independence consisted in exchanging subjection to the

Austrians for a far more degrading vassalage to the infidels. When

the news of the vast preparations of the Ottomans reached Vienna,

it found the imperial government almost without defence. The day

was past when Christian Europe could be roused to a crusade in

defence of its faith, or even of its freedom; nay, in the history

of this contest we are met at every page by the details of secret

negotiations and most unworthy intrigues, by which the emissaries of

the “Most Christian King,” Louis XIV., encouraged and assisted the

invasion of the infidels to gratify his personal jealousy against

the House of Hapsburgh. In the day of his distress and humiliation

Leopold was compelled to seek for assistance from one whom till then

it had been the policy of his government to slight and thwart on all

occasions, and from whom, according to the calculations of a selfish

policy, he had certainly nothing to expect. This was John Sobieski,

the elective king of Poland, whose former exploits had rendered

his name a very watchword of terror to the Turks, but on whom the

Austrian sovereign had but little claim. The interests of the Polish

king were all opposed to his taking any part in the hostilities.

After years of civil war and foreign invasion, his surpassing genius

had but just obtained for Poland a profound and honourable peace.

An alliance with the House of Hapsburgh was at variance with the

close and intimate connection existing between himself and the court

of Versailles; and the favour and protection of the French king was

of no small importance to the distracted councils of Poland; whilst

the contemptuous and unfriendly treatment he had ever received from

the Austrian sovereign might very naturally have prompted him to

refuse the sacrifice of his own interests in that monarch’s behalf.

But none of these considerations had any weight in the noble heart

of Sobieski, who looked on the question simply as one involving his

faith and honour as a Christian king. “For thirty years,” to use

the words of Pope Innocent XI., “he had been the bulwark of the

Christian republic—the wall of brass against which all the efforts

of the barbarians had been broken in pieces.” Indeed, if we may so

say, he had come to look on war with the infidel as his special

vocation: the victories of Podhaiski and Choczim, and that other

wonderful series of achievements, to which history has given the

title, adopted from the gazette of Louis XIV., of the “Miraculous

Campaign,” had, as it were, installed him in his glorious office;

and when the same Pope called him in council “the lieutenant of God”

he did but give expression to the feeling with which all Christian

Europe looked to him as her hero and protector. It is not a little

striking that the greater number of the semi-infidel historians of

the eighteenth century, while doing full justice to the gallantry

and genius of this extraordinary man, have condemned his enterprise

against the Turks as proceeding only from a religious and chivalrous

impulse, undirected by any views of sound state-policy. Whether the

policy which saved Europe from the horrors[67] of an Ottoman invasion

can rightly be termed unsound, our readers may determine; it was

doubtless unselfish, and probably its very generosity has been the

principal cause of its condemnation by these writers; but we refer

to their criticism as an unquestionable testimony in proof of the

real character of this campaign, and of the motives from which it was

undertaken; and we think, on their own showing, we can scarcely be

wrong in representing this war as purely a religious one, entered on

in defence of the Christian faith, and without any mixture of those

political motives, the want of which is so deplored by the historians

of that sceptical age, but which renders its history so glorious in

the eyes of the Christian student.

The treaty between the two sovereigns, signed on the 31st of March

1683, was confirmed by the solemnity of an oath administered by

the cardinal-legate, the obligation of which on the conscience of

Sobieski will be found to have exercised a marked influence on his

future conduct. At the time when the treaty was concluded the invader

had not yet set foot in Hungary. To approach the Austrian capital

they would have to pass a number of strongly fortified towns, which,

according to the ordinary course of military proceedings, must

first be reduced before pushing further into the enemy’s country.

Nevertheless, the intelligence which reached Sobieski from his secret

spies and envoys in the Turkish dominions all pointed to Vienna

itself as the object of attack. But in spite of his representations

to Leopold, that monarch could not be induced to believe himself in

danger, or to prepare for an emergency; and thus, when the heights of

the surrounding hills blazed with the camp-fires of the Tartars, the

city, as we have seen, was taken by surprise; and the inhabitants of

the surrounding country were quietly at work in the harvest-fields,

when the hosts of the enemy came on them like some sudden inundation.

Indeed, the march of Kara Mustapha was without a precedent. To

advance from the borders of Hungary to the walls of Vienna, leaving

in his rear all the fortresses of the imperialists, was the affair

of a week; before another had closed, his trenches were opened and

the siege begun; and this extraordinary rapidity must account, both

for the defenceless state of the capital and for the time which

necessarily elapsed before the Polish king could come to its relief.

An incident may here be related which will show the nature of the

warfare waged by the infidels, and the treatment which the Viennese

might expect at their hands. In the neighbourhood of the city was

the small town of Perchtoldsdorf; and as one of the first objects of

the invaders was to secure all the places capable of being fortified

within a short distance of Vienna, a detachment was sent to take

possession. The inhabitants, under the direction of their bailiff,

at first endeavoured to hold the town; but owing to the superior

numbers of the enemy and the failure of ammunition, they were soon

compelled to abandon it, and to betake themselves to the tower of the

church and its precincts, which, on the approach of the Turks, they

had diligently fortified, as their forefathers had done 150 years

before. Small hope, however, was there that they should be able to

keep the enemy at bay; and when a horseman, bearing a flag of truce,

summoned them to surrender, with the offer of security to life and

property in case of immediate compliance, they did not hesitate to

accept the terms. On the morning of July 17th a pasha arrived from

the camp, and, seating himself on a red carpet opposite the church,

announced to the besieged the conditions of surrender; which were,

that the inhabitants should pay a contribution of 6000 florins, and,

as a token that they had not yielded up the place, but had honourably

capitulated, the keys were to be delivered by a young maiden with

her hair flowing and a garland on her head. These terms concluded,

the citizens left their stronghold; and the daughter of the bailiff,

arrayed as described, bore the keys of the place on a cushion, and

presented them to the pasha. The latter now required that all the

men capable of bearing arms should be drawn up in the market-place,

on pretence of ascertaining what number of troops were needed for

the occupation of the town. It was too late to retreat, and the

order was obeyed. As the inhabitants came out, the Turkish soldiers

closed about them, and deprived them of their arms; such as hesitated

were overpowered, and those who paused in the gateway, reluctant to

proceed, were dragged out by the hair of their heads. The unfortunate

people were no sooner all assembled than their persons were searched,

and every thing they had about them was taken away. At the same time

the entrance-gate was strongly guarded. Some of the townsmen, seized

with alarm, endeavoured, with the bailiff at their head, to regain

the church; but the Turks rushed upon them with drawn sabres, and

the bailiff was cut down on the threshold. At that instant the pasha

rose from his seat, flung down the table before him, and gave the

signal for a general massacre, himself setting the example by cutting

down with his own hand the trembling girl at his side. The slaughter

raged for two hours without intermission; 3500 persons were put to

the sword, and in a space so confined that the expression “torrents

of blood,” so often a figure of speech, was fully applicable to the

case. The women and children, who still remained within the church,

together with the parish-priest and his coadjutor, were dragged into

slavery, and never heard of more. Among the victims, numbers of whom

were inhabitants of adjacent places who had taken refuge in the town,

some, it is conjectured, were people of condition; for, in the course

of excavations which lately took place on the scene of the massacre,

valuable rings set with precious stones have been discovered.[68]

To this day the Holy Sacrifice is offered every year for those who

perished on the fatal 17th of July by this act of savage treachery.

But to return. Thirteen thousand regular troops from the army of

Lorraine were assembled within the walls of Vienna by the evening of

the 13th; and at sunrise on the following day a dusky moving mass

appeared on the heights of the Weinerberg, which was the main body

of the enemy. Scarcely could the most practised eye distinguish one

object from another in the confusion of the crowd. Men, horses,

camels, and carriages, formed a mixed multitude, which from the

ramparts of the city seemed like some swarm of locusts, and extended

for miles along the plains of the Danube and the surrounding hills.

The formation of the besieging camp was immediately begun, and within

a few hours 25,000 tents had risen as if by magic out of the ground.

Luxury and magnificence formed the very tradition of an eastern army;

and since the days of Xerxes perhaps no such host had been seen,

either for numbers or for splendour of equipment, as that which now

spread around the walls of the devoted city of Vienna. We should

form an imperfect notion of the spectacle presented to the eyes of

its defenders, if our idea of the Turkish camp were modelled on the

usual military equipages of European nations. The pavilion of the

vizier and his principal officers blazed with a wealth which the

imperial palaces could hardly rival. That of Kara Mustapha was a town

in itself: the canvas walls formed streets and houses, and included

within one enclosure baths, fountains, and flower-gardens, and even

a menagerie stocked from the imperial collection of the Favorita,

which had fallen into the hands of the invaders. Within the mazy

labyrinth of these luxurious alleys stood the pavilion of Mustapha

himself. The material was of green silk, worked in gold and silver,

and it was furnished with the richest oriental carpets and dazzling

with precious stones. In a yet more magnificent sanctuary, forming

the centre of the whole, was preserved the sacred standard of the

Prophet, which had been solemnly intrusted to the care of the vizier

by the sultan’s own hands. The display of the inferior officers was

on a corresponding scale.

Whilst these preparations were going on outside the walls,

Stahremberg was busy in his arrangements for the defence. Among his

most able coadjutors was one whose name deserves to be remembered

among the noblest ranks of Christian patriots. This was Leopold von

Kollonitsch, Bishop of Neustadt, on whom the spiritual care of the

city had devolved; the Bishop of Vienna having accompanied his royal

master in his flight. It could scarce have fallen on one better

fitted to hold it at such a time. In his youth he had served as a

Knight of Malta in many campaigns against the infidels; and in the

Cretan war had excited the wonder and admiration of the Venetians,

before whose eyes he boarded several Turkish galleys, killing many

unbelievers with his own hand, and tearing down and bearing away

as a trophy the Moslem standard of the horse-tail. The military

experience of such a man was of no small use in the present crisis;

yet we should be in error if we attached to the name of Kollonitsch

the prejudice which lies against the character of a military prelate.

If he was daily on the ramparts, and by the side of Stahremberg in

the posts of greatest danger, it was to console the wounded and

administer the last rites of religion to the dying. His talents and

scientific knowledge were directed towards securing the safety of

his fellow-citizens, and mitigating the sufferings of the siege. It

was he who suggested, and, indeed, by his exertions supplied the

necessary means for provisioning the city; regulated the tariff;

and even provided for the extinction of the fires which might be

caused by the shells of the besiegers. Yet, extraordinary as were

the services he rendered, in discharging them he never seems for

one moment to have stepped beyond the line assigned to him by his

clerical character. The hospital was his home; women, children, and

the aged and infirm, were the only forces whose command he assumed;

and by his ingenuity they were organised into a regular body, and

rendered efficient for many services which would otherwise have

necessarily taken up the time of those whose presence was required on

the walls.

Let us now place ourselves on those walls and watch the scene before

us. A week ago there was a pleasant prospect over the faubourgs

of the city, where in the midst of vineyards and gardens might be

seen the white walls of costly public edifices, or the villas of

the nobility and richer citizens. All this is now gone; for, as a

necessary precaution of public safety, the suburbs, whose proximity

to the city would have afforded a dangerous cover to the invaders,

have been devoted to the flames. Beyond the blackened ruins, which

gird the ramparts of Vienna with a dark line of desolation, stretches

the camp of the Ottomans, in the form of a vast half-moon. The

bright July sun is shining over its gilded pavilions, and you may

see the busy caravans of merchants with their trains of camels and

elephants, which carry your fancy back to the gorgeous descriptions

of an Arabian tale. It seems like the work of some of its own fabled

genii when you see the landscape, but a day or two ago rich in the

civilisation of an European capital, now suddenly transformed into

an Oriental scene, and mark the picture of mimic domes and minarets,

and the horse-tail standards waving in the breeze, every breath of

which brings the echo of a wild and savage music from the cymbals and

trombones of the Tartar troops.

Now let us turn our eyes on the city itself. The first object which

meets our gaze is the smoking ruin of the Scottish convent. On the

first day of the siege it caught fire, and was reduced to ashes; and

you may hear from the lips of any citizen you meet how but for the

protection of God and our Lady that first day of siege bade fair

to have been the last: for the fire spread rapidly to the imperial

arsenal, which contained the whole store of powder belonging to the

garrison. It seemed to defy every effort to extinguish it; and an

explosion was each moment expected, which, had it taken place, must

have destroyed the whole northern quarter of the city, and laid

it open for the entrance of the enemy. Two windows were already

on fire, and the heat prevented the workmen from approaching the

spot. But the people, who watched the scene with terrible anxiety,

prayed, even as they worked, and invoked the patronage of that fond

Mother whose ear is never closed to her children’s prayers; and

then, what historians call a favourable chance happened, which

saved the city. The wind suddenly changed; the flames went out of

themselves, or spread in a contrary direction. Though posterity may

laugh at their superstition and credulity, the foolish people of

Vienna are contented to believe that they have been preserved by the

providence of Him whose ministers are the winds and His messengers

the flaming fire. Nor indeed had this been the only instance of what

was naturally deemed a providential intervention in behalf of the

besieged. The first shell fired by the Turks into the town fell near

the church of St. Michael; and before it had time to burst, a little

child of three years old ran fearlessly up to it, and extinguished

it. A second struck through the roof of the cathedral, and fell among

a crowded congregation; but one woman alone was slightly injured by

the explosion; and a third was thrown right into an open barrel of

powder, but no mischief ensued: and the citizens were accustomed to

collect the fragments, and, after having them blessed by a priest, to

re-discharge them at the enemy. In vain did the besiegers try every

combustible weapon which ingenuity could suggest; Vienna seemed at

least insured against conflagration, and the fire-balls, and arrows

wrapped with combustible materials, fell on the roofs and in the

streets as harmlessly as a shower of leaves.

Now let us look up to the tall and graceful spire of St. Stephen,

whose tapering summit, surmounted by the crescent, bears witness

to the former presence of the infidels. Within those fretted and

sculptured pinnacles, beyond the reach of the most piercing eye, is

the stone-chair whence the governor Stahremberg overlooks the whole

camp of the enemy. There he sits, hour after hour; for a wound in

his head, received from the bursting of a shell, has disabled him

for the present from taking his usual position on the ramparts;

though not a day passes but you may see him carried in a chair to the

defences which are being completed under his direction. There are

others whom you encounter at every turn, whose names and services

are almost as memorable as his. There is the Baron of Kielmansegge,

who is ready for any thing, and will carry a private’s musket in the

ranks, if need be; while his mechanical and scientific ingenuity have

supplied the garrison with a powder-mill and a hand-grenade of his

own construction. Or there is Count Sigbert von Heister, whose hat

was pierced through with the first Turkish arrow shot into the town:

and both arrow and hat are still to be seen in the Ambrose Museum of

the city. Or you will come across singularly accoutred members of

the various volunteer-corps of the city, whose patriotism has taught

them to shoulder a gun for the first time; while the name of their

companies may perhaps account for their awkwardness in their new

profession: they are members of the gallant burgher companies,—of

the butchers, or the bakers, or the shoemakers,—and they render good

service on the walls, and never shrink from fire. But a more trimly

equipped body may be seen, neither burghers nor yet of the regular

force; there is a fanciful oddity in their costume, and a certain

recklessness in their very walk and gestures; you see at once they

are the students from the university, commanded by their rector

Lawrence Grüner. And lastly, wherever the shots are thickest and

the danger greatest, wherever blood is flowing and men are dying or

suffering, you may see the form of the excellent Kollonitsch, not a

quiver of whose eyelid betrays that the balls whistling round his

head are any objects of terror to his soul, while he stoops over

the prostrate bodies of the wounded, and tenderly bears them on his

shoulders to the hospital which is his home.

* * * * *

A month has passed; and the siege has rapidly advanced, and brought

many a sad change to the position of the defenders. There have been

assaults and sallies, mines and countermines, without number; the

bastions are in many places a heap of ruins, smashed with shot and by

the explosion of mines. There are some where the fire is so thick

and continual, that to show yourself for a moment on them is certain

death. The city lies open in many places to the enemy; but in vain

have the Janizaries led their best men to the breach; each time have

they been met by the heroic defenders, whose own arms have proved

a surer barrier than the most skilful fortifications, and over and

over again have they been compelled to retire to their trenches with

loss. The progress of the Turkish miners, the most skilful of their

day, has been rapid and alarming. Their excavations have reached

the very heart of the city; and each house has its sentinel day and

night to prevent a subterraneous surprise. In every cellar there

is a large vessel of water and a drum covered with peas, that the

possible presence of the enemy underground may be betrayed by their

vibration. These mines were indeed extraordinary works of art, and

excited the admiration of the German engineers when they inspected

them at the close of the siege. They were vast excavations, often

themselves fortified; for the countermines of the besieged sometimes

broke into them, and then a deadly contest was carried on hand to

hand in the bowels of the earth. Frequently did the brave defenders

succeed in destroying not only the works but the workmen, and many

hundredweights of powder were thus seized and carried off. The

trenches were divided into chambers for the accommodation of the

officers, and some prepared for the use of the vizier were perfectly

carpeted and cushioned. He himself divided his time between the

inspection of the trenches and the luxurious enjoyments of his camp.

Every third day he caused himself to be carried to the works in a

litter made shot-proof by strong plates of iron, and might be seen

urging on the men with his words, and sometimes striking the idlers

with the flat of his sabre.

But the fire of the enemy was not the only danger that now threatened

the defenders. The usual consequences of a siege began to show

themselves in disease, brought on by bad food and the infection

from the dead bodies. Among its victims were the brave Burgomaster

Liebenberg, and many of the highest functionaries and ecclesiastics

of the city. The hospitals were crowded as well with the sick as with

the wounded; and if the pestilence at length subsided, it was in

great measure owing to the exertions of Kollonitsch, whose sagacity

suggested, whilst his prompt and untiring activity carried out,

every precaution that the urgency of the case required. You might

see him every where: he was constantly in the hospitals, nursing

the sufferers with the tenderness of a woman; and an hour after you

would find him superintending the construction of drains and kennels,

and working with his own hand to teach and encourage his men. His

name became so familiar in people’s mouths as the chief protector of

the city, that the fame of his services reached the vizier’s camp;

and Kara Mustapha is said to have vowed his head to the sultan as a

revenge for his success in checking the ravages of that pestilence on

which he counted as his best ally. Meanwhile every man in the city

was employed in his own way: the citizens were busy with carts and

horses; the Jesuits had two of their number constantly perched on the

tower of St. Stephen, making telescopic observations of the hostile

movements. Such men as Kielmansegge turned their amateur ingenuity to

account by manufacturing handmills to grind the flour; and, spite of

their sufferings, no abatement of courage or spirit was observable

among the ranks.

Still there was no sign of relief. Sobieski, besieged by messages

from the Pope and the emperor, was indeed making prodigious

efforts to raise the necessary forces; but many had to be armed

and disciplined before they could be ready to meet the enemy. The

small army of Lorraine maintained its position at Crems, and even

showed itself on the offensive against Tekeli, whom it compelled

to retire from Presburg; but its numbers were wholly inadequate to

an encounter with the Turks. The alarm of Europe grew every day

greater, and showed itself in generous contributions towards the

expenses of the war. Every town in Italy sent its list of voluntary

subscriptions; whilst the cardinals of Rome sold plate and carriages

to offer every thing to the cause. Once more, as in the days of

Lepanto, the devout hearts of the faithful were roused to prayer;

and before every Catholic shrine were to be seen crowds of pilgrims

and daily processions to invoke the protection of the God of armies.

Something like the old enthusiasm of the crusades revived in Europe,

and volunteers from all nations enrolled themselves under the banners

of Lorraine. France alone was chained back by the will of her “grand

monarque,” whose conduct on this occasion must remain a perpetual

disgrace upon his name. The brave Conti, who had secretly set out

to offer the services of his sword to the Austrian commander, was

followed and arrested by the order of his royal master, who preferred

the triumph of the infidel to the success of a rival. Two princes

of the house of Savoy, who had accompanied Conti in his flight,

succeeded, however, in making their way to the scene of war; these

were the Prince of Carignan Soissons and his younger brother, known

then by the name of the little Abbé of Savoy. The news of their

departure was brought to the minister Louvois, who received it with

an expression of contempt. “So the abbé has gone,” he said; “so much

the better; he will not come back to this country very soon.” Nor,

indeed, did he return till he came with arms in his hands; and then

“the little Abbé of Savoy” was better known as the Great Eugene.

Thus, by degrees, the imperial camp of Crems became the rendezvous

for all the gallant spirits of the time; but no means had yet been

found of communicating with the city, which was closely hemmed in

on all sides by the besieging forces, and thus cut off from all

knowledge of the chances of its relief. At length, on the 6th of

August, a trooper of Lorraine’s succeeded in the daring enterprise of

swimming across the Danube in the face of the enemy, and making his

way into the city, bearing despatches from the duke, secured from the

water in a thick envelope of wax. On his return, however, he fell

into the hands of the Turks; and, on being questioned concerning the

state of the city, saved his life by a cunningly invented tale of the

despair of the besieged and their approaching surrender. After this,

a great number of others were found to imitate his exploit; and, in

spite of the vigilance of the Turks, the communication between the

city and the camp was continually carried on; the safe arrival of

their respective messengers being announced by a shower of rockets.

Many are the stratagems and hair-breadth escapes which the annals

of the siege record. There we read of the brave Pole, Kolschitzki,

attended by a countryman as daring as himself, strolling in disguise

through the Turkish camp, and singing gaily as he goes; drinking

coffee at his ease in an aga’s tent, and entertaining his host the

while with many a song and careless jest, telling him he had followed

the army of the vizier from sheer love of fighting and adventure;

and dismissed with a caution to beware of falling into Christian

hands: so pursuing his perilous journey, and returning unscathed,

with precious despatches from the duke.[69] We read, too, of his

intrepid attendant twice repeating the hazardous exploit alone; how,

on his second return, with an autograph letter from the emperor,

after having all but passed the enemy’s lines, he is joined by a

Turkish horseman, and, unable to shake off his unwelcome companion,

he suddenly turns upon him, strikes off his head at a blow, and

springing on the now riderless steed, reaches the city-gates in

safety.

Meanwhile deputies from all the imperial dominions were sent to

hasten the preparations of the Polish king, to whose warlike spirit

the delay he was forced to endure was as painful as it was to them.

Once the apostolic nuncio and the imperial minister surprised him

alone, and, throwing themselves at his feet, embraced his knees

in a very agony of distress. Leopold condescended to the most

extraordinary promises, in case he should succeed in delivering him

and his capital. The kingdom of Hungary was to be his; his eldest

son should form an alliance with the imperial family; he was to name

his own conditions, only he must come, and come quickly. Sobieski’s

reply to these offers was worthy of himself: “I desire no other

reward than the glory of doing right before God and man.” At last,

on the 15th of August,—a day he had chosen as being the Feast of the

Assumption of the glorious Mother of God, to whom he had consecrated

his arms and his enterprise,—the royal lance of Poland, surmounted

by a white plume, was displayed in the streets of Cracow; the usual

signal for the gathering of the forces destined for war. Sobieski

commenced the day by performing the stations on foot to the different

churches of the city; then, without waiting for the troops expected

from Lithuania, he set out at the head of the Polish forces for the

frontier of Germany. Caraffa, the Austrian general, pushed forward

to meet him, impatient to know if the report of the king’s presence

with the army were indeed true; for so extraordinary was the power

of his name, that—as Lorraine expressed it—that one man was an army

in himself. He was instantly introduced to Sobieski, who eagerly

inquired from him the disposition of the Ottoman troops, and the

ground they occupied. “They occupy every space and height around the

city,” replied Caraffa, “the Kahlenberg alone excepted.” “Then the

Kahlenberg will be the point of attack,” replied Sobieski; and in

the rapid conception of genius the whole plan of the campaign was

before him in that single phrase. In fact, the neglect of the Turks

in leaving these important heights unguarded forms an unaccountable

blunder in the otherwise skilful dispositions of the vizier. They

commanded the whole of the adjacent plains, and in their present

state offered a cover for the approach, and a strong post for the

occupation, of the relieving army. This the quick eye of Sobieski

at once perceived. Had it been otherwise, the event of the coming

struggle might have been very different; and the singular oversight

of the Turkish commander was felt in the hour of the Christian

success to be explained only by the superintending influence of that

God to whom the cause had been so solemnly committed.

August, therefore, is now closing in; and far away on the frontier

the warriors of Poland are making their way to the scene of combat

over the rocky heights of the Carpathians. The fast-crumbling walls

of Vienna are now no longer the defence of the city, but the rough

battle-ground on which the besieged and their enemies meet daily

hand to hand. Strange sights may be seen in those deadly combats:

musket and matchlock are laid aside, for there is scarcely room to

use them; and the keen Turkish scimitar is met on the side of the

besieged with battle-axe and halberd, and with uncouth and frightful

weapons fashioned for the purpose. There is the morning-star, a

hideous club covered with spikes of brass; long scythes fixed to the

ends of poles, like the Lochaber axes of the Highlanders; and in

every street in the city you may see huge fires, over which there

boil caldrons of water and pitch, which the women and children carry

to the battlements, and which, dashed in the faces of the advancing

squadrons, prove a deadly means of offence. What cries of pain and

baffled rage, what wild shouts and imprecations, rise from those

savage Tartar tribes! They fall by hundreds into the ditch, pushed

back by the strong arm of their opponents; and the scalding, blinding

deluge from above pours down on them, like the brimstone tempest of

Gomorrah! But the daring defence is not kept up with impunity; the

air is darkened with the shower of Turkish arrows, whose poisoned

wounds are almost certain death. They have for days past kept off the

enemy from the shattered ravelin of the Burg by wooden palisades

erected in the very face of their fire. Now the whole work is in

flames; the Turks press hard behind the burning timbers, and threaten

to overwhelm the scanty troop of defenders, rendered helpless by the

scorching heat. But in another moment the tide of fortune has turned

again; for the soldiers, tearing off their steel head-pieces, fill

them with water, and rushing into the midst of the blazing mass,

extinguish it, and drive back their assailants.

Still they advanced step by step,—slowly, yet with a terrible

certainly. Above, the ruined bastions became in turn the batteries

for the guns which they turned against the town; whilst still the

war was carried on underground between the desperate combatants,

and no less than 16,000 of the Turkish miners were slain in these

subterranean conflicts. Famine was beginning to show itself; and

he who could succeed in getting a shot at some wandering cat was

considered a fortunate speculator with his prize. The chase of these

poor animals, indeed, became a regular trade; and, keeping up their

spirits in the midst of their sufferings, the Viennese bestowed on

this new game, which they hunted over the roofs of the houses, the

truly German appellation of “dachshase,” or roof-hare.

At length, the vizier prepared for a vigorous assault; and had it

been conducted by the mass of the besieging force, there can be

little doubt that the result would have been fatal. As it was, a

portion only of his troops were despatched to the breach. This want

of energy at the very crisis of the siege proceeded from a covetous

fear on the part of the Turkish chief, that, in the license of

a general assault, he should lose the enormous plunder which he

promised himself, could he reduce the city by less violent measures.

Nevertheless, on the morning of the 4th of September, a column of

smoke rising from the Burg bastion announced an enormous explosion,

and 4000 Turks rushed to the breach. They were met by Stahremberg and

his whole staff, who, hopeless of success, prepared to die at the

post of honour. On came the Moslems, carrying baskets of earth on

their backs, to form a way for those who followed, and the horse-tail

standards were even planted on the rampart crest; but again and again

they were driven back with loss. Then came a breathing-space of a

single day; and the interval was occupied by the heroic defenders

in filling up the yawning breaches in their walls with mattresses,

sandbags, and every imaginable material they could supply. A yet more

furious assault followed on the 6th; but still the result was the

same, and 1500 bodies of the infidels remained heaped on the summit

of the strange barrier. Alas, this was almost the energy of a death

agony; and, nobly as they fought for faith and fatherland, each one

well knew, if relief did not quickly come, the fate of the city

might be delayed from day to day, but must be sealed at last. Every

night, fires from the spire of St. Stephen’s, and the graceful fall

of those beautiful rockets,—the sad signals of distress,—were to be

seen, notifying to the distant army of the Imperialists the urgency

of the danger. The evening of that day, which had witnessed so

obstinate a repulse of the last assault, closed in more sadly for the

victors than for the defeated infidels. The bodies of 117 brave men

of their little army were lying among the corpses of their enemies;

the town was crumbling into ruins; and the hearts of the besieged

were at last giving way under exhaustion and despair. Kollonitsch

might be seen going from house to house, striving to reanimate the

courage of the citizens with the hopes of speedy succour; but he was

met with a moody and disspiriting silence. Suddenly there was a cry

from the ramparts, a signal from the watch-tower of the Jesuits, and

thousands hurried to the shattered walls, expecting some surprise

from the enemy. What did they see? and why did men cast themselves

into one another’s arms, and weep like women; and women kneel by

their side, as they gazed on the distant horizon, giving thanks to

God and to the Mother of God for their answered prayers? There was

the clear starlit sky of a summer’s night, and the far outline of the

Kahlenberg cutting the sapphire canopy overhead with its deep dark

mass of shadow; and there, on the very summit of its rocky height,

rising into the air and floating in its glorious vault, like a string

of jewels, were the gleaming tracks and the fiery stars of five

signal-rockets from the advanced guard of the imperial army. They

had, then, crossed the river; the outposts were already in possession

of those rampart hills; and, as the blessed truth came home to the

hearts of the beholders, they were filled with a fresh courage;

and, cheered on by their noble leader, they prepared to prolong a

yet more obstinate resistance, till the hour of their deliverance

should arrive. Nor were theirs the only eyes who had marked those

signal-rockets; and the preparations for a street-fight within the

walls of Vienna were accompanied by redoubled preparations for

hostilities in the Ottoman camp.

CHAPTER II.

THE RELIEF.

March of the Poles—Junction with the Imperialists—Ascent of the

Kahlenberg—A day of suspense—Scene from the heights—The morning

of the battle—Descent into the plain—Advance of Sobieski—Rout

of the Turks—Sobieski’s entry into Vienna—Charity of

Kollonitsch—Behaviour of the emperor—Joy of Europe—Thanksgiving

of the Church—End of Kara Mustapha.

Sobieski and his army were on the borders of Silesia within a week

from their departure from Cracow. His eldest son, Prince James Louis,

the youth of many a hope and many a bitter disappointment, marched

by the side of his heroic father. His queen accompanied him to the

frontier, where they were obliged to separate; and the letters which

passed between them during the remainder of the campaign form a

singular and most valuable portion of the documentary history of the

day. His march revived the hopes of Europe, and the malice of the

“grand monarque;” and whilst the intelligence of the approaching

crisis was received in Rome by solemn prayers for the success of the

Christian arms, by exposition of the Blessed Sacrament in all the

churches, and by processions in all the streets, Louis XIV. could

see in it nothing but an opportunity for surprising the Austrian

provinces of the Low Country by a _coup-de-main_: and Brussels saw

a French army at its gates without even a declaration of war. Such

are the tactics of that state-policy which the French writers of

the succeeding century deplore as so deficient in the enterprise of

Sobieski. We leave our readers to draw their own comparison between

the conduct of the Christian hero and that of the “Most Christian

king.”

The events of the march followed one another in rapid succession.

It lay through a rough and mountainous country, beset with

wandering tribes of Tartars and Hungarians. As they drew near the

head-quarters of the Imperialists the ardour of Sobieski would not

allow him to delay; but setting forward with a few cavalry, he

pushed on in advance of his army, “that he might the sooner taste

the waters of the Danube and hear the cannon of Vienna:” these are

his own words in his letter to his wife. Lorraine hastened to meet

them. Destiny had hitherto matched them as rivals, both in love and

in war; but each was too great to remember past jealousies at such

a moment. By the 5th of September the junction of the two armies at

Tuln was completely effected; and the supreme command was unanimously

made over to the Polish king. There was still a doubt about the

practicability of crossing the river; but Sobieski had a way of his

own for settling such questions. He went down to inspect the bridge,

which the Imperialists were still engaged in constructing in the very

face of the Ottoman batteries: “The man who suffered this bridge

to be built under his very beard is but a contemptible general,

and cannot fail to be beaten,” he said. “The affair is settled;

the army will cross to-morrow.” And even as he spoke, a messenger

from Stahremberg, dripping with water,—for he had swum across the

river,—was ushered into the presence of the generals. He bore a

despatch of few words, yet they told all the agony of suspense which

was then reigning in the city: “No time to be lost!—no time to be

lost!” The affair was therefore settled as Sobieski had said, and

none ventured a remonstrance.

The next day was that memorable 6th of September of which we have

spoken. Whilst the besieged, still ignorant of the near presence

of their deliverers, were making that gallant and despairing stand

against the assault of their opponents, the Christian host were

passing over the Danube and making their rapid advance upon the

Kahlenberg. The Polish cavalry marched first, their costume mingling

something of oriental magnificence with the European character of

their arms; the infantry followed, less brilliantly equipped; one

regiment, indeed, and that one of the bravest of the whole force,

showed so ragged and dilapidated an exterior, that Sobieski’s pride

was hurt. He turned to Lorraine, as the ranks defiled before them,

saying, “Look at these fellows; they are invincible rascals, who have

sworn never to clothe themselves except out of the enemy’s spoils.”

It was a glorious and inspiriting sight; and never had Sobieski

found himself at the head of so numerous or powerful an army. He who

had beaten the Turks over and over again at the head of a handful

of armed peasants, felt it pusillanimous to doubt of victory with a

force like the present, and the favour of heaven on his side: 70,000

men were passing in brilliant order before his eyes. There were the

troops of Saxony, with their elector at their head; and those of the

Bavarians, just arrived in time to join the main body, with their

young and gallant Elector Maximilian, burning with military ardour,

and destined to celebrity, as well in his achievements as in his

misfortunes, who now intrusted the command of his people to abler

hands, and served himself in the ranks as a volunteer. There was a

crowd of illustrious names in the battle-roll of that army; and the

“little Abbé of Savoy” was not missing among them. The river crossed,

there yet remained the Kahlenberg to be scaled and secured. They did

not yet know if the summit were still unoccupied; and the dangerous

task of reconnoitring was undertaken by Sobieski himself. Let us

place the scene before us, to estimate the difficulty of the task.

The Kahlenberg mountain, which now stretched like a huge curtain

between the hosts of the infidels and the advancing bands of the

allies, was a wild range of rocky hills and precipices, covered on

one side by a vast forest, whilst the other descended abruptly to

the waters of the Danube. Its crest was crowned with a fortress and

a little chapel; and these were still untouched. Kara Mustapha, in

his gilded pavilion, lay buried in profound and luxurious security

in the plain below, all unconscious that on the other side of those

rugged peaks, struggling among the rocks and in the mazes of the

tangled forest, wearily dragging their guns over the rough roads, and

casting away baggage and accoutrements in their eagerness to press

on to the longed-for goal, were the scattered forces of his enemies,

whom a handful of determined men might have annihilated whilst they

were in the perils of that terrible ascent. But a blindness had

come over the judgment of the Turks. Some of their wandering Tartar

bands even encountered the outposts of the enemy, and, with singular

simplicity, are said to have inquired what all this bustle meant.

“It means that the King of Poland is behind,” replied the soldiers.

“The King of Poland!” answered the Tartar, with a sneering laugh: “we

know very well that he is far away from here.” And this scrambling

weary march lasted three days. They climbed the rocks like cats,

and threw themselves down the crags, clinging to the bushes. A few

must have reached the summit, by means of incredible exertions, the

very evening of the passage of the river, as we have already seen

that signal-rockets from the top of the mountain gave warning to the

citizens of their approach so early as the night of the 6th; but it

was not until the 10th that the main body succeeded in taking up a

position on the heights.

The ascent of the Kahlenberg must be reckoned amongst the most

brilliant achievements of the Polish king. Its difficulties were such

as could be surmounted only by determined courage and a surpassing

genius. The imperial troops were fearful and discouraged; and when

the cry of “Allah!” from some of the outposts of the infidels

first broke on their ear, they were all but taking to flight, in

the extremity of their terror. The heavy pieces of artillery were

obliged to be left below; for there were no means of transporting

them through the savage passes they had to cross. Neither chiefs

nor soldiers had encumbered themselves with provisions, and during

their three days’ march their food was oak-leaves. A few who gained

the summit before the others, terrified by the first prospect of

the infidels, came back, leaping over the rocks in wild confusion,

spreading fear and disorder wherever they appeared. Sobieski’s own

voice, and the might of his heroic presence, his gay and cheerful

words, and the memory of his past victories, which seemed to surround

him as with a glory, were necessary to restore the courage of his

men. The soldiers of his own guard showed symptoms of discontent.

He advanced to them, and proposed that they should return to the

baggage-waggons; and, at those few words, they cast themselves at his

feet, and exclaimed, with tears, “We will live and die with our king,

Sobieski!” And all this time, amidst the incessant anxieties and

fatigues of his post, he could find leisure to write an incredible

number of letters to his wife, in which the hearty expressions of

generous affection, and the thoughtful simple tenderness with which

he tells her “to be sure not to rise too early in the morning,” would

fill us with feelings of more unmixed pleasure as we read them, could

we forget the unworthy and vexatious character of the woman on whom

he lavished so devoted an attachment.

It was on the morning of the 10th that the Turks, perceiving at

length the importance of the Kahlenberg position, made a hasty

movement of their troops to occupy it. But it was too late to repair

their error. A few Saxon squadrons were forced forwards into line,

and three guns brought to the summit. The Turks instantly retired;

and the roar of those three pieces of artillery proclaimed to the

ears of the distant citizens that their deliverance was at hand.

The echo of that sound drew them to the walls; and the sight that

met their eye on that distant ridge revived all their hopes. The

morning sun sparkled on a bristling forest of lances and the pennons

of the Polish hussars. Every moment the armed battalions might

be seen gathering in greater numbers, as they climbed the last

ascent, and formed in array of battle. There was a stir, too, in

the camp of the Ottomans; and the vast masses of the Turkish troops

swayed to and fro, then broke into three divisions. One seemed

to prepare for conflict with the Polish force, and faced towards

the mountains; another, composed of the camp-followers and other

irregular combatants, might be seen securing their baggage, and

moving off, with camels and horses, in the direction of the Hungarian

frontier; whilst the third advanced to renew the assault on the

city. It was a day of agonising suspense. The final struggle had

not, indeed, as yet begun, but it was evidently close at hand; and

whilst Kollonitsch called the women and the infirm to the churches,

Stahremberg once more led the remains of his dauntless forces to the

breach and the ramparts. By eleven o’clock on the morning of the 11th

the main body of the army was formed into line on the ridge of the

Kahlenberg, occupying the old castle and the little chapel before

mentioned. Below them lay the vast plain of Austria, where stretched

the enormous crescent of the Ottoman camp, sparkling with its gilded

tents, and intrenched with lines of fortifications; whilst, close at

the foot of the hill, and under cover of the forest and ravines, was

drawn up a considerable portion of the hostile army. No movement was,

however, made by either side; and both parties spent the remaining

hours of the day in councils of war, and arrangements for the morrow.

And so, whilst the rocket-signals of distress continued to rise from

the city-walls, and were answered by blazing fires from the mountain,

the eve of the great day closed in. Sobieski spent it in the saddle,

and before night had ridden along and inspected the entire position

of his forces.

The dawn of the autumn morning was breaking in the horizon. A thin

mist rested on the crest of the Kahlenberg, and gathered in dense

masses on the plain and river below. The eye of the Polish sentinels

could catch the spire of St Stephen’s rising above that silvery

cloud, whilst the darker masses of the city-walls were still veiled

within its folds; and still unceasingly from that tapering tower

there rose those fiery signals, which seemed to repeat, hour after

hour, the words of Stahremberg’s last despatch: “No time to be lost.”

It was a Sunday morning, as on the day of Lepanto,—an association

not forgotten by the Christian host; and as the sun rose higher, and

raised the curtain of mist that hung over the scene, life seemed

to wake in the Turkish camp, and again the roar of their artillery

was heard pouring its destructive fire upon the city, whilst their

cavalry and the squadrons of the Tartars faced towards the mountain.

The vizier was thus preparing for battle on either side of his

encampment. But before we endeavour to follow the course of the

conflict, let us pause on the heights of the Kahlenberg, and watch

the scene that meets our eye among the forces of the Christian

allies. Falling sweetly and gently through the morning air, there

comes the echo of a bell from the chapel of the Margrave: its little

steeple rises above the masses of forest-foliage, rich with autumn

tints; and as the sound reaches the lines of the Polish troops, the

clang of their arms, and the long reveille of their trumpets, are

hushed in silence. Before the chapel-door is planted the Christian

standard,—a red flag bearing a white cross; and as the symbol of

their faith, and of the holy cause for which they are in arms, is

displayed, a shout of enthusiasm bursts from the ranks, and is caught

up again and again from every quarter of the mountain. But silence is

restored, and all eyes turn in the direction of the old castle; and

as its gates are suddenly flung open, you may see a procession of the

princes of the empire, and of many a gallant and noble soldier from

every nation of Christendom, moving forward to commend the cause of

their arms to the God of battles. At the head of that column walks

neither king nor prince, but the form of one with the brown habit,

shaven crown, and sandalled feet, of a Capuchin friar. The soldiers

cross themselves as he passes, and kneel to receive the blessing

which he gives with outstretched hands. It is Marco Aviano, the

confessor to the emperor, and one on whom there rests the character

of a saint, and the reputation of prophetic gifts. He has been with

the army in all its hours of difficulty and distress; he is with them

now, to bless their arms, and to remind them of the cause for which

they are about to fight. And close following him in the gorgeous

procession, are three figures, that rivet you as you gaze. The first

is one whose look instantly commands respect. He is past the prime

of life, and there is something too much of portliness in his manly

form; and yet the majesty of his bearing tells you at a glance that

he is a hero and a king: that broad and noble forehead, that quick

yet gentle eye, and the open look that mingles such simplicity with

its command,—all bespeak no common man: it is the conqueror of

Choczim and Podacksi. On his left is the young prince James, the

father afterwards of the princess Clementina, whose marriage with

the Chevalier of St. George mingled the blood of Sobieski with that

of our own exiled Stuarts. His after-career was sad and inglorious;

but now he marches by his father’s side, a gallant youth of sixteen,

armed with helmet and breastplate, the pride and darling of the

hero’s heart. On the right of the king is the form of Charles of

Lorraine, plain and negligent in his attire; and yet, in spite of

negligence, and even a slouching and unmilitary gait, you may tell,

to use Sobieski’s words, “that he is no shopkeeper, but a man of note

and distinction.” Then follow the sovereign princes of Germany. We

will not weary our reader with a list of names. As our eye wanders

over the royal and noble ranks, glittering with the insignia of their

rank and military command, it rests on a slender youth of middle

stature, whose eye has in it the promise of a future career of glory.

Yes, you have guessed aright: the prince, his eldest brother, has

already fallen in the cause; but Eugene of Savoy has escaped to draw

his maiden sword in the defence of the faith, and to learn under

Sobieski his first lessons of that science in which he was hereafter

to share the battle-fields and renown of our own Marlborough. They

enter the chapel: Aviano celebrates the Mass, which is served by

Sobieski himself; and during the pauses in which he is not engaged

at the altar, he is kneeling on the steps, his head bowed down, his

arms extended in the form of a cross, and his whole soul absorbed in

prayer. It is a spectacle which revives to your imagination the days

of Dominic and de Montfort, and the consecration of the crusaders’

swords before the fight of Muret, as you see every individual in that

princely and martial assembly kneeling in turn to receive the Bread

of Life, whilst the thunder of the Turkish guns is even now sounding

in their ears: they will soon be in the field, and, ere the sun is

down, some of them will be lying there cold and dead. But they have

fitted themselves for death; and at this moment, as you gaze on them,

they seem full of that antique spirit of the elder chivalry, which

has stamped its likeness on those tombs and sculptured effigies,

making you doubt whether they who lie beneath were men of war or

prayer.

The Mass is over. Aviano, in his priestly vestments, is standing

at the chapel-door, with the crucifix in his hand. Raising it on

high, he gives his solemn benediction to the troops, saying these

words: “Soldiers, I announce to you, on the part of the Holy See,

that if you have confidence in God, the victory is yours;” and then

the last act of the religious ceremony is completed by a touching

and beautiful incident. Prince James is led to the feet of his

heroic father to receive the still honourable and sacred dignity of

Christian knighthood. When this was done, the ardour of Sobieski

became impatient of further delay. He sprang into his saddle, and

riding forward to the front of the line, spoke to his followers in

their own language: “Warriors and friends,” he said, “our enemies

are yonder in the plain, in greater numbers than at Choczim, when

we trampled them under our feet. We fight them on a foreign soil,

but we fight for our country; and under the walls of Vienna we are

defending those of Cracow and Warsaw. We have to save this day, not a

single city, but Christendom itself: the war is therefore holy. There

is a blessing on our arms, and a crown of glory for him who falls.

You are not fighting for any earthly sovereign, but for the King of

kings. It is He who has led you up these heights, and placed the

victory in your hands. I have but one command to give: Follow me. The

time is come for the young to win their spurs.” A tremendous shout

from the ranks was the answer to this harangue; replied to from the

distant enemy by cries of “Allah! Allah!” Then, pressing his horse to

the mountain edge, Sobieski pointed to the plain below, to the rocks

and precipices of the descent, and the moving masses of the enemy.

“March on in confidence,” he cried: “God and His Blessed Mother are

with us!” And as he spoke, five cannon-shots gave the signal for the

advance. The ranks immediately commenced the descent; and Aviano

turned back into the chapel to pray.

It was the original plan of the king to content himself this day

with the descent of the Kahlenberg, and the secure establishment

of the troops in position for battle on the morrow. Even his quick

and ardent genius had proposed no such gigantic undertaking as the

routing of the whole Turkish host, and the deliverance of the city,

in the course of a few hours. The event of the day was scarcely

so much the result of his own calculations as of the unforeseen

circumstances by which the left wing of the army, under Lorraine,

became engaged in a premature and desperate struggle with the right

of the Turkish force, and thus brought on the necessity for a general

action. The imperial troops descended the wooded ravines, driving

their opponents before them, slowly but surely; for though the Turks

obstinately defended every foot of ground, they were no match for

their adversaries. The Christian army was arranged in order of

battle in five distinct columns, which came down the mountain-side

“like so many irresistible torrents, yet in admirable order,”

stopping every hundred paces to enable those behind to come up to

them, and preserve their ranks. Each ravine was found guarded and

fortified, and was the scene of a separate conflict. The rocks, and

groups of trees, and the thick tangle of the vineyards,—all formed

so many covers for defence to the retreating Ottomans; but still,

spite of all resistance on their parts, nothing could check the

downward progress of those five mountain-torrents, which rolled on

steadily and victoriously, sweeping all before them. The descent

had commenced at eight o’clock, and by ten the left wing of the

army was in the plain. Lorraine halted, by command of Sobieski, to

enable the Polish troops to come up; and as each squadron issued

from the mountain-defiles, it took up its position in the order

of battle prescribed by the king, and planted its standard in the

field. By this time, the hope of pushing the struggle to a decisive

issue that day had suggested itself to the imperial commanders; and

Field-Marshal Geltz, perceiving the progress of the Bavarians and

Poles on the right and centre, observed to the Duke, that it would

be his own fault if he did not that night sleep in Vienna. It was

eleven o’clock: the burning sun had scattered all the mist of the

morning, and the whole scene glittered in the noonday blaze. The

heat was oppressive; and there was a pause in the movements of the

imperial troops. Suddenly a cry ran along the line, caught up from

regiment to regiment, “Live Sobieski!” Out from the wooded defiles of

the Wienerberg flashed the gilded cuirasses of the Polish cavalry;

and the bay horse and sky-blue doublet of the rider at their head

announced the presence of the king. Before him went an attendant,

bearing a shield emblazoned with his arms. Another rode near him,

bearing the plumed lance of Poland: this, as it streamed above the

heads of the combatants, always showed Sobieski’s place in the

battle; and round it the fight always gathered the thickest; while

his soldiers were accustomed to look to that white and waving signal

as to the star of victory.

The rocks and broken ground in which they stood formed a vast and

beautiful amphitheatre, carpeted with turf and dotted with noble

trees. Under one of these Sobieski alighted; and, ordering his men to

do the same, they took a hasty repast. It occupied but a few minutes;

and then, the semicircular battle-line of the Christian columns

forming in admirable order, the king rode round the whole body,

speaking to each in their own language; for there were few European

tongues of which he was not perfect master. The order was given for

the whole line to advance. The Turks, profiting by the halt of their

enemies, had brought up large reinforcements, commanded by the vizier

in person. They were met by a furious charge from the Polish lancers,

who at first drove all before them; but, led on by their impetuosity,

and surrounded by the masses of the infidels, they were for a moment

nearly overwhelmed. Their officers fell thick and fast. Waldech and

his Bavarians came up to their rescue; but the struggle was still

doubtful, when the second line and the imperial dragoons, with

Sobieski at their head, came down on the squadrons of the Turks with

a tremendous shock. Every thing gave way before them: on they went,

through ravines and villages, and still, as they dashed on, they

swept their foes from one outpost to another, nor drew their reins

till they touched the glacis of the camp, and the gilded peaks of the

Ottoman tents rose close before their eyes. Here the whole Turkish

force was drawn up to receive them. The front of their line bristled

with artillery; the flanks were strongly protected by fortifications

hastily but skilfully raised.

It was five o’clock. “Sobieski,” says Salvandy, “had reckoned on

sleeping on the field of battle, and deferring until next day the

completion of the drama; for that which remained to be done scarcely

seemed possible to be completed in a few hours, and with tired

troops. Nevertheless the allies, in spite of the oppressiveness of

the weather, were reanimated rather than exhausted by their march;

whereas it was evident that consternation reigned in the Ottoman

ranks. Far away were to be seen the long lines of the camels, hastily

pressing forward on the road to Hungary: they might be tracked by

the cloud of dust which darkened the horizon for miles.” The vizier

alone showed confidence, as dangerous and unreasonable as was the

panic of his followers. He counted on an easy triumph; and having, as

a first step, ordered the slaughter of all his captives, including

women and children, to the number of 30,000 souls, he appeared on

the field mounted on a charger, whose accoutrements, glittering

with gold, rendered the animal equally unserviceable for battle or

for flight. But flight was the last idea that suggested itself to

the mind of Kara Mustapha. Dismounted from his overloaded horse, he

might have been seen seated in a damask tent, luxuriously drinking

coffee with his two sons, as if he had but to look on at his ease,

and watch the dispersion of his enemies. The sight stirred the choler

of Sobieski. So rapid had been his advance, that he had no heavy

artillery with him, save two or three light pieces, which Kouski had

dragged on by the strong arm of his artillerymen. These the king

ordered to be pointed at the brilliant tent, from which the vizier

was now giving his orders; but the ammunition soon failed, and a

French officer ingeniously rammed home the last cartridge with his

wig, gloves, and a bundle of newspapers. We are not told the effect

of this original discharge; but at that moment the infantry came

up under Maligni, the king’s brother-in-law, and were instantly

despatched to a height which commanded the position of the vizier. A

vigorous attack soon carried them beyond the outposts, and planted

them on the redoubts. Then a wavering hesitation was observed in

the crowded ranks of the Mussulmans, which caught the quick eye of

Sobieski, and decided the fate of the day. “They are lost men,” he

cried; “let the whole line advance.” And as he led them in person

right for the vizier’s tent, his terrible presence was recognised

by the infidels. “By Allah, the king is with them!” exclaimed the

Khan of the Crimea; and every eye was turned in terror towards the

spot where the dancing feathers of that snow-white plume carried

victory wherever they appeared. Sobieski had sent word to Lorraine

to attack the centre, and leave him to finish the disordered masses

in his front. Then, surrounded by his hussars, and preceded by his

emblazoned shield and the plume-bearing lance which distinguished his

place in the battle, he brandished his sword in the foremost rank,

calling aloud, in the words of the royal prophet, “Not unto us, not

unto us, O Lord God of hosts, but to Thy name give the glory!” The

enthusiasm of his presence excited his troops to prodigies of valour;

his name rang through the plain; and, as the infidels quailed and

gave way before the charges of his cavalry, led on by their glorious

chief, a bloody token appeared in the evening sky, which struck a

supernatural dread into their hearts. It was an eclipse of the moon,

and the heavens themselves seemed fighting against the host of the

Ottomans. “God defend Poland!” the national cry, now sounded from

the advancing columns of a fresh body of troopers. They came on at

full gallop, the other squadrons joining in their desperate charge.

Palatines, senators, and nobles, they fell with headlong impetuosity

on the masses of their foes; and such was the fury of their attack,

that as man and horse went down before their lances, the huge body of

the Ottomans was cleft in twain, and a road, as it were, cut in their

centre, formed by the passage of the Christian troops. The shock was

so terrible, that nearly every lance of the Polish squadrons was

snapped asunder; those lances of which one of their nobles once said,

that should the heavens fall, they would bear them up upon their

points.

The Turks could offer no further resistance, and there was but one

thought among their ranks, and that was flight: their very numbers,

instead of strengthening, only embarrassed them. The vizier, but

an hour before so proud and confident, was borne along in the

panic-stricken crowd, weeping and cursing by turns. In the mêlée he

came across the Khan of the Crimea, himself among the foremost of

the fugitives. “You, too,” he said bitterly, “can you do nothing to

help me?” “The King of Poland is behind,” was his reply; “there is

but one thing left for us. Look at the sky, too, and see if God be

not against us;” and he pointed to the bloody moon, which, close

to the horizon, presented a ghastly spectacle to the eyes of the

terror-stricken infidel. And so the tide of flight and of pursuit

swept on: conquered, terrified, and not daring to raise their eyes

from the earth, the Mussulman army no longer existed. The cause of

Europe, of Christendom, and of civilisation, had triumphed; the

floods of the Ottoman power were checked, and rolled backwards, never

to rise again.

An hour only had passed since the fight began; and when it closed,

Sobieski was standing within the vizier’s tent. The charger, with its

golden caparisons, was led to him by a slave, who held its bridle,

before the door of the pavilion. Taking one of its golden stirrups,

the king gave it in charge to a courier to bear to the queen, as a

token of the defeat and flight of its owner.[70] Then his standards

were planted in the camp, and a wild and stormy night closed over the

field of battle.

Meanwhile there had been an action as desperate, and as successful

in its result to the Christian arms, on the breach of Vienna. The

storming party was repulsed by the determined valour of Stahremberg

and his shattered yet heroic followers. And when the Turks gave way,

and Louis of Baden pushed on towards the Scottish Gate, the garrison,

sallying from the walls, and mingling with his dragoons, fell on the

main body of the Janizaries occupying the trenches of the enemy, and

cut them all to pieces.

The king passed the night under a tree; and after fourteen hours

spent in the saddle, his sleep was sound and heavy. The sunrise broke

over a scene of strange and melancholy confusion. The Ottoman camp,

so lately glittering in all its oriental splendour, was now deserted

by its occupants, and bore in every direction the traces of their

ferocious cruelty. As the Poles marched through it, they trod over

the bodies of the Christian captives murdered in cold blood. Every

woman attached to the camp had suffered a similar fate. Nor was this

all; for camels and horses were found slaughtered in great numbers,

lest they should fall alive into the hands of the victors; nay, it

is said, the vizier had beheaded an ostrich with his own scimitar,

that it might never own a Christian for its master. The camp, with

its silken pavilion, and all its riches, was one vast charnel-house.

The horrors of the scene were heightened by the signs of luxury that

every where met the eye. The baths and fountains, the tissues and gay

carpetings, the jewelled arms and ornaments, with which the ground

was strewn, contrasted strangely with the heaps of ghastly corpses

that lay piled around.

But we will pass over the lists of the slain, and the details of a

booty almost fabulous in value, to bring our readers to the walls of

Vienna, where the agony of a long suspense had been exchanged for

the joy of a deliverance at once so sudden and so complete. Sobieski

entered the city through the breach made by the guns of the infidels,

and through which, but for his speedy succour, they would themselves

have passed as victors. As he rode along by the side of Stahremberg,

accompanied by the Duke of Lorraine and the Elector of Saxony, the

streets resounded with the acclamations of the people who crowded

about his horse. They kissed his hand, his feet, his very dress; and

some were heard to exclaim, as they involuntarily compared the hero

who had delivered them with the sovereign who had deserted them, “Why

is he not our master?” It was evident that these demonstrations of

feeling were already exciting the jealousy and displeasure of the

Austrian authorities; and even in his triumphal entrance, the king

was made to taste something of that ingratitude and cold neglect

that was afterwards exhibited in so extraordinary and disgraceful a

manner by Leopold himself. Nevertheless the people were not to be

restrained by the marked discouragement of their civic rulers; they

followed Sobieski in crowds to the church of the Augustines, where,

finding the clergy unprepared, or hesitating, perhaps, to offer the

usual service of thanksgiving, he himself, filled with impatient

enthusiasm, stepped before the high altar, and commenced intoning

the _Te Deum_, which was instantly taken up by his own Poles and the

clergy of the church. The sudden stillness caused by the cessation of

the firing, which had been distinctly heard, not only at Neustadt,

but far over the Styrian Alps, struck terror into the surrounding

population, who thought that the ancient city of the Christian Cæsars

had fallen into the hands of the enemies of the faith. A welcome

sound, therefore, to them was the boom of the three hundred cannons,

the thunder of which accompanied the thanksgiving at the church of

the Augustines. Ashamed of their neglect, the magistrates caused the

ceremony to be repeated with something more of pomp and splendour

in the cathedral of St. Stephen’s; and as the echoes of the chant

rolled through its glorious aisles, Sobieski knelt, as his biographer

relates, “prostrate, with his face upon the ground.” There was a

sermon too; and if the text were a plagiarism from the lips of St.

Pius, on the day of Lepanto, it was at least an appropriate one:

“There was a man sent from God, whose name was John.”

Where was Kollonitsch? for his name has not appeared in the list of

those who are rejoicing in the streets, or preaching in the churches.

You must look for him in the camp, where, unappalled by the terrors

of the scene, he is searching among the bloody corpses for any in

whom life may not yet be quite extinct; and his patient noble charity

has its reward; for, hiding among the tents, or even under the bodies

of their mothers, he has found more than six hundred infants, and

has claimed these children as his own. Nor is this all: many of

the Turkish women and Christian slaves are but half murdered; and

Kollonitsch has ordered carriages from the city to transport them, at

his own expense, to the hospitals. As to the children, his care of

them will end but with his life. “Like another St. Vincent de Paul,”

says Salvandy, “he became the father of them all.”[71] He provided

them with both maintenance and education, and thought himself well

paid for all his sacrifices by having gained them to the Christian

faith. The Pope, however, not so unmindful either of his personal

merits, or of the eminent services he had rendered to religion in the

hour of need, bestowed upon him the highest dignity which it was in

his power to confer, by exalting him to the cardinalate.

Of Aviano we find only an allusion to his joy at the victory, and

that during the whole of that eventful day, as he watched the

conflict from the chapel of the Margrave, he thought he beheld, as

he prayed, a white dove hovering over the Christian host. After the

return of Leopold to Vienna, “disgusted with the intrigues of the

court and the license of the camp,” he refused to retain the office

he held in the imperial family, and returned to Italy.

Sobieski himself soon left the city to return to the camp, and

prepare for the following up of this victory by a march into Hungary.

Indeed, anyhow he was unwilling to remain in Vienna; for, strange to

say, Leopold would not enter his capital until the man who had saved

it from destruction was at a distance from its walls. And what do

our readers suppose was the pretext for so ungracious a proceeding?

A scruple of ceremony; a piece of court-etiquette! _How_ should the

emperor receive him? Were he an hereditary monarch, courtesy would

place him on the imperial right hand; but to one who was but an

elective king, how could so high a dignity be accorded? When the

question, how such a one should be received, was proposed to Charles

of Lorraine, the Duke magnanimously replied: “With open arms, if he

has saved the empire!” But the generosity of this sentiment found

but little response in hearts which a narrow jealousy and pride

had closed to every noble impulse. The simple straightforwardness

of Sobieski at last solved the difficult problem. Finding himself

put off from day to day by clumsily invented excuses, he bluntly

asked one of the imperial courtiers whether the right hand were the

obstacle to the interview so long delayed; and on being answered

as simply in the affirmative, he ingeniously suggested that the

meeting should be one of face to face, each on horseback, the

emperor, accompanied by his suite, and himself, at the head of the

Polish troops. And thus it actually took place, as described in the

king’s own words: “We saluted each other civilly enough. I made

him my compliments in Latin, and in few words. He answered in the

same language, in a studied style. As we stood thus, face to face,

I presented to him my son, who came forward and saluted him. The

emperor did not even put his hand to his hat. I was wholly taken by

surprise. However, to avoid scandal and public remarks, I addressed

a few more words to the emperor, and then turned my horse round.

We again saluted each other, and I returned to my own camp.[72]

The Palatine of Russia, at the emperor’s desire, passed our army

in review before him. But our men have felt greatly affronted, and

have complained loudly that the emperor did not condescend to thank

them, even with a bow, for all they had done and suffered. Since

this parting, a sudden change has come over every thing: they take

not the slightest notice of us; they supply us with neither forage

nor provisions. The Holy Father had sent money for these to the Abbé

Buonvisi, but he has stopped short at Lintz.”

The conclusion of the memorable campaign to which we have adverted

forms no part of our present subject. It is enough for us to

remember, that in spite of every insult offered him; the ingratitude

shown him by the emperor, nay, the cruel insolence which denied

hospitals to his sick and burial to his dead, and which formally

refused all redress when the Poles were robbed of their baggage and

their horses by the followers of Leopold himself; the artillerymen

pillaged of their effects while on guard over the very guns they

had taken from the enemy;—in spite of all this, and of the marked

personal affronts which (as just related) the emperor put upon

his gallant deliverer on the plain of Ebersdorf, Sobieski did not

desert him; or rather, he would not desert the cause of Christendom,

to which his solemn oath, as a Christian king, bound him by an

obligation which he felt to be inviolable. His letters to his queen

abound with the expressions of this loyalty to his plighted word:

“I know there are many,” he says, “who wish me to return to Poland;

but for me, I have devoted my life to the glory of God and His holy

cause, and in that I shall persist. I too cling to life,” he adds; “I

cling to it for the service of Christendom, and of my country, for

you, my children, and my friends; but my honour is yet dearer to me.

Have no fear: we shall reconcile all these things if God give His

help.”

If gratitude and joy were wanting where they seemed most due, Europe

took the burden on itself, and paid the debt of Vienna. The news of

the great event, which fixed the destinies of the West, flew from

country to country, and every where roused the enthusiasm of the

people. Protestant and Catholic states united in decreeing public

thanksgiving to be offered in the churches for the great victory

obtained; and every where it was celebrated with rejoicings at court

and in the houses of the nobility. Even in England, severed as she

was from Catholic unity, the pulpits rang with the triumphs of the

Polish king. At Rome, the feast of thanksgiving lasted an entire

month. When the news of the victory reached the ears of Innocent XI.,

he cast himself at the foot of the crucifix, and melted into tears.

The night saw the magical dome of St. Peter’s blazing with its fiery

illumination; and within that dome, a few days later, the great

banner of the vizier, which had been despatched to the Pontiff in the

first moment of victory, was solemnly suspended side by side with the

captured standards of Choczim.

But it was not to Sobieski’s name alone that the glory and honour of

Her great deliverance was ascribed by the voice of Christendom. _Non

nobis, Domine, non nobis_, had been his battle-cry in the front of

the Turkish lines; and it was taken up and re-echoed by the Church.

Europe, in its gratitude, gave thanks to the interceding love of Her

whose image, on the shattered and crumbling walls of Vienna, had

remained untouched by all the batteries of the infidels; and by order

of Innocent, the Sunday within the octave of our Lady’s Nativity, on

which day the memorable action was fought, was thenceforward kept as

a solemn festival of thanksgiving for this and all the other mercies

bestowed on the Church through her gracious intercession, and has

received the title of the Feast of the Name of Mary.

THE END.

BURNS AND OATES, PRINTERS, LONDON.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] The reader will not need to be reminded of the striking summary

given by Dr. Newman, in his _Lectures on the Turks_ (pp. 131-133), of

the successive measures, spiritual and otherwise, taken by the Popes,

from the eleventh to the eighteenth century, to rouse Christendom

to a common crusade against the Ottomans, and to mark each victory

obtained over them as a _fait accompli_ in the commemorations of the

Church.

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

[3] Roger of Wendover, in his _Flowers of History_, relates a similar

instance of admirable courage on the part of the nuns of Coldingham

in Berwickshire, when the country was invaded by the merciless

Danes in the year 870. Assembling all the sisters, the holy abbess

addressed them, and having obtained from them a promise of implicit

obedience to her maternal commands, she “took a razor, and with

it cut off her nose, together with her upper lip unto the teeth,

presenting herself a horrible spectacle to those who stood by. Filled

with admiration at this heroic deed, the whole community followed her

example, and each did the like to themselves. With the morrow’s dawn

came those most cruel tyrants, to disgrace the holy women dedicated

to God, and to pillage and burn the monastery; but on beholding the

abbess and all the sisters so frightfully mutilated and stained with

their own blood from the sole of their foot unto their head, they

retreated in haste from the spot, thinking a moment too long for

tarrying there. But as they were retiring, the leaders ordered their

wicked followers to set fire and burn the monastery, with all its

buildings and its holy inmates. Which being done, the holy abbess and

all the holy virgins with her attained the glory of martyrdom.”

[4] The legend is as follows: “A huge serpent, or crocodile,—for

it is described as an amphibious animal,—had taken up its abode

in a cavern on the brink of a marsh situated at the base of Mount

St. Stephen, about two miles from the city, from whence it sallied

forth frequently in search of prey. Not only cattle, but even men,

became its victims; and the whole island trembled at its voracity.

Knight after knight, ambitious of the renown of slaying such a

monster, stole singly and secretly to its haunt, and never returned.

The creature was covered with scales, which were proof against the

keenest arrows and darts: and at length the grand master held it his

duty to forbid the knights from courting so unequal an encounter.

Deodato de Gozon, a knight of Provence, alone failed to respect this

prohibition, and resolved to deliver the island from the monster,

or perish. Having often reconnoitered the beast from a distance, he

constructed a model of it of wood or pasteboard, and habituated two

young bull-dogs to throw themselves under its belly on a certain cry

being given, while he himself, mounted and clad in armour, assailed

it with his lance. Having perfected his arrangements, he bestrode

his charger, and rode down privately into the marsh, leaving several

confidential attendants stationed in a spot from whence they could

behold the combat. The monster no sooner beheld him approach, than

it ran, with open mouth and eyes darting fire, to devour him. Gozon

charged it with his lance; but the impenetrable scales turned aside

the weapon; and his steed, terrified at the fierce hissing and

abominable effluvium of the creature, became so ungovernable that

he had to dismount and trust to his good sword and his dogs. But

the scales of the monster were as proof against his falchion as his

lance. With a slap of its tail it dashed him to the earth, and was

just opening its voracious jaws to devour him, helmet, hauberk, spurs

and all, when his faithful dogs gripped it tightly with their teeth

in a vulnerable part of the belly. On this the knight quickly sprang

to his feet, and thrust his sword up to the hilt in a place which

had no scales to defend it. The monster, rearing itself in agony,

fell with a tremendous hiss on the knight, and again prostrated him

in the dust; and though it instantly gasped its last, so prodigious

was its size that Gozon would have been squeezed to death, had not

his attendants, seeing the object of their terror deprived of life,

made haste to his assistance. They found their master in a swoon;

but after they had with great difficulty drawn him from under the

serpent, he began to breathe again, and speedily recovered. The fame

of this achievement being bruited in the city, a multitude of people

hurried forth to meet him. He was conducted in triumph to the grand

master’s palace; but that dignitary, heedless of popular acclamation,

sternly demanded wherefore he had violated his orders, and commanded

him to be carried to prison. At a subsequent meeting of the council

he proposed that the culprit should atone for his disobedience with

his life; but this severe sentence was mitigated to a deprivation of

the habit of the order. To this degradation he was forced to submit;

but in a little time the grand master relented, and not only restored

him to his former rank, but loaded him with favours.” Sutherland’s

_Knights of Malta_ vol. i. pp. 275-277.

[5] “In his bull, he bewails the sins of Christendom, which

had brought upon them the scourge which is the occasion of his

invitation. He speaks of the massacres, the tortures and slavery

which had been inflicted on multitudes of the faithful. ‘The mind is

horrified,’ he says, ‘at the very mention of these miseries; but it

crowns our anguish to reflect, that the whole of Christendom, which

if in concord might put an end to these and even greater evils, is

either in open war, country with country, or if in apparent peace,

is secretly wasted by mutual jealousies and animosities.’” Newman’s

_Lectures on the History of the Turks_, pp. 177-8.

[6] The loss of this battle seems mainly attributable to the rash and

arrogant confidence of the French chevaliers. The general conduct of

the crusaders likewise was not such as to warrant any expectation

of God’s blessing on their enterprise. Not only did they, at the

siege of Raco, refuse quarter to such as laid down their arms, but

immediately before the first onset at Nicopolis they massacred a

number of Turkish prisoners who had surrendered under promise that

their lives should be spared. (Creasy’s _History of the Ottoman

Turks_, vol. i. pp. 58-60.) This act of cruelty, however, has been

attributed not to the veteran knights, but to some headstrong and

intemperate men among their juniors who took the matter into their

own hands. Sutherland, vol. i. p. 309.

[7] Commonly called Tamerlane, from Timourlenk, _i. e._ Timour the

Lame,—the name given him by his countrymen on account of the effects

of a wound received in early life. His massacres were of a wholesale

description. At Ispahan he had a tower constructed of 70,000 human

heads; and when Bagdad revolted, he exacted no less than 90,000 for

the same purpose. On his march to Delhi, the future capital of his

empire, he ordered a general slaughter of his prisoners, 100,000 in

number; compelling each of his captains and soldiers to kill his

captives with his own hands, under penalty of being themselves put to

death, and their property and wives given up to the informer. But Von

Hammer relates an instance of his cruelty still more horrible. At the

taking of Sebaste, 4,000 Armenian Christians had capitulated, on the

condition that, though they were to be sent into slavery, their lives

were to be spared. No sooner, however, had they surrendered than the

tyrant, faithless to his oath, ordered them to be buried alive with

circumstances of the most atrocious barbarity. They were thrown ten

together into deep pits with their heads tied between their knees;

planks were then laid across, and earth heaped upon them; and there

they were left, in their living graves, to die a death of slow and

lingering torture.

[8] Here also Timour reared a tower of human heads; but as neither

garrison nor town afforded a sufficient number to raise the structure

to the accustomed height, he was compelled to have a layer of mud

placed between each row of heads.

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

vain.”

[10] Vertot.

[11] The Janizaries (Yeni tscheri, or “new troops”) were composed

entirely of the children of Christians, who had been forced, usually

at a tender age, to adopt Mahometanism. They were torn from their

parents, and trained to renounce the faith in which they were born

and baptised, and to profess the creed of Mahomet. They were then

carefully educated for a soldier’s life; the discipline to which they

were subjected being peculiar, and in some respects severe. They

were taught to pay the most implicit obedience, and to bear without

repining fatigue, pain, and hunger. At first they were made to share

with the peasants the labours of the field, after which they were

drafted into the companies of the Janizaries, but only to commence

a second noviciate. Sometimes they were employed in the menial

duties of the palace; sometimes in the public works, the dockyards,

or the imperial gardens. But liberal honours and prompt promotion

were the sure rewards of docility and courage. Some attained to

the highest dignities in the state; and one of them married the

sister of the sultan. Cut off from all ties of country, kith, and

kin, but with high pay and privileges, with ample opportunities for

military advancement and for the gratification of the violent, the

sensual, and the sordid passions of their animal natures amid the

customary atrocities of successful warfare, this military brotherhood

grew up to be the strongest and fiercest instrument of imperial

ambition which remorseless fanaticism, prompted by the most subtle

state-craft, ever devised upon earth. As the Turkish power extended

itself in Europe, care was taken to recruit the chosen corps from

children who were natives of that continent rather than among the

Asiatics. This terrible body of infantry, so long the scourge of

Christendom and the terror of their own sovereigns, was during three

centuries (the conquering period of the Ottoman power) recruited by

an annual enrolment of 1000 Christian children; so that no less than

300,000 baptised souls were thus made the polluted and sanguinary

ministers and agents of Mahometan crime and dominion. From the year

1648, in the reign of Mahomet IV., the recruits were taken from among

the children of Janizaries and native Turks; and finally the whole

corps, 20,000 in number, was annihilated in our own day by means

of a barbarous massacre. Creasy, vol. i. pp. 20-24, 161. Newman’s

_Lectures_, pp. 137, 267-8.

[12] Gulielmus Caoursinus.

[13] Such is Vertot’s description. Von Hammer’s account differs; but

the subject is involved in some confusion.

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

Hammer.)

[15] Von Hammer questions this fact, as resting on no authority; but,

however this may be, it is remarkable how many of the ablest leaders

of the Ottoman forces, and of course the most inveterate foes of

the Christian name, were apostates. Their malice seemed insatiable;

and many of the worst atrocities recorded in Turkish warfare were

perpetrated by them. It was at the instigation of three renegades

from the order that Mahomet undertook this very expedition against

Rhodes; and the reader of history will not fail to notice, that in

almost every renewed enterprise against Christendom, an apostate from

the faith was its contriver or its conductor. “If we look,” says

Professor Creasy, “to the period when the Turkish power was at its

height,—the period of the reign of Solyman I. and Selim II.,—we shall

find that out of ten viziers of this epoch eight were renegades. Of

the other high dignitaries of the Porte during the same period, we

shall find that at least twelve of her best generals, and four of her

most renowned admirals, were supplied to her by Christian countries.”

[16] D’Aubusson, in his despatch, omits all personal mention of

himself, and merely says, “We of the relief party ascended from Jew

street,” &c.

[17] Written also Zain or Zizim.

[18] Von Hammer considers this letter apocryphal.

[19] This is Taaffe’s defence of D’Aubusson and of the order against

the charge of “making money” by Djem’s captivity, as is asserted

by Ottoman historians. That prince’s expenditure, he says, was

very great, owing to the state in which he lived, and the constant

coming and going of ambassadors to and from Constantinople and other

courts. The knights also maintained at their own cost Djem’s only son

Amurath, who became a Christian, and his family.

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

course deny its genuineness.

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

fleet.

[22] “Such was the esteem with which the valour of the knights had

inspired the Turks, that they refrained from defacing their armorial

bearings and inscriptions on the buildings. For more than 300 years

the Ottomans have treated the memory of their brave foemen with

the same respect; and the escutcheons of the Knights of St. John,

who fought against Sultan Solyman for Rhodes, still decorate the

long-captured city.” “The street of the knights is uninjured,” writes

Marshal Marmont, “and the door of each house is still ornamented

with the escutcheon of the last inhabitant. The buildings have been

spared, but are unoccupied; and we could almost fancy ourselves

surrounded by the shades of departed heroes. The arms of France, the

noble _fleurs-de-lis_, are seen in all directions. I observed those

of the Clermont Tennerres, and of other ancient and illustrious

families.” (Creasy, vol. i. p. 263.) “The Turks,” says Taaffe,

“never destroyed so much of Rhodes as the French during their first

days at Malta, pulling down all the statues of renowned heroes, and

chiselling out the coats-of-arms every where, even over the palace.”

Vol. iv. p. 217.

[23] Fontanus, cited by Taaffe.

[24] In the end there seem to have been 200,000 Turks, including

pioneers, collected in Rhodes.

[25] Some of these enormous balls are still found from time to time

in front of the walls and within the fortress; proof positive of the

truth of the assertion made by historians. The Turks also used shells

for the first time in this siege. (Von Hammer.)

[26] “Le grand maistre repoussa l’ennemi _en personne_, la toste

baissée, et la pique en main.” (Goussancourt.)

[27] Mustapha was recalled the next year at the earnest

representations of his wife, the sultan’s sister, and restored to the

imperial favour. The end of Achmet was, that, being deprived of his

office of grand vizier and sent to Egypt, he excited the Mamelukes

to revolt, and was defeated and killed. He had even entered into

correspondence with L’Isle Adam, and made proposals for restoring

Rhodes to the order.

[28] Fontanus declares that the sultan gave the grand master his

right hand, and even raised the imperial diadem a little from his

head in saluting him; a ceremony never used by Ottoman sovereigns

even towards Mahometan kings. “It is but justice to say,” adds

Boisgelin, “that his troops, belonging to a nation of all others

most adverse to the arts, would have thought the splendour of their

victory tarnished had they possessed themselves of the arms and

escutcheons of the knights, which (as was mentioned in a previous

note) they permitted to remain uninjured.” The archives and the

relics were also faithfully preserved, and given up to the Knights,

who carried with them at the same time their beloved image of our

Lady of Philermos.

[29] He had hoped to escape from the island in disguise, in the

company of the Knights; but had been detected by the sultan’s spies.

[30] “In adversity our only hope.”

[31] “Les Chevaliers, selon leur ancienne instruction, pansoient et

servoient les malades, mesme le grand maistre: ce qui fit admirer

toute la ville de Messine, et les autres villes où les Chevaliers ont

demeurés.” (Goussancourt.)

[32] Lord Carlisle, in his _Diary in Turkish and Greek Waters_,

speaking of the present relative condition of Rhodes and Malta, says,

“I have qualified myself for adjudging that, in most respects, the

tables are now turned between the two islands; and they certainly

afford a very decisive criterion of the results of Turkish and

Christian dominion.”

[33] A few weeks before their removal, in the spring of 1527, the

Imperialists, who were marching to the sack of Rome under the

Constable Bourbon, spared Viterbo, out of respect, it is said, for

the grand master; although they plundered the neighbouring town, ill

treated the inhabitants, burned down the churches, and committed

excesses rivalling in atrocity those of the Turks themselves.

[34] Some account of these English martyrs may not be here out

of place. The first knight who suffered death in England for the

faith was Adrian Fortescue, beheaded on the 8th of July 1539. After

him followed two others, Ingley and Adrian Forrest, “who,” says

Goussancourt, “being called on to recognise the king as head of the

Church and to approve of his ordinances, chose, rather, courageously

to suffer death than to live in delicacy, having made shipwreck of

the faith. Thus they gave their lives as gloriously at home as they

could ever have done in combat.” Henry offered Sir William Weston,

Lord Prior of England (the priors sat in parliament on an equality

with the first barons of the realm), a pension of 1000_l_. a-year;

but that knight was so overwhelmed with grief at the suppression

of his order that he never received a penny, but soon after died,

and was buried in the chancel of the old church of St. James,

Clerkenwell. Marmaduke Bohun, whom Goussancourt calls “the blessed,”

was beheaded under Queen Elizabeth in 1585. Many others died in

prison, in the same reign, from the horrible sufferings endured in

their confinement; among whom we find the names of Sir Thomas Mytton

and Sir Edward Waldegrave.

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

[36] It was arranged by a secret treaty between Ferdinand and

Zapolya that the latter should retain the crown till his death, when

the whole of the kingdom should revert to Austria, Zapolya’s son

retaining only his hereditary dignity of countship of Zips. But at

Zapolya’s death his widow asserted the rights of her son as king

of Hungary, and called in the sultan to her aid. Solyman turned

the country into a Turkish province, professing all the time to be

merely holding it until the child had attained his majority. War with

Austria continued for many years, until, in 1547, a truce for five

years was concluded, which left the sultan in possession of nearly

the whole of Hungary and Transylvania, and which bound Ferdinand

to the humiliating condition of paying a tribute of 30,000 ducats

a-year. Hostilities were resumed on the very day the armistice

expired.

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

[38] Khaireddin, better known in Europe by his surname of Barbarossa,

was a native of Mitylene, and with his brothers practised piracy

in the reigns of Bajazet and Selim, the latter of whom he formally

recognised as his sovereign. He seized the strong city of Algiers,

desolated the coasts of Naples, and captured Tunis. Solyman took him

into his service, and conferred upon him the highest naval dignity,

making him his admiral, or kapitan pasha. In the great battle off

Previsa, September 28th, 1538, he defeated the combined fleets of the

Pope (Paul III.), the emperor, and the republic of Venice.

[39] At the taking of Tunis (July 21st, 1535) the Imperialists and

liberated slaves committed such frightful excesses that Vertot says,

it seemed as if Christians tried to rival and even to surpass the

worst barbarians in cruelty and licentiousness. The details he gives

are of the most revolting description. Tunis was retaken by the

corsair Ouloudj Ali, in 1570, with the exception of the citadel,

which was still held by the Spaniards. Don John of Austria retook it;

but at the end of eighteen months it again fell into the power of the

Turks, in whose possession it has since remained.

[40] European historians (_e. g._ Vertot) have confounded this place

with the town of Africa, or Afrikiya. (Von Hammer.)

[41] Taaffe puts the number at 474 knights and 67 servants-at-arms,

giving Bosio as his authority; but it does not appear that Bosio

considered his list to be complete. His division according to

countries is as follows:

Knights. Servants-at-arms.

Provence 61 15

Auvergne 25 14

France 57 24

Italy 164 5

England 1 0

Germany 13 1

Castile 68 6

Arragon 85 2

--- --

474 67

Prescott says that “the whole force which La Valette could muster in

defence of the island amounted to about 9000 men. This included 700

knights, of whom about 600 had already arrived. The remainder were

on their way, and joined him at a later period of the siege. Between

3000 and 4000 were Maltese, irregularly trained, but who had already

gained some experience of war in their contests with the Barbary

coasts. The rest of the army, with the exception of 500 galley-slaves

and the personal followers of the knights, was made up of levies from

Spain and Italy.” _History of the Reign of Philip II._, book iv.

chap. 3.

These volumes, which have appeared since the present sketch was

written, contain a detailed and very animated description of this

memorable siege.

[42] This Turkish corsair (commonly called Ochiali) made himself

famous in the succeeding reign. We shall meet with him again in the

battle of Lepanto.

[43] Piali was by birth a Croatian. On the 14th of May 1560 he

had defeated and almost annihilated the combined Christian fleet

commanded by the Genoese Doria, the favourite admiral of Charles V.

The battle took place off the island of Djerbé.

[44] Goussancourt gives the names of thirteen as having been found

still alive by the Turks. One—Lawrence de Bonlieu—before being

fastened to the cross, was first _flayed_!

[45] Prescott says that the number of Christians who fell amounted to

about 1500, of whom 123 were members of the order. The loss of the

infidels he estimates at 8000.

[46] Von Hammer says that both Turks and Christians declared that at

the last assault they suddenly beheld upon the ramparts a lady and

two men whom they had never seen before; that the Christians devoutly

believed that it was the Blessed Virgin herself, accompanied by St.

Paul and St. John Baptist, the patron of the order, and were animated

in consequence to perform prodigies of valour; while the infidels, on

the other hand, were seized with consternation.

[47] The last knight who fell was Giovanni Malespina, and his death

happened under curious circumstances. He was standing at the bastion

of Castile, from whence he watched the embarkation of the Turks, and,

full of joy and thankfulness, sang aloud the _Te Deum_. Whilst doing

so, a chance shot struck him to the ground, but without interrupting

his devotions; and he expired as he pronounced the words, “_In te,

Domine, speravi_.”

[48] Taaffe. It was, however, the custom at that time to give every

city an _epithet_ as well as a name. That chosen by the grand master

was intended to express the modesty of an order whose only pride was

to be in the Cross of Christ: it was “_Humilissima_.”

[49] At the dispersion of the Knights, upon the occupation of Malta

by the French, some took refuge in Russia; where, in the year 1801,

a council met to deliberate on the election of a grand master. It

was resolved that, as the elements of a general chapter could not

be assembled at St. Petersburg, the different grand priors should

be invited to convene their chapters for the purpose of forming

lists of such knights as were worthy of succeeding to the sovereign

dignity. These lists the council proposed afterwards to submit to

the Pope, for him to choose a grand master out of them. Accordingly

(Feb. 9, 1805) his Holiness Pius VII. nominated Tommasi, an Italian

knight, grand master. In 1814 the French knights taking heart at the

humiliation of their arch-enemy Napoleon, assembled at Paris in a

general chapter, under the presidency of the prince Camille de Rohan,

grand prior of Aquitaine, for the election of a permanent capitulary

commission. Under the direction of this commission a formal but

fruitless application was made to the congress of Vienna for a grant

of some sovereign independency, in lieu of that of which the order

had been so wrongfully despoiled. In 1823, when the Greek cause began

to wear a prosperous aspect, the same chapter entered into a treaty

with the Greeks for the cession of Sapienza and Cabressa, two islets

on the western shore of the Morea, as a preliminary step to the

re-conquest of Rhodes; to facilitate which arrangement an endeavour

was made to raise a loan of 640,000_l._ in England, but the attempt

failed. The council of the order is now established at Rome, and

presided over by the Venerable Balio di Colloredo, lieutenant of the

grand-mastership. A novitiate and hospital of the order are about

to be erected at Jerusalem, under the sanction of the Holy See. His

Holiness Pius IX. has approved a plan for the extension of the order,

and for a more strict observance of its rule. The English _langue_,

or language of the order, no longer exists, though there are several

English knights. The crowns of Spain, Russia, and Prussia give the

cross of St. John as a decoration; but those knights are not members

of the order, which is sovereign, and not subject to any temporal

prince, and is accordingly styled the Sovereign, Military, and

Religious Order of St. John of Jerusalem. The eight-cornered cross

represents the eight beatitudes; and it is not a mere decoration, but

the badge of a Catholic religious order.

[50] Known in history as “Selim the Sot.” It is said he was

instigated to the conquest of the island by a Jew, his boon

companion, who represented to him how easily he could make himself

master of the soil on which grew the grapes which produced his

favourite wine.

[51] For a short but spirited account of this heroic defence and its

fatal catastrophe the reader is referred to _The Four Martyrs_, by M.

Rio.

[52] On one of the last days of the siege he was struck by a ball and

killed, while praying in the garden of his palace.

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

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

[55] It was afterwards stolen by a Christian slave and taken to

Venice, where it was deposited in an urn in the church of St. John

and St. Paul; the martyr’s bones were also carefully collected, and

buried in the church of St. Gregory.

[56] Dr. Newman thus describes the effects of Turkish domination:

“As to Cyprus, from holding a million of inhabitants, it now has

only 30,000. Its climate was that of a perpetual spring, now it is

unwholesome and unpleasant; its cities and towns nearly touched each

other, now they are simply ruins. Corn, wine, oil, sugar, and the

metals are among its productions; the soil is still exceedingly rich;

but now, according to Dr. Clarke, ‘in that paradise of the Levant,

agriculture is neglected, the inhabitants are oppressed, population

is destroyed.’” _The Turks_, p. 149.

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

[58] In 1587, when the armada was in preparation, Queen Elizabeth

tried to draw Sultan Amurath III. into an alliance with her against

Philip and the Pope. Von Hammer gives the letters written on the

occasion. With characteristic astuteness she appealed to the

religious sympathies of the Turk, making common cause with him as

the “destroyer of idolatry,” and declaring that together they could

“strike down the proud Spaniard and the lying Pope with all their

adherents.” Such were the representations made by the English envoy

as to the religious belief of his queen and nation, that one of the

Turkish ministers remarked to the Austrian ambassador, that “nothing

more was wanted to turn the English into good Mussulmans than that

they should lift a finger and recite the Eshdad” (or creed of

Mahomet).

[59] Von Hammer makes the Turkish fleet consist of 240 galleys and

60 vessels of smaller size, just 300 in all. His account of the

Christian fleet is as follows: 70 Spanish galleys, 6 Maltese, 3

Savoy, 12 Papal, 108 Venetian; in all 199 galleys, to which he adds

6 huge galeasses contributed by Venice; making the sum-total 205

vessels.

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

[61] Von Hammer says that Ouloudj Ali struck off Giustiniani’s head

with his own hand. Contarini, on the contrary, writes that he was “so

badly wounded that he was all but killed.”

[62] _All_ the members of the order did not live in community; some

were scattered about, and were liable to be called in, in case of

emergencies—_e. g._ we find several Knights of St. John among the

early governors and settlers of Canada.

[63] “A trifling price to pay (he says in the Preface to the second

part of _Don Quixote_) for the honour of partaking in the first great

action in which the naval supremacy of the Ottoman was successfully

disputed by Christian arms.”

[64] Von Hammer says fifteen; and that the Turks lost 224 vessels, of

which 94 were burnt or shattered on the coast; the rest were divided

among the allies. But this calculation leaves 36 vessels unaccounted

for, after reckoning the 40 which Ouloudj Ali succeeded in saving.

The number of prisoners he estimates at 3468.

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

[66] Cervantes calls it “that day so fortunate to Christendom, when

all nations were undeceived of their error in believing the Turks to

be invincible at sea.” _Don Quixote._

[67] It was calculated by contemporary writers of credit that, in

this very expedition, the Turks carried off into slavery from Austria

6000 men, 11,000 women, 19,000 girls—of whom 200 were of noble

extraction—and 56,000 children.

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

[69] Kolschitzki was rewarded for his extraordinary services during

the siege by a permission to set up the first coffee-house in Vienna;

and “to this day,” says the authority from whom we have taken the

above, “the head of the corporation of coffee-providers is bound to

have in his house a portrait of this patriarch of his profession.”

It was in consequence of the enormous stores of coffee found in the

abandoned camp of the Turks, after the raising of the siege, that it

became from that day the favourite drink of the Viennese.

[70] The fate of Kara Mustapha, the leader of the Ottoman forces,

although one of common occurrence in the history of oriental

despotism, has enough of singularity in it to demand a notice.

When tidings first reached the sultan that all was not advancing

as prosperously before the walls of Vienna as his proud confidence

had decreed, his fury was such, that he was hardly restrained from

ordering a general massacre of all the Christians in his dominions;

but to this succeeded a fit of sullen gloom, from which he was

not roused even by the news of the vizier’s defeat and flight. He

seemed, however, to accept the interpretation which the commander’s

despatches put upon his conduct, sent him the usual marks of honour,

and, to all appearance, regarded him with his wonted favour. But his

rage did not so much slumber as coil and gather itself up, to spring

with the more fatal suddenness on its prey. After the unsuccessful

issue of the Hungarian campaign, with the silence and celerity which

not inaptly represent the dread resistless force of that fate to

which the haughtiest follower of the false prophet bows without a

murmur, an officer of the court is sent to fetch the vizier’s head.

The affair is conducted with all due solemnity; not a point of

ceremonious etiquette is omitted. The messengers reverently announce

their mission, and present their credentials, which are as formally

acknowledged. The carpet is spread; the vizier gravely says his

prayers; then yields with calm dignity his neck to the bowstring;

and in a few moments the commander of 200,000 men lies a hideous

trunk on the floor of his pavilion. His head is taken to Adrianople,

and thence is sent by the sultan to Belgrade, to be deposited in a

mosque; but its fortunes ended not there. Ere long the latter place

is captured (1688) by the Christians; the mosque once more becomes a

Christian Church, and is given to the Jesuit fathers: and the unholy

relic is despatched by them to the good bishop Kollonitsch. Strange

reversal of the vow which the proud infidel had made, when he swore

that he would send the head of the brave prelate on a lance’s point

to the sultan his master, for daring to stay even the ravages of the

plague, that was playing the part of an ally to the besieging Moslem!

The skull of the vizier was presented by the bishop to the arsenal of

Vienna, where, for aught we know, it still remains.

[71] Kollonitsch, who, at the siege of Crete, had so valorously

defended the Christian faith, at that of Vienna showed himself the

benefactor of mankind, a second Vincent de Paul. _Von Hammer._

[72] The king, it has been observed, does not mention in this letter

the reply he made to the emperor’s cold and formal thanks: “I am

glad, sire, to have done you this little service.”

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE

The page numbering has two gaps; page numbers 196 and 197 are

absent; and page numbers 236, 237 and 238 are absent. No text is

missing, but those page numbers have been skipped by the printer.

Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been

corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within

the text and consultation of external sources.

Some hyphens in words have been silently removed, some added,

when a predominant preference was found in the original book.

Except for those changes noted below, all misspellings in the

text, and inconsistent or archaic usage, have been retained.

Pg 14: ‘and deefnded by’ replaced by ‘and defended by’.

Pg 14: ‘orders o the sultan’ replaced by ‘orders of the sultan’.

Pg 28: ‘neighbouring inslands’ replaced by ‘neighbouring islands’.

Pg 61: ‘the beseigers made’ replaced by ‘the besiegers made’.

Pg 76: ‘wide deep tch’ replaced by ‘wide deep ditch’.

Pg 76: ‘could e made’ replaced by ‘could be made’.

Pg 76: ‘unwelcome visito into’ replaced by ‘unwelcome visitors into’.

Pg 77: ‘an: the knights’ replaced by ‘and the knights’.

Pg 83: ‘Geneose nobles’ replaced by ‘Genoese nobles’.

Pg 83: ‘flight o steps’ replaced by ‘flight of steps’.

Pg 83: ‘cimeter in hand’ replaced by ‘scimitar in hand’.

Pg 83: ‘severe his head’ replaced by ‘severed his head’.

Pg 96: ‘his successo was’ replaced by ‘his successor was’.

Pg 130: ‘and most magnificient’ replaced by ‘and most magnificent’.

Pg 192: ‘was laid a the’ replaced by ‘was laid at the’.

Pg 214: ‘various squadrous’ replaced by ‘various squadrons’.

Pg 227: ‘unabated co rage’ replaced by ‘unabated courage’.

Pg 227: ‘a third cha ge’ replaced by ‘a third charge’.

Pg 231: ‘witnessed heir’ replaced by ‘witnessed their’.

Pg 246: ‘on the threshhold’ replaced by ‘on the threshold’.

Pg 257: ‘Turkish scymitar is’ replaced by ‘Turkish scimitar is’.

Pg 277: ‘his own scymetar’ replaced by ‘his own scimitar’.

Footnote 6: ‘seige of Raco’ replaced by ‘siege of Raco’.

Footnote 15: ‘of er best’ replaced by ‘of her best’.

Footnote 15: ‘were pplied to’ replaced by ‘were supplied to’.

Footnote 47: ‘thankfulness, [unclear]’ replaced by

‘thankfulness, sang’.