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.
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 acoup-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 Tartarsand 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 oftheir 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 securityin 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 encumberedthemselves 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 greaternumbers, 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 couldcatch 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 aCapuchin 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 escapedto 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 trampledthem 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 arrangedin 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 alwaysgathered 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 seemedpossible 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, anddecided 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 therewas 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]Thenhis 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 similarfate. 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 withhis 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 clergyunprepared, or hesitating, perhaps, to offer the usual service of thanksgiving, he himself, filled with impatient enthusiasm, stepped before the high altar, and commenced intoning theTe 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. Vincentde 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!Howshould 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 andpride 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 theemperor, 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 blazingwith 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.