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.