Even the journey to Vienna had dangers of its own. A system of posting had already been established between Brussels and Vienna, so that Busbecq could change his weary steeds at every stage; but it was November, the days were short and the nights long, and his business being urgent, he had to risk his neck by galloping over villainous roads long after it was dark.
At Vienna he was welcomed by an old friend and fellow-countryman, John Van der Aa, who was now acting as one of Ferdinand’s privy council; it was in a great measure owing to his strong recommendation that Ferdinand invited Busbecq into his service. John Van der Aa had now the pleasure of presenting the young Ambassador to Ferdinand, who received him in a manner betokening at once kindness and confidence.
It is not the object here to anticipate his account; how he visited his dying predecessor Malvezzi, and all the particulars of his journey to Constantinople, may be read in his own words. Busbecq tells his story in his own pleasant way; this memoir is only intended to fill up the blanks as far as possible; as to the rest, the writer will be left to speak for himself.[75]
Something perhaps ought to be said as to the style of his work. It was the fashion among the students of that day to compose short accounts of their journeys for the information and amusement of their friends. These were generally written in Latin verse, very much after the model of Horace’s journey to Brundisium. (Hor. Sat. i. 5.) Busbecq speaks of his first Turkish letter as containing two of these itineraries,[76] and it was originally published under the title of Itinera Constantinopolitanum et Amasianum; the other three letters, though not strictly itineraries, are written in the same style. Probably these letters would not have been half so amusing, or half so instructive, if Busbecq had intended them for publication; so far was he from thinking, when he wrote them, of committing them to print, that it was not till some twenty years later that any of them saw the light, and then only the first was published. Neither did the author ever sanction the publication. His countryman, L. Carrion, took on himself the responsibility of sending the work to the press. It is from him we learn that the letters were written to Nicolas Michault, seigneur of Indeveldt, Busbecq’s fellow-student in Italy, and for many years Ambassador[77] to the Court of Portugal; he also tells us that the writer never intended to give them to the public. That Busbecq had at any rate no hand whatever in the publication is abundantly proved by the mistakes of Carrion, some of which have been repeated in subsequent editions. For instance, the first letter ought to be dated September 1, 1555, whereas in all the Latin editions it is printed September 1, 1554, the internal evidence being conclusive as to the correctness of the former date.
Busbecq at the Court of Vienna.
The four Turkish letters supply us with a full account of the eight years which Busbecq spent at the Court of Solyman, and it will not be necessary to take up the thread of his story till his return to Germany in the autumn of 1562.
At first he was uncomfortable, and felt out of his element in the atmosphere of a court; he hoped for a peaceful paradise after George Halluin’s model, by the waters of the Lys, a quiet home furnished with plenty of books, a good garden, and a few friends.
But his services were far too highly valued by Ferdinand and his son Maximilian to allow of his retirement.
It was not long before a new post was found for him. Very soon after Busbecq’s return from Constantinople, an application was made to Maximilian, which, if it gratified his ambition, must also have filled him with the greatest anxiety. Philip of Spain proposed to bestow the hand of his daughter on one of Maximilian’s sons, and, distrusting no doubt the more liberal tone which prevailed at the Court of Vienna, coupled the proposal with the condition, that the young Archdukes, Rodolph and Ernest, should be entrusted to his charge. Though Maximilian acceded to his request, it was probably not without compunction that that wise and tolerant prince committed his two boys—the eldest of whom was only eleven years of age—into the keeping of the royal bigot.