Bzm- m LIFE ov SOBIESKI. TKAUSLATED FKOM THE FKEICE. NEW YORK: ^ D'F.HEA, PUBLISHER. 37 BARCLAY ST. .1^ Ode -^2, SOBIESE.J BOIN JT7ME 2, 1624. — DIED /UNB 17, Ifidft CHAPTER !. A STORMY NIGHT. JSoBiESKi! Poland! Magical words, quick- ening the imagination, and filling the mind with vivid memories of a glorious past. Again live for us the stately bands of valiant war- riors, with gleaming lances, and floating pen- nons, mounted upon noble steeds, whose glit- tering caparisons almost outshine the gorgeous costumes of their riders, composed of luxuri- ous furs, Oriental fabrics, and rich jewels, mingled with the metallic panoply of war; while above all waves the white eagle, in its crimson field, dyed with the blood shed in in numerable combats, lost and won in the cause of liberty and Christian civilization, as op- posed to Oriental despotism and the dominion of barbarians 4 SOBIESKI. Or, if our fancy dwell more willingly upon tlie repose after victory, we may surrender it to the fascination of Polish manners, Polish festivals, and the beauty and grace of the fair dames who, with the happy victors, join in the Polonaises and Mazurkas, — national dan- ces which, from the palace to the hut, form the delight of an active, energetic, romantic, and warm-hearted people. Alas that so much glory and happiness should have been darkened, the nation strick- en from the list of existing powers, and the very boundaries of the fair land obliterated from our maps, though the old spirit still lives in her sons, who from every clime cease not to pray for the restoration of their beloved country! Perhaps, my young friends, some of you may live again to hail a happy and independent Poland, purified by long years of suffering, which shall have expiated whatever of unjust or criminal may be found in the annals of her past history. The civil and social customs of the great Slavonic race, of which the Poles, the Rus- sians, and the Bohemians are the most promi* 60BIESKI. a nent branches, are in marked contrast with those of the Latin and Germanic nations, whose descendants occupy the western and central portions of Europe. Although they attached great value to the renown and virtues of their ancestors, even the nobility were long in following the exam- ple of the rest of Europe, in assuming he- reditary names. Before this innovation, the branches of the same family had but one common bond and mode of recognition, — the emblazonment of their arms. The Pol- ish armorial bearings were distinguished by their simplicity. The shield was usually an open field, containing but one emblem, or at most two. The families were desig- nated as belonging to the race of the Ar- row, of the Two Poniards, of the Horseshoe, of the Double or Triple Cross, or of the Buckler. The father of our hero, John Sobieski, was descended from one of the forty branches springing from the stem of the Buckler. This revered race bore in common the name of lanina, and originated with John or lanik, a 6 SOBIESKI. Palatine of the ancient times, renowned for his mighty feats in war. Among the laninas the Sobieskis were es- pecially distinguished for love of country, of danger, and of glory, while the founder of the race was said to be connected by blood with Piast, one of the early kings of the Polish tribes, concerning whom were many legends. The name, Piast, was afterwards employed as signifying a citizen of Poland, one by birth and ancestry a member of a republic, wherein each noble might be elected king or ruler over the state ; whence all possessed the right to bear on their crests or seals the crown to which each might aspire, provided his talents and virtues entitled him to deserve the suf- frages of his equals. Wissimir, the uncle of Casimir the Great, on the eve of combating the pagans and barbarians infesting Galicia and Red-E,ussia, was said to have received a Buckler of celes- tial workmanship from the hands of St. Mi- chael himself. This gift was inherited by his son lanik. Such is the legend concerning the Buckler, borne by all the laninas among theii armorial bearings. SOBIESEI. 7 The father of John Sobieski was named James. He took part, under the famous Zol- kiewski,* in the war which placed a Pole, the young Wladislas, on the throne of Moscow ; and, after signalizing himself in many com- bats, and being intrusted with numerous mis- sions t»the Swedes, Cossacks, Tartars, Mus- covites, and Turks, he was elected Marshal, and finally reached the rank of the first sec- ular Senator of Poland, under the title of Cas- tellan of Crac.w. Sobieski's mother was Theophila Danilo- wiczowna,! granddaughter of Zolkiewski, who fell in the disastrous battle of Kobylta. His son, John Zolkiewski, was fatally wounded in the same battle, leaving but one sister, who married a Danilowicz, a descendant of the ancient kings of Galicia. Of her two chil- dren, one received his death-stroke from the cimeter of a Tartar chief; the other was the courageous Theophila, whose antique patriot- ism was worthy of her inheritance of glory. In speaking of his family, Sobieski himself • Pronounced Zol-kyeff''-skee. t Dan-U-o-meh-ov'-ncu 8 SOBIESKI. says : " I had an elder brother, Mark, two sis- ters, and two younger brothers who died in infancy. Mark only reached maturity to meet death among the Tartars. All my fam- ily have thus fallen under the blows of the infidel, in the defence of our holy religion. I alone seem to have been reserved, by. the Di- vine will, to fulfil another destiny." These details find their significance in the influence which Sobieski's birth and ancestry exerted upon his future career. The tempest rages, and the thunder roars. The lightnings cleave the clouds, and play upon the fertile summit of the solitary Mo- hila. The castle trembles to its very founda- tions ; the numerous lights gleaming from the casements fail to penetrate the thick dark- ness, while their beams throw a melancholy and ghastly glare upon the old walls. But hark ! Amid the desolation of nature and the wild combat of the furious elements arise accents of joy and gratitude : it is the voice of a noble and courageous woman, — the voice of a mother. She greets with a cry oi SOBIESKI. 9 hope and love the son whom God has given her in this fearful and terrible night. She, the granddaughter of the valiant Zolkiewski, has shed so many bitter tears, and so fervently asked from Heaven the glory and honor of giving an avenger to her martyred dead, and a liberator to her country in peril, that she can no longer doubt. The atmospheric revo- lutions which have changed a lovely summer day into so threatening a night, appear to her a sure presage of the lofty mission intrusted to this child, whose first feeble wail resounds in her ear as a canticle of deliverance. The guests at the castle, who are numerous in proportion to the greatness and power of its master, James Sobieski, join their voices to that of Theophila in blessing and praising God. The night has lost its terror ; it seems Of if an angel hoAcring near had whispered those words which, forty years later, were Bpoken at Vienna by the lips of a fervent ser- vant of God : " And there wis a man sent from God whose name was John." The night-watch, cowering at the corner of the rampart, and the sentinels suspended above 10 SOBIESKI the abyss in their watch-towers, shaktn by the hurricane, forget their fear, and reply with a joyous " Hurrah ! " to the voice of the her- ald, who, standing upon an elevated arch, an- nounces the birth according to the customary formula: " Serfs and vassals, rejoice and praise God, who has just given a second son to our lord and master, James Sobieski, nobleman of Poland, and prince of the holy Empire! Glory and honor to God ! " The storm suddenly abates. The clouds, driven towards the west by the rapid wind, disappear ; the sky becomes clear, and amid the burning stars glows one till then unseen outshining all its comrades. Theophila, leaning upon her pillow, com- ma?nds her window to be opened, that she may witness this revival of nature, in which she finds the confirmation of her hopes and her presages. With eager glances she fol- lows the march of the light vapors, — the rear- guard of the numberless legions of stormy clouds which have just quitted the skies o. Poland : not one dims for an instant the beam? of that brilliant meteor. Theophila raises* SOBIESKI. towards it her hand, trembling with emotion. "Behold!" said she, "behold my son's star!" And all the by-standers replied, — " The star of her son ! the race of lanik the warrior will ever advance in the pathway of glory. This child will be a hero ! " " And, as the father of his race, he shall be called John ; with God's aid, he will nevei prove recreant to so valiant a memory." " Thanks to God ! Long life, glory, honor, and happiness to the new-born, to the son of the Buckler, to John Sobieski ! " All is activity throughout the palace. The major-domo assumes the marks of his office ; the guards and the sergeants-at-arms place themselves in battle array in the great court and on the ramparts ; the heroes mount their steeds ; the noble ladies belonging to the household are all attention to their costumes ; the gates of the castle are opened on every side to admit the guests, who are hastily con- voked by pages and squires. The trumpets sound ; the halls are strewn with flowers ; while the tables, as if by enchantment, are covered with gold and silver plate, with pre- 12 SOBIESKI. cious glass from Bohemia, and rare porcelain from China and Japan. French wines over- flow in the brilliant cups, while floods of beer and mead are poured out to the peasants as semblinsr in crowds. " Thanks to God ! " say they. " Thanks to God I " repeats each valiant guesT, each noble dame, while descending the staircase of honor, at whose foot stands James Sobieski. The halls are filled ; the castle resounds with songs of joy ; and, during eight days, all vie in rejoicing over an illustrious birth. O how Txiuch would their joy have been in- creased, could their eyes have penetrated be- yond the veil which conceals the future, and they had been permitted to behold in this child the glory of his country and the gift of a merciful God! CHAPTER 11. CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. > ZoLKiEW,* the birthplace of Sobieski, is siti uated in the midst of a fertile plain, wherein the grain-fields, gardens, and orchards vie with each other in luxuriance. Facing the vast castle stands the church. The majesty of God is there, ever visible to the powerful lords, and ever repeating in the clearest ac- cents : " If my providence has called thee to the government of the masses, remember that thou art bound to distribute to them peace and happiness. Remember that my author* ity is above thine ; above thy caprice is my justice, which will fail neither towards the poor and enslaved nor towards thyself." * Pronounced ZoV-kyeff. 14 SOBIESKI. The old church of Zolkiew still stands, vast and beautiful as it was in the days when Mark and John Sobieski grew up in its shad- ow. Amid the profound calm and silence reigning beneath its lofty arches, every truly Polish heart experiences an indescribable and patriotic emotion, when kneeling on the mar- bl^ steps of the tomb of the valiant Zol- kiewski. Theophila Sobieska brought her two sons each day to pray near this mauso- leum, wherein were gathered the ashes of her forefathers and her uncles, — a threefold sacri- fice, offered by the sabre of the Mussulman to the crescent which thev had so often humil- iated. Such associations, such noble and ele- vating memories, forined indeed a fitting school for the development of that courage and those masculine virtues which signalize the hero. " It was," said Theophila to her sons, after she had concluded her fervent prayer, " it was but a few days after a victory. Glory crowned our arms, while internal dissensions menaced our country.' The Turkish army was held in check by the sword of Zolkiewski ; the hopes SOBIESKI. 15 ol Poland rested upon him alone, when sud- denly envy and treason raised their fatal voices within his camp. The Grand- Marshal was abandoned by the flower of his army ; the rest mutinied, or despaired of success ! With such elements of discord and ruin, what could the courage of even such a hero effect ? A second battle was fought on the very spot which had witnessed the triumph of the cross, and this time the crescent was victorious. Zolkiewski refused to yield, but, hastily form- ing an immense square with his chariots, he placed in the centre the remnant of his in- fantry, his cannon, and munitions of war ; at his command, this vast moving fortress over- came all obstacles, crossed rivers and moun- tains, marched through dense forests, and over almost impracticable pathways, that, with the remains of an army which had accomplished such wonders, the unstained eagles of Poland might once more gleam above that soil so dear to all. This march, almost unexampled in history, lasted six days, — six anxious and weary days and nights, when, finally, they saw before them the boundaries of their na- 16 SOBIESKI. tive land. O joy ! yet a few hours, one more effort, and all may be saved. " Zolkiewski returns thanks to God, and sa- lutes with pious joy the blessed soil of Po- land, when he hears around him a terrible and menacing clamor. It proceeds from the rear- guard, the serfs, who are in a state of revolt. Finding themselves armed, they determine upon seizing the liberty they have enjoyed amid the camps ; they fall upon the chariots, deprive them of the means of advancing, de- tach the horses, mount them, and take to flight. " The cimeters of the Infidel soon mingle with this tumult and disorder. The carnage is frightful. The chariots are overturned; the women and the wounded are murdered, while their brave defenders fall before the disparity in numbers. But your great ancestor's cour- age still governs his position. Surely, had there been one hundred men such as Zolkiew- ski, the Turkish phalanxes would have been repulsed. But he is alone, for his sons and comrades have already fallen at his side ; his few surviving friends think only of his safety SOBIESKI. 17 One horse renidins, — one alone, — but enough to save the defender, the honor and glory of Poland. They entreat him to fly, but he re- plies, with a lofty gesture : * What! you would have me purchase my life at the price of my glory, and terminate an unstained career by an act of cowardice ? Never ! Since I could not save my army, I will perish with it I ' " His friends insist, when Zolkiewski draws his dagger, and strikes his steed, wishing thus to annihilate all thought of escape. His wounded hand fails to execute his will, and the point of the weapon glances from the shining side of the noble courser, neighing with desire and impatience. " ' This is a manifest proof of the Divine will ; Poland awaits you.' " With raised sword and menacing mien, the Grand- Marshal rushes amid the front ranks of the enemy. All fall before him, until, stricken by a mortal blow, he dies amid the heaps of slain who lie upon the earth as bloody tro- phies of his valor.* • His grateful country afterwards raised a monument to his 2* 18 * SOBIESHi " When his head was borne to the Seraskier _ fear and respect overcame him, and he fecarce I ly dared to gaze upon it. That head would* siiV* hang above the gates of the seraglio, had it not been ransomed by my mother's gold; for Poland since then has had no sword pow- erful enough to wrest it thence, in the very capital of the enemy, or at least to give a right to command that it should be delivered into the keeping of his own people. The cross and our country have had no avenger : will the descendants of the hero permit that avenger to arise from any race but their own ? " The gleaming eyes of Theophila rested upon those of her son, seeking to read the future in their kindling depths. John, although then so young, found a never-ceasing delight in this frequently re- peated recital. "When will I be a man?" he murmured, and leaned his head upon the memory upon the site of his death, which was frequently vis- ited by Turks, Tartars, and Muscovites, and long religiously re- spected. It bore the inscription : " Learn from me how sweet fit is to die for our Country." SOBIESKI. 19 marble of the tomo, to cool the fever Duimr.g in his veins. Then he seemed to hear a voice, as of his great ancestor, repeating, " Child, thou shalt avenge thy country ; thou shalt fight for Po- land." The child already felt within him a man's heart, for which the whole earth seemed too small ; he longed for the time when he might say to his mother, " Your prayers are an- swered, and what you have sought from Heaven is found." Then, quitting the church, he would take his seat at that table of mental labor where James Sobieski — a man of science, as well as a great statesman and valiant warrior — permitted no one to supply his place. Wish- ing to endow his sons with an education which would render them useful to the re- public in peace as well as in war, he in- trusted to no stranger the care of enlightening their young souls. Neither arts nor sciences were neglected. Dancing, fencing, music, and drawing were then learned almost from the cradle. John was equally skilful with the 20 SOBIESKI. pencil, the flute, and the guitar; he was an unequalled horseman, and found no rival in the management of the sabre, the battle-axe, the lance, and the sword. The Palatine him- self taught his sons mathematics, history, and philosophy ; they acquired seven or eight Ian- guages, and were familiar with the art of war, and the principles of government and politics. The father especially devoted himself to the development of that genius for parliamentary eloquence to which he himself owed so large a portion of his influence. He frequently made them mount upon the first piece of fur- niture which offered, as a tribune, whence they must justify their youthful actions or desires, in as flowing terms as they could command. John was especially devoted to the study of history, and, when fired by the chivalric enthu- siasm inspired by the narrations of the Cru- sades, would cry aloud, " I, too, will fight the Infidels, for they are the enemies of God, ot Poland, — and the vanquishers of Zolkiewski!" While admiring the Great King, and yield- ing our homage to the conqueror of Vienna, we too often forget Zolkiew. The remembrance SOBIESk . 21 CJf Theophila is not sufficiently associated with that of Sobieski. Must we not render thanks to the mother for the brilliant career of her son ? Who can measure the extent of the influence exercised by our first impressions, by the first germs deposited in the young soui by a loving and maternal voice ? " Honor to Sobieski ! " has been echoed by all nations and ages. Let us add, with equal justice and truth, " Honor to the noble daugh- ter of the Zolkiewskis, to the worthy mothej of the conqueror of Vienna ! " But the hour of departure from the ances^ tral home has struck. John has passed from childhood into youth ; he is as learned as his father, and promises to possess still higher gifts of eloquence. In him we find intellect united with a noble address, grace with beauty, a loving heart with an indomitable character, and a passionate devotion to every mental labor with an ardor no less burning for every species of peril and physical daring. His in- trepidity and martial bearing often astonished even his father, when he saw him, armed 22 SOBIESKI. simply with a bow anc* a battle-axe, or witb a net and dagger, chasing the bear, the elk, the wild boar, or the buffalo, among the mountains. The home education is finished, and the sons of the powerful Palatine must complete, by travels into foreign lands, the instruction re- ceived by the hearthstone of Zolkiew. Since they are destined to occupy lofty positions in the state, and render important services to their country, they must learn to know and comprehend those nations and powers upon whose friendship or hostility may de- pend the future welfare of their native soil. France — Paris — is their first destination. Paris! — at that time the great centre of European activity, wherein Louis the Four- teenth, then a boy-king, was beginning, under the tutelage of Mazarin, the splendors of his reign. John Sobieski entered with all the ardor of his nature into the pleasures and enjoyments of a gay court. But the seductions of a polished society could not lead him to forget his love for war and combats. He longed tx> SOBIESKI. ar bear a sword, and obtained permission from his father to enter that company formed by Richelieu, and bequeathed by him to the king, into which the highest grandees of France and Europe esteemed it an honor to be admitted. From that time the young musketeer was the admiration of all Paris. Louis the Four- teenth, attracted towards him by the similarity of their ages, and also by the irresistible bond which unites genius with genius, distinguished him .above all, without dreaming, however, that that young brow would one day wear a crown, and that an election would, in the future, raise to his own rank a gentleman of his guard, in whom he would find a rival worthy of himself. A strange conjuncture ! To-day, a mus- keteer in the antechambers of the Tuileries; and soon after the king of a great nation, the champion of the West, the rival in glory of " Le Grand Monarque,"* — as Louis was called by the men of his day. • The Great King. 24 SOBIESKI. Let us humbly bow before the decrees of that Holy Will, of which man, however great he may be, is ever but the arm and the in- strument 1 CHAPTER III. A WEDDING. The brilliant Polish embassy which, in 1645, entered Paris, to ask the hand of Louise Marie of Gonzaga and Nevers for Wladislas Wasa,* king of Poland, was destined, through the success of the mission, to exercise a most important influence upon the future of John Sobieski; for the Princess Louise was ac- companied to Poland by Marie Casimire de la Grange d'Arquien, then a little maiden of only eleven years of age, but already one of the queen's maids of honor, and distinguished for her precocious beauty and intellect. All yielded to the graceful attractions of this charming child, to whose empire Sobieski aimself was one day to submit. • Pronoihiced Vla'-dis4as Va'-sa, 3 26 SOBIESKI. Meanwhile the king, Wladislas, and the Palatine, James Sobieski, had both left their scenes of earthly grandeur, and Poland was | in a state of interregnum, awaiting the elec- tion which was again to place a sovereign at the head of public affairs. Bogdan Chmiel- nicki,* the general of the Cossacks, rose against the Poles, in consequence of sundry injuries received by himself and his nation from some of the Polish nobles. He marched at the head of three hundred thousand men ; fire and sword, with extermination, marked his pathway. He had already destroyed two Polish armies, and a third had ignominiously fled before him, without striking a blow, in the fields of Pilawce. f "Within the walls of Zamosc, | many nobles and ladies had taken refuge from the fury of the barbarians, among whom was Theophila Sobieska. Her sons were at Constantinople, but as soon as they learned the dangers which menaced their country, they relinquished their contemplated journey into Asia, and returned to Poland * Pronounced Hmyail-niis' -hee. t Pee-laff'-tchai. * t Za'-motch SOBIESKI. 27 They found John Zamoyski, with their mother, besieged in the above-named strong-hold; but taking advantage of the disorder of the Cos- sack camp, they succeeded in crossing the enemy's lines, and entering the walls of the castle. Weeping, they embraced their mother's knees, who said to them : " My sons, do you come to avenge us ? I could never recognize you as my children, should you 'ever resemble the combatants of Pilawce I " Space fails us to relate how the new king, John Casimir, brother to Wladislas, was elect- ed, and married his brother's widow, Louise Marie of Gonzaga ; how the siege of Zamosc was raised, and the Cossacks retreated, or how Sobieski won his first laurels in eloquence and in arms, at Zborow.* • Mark Sobieski was killed, not long after, at the unfortunate battle of Batog. John was not present, being confined to his bed by a wound, received in a private quarrel with one of the powerful family of Pac.f Many were he difficulties and sorrows brought upon him • Frononnced ZM-roff'. t Pate 28 SOBIESKI. in his after life by this early quarrel. The death of one of her sons, and the absence ol the other, were, for Theophila Sobieska, blows almost equally cruel ; and with a sad heart she left Poland, never to return. Time wore on. Poland encountered enemies upon all sides, and foremost in every combat was John Sobieski, whose name became a tower of strength to his country, and a terror to its enemies. He was successively raised to the posts of Grand-Ensign and Grand- Mar- shal. Sixteen years of active service, and constant sacrifices, well deserved this reward. On his journey to Warsaw, in order to re- ceive the investiture of his new dignity, — the first civil office in the gift of the republic, — he met Marie Casimire, then Madame Zamoy- ska, and a widow. Her husband, John Za- moyski, had died but a few weeks before, and she was clad in the deepest mourning. But her fascinations were only rendered the more touching by the veil of sorrow thrown i ')und them, and Sobieski stood defenceless h »f ure he magic of her beauty and talents. ^' >. SOBIEi^KI. 29 was he alone in his admiration, for the whole of Warsaw bowed at the feet of the brilliant Frenchwoman. The first bond of sympathy between them was probably their mutual love for France, its arts and literature. John could offer to the lady of his choice, honors, wealth, and glory. The queen, whom he succeeded in interesting in his cause, took an active part in promoting the marriage. Time pressed, war as usual threatened the frontiers, and Sobieski had not the courage to leave the side of Marie until her fate had been irrevo- cably united with his own. Alas for Sobieski I The sorrows of his af- ter life expiated a great mistake, if not a pos- itive wrong. The ashes of Zamoyski were scarcely cold, when he led to the altar the woman who had received everything from the affection of her husband. John surely should have reflected, that one who could so quickly forget and outrage the memory of the man who had devoted his life to ner, was unwor- thy of his love ; that she would blast his ex- istence, instead of honoring and elevating it. But he was blinded by his affection and her 3* iO SOBIESKI. dazzling qualities ; he loved her then, and, whatever her faults and capriqes may have been, he loved her to the end. The v^edding festivities were brilliant, as the rank of the parties demanded. In Po- land the kings and grandees disposed of the hand of their wards and dependents. Sobi- eski selected a young officer, one of his most intimate friends, as his ambassador ; who, bearing a wreath of rosemary and a casket of precious jewels in his hand, went in great state to ask from the queen her lady of honor. The messenger celebrated, as was the custom, the miraculous exploits and incomparable vir- tues of the hero who had deputed him. The queen, through her chancellor, replied by prais- ing to the skies the attractions, the goodness, and the brilliant gifts of Madame Zamoyska. She ended by acceding to the wishes of the Palatine, and placed upon Marie's brow the rosemary crown laid at her feet by the faith- ful envoy. Three days were usually devoted to the ceremonies pertaining to marriage. Before sunrise, or. the morninsf of the 5th of July 1 SOBIESKI. 31 the Orarid- Marshal repaired in person to the palace, preceded by his guard, bearing torches, and followed by several thousand gentlemen, his attendants or his clients, wearing rich robes or glittering armor. He himself blazed with diamonds and with gold ; his very steed bent beneath the weight of the costly arms, and trod daintily upon the silver shoes which bound his hoofs, while pearls, emeralds, and sapphires shone upon his gleaming harness. The queen led the bride and groom into the chapel, where they were united by the Pope's nuncio, Odescalchi. At the door of the church, the happy couple were met by the crowd of orators and poets, who, in lengthy Latin harangues, entertained the Grand- Marshal and his companion with their mutual excellences and virtues. These addresses consumed the day until four in the afternoon, when the royal banquet was served, which at one in the morning was not yet con- cluded. The king, the queen, the French am- bassador, several ecclesiastics, and the newly married couple, in their magnificent attire, sat round a table placed upon the platform of the 32 SOBIESKI. throne itself. Two other immense tables were occupied, one by all the ladies of illustrious rank present, and the other by the senators and grandees. The relatives of the bride and groom, under the name of gospodarz and g-ospodini, or masters and mistresses of the house, were active in filling the cups of the assemblage. Four tuns of Hungarian wine were consumed, to say nothing of the innu- merable casks of beer, which flowed without ceasing in the adjoining rooms for the use of the attendants. Finally the tables disap- peared, and a crimson carpet stretched upon the floor of the hall announced the commence- ment of the ball, which was to terminate the first day. The succeeding morning was devoted to the reception of the bridal gifts. Madame Sobieska, who had not yet quitted the palace, appeared in all the radiance of her beauty and her splendid costume, seated upon the queen's throne, thus making a first essay in this royal position. The queen's chancellor stood by the side of Marie. The above-men- tioned envoy of Sobieski read aloud the SOBIESKL 33 liames of all the seigniors who had been pres- ent at the festival of the preceding day, and as each noble name was called, a deputy- presented himself, who laid at the bride's feet a wedding present. Vanity rather than affec- tion regulated the splendor of the gifts ; the queen's chancellor, who replied in Madame Sobieska's name to the compliments of the envoys, won for himself universal admiration, by his skill in inventing from morning until night new formulas of praise and thanks. A second banquet and another ball closed the festivities of the second day. On the morning of the third the bride was conducted by the king and queen, accompa- nied by a numerous cavalcade, to the palace of her husband. Sobieski entertained the court with the utmost magnificence. The ta- bles groaned beneath the weight of the plate, and the multitude of the rare and costly dishes, such as quarters of delicate roes, elks roasted whole, bears' feet, and beavers' tails. The wines of France were not wanting ; the Polish pipe filled the air with clouds of smoke, and the joyous music pealed merrilj 34 SOBll2feki. from the orchestra. Finally all was over, and fhe guests disappeared ; the three days were ended, and peace and quiet succeeded t'^ the noisy revelry. CHAPTER IV. PODHAICE * AND CHOCIM.f The glory and honors won on the field of battle from the very commencement of his career, and the high civil dignities to which he had been promoted, would have inflated any less noble soul than that of Sobieski with a presumptuous pride. But his upright and generous nature was incapable of such a sen- timent; he felt within him a higher destiny. Misfortune and defeat, with internal coni- motions and dissensions, had taught Poland that universal lesson of Providence, that glory and happiness must always be purchased by trials and suffering. The few successes which crowned her arms were due to the valor of Sobieski, to whose rank of Grand- Marshal was • Pronounced Pod-kah-ee'-tchat. f Ho'-tcfum. 36 SOBIESKI. added that of Grand- Hetman (or general), Never before had these two offices been united in the person of one citizen ; the nobility murmured, and nothing but the merit and immense reputation of Sobieski could have reconciled the public to this innovation. His victories over t(ie Turks and Tartars, which astonished not only Poland, but Europe and the first captains of the age, soon changed these murmurs into acclamations, and discon- tent into gratitude and benedictions. Invasion menaced upon every side, Eu- rope, Asia, and Africa seemed ready at once to fall upon Poland. Cossacks, Tartars, and Turks, by hundreds of thousands, threatenea the destruction of the republic. Poland had only some ten thousand soldiers to oppose this flood of barbarians; or rather, she had only Sobieski. Zaluski, who afterwards be- came one of the most considerable men of his time, wrote thus concerning him : " My uncle, the Vice- Chancellor of the Crown, when he read the despatches announcing the inva- sion of the enemies,, their strength and oui weakness, exclaimed, that we were indebted SOBIESKl. 37 to oar good star for this hero, who alone, with Buch a handful of men, would be able to oppose so overwhelming a force. Nothing can disturb this great heart. The treasury is empty ; he supplies it from his own revenues. We have no troops, but he is an army in him- self. He burdens his patrimony with debts, that he may purchase arms, establish maga- zines, and enroll soldiers." Sobieski hoped to save all by one bold effort of genius. He determined to divide his feeble army, to send his cavalry upon the front and the wings of the enemy, and to estab- lish himself, as a devoted victim, in the camp of Podha'ice, amid their numberless hordes He was confident he could thus arrest their progress, and destroy them by degrees ; he indeed might perish in the attempt, but not until they were exhausted. The great Conde, who was informed of his plans, could not but find them magnanimous, but foresaw no advantage to the Grand- He tman, except that of perishing a few days before his country. The Poles partook of this opinion. As soon as the troops found themselves separated 4 38 SOBIESKI. from the cavalry, thrown upon the flank of the enemy, with no hope of conquering cr retreating, divided from their country by the Tartars and Cossacks, whose long lines al- ready covered Galicia, Lesser Poland, and Lithuania, they rose; they thought themselves betrayed and lost. Sobieski had only to pass along the ranks and speak to them; the magic of his words triumphed over all their terrors. They fell upon their knees, beheld the enemy stop, return, and then advance to crush them. They received the shock without yielding a foot, and finally, on the 28th of September, 1G67, Sobieski was enabled to intrench him- self within the camp which had been pre- pared. The immense hordes immediately com- menced the siege. All their power was drawn together to crush the little band within the wails of PodhaVce. During sixteen days, •— sixteen mortal days for the Poles, who im- plored continually tne mercy of God in theii temples, and still hoped in Sobieski, — this battle lasted, justifying the previsions of the Grand-Hetman, and exhausting the strengtn of the adversary. SOBIESKI. 39 The sun rose on the morning of the sev^en- teenth day, and Sobieski left his fortifications with his feeble army, already decimated by their own successes. The cavalry, which he had appointed to meet him before the walls on this very day, arrived punctually. The peasants of the neighborhood, tired of the devastations of the Tartars, and struck with admiration for the prodigies accomplished by the Grand-Hetman, took up arms. The at- tendants and servants rallied around the standard of the hero, forming an army as numerous as that composed of the regular troops, aid not less brave. Finally, he made a prayer to God, and the battle commenced. Exhausted by their repeated assaults, in want of everything, and stricken by surprise and respect, the inimical hordes soon gave way, fled, and were cut to pieces ; instead of the predicted death, the skilful and heroic captain found victory, — a complete and decisive vic- tory. Peace was concluded, and Poland saved. The whole population hastened to the churches to chant " Te Deum," and thank God for the successes of Sobieski. NeveJ 40 SOBIESKI. before had one man difFased such universal joy among a whole people. Europe resounded with the wonders of Podhaice. Conde thanked fortune that his fears had not been verified, while Louis the Fourteenth and Queen Henrietta, the widow of Charles the First, king of England, stood as godfather and godmother to the first-born son of the Grand-Marshal of Poland. This child was named James, after his grandfather, the Castellan of Cracow, and Louis, after the king of France. The republic was eager to exhibit its grati- tude, and the army of Podhaice was every- where received with triumphal arches. So- bieski announced that, according to the laws, he was coming to render an account to the nation, assembled in the Comitia, of his deeds while in command of the army ; the Diet rose in a body, and replied that the grateful republic knew well he had saved it. The national assembly was distracted by many dissensions, but no sooner was it known that Sobieski was near, than all became quiet, and Jl 'et and court, with the whole of Warsaw, * SOBIESKI. 41 hastened to greet him. The three orders com- plimented him, and he took his place in the Comitia amid the blessings of the entire na- tion, each one eager to behold the great man of whom it was said, " that he united in him- self as many virtues as Nature had it in heir power to bestow upon one man." . At length he rose to render the account re- quired by the law; and, amid the most pro- found silence, he related his labors with an antique modesty. Disdaining the flowers with which the eloquence of the day abound- ed, he astonished equally by the simplicity of his language, which they could scarcely recon- cile with his reputation for learning, and by the strange charm of these simple words It was the first time they had listened to a recital of deeds of arms without hearing of Bellona, of Ajax, or even of the Archangel Michael. " Our successes," said he^ in concluding, with a voice quivering from emotion, — "our suc^' cesses show the power and goodness of God How can we fail to recognize and acknowl- edge the majesty of Him who has been able, with such feeble means, to accomplish such 4* 42 SOBIESK!. prodigies! He has saved us, and may he now grant to us moderation, concord, and strength ! " The Vice- Chancellor replied in the name of the republic, by offering to Sobieski a portion of the thanksgi^lng he had devoted to God, but without imitating his simple language. The orator recalled to the memories of his hearers that " Hercules was made known by the monsters ; Typhis, by the tempests ; Achil- les, by combats ; and virtue, by occasion." Lengthily did he celebrate " this new Apollo, whom it was easy to praise by naming him greater than the great, not less great than the greatest, in short, equal to whatever of most great might exist upon the earth." The ap plauses which this discourse excited confirmed these praises, and were of much more value. Soon after, the king, John Casimir, abdi- cated. A vacancy upon the throne, in an elective kingdom, is an event which causes every ambitious heart to palpitate, and opens a pathway for the energies and intrigues of all parties^, A state seeking a head forms a vast field of action, whereon virtue and vice SOBIESKI. 43 patriotism and ambitiorij honesty and intrigue, meet and combat. Happy the nation which may hope that the good will predominate over the evil! Amid the claims of the various for- eign candidates, and when civil war was about to crimson the field of election, a cry was heard which was re-echoed from all hearts, " Let us name a Piast! let us name a PiastI " The Piast was named, and Michael Wis- niowiecki * was elected king. The hi3torians of the time say that, amid the whole nation, the one most astonished was himself. He wept, and protested that he was incapable of worthily wearing the crown. Notwithstand- ing this protestation, he was crowned King of Poland ; but the sequel proved that he had rightly judged. The reign of this feeble and incapable king was a magnificent theatre for the glory and renown of Sobieski, which increased in pro- portion to the contempt with which Michael Roon inspired the nation. From the depths of humility he rose to the heights of pride. Roy- * Pronounced Vitch-nyo-vyets'-Jcee. 44 SOBIESKI, alty was not sufficient for him : he must add to it tyranny. He felt at once that Sobieski would be the great obstacle in the way of his injustice and rapacity; he envied and hated him because he was the greatest citizen in the republic, and strove continually, during his whole reign, to injure the Grand- Marshal and Grand- Hetman of the crown. Unfortunately, every blow which he aimed at his lieutenant fell upon his devoted country. Around him rallied the members of his own powerful fam- ily, together with that of Pac, princes in Lith- uania, and filling some of the first offices in the gift of the crown. A common origin and a common jealousy thus created a threatening combination against Sobieski. Many of the nobility, headed by the Pri- mate, thought it advisable to deliver their country from misrule by deposing the mon- arch they had so recently exalted; but Sobi- eski, fearing civil war, opposed this design, and soon left these scenes of internal dissen- sion for more worthy fields of combat upon the frontier, at the head of his army. The Cossacks and Tartars were again upon the SOBIESKI. A'5 borders, and again repulsed by Sobieski, to whjr/i the king himself wrote, in a royal de- spatch, " that envy itself was obliged to con- fess, that, with so small an army, it was to him alone, after God, that Poland was once mor« indebted for her safety." Nor did he venture to refuse his permission to the Vice- Chancellor, when, at the assem- bling of the Diet, the latter wished to pro- nounce a eulogium upon the hero, which he did in the following terms : " Amiable in con- versation ; grave in his replies ; firm in his principles, without severity ; strict, but not cruel, in his judgments ; respected even by those whom he was forced to punish, and proving that he hated the crime, but not the criminal, the malady, but not the patient, — this hero assumed the toga without laying aside the bow and quiver, and united, by a noble marriage, the honor of Bellona to the dignity of Mars. In becoming a senator, he remained a warrior, and entwined the glory of his laurels with the splendor of his civic crown." The assembly, ravished with so lof^y a flight 46 SOBIESKI. of eloquence, unanimously repeated all these praises. The intelligence of a new invasion of the Turks again called for the aid of Sobieski, who hastened to the defence of his country, while the king was only occupied in finding a formula of proscription by which he might ruin his Grand- Hetman. The companions of Sobieski could not remain indifferent to the dangers which threatened him, and, proceeding in a body to their general, they surrounded him, and swore to defend, avenge, and follow to the ends of the earth, him who during twenty years had guided them in all the path- ways of victory. Sobieski's only reply was, " I accept your oaths ; and the first thing I require of you is to save Poland." The danger had indeed become imminent; the enemy approached in vast numbers, and under experienced leaders. Sobieski endeav- ored with his six thousand men to throw him- self within the walls of Kamieniec,* but was prevented by the governor, a zealous partisan * Pronounced Kam-yai'-nyaits SOBIESKI. 47 of the king's. The city, in consequence, was lost, and fell into the hands of the Infidel, thns throwing Poland open to the one hundred and fifty thousand Turks and one hundred thou- sand Tartars, who, with the whole army of the Cossacks, threatened to annihilate her. The half of the kingdom was invaded, and the Grand-Hetman with his little army formed the only barrier to the occupation of the whole country. Always present where a decisive blow was to be stricken, he learned that the son and brother of the Tartar Khan, after trav- ersing the heart of the kingdom, had retired with an immense booty amid the defiles ot the Carpathian Mountains. To seek them ; to cross the Dniester swimming, notwith- standing the cries of the soldiers who fol- lowed him amid the floating ice ; to keep his little troop concealed in the forests until he could choose the proper place and hour for the attack ; to offer battle to an army twenty- five or thirty times as numerous as his own to overcome them near Kalusz*; to pursue * Pronounced Kah'-loozh. 48 SOBIESRt. and exterminate them, — was the work of but a few days. While in pursuit of a portion of the horde, he suddenly found himself in pres- ence of a vast troop of his own compatriots, — fathers of families, young women, priests, and nobles, — whom the barbarians were lead- ing into slavery. These unfortunates num- bered thirty thousand. Their chains fell; they surrounded the hero who had broken them, and who now spared not his own gold to procure clothing and food for them. They stretched towards him their grateful hands, and contended for the hem of his mantle, that they might press it to their lips, and wet it with- their tears. They could not find thanks- givings and benedictions sufficient to repay him for the deed which had restored them to liberty and their families ; while he, his heart convulsed with joy, could only fall upon his knees, and in his turn bless God, who had per- mitted that his life should be crowned with such a day. But while victory thus attended the stepa of Sobieski, Michael was trembling before the dagger ; and for the first time in the history SOBIESKI. 49 of Poland do we find one of her kings yield- ing to the empire of fear. The safety of his country seemed already to have been won by the sword of the Grand-Hetman, when the humiliating submission of Michael, who so- licited peace in the Turkish camp at Buezacz,* arrested the war by imprinting the shame of a disgraceful treaty upon the fair brow of Po- land; which, fortunately, was soon after ef- faced by new and heroic victories. The whole nation was outraged by the peace of Buezacz ; proud, and unaccustomed to submission, Poland was indignant at find- ing herself the vassal of the Infidel, and all hearts turned towards Sobieski, as if in his aid lay all their hopes for the future. The king himself, yielding to the force of public opinion, burned the proscription list, and sent the hero an invitation to a Diet of pacifica- tion, convoked at Warsaw for the beginning of February. Great souls never permit themselves to b© influenced by personal resentn3iit« , Sobiesk* * Pronounced Bootch -tick, 5 50 SOBIRSKI. pardoned all, and appeared at the Diet; where he gave vent to neither complaint nor recrimi nation upon the subject of his own wrongs But when he heard the eulogy of the treaty of Buczacz, and when the organ of the court demanded its ratification, he could no longer suppress his grief and emotion ; he even shed tears, while conjuring the king, the nobility, the whole republic, not to consent to this con- summation of their shame and ruin. They hearkened to his eloquent words ; to those who spoke of danger, he replied : " Our cour- age and our swords are still left to us. We will not await the enemy's approach, — wc will go and meet him." Surely, to speak thus to a nation exhausted of both men and money would have been te- merity or folly, had these words not proceeded from the lips of one whose arm seemed to be under the immediate protection of God, to whom all was permitted, because all seemed possible. At first terrified by the thought of the con- sequences which this heroic appeal might pro* du^'e at Constantinople, the Diet finally suf- SOBIESKI. 51 fered itself to be convinced by the reasoning, and inflamed by the warlike promises, of Sobieski. The treaty of Buczacz was de- clared null, the peace broken, and war re- kindled. There is always danger in being too great, and Sobieski was destined to feel this at the very time when Jie had triumphed over a whole nation, and obtained a unanimous adhesion to a project which, proposed by any other, would have seemed impracticable. Lodzinski, a poor gentleman, and a member of the Diet, ventured to rise in the assembly, and announce that he had important revela- tions to make ; that Poland had been sold to the Infidel ; that a certain man had delivered Kamieniec to the Turks for the sum of twelve millions, and that that man was Sobieski ! At this name, the convocation indignantly rose in a body, and demanded the punishment of the calumniator. Those who had insti- gated Lodzinski endeavored to protect him, but in vain. An investigation was finally ordered, and the wretched man confessed he had been bribed to make this infamous accu- 52 , SOBIESKI. sation, for which he had received a consider ' able sum of money, and a promise of impu' nity. Condemned to death, he awaited the interference of the king in his behalf. Mi- chael, to a certain extent involved in his condemnation, could do nothing in his favor. But no capital sentence could be executed without the intervention of the Grand- Mar- shal, and Lodzinski lived on. Pardon and oblivion were the only vengeance deemed worthy of himself by Sobieski. But time pressed, and Mahomet the Fourth was advancing in person, at the head of his immense army, towards the Danube. The words, " Dantzic ! Dantzic ! " were ever upon his lips, and betrayed the ambitious views and vast designs of his able minister, Achmet Kiuperli. On the 11th of October, 1673, Sobieski gave the signal to advance. The nobles who had shared with him the responsibility of rap- turing the ignominious treaty, endeavored to assist him to their utmost. During many years, Poland had not seen assembled so nu- merous an army, or o'le more distinguished SOBIESKl. _ 53 hy the great names and splendid companies of which it was composed. More than thirty thousand men found themselves united under the standard of the republic. Of these, Mi- chael Pac had brought but eight thousand Lithuanians ; Kontski, general of the artillery, had but forty cannon ; and the Royal Guard, which Michael had added to the army, though a superb and efficient corps, numbered but fif- teen hundred men. The remainder of the troops consisted of mercenaries, of the perma- nent forces, of volunteers, and finally of the Pospolite, — that is to say, of the convocation of all the gentry, who, after having been three times summoned by the king, were obliged to march under the banners of their respective Palatines. They, however, owed only a few months' service to the state, and could not be forced to cross the frontiers. Although brave, and weli versed in the arts of individ- ual combat, they knew little of tactics and less of obedience. Nearly all fought upon horseback, and the corps composing the heavy cavalry were the most esteemed portion of the army ; a/: least, they had the advantage in 64 SOBIESKl. numbers, wealth, and pride. All were equals, all nobles, who deemed themselves responsi* ble for their deeds only to God and to their swords, and of whom each one was eligible to the throne of the Piasts and the lagellons. Sobieski's plan for the campaign was sim- ple and vast ; but when he reached the Dnies- ter, and commanded his troops to cross itj thus placing this river, filled with floating ice, between themselves and their country, they refused. Mountains and marshes had been traversed, but now their imaginations recoiled from advancing into an unknown country, without cities or villages, a desert in their rear, and numberless armies of Turks on their front. Strange proceedings between the Sec- ond Hetman of the crown and Michael Pac, Grand-Hetman of Lithuania, increased their fears. Secretly encouraged, the rebellion spread from rank to rank, and the soldiers took up their arms, to employ them, if necessary, against the author of the hardships already suffered, and of the still greater evils which they fore- saw. Sobi( ski rode towards them. His was *^hb SOBIESKI. 55 eye which, years before, when no glory beamed from its glowing depths, had been all-power- ful in quelling insurrection ; and his the per- suasive eloquence which knew a thousand ways of penetrating into men's hearts, and of graving deep within them the sacred words of Duty and of Country. However, he was but indifferently comprehended by wearied mer- cenaries and a seditious nobility. « Food I " they cried, " food ! " " We will find it in the plains of Molda- via." « Repose ! " " I promise it to you all under the tents of the barbarians, if you conquer; if not, we shall have it in heaven." The army replied, that they would return to their homes. " There is but one mode of return, and that is, to follow me to combat, and to conquer. For otherwise my unalterable resolution is to be buried here, and it no longer depends upon you whether you will or will not be buried with me. You see how it is, w^\ where you are ! Who will save you ? " 56 SOBIESKI. The Dniester was crossed. But the wild solitudes and the fears of ihfe army proved stronger than the hopes and the will of Sobieski, and he finally turned towards Chocim, where the Seraskier Hussein was encamped with his army. The Turkish camp was strongly fortified both by nature and by art, and the commander, with his eighty thou- ^3a^d veterans, reposed in fancied security be- neath his magnificent tents, sheltered behind a powerful battery. The assailants were much fewer in num- ber, fresh and undisciplined troops, encamped in an arid plain, destitute of provisions, and without a place of refuge ; winter and its hardships increased the difficulties of their po- sition ; both the earth and the skies were to be overcome. Deep ditches, beds of torrents, and walls of rock, formed the only field of battle offered them to reach an enemy, pro- vided with everything, and confident alike in their number and in the strength of their ram- parts. This scene, so filled with memoiies ol the past, — for the fate of Poland had once before been decided within view of the walls SOBIESKI. 57 of Chocim, — in place of encouraging, only dispirited the hearts of the Poles. The night passed amid the darkest anticipations ; and the general, as well as his soldiers, felt the deepest anxiety. The enterprise he was about attempting appeared superhuman to all eyes except his own. Success was the only con- dition of salvation, and, fearing lest treason and hatred should deprive him of that, he already felt the reproaches of his country as a heavy burden upon his memory. The following day he made all his arrange- ments for the attack. Michael Pac declared the assault impracticable, and announced his intention of flight. " Flight is no longer possible I " cried Sobi- eski, " we should only find a shameful death amid the morasses, under the blows of the barbarians ; if we must die, better die under these walls. But why these fears ? Nothing here surprises me, except what I have just heard. Your menaces are our only danger. You will not execute them. If Poland is to be effaced from the list of nations, — and, from what J now see, we may well fear that such a 58 SOBIESKI. destiny may be in reserve for us, — you will no wish your children to say, that, if a Pac had not fled, they would still possess a country." The Lithuanian, overcome by the reproach- es of his countrymen, promised to remain. By evening all was ready for the assault. The weather was terrible. The snow fell thick and fast, and impeded the progress of the troops, who, however, were under arms during the whole night. The morning found them half-buried in the snow, and benumbed with cold and suffering. Notwithstanding their condition, Sobieski gave the signal so long awaited by the two armies. As he rode along the ranks, his clothes, his armor, and his thick moustache whitened by the falling snow, he cried aloud : " Comrades, I deliver to you an enemy already half vanquished. You have suffered, but the Turks are exhaust- ed. Twenty-four hours of winter have over- come these men from Asia. They are too feeble to resist, but we are still upon our feet, with strength sufficient to attack them. No more than this is needed to save the republic from, shame and vassalage. Soldiers of Po SOBIESKl. 59 lund, lemember that you are fighting for youi country, and that our Lord himself protects your cause ! " Having taken a final survey of the enemy's intrenchments, he returned, with victory beam- ing from his countenance, and said : " Com rades, in one half-hour we shall lodge beneath those gilded tents ! " A. prayer was offered to God, and, that end- ed, Sobieski himself, sword in hand, guided his infantry to the open trenches. In a few moments the standard of the cross and the eagle of Poland floated from the height ot the ramparts. At this sight a loud hurrah of joy and triumph rose to heaven from the Polish ranks. The Turks were panic-stricken. They were stunned by this sudden attack, and, only defended by their advantages in number and position, their whole camp was soon in disorder. The various corps of the Polish army outvied each other in deeds of neroism Arrived within the camp, Sobieski ranged them in battle array amid this city of tents, as yet merely surprised, not conquered. But the astonishment of the besieged, the 60 SOBIESKI. cries of the women, and the strokes of the Polish cavalry, composed of young nobles eager to display their courage and armed at all points, left the Turks no time to recover or defend themselves. In vain did they attempt to fly. Sobieski had foreseen all, and sta- tioned troops to cut off their retreat. The victory was complete, and the carnage fright- ful. The following day was employed in burying the dead under a mohila^ or triumphal mound, — a custom inherited by the Poles from their Northern ancestors. The great Zol- kiewski, who perished within a short distance of the walls of Chocim, might indeed now deem himself aven2:ed. The fortress of Chocim still remained to be taken ; it capitulated, and the Pasha of Kamieniec was so touched by the manner in which the victor treated the garrison, that he sent him, as a present, a hundred Polish cap- tives. At the news of this disaster to their arms, the Turkish armies retreated, while Europe, apprised of these wonder.^, returned thanks in all her temples for the " greatest victory which SOBIESKI. 61 had been gained over the Infidel during three hundred years.'' Sobieskij prompt in pursuing his advan- tage, was marching towards the Danube, when suddenly the news arrived that the king vi^as dead. It seemed, indeed, as if the battle of Chocim were too glorious an event to be numbered among the occurrences of this mel- ancholy reign, for Michael expired on the very day before it took place. As death brings to the mind a more equitable view of men and things, during his last moments he testified his confidence in the man whom he had en- deavored to dishonor, by naming in his will, among his executors, John Sobieski CHAPTER V. THE ELECTION. The king dead, all thoughts were again occupied with the election of his successor. Europe, and above all France, designated with one voice him who was deemed most worthy of wearing the crown. " He who has saved the throne should fill it," was repeated on every side. Strange aberration of the human mind ! "When such was the universal wish of Chris- tendom, Poland alone seemed not to have thought of placing the crown upon the brow of the hero of Chocim. Influenced by a secret envy, which he wopH have blushed to acknowledge, the Grand-Hetman of Lith- uania even dared to propose to the Diet the exclusion of a Piast, alleging the miseries and disasters of the preceding reign. SOBIESKI. 63 Nearly all the courts in Europe then took part in the competition, and a crowd of can- didates presented themselves. During tfie interregnum, the supreme authority was al- ways vested in the hands of the Archbishop of Gnezne,* the Primate of Poland. This office was then held by Florian Czartoryski.f He, together with Eleonora, widow of the late monarch, supported the claims of Charles of Lorraine, Sobieski's sympathies were all in favor of the Prince of Conde. Recalled by the will of the Primate, Sobi- eski feared to lose a portion of the advan- tages gained over the enemy. Detained at Zolkiew by the illness of his beloved wife, he employed, in the most tender cares, the time which a vulgar ambition would have conse- crated to selfish intrigues. However, calumny that hideous vampire which respects no one did not spare the Grand-Marshal. A thou- sand confused rumors circulated among the masses, and the crime of poisoning was more than darkly hinted. The enemies of Sobieski * Pronounced Gnais'-nai. t Shar-to-rys'-kee 64 soBii:sKi. said that a marriage with the queen would singularly simplify his position, and certainly had not death itself hearkened to the tears and prayers of John, and spared the life of Marie d' Arquien, God alone knows what dark imputations might have rested upon the char- acter of the Polish hero. The Diet was astonished at the absence of Sobieski, and wished to decide upon nothing without the adhesion and counsel of its Grand- Marshal ; but he, notwithstanding its sum- mons and entreaties, continued to remain at a distance. His great soul was wounded by the injurious pamphlets and libels which were continually appearing. He wrote as follows, in a letter to the Primate : " Give us a king without delay. Inaction will destroy us. If we cannot soon retake the field, I will not answer for the consequences." The Primate, convinced of the truth of this counsel, induced the Diet to proclaim that the ordinary delay of six weeks preparatory to the election would be reduced to three, and the opening of the Comitia was fixed for the 20th of April. Dissensions and quarrels had SORIESKI, 65 arisen from the intrigues of the various can- didates. Corrupting gold was pJentifully dis- tributed. The virtues and devotion of the Primate could neither prevent the evil nor rule the occasion. Charles of Lorraine was already upon the frontiers, prepared to en- force his pretensions by the sword. There were two different modes of con- ducting the election of a king of Poland, — either by a Simple Diet, or by a Mounted Diet. The first was composed of a certain number of deputies, chosen by the nobility ; the second consisted of the whole equestrian order, (which included the entire nation, with the exception of the serfs, and a few others,) armed and equipped, as if for battle. The Simple Diet was selected on this occasion, because it offered fewer opportunities for am- bitious intrigues and party strife. The nobles, in consequence, all left Warsaw, and went to their respective Palatinates, that they might bear their parts in the preparatory elections, which occasioned upon all sides contentioo ana rivalry, with family and individual feuds. 66 SOBIESKI. The plain of Wola,* situated to the west of Warsaw, had been, during a whole century, consecrated as the scene of the final election of the kings of Poland. In the midst of the plain arises the szopa^-f a vast wooden in- closure, v/herein sit the Primate (who, as we have said, was the presiding officer of the republic during the interregnum) and the Senate. Three entrances, always open, ad- mit, towards the west, the deputies from Great Poland ; towards the south, those from Little Poland ; and towards the east, the Lith- uanians. The deliberations take place in the open air, and around the inclosure of the szopa are assembled a hundred thousand no- bles, all on horseback, and surrounded by their numerous suites, sometimes by whole armies. The moving and animated panorama of an immense elective and legislative body, assem- bled in the open field, offers a grand spectacle, All are obliged to wear the national costume * Pronounced Vo'-la. t A Slavic word, whence the English term shcp is da» rived- Pronounced sAo'-pa . SOBIESKI. 67 which each strives to render as luxurious aa possible. These noble descendants of the proud Sar- matians, while preserving religiously the gar- raents of skins worn by their fathers, relieve their severe simplicity by the gleaming of jewels and the precious metals. Their caps, made of panther's skins, are almost concealed beneath the long waving hawk's or heron's plumes, fastened r pon them by large and brilliant clasps. ' t'heir mantles of marten or sable are lined w.th velvet, satin, or Venetian brocade ; and their jackets are woven of the finest silk, shot with gold or silver threads. Diamonds glitter upon their belts, on the hilts of their daggers and sabres, whose scab- bards and blades, richly inlaid, rival in work- manship the wonders wrought at Damascus and Alexandria. Each ray of sunshine is reflected with redoubled brilliancy from the shining surfaces of the rubies, sapphires, and emeralds, disposed in a thousand capricious designs upon the bows, the golden quivers, the finely wrought bucklers, and the old sil- ver battle-axes. — trappings of war long since ()8 SOBIESKI. abandoned for all purposes of real use, and only displayed, as memorials of the past, on festive occasions and days of public rejoic- ing. The uncovered hand of each seignior is adorned with a ring, on which are engraved his armorial bearings. This, as in ancient Kome, is a sign of recognition for all the members of the equestrian order. Each Palatinate has planted its standard in the plain of Wola, as near as possible to the szopa, and around these venerated ensigns, with menacing mien and raised swords, all the free nobles of the Palatinate are grouped. Those whom certain reciprocal engagements have attached to the person of some native grandee, restrained by this species of semi- servitude, remain where his service or dignity requires them. Amid these dazzling and continually undu- lating masses we may often see some splendid litter passing and repassing, at sight of which the lances are lowered, and the noble ?teeds, instantaneously curbed, caracole proudly, while the cavaliers bow with the most profound re- spect. Then a name passes from lip to lip, a SOBIESKI. 69 white hand rests upon the velvet cushion of the litter, a female head appears, encircled by floating curls of fair hair, and adorned with jewels. She smiles ; she speaks ; and this smile, and these few rapid words, are some- times of more avail for the candidate whom she favors, than all the cabals of the courts by which he is sustained. This is some noble lady, the wife of some Palatine or Castellan, on whom her name, her beauty, or her intellect has conferred great renown and great power. Patriotism and liberty inspire the whole multitude; their enthusiasm increases with the approach of the decisive moment; each one measures his strength and counts his forces. The rich seigniors are all there, with their guards of regular soldiers, increased by their immense suites of gentlemen, noble as themselves, but less favored by fortune. These bands sometimes consist of entire regiments of Germans, Wallachians, Cossacks, or Tar- tars ; sometimes of Hungarians, wearing their brilliant uniforms ; and sometimes of heavily armed cavalry, of hussars, with their splendid vestments, of warriors clothed in skins orna^ 70 SOBIESKI. merited with great wings of eagles' feathers, or of graceful and agile lancers, whose pointed weapons, adorned with floating, many-colored pennons, overtop the crowd, and gleam, like waving wreaths of flowers, above the plain of Wola. The spectacle is grand, beautiful, and noble; especially grand, as representing the power of a people who, willing to submit to a sov- ereign, determine at least to choose him themselves, and to make their selection un- restrained, except by considerations of patri- otism, duty, and submission to the will of Heaven; — for, possessing a lively and fervent faith, they deem their country and their choice under the immediate providence of the Ruler of nations. Our young readers may form a just idea of the vastness of the assemblage, by calling , before their imaginations an immense king- dom, such as Poland then was, emptied of all' its inhabitants, except the serfs, the trades- people, and the inmates of the monasteries.^ The entire free and noble population is as-| Bcmbled at Warsaw, whose walls are far too^ SOBTESKI. 71 confined to contain this vast concourse, which dwells around the city in innumerable tents, whose magnificence yields in nothing to that of the costumes we have just described. The time-honored treasures of each family, enriched by the spoils of the Orient, and the wonders won from the Turks, are displayed through the camp. Each tent is a magic pal- ace, which we might be tempted to imagine the realization of the marvellous tales of the Arabian Nights. Among these fairy palaces arises one surpassing all in its dimensions and magnificence ; a well-known standard floats above its principal entrance, that of Sobi- eski, to whom belongs this tent, composed of silken pavilions won from the Seraslucr Hus- sein upon the bloody field of Chocira- The clients and friends of Sobi^'sld, with his compatriots from the Palatinate of Rus- sia, crowd around it ; he alone is absent. Where, then, is the Grand- Marshal ? Ever active in the service of his country, he is em- ployed, at the head of a military commission, in taking measures to inspire fear and respect in the enemies menacing from without the tranquillity of the republic. 72 SOBIESKI. The solemn day which is to terminate the long suspense, tire day of the election, finally arrives, and still no Sobieski. The Pac are triumphant; their bonczuk* — which during war replaces the staff of command — alone rises above the crowd, and their bulawa f of gold and silver glitters in the grasp of their equerries. The insignia of the Grand-Mar- shal are absent. Can it be that the star of Lithuania is thus to outshine that of Po- land ? The first duty of the Diet, after having taken possession of the szopa^ under the pres- idency of the Primate, is to elect, under the name of Marshal of the Equestrian Order, the presiding officer of the assembly of deputies. This preparatory election arouses neither dis- cussion nor opposition. All unanimously des- ignate the Grand- Treasurer of Lithuania, Sa- pieha, $ a prudent, firm, and upright man. The victories of Sobieski had placed Po- land in the front rank among the nations of Europe, while, at the same time, they had * Pronounced Bon'-tchook. t Boo-la'-va- X Za-pyaV-hah. SOBIESKI. 73 concentrated upon her general observation, and most vivid hopes for the future, in view of the Turkish invasions, which were contin- ually menacing the peace of Christendom. We may easily imagine how^ many hearts were beating high at the thought of wearing so brilliant a crowm ; never before had Europe employed so many intrigues or made so many promises. Each power felt the importance of the result. Each party was, in consequence, the more eager in proportion to the vastness of the interests involved. The queen's fac- tion was powerful ; that of the Pac not less so ; Conde numbered many adherents ; and the merits of Sobieski were too obvious not to have attracted zealous friends. Such was the position of affairs, when an imprudent word escaped from the lips of Mi- chael Pac. Not content with having induced the preparatory Dietines of Lithuania to de- clare the exclusion of a Piast, he ventured to propose to the present Diet that they should ratify this decision ; and, in the heat of dis- cussion, so far forgot himself as to denounce as infamous any one w^ho should propose to 7 74 SOBtESKI. raise a fellow-citizen and an equal to the rank of king. At this Poland rose in indignation. Such a thought outraged her people in all they held most dear, — their rights, their privileges, and the memories of their ancestors. All the wis- dom of Sapieha was requu-ed to calm the dis- pleasure and excitement of the assembly. A new party resulted from this outburst, which threatened to exclude all competitors of for- eign birth, and only to accept a Piast for their king. Discord reigned, when a sudden announcement turned the current of popular feeling into a new channel. "Sobieski! Sobieski!" was enthusiastically re-echoed by the united voices of the people and the pospolite. " Sobieski is coming ! " In a few moments the road by which he was to arrive was covered with triumphal arches and strewn with leaves and flowers. All Warsaw went to meet him. The plain of Wola was speedily depopulated. Who would not have wished to have been among the foremost to greet the hero of Chocim, whom they were to see for the first time since SOBIESKI. 75 his victory ? In the presence of the deliverer of his country, they scarcely remembered the nomination of a king. All was forgotten, and the human voices, like one long and faithful echo, could repeat but one name, one alone, — " Sobieski I " O how elevating is the impression of a pure and noble glory, which has been won in the cause of God and of our native land I What power and lustre inwreathe the victorious sword, which, as prompt to protect the in- jured after the combat as terrible during the battle, transforms itself in time of peace into a sceptre of justice ! The children, beholding so splendid and joyous a reception, asked of their mothers : '' is this the king ? " " No, no," replied the latter in the enthusi- asm of their admiration, " not the king ; it is much more, — the conqueror of Chocim." And as the little ones, failing to compre- hend, gazed into their faces, they added : " It is Sobieski; my child. Let his name never be forgotten in your prayers ; for without hin" you would hive lost your mother, and your 7G SOBIESKI. sweet smile and dear presence would no long- er have soothed nny cares and sorrows ; with- out him we should have been slaves among: the Infidels ; you would have wept far from me, and I have died away from your dear side." Then were also tender voices of children mingled with those of the crowd, repeating : " Sobieski ! Sobieski I " Few men had done more for their coun- try than Sobieski, but never did a country more gloriously reward one of her sons. All his characteristics, including his appearance, seemed created to inspire love, respect, and enthusiasm. At that time he was forty-four years of age, and one of the handsomest men of his day. The ardor of the soldier, the gravity of the statesman, and the elegance of the grand-seignior, harmonized so well in his person, that each class claimed him as belong- ing to its own ranks. His expansive forehead announced the lofty genius which none could that I do not read your letters? Can you believe it, while, in truth, amid all my cares and solicitude, I read each one at least three times, — once when I first receive it, againr before I go to rest, when I am at last free, and the third time when I sit down to reply ? All the reproachful array of the many years of our union, and the number of our children, should indeed have found a place neither in your letter nor in your thoughts. If, occa* sionally, I do not write at great length, is it not easy, my dearest, to find an explanation of my brevity, without having recourse to mjurious suspicions ? The combatants of the two ends of the earth are within a few miles of each other ; I must think for all, and arrange the most minute details. " I conjure you, my heart, as you love me, not to rise so early. What constitution could endure it, especially when you retire so late ? You will indeed afflict me, if you disregard my prayer ; you will destroy my repose and my health, and, what is much worse, you will injure your own, which is my only conscia SOBIESKI. 131 tion in this life. As for our mutual affection, do you think it is I who have become the most indifferent? If my age is not that of youthful ardor, my heart and my soul are as young as ever. Did we not agree, my love, that it was now your turn to make the ad- vances ? Have you kept your word, my heart ? Do not thus impute your own fail- ings to another, but, on the contrary, prove to me by words, by writing, and, above all, by the truth and depth of your feelings, that you retain a constant attachment to your ever-faithful and devoted Celadon, who must now close his letter by embracing with deep affection his amiable and well-beloved Ma- riette." Will not our young readers pardon U5 these long quotations ? To comprehend the character of John Sobieski, we must follow his free but tender spirit through all his vari- ous avocations, and behold him gracefully yielding to the exactions of the w^oman he loved, and at the same time winning the most profound obedience and respect from so manv people of all nations and ranks, and com- 132 SOBIESKI. manding the destinies of thirty princes, march- ing under his standard, and relying upon his word and his fortune. On Saturday, September 11th, 1683, the advance-guard of the army encamped upon the summit of the Calemberg ; and it w^s at this moment that the citizens of Vienna had perceived their liberators, and found at once their hopes revived and their perils re- doubled. At the foot of the mountain lay the broken plain in which Vienna is situated, on the right bank of the Danube, here studded with man^ islands. Three hundred thousand souls were gathered together in an immense camp, whose splendid tents, dazzling the eyes with their brilliant decorations, overspread the plain, and extended to the very walls of the beau- tiful city, now almost hidden by clouds of smoke and fog; the tops of its monuments, and the pointed towers of its churches, alone piercing the mists, and gleaming in the bright sunlight overhead. Numberless herds of camels, buffaloes, and hoises were pasturing around the camp, as SOBIESKI. 133 peaceably as if they were among their native plains. The cannon of besieged and besieg- ers responded to one another, while the scngg and war-cries of the various nations filled the air with strange and unaccustomed sounds. The tents of Kara Mustapha attracted uni- versal observation. Never had the imagina- tion of the soldiers or of their leaders dreamed of such luxurious splendor. His jjemporary dwelling was not a tent, and not a palace, but a whole city built of purple and crimson silk and precious metals. It seemed to have been deposited as if by enchantment in the midst of the warlike camp, from which it was only divided by a fairy garden, filled with flowers, balmy terraces, and sparkling foun- tains. All eyes were dazzled by these won- ders, and the mind could not fail to find in this spectacle a faithful picture of the bril- liant but sterile and effeminate civilization of the East, suddenly contrasted with the more simple and serious, but more solid, advance- ment of the West. The fusion of the two was impossible ; one must absorb the other, and the choice was between Allah and fatal- 12 134 SOBIESKI. ism. on the one hand, and Chret, with the blessings of Christianity, on the other. Meanwhile, battalion after battalion arrived upon the summit of the mountain, and took their position, in order to descend by the safest routes. The time had come for Kara Mustapha to act, and Ms plan was a bold one, but its exe- cution was feeble and unsuccessful. Many causes had introduced dissension into his camp. Jealousies and superstitious fears pre- vented united action, and when it was known, from some prisoners whom John had purpose- ly released, that the king of Poland had ac- tually arrived, that they had seen him, and spoken Turkish with him, the alarm was at its height, and many prepared to fly. The following morning, Sobieski quitted his tent at five o'clock, after a night without repose, for he had devoted his few leisure moments to Marie Casimire, by writing to her a detailed account of the actual condi- tion of affairs. We should fear becoming tedious, were we to enumerate all the princes whose ensigna »i SOBIESKI. 135 floated from the heights of the Calemberg, or waved around the standard of the Vizier Enough to say, that so numerous a band of proud chieftains had not probably met upon one battle-field since the days of Troy and the Iliad. An altar was raised on the sum- rait of the mountain, upon whose steps stood the venerable Marco d' Avian o, while four sovereigns, twenty-six princes of royal blood, and sixty thousand soldiers, knelt in the dust. The voice of the priest rose solemnly and impressively amid the silence of nature, and the prayer and sacrifice, offered under the boundless vault of heaven, filled all hearts with strength and courage. The king of Poland would yield to no one the honor of assisting in the service or of partaking first of the Holy Communion, which example was followed by all the lead- ers, and a great part of the soldiers. The religious services ended, and the voice of Marco d'Aviano having ceased to implore the mercy of God, that of Sc^biesld was heard. He made his young son, Prince James, kneel down before him, and armed 136 SOBIESKI. him as a knight. He then recalled to hia army the memory of the battle of Chocira, and terminated his discourse by pointing to the cross which overhung the altar, and say- ing : " Let us ever fix our eyes upon this sign, and let us remember that by it we shall always conquer." In a few moments, the army was arranged in order of battle, the drums beat, the cannon roared, and the Christians descended the mountain-side like a living avalanche, while a cry of "Long live the King John Sobieskil" arose from every rank. Kara Mustapha had divided his forces into two great armies, one of which was destined to assault the city, and the other, to over whelm the Christian allies. We will not follow the various evolutions, or the many separate and terrible combats oi this eventful day ; suffice it to say, that at five in the evening Sobieski with his army had reached the gorgeous tent of the Turkish chief, who was still so confident of the re- sult, that he sat beneath its crimson folds quietly drinkirg coffee with his two sons. SOBIESKI. 337 This proud tent seemed to have excited the king's ire to the highest degree, and a mal- adroit movement having left it but slightly defended, Sobieski advanced towards it, sur- rounded by his squadrons, and recognizable by his brilliant aigrette, his golden bow and quiver, his royal lance, his Homeric buckler, borne before him by his faithful Matzinski, and, still more, by the enthusiasm his presence occasioned among his valiant followers. He brandished his sword, and, repeating this verse of the prophet king's, Non nobis^ non nobis^ Domine exercituum, sed nomini tuo des glori' am ! * dashed forward amid the enemy. The Tartars, i»ecognizing him, fell back. The name of the king of Poland ran like lightning through the Turkish ranks. For the first time they really believed in his pres- ence. " By Allah," repeated Selim Gieray, the Tartar Khan, " their king is with them ! " Then came an eclipse of the moon ; the two armies saw the crescent fade in the skies. * " Not unto us, O Lord, not unto us, but unto thy name give glory." 12 • 138 SOBIESKI. Heaven itself seemed to have taken part in this great struggle. At this moment was heard the national cry of the Poles, " God bless Poland ! " the Turkish lines were forced, and fear reached even the confident soul of Kara Mustapha. He burst into tears, and, turning to Selim Gieray, who had just entered his tent, he said : " Can you not save me '^ " " I know the king of Poland well," replied Selim; "where he is, flight is our only refuge. Look out upon the firmament, and you will see that God himself is against us ! " Kara Mustapha endeavored once more to rally his troops, but in vain; they fled in all directions, and he was soon forced to fly with them. The Mussulman army was annihilated, the cause of Europe, civilization, and Christian- ity had triumphed. The tide of the Otto- man power had reached its height ; from the walls of Vienna, it shrank back affrighted, and for ever. This great day had been more brilliant than bloody. It was a victory of order, confidence, SOBIESKI. 1139 enthusiasm, and genius. The army composed of so many princes and nations fought under the command of John, with j.o feeling of ri- vahy, except an admirable emulation in obe- dience and noble deeds. The king of Poland had the happiness of finding his young son worthy of him by his coolness and bravery. But, strange as it may appear, the name of the young prince is men- tioned by none of his contemporaries. His brother Alexander, who was not then eight years old, received all the glory due to James, and this singular substitution was the work of his own mother. The king had left to Marie the charge of overlooking the official reports "which were sent from Warsaw to the principal courts in Europe. From the time of the departure of the army, she substituted the name of Alexander for that of James. She did so because he was her favorite, and she. sought by every means in her power to procure for him the good opinion of the world, that, when the time should come for the elec- tion of her husband's successor, Alexander might be the choice of the nation. 140 SOBIESKI. We may now understand her tears at t moment of parting. They were sursly no those of a Spartan woman, as has been thought, still le^s did they become a mother. I The allies preserved in their victory the order to which they owed it, and passed the night, without disbanding, in this species of Tarkish bazaar, inviting them on all sides to pillage. Sobieski, after having remained four teen hours on horseback, slept at the foot of a tree, where Stahremberg sent him some pro visions. At the rising of the next day's sun, the camp presented a fearful spectacle. The Turks had all fled, but their barbarous deeds remained. Unable to defend their camp, they had endeavored to destroy it, and although a hundred and twenty thousand tents were Ktill standing, destruction and cruelty reigned on every side. All the women in the camp, and they were many, had been murdered. The same care had been taken of the extensive menagerie which Kara Mustapha had brought with Mm, SOBIESKI. 141 as well as of nearly all the horses and earn els remaining, and of the Christian captives. The allies everywhere stumbled over the dead bodies of Christians of all ages, especially of children, whose tender little throats had not been spared, but bore, in deep-red gashes, the marks of the fury and barbarism of their re- cent masters. One historian of these events raises the number of these victims as high as thirty thousand souls. On the 13th of September, the king entered Vienna by the very breach through which, had it not been for him, the Turks would have passed upon the same day. At his approach, the whole population poured forth to greet him. They pressed his hands, kissed his gar- ments, and followed him with acclamations of joy to the church of the Augustinians, where, not finding the clergy as yet prepared, he himself intoned the Te Deiim. This ceremony was soon after accomplished with more pomp at the cathedral of "St. Ste- phen's. The king joined in the solemnities 142 SOBIESKI. iest^ with bowed head, and one of the priest saluted him with the versicle, " And there was a man sent from God whose name was John." II A letter written at this time to Marie Casi- mire details vividly all the events of these two important days, and is a relic worthy of preservation. We extract a few paragraphs. i| *' In the tents of the Vizier, Monday night, Sept. 13. " Sole joy of my life, charming and well- beloved Mariette: — ' ^1 " God be for ever blessed ! He has given the victory to our nation ; a victory without equal in past ages. The Turkish camp and artillery, with infinite riches, have fallen into our hands. The approach to the city, and|j the surrounding fields, are covered with the slain of the Infidel army, and the rest are fly- ing in consternation " The Vizier in his flight has abandoned all, taking wdth him only his horse and the garments upon him. I am his heir ; for the greatest part of his riches has fallen into mv hands. roBiESKi. 143 " Advancing with l\e front rank, and driv- ing the Vizier before rii >, I met one of his ser- vants, who led me into t\e tents of his private court; these tents alone c wer a space as large as the city of Warsaw c Leopol. I seized upon all the standards and ensigns which are usually borne before the Vizier. As for the grand standard of Mahornet, which he him- self intrusted to Mustapha's care, I have sent it to the Holy Father (Pope Innocent XL) by Talenti. We have, besides, many rich tents, superb equipages, and a thousand other beau- tiful toys. I have not yet seen all, but they far surpass in magnificence what we found at Chocim. Four or five quivers alone, set with rubies and sapphires, are valued at several thousand ducats. " You cannot say to me, my heart, as the Tartar women do to their husbands, when they return empty-handed : ' You are no war- rior, for you have brought me nothing ; only he who fights in the front rank returns with booty.' " The Emperor is at the distance of a mile and a half from the city; he is descending 144 SOBIESKI the Danube in a boat ; but I perceive he has no great desire to see me, perhaps through some reason of etiquette. He is anxious to reach Vienna to chant the Te Deum, and 1 most willingly yield place to him, for I am very happy to avoid all these wearisome state ceremonials." Whatever may have been the cause, it was indeed true that Leopold showed no alacrity to meet the deliverer of his capital ; and So- bieski soon after made, in many ways, a new experience in the ingratitude of men. Vienna passed at once from famine to abundance, for the Turkish camp was well supplied with provisions. Colonitz also left the walls to gather in his portion of the boo- ty. The Turks had left behind them many of their children, who were found beside the corpses of their slaughtered, rhothers. They could not make the little creatures the com-J panions of their flight, and had not had the] heart to murder them. The prelate immedi- ately took these forsaken Infidel orphans un- der his own care. More than six hundred SOBIESKI. 14f') were found upon the bloody field, and this new Vincent of Paul was a father to them all. He fed and clothed them, and sent them to school, feeling himself amply repaid for his sacrifices by their conversion to Christianity. The whole Christian community united in the rejoicings over this victory. All creeds and nations, kings, queens, and princes, vied in celebrating the success and glory of John Sobieski. Felicitations and tributes of praise and thanks poured in upon him from al7 quarters ; and by common consent he was named throughout the civilized world, " The Liberator of Christendom." I CHAPTER X. SUNSET. SoBiESKT was not satisfied with having «*aved the Empire from the immediately im- pending danger. His desire was to pursue the Turks, confine them within their proper i limits, render them powerless for evil in the future, and thus deliver Europe* and above all his beloved Poland, from the horrors of their repeated invasions. Many circumstances prevented the full ac- complishment of this design. He spent the remainder of the year under arms, fighting the Infidel in the plains of ►-*ungary. After a generally successful cai^^pa/gn, he returned to ( racow in December, u iiere he was re- ceived with the liveliest demonstrations of joy, love, and pride by the people whose || SOBIESKl. 147 name he had so honored, and the nation which owed to him its present tranquillity and power, almost its very existence. John had reached the summit of human grandeur, but sought in vain the peace to which his great deeds had entitled him. In tracing his declining days, we are saddened by the spectacle presented by a great man, respected by the whole world, yet betrayed by his own family; revered by all Christendom, yet continually exposed to the ingratitude of factious subjects, who broke his heart by de- stroying, through their dissensions, the unity and prosperity of their country. After reaping so brilliant a harvest of glory he only returned to his native land to find discord in its councils, and annoyances of all kinds in his domestic circle. She who should have been the comfort of his later years was the scourge of the hero who had crowned her. Slie filled the palace, as well as the republic, with her plots and intrigues, interfering in all affairs, whether public or private, sowing every- where disunion and corruption, and deriving her power to injure from the enduring affec" 148 SOBIESKI. tion and consideration of her husband. Her own children did not escape this pernicious influence, and their quarrels embittered the last hours of their noble father. In 1689, we tind him dismissing an unusu- ally stormy Diet with the following impres- sive and prophetic words, which we quote for our young readers as a specimen of eloquence rarely equalled, proceeding from a great and expanded intellect, speaking through a lofty but deeply wounded soul, and a tender and devoted heart. The Diet had in e\ery way opposed his views and desires, and, not satisfied with this, had even dared, through one of its members, to brand him as a tyrant, a despot, and the destroyer of the liberties of his country. The aged monarch, with an effort, rose, and thus gave vent to the feelings which oppressed him. u " He knew well the torments of the soul, who said that petty griefs are prompt to speak, while great sorrows find no voice. The very universe will be mute while con- templating us and our counsels! Nature her- SOBIESKI. 149 eelf will be seized with astonishment. That beneficent mother has endowed all that live with the instinct of self-preservation, and has furnished the meanest of her creatures with an arm of defence ; we alone in the world turn our arms against ourselves. That in- stinct has been torn from us ; and not by a superior power, or an inevitable destiny, but Dy a voluntary delirium, by our own passions, and by the strange desire we seem to feel of injuring ourselves. O what will be the mournful surprise of posterity to see, that, at the very time when the name of Poland was venerated throughout the universe, we have permitted our country to fall from the height of glory into the depth of ruin, to fall, alas ! for ever I " As for myself, I have been enabled to win for you a few battles, but I now acknowledge that I am powerless to save you. For the future of my dear and well-beloved country 1 can only trust, not in destiny, for I am a Christian, but in the mercy of an Almighty God. " 1 have heard it said within these walls| 13* 150 SOBIESKI. that a remedy exists for the woes of the repub- lic, and that remedy is, that the king should not trample upon the liberties of the nation, but should restore them Have I, then, destroyed those liberties ? Senators ! that holy liberty in which I was born, and have grown old, rests upon the faith of my oaths, and you know well that I am no perjurer. To it has my life been devoted ; and from my earliest youth the blood of all my race has taught me to found my glory upon this devo- tion. Let hinn who doubts me visit the tombs of my ancestors, let him follow the path to immortality they have trodden before me I He can trace by the crimson drops of their blood the highways to the lands of the Tar- tar and the deserts of Wallachia. He will hear voices issuing from the bosom of the earth, and from beneath the frozen marble, crying, ' Learn from me how sweet it is to die for our country ! ' I might also invoke the memory of my father, the glory which he enjoyed in having been four times called upon to preside over the Comitia in this sanc- tuary of our laws, and the name of Bucklel -•OBIESKI. iCi of Liberty, which he merited! Believe me, the disorganizing eloquence to which I have listened would be much better employed if directed towards those who, by their disor- ders, are calling upon us the denunciation ol the prophet, which I hear, alas! thundering above our heads : ' Yet forty days, and Nine- veh shall be destroyed ! ' " Your illustrious lordships know that 1 do not believe in auguries. I question no oracles, and give no heed to dreams. It is no oracle, but faith, which has taught me that the de- crees of Providence cannot fail to be accom- plished. The power and justice of Him who rules the universe governs also the destinies of empires ; and where all is dared in the very lifetime of the prince, altar raised against altar, and strange gods worshipped in the presence of the true, there already threaten the chastise- ments of the Most High. " Senators ! in the presence of God, of the world, and of the whole republic, I protest my respect for liberty, and promise to preserve it such as we have received it. Nothing can alienate from ne this holy deposit, — not even 152 SOBIESKI. that monster in nature, ingratitude! I wili continue to devote my life to the interests of religion and of the republic, hoping that God will not refuse his mercies to one who never hesitated to give his heart's blood for his peo- ple." The noble old man would have added more, but he could not. The tears which had ren- dered his voice tremulous broke forth in audi- ble sobs. The whole assembly was moved. The Primate of the kingdom fell at the foot of the throne, and protested the love and grat- itude of Poland. John only replied by beg- ging the Senators to think first of the interests of their country. Cries of respect and affec- tion arose on all sides ; the king's emotion had pervaded the hearts of all, and the important measure whose passage he had desired was voted by acclamation. Sobieski had well judged of the future. He felt too truly that, after his death, the last hour of Nineveh would indeed sound, and his discourse only revealed the sorrow and sad forebodings which filled his soul. The impression he had succeeded in produ' SOBIESKI. 153 cing was transitory, and discord again reigned throughout all classes. During his later years, when external peace and national affairs permitted, he lived at Zol- kiew, the home of his childhood, where he called around him the great men of his time, endeavoring to persuade them to forget their past rivalries, and devote all their talents and energies to the service of their country. He encouraged a taste for letters, and promoted the study of art and science. Astronomy, medicine, history, and poetry flourished be- neath his fostering care ; and in his latest days, his own failing hand traced verses in his native tongue, which were equal to the productions of the best Polish poets of his time. His health was rapidly breaking ; an4 books, with long and learned conversations upon the nature of the soul, the hidden ways of Providence, the marvels of creation, and the future life, employed the leisure hours of the hero laden with so many warlike trophies. But even in this retreat calumny pursued him, and his age and services were no protee* If54 SOBIESKI. tion against the accusations of his enemi Neither public nor domestic difficulties o# trials, however, could break the noble spirit or damp the martial ardor of Sobieski. As late as February, 1695, when the Turks and Tar- tars, having heard a false report of the king's death, invaded Poland, and penetrated as far as Leopol, John assembled his troops, and, accompanied by the queen, embarked upon the Vistula. The same Marie Casimire and the same John Sobieski had embarked forty years before at the same place, with Louise ol Nevers and her husband, to meet the same enemies, whom John had since then so often vanquished. But this time they did not await his arrival. As soon as they knew him to be alive, and marching towards them, they fled, satisfied with having braved the cities they could not retake, and with having carried fire and sword into three provinces. A few months more of life, and Sobieski would have rejoiced over the long desired res- titution of Kamieniec, and the conclusion of a solid peace. During the spring of 1696, he Bensibly declined from day to day. The festi* f SOBIESKI. 155 val of Cor|3Us Christi, the day of his birth and of h^s election, was also that of his death. " He accepted," says Zaluski, the eloquent Chancellor, "the sacrifice of dying more will- ingly than, twenty-three years before, he had done that of reigning; for then he required forty-eight hours' persuasion to induce him to yield to the wishes of his country, and now he made no resistance, but without a murmur laid down his crown and life, to exchange them, as I firmly believe, for another life and a better crown." A crowd had assemxbled at his country pal- ace of Willanow,* where he then was, to cele- brate the double anniversary of his birth and election. The king asked what was the news in Warsaw. The reply was, that all Warsaw was in the churches, thanking God for having granted to Poland his glorious life, and be- seeching Heaven long to spare that blessing to his people. This answer affected him deeply. In the evening, while the queen and a few * Pronounced Vil'-ki-nov. 156 SOBIESKI. .d-ll friends were seated near his bed, he was sud- denly stricken by apoplexy. He recovered for a short time, during which he fulfilled the last duties of his religion, and was then again vis- ited by a second stroke, which proved fatal. At the hoar of his death, the sun had just set, and a storm arose, terrible as thar during which he first saw the light. The tumult raging in the heavens seemed a presage to the Polish nation of the future which was to over- whelm their unfortunate country. *! " With this Atlas," continues Zaluski, " the republic itself, in my opinion, has fallen. || (May I prove a false prophet I) We seem less to have lost him, than to have gone down into the tomb with him. He has worn the crown in such a manner as to confer more lustre upon it than he has received from it. I fear that his country and her glory have died with him, and that our power has reached its term. " At this sad news, the mourning is univer- sal ; many weep, and those who shed no tears tremble at the fate which awaits us. And what grief was ever more legitimate ? He is POBIESKI. 157 perhaps the first king during whose reign not one drop of blood has been spilled in repara- tion of his own private injuries. He had but one fault, that of not being immortal. Born for the whole world, he lived only for his coun- try, and many centuries may pass before we again see so great and excellent a man." May our young readers, when called upon to take their places in the drama of life, and to act for themselves or their country, be as forgiving and kind-hearted, as disinterested and noble, as John Sobieski ! It is a singular fact, that, owing to the con fusion, discord, and informalities which dis- turbed the election of his successor, the body of John was not interred as usual at the time of the coronation, but remained during thirty- six years unburied, awaiting the commence- ment of a new reign. Even in death, he seemed to be watching over his people, and beho-ding the fulfilment of his own prophe-