poor, honest folk (like myself) lie abed, sleeping away the exhausting labours of the day. Thus we left one another, with heavy hearts; nor indeed, did I ever see him again.
I needed urgently to retire to bed and to avail myself of the little time that remained to Atto and me in which to recuperate our strength. Yet, too shaken by events, I already knew that I would never be able to find sleep. I therefore decided to take advantage of the situation to note down in my diary the events which had just taken place.
The temporary leave-taking from Atto was a matter of a moment, and of a look which each of us read in the eyes of the other: several hours ago by now, Dulcibeni's pestiferous leeches would already have attacked the soft, tired flesh of Innocent XI.
Everything depended upon the course which the illness took: whether it was slow or, as in so many cases, fulminating.
Perhaps the new day would already bring with it the news of his death; and with it, perhaps, the outcome of the battle for Vienna.
Events Between The 20th amp; 25th September, 1683
The notes which I consigned to my little book that night were the last to be written. The events that followed left me no time (nor did they inspire any desire) to continue writing. Fortunately, those last days of our sequestration at the Donzello have remained very clear in my memory, at least in their essentials.
On the next day, Dulcibeni was found in his bed wretchedly soaked in his own urine, incapable of rising or even so much as moving his legs. All our attempts to make him walk, or even to control his lower limbs, proved useless. He could not feel his feet anymore; one could even pierce his flesh without him experiencing any physical sensation. Cristofano warned of the gravity of the situation; he had, he said, met with many cases of the kind. Among the most similar was the case of a boy working in a marble quarry who fell from badly made scaffolding, striking the ground violently with his back; on the next day, he awoke in his bed in the same condition as Dulcibeni, and, alas, thereafter he was never to recover the use of his legs, remaining handicapped for life.
However, all hope was not lost, Cristofano insisted, digressing into a whole series of reassurances which seemed to me as vague as they were verbose. The patient, who remained feverish, did not seem to be aware of his grave condition.
Of course, the serious accident of which Dulcibeni was the victim provoked a string of questions from Cristofano, who was certainly not so foolish as not to understand that the Marchigiano-and those who had brought him back-had been able to leave and return to the inn.
The bruises, cuts and scratches which Atto and I had sustained in our fall from Tiracorda's carriage also called for an explanation. While Cristofano dispensed his cures-medicating the wounds with his specially prepared balsam and celestial water and anointing the bruises with oleum philosophorum and electuary of magisterial marsh mallow-we were constrained to admit that, yes, Dulcibeni had left the hostelry, seeking a way of fleeing the quarantine and, from the secret closet, had ventured forth into the network of tunnels under the inn. We two had, however, been watching him for some time, having guessed his intentions, and had followed him and brought him back. On returning, he had lost his balance and had fallen into the little well that led back to the inn, and this had caused the grave injury which now condemned him to his bed.
Dulcibeni was, moreover, in no position to deny the story: the day after the fall, his fever was exceedingly high, depriving him almost completely of his powers of both reasoning and speech. Only gradually did he regain his wits, and then he would groan interminably, complaining of atrocious, unending pains in the back.
Perhaps that painful spectacle also inclined Cristofano to indulgence; our tale was clearly full of gaps and improbabilities, nor would it have stood up to a serious interrogation, especially if conducted by two of the Bargello's men. Having regard, probably, to the extraordinary recovery of Bedfordi and to the likelihood of an early end to the quarantine, the doctor weighed up the risks and advantages and was kind enough to pretend that he believed our version, without informing the sentinel (who was still on guard before the doorway of the inn) of what had happened. At the end of our reclusion, he said, he would endeavour to ensure that Dulcibeni received all possible cures. These happy resolutions were probably inspired, too, by the festive atmosphere which was just then beginning to spread across the city, and of which I shall now speak.
Already, rumours had begun to circulate concerning the outcome of the battle of Vienna. The first to be heard were on the 20th, but only on the night of Tuesday 21st (and the details of this I obviously obtained later) did Cardinal Pio receive a note from Venice with news of the flight of the Turkish army from Vienna. Two days later, again at night, other letters arrived from the Empire announcing the Christian victory. Gradually, the details had become more precise: the city of Vienna, so long besieged, had at last been relieved.
On the 23rd day of September, the official announcement of the victory reached Rome, borne in the dispatches of Cardinal Bonvisi: eleven days earlier, on 12th September, the Christian troops had routed the hosts of God's enemies.
The details were to arrive with the gazettes of the succeeding weeks, but in my memory the tales of that glorious triumph all blend into one moment: that of the exciting and exalting moment when we learned of the victory.
When the stars came out on the night of the 11th and 12th September, the serried ranks of the Ottoman host were heard making their prayers, with piercing cries; this was also evident from the lamps and fires, lit in great symmetry, together with the double lights of the superb pavilions of the Infidel encampment.
Our men, too, had prayed long and hard: the Christian forces were far inferior to those of the Infidels. At the first light of dawn on 12th September, the Capuchin friar, Marco d'Aviano, a great arouser and inspirer of the Christian army, celebrated mass with the Christian commanders in a little Camaldolese convent on a height called the Kahlenberg, which dominates Vienna from the right bank of the Danube. Immediately afterwards, our troops formed ranks, ready for victory or death.
On the left wing were Charles of Lorraine with the Margrave Hermann and the young Ludwig Wilhelm; Count von Leslie and Count Caprara; Prince Lubomirski, with his fearsome Polish armoured cavalry; then Mercy and Tafe, the future heroes of Hungary. Together with dozens of other princes, the still unknown Eugene of Savoy prepared for his baptism by fire; like Charles of Lorraine, he had left Paris to flee the Sun King, and was subsequently to cover himself in glory, reconquering eastern Europe for the Christian cause. The Prince Elector of Saxony, too, prepared his troops, assisted by Field Marshal Goltz and the Prince Elector of Bavaria, with the five Wittelsbachs. In the centre of the Christian lines, next to the Bavarians, stood the Franconian and Swabian troops; besides them, the princes and rulers ofThuringia, from the glorious houses ofWelf and of Holstein; then came other great names like the Margrave of Bayreuth, Field Marshals and Generals Rodolfo Baratta, Dunewald, Stirum, Baron von Degenfeld, Karoly Palffy and many other heroic defenders of the cause of Christ. Finally, the right wing was held by the valorous Poles, King Jan Sobieski and his two lieutenants.
When they beheld that powerful deployment of friendly forces, the hard-pressed defenders of Vienna immediately gave way to jubilation, launching dozens of salvoes of rockets.
The army was sighted from Kara Mustapha's camp too; but when the Turks decided to react, it was too late: the attackers were already charging down the slopes of the Kahlenberg at breakneck speed. The Grand Vizir and his men then emerged precipitously from their tents and their trenches, in their turn, deploying in battle order. In the centre stood Kara Mustapha and the great mass of the Spahis; by his side, the impious Infidel preacher Wani Effendi with their sacred standard; and before him, the Agha with his regiments of sanguinary janissaries. On the right wing, near the Danube, the cruel Voivodes of Moldavia and Walachia, Vizir Kara Mehmet of Diyarbakir and Ibrahim Pasha, from Buda; on the left wing, the Khan of the Tartars and a great number of pashas.
The gentle green heights outside the walls of Vienna, with their many vineyards, were the theatre of the battle. The first, memorable, clash took place in the narrows of the Nussberg, between the Christian left wing and the janissaries. After prolonged battling back and forth, the imperial troops and the Saxons succeeded at midday in breaking through and chasing the Turks back to Grinzing and Heiligenstadt. Meanwhile, the troops of Charles of Lorraine reached Dobling and approached the Turkish encampment, while Count Caprara's Austrian cavalry and Lubomirsky's armoured horsemen made the Moldavians bite the dust after bitter fighting, chasing their remnants back along the Danube. Meanwhile, from the heights of the Kahlenberg, King Jan Sobieski hurled down the Polish
