Odd Bits of History Part 3

This is all mere inference; but as such it seems legitimate. For the monastery of Rheinau is known to have been founded by a Guelph. And such monasteries were never built far away from the founder's stronghold. Hence the Guelphs' connection with the Black Forest, of which the Guelph St.

Conrad is the venerated patron saint; and hence their connection with Alsace, of which they were long Counts--such powerful Counts that Pepin the Short judged it advisable to reduce them to the position of removable governors--_missi camerae_. [S. Odilia, the patron saint of Alsace, whose name is a household word among her own countrymen, and about whom Goethe grew enthusiastic, was an undoubted Guelph.] Hence, also, their connection with the whilom country of the Burgundians, among the n.o.bles of which land we find a Guelph chief, in 605, standing up manfully against the aggressive usurpations of Protadius, a Frankish major-domo, and acting as spokesman.

As _missi camerae_ the Guelphs had a serious brush with the Church--the only tiff, practically speaking, which ever occurred between them and Rome. Of this quarrel, in which the Guelphs were probably in the right, we find a tradition kept up for some centuries. The Abbot of St. Gall figured in those days in Germany as the exact counterpart to the rich and grasping "Abbot of Canterbury" of our ballad. For some pilfering of crown lands the Guelph Warin, as a conscientious _missus camerae_, had Abbot Othmar imprisoned, which brought about the Abbot's death. Rome at once canonized her "martyr," and exacted heavy retribution from his "persecutors," not merely in the shape of severe penances and the foundation of ma.s.ses, but by the more substantial satisfaction of large transfers of landed estates to the injured abbey--Affeltangen and Wiesendangen, and I know not how many properties more, till even to the pious Guelphs the demands appeared to grow beyond all measure of reason. It is true, they recouped themselves elsewhere--_quod si cui minus credibile videatur_, say the monkish chroniclers--"which, if to any it appear a little incredible, let him read the ancient histories, and he will find nearly all their territories to have been violently taken and held by them of others."

It is with Warin's son Isembart, living in the time of Charlemagne, that the better known history of the Guelphs begins. He was the hero of that ridiculous fable about the "pups," which has been invented to explain their adoption of their peculiar name. Isembart's wife Irmentrude, it is said, having uncharitably reproached a poor beggarwoman for having borne triplets--which she held to be a proof of unfaithful conduct towards her husband--was punished for her gratuitous accusation by being herself made to bear at one birth, not three sons, but twelve. To screen herself from the same reproach which she had unkindly fastened upon the beggar, she hit upon the rather inept device of having eleven of those newly-born sons drowned as supposed "whelps." The twelfth she kept--and he is said to have become "Welf," the founder of the race. The other eleven were happily rescued by their father, who came up just in time to save them. Ten of them lived to become founders of princely houses. The eleventh became a bishop. One of them is said to have been Tha.s.silo, the reputed ancestor of the Hohenzollerns. The real meaning of all this legend obviously is that, by survival and intermarriage with other ill.u.s.trious families of Europe, the Guelphs have in course of time become, in a sense, the parent of most reigning lines--Zahringens, Hapsburgs, Hohenzollerns, Capets, Bourbons, and the rest of them.

The fable of children being sent to be drowned as "whelps"--and in every instance happily rescued--is, as it happens, by no means peculiar to the Guelphs. It occurs in the Black Forest, in connection with a family bearing the name of "Hund." It occurs in Lower Lorraine in that pretty _trouvere_ legend recording the doings of "Helias," the "Chevalier au Cygne," whom we moderns know as "Lohengrin." It is interesting to note that, along with that fable, Guelph tradition in Bavaria shares with the tradition of Lorraine the far more attractive and poetical myth of an enchanted swan--the swan, in fact, of "Lohengrin"--a bird specifically emblematizing purity--whence the extinct "Order of the Swan" of the Margraves of Brandenburg. That order was an aristocratic "Social Purity League," which Frederick William IV. would gladly have revived, could he but have found sufficient candidates for it among his n.o.bility. But his proposal met with very scanty support. Hence, also, the equally ancient "Order of the Swan" of Cleves, having a like object.

As regards the "whelps" of the Guelphs, the existence of very different and contradictory versions helps to show what a made-up story the whole legend is. The only authority for it is the monk Bucelinus, who himself quotes no more ancient source. And he is said to have invented it for the mere purpose of showing off his monkish Latin, in order to deduce from the Latin word for "whelp"--_catulus_--an imaginary descent, supposed to be complimentary, from a fabulous Roman senator "Catilina," and through him from the ancient Trojan kings. In opposition to this, it is a fact that there were "Welfs" long before Isembart. The name Guelph, therefore, could not have been first suggested by Irmentrude's unsuccessful stratagem.

Isembart lived in the ninth century. But, as early as the fifth, Odoacer had a brother named "Welf." "Welf" and "Eticho" were, in fact, the two traditional names of the family, from prehistoric days downward. Sir Andrew Halliday's suggestion, that the name may have been first taken from an ensign which the Guelphs are supposed to have borne in battle, is equally wide of the mark. For that ensign, we know, from the Agilolfings down to the Hanovers, never was a "whelp" at all, but a "lion." In truth the name "Welf" has nothing whatever to do with "whelp," but is derived from "hwelpe," "huelfe"--help. As Eticho means "hero," so Welf means "helper"--_auxiliator_. The popular Latin rendering for it in olden days was "Bonifacius." "Salvator" would be a more exact rendering, but would obviously be liable to misinterpretation. In confirmation of this theory, we find that, migrating into Italy about Charlemagne's time, a Guelph, on becoming Count of Lucca, as a matter of course a.s.sumes the name of "Bonifacius." And in his line, for further confirmation, we observe the same peculiarity which marks the Guelphs, that is, the naming of all sons of the family, without distinction, by the style of "Count"--a practice altogether unknown in those days among other families.

So much for the name and origin of the Guelphs. Now I must ask the reader to return with me to Ammergau, which is peculiarly sacred to the memory of Eticho, styled the Second, who was probably the son of Isembart. Eticho lived in the days of Emperor Lewis the Pious, who in second nuptials married the Guelph's sister Judith. The birth, by Judith, of little Charles--who became "Charles the Bald"--gave rise to that unnatural war between Lewis and his three elder sons, in the course of which alike Judith and two of her brothers were imprisoned in Tortona, from which place of confinement Bonifacius II. of Lucca, marching to their relief, avowedly as a kinsman, loyally rescued them. Eticho's daughter, Lucardis, again married an emperor, Arnulf of Carinthia--of whom Carlyle need not have spoken quite so unkindly, as of a "Carolingian b.a.s.t.a.r.d," seeing that he made a far better ruler than any of his legitimate kinsmen of his own time. Thanks to Lucardis it was that Eticho was driven to seek a refuge, as a hermit, in the wild seclusion of Ammergau. He went there to mourn, with twelve chosen companions, the loss of Guelph independence, which his son Henry, so he thought, had at the instigation of his sister ingloriously bartered away for a "mess of pottage"--a pretty substantial one, it must be owned. In truth, Henry did exceedingly well for his house.

This is how the Saxon Annalist relates the story:--Henry, ambitious for wealth and power, agreed to swear fealty to the Emperor, if in return, in addition to his own lands, he were given in fee as much territory as he could drive around with a car, or else with a plough--on that point the versions differ--in the time between sunrise and the conclusion of the Emperor's afternoon nap. Arnulf thought the bargain a cheap one for himself. However, Henry had stationed relays of the swiftest horses that he could procure at various points, and with their help he raced round the coveted territory with such marvellous speed that--having started from the Lech--by the time when the Emperor awoke he had actually reached the Isar.

The Emperor was just beginning to move restlessly in his chair and to show signs of returning consciousness, when Henry arrived at the foot of a mountain which he had designed as the extreme limit of his new possessions. If his mare would but last out the journey, one brisk gallop would carry him to the appointed goal. Unfortunately, the mare refused--in consequence of which, for many centuries the Guelphs would not mount a mare. The hill which Henry thus narrowly failed to obtain still goes by the name of Mahrenberg, the "Mare's mountain." Arnulf considered that he had been "done." But, having pledged his word, he held himself bound.

Eticho, grieved, mourned out his life in his hermit's cell in Ammergau.

Henry--who was after his adventure named _Heinricus c.u.m aureo curru_--does not appear to have made any particular effort to propitiate his father.

But when the old man was dead, he carried his remains with great pomp and show to the monastery of Altomunster, very near his own new seat of Altorf, where he raised a gorgeous tomb to Eticho's memory, at which Guelph chiefs made it a practice to kneel for generations after, thus evidencing their respect for an ancestor who came to be looked upon as specifically the champion of independence. The homage paid became a cult; and in Ammergau shortly after rose up, where Eticho's cell had stood, a wooden memorial church, to be replaced, in 1350, by a much larger monastery, built at the expense of Emperor Lewis the Bavarian, a descendant of Eticho. The monastery is still known as "Ettal"--that is, "Eticho's Thal," "Etichonis vallis."

Altomunster, I may mention in pa.s.sing, was the "Minster" supposed to have been founded by S. Alto, a Scottish saint, the companion and disciple of S. Boniface, who managed, like Moses, to make a hard rock give forth a spring of rushing water by striking it with his staff. The spring still flows; and, as it was specially blessed by S. Boniface, its water is no doubt ent.i.tled to the peculiar veneration in which it is held to the present day.

From their new seat at Altorf, up to the death of Welf III., the Guelphs continued to take their name. They were specifically "the Guelphs of Altorf." While there, they managed to better their fortune not a little.

It was a rough neighbourhood then, with nothing but forest all round, forest spreading out for miles, stocked with wolves, and bears, and all manner of game. To the present day some thirteen thousand acres remain under timber. There are plenty of dales, and caves, and peaks, and the like, in the district, which have given rise to an innumerable host of legends. One of Henry's sons was that excellent Bishop Conrad, who became the family saint _par excellence_, and who first inaugurated the traditional friendship with Rome. Welf II., feeling his power growing, ventured to break a lance with the Emperor, in support of his friend Ernest of Swabia, whose Burgundian possessions--very large ones--the Emperor had wrongfully seized. It did no good to Ernest. But it taught the Emperor that the Guelphs had become a power to be reckoned with--a power with whom it was advisable to stand well. And accordingly we find the next Emperor, Henry III., with a view to propitiating the succeeding Guelph, Welf III., preferring him to the dukedom of Carinthia, which was a very important office in those days--Carinthia being a frontier march, and embracing Verona and part of Venetia. So great was the importance attached to this position that for seven years Henry had, for want of a sufficiently strong candidate, advisedly kept it open. Welf took the Duchy--and then pursued his own course, defying the Emperor at Roncaglia, and refusing to render him service--which was politic and, according to the notions of his day, not dishonest.

Welf III. was the last Guelph of the male line. After him we find the Guelphs of the female branch succeeding to the family honours--the "Guelphs of Ravensburg," as they were fond of styling themselves. These are the Guelphs from whom our Queen is descended. To what extent the family had added to their estate while settled at Altorf came to be seen when, in 1055, Welf III. died. The possessions which he left embraced a good bit of Alemannia, the greater half of Bavaria (which then included the present Austria), the larger part of the Tyrol, and a tidy slice of Northern Italy. It is no wonder that "Mother Church," always alive to temporal opportunities, cast her eyes a little longingly on so fair an estate, and, in default of a male heir, demanded it for herself. But there was a Guelph beforehand with her--Welf IV., the son of Chuniza, the sister of Welf III., by her marriage with Azzo (a direct descendant of the Guelph Bonifacius). Welf IV. proved himself a particularly strong and able ruler--_vir armis strenuus, concilio providus, sapientia tam forensi quam civili praeditus_, the monkish chroniclers style him. Hence his surname, which he well deserved--"the Strong." By his accession he added to the family territories those valuable estates in Italy which for a long period made his family one of the most wealthy in Europe. For Azzo was reputed the richest and one of the most powerful _marchiones_ of Italy. Welf's younger brother was Hugo, the first of the family to take the name of Este, who became the founder of a race which has been held particularly n.o.ble. Welf IV. secured his family other gains. Man of war that he was, the Emperor Henry IV. was thankful to have him for a supporter in his struggles with the rebellious Saxons, before whom the Swabian companies had recoiled. At the battle of the Unstrut Welf completely shattered their power, and thereby secured to Henry for a time the peaceful possession of his purple--and for himself, as a reward, the Dukedom of Bavaria. That office was worth even more than the Dukedom of Carinthia. For at that time Germany owned but four regular dukes, representing severally the four princ.i.p.al tribes which made up the nation. And with those four dukes, under the Emperor, rested, in the main, the power in the Empire.

Following in the footsteps of his uncle, we find Welf IV. drawing closer the links which connected him with Swabia, while correspondingly loosening his proprietary relations with Bavaria, and in token of such policy fixing his residence in pretty Ravensburg. The reason evidently was, that the laws of Swabia conceded to va.s.sal lords more extensive rights than did the laws of Bavaria. Accordingly, we find Henry the Generous, when dispossessed of his duchy by Conrad III., appealing specifically to the laws of Swabia against the Emperor's monstrously unfair judgment. But, apart from that political reason, Ravensburg was also no doubt more attractive on the score of its pleasant situation and its delightful surroundings. You may identify both sites, when sailing down the lake of Constance, among that picturesquely outlined cl.u.s.ter of hills, on which your eye is sure to rest instinctively--the hills rising on the northern bank, in the very face of the tall Alps of Appenzell, among which the lopsided Santis is particularly conspicuous. From Ravensburg both the lake and the Alps are clearly visible, and, moreover, a charming landscape nearer than either, with that pretty Schussenthal right in front, and a mult.i.tude of rocky peaks dotted about the forest, alternating with shady dales, smiling fields, and lush meadows. Of the castle there is now but a crumbling weather-worn old gateway left. The town still exists, and flourishes after a fashion--consisting of a group of quaint, picturesque, out-of-date houses, looking for all the world like a piece of grey antiquity recalled to life. At Ravensburg used to be stored the Archives of the Guelph family. A valuable and interesting collection they must have been. What has become of them n.o.body knows. They may have been destroyed by fire. They may, with heaps of other precious material for history, have been carried to greedy Vienna, to be there preserved as so much lumber.

During Welf IV.'s reign happened that historic conflict between Church and State, Pope Hildebrand and Henry IV. of Germany, for his share in which Henry has been censured a good deal more than in justice he deserves.

Really, in going to Canossa, the Emperor did--so far as his intention was concerned--a very prudent thing. The German princes had bluntly informed him that while he remained at feud with the Pope, he would look for their obedience in vain. With the Pope, accordingly, Henry strove to set himself right. Could he certainly foresee that, urged on by the malignant Countess Matilda, Gregory would take advantage of his duress, while he was literally hemmed in between two outer walls of the castle, to force upon him so bitter a cup of humiliation? Matilda was a Guelph--destined to play a very important part in Guelph history. Welf IV. was her near kinsman, and had, moreover, become a zealous supporter of the Pope. Therefore we can scarcely wonder at finding him with Hildebrand and Matilda at Canossa, witnessing his chief's degradation. We can not wonder, either, at finding Welf, when Henry had once more fallen out with the Pope, commanding the rebel forces raised to support the "opposition Emperor," Rudolph of Swabia. And, being a Guelph, it is no wonder that he should have taken advantage of the opportunity of his victory, to extort from the Emperor terms materially benefiting his own house--namely, the recognition of his private property in Swabia as held directly from the Emperor, and--which was more important--the recognition of his Bavarian dukedom as hereditary in his family. How great was the power wielded at that period in Germany by this early Guelph prince, is evident from the fact that after his conclusion of a separate peace with the Emperor the opposition practically collapsed, and Hermann, the new "opposition emperor," found himself almost without support. Welf IV., I ought to mention, was the first Guelph to connect his family in a manner with our island. He married Judith, the daughter of Count Baldwin of Flanders, and the widow of Tostig, King of Northumberland, the son of Earl G.o.dwine, of Kent, and brother of the unfortunate King Harold. Leaving Judith at home with the two sons whom she had borne him, Welf and Henry, Welf IV. started in 1098, at an advanced age, on a crusade to the Holy Land, which he successfully accomplished.

But on his return home he was struck down by a fatal illness, which overtook him in the island of Cyprus.

This brings us down to the time of a tragic little incident which has furnished the subject for the favourite family legend of the Guelphs. At the time of their father's death both Welf and Henry were mere boys, left in charge of a good monk, Kuno, a Benedictine of Weingarten. Considering how important a part Weingarten has played in Guelph history--that its monks have become the carefully minute but provokingly inaccurate chroniclers of the Guelph family--and that, thanks to the pious liberality of the late King of Hanover, in the Abbey church of Weingarten the gathered bones of most of the early Guelph lords have found an honoured resting-place, perhaps I ought to say just a word about that monastery. It was Welf the Third's foundation, set up at a short distance only from Ravensburg, on a site commanding a magnificent view of the country all around, and was intended to provide accommodation for those pious monks, originally of Altomunster, who had been twice, at very short intervals, burnt out of Altorf. It still stands; its three towers form a conspicuous landmark in the Schussengau; and to its shrine still are undertaken pilgrimages from a wide circuit--a survival that from a worship of olden days which was one of the great spectacles of the mediaeval Church. Before setting out for the Holy Land, Welf IV. entrusted to the monks of Weingarten for safe keeping, a relic which was at the time held in far more than ordinary esteem. It consisted of some drops of the Saviour's blood, believed to be thoroughly genuine, and preserved, enclosed in a costly vessel made of pure gold of Arabia and valued at three thousand florins. There was a history to those drops. Pious inquirers have ascertained that the name of the centurion who was present at the Saviour's crucifixion, as the Gospel relates, was Longinus, and that he was a native of Mantua. Seeing the precious drops trickling down, it is said, he caught them up in a vessel, and, becoming converted by what he witnessed, returned home to Mantua, still reverently carrying them with him. He was in due time baptized, and became a missionary and a martyr.

For something like eight hundred years the Holy Blood remained buried in his garden at Mantua. Then it was discovered by accident, only to be once more concealed somewhere or other. But in 1049, when Pope Leo IX. happened to be at Mantua, once more it came to light, to be instantly claimed by the Pope on behalf of the Supreme See. The Mantuans objected; but in the end Leo obtained, at any rate, part of the precious treasure. Of his share he kept half. The other half he gave away to his friend the Emperor Henry III., who, on his death, bequeathed it to Baldwin of Flanders, from whom, in her turn, Judith got it--carrying it with her to Northumberland, and then on to Ravensburg, where she dutifully made it over to her husband.

And when Welf started on his crusade, he, as observed, entrusted the relic to the monastery of Weingarten. The monks knew well how to turn so valuable a possession to account. The Good Friday ceremony of "Worshipping the Sacred Blood" became one of the most frequented, most impressive, and most honoured ceremonies of the Church. As many as thirty thousand people have been known to flock to the place from all quarters, turning the hillside into a huge pilgrim's camp, and contributing not a little to the prosperity of the religious house. Under the circ.u.mstances, the monks decided to restrict the attendance at the procession--which was the main part of the ceremony--to hors.e.m.e.n only, whence the whole function came to be popularly named "Der Blutritt." As many as fifteen thousand hors.e.m.e.n are known to have joined in the monster cavalcade. At the head rode the _Custos_ of the relic, a monk, holding up the Blood for adoration. He was followed by a horseman doing duty for Longinus, clad as a Roman warrior, bearing in his hand the supposed "sacred spear." After him marched a small squad of other hors.e.m.e.n, representing Roman legionaries. Next followed a goodly muster of Princes and Counts and Lords. And the rear was brought up by a long file of mounted soldiers, contributed by the surrounding dozen or so of petty princ.i.p.alities, all gay in their best uniforms, reflecting in the variety of their dress the unhappy division of the Empire, and joining l.u.s.tily in the sacred song _Salvator Mundi_.

But we must now return to Ravensburg and young Welf. Not far off from Ravensburg still stands, conspicuous upon its lofty hill, the old castle of Waldburg, the cradle of the n.o.ble race of the Truchsesses of Waldburg, who were at times rather a rough set. There is a story of one particularly brusque Count who, having rallied the Abbot of Weingarten upon his sumptuous living and soft raiment, and having been told in reply that such things were far more creditable than riding about the country robbing and stealing, promptly retorted with a vigorous box on the Abbot's ear--at the Abbot's own table. The Count thereupon withdrew, but shortly after paid the monastery an even more hostile visit, setting fire to the village and burning it down to the ground. In punishment he was sentenced by the Emperor to abstain for life from wearing a helmet. Hence the bare head and flowing locks of the Knight of Waldburg, always to be seen in the thick of the fray, which became a valued feature in the family escutcheon. But at the time of which I am speaking the Waldburgs were thoroughly peaceable folk. The particular knight of Welf's day had, as it happened, a lovely daughter, just about two years younger than young Welf, who, of course, fell desperately in love with Bertha, as in return Bertha did with him.

Hundreds of innocent little amatory interviews took place between the two, either at Waldburg or else in the forest, with the full acquiescence of Kuno, who saw nothing to object to in the proposed match. However, Kuno died, and was in his guardianship replaced by a monk of a very different character--Anthony, a schemer and intriguer--who would without doubt have been a Jesuit, if the Order had been then established. To Welf's utter dismay, this Anthony, one fine morning, informed his young charge that in the interest alike of the Guelph family and of the Church he, a youth of eighteen, must forthwith marry Gregory VIIth's friend, Matilda of Canossa, Spoleto, &c., the persecutress of Henry IV., a Guelph herself, the widow of G.o.dfrey the Hunchback of Lorraine, very rich and very powerful--_n.o.bilissimi ac ditissimi marchionis Bonifacii filia_--but mannish--_femina virilis animi_--accustomed to leading her own men in battle, scheming, ugly, ill-tempered, and forty-three to boot. Hers were splendid possessions--Parma, and Mantua, and Ferrara, and Spoleto, and Reggio, and Lucca, and Tuscany. But all these riches were as nothing in the eyes of Welf, who had made up his mind that he must marry Bertha, aged sixteen, or no one. A little plot was quickly concocted, and one fine night Welf, in disguise, might be seen slyly escorting Bertha, likewise in disguise, and accompanied only by her private maid, Francisca, through the forest down to Lindau, on the border of the lake, where a boat was in readiness to bear the fugitives across to Constance. From that place, Welf said--probably thinking of his mother's connections with our country--"we will make our way straight to England, where a Guelph's arm and sword are sure to be welcome and to find employment." The lake was reached, and the oars splashed briskly over the smooth surface--when all of a sudden, at half-way, over goes the boat, capsizing, and Bertha sinks down to the bottom, to be seen no more. Diving, and swimming, and calling proved all in vain. Thoroughly unhappy, indifferent to anything that might happen, Welf consents to wed the elderly Matilda, with whom he settles down to live at Spoleto, sullenly resigning himself to his fate. One day a nun begs to be allowed to see him. She turns out to be Francisca, the maid, driven by qualms of conscience to make a frank confession of a horrid crime committed. Bribed by Monk Anthony, she said, she had on that disastrous night drugged poor Bertha with a handkerchief--then, when she was thoroughly drowsy, on the sly tied a stone to her feet--whereupon Anthony, disguised as a boatman, had overturned the boat. Anthony had told her that there was no sin in all this, it was an act _ad majorem Dei gloriam_; but her conscience would leave her no peace. Next day, at her own wish, Francisca was executed as a murderess, and Welf left his wife--who turned out to have been a party to the conspiracy--in anger and disgust, vowing to see her no more, and formally repudiating her before long--_nescio quo interveniente divorcio_, says the monkish chronicler.

We have now reached the very eve of that brilliant period when the Guelphs appeared to have risen, rapidly, high above other dynasties--only to sink even more suddenly to a humble level of prosaic obscurity, on which they were destined to continue for centuries. The records of that brief spell of meteoric greatness read like a romance. The Guelphs were giants, visibly overtopping all their contemporaries. Henry "the Great," Henry "the Generous," Henry "the Lion"--their very names tell of vigour and influence, of strength of character and striking individuality. Their domains came to stretch from sea to sea, from the Northern Ocean, which we call the German, to the Mediterranean--and breadthways across the whole Continent of Germany, eastward into those still only half-explored Slav regions in which dwelt the uncultured Bodricians and Luticzians, backed by the Russians and the Poles. Even Denmark was in a state of dependence upon them. And the Guelph Duchies represented a power almost superior to that of the Empire. Had not Frederick Barbarossa been so very great a ruler, it is said, Henry the Lion's realm would infallibly have either swallowed up the rest of Germany or else have const.i.tuted itself a separate Empire.

Under Henry the Generous the Imperial Crown seemed to lie actually at the feet of the Guelph dynasty. They need but have stooped a little to pick it up. But stooping was the one thing which they could not bring themselves to do. As a result they were jockeyed out of this prize just as their late successor was the other day jockeyed out of his kingdom of Hanover.

Germany, it is to be feared, lost more by that shabby trick than did the Guelphs. Under a race of heroes like those Henrys, with plenty of power of their own at their back to support them against rivals and malcontents, it did not seem too much to expect that something like the halcyon days of the Saxon emperors might have been brought back. All ended in smoke. There was that family quarrel between Guelphs and Ghibellines, which ruined both houses--unfortunately, the Guelphs first. It seems a strange coincidence that the two rival cousins, Frederick Barbarossa and Henry the Lion, should both have been born at Ravensburg. It seems odd, also, that after being long the warmest of friends, the two houses should have become such implacable foes. The Hohenstaufens had no one but Welf IV. to thank for the Swabian crown. It was he who had extorted it from Henry IV. And it seems more than strange, it seems hard, cruel, and unjust, that not only should the Guelphs a second time have been punished in their private capacity for what they had done in the service of the Empire, but that, moreover, the Emperor's persecution, which led to their fall, should have been, as I shall show, the direct consequence of loyal service rendered to the Imperial Crown.

Welf the Fifth's was a brief reign--and about the only pacific one in that early period. A staunch friend to the Pope, but at the same time strictly loyal to the Emperor, he managed to overcome resistance, say the monks of Weingarten, "by liberality and graciousness rather than by cruelty and force." His brother, Henry, surnamed variously "the Black," and "the Great," was a man of entirely different mould. He it was who about 1100 first acquired by marriage with Wulfhilde, the daughter of Magnus, Duke of Saxony, the valuable "allodium" of Luneburg, which up to 1866 formed the nucleus of Guelph possessions in Northern Germany. Henry's son, Henry the Generous, bettered that example by obtaining the Saxon Dukedom. He was a staunch friend to Lothair of Saxony, the Emperor of his time--married his daughter Gertrude--and in his support made war upon the Hohenstaufens, who had seized, without claim or t.i.tle, Imperial territory, more especially the city of Nuremberg. In 1126 his troops carried Nuremberg by storm, and as a reward Lothair conferred the Dukedom of Saxony upon his son-in-law, who thereby came to hold two dukedoms at the same time. The victory over the Hohenstaufens was completed a few years later by Henry's capture (on behalf of the Empire) of Ulm. Clearly Henry was altogether in the right.

But the Hohenstaufens, smarting under deserved defeat, seized the opportunity of his absence--in Italy, where he was, to attend the Emperor's coronation--to ravage his lands in revenge. Of course, he retaliated. And thus was begun that memorable great feud which rent Germany in two and brought it down to the very brink of ruin and disintegration. The sad result might still have been averted if the general expectation had been fulfilled, and Henry the Generous had been elected to the Imperial throne. So confident was Lothair of his succession that at his death he entrusted the Imperial insignia--those precious _clenodia_ of Trifels--to him for keeping. But the Hohenstaufens baulked him by a clever election trick. Summoning the Electing Princes--a very indeterminate body at that time--with the exception only of the Bavarians and the Saxons, privately to Coblenz--not by any means a proper place for the purpose--they easily secured the choice of Conrad, in which the Saxons weakly acquiesced--being then still new to the rule of their Duke--and which the Pope, just as weakly, confirmed. Little he knew what a scourge he was binding for the punishment of his successors. Those two confirmations practically decided the issue. Nevertheless, so little a.s.sured did Conrad feel of his position that he fled from Augsburg by night, fearing an attack from the Guelphists. Arrived at Wurzburg, contrary to all law and justice, he condemned Henry unheard, proclaimed against him the sentence of proscription (_reichsacht_), and declared him to have forfeited both his Duchies. A furious contest ensued, Welf VI.

fighting in Bavaria, Henry in Saxony. In Germany the two factions are commonly spoken of as "Welf" and "Waiblingen." But it is by no means certain that the latter name is correct. It is quite as possible that "Ghibelline" may be intended to stand for "Giebelingen," the name of the castle in which Frederick Barbarossa was brought up, and near which the Hohenstaufens gained one of their first decisive victories over the Guelphs. In the south things went for the most part against the latter.

Welf VI. had been christened "the German Achilles." He tried to justify that name--being seconded, rather feebly, by the Kings of Hungary and of Sicily. But in spite of all his fighting, as the Bavarians showed themselves lukewarm, his efforts fell short of adequate success. In the north things went better. The Saxons, holding strong views in favour of what we should term State rights, manfully stood by their Duke, who pressed the Hohenstaufen Emperor so hard, that before long Conrad was almost compelled to ask for an armistice. The armistice was granted; and before it came to an end Henry died at Quedlinburg--it is said by poison.

That left the Guelphs at a serious disadvantage. For Welf VI. had quite as much to do as he could manage, to maintain himself as a belligerent in the south. And in the north, besides the d.u.c.h.ess Gertrude and her mother, the Empress Richenza, there was only Henry the Lion, a boy of ten, to head the rebel tribe. Conrad skilfully disarmed Gertrude by persuading her, still quite a young woman, to marry Leopold of Austria, the new Duke of Bavaria, and to a.s.sent, as a condition of that marriage, to her son's waiver of his rights in the south. In the north we find Berlin stretching out its hands eagerly for the Guelph Duchy--just as in 1866--but without success. The covetous Margrave of Brandenburg, I ought to explain, was not a Hohenzollern, but Albert the Bear. The Hohenzollerns were at that time still very small folk--so small that some years later, when Welf VI., disgusted with affairs of state, and grieving over the loss of his son, gave himself up to a life of reckless pleasure, and held a private court at Zurich, in ostentatious magnificence, we find the Count of Zollern of those days in attendance upon him, as a sort of n.o.ble retainer. Once Henry attained his majority, he quickly made his power felt. He must have been a character whom one could not help admiring. Brave, chivalrous, frank, generous to a fault, and zealously solicitous for the welfare of his subjects, for the extension of commerce, the improvement of agriculture, the development of self-government, a friend and supporter to every kind of progress--but, at the same time, headstrong, rash, impetuous--he seemed the very beau-ideal of knighthood, a man morally as well as physically of the colossal stature that the sculptor has attributed to him at Brunswick--a fit companion for his brother-in-law and staunch ally, Richard Coeur-de-Lion. For a time fortune favoured Henry. The Wends were constantly making incursions into German territory, keeping the border provinces in a state of perpetual disturbance. The Emperor alone was no match for them. Henry was sent for; and, like a German Charles Martel, he struck down Prince Niklot and his host with crushing blows. The result was a short-lived reconciliation with the Emperor, and Henry's reinstatement, for a brief period, in both his Duchies--Bavaria having, however, previously been reduced in size by the cutting off of what is now Austria.

Had Henry but had the prudence to use his opportunities, all might still have been well. For Welf VI. made him an offer of his Italian possessions--Spoleto, Tuscany and Sardinia--a valuable _point d'appui_, which must have helped Henry to maintain his balance in Germany, or at the very least to save more than he did out of the subsequent wreck. In the course of a life of lavish prodigality, Welf had come to an end of his available resources. He wanted money. Now, would Henry buy those Italian possessions of him? Henry declined, calculating a little too securely upon an unbought inheritance at Welf's death. In that calculation he made a great mistake. Welf, angry at his refusal, repeated the offer to his other nephew, Frederick Barbarossa, who as a matter of course jumped at it. And so the opportunity was lost. Fresh contests ensued, fresh proscriptions, banishments, outlawry. As an exile Henry was driven to seek the protection of his ally Richard, taking refuge repeatedly in Normandy and in England.

Then he managed to renew the fight--and at last, by the Emperor's grace, he received back, of all his vast dominions, those little princ.i.p.alities of Brunswick and Luneburg, which to almost the present day have remained specifically identified with Guelph rule, and in which the Guelph Counts and Dukes--subsequently Electors and Kings--managed to live on in their prosaic, humdrum, humble way, powerless and uninteresting princelets of the great German family of little sovereigns--till an accident, lucky for them, called them across to England.

One brief flickering-up there was, before their candle finally went out on the larger scene of continental politics. But it was a very poor flickering indeed, and no credit to any one concerned. A Guelph became Emperor at last. But no thanks to his own prowess or his own merit, or to a _bona-fide_ popular choice. It was our Coeur-de-Lion who, at the Pope's partisan instigation, to avenge his own humiliation at Hagenau--with the help of his "_multa pecunia_," as chroniclers relate--forced his nephew, Otto IV., on the throne which, according to strict law, had already young Frederick II. for an occupant. It was a poor, weak travesty of a reign.

Had not Philip of Swabia opportunely died, it would have been no reign at all.

For many a century the star of the Guelphs seemed set. The "viri n.o.biles, egregiae libertatis" of ancient times counted for little in the game of European politics. Early in the present century the elder line, that of Wolfenb.u.t.tel, brought forth one more hero of the old Guelph type--that brave Brunswicker who, in the great war of German liberation, by his brilliant gallantry quickened all Young Germany to a more fiery patriotism. The younger line, that of Luneburg, found a new sphere of action opened to it in this country, and now lives to perpetuate, on a Throne even greater than that which "the Generous" and "the Lion" had filled, that

"Dynastia Guelphicorum Inter Flores lilium, Inter Ill.u.s.tres Ill.u.s.trissimus Eorum memoria in Benedictione."

Under the new aspect of things, if, fortunately, Henry the Lion's bold bent for war be wanting, his characteristic care for the welfare of his subjects has been retained; and it is a satisfaction to know, in a reign that has happily outlived its Jubilee, that there is no longer occasion for that sorrowful plaint to which, in the warlike days of the race, Countess Itha gave expression--the wife of the great-grandson of Eticho II., of Ammergau--that "No Guelph was ever known to live to a great age."

IV.--ABOUT A PORTRAIT AT WINDSOR.[6]

In Windsor Castle, in the Vand.y.k.e Room, there is a portrait which has puzzled a good many visitors. It is an undoubted Vand.y.k.e; it shows a pretty face--a trifle sensual, perhaps--but who the lady may have been whose features it immortalises, n.o.body seems to be able to tell.

"Somebody"--"Somebody connected with Charles II."--"Some French lady"--are guesses rather than information offered. "Murray" used to call the lady by her right name. But lately, for some reason or other, she has in his description become transformed into "Madame de St. Croix," which probably sounds "safer." Formerly she figured as "Beatrix de Cusance, Princesse de Cantecroix," which was correct--unless the more ill.u.s.trious t.i.tle be given her which for a few brief hours she legitimately bore, though never actually crowned, that of "d.u.c.h.ess of Lorraine."

There is a good deal of history graven in those smiling features--curious, changeful history of their bearer's own life--and history, more important, of nations, on which she exercised a decisive influence. It was thinking of her, not least, that Richelieu penned those truthfully reproachful words:--"Les plus grandes et les plus importantes menees qui se fa.s.sent en ce royaume sont ordinairement commencees et conduites par des femmes."

Without her and Madame de Chevreuse--perhaps, it would be too much to say that France might still be without that Lorraine of which she felt it so great a hardship to lose a portion in 1871; but certainly the tide of events during the past three centuries would have taken a very different course from that which it actually did--different, probably, for the better.

Beatrix was "somebody connected with our Charles II."--it is quite true.

Without that link with our own Court her portrait would scarcely have found a place in Windsor Castle, and the sorry poet Flecknoe--Dryden's "MacFlecknoe"--would certainly not have rhymed upon her beauty and "vertue" in most halting and unmelodious lines, now long forgotten even by students of literature. But her connection with our "gay monarch" was of the briefest, a mere sly nibbling at forbidden fruit while the real good-man was away, closely watched by Spanish guards in the dark tower of Toledo--that same martial and romantic duke, to whom our Charles I.

addressed urgent prayers to become his saviour, and on whom he conferred the proud t.i.tle of "Protector of Ireland." It seems odd now--to us, with our modern notions of Lorraine, as a small and very helpless province of France--to think, that on the wayward ruler of that petty duchy, himself at the time an exile, should our Charles have built up hopes of his own preservation in the storms of the Great Rebellion. There can, however, be no doubt about the fact. In June, 1651,[7] Viscount Taaffe, Sir Nicholas Plunket, and Geffrey Browne, by order of the Marquis of Clanricarde, King Charles's deputy, formally waited upon Duke Charles IV. of Lorraine at Brussels, "to solicit his aid in favour of the unhappy kingdom of Ireland." The mission was considered of such pressing importance that Lord Taaffe, in order not to delay it, put off the call which in duty he owed to the Duke of York, then residing at Antwerp. Charles IV. rather rashly undertook the office pressed upon him, formally accepted the style and t.i.tle of "Protector of Ireland," fitted out--though not owning an inch of seaboard--a man-of-war, which he christened "Esperance de Lorraine"--and there the matter ended.

With this adventurous Charles IV. was the life of the beautiful Beatrix bound up from girlhood to death. It was a romantic affair--in some of its episodes a little sadly comical--and, since we have const.i.tuted ourselves guardians of her effigy, her story may be worth telling.

The Cusances were an old, distinguished, and very wealthy family in the Franche Comte, when the Comte was still a province, not of France, but of the Empire. At the present time the "Almanach de Gotha" knows them no more, nor any French or German "Peerage." But in their own day they ranked among the best of bloods; the strains of the Hapsburghs and the Granvelles mingled in their veins. "Gentillesse de Cusance" had in whilom Burgundy become a proverbial saying. The family owned a wide tract of territory in the mountainous country through which flows the Doubs, and among those hills, forming part of the Jura, stood, twenty miles from Besancon, their Castle Belvoir. Of this proud family Beatrix was, with two sisters--one of whom became a nun, while the other married a cousin on the mother's side, a Count de Berghes, of the Low Countries--left the last offspring. There was no male to perpetuate the name. At twenty she was known as "la personne la plus belle et la plus accomplie de la province."

People raved about her. Abbe Hugo, the Lorrain Duke's father-confessor, in his MS. History (which has never been published, for fear of giving offence to the French), describes her as "of a little more than middle height, and exquisitely proportioned." "She possessed," he said, "just sufficient _embonpoint_ to impart to her _une mine haute et un port majestueux_." Her face, something between oval and round, was marked by a particularly clear complexion and an animated expression. Her eyes were blue and well-placed; her hair was of a light ash colour; her mouth was small, and of a brilliant red; her teeth were of pearly whiteness, and well-ranged; neck, arms, hands were all "beautifully delicate, white, and admirably shaped"; in fact, you could not desire a more perfect specimen of feminine humanity.

With this beauty it was the happy, or unhappy, lot of the no less engaging Charles IV. to become acquainted at the impressionable age of thirty, when to the eye, at any rate, he represented all that was manly and chivalrous. He was then the beau-ideal of the s.e.x, unequalled in all accomplishments peculiar to the privileged Man of the tip-top strata, a brilliant horseman, fencer, tilter, and love-maker in the bargain--a veritable "Don Juan, alike in love and in politics," as his own historian, M. des Robert, has aptly styled him.

The two were for the first time brought into contact in 1634. Charles was then for the moment--a pretty protracted moment--a lackland prince.

Counting a little too confidingly upon the help of that "Empire" which was always ready to claim and never ready to protect, and moreover upon equally treacherous Spain, he had defied France--with the result of being turned out of his dominions by her. But if Charles was driven from his duchy, he had carried his brilliant little army with him--there was no better in Europe. He had gained a high reputation already as a dashing general and a tactician of ready resource. The French feared him, in spite of their superior numbers. The Austrians and Spaniards were eager for his alliance, and willing to pay him his own price. He was stationed, in command of his own troops and some Spaniards, at Besancon, where life was then made gay indeed to the military visitors. Very b.u.t.terfly that he was--forgetting altogether his homely d.u.c.h.ess Nicole, who was far away--Charles fluttered about merrily from flower to flower, almost thankful to Providence for having by her otherwise harsh judgment driven him to such captivating pastures new for the cult of Cupid. He was told, of course, of the bewitching beauty sojourning in the same city. Sated already with objects of admiration, he, however, at first scarcely paid heed to the praises of her charms. But once he met her, the hearts of both were in a twinkling set aflame.

Charles did not at the time enjoy the best of reputations among respectable folk. He had dabbled a little too freely in illicit loves.

Accordingly, old Madame de Cusance observed the young people's mutual pa.s.sion with very reasonable alarm--and, to prevent its being carried to dangerous lengths, she packed Beatrix off in hot haste to lonely Belvoir.

To a lover of Charles's mettle, however, twenty miles was a stimulus rather than an obstacle to love-making. Every day saw him galloping out to pursue his courting. There were French spies and scouts stationed all round, watching for the cavalier, eager to carry him off, as their comrades had not long before carried off our amba.s.sador, Montagu, to Coiffy. By narrow breakneck paths, which are shown to the present day, Charles threaded his way adventurously through the forest, where it seems a marvel that he did not again and again come to grief. No feat, however, was too hazardous, no risk too great for him to encounter in the pursuit of his romantic pa.s.sion. Accordingly, the old lady, like a prudent, motherly Dutch matron that she was, saw nothing for it but to carry her daughter very much further away still, to Brussels, where she had her family mansion, the Hotel Berghes. There Charles could not at once follow her, for he had his army to look after; and, moreover, the French stood in the way like a ma.s.sive wall. No sooner, however, had he gathered his fresh bays on the field of Nordlingen, and brought the campaign of 1635 to a more or less satisfactory close, than, still homeless and landless, he hurried likewise to Brussels, which was then the recognised gathering-place of all the poor victims of Richelieu's grasping policy.

However, in one way he had been forestalled. In the interval the old countess, thinking in her innocence that nothing could so effectually put a stop to undesirable love-making as an actual marriage, had compelled her beautiful daughter to marry Leopold D'Oiselet, Prince de Cantecroix, a great personage both in the Franche Comte and in Germany. That ought to have made all things sure. In truth, it did nothing of the kind. Beatrix and Charles remained as infatuatedly in love as before, and pursued their amour seemingly with all the greater zest and determination, because there was now a legal hindrance. The husband, as it happened, was not the only difficulty in the way. All the Lorrain princes and princesses--expelled, like Charles, from their own country, and a.s.sembled in the capital of the Austrian Netherlands--set their faces dead against the lady, and positively refused to have anything to do with her. Beatrix did not care.

She could afford to snap her fingers at Nicole, Nicolas-Francois, Claude, Henriette, and the rest of them, so long as Charles remained true to her; and soon we find her, the lawful wife of Prince Cantecroix, openly avowing herself "the fiancee" of the Lorrain Duke, who was himself lawfully married.

The old lady, foiled once more in her precautions, once more packed her daughter off out of harm's way--this time back to Besancon. As a matter quite of course Charles hereupon proposed to the crowned heads with whom he was in league, that the next campaign must necessarily be carried on in the Franche Comte, where, indeed, the French had somewhat alarmingly gained the upper hand, and were at that time rather embarra.s.singly (for the Spaniards) investing Dole. As if to support him in his pleading, a deputation of Comtois magnates arrived at Brussels, headed, for irony, by the Prince de Cantecroix himself, pet.i.tioning the victor of Nordlingen, with all the urgency of which they were masters, to come to their rescue.

Charles did not keep them waiting long. He promptly led his army back to their old quarters at Besancon, where he scarcely repaid Cantecroix in a Christian spirit. For his father-confessor informs us that, being a devout "Catholic," and believing implicity in the efficacy of ma.s.ses, he caused no less than three thousand such to be said, to obtain from Heaven his rival's death. He drove the French away from Dole, but after that he would not stir another finger. Fighting was all very well, but there was metal more attractive at Besancon. The old countess, had submitted at last to the inexorable ruling of fate. It was of no use transporting Beatrix backwards and forwards, while Charles followed so persistently after, and her own husband was so blind, or else so helpless. Things must be allowed to take their course.

Charles's ma.s.ses had the desired effect. In February, 1637 the Prince de Cantecroix died. In his testament he provided liberally for "ma bien aimee femme"--which _femme_ loyally lost no time in transferring herself from his house to one belonging to the duke.

M. de Cantecroix being out of the way, the next thing to be done was to remove the no less inconvenient d.u.c.h.ess Nicole. From her right to the throne Charles had already ousted her by a really grotesque farce enacted in concert with his father. Charles does not appear to have had ma.s.ses said for Nicole's death, but he very a.s.siduously consulted the learned of Church and State concerning the possibility of obtaining a legal declaration of nullity of marriage. This was an easier matter in those days than it is now; because, for want of any other plea, there was always the charge of witchcraft to fall back upon--a charge much in favour with "the Church." Charles decided to play this trump card. There was a priest, Melchior de la Vallee, a chosen protege of the late duke, who had baptized Nicole. He was now alleged to have been a sorcerer before he performed the rite of baptism. _Ergo_, he was incompetent lawfully to baptize; _ergo_, Nicole was not properly baptized; _ergo_, she was not a Christian; _ergo_: the whole marriage must be void. Witnesses were, of course, produced to prove the case, and poor Melchior, having been duly condemned, was orthodoxly burnt at Custines--the place in which Mary Queen of Scots had spent her youth. His property was declared forfeited to the Crown--to be eventually employed by Charles, in a fit of remorse, to endow, by way of pious compensation, the great Chartreuse of Bosserville near Nancy.

That part of the business had been easily accomplished. It remained, on the ground of this condemnation, to upset the obnoxious marriage. The Duke's Chancellor, Le Moleur, was easily persuaded to p.r.o.nounce an "opinion" to the effect desired, and, armed with this, he was promptly sent to Rome, accompanied by the Duke's father-confessor, Cheminot, to obtain a Papal judgment in accordance with it. The whole thing looked so plausible as readily to silence the last remaining doubts of Beatrix; and just nine days after Cantecroix's death the two lovers put their signatures to the marriage contract which was to make them man and wife.