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
noble. 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
principal 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 vassal 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 cluster 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 Saentis 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
multitude 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 nobody 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 Godwine, 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 Altomuenster, 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 circumstances, the monks
decided to restrict the attendance at the procession--which was the main
part of the ceremony--to horsemen only, whence the whole function came to
be popularly named "Der Blutritt." As many as fifteen thousand horsemen
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 horsemen, 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 principalities, all gay in their best uniforms, reflecting
in the variety of their dress the unhappy division of the Empire, and
joining lustily 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 noble 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 Godfrey the Hunchback of Lorraine, very rich and very
powerful--_nobilissimi 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 constituted 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.