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 Lueneburg, 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 title, 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
assured did Conrad feel of his position that he fled from Augsburg by
night, fearing an attack from the Guelphists. Arrived at Wuerzburg,
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 Duchess 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 assent, 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 noble 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 principalities
of Brunswick and Lueneburg, 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 nobiles,
egregiae libertatis" of ancient times counted for little in the game of
European politics. Early in the present century the elder line, that of
Wolfenbuettel, 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 Lueneburg, 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 Illustres Illustrissimus
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 Vandyke Room, there is a portrait which has
puzzled a good many visitors. It is an undoubted Vandyke; it shows a
pretty face--a trifle sensual, perhaps--but who the lady may have been
whose features it immortalises, nobody 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 illustrious title be given
her which for a few brief hours she legitimately bore, though never
actually crowned, that of "Duchess 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 fassent 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 title 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
title 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 constituted 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 sex, 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 butterfly that he
was--forgetting altogether his homely Duchess 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
passion 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 ambassador, 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 passion. 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 massive wall. No sooner, however, had he gathered his fresh
bays on the field of Noerdlingen, 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 assembled 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 embarrassingly (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, petitioning the victor of Noerdlingen,
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 masses, 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 masses 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 Duchess 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 masses
said for Nicole's death, but he very assiduously 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 pronounce 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.
Less than five weeks later the marriage was formally celebrated in a
characteristic hole-and-corner fashion. On the evening of April 2, 1637,
the duke's physician, Forget, brought the _vicaire_ (curate) of the parish
of S. Pierre in Besancon a written authority from his _cure_ (rector) to
celebrate Sacraments wherever he might be called upon to do so. That done,
the _vicaire_ is led by Forget on a roundabout way into Charles's house,
where he finds a sumptuous supper awaiting him. The food and liquor
despatched, the unsuspecting curate is, in a temper which disposes him to
comply with almost any demand, taken into Charles's own chamber, where the
duke bluntly informs him: "Tu es ici pour benir notre mariage." Even in
spite of the supper, the curate hesitates. But the duke will stand no
parleying. The ceremony is gone through. The young couple, to place
themselves entirely in order, comply with the custom of the diocese to the
very tittle: embrace, break a loaf of bread between them, drink out of the
same glass, and the thing is done. The curate receives twenty doubloons
for his pains, and is, like everybody else present, pledged to silence.
Secrecy was, however, under the circumstances, absolutely out of the
question, probably not even seriously desired. Soon after we find the duke
publicly owning Beatrix as his wife, and giving orders that she shall be
treated as duchess and styled "Altesse." She lives with Charles, rides
with him, shows herself by his side to his soldiers, who conceive a
violent fancy for her. Nicole and the Lorrain princes and princesses
protest. But they are far away, and can do no hurt. The old countess is
brought to acquiesce in the marriage, and all seems to go as merrily as
could be wished. Beatrix's sister, the nun of Gray, confesses to pious
scruples, and implores her sister not to do what is wicked, but is
silenced with a simple "Vous n'etes qu'une enfant." To make all things
sure, Mazarin, anxious to obtain from Charles an advantageous peace,
promises his all-powerful interest with the Curia. The peace duly signed,
Beatrix and her husband religiously undertake, side by side, a pilgrimage
to Bonsecours, where they pray for Heaven's blessing upon their union, and
afterwards hold their formal entry into Nancy, to the bewilderment of her
husband's loyal subjects, who, not knowing what to make of the double
wedlock, cry out lustily: "Que Dieu protege et benisse le bon Duc Charles
et ses deux femmes!"
But there was mischief brewing. Nicole and her belongings would have been
less than human if they had not set heaven and earth in motion to upset
the new irregular union. When Cheminot and Le Moleur arrived at Rome to
bespeak the Pope's approval, they found the Prince Nicolas-Francois
already there, actively counterworking their game, on which even without
such opposing influence the Vatican could scarcely have been expected to
smile. In the place of approval, they received nothing but black looks,
coupled with a strict injunction to the Lady Beatrix not on any account to
pretend to the title of "Duchess."
Of course Charles's "Petite Paix" lasted only a few weeks. Instead of
leading his troops into the French camp as supports, as he had agreed, he
took them straight to the Spanish headquarters, with the inevitable result
of being once more turned out of his country, and finding himself an exile
at large. These misfortunes, however, sat lightly upon the gay-hearted
monarch, while he had the lovely Beatrix by his side, starring it with her
at the Courts of Worms, Luxemburg, and Brussels, and insisting everywhere
upon Beatrix being treated as duchess. He had given her her own
body-guard, her own establishment of maids of honour, allowed her to hold
her courts and drawing-rooms, just like a reigning princess.
Meanwhile, concurrently with the Pope's judgment, another matter was
slowly ripening. All this marrying and re-marrying had, as a matter of
course, led to litigation. Prince Cantecroix had left a goodly fortune,
for the possession of which his mother, the Marquise d'Autriche, and his
cousin, M. de Saint Amour, were then fighting fiercely.