Anecdotes Of Mediaeval Germany
THE WIVES OF WEINSBERG.
In the year of grace 1140 a German army, under Conrad III., emperor,
laid siege to the small town of Weinsberg, the garrison of which
resisted with a most truculent and disloyal obstinacy. Germany, which
for centuries before and after was broken into warring factions, to such
extent that its emperors could truly say, "uneasy lies the head that
wears a crown," was then divided betwe
n the two strong parties of the
Welfs and the Waiblingers,--or the Guelphs and the Ghibellines, as
pronounced by the Italians and better known to us. The Welfs were a
noble family whose ancestry could be traced back to the days of
Charlemagne. The Waiblingers derived their name from the town of
Waiblingen, which belonged to the Hohenstaufen family, of which the
Emperor Conrad was a representative.
And now, as often before and after, the Guelphs, and Ghibellines were at
war, Duke Welf holding Weinsberg vigorously against his foes of the
imperial party, while his relative, Count Welf of Altorf, marched to his
relief. A battle ensued between emperor and count, which ended in the
triumph of the emperor and the flight of the count. And this battle is
worthy of mention, as distinguished from the hundreds of battles which
are unworthy of mention, from the fact that in it was first heard a
war-cry which continued famous for centuries afterwards. The German
war-cry preceding this period had been "Kyrie Eleison" ("Lord, have
mercy upon us!" a pious invocation hardly in place with men who had
little mercy upon their enemies). But now the cry of the warring
factions became "Hie Weif," "Hie Waiblinger," softened in Italy into
"The Guelph," "The Ghibelline," battle-shouts which were long afterwards
heard on the field of German war, and on that of Italy as well, for the
factions of Germany became also the factions of this southern realm.
So much for the origin of Guelph and Ghibelline, of which we may further
say that a royal representative of the former party still exists, in
King Edward VII. of England, who traces his descent from the German
Welfs. And now to return to the siege of Weinsberg, to which Conrad
returned after having disposed of the army of relief. The garrison still
were far from being in a submissive mood, their defence being so
obstinate, and the siege so protracted, that the emperor, incensed by
their stubborn resistance, vowed that he would make their city a
frightful example to all his foes, by subjecting its buildings to the
brand and its inhabitants to the sword. Fire and steel, he said, should
sweep it from the face of the earth.
Weinsberg at length was compelled to yield, and Conrad, hot with anger,
determined that his cruel resolution should be carried out to the
letter, the men being put to the sword, the city given to the flames.
This harsh decision filled the citizens with terror and despair. A
deputation was sent to the angry emperor, humbly praying for pardon, but
he continued inflexible, the utmost concession he would make being that
the women might withdraw, as he did not war with them. As for the men,
they had offended him beyond forgiveness, and the sword should be their
lot. On further solicitation, he added to the concession a proviso that
the women might take away with them all that they could carry of their
most precious possessions, since he did not wish to throw them destitute
upon the world.
The obdurate emperor was to experience an unexampled surprise. When the
time fixed for the departure of the women arrived, and the city gates
were thrown open for their exit, to the astonishment of Conrad, and the
admiration of the whole army, the first to appear was the duchess, who,
trembling under the weight, bore upon her shoulders Duke Welf, her
husband. After her came a long line of other women, each bending beneath
the heavy burden of her husband, or some dear relative among the
condemned citizens.
Never had such a spectacle been seen. So affecting an instance of
heroism was it, and so earnest and pathetic were the faces appealingly
upturned to him, that the emperor's astonishment quickly changed to
admiration, and he declared that women like these had fairly earned
their reward, and that each should keep the treasure she had borne.
There were those around him with less respect for heroic deeds, who
sought to induce him to keep his original resolution, but Conrad, who
had it in him to be noble when not moved by passion, curtly silenced
them with the remark, "An emperor keeps his word." He was so moved by
the scene, indeed, that he not only spared the men, but the whole city,
and the doom of sword and brand, vowed against their homes, was
withdrawn through admiration of the noble act of the worthy wives of
Weinsberg.
A KING IN A QUANDARY.
From an old chronicle we extract the following story, which is at once
curious and interesting, as a picture of mediaeval manners and customs,
though to all seeming largely legendary.
Henry, the bishop of Utrecht, was at sword's point with two lords, those
of Aemstel and Woerden, who hated him from the fact that a kinsman of
theirs, Goswin by name, had been deposed from the same see, through the
action of a general chapter. In reprisal these lords, in alliance with
the Count of Gebria, raided and laid waste the lands of the bishopric.
Time and again they visited it with plundering bands, Henry manfully
opposing them with his followers, but suffering much from their
incursions. At length the affair ended in a peculiar compact, in which
both sides agreed to submit their differences to the wager of war, in a
pitched battle, which was to be held on a certain day in the green
meadows adjoining Utrecht.
When the appointed day came both sides assembled with their vassals, the
lords full of hope, the bishop exhorting his followers to humble the
arrogance of these plundering nobles. The Archbishop of Cologne was in
the city of Utrecht at the time, having recently visited it. He, as
warlike in disposition as the bishop himself, gave Henry a precious
ring, saying to him,--
"My son, be courageous and confident, for this day, through the
intercession of the holy confessor St. Martin, and through the virtue of
this ring, thou shalt surely subdue the pride of thy adversaries, and
obtain a renowned victory over them. In the meantime, while thou art
seeking justice, I will faithfully defend this city, with its priests
and canons, in thy behalf, and will offer up prayers to the Lord of
Hosts for thy success."
Bishop Henry, his confidence increased by these words, led from the
gates a band of fine and well armed warriors to the sound of warlike
trumpets, and marched to the field, where he drew them up before the
bands of the hostile lords.
Meanwhile, tidings of this fray had been borne to William, king of the
Romans, who felt it his duty to put an end to it, as such private
warfare was forbidden by law. Hastily collecting all the knights and
men-at-arms he could get together without delay, he marched with all
speed to Utrecht, bent upon enforcing peace between the rival bands. As
it happened, the army of the king reached the northern gate of the city
just as the bishop's battalion had left the southern gate, the one party
marching in as the other marched out.
The archbishop, who had undertaken the defence of the city, and as yet
knew nothing of this royal visit, after making an inspection of the city
under his charge, gave orders to the porters to lock and bar all the
gates, and keep close guard thereon.
King William was not long in learning that he was somewhat late, the
bishop having left the city. He marched hastily to the southern gate to
pursue him, but only to find that he was himself in custody, the gates
being firmly locked and the keys missing. He waited awhile impatiently.
No keys were brought. Growing angry at this delay, he gave orders that
the bolts and bars should be wrenched from the gates, and efforts to do
this were begun.
While this was going on, the archbishop was in deep affliction. He had
just learned that the king was in Utrecht with an army, and imagined
that he had come with hostile purpose, and had taken the city through
the carelessness of the porters. Followed by his clergy, he hastened to
where the king was trying to force a passage through the gates, and
addressed him appealingly, reminding him that justice and equity were
due from kings to subjects.
"Your armed bands, I fear, have taken this city," he said, "and you have
ordered the locks to be broken that you may expel the inhabitants, and
replace them with persons favorable to your own interests. If you
propose to act thus against justice and mercy, you injure me, your
chancellor, and lessen your own honor. I exhort you, therefore, to
restore me the city which you have unjustly taken, and relieve the
inhabitants from violence."
The king listened in silence and surprise to this harangue, which was
much longer than we have given it. At its end, he said,--
"Venerable pastor and bishop, you have much mistaken my errand in
Utrecht. I come here in the cause of justice, not of violence. You know
that it is the duty of kings to repress wars and punish the disturbers
of peace. It is this that brings us here, to put an end to the private
war which we learn is being waged. As it stands, we have not conquered
the city, but it has conquered us. To convince you that no harm is meant
to Bishop Henry and his good city of Utrecht, we will command our men to
repair to their hostels, lay down their arms, and pass their time in
festivity. But first the purpose for which we have come must be
accomplished, and this private feud be brought to an end."
That the worthy archbishop was delighted to hear these words, need not
be said. His fears had not been without sound warrant, for those were
days in which kings were not to be trusted, and in which the cities
maintained a degree of political independence that often proved
inconvenient to the throne. As may be imagined, the keys were quickly
forthcoming and the gates thrown open, the king being relieved from his
involuntary detention, and given an opportunity to bring the bishop's
battle to an end.
He was too late; it had already reached its end. While King William was
striving to get out of the city, which he had got into with such ease,
the fight in the green meadows between the bishops and the lords had
been concluded, the warlike churchman coming off victor. Many of the
lords' vassals had been killed, more put to flight, and themselves taken
prisoners. At the vesper-bell Henry entered the city with his captives,
bound with ropes, and was met at the gates by the king and the
archbishop. At the request of King William he pardoned and released his
prisoners, on their promise to cease molesting his lands, and all ended
in peace and good will.
COURTING BY PROXY.
Frederick von Stauffen, known as the One-eyed, being desirous of
providing his son Frederick (afterwards the famous emperor Frederick
Barbarossa) with a wife, sent as envoy for that purpose a handsome young
man named Johann von Wuertemberg, whose attractions of face and manner
had made him a general favorite. It was the beautiful daughter of Rudolf
von Zaehringen who had been selected as a suitable bride for the future
emperor, but when the handsome ambassador stated the purpose of his
visit to the father, he was met by Rudolf with the joking remark, "Why
don't you court the damsel for yourself?"
The suggestion was much to the taste of the envoy. He took it seriously,
made love for himself to the attractive Princess Anna, and won her love
and the consent of her father, who had been greatly pleased with his
handsome and lively visitor, and was quite ready to confirm in earnest
what he had begun in jest.
Frederick, the One-eyed, still remained to deal with, but that worthy
personage seems to have taken the affair as a good joke, and looked up
another bride for his son, leaving to Johann the maiden he had won. This
story has been treated as fabulous, but it is said to be well founded.
It has been repeated in connection with other persons, notably in the
case of Captain Miles Standish and John Alden, in which case the fair
maiden herself is given the credit of admonishing the envoy to court for
himself. It is very sure, however, that this latter story is a fable. It
was probably founded on the one we have given.
THE BISHOP'S WINE-CASKS.
Adalbert of Treves was a bandit chief of note who, in the true fashion
of the robber barons of mediaeval Germany, dwelt in a strong-walled
castle, which was garrisoned by a numerous band of men-at-arms, as fond
of pillage as their leader, and equally ready to follow him on his
plundering expeditions and to defend his castle against his enemies.
Our noble brigand paid particular heed to the domain of Peppo, Bishop of
Treves, whose lands he honored with frequent unwelcome visits,
despoiling lord and vassal alike, and hastening back from his raids to
the shelter of his castle walls.
This was not the most agreeable state of affairs for the worthy bishop,
though how it was to be avoided did not clearly appear. It probably did
not occur to him to apply to the emperor, Henry II., the mediaeval German
emperors having too much else on hand to leave them time to attend to
matters of minor importance. Peppo therefore naturally turned to his own
kinsmen, friends, and vassals, as those most likely to afford him aid.
Bishop Peppo could wield sword and battle-axe with the best bishop,
which is almost equivalent to saying with the best warrior, of his day,
and did not fail to use, when occasion called, these carnal weapons. But
something more than the battle-axes of himself and vassals was needed to
break through the formidable walls of Adalbert's stronghold, which
frowned defiance to the utmost force the bishop could muster. Force
alone would not answer, that was evident. Stratagem was needed to give
effect to brute strength. If some way could only be devised to get
through the strong gates of the robber's stronghold, and reach him
behind his bolts and bars, all might be well; otherwise, all was ill.
In this dilemma, a knightly vassal of the bishop, Tycho by name,
undertook to find a passage into the castle of Adalbert, and to punish
him for his pillaging. One day Tycho presented himself at the gate of
the castle, knocked loudly thereon, and on the appearance of the guard,
asked him for a sup of something to drink, being, as he said, overcome
with thirst.
He did not ask in vain. It is a pleasant illustration of the hospitality
of that period to learn that the traveller's demand was unhesitatingly
complied with at the gate of the bandit stronghold, a brimming cup of
wine being brought for the refreshment of the thirsty wayfarer.
"Thank your master for me," said Tycho, on returning the cup, "and tell
him that I shall certainly repay him with some service for his good
will."
With this Tycho journeyed on, sought the bishopric, and told Peppo what
he had done and what he proposed to do. After a full deliberation a
definite plan was agreed upon, which the cunning fellow proceeded to put
into action. The plan was one which strongly reminds us of that adopted
by the bandit chief in the Arabian story of the "Forty Thieves," the
chief difference being that here it was true men, not thieves, who were
to be benefited.
Thirty wine casks of capacious size were prepared, and in each was
placed instead of its quota of wine a stalwart warrior, fully armed with
sword, shield, helmet, and cuirass. Each cask was then covered with a
linen cloth, and ropes were fastened to its sides for the convenience of
the carriers. This done, sixty other men were chosen as carriers, and
dressed as peasants, though really they were trained soldiers, and each
had a sword concealed in the cask he helped to carry.
The preparations completed, Tycho, accompanied by a few knights and by
the sixty carriers and their casks, went his way to Adalbert's castle,
and, as before, knocked loudly at its gates. The guard again appeared,
and, on seeing the strange procession, asked who they were and for what
they came.
"I have come to repay your chief for the cup of wine he gave me," said
Tycho. "I promised that he should be well rewarded for his good will,
and am here for that purpose."
The warder looked longingly at the array of stout casks, and hastened
with the message to Adalbert, who, doubtless deeming that the gods were
raining wine, for his one cup to be so amply returned, gave orders that
the strangers should be admitted. Accordingly the gates were opened, and
the wine-bearers and knights filed in.
Reaching the castle hall, the casks were placed on the floor before
Adalbert and his chief followers, Tycho begging him to accept them as a
present in return for his former kindness. As to receive something for
nothing was Adalbert's usual mode of life, he did not hesitate to accept
the lordly present, and Tycho ordered the carriers to remove the
coverings. In a very few seconds this was done, when out sprang the
armed men, the porters seized their swords from the casks, and in a
minute's time the surprised bandits found themselves sharply attacked.
The stratagem proved a complete success. Adalbert and his men fell
victims to their credulity, and the fortress was razed to the ground.
The truth of this story we cannot vouch for. It bears too suspicious a
resemblance to the Arabian tale to be lightly accepted as fact. But its
antiquity is unquestionable, and it may be offered as a faithful picture
of the conditions of those centuries of anarchy when every man's hand
was for himself and might was right.