Hero Tales and Legends of the Rhine Part 15

Liebenstein and Sterrenberg

Near the famous monastery of Bornhofen, and not far from the town of Camp, supposed to be an ancient Roman site, are the celebrated castles of Liebenstein and Sterrenberg, called ?the Brothers,? perhaps because of their contiguity to each other rather than through the legend connected with the name. History is practically silent concerning these towers, which occupy two steep crags united by a small isthmus which has partially been cut through. Sterrenberg lies nearest the north, Liebenstein to the south. A wooden bridge leads from one to the other, but a high wall called the Schildmauer was in the old days reared between them, obviously with the intention of cutting off communication.

The legend has undoubtedly become sophisticated by literary influences, and was so altered by one Joseph Kugelgen as to change its purport entirely. It is the modern version of the legend we give here, in contradistinction to that given in the chapter on the Folklore and Literature of the Rhine (see pp. 84 et seq.).

The Brothers

Heinrich and Conrad were the sons of Kurt, a brave knight who had retired from the wars, and now dwelt in his ancestral castle Liebenstein. The brothers were alike in all matters pertaining to arms and chivalry. But otherwise they differed, for Heinrich, the elder, was quiet and more given to the arts of peace; whereas Conrad was gay, and inclined to like fighting for fighting?s sake.

Brought up along with them was Hildegarde, a relative and an orphan, whom the brothers believed to be their sister. On reaching manhood, however, their father told them the truth concerning her, expressing the wish that one of them should marry the maiden.

Nothing loath, both brothers wooed Hildegarde, but Conrad?s ardent, impulsive nature triumphed over Heinrich?s reserved and more steadfast affection. In due course preparations were made for the marriage festival, and a new castle, Sterrenberg, was raised for the young couple adjacent to Liebenstein. Heinrich found it hard to be a constant witness of his brother?s happiness, so he set out for the Holy Land. Soon after his departure the old knight became ill, and died on the day that the new castle was completed. This delayed the marriage for a year, and as the months pa.s.sed Conrad became a.s.sociated with loose companions, and his love for Hildegarde weakened.

Meantime news came that Heinrich had performed marvellous deeds in the Holy Land, and the tidings inflamed Conrad?s zeal. He, too, determined to join the Crusades, and was soon on the way to Palestine.

However, he did not, like his brother, gain renown?for he had not the same incentive to reckless bravery?and he soon returned. He was again to prove himself more successful in love than in war, for at Constantinople, having fallen pa.s.sionately in love with a beautiful Greek lady, he married her.

One day Hildegarde was sitting sorrowful in her chamber, when she beheld travellers with baggage moving into the empty Sterrenberg. Greatly astonished, she sent her waiting-maid to make inquiries, and learned to her sorrow that it was the returning Conrad, who came bringing with him a Greek wife. Conrad avoided Liebenstein, and Sterrenberg became gay with feasting and music.

Late one evening a knight demanded lodging at Liebenstein and was admitted. The stranger was Heinrich, who, hearing about his brother?s shameful marriage, had returned to the grief-stricken Hildegarde.

After he had rested Heinrich sent a message to his brother reproaching him with unknightly behaviour, and challenging him to mortal combat. The challenge was accepted and the combatants met on the pa.s.sage separating the two castles. But as they faced each other, sword in hand, a veiled female figure stepped between them and bade them desist.

It was Hildegarde, who had recognized Heinrich and learned his intention. In impa.s.sioned tones she urged the young men not to be guilty of the folly of shedding each other?s blood in such a cause, and declared that it was her firm intention to spend her remaining days in a convent. The brothers submitted themselves to her persuasion and became reconciled. Some time afterward Conrad?s wife proved her unworthiness by eloping with a young knight, thus killing her husband?s love for her, and at the same time opening his eyes to his own base conduct. Bitterly now did he reproach himself for his unfaithfulness to Hildegarde, who, alas! was now lost to him for ever. Hildegarde remained faithful to her vows, and Heinrich and Conrad lived together till at last death separated them.

St. Goar

Near the town of St. Goar, at the foot of the Rheinfels, there stands a little cell, once the habitation of a pious hermit known as St. Goar, and many are the local traditions which tell of the miracles wrought by this good man, and the marvellous virtues retained by his shrine after his death. He settled on Rhenish sh.o.r.es, we are told, about the middle of the sixth century, and thenceforward devoted his life to the service of the rude people among whom his lot was cast. His first care was to instruct them in the Christian faith, but he was also mindful of their welfare in temporal matters, and gave his services freely to the sick and sorrowful, so that ere long he came to be regarded as a saint. When he was not employed in prayer and ministrations he watched the currents of the Rhine, and was ever willing to lend his aid to distressed mariners who had been caught by the Sand Gewirr, a dangerous eddy which was too often the death of unwary boatmen in these parts.

Thus he spent an active and cheerful life, far from the envy and strife of the world, for which he had no taste whatever. Nevertheless the fame of his good deeds had reached the high places of the earth. Sigebert, who at that time held his court at Andernach, heard of the piety and n.o.ble life of the hermit, and invited him to his palace. St. Goar accepted the invitation?or, rather, obeyed the command?and made his way to Andernach. He was well received by the monarch, whom his genuine holiness and single-mindedness greatly impressed. But pure as he was, the worthy Goar was not destined to escape calumny. There were at the court of Sigebert other ecclesiastics of a less exalted type, and these were filled with envy and indignation when they beheld the favours bestowed upon the erstwhile recluse. Foremost among his persecutors was the Archbishop of Treves, and with him Sigebert dealt in summary fas.h.i.+on, depriving him of his archbishopric and offering the see to St. Goar. The latter, however, was sick of the perpetual intrigues and squabblings of the court, and longed to return to the shelter of his mossy cell and the sincere friends.h.i.+p of the poor fishermen among whom his mission lay. So he refused the proffered dignity and informed the monarch of his desire to return home. As he stood in the hall of the palace preparing to take his leave, he threw his cloak over a sunbeam, and, strange to say, the garment was suspended as though the shaft of light were solid. This, we are told, was not a mere piece of bravado, but was done to show that the saint?s action in refusing the see was prompted by divine inspiration.

When St. Goar died Sigebert caused a chapel to be erected over his grave, choosing from among his disciples two worthy monks to officiate.

Other hermits took up their abode near the spot, and all were subsequently gathered together in a monastery. The grave of the solitary became a favourite shrine, to which pilgrims travelled from all quarters, and St. Goar became the patron saint of hospitality, not so much personally as through the monastery of which he was the patron, and one of whose rules was that no stranger should be denied hospitality for a certain period.

A goodly number of stories are told of his somewhat drastic treatment of those who pa.s.sed by his shrine without bringing an offering?stories which may be traced to the monks who dwelt there, and who reaped the benefit of these offerings.

Charlemagne at the Shrine of St. Goar

Here is one of those tales concerning the great Karl. On one occasion while he was travelling from Ingelheim to Aix-la-Chapelle, by way of Coblentz, he pa.s.sed the shrine of St. Goar without so much as a single thought. Nor did those who accompanied him give the saint more attention. It was the height of summer, everything was bright and beautiful, and as the Emperor?s flotilla drifted lazily down the Rhine the sound of laughter and light jesting could be heard.

No sooner had the Emperor and his courtiers pa.s.sed St. Goar, however, than the smiling sky became overcast, heavy clouds gathered, and the distant sound of thunder was heard. A moment more and they were in the midst of a raging storm; water surged and boiled all around, and darkness fell so thickly that scarce could one see another?s face. Panic reigned supreme where all had been gaiety and merriment.

In vain the sailors strove to reach the sh.o.r.e; in vain the ladies shrieked and the Emperor and his n.o.bles lent their aid to the seamen.

All the exertions of the sailors would not suffice to move the vessels one foot nearer the sh.o.r.e. At length an old boatman who had spent the greater part of a lifetime on the Rhine approached the Emperor and addressed him thus:

?Sire, our labours are useless. We have offended G.o.d and St. Goar.?

The words were repeated by the Emperor?s panic-stricken train, who now saw that the storm was of miraculous origin. ?Let us go ash.o.r.e,? said Charlemagne in an awed voice. ?In the name of G.o.d and St. Goar, let us go ash.o.r.e. We will pray at the shrine of the saint that he may help us make peace with Heaven.?

Scarcely had he uttered the words ere the sky began to clear, the boiling water subsided to its former gla.s.sy smoothness, and the storm was over. The ill.u.s.trious company landed and sought the shrine of the holy man, where they spent the rest of the day in prayer.

Ere they departed on the following morning Charlemagne and his court presented rich offerings at the shrine, and the Emperor afterward endowed the monastery with lands of great extent, by which means it is to be hoped that he succeeded in propitiating the jealous saint.

The Reconciliation

One more tale of St. Goar may be added, dealing this time with Charlemagne?s sons, Pepin and Karloman. These two, brave knights both, had had a serious quarrel over the sovereignty of their father?s vast Empire. Gradually the breach widened to a deadly feud, and the brothers, once the best of friends, became the bitterest enemies.

In 806 Charlemagne held an Imperial Diet at Thionville, and thither he summoned his three sons, Karloman, Pepin, and Ludwig, intending to divide the Empire, by testament, among them. Karloman was at that time in Germany, and Pepin in Italy, where, with the aid of his sword, he had won for himself broad lands. In order to reach Thionville both were obliged to take the same path?that is, the Rhine, the broad waterway of their father?s dominions. Pepin was the first to come, and as he sailed up the river with his train he caught sight of the shrine of St. Goar, and bethought him that there he and his brother had last met as friends.

As he pondered on the strange fate that had made enemies of them, once so full of kindness toward each other, he felt curiously moved, and decided to put ash.o.r.e and kneel by the shrine of the saint.

Ere long Karloman and his train moved up the Rhine, and this prince also, when he beheld the shrine of St. Goar, was touched with a feeling of tenderness for his absent brother. Recollections of the time when Pepin and he had been inseparable surged over him, and he too stepped ash.o.r.e and made his way through the wood to the sacred spot.

Meanwhile Pepin still knelt before the shrine, and great indeed was Karloman?s astonishment when he beheld his brother. But when he heard Pepin pray aloud that they might be reconciled his joy and surprise knew no bounds. All armed as he was, he strode up to his kneeling brother and embraced him with tears, entreating his forgiveness for past harshnesses. When Pepin raised the prince?s visor and beheld the beloved features of Karloman, his happiness was complete. Together the brothers made for their s.h.i.+ps; not, however, till they had left valuable gifts at the shrine of the saint whose good offices had brought about their reconciliation. Together they proceeded to the court of Charlemagne, who part.i.tioned his Empire between his three sons, making each a regent of his portion during his father?s lifetime.

From that time onward the brothers were fast friends. Karloman and Pepin, however, had not long to live, for the former died in 810 and the latter in the following year.

Gutenfels, a Romance

A very charming story, and one entirely lacking in the element of gloom and tragedy which is so marked a feature of most Rhenish tales, is that which tradition a.s.signs to the castle of Gutenfels. Its ancient name of Caub, or Chaube, still clings to the town above which it towers majestically.

In the thirteenth century Caub was the habitation of Sir Philip of Falkenstein and his sister Guta, the latter justly acclaimed as the most beautiful woman in Germany. She was reputed as proud as she was beautiful, and of the many suitors who flocked to Caub to seek her hand in marriage none could win from her a word of encouragement or even a tender glance.

On one occasion she and her brother were present at a great tourney held at Cologne, where the flower of knightly chivalry and maidenly beauty were gathered in a brilliant a.s.sembly. Many an ardent glance was directed to the fair maid of Caub, but she, accustomed to such homage, was not moved thereby from her wonted composure.

At length a commotion pa.s.sed through the a.s.sembly. A knight had entered the lists whose name was not announced by the herald. It was whispered that his ident.i.ty was known only to the Archbishop, whose guest he was. Of fine stature and handsome features, clad in splendid armour and mounted on a richly caparisoned steed, he attracted not a little attention, especially from the feminine portion of the a.s.semblage. But for none of the high-born ladies had he eyes, save for Guta, to whom his glance was ever and anon directed, as though he looked to her to bring him victory. The blus.h.i.+ng looks of Guta showed that she was not indifferent to the gallantry of the n.o.ble stranger, and, truly, in her heart she wished him well. With clasped hands she watched the combatants couch their lances and charge. Ah! victory had fallen to the unknown knight. Soon it became evident that the mysterious stranger was to carry off the prize of the tourney, for there was none to match him in skill and prowess. As he rode past the place where Guta sat he lowered his lance, and she, in her pleasure and confusion at this mark of especial courtesy, dropped her glove, which the knight instantly picked up, desiring to be allowed to keep it as a guerdon.

At the grand ball which followed the tourney the victor remained all the evening at Guta?s side, and would dance with no other maiden.

Young Falkenstein, pleased with the homage paid to his sister by the distinguished stranger, invited him to visit them at Caub, an invitation which the gentle Guta seconded, and which the mysterious knight accepted with alacrity.

True to his promise, ere a week had elapsed he arrived at Caub, accompanied by two attendants. His visit covered three days, during which time his host and hostess did all in their power to make his stay a pleasant one. Ere he took his departure he sought out Guta and made known his love. The lady acknowledged that his affection was returned.

?Dearest Guta,? said the knight, ?I may not yet reveal to thee my name, but if thou wilt await my coming, in three months I shall return to claim my bride, and thou shalt know all.?

?I will be true to thee,? exclaimed Guta pa.s.sionately. ?Though a king should woo me, I will be true to thee.? And with that a.s.surance from his betrothed the knight rode away.

Three months came and went, and still Guta heard nothing of her absent lover. She grew paler and sadder as time advanced, not because she doubted the honour of her knight, but because she feared he had been slain in battle. It was indeed a time of wars and dissensions. On the death of Conrad IV several claimants to the imperial throne of Germany made their appearance, of whom the princ.i.p.al were Adolph, Duke of Holland, Richard, Earl of Cornwall, brother to the English king Henry III, and Alfonso X, King of Castile. Of these three the most popular was Richard of Cornwall, who was finally chosen by the Electors, more on account of his knightly qualities than because of his fabulous wealth.

Among his most ardent followers was Philip of Falkenstein, who was naturally much elated at his master?s success. Now, however, the conflict was over, and Philip had returned to Caub.

One morning, about six months after the departure of Guta?s lover, a gay cavalcade appeared at the gates of Caub, and a herald demanded admission for Richard, Emperor of Germany. Philip himself, scarcely concealing his joy and pride at the honour done him by his sovereign, ran out to greet him, and the castle was full of stir and bustle. The Emperor praised Philip heartily for his part in the recent wars, yet he seemed absent and uneasy.

?Sir Philip,? he said at length, ?I have come hither to beg the hand of thy fair sister; why is she not with us?? Falkenstein was filled with amazement.

?Sire,? he stammered, ?I fear me thou wilt find my sister an unwilling bride. She has refused many n.o.bles of high estate, and I doubt whether even a crown will tempt her. However, I will plead with her for thy sake.?

He left the room to seek Guta?s bower, but soon returned with dejected mien. ?It is as I thought, sire,? he said. ?She will not be moved.

Methinks some heedless knight hath stolen her heart, for she hath grown pale and drooping as a gathered blossom.?

Richard raised his visor.

?Knowest thou me, sir knight?? he said.