In the middle ages, an old knight belonging to the court of the
Emperor Conrad II. lived in a castle called Sternberg, near Boppard.
The old warrior had two sons left to him. His wife had died many years
before, and since her death, merry laughter had seldom been heard in
the halls of the beautiful castle.
Soon a ray of sunshine seemed to break into these solemn rooms; a
distant cousin at Rüdesheim had died, leaving his only child, a
beautiful young girl, to the care of his relative.
The golden-haired Angela became the pet of the castle, and won the
affection and friendship of the two sons by her engaging ways. What
had already happened hundred of times now happened among these young
people, love replaced the friendship of the two young knights and both
tried to win the maiden's favour.
The old master of the castle noticed this change, and his father's
heart forbode trouble.
Both sons were equally dear to him, but perhaps his first-born, who
had inherited his mother's gentle character, fulfilled his heart's
desire more than the fiery spirit of Conrad the younger.
From the first moment when the orphan appeared at his family seat, he
had conceived the thought that his favourite son Henry, who was heir
to his name and estates, would marry the maiden.
Henry loved Angela with a profound, sincere feeling which he seldom
expressed.
His brother, on the contrary, made no secret of his ardent love, and
soon the old man perceived with sorrow that the beautiful girl
returned his younger son's passionate love. Henry, too, was not
unaware of the happiness of this pair, and in generous self-denial he
tried to bury his grief, and to rejoice heartily in his brother's
success.
The distress of the elder brother did not escape Angela. She was much
moved when she first remarked that his voice trembled on pronouncing
her name, but soon love dazzled her eyes, so that the clouds on his
troubled countenance passed unnoticed by her.
About this time St. Bernhard of Clairvaux came from France to the
Rhine, preaching a second crusade against the Infidels. The fiery
words of the saintly monk roused many thousands to action; his appeal
likewise reached the castle of Sternberg.
Henry, though not envying his brother's happiness, felt that it would
be impossible for him to be a constant witness of it, and thus he was
glad to answer this call, and to take up the cross.
Conrad, too, longing for action and dominated by the impulse of the
moment, was stirred up by the witching charms which a crusade to
Palestine offered. His adventurous soul, cramped up in this castle so
far removed from the world, thirsted for the adventures, which he
imagined were awaiting the crusaders in the far-off East. In vain the
tears and prayers of the young girl were shed, in vain was the sorrow
of his father who begged him not to desert him.
The old man was in despair about the unbending resolutions of his
sons.
"Who will remain at the castle of my forefathers, if you both abandon
it now, perhaps never to return," cried he sorrowfully. "I implore
you, my eldest son, you, the very image of your mother, to have pity
on your father's gray hairs. And you, Conrad, have pity on the tears
of your betrothed." The brothers remained silent. Then the eldest
grasped the old man's hand, saying gently.
"I shall not leave you, my father."
"And you, Angela," said the younger to the weeping maiden, "you will
try and bear this separation, and will plant a sprig of laurel to make
a wreath for me when I return."