Typically German?

The Englishman’s home is his castle. The popular saying is supposed to mean that the Englishman uses his home, however modest, as a retreat from the outside world. Drawbridge up! No one is allowed to intrude on his fortified privacy. But what of the Germans, who have far more castles scattered over their territory, perhaps as many as five hundred?

For the Germans, the Burg is still a symbol of power and of permanence; it has an almost spiritual dimension. “Ein feste Burg ist unser Gott,” says Martin Luther and even non-Lutheran or non-believing Germans understand immediately what he meant. Not just high walls behind which you can securely hide, but a whole way of life involving the honour of Knights and the readiness to fight for ones beliefs.

The German idea of a Burg

True, Germany ’s first castles were purely defensive – against neighbours (the country was, after all, a patchwork of hundreds of duchies, principalities and mini-kingdoms) and attacks from Normans, Hungarians and Slavs. Not many of these buildings survived because they were constructed from wood. But by the middle of the 12th century, castles were being built from stone as defensive installations, as residences and as power centres.

The following century is what shaped the German idea of a Burg and made it “typisch deutsch”. The formidable Wartburg in Eisenach, for example, constructed for the Landgraf of Thüringen, I first saw in the mid-1980s; I was on a trip to Erfurt for the Times and had been assigned a Stasi-minder, a teacher at the local school. He drove me out to the Wartburg on a summer’s day and as we climbed up the steps, I noticed he had tears in his eyes. “This is German power!” he said when we reached the top and took in the extraordinary view from the battlements. Later, I discovered his report – it had been forwarded on to the Polish secret service and I have recently been allowed to study the file. It concludes: “RB seems genuinely interested in German culture”. The Polish case officer thought this was a dangerous development. Actually, it was my Stasi companion who appeared to be gripped by the German-ness of the moment and the encounter prodded thoughts about the shared East / West German pride in a common historical heritage.

A whole way of life

So when both the Deutsches Historisches Museum in Berlin and the Germanisches Nationalmuseum in Nuremberg launched major exhibitions about the Burg (Nuremberg’s is called “Mythos Burg” and is open until November 7; Berlin’s is called “Burg und Herrschaft” and runs until October 24 – both are very much worth seeing), I realised that something was stirring. Examining the history of the Burg is a way of probing into the German character, and not just because so many castles have been built and destroyed and rebuilt, or because of the Burg-transition from cold Spartan headquarters of a warrior-class to comfortable havens where music could be played and poetry written. The Burg has re-invented itself over the centuries, like Germany too. But studying the Burg also lays bare how important is Germany's regional competition for power. This mood has survived into the democratic era: Germany ’s regional prime ministers, the Ministerpräsidenten are often described as barons or chieftains and it is almost always assumed that they are in permanent rivalry with the Chancellor who represents central authority.

Romantic mythology

At both the Berlin and Nuremberg exhibitions you have, of course, to read between the lines to extract a contemporary message. For the most part, the museums are trying to enlighten the modern visitor with old helmets and seals, the iconography of Saint George and the Dragon, the heavy swords of crusader Knights, jewel boxes, documents illustrating the science of siege.

But the most valuable contribution of the new work on the German Burg is to separate fact from fiction. In the 19th century many castles were reconstructed, and a romantic mythology created. If we are going to puzzle out the importance of the Burg to Germany’s sense of self, then we have to get the facts straight. So here goes:

Popular myth Number 1: German Knights never washed. Not true! say the Berlin curators. They show part of the 14th century Codex Manesse – and it clearly depicts a Knight in a bath being happily washed by three women.

Popular myth Number 2: Knights always behaved nobly. Not true! The exhibition has a 1520 illustration showing Knights executing their prisoners. Knights always behaved nobly. Not true! The exhibition has a 1520 illustration showing Knights executing their prisoners.

Popular myth Number 3: The Burg was cold. Wrong. The Deutsches Historisches Museum has found pieces of ovens and heating stones (Verschlusssteine einer Heizung).

The Burg is rehabilitated

Popular myth Number 4: Only priests could read and write. No – Knights could too, as proven by writing instruments found throughout the remains of Burg Tilleda in Saxony Anhalt.

Popular myth Number 5: The castle dwellers ate with their hands. Wooden spoons, knives and forks on display prove otherwise.

Popular myth Number 6: Wives were condemned to wear metal chastity belts when their husbands were away – The Berlin museum curators say: impossible. Wearing them for more than a few weeks would have caused serious injury and internal bleeding. More likely they were put on only in an emergency – if the castle was under siege and the women feared rape.

Popular myth Number 7: The full amour of a Knight weighed 200 Kilos. No, say the Burg-experts. They are displaying a 1530 suit of iron armour that weighs no more than 28 kilos – roughly what a soldier carries into battles nowadays.

Life in other words was more dignified, less brutal in German castles than we had been led to expect. And the inhabitants? Not blood-thirsty psychotics but people we can identify with nowadays. The Burg, always a part of German culture, is being rehabilitated. It is all right, once again, to be proud of the ancient Knights.